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Actual Contact With the War Puts an End {o Romance
—
Everything on French Battle Line Is Concealed.
Men Who Bring in the Wounded Onlyv Real
Observers of Activities,
By ROBERT A. DRAKE, OF HARVARD,
Winner of the French Cross of War.
While the infantryme
in trenches for weekys al!1 aal;m}éidggg
while the artillerymen are shootin
from behind screens and hills thg
ambulance driver goes past the bat
teries, past the third line trenches
past the supply centers, past all the
big guns and the railroads and the
erormous machineries that make up
tie organization of the army. '
\Whenever his car climbs a high
bluff he can see the smoking front‘
line trenches at work. He has al
most the observation facilities of the
aviator, with the inestimable further
advantage of coming into intimate
contact with the men everywhere.
The most oppressive factor about.
the war is the unseen factor. All
things (except an occasional aero
plane overhead) are hidden. Bullets,
shells, guns, enemies—all are un
seen. ‘
The soldiers crouch in dugouts
whenever they can. The artillery
fires by telephone direction. The
whole war is so concealed that the
soldiers fight a thing rather than a
personal foe. Practically the only
time when the infantryman comes
into actual contact with the enemy
is in a bayonet charge, and most of
these attacks are at night, when only
the unnatural glare of star shells gives
men anything to see.
/At is a war of listening rather than
seeing. Men hear the horrid screams
of. the shells, and as the unearthly
moans sound in their ears day after
day they become more and more si
lent.
When I first saw the spectral star
shells lightihg the sky in the distance
I said: “Aha! Here is romance! It's
_Boing to be a great game!”
But actual contact with the war ob
literated all romance. I had thought
that war would reproduce knighthood
«days. The illusion vanished soon. It
is true that the ancient armor, hel
mets, breastplates, even spears had
come back to partial use. I saw even
a ‘“mailed fist”—a glove of metal links
to protect the hands of machine gun
ners. But shells destroyed the armor
and the illusiom.
Instead of seeing beautifully pitch
ed rows of camps I saw soldiers snor
ing in ugly barracks or in “dog tents”
pitched any old way for concealment.
A World’s Concentrated Effort.
But in recompense I saw a vast
activity of peoples, a concentrated ef
fort toward one vast design that drew
on all the nations and all the things
of the whole round world. From the
{ time when we rolled out of Paris,
‘leaving the busy munition factories
behind, till we came within hearing
of the crashing fron¢, we saw war dis
played in all its phases and all its
inecredible forms and efforts.
By the time we began to hear the
dull booming of the cannon and saw
the cotton white puffs of antiaircraft
shrapnel around the gleaming bodies
of flying machines high in the sky we
were in the very center of a mighty,
resistless current of traffic that mov
wed, wheel following wheel, teams,
Jorries, motors, motorcycles, toward
the battle line, with only inches be
tween them.
Compared with this traffic of war
the traffic of America’s Broadway or
Fifth avenue was pretty. Here were
lines of supply transport that extend
ed, literally, for hundreds '‘of miles
through France.
New sights, new sounds, new odors,
even new tastes, were everywhere.
From overhead came the chur-r-r-r
of aeroplane motors. From ahead
sounded the rattle of rifle fusillade.
. From another direction the rat-tat
tat-tat of machine guns. Dust filled
. our mouths and noses, and we tasted
~ France. Coincident with terrible
‘‘odors came hideous fly-swarms that
% attacked like enemies.
We saw lines of captive balloons—
our own, hovering high up but four
miles behind our own front trenches,
the enemy’s great floating cigars
made tiny by distance. In places wel
saw so many of these opposing
“sausages’ (which, on nearer ap
prcach, changed to elephantine mon
stérs with bulbous growths on the
sides of their heads) that we could lo
cate the whole line of battle by mere
1y looking at the rcws of French and
‘German balloons.
« All these things we saw. We drove
%wherever there were wounded to pick
up, wherever there were postes de
secours hastily constructed for sud
den emergency. We drove from town
;?own behind the front—sometimes
close to war that the shells
gmashed the roads over which we car
ried our red freight, sometimes so far
‘4n the rear that even gunfire could
scarcely be heard.
v Behind the Scenes of War.
Tattered canopies of camouflage
screens slapped our faces as we drove
toward the front. The wail of a shell
shattered the air close by. We
. cringed involuntarily as a zgg'ser of
smoke and dirt spouted beside our
road.
