‘m i: top
m mmm soldier
WHO WENT * *
ADTIHMUYEMY
machine: gunner, jerying in etmnce
&l%7 BY
ARTHUR CUYCMPCY
CHAPTER |.
From Mufti to Khaki.
It was in an office in Jersey City.
I was sitting at my desk talking to
n lieutenant of the Jersey National
Guard, tin the wall was a hig war
map decorated with variously colored
little flags showing the position of the
opposing armies on the western front
In France. In front of me on the desk
lay a New York paper with hig flaring
headlines:
LUSITANIA SUNK! AMERICAN
LIVES LOST!
The windows were open and a feel
ing of spring pervaded the air.
Through the open windows came the
strains of a hurdy-gurdy playing in the
street—“I Didn’t Raise Mv Boy to Be
a Soldier.”
“Lusitania Sunk! American Lives
Lost!’’—“r Didn’t Raise My Boy to
Be a Soldier.” To Us these did not
seem to jibe.
The lieutenant In silence opened one
of the lower drawers of his desk and
took from it an American flag which
he solemnly draped over the war map
on the wall. Then, turning to me with
a grim face, said:
“How about It, sergeant? You had
better get out the muster roll of the
Mounted Scouts, as I think they will
ne needed in the course of a few days.”
We busied ourselves till late in the
evening writing out emergency tele
grams for the men to report when the
.call should come from Washington.
Then we went home.
. I crossed over to New York, and as
,1 went up FultOP street to tal$e the
subway to Brooklyn, the lights in the
•tall buildings of New Y'ork seemed to
lie burning brighter than usual, as if
they, too, had read “Lusitania Sunk!
American Lives Lost!” They seemed
to he glowing with auger and righteous
indignation, and their rays wigwagged
the message, “Repay!”
Months passed, the telegrams lying
handy, but covered with dust. Then,
one momentous morning the lieutenant
with a sigli of disgust removed the
flag from the war map and returned
*
Guy Empey. —
V —
to his desk. I immediately followed
this action by throwing the telegrams
into the wastebasket. Then we iooked
at each other in silence. He was
squirming in his chair and I felt de
pressed and ugeasy.
e T!i? telephone rang and I answered
It. It was a business call for me, re
questing my services for an out-o?
awn assignment. Business was not
■very good, so this was very welcome.
After listening to the proposition I
-seemed to be swayed by a peculiarly
strong force within me, and answered,
“1 am sorry that I cannot accept your
offer, but I am leaving for England
next week,” and hung up the receiver.
The lieutenant swung around In his
chair, and sinred at me In blank aston
ishment. A sinking sensation came
over me, hut I defiantly answered his
look with, “Well, it's so. I'm going.”
And I went.
The trip across was uneventful. I
landed at Tilbury, England, then got
into a string of matchbox ears and
proceeded to London, arriving there
about 10 p. ug I took a room In a hotel
ne«r St. Paneras station for "five and
six fire exlra." The room was minus
the fire, but the "extra” seemed to
keep me warm. That night there was
a Zeppelin raid, but I didn't see much
of It, because the silt in the curtains
was too small and I had no desire to
make It larger. Next morning the tel
ephone bell rang, and someone asked,
“Are you there?” I was, hardly. Any
way. I learned that the Zeps hnd re
turned to their fatherland, so I went
out Into the street expeettng to se«
aceues of awful devastation and a cuts
erlng populace, but everything was
normal. People were calmly proceed
ing to their work. Crossing the
street, I accosted a Bobbie with :
“Can you direct me to the place of
damage?”
He asked me, “What damage?”
In surprise, I answered, “Why, the
damage caused by the Zeps.”
With a wink he replied:
“There *as no damage; we missed
them again.”
Alter several fruitless inquiries of
tlie passersby, I decided to go on my
own In search of ruined buildings and
scenes of destruction. I boarded a bus
which carried me through Tottenham
Court road. Recruiting posters were
everywhere. The one that impressed
me most was a life-size picture of
Lord Kitchener with his finger point
ing directly at me. under the caption
of “Your King and Country Need You.”
