TEN THOUSAND SHALL FALL

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 968, 10 May 1930, Page 24

TEN THOUSAND SHALL FALL

By

DAVID W. KING

(Copyright 1020, by Duffield and Co. Distributed by the King Features Syndicate Inc.)

SYNOPSIS Leaving Harvard, David King, under military age, enlists in the Foreign Legion in France. In a few days, he is in the front-line trenches, wearing the scarlet trousers that made excellent targets for the enemy. All nationalities are represented in the Legion. King’s buddies are “Phil,” an ex-elephant hunter, and Alan Seeger, the American poet, later killed in action. After this baptism of Are, the Legion is back in rest billets, where King witnesses the execution of three French families caught svping. King refuses to partake of roasted cat offered by an Arab, as he had seen it feeding on a corpse. ■’Phil” is injured in a general fight between Americans and foreigners in the Legion. After a leave, King rejoins the Legion which is reviewed by General Leyantey. The American group saves Alan Seeger Serb rousll ' an!i ~ tumble fight with a giant The Legion goes through hard fighting m the battle of Champagne. CHAPTER XI. (Continued i. A cyclist came up with a message. Colonel Le Compte Denny had been wounded and Major Rose was to command the regiment. Petaud took over the battalion, and Lieutenant Hallouette, or “Jo Jo, the Dog-Faced-Boy,” as we called him, took our company. He had been a reserve officer, but was considered too old for active service when the war broke out, so he resigned his commission and enlisted in the Legion. Within a year he had won the Medaille Militaire and was back in his old rank of Lieutenant through sheer efficiency and courage. He was the finest shot in the regiment, and could outlast the best men in his company on the march. Ho carried a full sack and spurned his horse as an example to the men. The battalion advanced in open order and, just at dusk, dug in about two hundred yards back of the Fernie de Navarin. The ground was strewn with little patches of newly turned earth covered with straw, and the first man to step on one went up with a loud bang—field mines. Denny and I were copins de combat (battle side-kicks) so we dug in together. As we flopped down, our hearts stopped: we were bang in the middle of one of those sinister patches of straw! Fortunately it was a dud, so we shifted and went to ground. Our battalion had advanced too far and was enfiladed on the left flank, so moved back to a little ridge some twenty-five yards to the rear. The battalion on the right had taken the Ferme de Navarin but our gunners didn’t know it and our barrage stuck fast, just in front of the farm. The German barrage was some twenty yards back of the farm, so the battalion was boxed. Fritz discovered their predicament first, and shortened his range .... Meantime, we were consolidating our position on the ridge. The Germans turned everything they had on us—shrapnel, marmites (H-E shell), aerial torpedoes, and machine guns. It was raining hard by now—it always rained when the allies attacked —so much so, that we began to think there was something in the “Gott mit uns” slogan. As fast as we dug the holes filled with water. About midnight chaos broke out in the Ferme de Navarin. Wild firing, then the panic-stricken bleating of the battalion holding it, guttural German cheers, and clear-cut. commands of French officers trying to rally their men, (it was a line battalion made up entirely of the young class of 1916), The Boches had counter attacked and the kids had broken and scattered. Suddenly a bugle cut clear and calm through all the noise and confusion—first the regimental call of the Legion, then the rally. The German shouting stopped. There was a half-hearted cheer from the young troops. The Legion went mad. Every man sprang to his feet and whipped out his bayonet The bugle began again—clear and inviting it sounded the charge. This was too much! Low growls ran down the line— We started forward with the long swinging pas de charge. The officers ran out in front, beating us back with the flat of their sabres. “Stay where you are! Don’t fire' We must wait till they are driven back to us and then counter attack*’’ Discipline held —the Legion subsided and waited with grim expectancy* Now the bugler had passed to the double time of the charge! The kids pulled themselves together and fairly hustled the Germans out of the farm. Bugle calls are forbidden in time of I war, to avoid traps. When the confusion started Petaud was visiting the defenders of the farm, followed by the regimental bugler. Sizing up the situation, he immediately ordered the bugler to sound the rally and charge—it did the trick. All the day of the 26th was spent in consolidating our position under heavy shell fire. Alan described it in his poem “Maktoob.’’ “When, not to hear, some try to talk And some to clean their guns, or sing, And some dig deeper in the chalk— I look upon my ring.” September 27th. Waguenenestre brought mail last night. Got six letters. Too dark to see. Wondered if I’d be killed before I could read ’em. Waked by knapsack landing on me. Morlae’s. Roused Ole and Denny and went to investigate. Found same shell buried him alive. Got him out just in time —gasping like fish. Went to sleep again. Attack still going forward. Moved back to reform with Bat. D. Old German trench. Range down pat. Not so good. Raining again. Kitchens came vight up into line —Hot food! CHAPTER XII. Orders! We were to take the Bois de Sabots, on the right of the line, but had to cross the whole field of battle to get into position to attack. We started off by sections in column of twos, four abreast at distances of fifty yards. The Germans spotted us and turned everything loose, but the columns pushed on. Shells burst full in the middle of sections, annihilating the centre. The remaining men picked themselves up and joined sections to their right or left; the march continued. Horrible apparitions crawled out of shell holes and looked at us as we went by. A thing with no face —only four caverns in a red mask, where eyes, nose and mouth had been—mooed and gibbered at us as it heard the clink In Auckland neighbours judge each other by the colour of their washing. Be careful, therefore, to use No Rubbing Laundry Help and earn your neighbour’s commendation. Large packets Is. Auckland grocers.—3.