+ We groped, half blindly, into dark
grottos, where the smell of disinfect
ant mingled with the odors of musty
topacco smoke, and wounded men
‘were waiting for transport to the
nearest rear hospital, while soldiers
* Barricaded doorways and walls with
sand bags and rocks.
We emerged in time perhaps to see
a German Fokker plane gyratg in a
“‘dead leaf fall” for all of a dizzy
mile of sheer height to escape a
French pursuer, and later on, in a
restful moment, we mignt learn from
the machine gunners how they set up
and work their “‘typewriters.”
Pneumatic; trench catapults, hand
erénades and bell-mouthed trench
cdnnon became commonplace objects
to us. We got used to seeing army
mechanicians install complicated elec
trical outfits. gasoline power plants
and all the other appliances of civili
zation in the very midst of furious
battle, and in the very zone of inces
sant shell explosion.
Before our g#®s _cavalrymen
. whipped up their horses madly and
‘screamed to them to urge their dan
‘gerois loads of ammunition past
shelled cross-roads. We ourselves
careered over pontoon bridges with
our hearts in our mouths, praying
that no shell should arrive just then.
Everything was in full display be
fore us. In one day we might see a
balloonist showing how he leaps from
his wicker basket 4,000 feet in air,
and trusting to his white silk para
chute to check his fall, and later in
the placid rear we might see acrobats
and gymnasts giving a circus to
amuse thousands of resting troops.
Laundrymen pounding clothes by a
wayside stream; soldiers unloading
unexploded German shells to learn
secrets of contact plungers; surgeons
at work on hideous wounds; camou
flage artists painting mottled black
and brown blotches on armored loco
motives; florists decorating buildings
in honor of some dignitary; tailors
scraping the mud from faded uni
forms, so that they could sew up the
tatters and rents; gamblers bent over
their games, oblivious to shell and
shrapnel—all «these we could see in
one jaunt between a field hospital
and front post.
The Vast Picture That Unrolls.
It is a vast picture that thus un
rolls before the eyes of the men whose
service keeps them moving (and mov
ing fast and incessantly) through long
distances and in all directions. What
‘is there which war does not demand?
‘ Here are druggists putting up anti
lockjaw serum. There is a railroad
train whose men are waiting for the
shelling near a road to cease slightly
that they may run the gantlet. Off
to one side is a pile of newspapers just
produced, news and all, in the trench
es themselves. Not far away is a pro
fessional dancer dancing in his poilu’s
uniform as he never danced in Paris,
with a raucous chorus singing “When
the Black Sheep Returns to the Fold.”
By the side of a road sit watch
makers. They are repairing the deli
cate brass timing-device of an anti
aircraft shell. In a field are soldiers
on furlough helping old women to
brink in a crop. |
The sound of hammering makes
one look to a building only to see
something not pleasant to see—piles
of wooden crosses and piles of rough
board coffins. Next, in a sentry
guarded building, there sits a solemn
court-martial.
Priests, chemists, Africans, Asiat
ics, soldiers, laborers, prisoners,.gold
laced general staffs, ragged men re
turning from an assaulted trench.
welfare workers, street cleaners—all
crowd this huge space which is “be
hind the scenes” of the blood-stained,
smoke-grimed, flame-tinged stage.
Sail-makers are here. They are
kept busy sewing up the torn canvas
of tent hospitals and recovering the
remnants of burned balloons. Sani
tary engineers work slde by side with
splotched plasterers to reconstruct
French towns. Naturalists study the
effect of war on natural life. Bac
teriologists test drinking water, food,
earth. There are even acoustic ex
perts. They study the art of the list
ening posts, and teach soldiers how
to distinenish shell sounds.
War at First-Hand.
We ourselves feel the war at first
hand. Shell fragments become things
familiar. Our eyes water from sniffs
of lachrymose gas, or a milky white
cloud jof laughing gas catches us and
makes us giggle insanely without
merriment. We take our chances
with the poilus &t dirty straw for beds
and meager rations from field Kitch
ens that have ventured through fire.
We pick up wounded men before
their first <creams have died from
their lips. We carry them to the am
bulances by the light of star shells,
white meteors rising from the enemy
trenches, or by the incandescent flash
es of a great bombardment. Our
heads ache with the vast concussion,
and when we finally reach the hos
pital, German aeroplanes bomb the.
tents and kill our wounded.
