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Title: Best Stories of the 1914 European War
Author: Various
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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by the Library of Congress)


     Photo by International News Service.

                             Best Stories

                                OF THE


                             European War

                       COMPILED FROM ALL SOURCES

                          COPYRIGHT 1914, BY
                   J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.

                               NEW YORK
                            57 ROSE STREET

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                              WAR STORIES


The correspondent of the _Daily News and Leader_ of London sends from
Ostend this graphic story of the scenes where one of the greatest
battles in the world’s history took place:

“Taking advantage of the lull we got out of Namur early this morning,
taking crossroads and lanes in front of the Belgian and French lines.
The allied forces were pushing the Germans back under great guns placed
along the northern line. The fields and low hills were alive with moving
troops, columns of cavalry with light guns moving into position and long
snakes of infantry.

“An officer warned us in a lane to wait there. He said: ‘We’ve run down
some Uhlans in those woods.’ We waited half an hour. No movement in the
sunny fields, nothing to be seen. Then suddenly out of a wood we saw
four horsemen dash and we heard the snap of rifle shots on the far side
of a field.

“The next instant there was a running fire of invisible muskets. Three
of the horses fell. The fourth man fell from the saddle and was dragged
through the stubble, his foot being caught in the stirrup. One of the
others got up, leaving his horse and walking a few steps. He then fell.

“We were accompanied by a squad to Mazy. There we were blocked for two
hours. Slowly through the village (no peasants or children showing now)
defiled regiment after regiment of French cavalry, glorious fellows with
their helmets covered with dust, their colored cuirasses dull with rust,
dusty trappings and uneasy horses. It was not the glitter of a parade,
but the infinitely more impressive savage, bronzed columns of war.

“A line of Belgian artillery, then light horse and lancers, and finally
cyclists and a detachment of the Red Cross ambulances passed up the
lanes out to the hills with a sort of rustling, intense silence. There
was no drum nor music. This is war. For many of these grave and bronzed
men, with here and there a fierce negroid African, we were the last link
with the life of the towns. In a few days, perhaps in a few hours, they
will be lying in long, nameless trenches in the fields.”


A correspondent of the _Dernière Heure_ sent back to Brussels from the
front writes of the fighting he saw as follows:

“The fighting started at Geetbetz at dawn. At 3.30 A. M. a German
aeroplane flew low over our front. Several volleys were fired and the
aeroplane fell within the German lines. After several feints the attack
developed about 6 o’clock. Strong forces of German cavalry and infantry,
supported by artillery, including machine guns, poured down on the
village and a furious battle was soon raging all along the seven-mile

“While the Belgian cavalry were acting as infantry behind the earthworks
part of the German cavalry got behind them and shot the horses. Inch by
inch the ground was fought. Hundreds of Germans were slain. In the
relentless move forward the Belgian defenders suffered rather serious

“At Bubingen the resistance was equally praiseworthy. In a trench where
seven cavalrymen were making a great fight, Lieut. Count Wolfgangen
Durel was struck by a bullet in the head. His companions pressed around
him as he fell. ‘It’s all up with me,’ he said. ‘Leave me and do your
duty.’ He breathed his last a few minutes later.

“At this point two Belgian squadrons, about 240 men, showed magnificent
bravery. They held 2,000 Germans back. In spite of the superior numbers
the enemy had no distinct advantage over this handful of determined
fellows. They would have died to a man, but their mission of holding the
enemy in check for a few hours terminated when the retreat was sounded.”


War incidents which show how the French present a smiling front in the
face of the war are related from Paris:

At the Gare de L’Est, the eastern railway station where troops by the
thousand were leaving for the German frontier, wives, mothers, sisters
and sweethearts met and wept in multitudes. But a French soldier turned
the tragedy into comedy. On a large cardboard he imitated the signs
announcing the destinations of trains in time of peace and hung it on
the military special. It read:

“Holiday excursion to Berlin.”

Whereupon the women dried their tears and laughed.

A woman, her face very white, came out of one of the municipal offices
at which official information is given of the death or injury of French
soldiers. Four sons had left her a few days before to join the colors.
Another woman came up to her and said:

“Have you good news of your sons? My Jean is safe.”

“Yes,” the first mother replied, “they are all safe. They are safe in
the arms of the Father. I am proud to give all to the cause.”


The Petrograd correspondent of the _Daily Mail_ telegraphed:

“At the last interview which Prince Hohenlohe, the Austrian military
attaché, had with the Russian military authorities before the war he
expressed surprise that the Russians were requisitioning so many

“Your roads are so bad,” he said.

“But yours are so good,” was the reply.


Here are some additional details of the sinking of the British cruiser
_Amphion_ when she hit a mine laid by the Germans off Harwich:

“It was 6.30 o’clock when the _Amphion_ struck the mine. A sheet of
flame instantly engulfed the bridge. The captain was rendered insensible
and he fell to the floor. As soon as the captain recovered consciousness
he rang to the engineers to stop the engines, which were still going at
revolutions for twenty knots. As all the forward part of the _Amphion_
was on fire it was found impossible to reach the bridge or flood the
fore magazine.

“The ship’s back appeared to be broken and she was already settling down
by the bows. All efforts therefore were directed to placing the wounded
in places of safety in case of an explosion and in getting the cruiser
in tow by the stern.

“By the time the destroyers had closed in it was clearly time to abandon
the ship. The men fell in for this purpose with the same composure that
had marked their behavior throughout. All was done without hurry or
confusion and twenty minutes after the cruiser struck the mine the men,
the officers, and lastly the captain had left the ship.

“Three minutes after the captain had left another explosion occurred.
This enveloped and blew up the entire fore part of the vessel. The
effect of this showed that the _Amphion_ must have struck the second
mine, which exploded the fore magazine. Débris falling from a great
height struck the rescue boats and the destroyers and one of the
_Amphion’s_ shells burst on the deck of one of the destroyers, killing
two Englishmen and one German prisoner.”


The firing at Tirlemont and Louvain is described by the Ostend
correspondent of the London _Express_, who witnessed it from a church
tower at Tirlemont first and later proceeded to Louvain. He says:

“About 1 o’clock came the sound of the first German gun. The artillery
had opened fire.

“From the church tower it was possible to see distinctly the position of
German guns and the bursting of shells. The Belgians replied from east
of Louvain. It was a striking sight to the accompaniment of the
ceaseless thud, thud of bursting shells with their puffs of cotton-like
smoke, tearing up peaceful wheat fields.

“Gradually working near, the shells began to strike the houses in
Tirlemont. This was a signal for the populace to flee blindly. The scene
was like the rushing of rats from a disturbed nest. The people fled in
every direction except one.

“I moved down to Louvain, where everything seemed peaceful. The people
sat in the cafés drinking their evening beer and smoking. Meanwhile the
Belgian troops were retiring toward Louvain. By midnight the town was in
the throes of a panic. Throngs of refugees had begun to arrive,
followed later by soldiers. By 11 o’clock the Belgian rear guard was
engaging the enemy at the entrance to the town.

“I remember watching a black-clad Belgian woman running straight down
the middle of a road from the Germans. Behind her came the retiring
Belgian troops, disheartened but valiant. This woman, clad in mourning,
was the symbol of the Belgian populace. All about Tirlemont and Louvain
the refugees continually interfered with the work of the troops.”


A Central News correspondent who saw the fighting near Louvain writes:

“The roar of cannon is still ringing in my ears. The Belgians had a
strong position around Louvain. The Germans advanced by three different
roads. The defenders held out until the Germans brought their heavy
artillery into play. Then the Belgians evacuated to save the beautiful
old place from destruction.