No matter which way I turned, the
accusing finger followed me. I was
an American, in mufti, and had a little
American flag in the lapel of my coat.
I had no king, and my country had
seen fit not to need me, but still that
pointing finger made me feel small and
ill at ease. I got off the bus to try
to dissipate this feeling by mixing
with the throng of the sidewalks.
Presently I came to a recruiting of
fice. Inside, sitting at a desk was a
lonely Tommy Atkins. I decided to in
terview him in regard to joining the
British army. I opened the door. He
looked up and greeted me with “I s’y.
myte, want to tyke on?”
I looked at him and answered, “Well,
whatever that is, I’ll take a chance
at it.”
Without the aid of an interpreter, I
found out that Tommy wanted to know
If I cared to join th-' British army. He
asked me: “Did you ever hear of the
Royal Fusiliers?” Well, in London,
you know, Yanks arc supposed to know
everything, so I was not going to ap
pear ignorant and answered, “Sure.”
After listening for one half-hour to
Tommy’s tale of their exploits on the
tiring line, I decided to join. Tommy
took me to the recruiting headquarters,
where I met a typical English captain.
He asked my nationality. I immedi
ately pulled out my American passport
and showed it to him. It was signed
by Lansing. After looking at the
passport, he informed me that he was
sorry but could not enlist me, as it
would be a breach of neutrality. I
Insisted that I was not neutral, be
cause to me it seemed that a real
American could not be neutral when
big things were in progress, but the
captain would not enlist me.
With disgust in my heart I went out
in the street. I had gone about a
block when a recruiting sergeant who
had followed me out of the office
tapped me on the shoulder with his
swagger stick and said: "S’y, I can
get you in the army. We have a ‘lef
tenant’ down at the other office who
can do anything. He has just come
out of the O. T. C. (Officers’ Training
corps) and does not know what neu
trality Is.” I decided to take a chance,
and accepted his Invitation for an In
troduction to the lieutenant. I entered
the office and went up to him, opened
up my passport and said:
"Before going fu? her T wish to state
that T am an American, not too proud
to JJghU and wapj u? join your army.”
He looted nt^rcie in a' nonchalant
manner, and answered, “That’s all
right; we take anything over here.”
I looked at him kind of hard aniT re
plied, “So I notice,” but it went over
his head.
He gof out an enlistment blank, and
placing his finger on a blank line said,
"Sign here.”
T ansWred, “Not on your tintype.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Then I explained to him that I would
not sign It without first reading it. 1
read It over and signed for duration of
war. Some of the recruits were lucky.
They signed for seven years only!
Then he asked me my birthplace. I
1 answered, “Ogden, Utah.”
He said, “Oh, yes, Just outside o(
New York?”
With a smile. I replied, “Well, It’s up
the state a little.”
Then I was taken before the doctni
and passed as' physically fit. and was
Issued a uniform. When I reported
j back to the lieutenant, he suggested
i that, being an American, I go on re
j crulttng service and try to shame sonu
of the slaekers Into Joining the army.’
“All you have to do.” he said, “Is tc
go out on the street, and when you se«
a young fellow In mufti who look?
physically fit. just stop him and glvi
; him this kind of a talk: ‘Aren’t yoi
ashamed of yourself, a Britisher, phya
loally fit, ami in mufti when your kln|
and country need you? Don’t yoi
know that your corn try is at war an<
that the place for every young Brltoi
Is on the firing Urn ? Here I am. hi
American, In kliakl, who came fou
thousand miles to fight for your kln|
aid country, and you, as yet, have no
enlisted. Why don’t you Join' Now
| Is the time.’
“This argument ought to get many
; recruits, Emppy, so go out aj i see
what you can do.”
He then gave me a small rns. te of
red. white nnd blue ribbon, with three
little streamers hanging down. This
was the recruiting Insignia am! was
to he worn on the left side of thl cap.
Armed with a swagger stick awj my
. pntriotlc rosette, I went out Into, Tot
tenham Court road In quest of cannon
fodder.