A few Impressions of this vast, com
plex, ever-changing world of war Is
what I offer here.
Everywhere we saw France labor
ing at its utmost, using its last re
sources of physical strength, physi
cal and mental skill. There were long
lines of poilus with gaps in their
straggling ranks—men whose wrink
led, wearyv features told that they
were old from the strain of war.
Helping themselves along with gro
tesquelv carved {rench-canes of a
hundred different shapes, they were
limping back from the front with
grizzled heads bent low; and they
passed long lines of little men, pow
dered with dust. who were sweating
away at the sides of all the roads,
cracking rock with sledge-hammers
to make the way smooth for the
fighters and their supplies.
There were roads that were per
fectly hare. And there were others
so madly masked; so thoroughly cam
ouflaged, that it was like a fantastic
scene in a theater. Over some of these
“painted” roads the camouflaging was
so elaborate that screens of dried
bushes were hung across them at in
tervals of 50 feet, bv wires stretched
between trees that flanked the roads.
All Races and All Tribes.
In the country that remained wood
ed were small armies of negroes,
brought all the way from Madagas
car, who were cutting and gathering
the precious wood that had so many
uses in this devouring war. Logs,
cord wood, t:ashes tied up wirth wires,
everything was loaded into waiting
auto trucks to be carried to where
it was needed. Century old trees
that had been landmarks to genera
tions were cut down. Sometimes only
a dozen or fifteen trees stood against
a skyline as survivors of a wood that
once had curtained the horizon.
The wood from these trees went to
be made into gun carriages. It made
wooden footpaths for the trenches.
The bushes were used to line the
trench wall in woven basketry style.
'Saplings made stakes to support the
' barbed wire entanglements in No
' Man’s land. Debris. chips and small
isticks were used even to fill up sheil
holes.
All classes of people, all races and
HEARST’'S SUNDAY AMERICAN
both sexes were seen in the wide
sweep of view that the ambulance
journeys gave us. We saw Frénch
women in masculine garb working
among men. We saw Chinese, Afri
can negroes, Moroccans, natlions and
tribes from far scattered parts of the
earth. .
Long lines of women, in dingy
coarse trcusers, we saw trudging
home from the great salt ming at
Rozieres, their fades blackened by the
hard toil.
Under the deserted sheds of the
great farms we saw thousands of dol
lars’ worth of elaborate agricultural
machinery—tractors, threshers, plows,
harvesters—all idle, mostly rusting
away, because France no longer nad
the men to spare to use them. The
few who were left behind had no
choice but to return to the slow,
harassing toil of a century ago. They
labored with poor little hoes in the
huge fields.
Yet, somehow, they made the crops
grow. No matter how early we might
take the road we were sure to see
the fields dotted with the bent fig
ures of these old men and women,
who were giving their lives for their
country just as surely as were thelr
sons at the front. .
Their labor, slow and petty as it
seemed, tinted the flelds everywhere
with the rich shades of growing cer
eals. Later in the year we saw the
enormous two wheeled ox carts trun
dle away with great loads of grain
to feed France
The Freight Filled Roads of France
We got our first glimpse of the
transport system when we drove out
of Paris on our long jaunt toward the
fighting lines. Hindreds of - cars
crowded steel rails so numerous that
they made a maze ‘to bewilder even
an engineer. Two practically contin
uous lines of cars passed each other,
day and night, one geing to the front,
the other returning to Paris. The
one long line of wheels bore food for
the men at the front and food for the
guns. The other returned with the
wounded from the fighting lines.
Parallel with the railroads ran the
silver ribbons of the French canals,
filled like the roads of the land with
transport—huge ‘canal boats piled high
with gasoline, oil, coal, everything
that could be carried at less speed
than the precious ammunition and
food.
The food transport went as far as
the rail would carry it—to the rear
lines of the active army. Here there
was a meeting of vehicles such as the
world never saw before. Carts drawn
by horses, mules and donkeys, vied
with motor cars, auto trucks and
everything else that would trundle on
wheels for favorable positions where
they should be as near as possible
to the freight car doors.
Traffic police, distinguished by
white grenade insignia on blue hel
mets, tried to direct and control the
vast stream of traffic, but a hungry
Frenchman -~ within sight of food
knows no law.
“Go there!” the police "might di
rect. But if the driver of a six-horse
truck thought he could get more by
going somewhere else it required only
a little skillful guidance of flying
hoofs to brush the unhappy police
out of the way.