“Louvain to-day presented a wonderful if terrible spectacle. Bleeding,
riderless horses galloped into town. With them came the Belgian advance
guard who had been in action.

“Thirty Gardes Civiques, shut up behind a wooden barrier without arms,
exclaimed passionately at their enforced peacefulness. Homeless crowds
surged aimlessly about the streets. Now and then farmers cycled
furiously into the town to complain of houses occupied or horses
stolen. The Belgian outposts were twenty-seven miles away and the place
undefended, so nothing could be done.

“The utter, hopeless agitation of a population unable to do anything for
itself, forced to surrender home after home and forbidden to resist, was
a very painful sight. It cannot occur often, even in this war.

“Undefended towns when abandoned by the soldiery generally have warning
first. But these Uhlans seemed to have dropped out of the sky, and when
the Belgian civilians looked about they found their own army gone.”


A _Times_ correspondent says that the laconic reports of the French
Minister of War give little idea of the desperate struggle that occurred
around the villages along the Lorraine border. Point after point was
taken and retaken, he says.

He gives the following story of the fighting at the village of
Badonviller in France, west of Schirmeck, as told by the villagers: “The
village was occupied by a battalion of chasseurs as a covering force was
prepared for defense by numerous trenches. The battle began on August
10. The Germans bombarded the village, compelling the chasseurs to
evacuate it. The latter retired on Celles, and afterward took up a
position on Donon Ridge.

“After nightfall the Germans increased the bombardment, and the
inhabitants sought refuge in cellars, as a continuous rain of shells
kept wrecking the houses and setting them afire. It was a terrible
sight. Women fell on their knees and prayed, while children cried

“The chasseurs retired, defending every house, foot by foot, and making
the Germans feel their fire. The sun rose on a village in ruins. It had
been under bombardment fifteen hours. When the Germans entered, they
fired first on all the windows and down loopholes into the cellars. No
corner was spared.”


Wiring his experiences in Brussels, the correspondent of the London
_Daily News_ said:

“I was stopped by an enormous crowd of refugees flocking along the
Brussels road, on foot and in vehicles and by Red Cross cars. The sight
was pitiful. Of the people leaving their homes by far the greater number
were women. Many of them had young children along whose fathers were at
the front.

“Fear and ignorance have seized the mob. As I was going out a peasant
fired his double-barreled gun at my motor, mistaking my fishing hat for
a German helmet. The shot blew the tail lamp to pieces. To prevent far
worse trouble for him, I stopped the car and got the gun from him and
broke it across the breech, for undoubtedly a German soldier will
retaliate on any civilians who use arms.

“Brussels is now curiously quiet. Big crowds are gathering round the
stations to watch the wounded passing through. I do not think the panic
will be great. A gendarme told me of one old woman who arrived at the
barricades driving six sheep. She did not want the Germans to have them.
She was willing the Belgian soldiers should have them if they would keep
her safe.

“‘Perhaps,’ she added, ‘the Queen and princes might need some mutton.’

“Of the defenses at Antwerp it is not necessary to speak. They are as
nearly impregnable as any can be. Details of fighting are of course
difficult. One can get no soldier who knows what happens outside his own
experience. The field guns seem to have done deadly work on the
advancing infantry. The policy of shooting at officers was kept up as at

“As I went to Antwerp early in the morning a great German monoplane with
curved wings and fan-shaped tail followed the railway, keeping exact
pace with the express train from Brussels till we were halfway to
Antwerp. The movement of vast bodies of troops in secret is now
impossible with these military eyes everywhere in the skies.”


Alfred Stead, correspondent of the London _Daily Express_, sends from
Ostend this narrative of two press photographers who saw some of the
German advance on Brussels:

“At Louvain, where our automobile arrived at 7 o’clock in the evening,
everything was as quiet as usual, with the residents sitting drinking
their bocks at a café in the square. Then some German prisoners were
brought in and the suffering fellows were jolting and bobbing about in
ordinary wagons, enduring agonies. Firing was heard in the distance, and
from Tirlemont the troops came in, retiring in good order. The troops
were in good spirits.

“All the way to Louvain the photographers’ automobile passed a human
stream. In the town, what a change! It was deserted, the only sign of
life being the last of the refugees who were leaving for Brussels.

“Toward the Tirlemont road there was some rifle firing which drew
nearer,” said the photographers, continuing their narrative. “Shells
began to fall among the houses, many of which took fire. The Germans
were almost in Louvain at midday. The rear guard of the Belgians
defending the railway bridge was engaged in firing heavily on the enemy.
Riderless horses came along, both German and Belgian. These were caught
and mounted by civilians. A barricade was seen in the dust of the road
as in a fog.

“Then there was more heavy rifle firing, some of which seemed to come
from houses. Reports that the Germans were not taking prisoners and the
knowledge of what had happened in other Belgian towns made it seem
probable that house firing was going on.

“At some barricades on the roads German troops and refugees arrived
simultaneously, making a defense impossible. On the road to Brussels was
an endless procession, fed as they went by inhabitants of the villages
and countryside.

“At the cross roads there passed toward Mechlin a procession of
artillery, cavalry and infantry, with dog mitrailleuses, fit but tired
and dusty. Only the dogs of the mitrailleuses looked fresh now. Along
the roadsides were refugees resting.

“Three men of the 9th Regiment had come from Aerschot, where the town
was burning. They had lost their regiment and asked to be taken to
Brussels. These men, of the famous shooting regiment which so
distinguished itself at Liége, gave to us a very different idea of the
shooting of Germans. They said the rifle shooting of the Germans was
bad. Nearly all killed by the Germans were shot in the head or the upper
part of the body. Their own officer was shot through the nose.

“In Brussels at 3 o’clock on Tuesday afternoon there was absolute quiet.
A big crowd was before the Gare du Nord awaiting news, but there was no
excitement. Belgian aeroplanes passed, flying toward the Mechlin and
Louvain line. Firing was soon heard, but it was difficult to say from
what direction. But the inhabitants of Brussels could not leave their


Describing the fight at Louvain and Aerschot, where a handful of troops
kept the Germans at bay while the main Belgian army reformed, the
correspondent of the London _Daily News_ writes:

“Dawn on Wednesday morning saw the Germans hotly attacking the trenches
that had been filled up during the night with fresh men. Part of them
were of the famous Liége field force that had decimated the Germans who
approached the trenches before the Liége forts. They had begged to be
sent back to Liége to meet the enemy there. This could not be done, but
they had their opportunity now--a desperate one, it was true, for each
of these men knew that he was marked down to be sacrificed if necessary
in the interest of the general plan of defense.

“Two German aeroplanes flying audaciously low swept over the trenches to
see how they were held. Then almost immediately afterward the German
artillery got the range of the trenches and commenced bursting shrapnel
over them. The infantry machine guns were quickly at work, and the
little band of defenders settled down to keep the enemy’s masses of
troops at bay as long as possible.

“By 6 o’clock the attack was general along the whole line, but
particularly violent in front of Aerschot, a pitiless, determined
onslaught in which the German commanders showed the same disregard for
the loss of their men as elsewhere.

“Two of the heroic regiments from Liége bore the brunt of the attack in
positions north and east of the town. They were outnumbered ten to one,
but stuck to their positions with the courage of desperation and
inflicted tremendous losses on the Germans. Their own losses were
terrible. These trenches were bought and held with blood.”


Details of a terrific battle in Upper Alsace have been received by the
London _Daily Chronicle_ in special messages from Basel.

“The battle was attended by great loss of life on both sides. The
fortunes of battle varied during two days. At first all seemed to go
well with the French, and on the second day the tide turned in favor of
the Germans, who had about one hundred guns on the hills, some eight
miles from Basel. They wrought havoc among the French infantry, who made
brilliant bayonet charges in their efforts to carry the hills.