Two or three poorly dressed civil
ians passed me, nnd although they ap
peared physically fit. I said to myself.
“They don’t want to Join the army;
I perhaps they have someone dependent
jon thorn for support,” so I did not ac
icost them.
Coming down the street I saw a
young dandy, top hat and all. with a
fashionably dressed girl walking be
side him. I muttered, “You nre m.v
J meat,” and when he came abreast of
me I stepped directly in his path and
stopped him with my swagger stick,
i saying:
“You would look fine In khaki; why
not change that top hat for a steel
helmet? Aren’t you ashamed of your
self. a husky young chap like ynU in
mufti when men are needed in the
trenches? Here I am, an American,
r--—i
Swearing in a Recruit,
came four thousand miles from Ogden,
j Utah, just outside of New York, to
fight for your king and country. Don’t
be a slacker, buck up and get into uni
form ; come over to the recruiting of
fice and I’ll havv you enlisted.”
He yawned and answered, “I don’t
care if you fame forty thousand rnihds.
no one asked you to,” and he walked
on. The girl gave me a sneering look;
I was speechless.
I recruited for three weeks and near
ly got one recruit.
1 This perhaps was not the greatest
stunt in the world, but it got back at
the officer who had told me, “Yes. we
take anything over here.” I had been
spending a good lot of my recruiting
time in the saloon bar of the Wheat
Sheaf pub (there was a very attractive
blonde barmaid, who helped kill time—
I was not us serious in those days as
I was a little later when I reached
the front)—well, it was the sixth day
and my recruiting report was blank.
I was getting low In the pocket—bar
maids haven’t much use for anyone
who cannot buy drinks—so I looked
: around for recruiting material. \Tou
; know a man on recruiting service gets
a “bob” or shilling for every recruit
he entices into joining the army, the
recruit is supposed to get this, but he
would not be a recruit If he were wise
to this fact, would he?
Down at the end of the bar was a
young fellow in mufti who was very
i patriotic—he hod about four “Old
J Six” ales aboard. He asked me If he
could join, showed me his left hand.
! two fingers were missing, but I said
taat did not matter as “we take any
* thing over here.” The left hand Is
the rifle hand as the piece is carried
at the slope on the left shoulder. Near
ly everything In England is “by the
left,” even general traffic keeps to the
7 took the applicant over to herd
quarters, where he was hurriedly ex
! amined. Recruiting surgeons were
busy in those days and did not have
i much time for thorough physical exam
j lnations. My recruit was passed as
“tit’’ by the doctor and turned over to
i a corporal to make note of his scars.
I was mystified. Suddenly the corpo
ral burst out with, “Rlime me, two of
his fingers are gone.” Turning to me
he said, “You certainly have your
' nerve with you, not ’alf you ain't, to
bring this beggar in.”
The doctor came over and exploded,
“What do you mean by bringing in a
man in this condition?"
Looking out of the corner of my eye
T noticed that the officer who had re
cruited me had Joined the group, and
I could not help answering, “Well, sir,
I was told that you took anything over
here."
I think they called it “Yankee lm
pudence," anyhow it ended my.recrult
lng.
(To be Continued Monday)
-«
Clell Hobson while out in a skiff >n
Gastineau channel suffered an icy
: bath and it was only by chance that
j he was rescued from drowning. Two
, natives, hearing his cry. Jumped into
i a skiff and rowed to his rescue. It was
only after several hour*' hard work
[ that Hobson was revived.
/
IS ' ■
I®
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Easter
Greeting
§
m
• 3
“Men and nations ar^ at their
worst or at their best in any
great struggle. The spoken
word may light the fires of
passion and unreason or it
may inspire to highest action
and noblest sacrifice a nation
of freemen.”
—Woodrow Wilson
E§a
ig m
- jj
fot Ms Srsslur |
At this EASTER SEASON that the 1
spirit of true patriotism and j
sacrifice will guide us
until our cause
is won. ?
I
•r,
I I
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The First Bank
of Cordova