There was a melee of horses, wheels
and men every day in front of every
place where any kind of provision
was being served out; but the biggest
melee always was at the bread cars..
The men who served the bread out
were experts, They served thres
army teams at once. In each wagon
a poilu was kept busy catching the
loaves that came out in a true river
of flying bread. They came skimming
out in twos from the freight car, and
were piled on the carts without wast
ing time or energy on such daintiness
as wrapping or covering.
After I saw the army bread unload
ed and loaded a few times, I had
fixed firmly in my mind several little
incidents of the work that led me to
take certain precautions when 1 ate
my share.
One thing I always remembered
particularly, was that the poilus in
the army wagons, whose business it
was to catch the flying loaves, kept
their hands in condition for the ar
duous task by spitting on them fre
quently—and as the loaves never
stopped coming, the poilus had not
even time to wipe their hands on their
trousers.
Thereafter I always peeled the crust
from my share of bread.
The wine car was another place of
tempestuous struggle. The wine was
carried on open flat cars, which were
piled high with wine-tuns in a
mighty pyramid. Men who were
perched on the barrels knocked out
the bungs and stuck lengths of hose
into the foaming red liquid. At the
other end of the hose big-chested
poilus sucked vigorously till the winza
began to siphon out. Then there was
a jam of men with ten-quart meas
ures and empty barrels, all eager to
fill up for their comrades. ‘
Every now and then, instead of a
proper receptacle, the swelling red
lips of a swarthy Madagascan would
appear, up-thrust under the hose, to
gulp Jdown what he could.
/ Traveling Butcher Shops. |
T'he meat for the poilus at the front
was transported to their lines in
mighty closea =2utotrucks that once
had been motor ombinbusses in Paris,
honking and glittering across the
Place de I'Opera. It was a continual
surprise to alléof us that those peace
vehicles could stand the punishment
of enormous loads, rough roads, bad
driving and almost incessant service,
and still require so few repairs.
“I've been driving this truck since
the beginning of the war,” one of the
drivers told me, “and the engine has
never been even overhauled.”
The explanation for the durability
of these trucks probably is that they
had been designed by army experts
before the war, for the very purpose
of making them so that they might be
thus transformed. Still, it was amaz
ing to see them, racing constantly, and |
never wearing out. |
The dust kicked up by all other
traffic, bad as it was, was nothing to
the clouds that accompanied these
immense trucks. It covered all the
fields and crovs. The driver and
crews looked like men of white clay.
When we came up behind these ve
hicles, we had to pass ahead, and we‘
always hated it ,for we were certain‘
to get a “flour bath.” |
They carried two guards at the rear
end, and one of these men pulled a
bell rope to signal to the driver that
he must pull to one side. It was the |
only way, for the trucks made such
an uproar of clatter that the drivers |
could not hear such a tiny thing ‘“1
an autohorn. nor could they see any- |
thing behin?hth@m’ owing to the enor
mous breadth of body on these trucks.
The original windows of the con
verted busses were replaced wi'_h}
sereems, through which could be sevn‘
quarters of beef hanging from .the
same rails that had once supported
the commuters of Paris. We called
these big “dogs of war” our mascots,
because they always .parked in the
same towns as the ambulances. |
The Trarsport Through Shellfire,
As a general rule, horse-drawn ve
— A Newspaper for People Who Think —
hicles were used to carry munitions
and feod through zones of shellfire-—
probably because 'trains or autotrucks
were too valuable and expensive to he
risked. It was only occasionally that
auto-trdcks “fed” batteries near the
front, and then only when the shell
ing was not violent.
Commonly the big camlons (auto
trucks) discharged their loads some
distancg in the rear, and the horse
drawn ammunition wagons then car
ried the supply to the guns at night.
Tlie same roads thut were used by
the teams were also used by little
narrow-gauge wire, corrugated ’jmn
screens for battery protection and® the
mighty shells for the large guns. The
tracks and ties were of steel in rigid
units, each twenty feet long. Thus
if a shell smashed a section it could
be replaced easily,
The engines on these miniature
trains were armored gasolene trucks
—absurd little ‘caterpillars” that
pulled trailers. The roar from their
exhgusts sounded most important
making one expect a~ highpowered
racing autumob¥\» going at least 60
miles an hour; but the actual speeld
was a mere snail's pace.