“The French batteries at Altkirch vainly strove to silence the German
guns. The slaughter was very heavy. The French fought desperately to
frustrate the Germans’ attempt to cut them off from communication with
Belfort and succeeded in their effort to reach a frontier village.

“On the third day the French forces, summoning all their energies in
incomparable general assaults at the point of the bayonet, drove the
Germans from all their advanced positions, and ten minutes after the
last Bavarian battalion had beaten a retreat a brigade of French
Lancers, with several companies of Colonial Turcos, re-entered
Muelhausen singing the ‘Marseillaise.’ The French army, intrenching
itself, occupied a strong front, to which it dragged a large number of
cannon and stores and ammunition from Belfort.”


William J. Chalmers, of Chicago, describes his trip with his wife and
maid and some friends from Carlsbad to Buchs in Switzerland:

At Budweis they were arrested and their passports examined. Five miles
further on the road was blockaded by fallen telegraph poles and twenty
gendarmes commanded by a boy stepped out and placed cocked pistols and
rifles to the Americans’ bodies and ordered them to surrender. The
gendarmes had heard that French spies were crossing to Russia with
$25,000,000 in motor cars.

At Freistadt Count von Sedlitz ignored the passports and ordered the
party searched to the skins, including the women. He examined their
clothing, took their baggage away, ransacked it for papers, took off the
automobile tires, examined the inner tubes, then brought in the police
dogs to get their scent, acting with the utmost insolence.

Mr. Chalmers demanded to be allowed to telegraph to the Mayor of
Carlsbad. This was permitted and the party released the next morning.

At Salzburg the party was detained five hours, but treated with kindness
and a military pass was given by an archduke and a general.

At Landeck a civil official ignored the military pass, but yielded when
the threat was made to appeal to the archduke.

The party was forced to carry a civilian to Feldkirk. On an appeal to
the military there the civilian was sharply reprimanded and made to walk

Afterward the party arrived safely at Buchs.


That Holland is determined and prepared to defend its neutrality is
evidenced by the statement from the pen of a Rotterdam correspondent of
the London _Standard_. “Holland,” he says, “has a trusty friend in the
water behind its dikes.

“Holland is well prepared against an invasion of its frontier on the
German border, about 200 miles long, and the northern portions could
easily be defended by the filling with water of numerous morasses and

“The coast along the North Sea, owing to the want of harbors, is
practically inaccessible and the Zuyder Zee being shallow is capable of
being closed by fortified works outside of Heider. Forty miles of the
eastern front is now defended by the fortresses Muiden and Naarden in
the center of the Utrecht region, and eighteen forts aid the batteries
toward the south of Gorkum.

“Then there is a closed canal system arranged in such a manner that the
whole region of Muiden and Gorkum may be flooded for miles. This is
easy, as the greater portion of the land in the area to be flooded is
below the sea level. The Dutch, however, are not satisfied with these
precautions, as the water courses might freeze as in the past. Therefore
behind the Muiden-Gorkum line seven block forts or fortifications have
been erected at intervals of two miles, and there are also
fortifications at Niewerhus.

“Behind the water line of defense there are more block forts at
intervals of two or three miles strengthened with batteries.

“A block fort is a redoubt intended only for quick-firing guns of light
caliber and is not constructed with the idea of resisting heavy
projectiles, which, owing to the broad stretches of water, could only
with difficulty be used.

“The fighting forts are protected by concrete roofs and iron cupolas
from the fire of howitzers and mortars.

“They are also supplied with artillery capable of resisting siege guns.

“In a similar manner the Dutch are protected equally along the southern
frontier from Gorkum to Brielle.

“As it is estimated that every kilometer requires for its defense 1,000
men, about 120,000 men are required for this region. This is the precise
strength of the present Dutch army, which should be able to defend this
portion of Holland against forces double its strength.”


Writing in the _Petit Parisien_, a correspondent from Dijon tells of the
alarm caused recently by a mysterious aeroplane apparently pursuing a
group of six other aeroplanes on the way to Dijon from the southern
center. Soon after their arrival at Dijon the stranger landed near the
military aerodrome. The mysterious pilot, on being interrogated, proved
not to be a spy, but a young English girl, who had donned a uniform in
the hope that she might aid France. She is now being detained, pending
the arrival of her parents.


A paragraph in the _Excelsior_ gives details of a 160-mile raid along
the frontier by Pegoud in a standard unarmored eighty-horsepower
Bleriot-Gnome monoplane with M. Monternier as a fighting passenger.
Starting at dawn last Tuesday, they made many valuable observations and
destroyed two important convoys with incendiary bombs and 100-pound
shells. They flew low, from 1,300 to 1,500 meters, owing to their heavy
load of nearly 800 pounds of explosives, enough oil and gasoline for
four hours, two carbines and ammunition. They returned to Paris simply
to obtain another machine, their own having ninety-seven bullet holes in
the wings and having been struck twice by fragments of shells, once on
the stabilizer and once under the steering wheel.


“Gay Ostend is utterly transformed by the shadow of war,” writes the
correspondent of the London _Standard_. “It is crowded from end to end
with refugees of all nationalities, who are clamoring for an opportunity
to escape seaward. Never have the streets been so thronged, and one
might have thought it a fête day but for the strained and anxious faces
of the crowds.

“All the large hotels in Ostend are ready on the receipt of instructions
to open their doors as hospitals and all necessary arrangements have
been made to receive the wounded. Early this morning a number of wounded
Belgian soldiers were taken by boat to an unknown destination in order
to prevent them from being made prisoners by the Germans.

“Many hundreds of refugees have taken shelter in the bathing machines on
the beach, while others are encamped on the race course which adjoins
the dike. The King’s summer palace, which looks out over the sea, has
also been turned into a hospital. Side by side with all these scenes of
war it is a striking contrast to watch the crowds of children paddling
and playing war games on the sand.

“At 9 o’clock this morning all the men of the Civil Guard were disarmed,
and the Burgomaster issued a proclamation to the inhabitants urging them
to be calm and offer no resistance to the invading Germans.

“The Maritime Railway station was held by Belgian soldiers this morning,
but they will be removed by boat if the Germans enter the town. The
station was full of boxes of coin and banknotes, which were being
guarded by the soldiers, pending their transfer to steamers for
Folkestone. I am told that all the bankers in Ghent, Bruges and Ostend
have sent all their treasure to England for safety.

“In a conversation with a wounded Belgian officer I heard some stirring
stories of the bravery of the Belgian troops who were engaged in
resisting the advance of the Germans beyond Louvain. He related how,
when the order for retreat was given, he and his fellow officers had
great difficulty in persuading their men to obey the command. The bugles
were sounding the retreat, but the soldiers would not leave the trenches
and continued firing on a much larger force of Germans, who were
attacking them. This officer ran along the lines shouting to the men
that they must obey orders and retreat; but with violent oaths against
the detested Germans they continued to fight, with the result that all
at this particular spot were killed. The officer himself was wounded
just after his last effort to withdraw his men.”


Describing the naval engagement in the Adriatic in which the cruiser
_Zenta_ was sunk, a writer in the _Corriere d’Italia_ says:

“A flotilla of Anglo-French torpedo boats was steaming out to sea after
recoaling and revictualling on the Piræan coast when it met other
warships of the Allies with their decks already cleared for action
coming from Malta. The combined fleet proceeded toward the entrance to
Cataro Harbor.

“When they were approaching it the British torpedo destroyers which
headed the flotilla sighted the Austrian protected cruiser _Zenta_ and
three smaller war vessels doing blockade duty. Before they were
discovered the allied flotilla opened fire upon the enemy’s cruiser,
which, being taken wholly by surprise, was slow in replying. When at
last the _Zenta_ began to return the fire it did so at long intervals,
with its shots very wide of the mark.