of accoutrements passing. Some strong-minded humanitarian put a bullet into it as we filed by. We reached a wood. It was like a scene from the underworld—ghostly columns picking their way through shell-torn trees in the smoke and fog of high explosives. A shell burst in the sectioa on the right—it looked like a football scrimmage writhing in agony—a swirl of men and smoue. Shells cracked over our heads—shells tore up the ground in front of us. We took the last gap at the run. All that were left of us joined the remnants of three previous attacks. We crouched at the edge of the Bois de Sabots and peered through the underbrush. Oh Christ .... Two battalions of the Legion and one of Chasseurs Alpins were stretched out In skirmish order in front of the German barbed wire. The alignment

was perfect—the men were dead. We felt pretty sober till Ole Nielson began to sing “Ragtime Cowboy Joe.’’ The section took it up with a roar, convulsed with mirth at the line. “No one but a lunatic would start a war.” The other Legiouaires grinned, but tbe Chasseurs Alpins looked a each other in horror, convinced we had gone mad. “Quatre hommes de bonne volontee!” Commandant Rose wriggled forward wit hthem to reconnoitre. The place was stiff with machine guns and the barbed wire was not touched. A brief report to the General, demanding guns to blow a way through the wire—then we waited. Rose had nerve. Just given command of the regiment, and his first act of initiative was to refuse to order a hopeless attack. . He could have covered himself with glory while directing it in safety, from the rear. God, what a soldier he was! Sept. 29th. Back last night where we started from. Repeated whole bloody performance today. Dug in Shot up by our own guns again. Bois de Sabots outflanked and taken. Few losses. Sept. 30th. Spent night convert ing German positions. Prying roof off dog kennel, needed planks. Out bounced Jo Jo, the dog faced boy. Sept. 31st. Still digging, cleaning out Germ, dugouts. Found amusing p.c. to Germ, from girl—- “ The troops on the eastern front are performing miracles of bravery and strategy. Why don’t you advance? Do you know what people are saying in Berlin? ’ln the east is an army of brave men. In the west are the village firemen.' ” Wonder how Fritz laughed off retreat. Fred found jar gun grease In dugout. Started to clean rifle — turned out to be honey. Better and better, said Alice. Oct. Ist. Relieved last night. 30 Kiloms.. to rear for rest. Everyone dead beat. 50 min. march. 10 min. rest. Dropped in our tracks. Had to be kicked awake. Reformed with remains Ist and 2nd Etrangers—one regiment. Oct. 6th. Back to line yesterday. In immediate reserve today. Lost heavily .... The work of consolidating the line began, grabbing off sectors still held by the Germans to roiyul out the position, burying the dead—simple enough once you know the trick. We would dig a hole beside the man and roll him in. As time was short, the holes were shallow. Men take strange positions in death. They did not always fit the grave, and some one would stand on the arms and legs, to keep them down while the others shovelled furiously. But when they have been dead a day or so, they are like enormous dolls with limbs worked by i elastics. In some cases the burial party miscalculated the amount of earth needed to hold them down, and as the man standing on the corpse stepped aside, an arm or leg would slowly rise through the loose sand and earth, in mute protest. * * * Oct. 19th, 1916. “Dear Gerald: I’m not going to write you a word about the battle . . . but I managed to snap some photos from time to time, and if they come out, I'll tend