The army wagons that bumped over
these same roads in the summer all
had straw braiding cutiously woven
around their hubs and spokes. It was
done to protect the wood against dry
ing up and splitting from the heat.
The automobile trucks had enor
mous iron wheels and iron protection
for the radiators. The larger camions
could carry twenty or thirty soldiers
or several tons of ammunition. Some
of these camions dragged two-wheel
trailers that carrled all sorts of things
from field Kkitchens to airplanes.
The reserve supplies (other than
food) were stored in great “parks”
at the terminus of the narrow-gauge
railroads two or three miles behind
the front lines. These big reserve
stcres were supplemented by smaller
piles of material in cellars and dug
outs only a half-mile or so behind the
lines. Barbed wire, iron rods, ready
made narrow wooden sidewalks for
trenches, and chests of ammunibion
often filled the deserted streets of
villages.
On one much-used road our ambu?
lances passed daily within intimate
distance of great mounds of reserve
ammunition for the 765. It was con
cealed under camouflage of painted
cloth and dry bushes, and while it
was some distance from the road, it
was near enough to suggest anxious
speculation on the possible effect of
German shells falling there. We
could well understand the rather
haggard expression of the guards
‘who crouched there in their tiny shel
ters.
~ We had seen an object-lesson at a
place farther in the rear. It was an
area of about a hundred acres which
had been used as the ammunition sup
ply park for'a whole army. Great
stacks of shells had been piled every
where—not only 75's, but 155, 205, 380
and 420 shells. That, however, was
before German ajrplanes found them
and managed to drop bombs on them.
When we saw the park again, there
were only huge holes and the charred
remnants of store houses.
In spite of ' the imminent dangef
from flying machines and from shells,
it was absolutely necessary to pile up
such. reserve supplies in accessible
places, for everything demanded pre
paredriess for instant use. It might
‘have seemed a far cry from ithe in
‘significant gasmask that hung over
the shoulder of every poilu, to the
stacks of wooden crosses that stood
outside of the carpenter shops—but
both masks and crosses taught the
same lesson: instant readiness.
The Grim “Free Groupers.” i
One of the romantic features of the
war was seen by us when we began
to learn something of the men known
as “Free Groupers.” The first knowl
edge that I had of this unique service
was in the sanitary dugout at Ostel,
when a stretcher-bearer brought in a
young Frenchman with two fingers
shot off.
The stretcher-bearer exhibited his
patient's automatic pistol and showed
us notches on the wocden butt. There
were fourteen. “Every one means a
dead Boche,” said the stretcher-bear
er, who then went on to say that he
was a member of the “Free Group,”
which he deceribed to us.
In each battalion of the Chasseurs,
those reckless and daring soldiers
whose fame has spread throughout
the world, there was a group of atout
forty men who had the most danger
ous work of all. They were sent out
to creep in No Man's Land to see
what they could learn, find, capture
or slay.
Some of these men were placed in
the group as a military punishment
for crime. The majority, however,
were volnteers. They were tempted
into the service by the fact that, bhe
sides the opportunity it gave their
adventurous spirit. they were allowed
to rest at ease three or four miles
banind the lines all the time except
at such times when they were actual
ly on duty. Besides, every time one
of these groups captured or killed a
German he received seven days' lcave
of absence and 30 francs for pocket
money. »
.On these raids the Chasseurs did
not carry rifles. Their weapons were
a sharp stiletto-knife and an auto
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matic revolver, with perhaps a pock
etful of hand gren:des. The Free
Groupers always killed the Germanms
unless they had specific orders to the
contrary.
1 the commancing officer of the
patrol said, "We want to examine
some prisoners tonight, boys. Go out
and bring me ten likely looking
Boches,” the men would crawl out,
and generally they returned with the
desired number,
“Here's one of the trench Kknives
those boys use,” said the stretcher
bearer, showing a long, slender knife,
“It's like a bayonet, almost round, and
ridged so that the wound will close
up when the Kknife is out. Such
wounds always get infected, and so
are much more deadly. There's one
chap in the Free Group who knows
how to use this Knife, I can tell you.
He's been in twenty-seven attacks,
and he's only got a scratch on his
hand so far.”
The very next day 1 saw this par
ticular I'ree Grouper. He was sitting
in the dugout, and he laid his left
hind on the table with palm up and
fingers well sperad. Then he lifted
his right hand with the trench-knife
and brought it down like lightning.