“In the meantime the gunners of the Anglo-French fleet were tearing ugly
rents in the _Zenta’s_ flank and within four minutes had flooded her
engine rooms. The other three Austro-Hungarian vessels--torpedo
boats--then began racing away with many dead aboard.

“Seeing that the _Zenta_ was foundering rapidly while its crew was
intent on seeking a way of escape, the largest of the English torpedo
boats went alongside and rescued 200 marines who were on the point of

“Fifty of these men subsequently succumbed to injuries received in the
battle. Besides these 200 were wounded by lively rifle fire.”


From the _Daily Telegraph’s_ Dunkirk correspondent: “The Germans seem to
be directing their march on three points. In the north they have pushed
across to Antwerp, under the shelter of the guns of which the Belgian
army which has retreated from Malines has retired. A second body
approached the vicinity of Ghent, riding close up to the city. The
Uhlans were preceded by two German aeroplanes, which were in quest of
the whereabouts of any armed Belgian force. The appearance of the Uhlans
practically at the gates of Ghent created something very nearly
approaching a panic among those inside the city.

“Those who had no pressing business in the city commandeered every kind
of vehicle, from automobiles to carts drawn by dogs. Here were military
officers in automobiles, citizens rich and poor, influential and humble,
town councillors--everybody bent on making his escape as fast as
possible toward Bruges.

“I interviewed several of the officers, and they told me that, while
the city was still free, the Uhlans had come in from the south, and a
larger force was hourly expected. They believed that the occupation of
the city by the Germans was a question of only a few hours.”


The Paris Ministry of War issued the following communique concerning the
holding out of the Liége forts:

“The Chaudefontaine fort at Liége was the scene of an act of heroism
which brilliantly affirms once more the valor of the Belgian army.

“Major Nameche commanded the fort which controls the railway from
Aix-la-Chapelle to Liége via the Verviers and Chaudefontaine tunnel. The
fort was bombarded continuously and very violently by the Germans. When
it was only a heap of débris and the commander judged that resistance
was impossible he blockaded the tunnel by producing collisions between
several locomotives which had been sent into it. Then he set fire to the
fuses of mines in the tunnel.

“His task thus done, Major Nameche did not wish to see the German flag
float ever over the ruins of his fort. He therefore exploded all the
remaining powder and blew up everything, including himself. Such an act
of heroism is beyond all comment.”


The coolness and nerve of the British soldier on the firing line is the
subject of a cable message to the Central News of London:

“The shooting of the British infantrymen on the firing line was
wonderful. Every time a German’s head showed above a trench and every
time the German infantry attempted to rush a position there came a
steady, withering rifle fire from the khaki-clad men lying in extended
formation along the wide battle front. Their firing was not the firing
of nervous men shooting without aiming; rather it was the calm and
careful marksmanship of men one sees on English rifle ranges firing with
all the artificial aids permitted to the most expert.

“When quick action was necessary the men showed no nervousness; they
showed the cool, methodical efficiency for which the British army is

“If the British lost heavily, the Germans must have lost terribly. One
of the German prisoners said: ‘We never expected anything like it; it
was staggering.’

“The British troops went to their positions silently but happily. There
was no singing, because it was forbidden, but as the men deployed to the
trenches there were various sallies of humor in the dialects of the
various English, Irish and Scotch counties. The cockney was there with
quips about ‘Uncle Bill,’ and every Irishman who went into the firing
line wished he had money to buy a little Irish horse, so that he might
‘take a slap at the Uhlans.’

“As for the cavalry, the officers declare, their charges against the
Germans were superb. They charged as Berserks might have done. They gave
the Uhlans the surprise of their lives.”


This story of a thrilling trip by a party of American tourists in
Finland is told by one of them after their safe arrival in Stockholm:

“Our party left Stockholm on July 31 on a steamer for St. Petersburg but
was stopped by a Russian warship and compelled to return to Hango, where
we were lodged in a hotel. The steamer was taken in charge by a Russian
warship and blown up in the harbor channel. At the same time several
cranes and other harbor works were dynamited to block the channel to the
Finnish harbor. The explosions made a spectacular sight for the

“Our party was unable to leave until August 3 because the roundhouse and
other buildings near the railway station were in flames.

“Starting for Stockholm by train, we traveled in cars already
overcrowded with refugees. Arriving at Hyvinge we found at least 3,000
persons waiting for the next train north. The town was already filled
and people were sleeping on the staircases of the overflowing hotels and
in the parks. We finally found lodging in a sanitarium outside of the
town. The next day we continued our trip in a train loaded with Germans
who had been expelled from the country.

“We next arrived at Seinajoki, a hamlet near Tammerfors, which boasts of
only one hotel but was trying to entertain 5,000 strangers. Every
private house was filled to its capacity, and we would have been
compelled to spend the night in the streets had it not occurred to the
manager of the hotel to suggest that we proceed to Nicolaisadt, a
seaport fifty miles to the west.

“We took this good advice and found comfortable lodgings in that place.
We also had the good fortune to discover an American freight steamer, on
which we were permitted to sail on August 5. The voyage was dangerous,
as all the beacon lights had been removed from the passage outward,
which is narrow and made hazardous by shoals.

“Two other steamers left port at the same time. The first was commanded
by a Russian pilot. It ran aground and was wrecked. The other vessel
narrowly escaped the same fate. Our steamer, however, got safely clear
and we arrived without accident at Hernosand, Sweden.”


Describing the entry of the French into the unhappy town of Charleroi,
whence, after previous fighting, they drove the Germans across the
Sambre, a _Times_ correspondent writes:

“Outside an inn was to be seen the dead figure of a German officer with
his head bowed over a basin and soap lather dry upon his face, where he
had been shot in the act of washing.

“There was another who lay across a table, while a cup of coffee which
he had been in the act of raising to his lips at the moment when death
found him lay broken on the ground.

“In every part of the city houses were smouldering or in flames. Every
cellar was occupied by the terror-stricken inhabitants. This is the
account given of the struggle for Charleroi by the French troops which
took part in the operations.

“After listening to these accounts the correspondent heard the town was
surrounded by German troops. Anxious to ascertain the truth of this
report, he started in the direction of Namur. A few miles out of
Philippeville he met a Belgian officer and the paymaster-general of
Namur, who told him that the town of Namur was occupied by Germans. It
had been subjected to a furious bombardment, and the fire of the enemy
had been so well regulated that the first few shots had silenced two of
the forts.”


Hansi, the Alsatian caricaturist who was arrested by the Germans some
months ago because of his pro-French sentiments, escaped and fled to
France to avoid imprisonment. He is now in a French regiment acting as
an interpreter. The German officer who had caused his arrest was the
first prisoner brought before him. The officer complained of the
treatment he had received and Hansi replied:

“It was certainly better than you gave me at Colmar.”


Philip Gibbs, the London _Daily Chronicle_ correspondent, describing his
railway journey from Paris to Boulogne, says:

“On the way we fell into many surprising and significant scenes. One of
these was when we suddenly heard a shout of command in English and saw a
body of men in khaki with Red Cross armlets suddenly run along the
platform to an incoming train from the north with stretchers and
drinking bottles. A party of English wounded had arrived from the scene
of action between Mons and Charleroi.

“We were kept back by French soldiers with fixed bayonets, but through
the hedges of steel we had the painful experience of seeing a number of
British soldiers with bandaged heads and limbs descending from the troop
train. They looked spent with fatigue and pain after the journey, but
some of them were sufficiently high spirited to laugh at their
sufferings and give a hearty cheer to the comrades who came to relieve
them with medical care.