you some prints One thing bores me like hell. We were going to work Indian file. A. shell burst near us, and my friend Fred who was walking just ahead of me, gave a funny little squeak and fell back into my arms, fighting for breath and clutching at his side. There was another man scratched, and screaming like a stallion; as the stretcher men were around him, I picked Fred up and carried him down to the poste de secours. The shells were getting thicker and I was making the best time I could, so yq« can imagine my rage when I discovered he was still hanging on to his rifle. At the dressing station we found it was only a broken rib. Thank God it hadn’t penetrated his lung . . .” * * « The Legion had been so cut to pieces that the Powers That Be had almost decided to send it back to Africa. The volunteers were given the alternative, however, of going into a French regiment. Rose called us together. “You’re leaving the Foreign Legion—for God’s sake don’t go and spread the usual lies about it. We’re not all cut-throats, perverts and sneak thieves. We’re men who have had troubles of our own. We’re a hard fighting regiment of professional soldiers, and we’ve won a glorious name. Don’t go and smirch it! You’ve come up to standard —I’m sorry to lose you. Good luck!” “Jo Jo” shook hands with me twice, apd said something I’m prouder ol

than any of my decorations —and I never even thought he had noticed me .... And we marched down to join our new regiment—the 170th In- ' fantry—“les Hirondelles de la Mort.” CHAPTER XIII. WE LEAVE AND RELIEVE THE LEGION Out of the frying pail into the fire— Another attacked division! Thirtytwo kilometres down—thirty-two kilometres back, the next day. By" irony of fate, the 170th relieved the Legion. No rest for the wicked. Then began the long drawn-out business of consolidating the ground taken in the advance; not very startling to read about in the communiques. It was a dreary stretch—a blur of cold misery and overwork and mud. The nights were the worst. Two hours guard or outpost duty with eyes and ears strained—two hours’ work—carrying enormous logs, rolls of barbed wire, stakes and gabions through tortuous mud-filled boyeaux, driving posts and stringing barbed wire outside the lines, filling sand bags and repairing trenches demolished during the day—then toward morning the long tramp to the kitchens to bring up food for the next day—and at dawn everyone standing to arms. One of our listening posts was only eight yards from a German outpost. The parapet was made of German and French dead, and the shallow communication trench leading to it was strewn with Germans. The ground above the trench was swept by machine gun fire day and night so that the re : lieving guard scuttled along it bent almost double—no time to throw the corpses over the side. A huge Prussian grenadier half-way along it we dubbed “Croaking Conrad” for if one stepped on his middle he still uttered a guttural frog-like croak. In the post we sat, slept, even ate, sitting on corpses. But the night we were relieved came my breaking point. In the narrow entrance one of the relief bumped me and I lost my balance, I grabbed the parapet behind me to save myself from falling, and was almost sick as I felt a face come away under my hand. For days everything I ate or touched smelled of putrid flesh. The Germans had advanced a machine gun post some twenty yards beyond their lines; very annoying to us. Seven of us climbed over, picked our way through the wire and began the usual business—wriggling through mud and over corpses, a rocket —stop, darkness—we scuttled forward. Our orders were to throw two bombs apiece and then get back as best we could. A black mound loomed up—a whispered' command and fourteen grenades were hurled in rapid succession, wrecking the gun. Instantly, machine guns in the German line began to rake the spot. All the way out I had been doing j some hard thinking. "Sauve qui peaut,” all very well—but where? Lie down till it blew’ over? Yell, and be mopped up on the ground—not enough cover for a rabbit. Head straight back? Forty yards, and you can’t beat a bullet. I ran parallel to : the German lines till out of the zone |