Up and down flashed his armed fist,
making passes so swift that we could
see only a grey blur of knife. Yet
each time he stabbed clean and true
into the spaces between his fingers.
“Bah! Matvais!” he growled, all
at once. He had scratched his thumb
and he was angry at himself for his
clumsiness.
“Ah! We are better men than the
Bavarian Free Groupers over there,”
said another Chasseur, pointing to
ward the German lines. "“They carry
their trench-knives in their boots,
clumsy fellows.”
French Impetuosity. .
French impetuosity was one of the
characteristics of the war that the
Americans soon began to accept as an
inseparable part of the poilu’'s tem
perament. “The Chasseurs left the
trenches five minutes before the at
tack was intended to start.” This
was an oft-rapeated report, varying
only in details. Tt illustrates the
striking lifference between French
and German methods of fighting. 1t is
French impetuosity against slower
German efficiency. The mechanical
German never dreams of “going over
the top’ 'before the time that has been
set, or before he gets his orders. The
Frenchmajp, when he gets excited,
‘does what he wants to do, in spite of
all restrictions—and he usually takes
the trench that he is after.
Anothcer characteristic was the ap
parent slackness of the French in
regard to such matters as allowing
men to take notes or make photo
graphs. We had heard so much about
‘the Prussian strictness in that line
that we were astonished at the easy
going French way. ‘Why, 1 can make
practically any photographs 1 want,
and scribble notes all day long,"” said
my chum, Wally. “A German spy
would have an easy time here.”
But it seemed’that their very care
lessness protected the Frenchmen.
Every little while their t,gmperament
al natm‘m‘\made them change in' a
flash from utter slackness to intense
strictness. Then, all at once, the
French organization investigated and
watched and probed with concentrat
ed zeal—and caught their prey, be
‘cause sples, grown too bold, had over
rated the French capacity for cares
lessness.
~ We heard from the French artil
lerymen that the Germans had at
least one way of sometimes stopping
a great British “tank.” “You see,”
said our informant, ‘“the Germans
construct a ditech in front of their
first lines that is exactly so wide and
exactly so deep. If a tank tries to get
over that obstruction, it drops bodily
into ‘the ‘grave.’ And there it stays.
Were the ditch even a foot wider the
tank could crawl down one hide and
up the other with its caterpillar
tractors. Or, if the ditch were a foot
narrower, the tank could straddle it
and so - hitch itself across. But a
ditch of exactly the right measure
ment does the trick. It stalls the tank
long enough for the enemy artillery
to batter it to pieces.
“Of course the trick could be de
feated if the lengths of the tanks
were diverse; but in order to produce
enough of these great machines and
keep them in commission, it has been
necessary to standardize them.
“However, if our artillery can pre
pare the ground thoroughly first, and
can knock these ditches well out ot
shape and prevent the Germans from
repairing them, the tanks are invalu
able for taking the dangerous ‘ma
chine-gun points’ of the Germans—
the miniature concrete forts that the
British call ‘pill boxes.’
“Our French tanks, -which were
used before the British monster, were
only ordinary tractors with armor
plate on the outside. We found that
the German artillery often destroyed
LTI THE
RO\ HIRSCHBERG CO.
8 "‘T‘.j |
‘\f%/ T
PO AR SUPPLIES
W Atlanta Georgia
\
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1918”7
them before they could crawl up even
as far as our own first lines"
One of the war johs that appealed
to venturesome men was the service
known as the ‘Sistenlng posts'
Their work was to crawl out into No
Man's Land and as close to the Ger
man trenches as possible, to listen
for any word or other sound _that
might convey intelligence of a pro
posed movement,
A particularly daring mlssion of the
listening post men was to toss a tele
phone receiver over into a German
trench, and then to retreat, uncoiling
wire as he crawled back. If a
thrower was unsuccessful, he did not
crawl back, as a rule, He did not
come back at all, If he was success
ful, he brought back to his officers
a wire that established telephone
“communication” with the enemy so
well that one could hear even their
whispers, distinguish the thad ot
rifle butts and be apprised of any at
tempted surprise attack.
Often one of these successfully
planted receivers was connected by
wire with the headquarters of a staff
three or four miles in the rear, so
that a general could, if he wished, sit
at his dinner table and near the Ger
mans discussing the war prospects.
The telephone “exchanges” were in
dugouts, often in the sanitary postes
The switchboard of such a central
telephone station wiqiits hundreds of
plugs and its maze df wires looked
exactly like a country telephone
exchange in the United States
—-except that the operator was not
half so attractive to look upon as the
exchange girls dcross the big water.