“I had a few words with one of them and questioned him about the action,
but like all British soldiers he was very vague in his descriptions, and
the most arresting sentence in his narrative was the reiterated
assertion that ‘we got it in the neck.’

“I understood from him, however, that the British troops had stood
their ground well under terrific fire and that the Germans had been
given ‘what for.’

“I saw the British soldier on this journey in many unexpected places and
adapting himself to his unusual environment with his characteristic
phlegm. I saw him at dawn in small camps, surrounded with haystacks and
farmyard chickens, drinking the fresh milk offered to him by French
peasant women, with whom he seems to have established a perfectly
adequate ‘lingua Française.’

“I saw him scrawling up the words ‘hot water’ and ‘cold water’ above the
taps in French railway stations, carrying the babies of Belgian
refugees, giving cigarettes to German prisoners and rounding up French
cattle which in due time will be turned into French beefsteaks.”


Returning from the front a correspondent of the London _Times_ sends the
following under a Paris date:

“Near Charleroi I heard some stories of the bravery of the French
soldiers. The Germans were bombarding the city. The French troops made
what amounted to a mediæval sortie, but, finding the enemy in much
greater force than was expected, were compelled to withdraw. The
bombardment continued relentlessly, whereupon the French Turcos--picked
troops from Algeria--debouched from the town, and, with a gallantry
which surely must live in history, charged the


Photo by International News Service.]

German battery, bayoneting all the German gunners.

“Their losses, it is said, exceeded those of the Light Brigade at
Balaklava. Of a whole battalion only 100 men, it is reported, returned
unscathed. Their bravery, however, was powerless against the German
advance, which crept, foot by foot, through the outskirts of Charleroi
to the very heart of the town.

“There in the narrow streets the carnage was indescribable. A French
infantryman told me that the roads became so jammed with dead that the
killed remained standing upright where they had been shot, supported by
their dead comrades.”


This incident occurred during the fighting before Charleroi, cables a
war correspondent:

“Yet another band of Uhlans was captured Sunday at the gates of Courtrai
by a detachment of French chasseurs. Their chief officer was found to be
Lieut. Count von Schwerin, a nephew of the Kaiser. The young commander
is only 25 years old and has been married only seven months. The officer
commanding the French detachment found that the Count’s sword was a
present from the Emperor himself and bore an inscription to that effect
on the blade.

“The Count’s saber, belt and helmet were brought to-day to St. Ouen and
presented to the wife of the officer who made the capture. The sword was
blood-stained and its point twisted.”


The correspondent of the Paris _Temps_, who had occasion to follow them
on the way to the front, is loud in his admiration of the British
soldiers’ discipline, equipment and commissariat arrangements. But what
he admired most was the summary methods of dealing with spies, every one
convicted being shot immediately. A British captain explained his
attitude through a French interpreter as follows:

“You French pride yourselves on your humanity in cases where humanity is
a mere useless sentimentality. To spare the life of a spy by postponing
his trial is a crime against our own troops. A spy may be able by some
means to convey a harvest of news to his own side, so as to enable the
enemy to surprise us precisely when we hoped to surprise him. In such
cases, inopportune indulgence may cost the lives of several hundreds of
our own troops.”


Naturalized German shopkeepers in London are taking unusual precautions
against possible boycotts. The following notice, posted on a bakery in
Soho, is being copied by other dealers:

“Two hundred and fifty dollars reward will be given to any charitable
institution upon the discovery by any persons of adulteration in the
bread sold in this establishment.

“God bless our King and country. The proprietor of this business wishes
to inform the public that he is a naturalized British subject of many
years standing and his loyalty is equal to that of any of the most
gracious Majesty’s subjects, whom he treats and respects as man to man.”

One German banker in South London, whose name was “Schmidt,” promptly
changed it to “Smith.”


A huge concentration camp for the thousands of German suspects who have
been rounded up by Scotland Yard in all parts of England is being
constructed at Blackdown near Aldershot. The corral, which covers forty
acres, is fenced by barbed wire strung on ten-foot posts. Outside is
another circle of barbed wire entanglements and between the two sentries
will pace with loaded rifles.

The prisoners will be housed in quarters built of galvanized iron and
will be fed on ordinary army rations.


Wounded soldiers arriving at Frankfort-on-Main relate that Prince
Frederick Charles of Hesse, the Emperor’s brother-in-law, while leading
his regiment during a recent battle seized a flag from the hands of the
wounded flag bearer and carried it on to victory.


The London _Daily Mail_ correspondent at Rouen obtained a description of
the British fighting from a wounded man belonging to the Berkshire
regiment, who said:

“We marched into Mons about 10 o’clock, and were just going to be
billeted when the order came for us to fall in again and get a move on.
We’d been marching since 4 o’clock. It had been blazing hot and still we
were wanted. We were to advance under cover of artillery fire; but in
the meantime the enemy were doing a bit of artillery practice, too, so
we threw up trenches and snuggled down in them.

“They did not keep us waiting long. The German gunners were over a ridge
two or three miles in front, and their shells soon came whistling round
us. I got what they call my baptism of fire, and at first I did not like
it. In the daytime they had aeroplanes to tell them where to drop their
shells. They were flying about all the time. One came a bit too near our
gunners. He was a long way behind us. They waited and let him come on.
He thought he was all right. Two thousand feet he was up, I dare say. We
could hear his engine.

“He may have made a lot of notes, but they weren’t any use to him or
anybody, for all of a sudden our gunners let fly at him. We could see
the thing stagger and then it dropped like a stone, all crumpled up.
‘Good-by, Mr. Flying Man!’ That was the end of him.

“In the dark they turned on searchlights. We could see them hunting
about for some one to pot at. Uncanny, that was, to see a blooming big
lane of light working round and round until it came to something. Then
we heard the shells whistle, and when it came round to us and lit us up
so that we could see each other’s faces, it made my blood run cold, just
like I used to feel when I was a nipper and woke up and saw the light
and thought it was a ghost, and we lay there wondering what would happen


In the crowd of refugees arriving in London from Ostend were a dozen
Americans, who made their way out of Antwerp with hand baggage only.
Among them was Mrs. George Sparrow of New York, who had left Liége soon
before that city was besieged by the Germans. She said:

“In Antwerp I was aroused one night by a loud boom, which I imagined was
caused by a cannon firing in the fort, but, looking out of a window, I
saw a Zeppelin airship, apparently quite near. I could plainly hear the
buzz of its motor. A bomb from it fell only a few blocks away, the
explosion of which was followed by an outbreak of fire.

“Many persons ran from the houses panic-stricken. Some of the women were
hysterical. It was a fearful night. I got out of the city next morning
with several other Americans and went to Ostend, where I spent last


A woman refugee from Framerie, near Mons, told the following story to
the relief committee in Paris:

“My husband is with the Belgian army and I was left with my three babies
in our cottage. All was quiet until Monday, when the Germans came. They
sacked and destroyed everything in the house. There remains of our poor
village nothing but ruins. I saw one of the soldiers strike one of my
neighbors in the breast with his sword. Then he flourished the bloody
blade as though proud of the feat. Some women who had hidden in their
cellars were shot.

“A woman from Peronne le Bincher started out with one of her neighbors
who carried a young baby at her breast. Suddenly the mother perceived
that the little one was dead. She could not bear this new shock and lost
her reason. When she was helped out of the train on reaching Paris she
still held and was crooning over the body of her child.”


A correspondent of the London _Times_ at Ostend says:

“I have obtained the following details of the siege of Namur from two
Belgian soldiers. They informed me that the Germans attacked the town
during a dense fog, and for two days the bombardment never ceased. The
open town was reduced to ruins and the carnage among the inhabitants
was appalling. The forts of Cognelee and Marchovelette were silenced by
heavy German siege guns of 11-inch caliber.