of cross fire, and then cut back to our own lines. Three lay down and three raced bullets. I got home. The Germans were strafing us more every day. They would begin at one end of a regimental front, hammer their way along it, let up for half an hour, and then begin again. At this time Fritz started the retarded fuse shells. We heard -the dull thuds of the departure, the menacing crescendo whistle, then four more dull thuds. For a moment we thought they were duds, and cheered hilariously from sheer relief. A second later four muffled explosions, and cubic yards of earth, rock and chalk were hurled into the air. This was something new and. nasty! I heard the swish and howl of a shell, and ducked behind a traverse. Sudden blackness—and I was struggling desperately for light and air under an avalanche of earth and sand bags. It seemed hours —but it could only have been seconds —before they cleared my head and dug me out. I looked around groggily, my knees trembling, on the verge of horrors. Did the sergeant tell me to go down to the dressing station, to sit down and think over my narrow escape and work myself up into a state of shell shock? He did not. The first thing I heard w|; a curse and a roar: “You holy bit of blood sausage! Don’t you i know there, are others buried alive.

too? Grab a tool and help dig them out! Make it snappy!” He took control of my mind before I had time to realise the shock, and directed it along normal channels. As I tore around the other traverse where the men were buried, I saw a pick and shovel. Even as I ran, my mind decided the question which to take. Buried men—might kill them with a pick—better take the shovel. Snatching it up in my stride I got to work. Next morning the mist cleared suddenly, as it had a habit of doing at the front, and out beyond their wire was a German working party. I flung my rifle to my shoulder, closing my left eye—blank. What the . . . . ? I rubbed my eye and tried again—still nothing. That shell had made trouble after all ... . Later, the oculist told me that it was due to .the concussion. No chance of the aviation now — but after all I had one eye left. In any other army, I would probably have been coddled into a case of shell shock. This being the French Army, I learned to shoot from my left shoulder. The matter was closed. Hec. 5, 1915. “ They have stuck me in the peloton des eleves sous-offs for 20 days hard, so it looks as if I won’t ever get my four days home. Good Lord, they work us hard! Yesterday they had a little endurance race with our equipment and rifles, I didn’t shine. And like the damphool I was my cartridge pouches were full. .All the others had emptied theirs moons ago. Never again! I have now arrived at the magnificent state of Soldat premiere- classe —a distinction, but not a grade. I am entitled to wear one black stripe on my arm, but up to the present have been too lazy to sew it on. Hence earning a reputation of having a magnificent indifference for all military grades and honours . . . . *■ Just at present, I’m leading one hell of a life —neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring. We are en repos, waiting and getting ready for the dance this spring. If you want j to know what sort of life it is, read \ Kipling’s ‘Gentleman Rankers.’ Almost | all my friends have been wounded or j have passed into the aviation. I can’t, on account of my right eye. Well, Gerald, if- I don’t get it this spring, you had better stick close to me all your life, for I bear a charmed life. They have put me into the-.‘Chucka de bombsky’ squad (Grenadiers); that means that we lead off the attack and try to put the machine guns'and crews out before they can get the second wave j which follows us. It has its advantages, j though. We don’t have to carry a sack in action, and there is talk of taking our rifles away and giving us automatic pistols. As I’ve packed an automatic right through the war, plus fifty rounds, it will relieve me of the damned old blunderbuss and the 250 rounds of rifle ammunition. In spite of what we know is coming, most of us are looking forward to it. Anything but this inactive life away from the front, and at the same time far from civilisation This letter is getting so long that I already have grave doubts if the censors will let is by, so I think I will ; ring off. Don’t be uneasy about the spring. I’ve got the same hunch I’ve j had since the beginning that I will get by without a scratch. In haste, AfL'ec.. Ding.” (To be continued on Monday.) j