(Copyright, 1918 by The Wheeler
Syndicate, Inc.)
Next Sunday’s article by Mr. Drake
will be “Where the Red Curtain Falls
on the Land.”
WZ CANHELP YOU SAVETIME, WORRY AND MONEY TOO
~ fE Every Housewife Should
‘;,: | : - . g
G O Investigate the Merits of
Qj e e ~..v....,.‘ 3 i
. L : S
|| :
Y K==l LEONARD
5 5 P
el mig | |
G HI-OVEN RANGES
1 :;v \«:lii y
/I’_ | fl_‘ 10 L{ A three-fuel high oven range that will not
,\“’v’ g ’ l% "( only help you reduce your fuel bills but will.
; ;_"v{;.fi save hours of time and worry for you in your.
[l e el be T cooking and baking. e
i | o N 2 s) £
' iy Db
G- T e A Take the “Ake” Out of Bake -
A=l ]
A ‘;;,“;‘,‘@,;:,:,.f,,‘:;' Ry by using a Leonard Ei-Oven Range., You.
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" A 7 \\ or coal—others burn gas also. It requires less '
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T 1 T W TS OPB TSP, P 8 ™ :
Leonard Hi-Oven Ranges Burn r Sold on Easy Terms ;
Coal, Wood or Gas—lß Different Styles M Destred 3
' : e
THE H 0 0 lE R b R e -
|z Ssl oo H"‘ G » ‘;“'v' S |
= fiJ ) R
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It is wasteful to be with- 8 ‘ -;;és:j,;] [t 'E"‘—
* out this “Automatic @SEENIET] ) ) JLEr=mEal
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ou can own one on such il Ayl iR =
Y f"’ /:(.. \ J;- gy fl"\ }
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Food, time, work anfi money are heing /[‘ '/ "\ fzm 4,;?"*"‘,;; L ":'i!'-i"“ 741\'1‘
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your kitch dsl k (only 5 1 s R s e ptoatd )\ B
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see the many styles we have on display =8 PR FoatEn /| e ‘-f e § )
of this most modern of all time and labor- 3 P r—f‘\,,'a.‘u";lf. »_;:?; j_‘;:_s T ;‘f. !
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rices range PR e fé, aa) _:;%’ T /[é‘. :
SPQ-50 ~ SEM-50 e &
0 , ONE DOLLAR A WEEK
; PAYS FOR A HOOSIER
D
FEBRUARY SALE SPECIAL | | FEBRUARY SALE SPECIAL
DINING ROOM SUITE BEDROOM SUITE
10-plece William and Mary Mahogany 4-piece William and Mary Mahogany .
g mcobean T compinte."worln §167,90 || et drsenee! cimarttes s Yirerto §137.50 |
e :
FEBRUARY SALE SPECIAL | | FEBRUARY SALE SPECIAL
RED CEDAR CHEST SEWING TABLE
A big value, enuine ff‘m‘nwsseke Hw_i Coliapsible sturdily-built, needed in
cedur 45 inchen song. 18 inchen wide, 11 §ADTH | | cvory romme e eeaed i 61 33
W B T A BTN & Nkl BQ4 (é‘; S
® Do .i ‘ g J % rré A ',.x 1‘ .\
23 EAST ALABAMA STREEF :
The only store in Atlanta where Hoosier Kitchen Cabinets and Leonard Hi-Qven Ranges Are Sold
Order by Mail—We Prepay Parcel Post
Decidedly New!
| ecidedly [New:
“The Southem Tie”
| he douthern lie
. A popular spring model, very,
\ # very neat and exceptionally well
o~ \(\L fitting; color, tan, calf, medium
g} weight. sole, covered Louis heels.
\ All sizes;
» all widths .. .iiesivines sl2
&
‘ ousins Shoes Same style, colors, gray kid,
mad inVew Yorks, Persian brown 10
fOt' womel‘b and hlzu-}( e etesmmainsen $
In buying Cousins’ Shoes you are assured the.smartest styles
in America, the highest quality possible and the guarantee of per
fect satisfaction.
Order by Mail—We Prepay Parcel Post
" Money Refunded If Not Satisfied. i
. P. Allen & Co.
49-51-53 Whitehall St,
‘ ATLANTA, GA,
3D