“The 148th French Regiment of the line, coming from Givet, proudly
marched into the town to the strains of ‘The Marseillaise’--this during
a murderous hail of projectiles. Alas, they had arrived too late! Namur
had become an inferno, and at midday the order was given to retreat.”


A correspondent describing the fighting before Malines says:

“I could see dark blue masses of Belgian infantry falling back, cool as
on a winter’s morning. Through a mistake, two battalions of carbineers
did not receive the order to retire and were in imminent danger of
destruction. To reach them a messenger would have had to traverse a mile
of open road swept by shrieking shrapnel. A Colonel summoned a gendarme
and gave him the orders and he set spurs to his horse and tore down the
road, an archaic figure in towering bearskin. It was a ride into the
jaws of death.

“He saved his troops, but as they fell back the German gunners got the
range and dropped shell upon shell into the running column. Road and
fields were dotted with corpses in Belgian blue.

“At noon the Belgians and Germans were in places only fifty yards apart,
and the rattle of musketry sounded like a boy drawing a stick along the
palings of a picket fence. The railway embankment from which I viewed
the battle was fairly carpeted with corpses of infantrymen killed
yesterday. I saw peasants throw twelve into one grave.”


An old man sitting in a corner of a stack of straw told the following
story to a correspondent in Paris:

“People call me Jean Beaujon. I have a little wine shop just across the
river from Liège, in the town of Grivegnee. When the mobilization order
was announced my two sons, both fine fellows, went off to join their
regiments. My daughters--I have two, this one here and another--remained
with their old father.”

The girl he motioned to was a bright-faced girl of about 16, but only
her eyes were visible, as the rest of her face was swathed in bandages.
He continued:

“You see her poor, dear face? Well, a German was the cause of that. When
they came they demanded wine, which I gave them, and one man tried to
insult her. When she resented this he struck her and broke her jaw.

“My other daughter, becoming very tired after a time,” he went on, “sat
down by the roadside while this girl and I went on ahead to try to find
some means of conveyance. A little further on we came upon a riderless
horse, and after great difficulty we both succeeded in mounting and went
back to find my daughter. We had not been gone more than half an hour,
but when we returned she was no longer there.”


The wife of Gen. Metzinger, a distinguished French officer, whose son, a
captain in the army, was recently wounded, was traveling from
Switzerland to Lorraine a short time ago, cables a _Sun_ correspondent.
She says she overheard a conversation between two German officers during
a rainstorm.

One said: “Oh, I left my umbrella in a hotel in Paris.”

The other replied: “Never fear, you will be able to go and get it next

“Pray, do not trouble yourselves,” interrupted Mme. Metzinger; “my son,
who is a captain in the French army, will undertake to bring it

The two officers alighted hastily at the next station.


The Cologne correspondent of _Der Tyd_ says:

“An endless train rolls into the station at Cologne. In it have arrived
700 French prisoners taken at Muelhausen and Lagarde, Alsace-Lorraine.
They were dressed in red trousers and short, dark-blue coats. One could
see that they had been in a fight. They were unkempt and badly in need
of a wash and a shave.

“I remember having read somewhere that a French Senator had declared
there was a great shortage of shoes for the French troops. I have seen
100,000 German soldiers going to the front, every one of them wearing a
brand new pair of russet shoes, heavy enough to withstand any campaign.
But there were no such shoes among these French prisoners. Their
footgear was of a flimsy character and worn so badly that in most cases
their toes were protruding. They ate greedily of bread and drank eagerly
the tea and coffee that were handed to them.

“The faces of most of them were blank and expressionless. They conversed
among themselves in an undertone. I asked one something about Lagarde.

“‘I know nothing,’ he answered sullenly.

“But after I told him he was speaking with a Hollander and not with a
German he modified his reply to: ‘I will say nothing, sir.’”


To the Paris _Matin’s_ correspondent at Chartres, a colonial
infantryman, wounded at Charleroi, told his experiences in the battle:

“We marched with our African comrades against the Prussian guard,” he
said. “We advanced in bounds amid the humming bullets, using every bit
of cover we could. We felt intoxicated with the joy of battle.

“I couldn’t say how long the action lasted. All I remember is that we
fired our last shot within fifty yards of the enemy. Then it was the
pitiless thrust of cold steel. It would have given us the victory, for
however intrepid and steady are the troops we fight against there are no
soldiers in the world able to resist the Turcos’ bayonet charge.”


“It is comforting to learn that dozens of the wounded in the great
conflict hardly suffer at all. Modern bullets are so small and hot and
come with such velocity that they drill a hole even through the bone and
disinfect as they pass, on account of the heat,” cables a correspondent.

“One man was shot through the pit of the stomach, the bullet having gone
out at the back, just missing the spine. It was two days after the wound
was received, and the man was sitting up and asking the doctor when he
could go back and if it would be more than a week before he could again
be at the enemy.

“Some of the men did not know they were hit until several hours later,
believing if they felt anything that it merely had been a knock. All the
men are mad for bayonet work. They agree that it is only the German
officers who stand up at all, and that the men are almost all bayoneted
in the back, while the officers shoot with revolvers.”


The London _Chronicle’s_ Boulogne correspondent sends the personal story
of a wounded soldier who has arrived there and who declared he was one
of thirty survivors of a British company of 2,000, who were practically
wiped out by the German artillery. His story follows:

“We were five solid days in the trenches and moved backward and forward
all that time with the varying tide of battle. It was about 2 o’clock in
the morning when the end came. Things had got quieter and our officers
came along the line and told us to get some sleep. We were preparing to
obey when a light or something else gave us away and we found ourselves
in an inferno of bullets.

“We could do nothing. Down upon us the shrapnel hailed and we fell by
the score. Practically at the same time the enemy’s Maxims opened fire.
We were almost without shelter when we were caught and we crawled along
in front to find cover. Leave everything and retire was the order, and
we did what we could to obey. I don’t know how long it lasted, but when
dawn came I could see not more than thirty men at the most were left out
of about 2,000.”


The Ghent correspondent of the London _Daily News_ says in a despatch:

“I have just been talking to the latest refugees from Malines. They left
there yesterday about 4 o’clock, during a lull in the fighting. Out of
60,000 inhabitants, a business man among them told me, hardly 200 are
left in town. Many are dead. The rest have fled.

“‘It has been hell,’ he said, ‘since Monday. The town was shelled from
both sides. The cathedral, the square and half the houses are in ruins.
Old people and young have been killed. Yesterday I found a quiet old
gentleman of 83, whom I have known for years, lying in one of the
trenches by the roadside, utterly exhausted by his flight. His face was
in a pool of water.

“‘Of a family of seven who were friends of ours not one is left. A shell
struck their house on Tuesday morning, and all were killed.’”


“A fugitive from south of Flanders says that eight Uhlans appeared at
Alost, telling the inhabitants that 4,000 more were in the immediate
neighborhood, and if the townspeople did not keep quiet they would set
fire to the place,” writes a correspondent. “They ordered that the town
cash box be handed to them and found 131½ francs in it. They took 130
francs, leaving an I. O. U., ‘Received for Emperor William II.’ The one
and a half francs were left as a tip for the police.

“The whole situation around Ostend has changed. I must not say how many
men have landed, but a belt of country a few miles wide around the town
was thoroughly scouted yesterday by men who softly whistled and sang ‘My
Little Gray Home in the West’ and similar ditties.”