DR. MARGARET KNIGHT ADDRESSES MT. ROSKILL BRANCH OF MOTHERS' LEAGUE i

The Mount Roskill branch of the League of Mothers held a. well-at-tended meeting last week, when Dr. Margaret Knight gave a most instructive lecture on cancer in its earliest stages. Questions were invited and an- , swered. : JUVENILE PANTOMIME \ STAGED AT TAKAPUNA FOR LEAGUE FENDS i •'Revels in Joyland” ivas the title ■ of a colourful juvenile pantomime 1 staged at the Palladium Theatre, Takai puna, on Thursday evening, the pro- { ceeds being devoted to the social work f carried on by the Waitemata Women’s 5 Progressive League. Clever acting and singing, together with some arresting 1 tableaux, were the features of the proj duction, which was given under the j direction of Mrs. G. P. Reston. g The lighting effects were under the a control of Mr. Townsend, and the n whole production spoke of long and patient training upon the part of those responsible. During the evening the Mayor of Takapuna, Mr. J. W. Williamson, paid a glowing tribute to the work of the W.W.P.L., in the relief of cases of distress in the borough. The cast comprised:—Josie Mascelle (Prince Charming), Jean Reston (Dolly Dimples), Marjorie Hall (Fairy Queen), Paula Reston (Piccalilli), Peter Brown (Mango), Eric Lewis (Schoolmaster), Kancy Richardson (Dick Whittington), Marian Shaw (Chinese Buddah), Joy Corfe (Marjorie), Pixie Bestic (Dancing Girl). The charming minuet party consisted of Josie Mascelle, Jean Reston, Margaret Shaw, Molly Madden, Nancy Richardson, Joy Corfe, Joan James, Grace Geran, Beatrice Andrews, Louie Armitage and Sue Lawrence. Others taking part were:—lsobel Noyer, Joyce Bentley, Merline Lamb, Joan Madden, Tessie Madden, Ursula Martin, Joan Henderson, Dulcie Corfe, Joan Swann, Cherry Nesbitt and Pauline Watts. Y.W.C.A. ACTIVITIES The monthly meeting of the Y.W.C.A. board of directors was held yesterday. Mrs. J. A. Bradstreet, president, was in the chair and a large amount of business was transacted. Reports of the conference, of the Y.W.C.A. Federation of Clubs held at Plimmerton were given by Misses Phoebe Wood and Bentlxam. Miss Phyllis Phillips, the new supervisor of the Health and Recreation Department, was introduced to the board and welcomed. It was stated that the gymnasium classes were proving ijppular and attendances improving weekly. Hockey and basketball had satisfactory enrolments. The second term would commence shortly. Miss M. Allsop was also welcomed as a trainee.

Miss A. McCrea, girls’ work secretary, reported on the Easter camp, which 70 Girl Citizens had attended. She also spoke on the Membership Drivje, which, would take place at .the end of the month, and it was hoped to double the number of Girl Citizens. A very active committee under the chairmanship of Miss Pat Gelling is working out the details. It was decided to oppose any legislation which purports to provide for the training of nurses in private hospitals. Members decided that they would join wholeheartedly in helping to make the reception to Lady Bledisloe, to be held on May 20, a success. Miss Begg reported that the hostel had every bed occupied, and a demand for both transient and permanent guest room. The numbers in clubs are increasing each night and two new clubs are forming. Club girls were enjoying especially the gymnasium and classical dancing work. One club lias decided to be a branch of the League of Nations Union and will study international projects. Arrangements for the visit of Yuki Ivimura San in June are well in hand. It was decided to hold a members’ welcome party and the board will be “At Home’’ to the members of the women’s societies who wish to meet Miss Kimura. A girls’ rally will be held on June 29, when any girl in Auckland may attend and hear Miss Kimura speak. The renovating of the prayer room by the Senior Club girls is almost completed and next month there will be a service of re-dedication.