“The truth about the withdrawing of the French troops from Alsace is
that a body of French--probably a whole regiment--fell into an ambush
laid by three German regiments,” writes a London _Standard_

“The Germans hid themselves in forest, hedges and ditches until the
French had piled up their arms and were lying down to rest on the
ground. The Germans then opened a murderous fire. The French rushed to
arms, but by the time they got hold of their rifles large numbers had
been killed or wounded. None the less the remainder charged the Germans,
inflicting severe losses. The confusion caused by the surprise attack
nevertheless compelled the French to withdraw all their forces in that
region behind the frontier line.

“During the French retreat one regiment lost a rear company, which was
blown up by a mine. Their comrades, marching ahead of them in the line
of retreat, suddenly heard a terrific report and saw a column of smoke.
When the smoke cleared away there was no rear company left. Every member
had been exterminated.”


Five Englishwomen of title have addressed to the London press the
following letter:

“The undersigned have all near relations serving with the colors. Most
of them have near relations who have borne and are bearing their part in
the gallant and sanguinary battle which the British army is fighting
against heavy odds on the northeast frontier of France.

“We do not know what their fate has been, or yet may be, but if it is
their fortune to die for their country we shall not show our sorrow as
for those who come to a less glorious end.

“A white band around one arm will mark both our loss and our grief. But
it will do more. It will express the pride we feel in knowing that those
who are nearest to us and dearest have given their lives to their
country’s cause.”

This letter is signed as follows: Evelyn Devonshire, Maude Lansdowne,
Beatrice Pembroke, Edith Castlereagh, Elsie Kerry.

These names stand for the Duchess of Devonshire, the Marchioness of
Lansdowne, the Countess of Pembroke, the Countess of Castlereagh and the
Countess of Kerry.


“At times,” a French soldier declared in a letter to his home, “we could
hardly hold our rifles--they were so hot. Often we had in the trenches
no cover of any sort. We had just to dig up a heap of earth a foot high
or so, and, lying behind it, pelt away for all we were worth.

“Our shooting, I can assure you, was as steady as though our men were at
the rifle ranges, and ever so often in front of our positions we could
see the dead accumulating in great heaps. Far away on my right I saw at
one time British cavalry charging. We took the risk and looked up to see
it. Upon my word, it was a magnificent sight. I was too far off to see
what happened when they got home, which they did with magnificent dash.
I don’t think they lost heavily, at least, not very heavily, for we saw
them get back again.”

“And the Germans? What do you think of them?” I asked.

“Not a great deal as shots, but the way they came on again and again
throughout the day was great. They are a brave lot, and it took us all
our time to hold them back; they had such enormous numbers.”


A German officer sends the following account of the fall of Liége, says
a Rotterdam dispatch to the London _Daily Telegraph_:

“Gen. Leman’s defense of Liége was noble, but tragic. During the early
attack Gen. Leman’s legs were crushed by the fall of a piece of
concrete. Undaunted, he continued to direct his campaign, visiting the
forts in an automobile ambulance.

“The commander of one of the forts, at the moment when the bombardment
was heaviest, went mad and began shooting his own men. He was disarmed
and bound. The cupola of one of the forts was destroyed by a bomb from a
Zeppelin. Fort Chaudfontaine was blown into oblivion by a German shell
which dropped into the magazine.

“Finally, Gen. Leman decided to make his last stand in Fort Loncin. When
the end became inevitable he destroyed the last gun and burned up the
plans, maps, papers and food supplies. He was about to order all the men
to the trenches when a shell buried him beneath a pile of débris. He
was unconscious when the fort surrendered.”


A correspondent at St. Petersburg got the following incident through the

“A Cossack hero, Kuzma Kriachkoff, who received eleven wounds in an
outpost affair against the Germans and attracted the special attention
of the Emperor while in the hospital at Moscow and petitioned to be
allowed to return to his regiment, has arrived at Vilna, on his way to
the front.

“A Russian who has just returned from the wilds of Novgorod Province,
far from the railways, gives an interesting account of the attitude of
the peasantry toward the war and the action of the Government in
prohibiting the sale of alcoholic drinks. He says:

“‘I stopped at a little inn on the high road and ordered tea and
something to eat. Some mujiks were there discussing their own affairs
over the teapots. “The Lord be thanked, all Russia is happy now,” said
one. I was interested to know why, and was told in a surprised tone,
“Why, they’ve shut the drink shops, and all our men are as rosy-cheeked
as lassies now.”’”


There is an amusing story traversing London of a daily paper editor
being summoned to the War Office in connection with an untrue “scare”
story that had been published, cables a correspondent.

He would get another chance, said Lord Kitchener, but on the next
occasion he would be arrested.

“On what charge will you arrest me?” asked the editor.

“I’ll arrest you first,” answered Kitchener of Khartum, “and think about
the charge afterward.”

Is this the mailed fist?


The Berlin _Neue Zeit_ says that since the mobilization the Doberritz
road has been strongly guarded by a Grenadier Guards regiment from
Spandau. Last week the Kaiser motored along the road, his chauffeur
continually sounding the Emperor’s special horn. Nevertheless, two
sentries stopped the car, asking for the permit.

The Kaiser said from the window of the car, “I should think my motor car
might have been known as imperial property.”

“Well, your Majesty,” replied one of the sentries, “we are commanded to
bring to a standstill and investigate all cars without exception.”


This graphic incident of the fall of Liége was told a reporter for a
Dutch paper by a German officer:

“When the first dust and fumes passed away we stormed the fort across
ground literally strewn with bodies of the defenders. All the men in the
forts were wounded. Most were unconscious. A corporal with one arm
shattered valiantly tried to drive us back by firing his rifle.

“Buried in débris and pinned beneath a massive beam was Gen. Leman. ‘Le
Général il est mort,’ said an aide-de-camp with gentleness. With care
which showed our respect for the man who had resisted us so valiantly
and stubbornly, our infantry released the General’s wounded form and
carried him away. He recovered consciousness and said:

“‘It is as it is. The men fought valiantly.’ He added:

“‘Put it in your despatches that I was unconscious.’

“We brought him to our commander, General Von Emmich, and the two
generals saluted. We tried to speak words of comfort, but he was silent.
He is known as the ‘Silent General.’ Extending his hand, our commander

“‘General, you have gallantly and nobly held your forts.’ General Leman

“‘I thank you. Our troops have lived up to their reputations.’ With a
smile he added, ‘War is not like maneuvers.’

“This was a reference to the fact that General Von Emmich was recently
with General Leman during the Belgian maneuvers.

“Then, unbuckling his sword, General Leman tendered it to General Von

“‘No,’ replied the German commander with a bow, ‘keep your sword. To
have crossed swords with you has been an honor.’

“And the fire in Gen. Leman’s eye was dimmed by a tear.”


In the British hospital camp at Rouen many are lying very severely
wounded, but all are cheerful and vowing vengeance. Women are sending up
cart loads of fruit and flowers to the camp every day, and trainloads
are also arriving, being taken by the Red Cross on trains and stretchers
to the hospital camp.

“A detachment of British arrived from the front this morning,” says a
despatch. “A major, badly wounded, was exchanging jokes with wounded
soldiers and was smiling. He said all he wanted was coffee. Everybody
immediately rushed off and returned with coffee and cider.

“Members of the Fusilliers said that on Wednesday the regiment lined up
for breakfast, when the German artillery started shelling them. Perfect
order was maintained by the men, who began building earthworks, which,
however, were knocked down as soon as finished. They were finally forced
to retire owing to the Germans’ superior numbers and suffered the loss
of three companies during the retreat.

“British soldiers who fought at Mons said that while digging trenches
they were forced to lie still under fire and do nothing but deliver a
few bayonet charges. One man said:

“‘A bayonet dash was a glorious relief after the galling inaction. Our
fellows dashed at them as if doing a 100-yard sprint. The Germans looked
sick at the sight of cold steel, as they always do, then turned and
ran, some throwing away their straps and rifles. We would have liked to
chase them forever, but were called back. I got in a stab at a German
and told him to pass it on to the Kaiser.’

“The order to retire was a bitter disappointment. Another soldier said:

“‘It was bad enough to lie still with German shells doing the nasty all
around us, but to fall back and let the infantry pot us was the limit. I
consoled myself with the thought that perhaps I would be in a procession
when the Kaiser was taken in chains from the Mansion House to the
Chelsea pensioners’ home.’”


Miss Diana Leverick of New York, who arrived in Boston yesterday from
England on the Cunard liner _Franconia_, told how she became acquainted
with a German “woman” while on board a Mediterranean boat bound for
London who proved to be a German male spy in disguise and who later was

“Among the passengers was a refined, middle-aged German woman who gave
the name of Niederhaus,” she said. “She bore every evidence of good
breeding and made herself very agreeable to all of us. I became very
much attached to her. She was so pleasant and affable that certain
peculiarities of her gait and face were unnoticed. Her hands and feet
seemed a trifle large, but I liked her so well that I could see nothing
strange about her, although some of the other passengers began to
comment upon her.

“On the morning of our arrival in London a messenger boy came aboard
crying out, ‘Telegram for Mrs. Niederhaus.’ The woman did not answer.
Finally came an official and a squad of soldiers and she was led away to
her cabin. We were amazed when soldiers locked themselves in with her
until we learned that she was really a male spy. I read about her in the
London _Times_ next day, the paper describing how ‘she’ was shot by the


Stringent measures have been taken in Antwerp to insure perfect
darkness. No light of any kind which can be seen from the outside is
allowed in the houses. Blinds and curtains, both in front and at back,
are closely drawn. Printing offices have to work by candle light. Pitch
darkness reigns in the streets at night and those forced to be out
stumble against one another as they grope their way along.

To prevent a prohibitive rise in the cost of food all shopkeepers have
been ordered to display a list of prices charged in such a position that
all who pass can see it from the outside. Communication with Malines has
been restored and all the fugitives from that town have been ordered to


As an evidence of the indomitable spirit which is actuating the Belgians
in their war against the Germans, here is a letter from a daring young
man with a young wife and child who formerly was notorious as a poacher
on game preserves. It was written in the siege of Namur while he was
resting a moment:

“A few weeks ago,” the letter says in part, “I was in France working in
the beet fields. But because the proud Prussians attacked our country I
had to leave and could not bring home a few gold coins for my family. I
am feeling as well as possible, am whole and sound, and hope, with God’s
help, to see my home once more.

“The Prussians are poor shots. They don’t know by a yard where they
shoot, and when they see a bayonet they are so scared they just run. I
have lost but very few bullets. When I aim for their noses, you can bet
that they don’t hear the bullets whiz by their ears. They get it right
in the mouth. I never missed a bird on the wing, so how could I miss
those square-head Uhlans? I settled more than fifty of them, and if God
lets me live I’ll cool off a few more. When they come we kill ’em like
rats, meanwhile singing ‘The Lion of Flanders.’

“Reverend Dear Father, while we send the Uhlans to the other country,
please take care of my family and see that they may not suffer from
hunger. Now I finish my letter to grab my gun and shoot Uhlans.

“Formerly poacher, now Uhlan killer.”


The following letter from a German military aviator to his parents is
printed in a recent issue of the _Brandenburger Zeitung_:

“Last Saturday night, while our company still lay in garrison, I
received orders to start on a flight into the enemy’s country at
daybreak the following morning. The assignment was as follows: From the
garrison over a French fortress into France, thence westward to Maas to
spy out land for French lines of communication and to fly back the
entire distance of 300 kilometers (about 186 miles).

“By way of preparation maps of the whole region were minutely studied
till midnight. Next morning at cock-crow our Gotha-Taube rolled across
the city square, then rose and headed westerly. In half an hour we had
reached an altitude of 1,200 meters (3,937 feet) above the town. Then we
headed for the French border, and immediately my observer, First Lieut.
A., called my attention to little black puffs of smoke, and I knew at
once we were being fired at by hostile artillery, so climbed to 2,000
meters (7,874 feet).

“Next we noticed that three of the enemy’s aeroplanes were pursuing us,
but we soon outdistanced and lost sight of them. Later we heard that two
of the enemy’s aeroplanes had been brought down by our artillery. Both
hands of one of the pilots were said to have been blown away by a shot.

“With a threefold ‘Hurrah!’ we now flew over the border toward a
battlefield of the war of 1870-71, which we reached without any further
untoward incidents. Here we noticed long columns of troops marching from
the south toward the northeast. We circled around the place and then
started toward Maas.

“We were now continuously fired upon. I saw, among other things, how a
battalion of infantry stopped in the street and aimed at us. Silently
and quietly we sat in our Taube and wondered what would happen next.
Suddenly I noticed a faint quivering throughout the whole aeroplane;
that was all. As I saw later, one of the planes had four holes made by
rifle bullets, but without changing our course on we flew.”


The London _Daily Telegraph’s_ Harwich correspondent gives further
narratives of the Heligoland fight gleaned from British sailors. They
say that many of the German shells which made hits did not burst, and to
that fact they attribute the comparative lightness of the British
casualty list.

“There were five shells in the boiler of the ----,” said one of them,
mentioning the name of a destroyer. “If one of them had burst--well it
would have been all up with the ship.”

“What did you do with them?” he was asked.

“Oh, we just shied them overboard. We’ve no room for such rubbish aboard
our yacht.”

In another instance it is related that a shell fell on the deck of a
British ship. There was no immediate explosion. The sailors rushed at it
and pushed it into the sea.

One incident has been described which shows the grit of the German

“We were hard at it with a German cruiser,” he said, “and she was in a
bad way, on the point of sinking. We could see her decks were in an
awful mess and her stern was in flames. It had been shot away. We could
see only one man on the forecastle, but he was a plucky one. He hoisted
a flag, and it was still there when the ship went down. I suppose he
went down with her.”


An eye witness of the loss of the German cruiser _Ariadne_ and the
German torpedo boat destroyer V-157 in the fighting between British and
German warships off Heligoland, relates the following story of the

“The destroyer was surprised in a fog by a large number of British
destroyers and submarines. When the speed of the German destroyer became
affected by the English shells, it turned and confronted the enemy with
the intention of fighting to the end. Her engines, however, soon
completely failed her, and she was blown up to prevent capture. Her crew
continued firing until the boat disappeared beneath the waves.

“The _Ariadne_ attacked gamely, but a shell plumped her boilers, putting
half of them out of commission. Despite this the fight continued. The
quarterdeck of the _Ariadne_ took fire, but those of her guns that were
still capable of being worked continued shooting.

“The forecastle of the _Ariadne_ was soon ablaze. Her magazine was
flooded, but the gallant vessel was doomed. Her crew was mustered and
gave three cheers for the Emperor and sang the hymn, ‘The Flag and
Germany Above All.’

“The sinking of the ship probably was due to the explosion of her


This little grim comedy is told by a correspondent of the London
_Evening News_:

“I heard of an incident which is said to have occurred when the British
boats were busy picking up German survivors of the fight in the Bight of
Heligoland. A German officer was seen swimming, a line was thrown to him
and he was helped on board, but his first action was to spit in the face
of the British officer in charge.

“A British sailor immediately flung the German overboard and another
drowning German among the many within the boat’s reach was helped into
the vacant place.”


The American Embassy in Paris is in daily receipt of letters written by
dying German soldiers, forwarded to it by the French Government for
transmission to Germany. One is from a German aviator who had fallen
into the hands of the French. This man wrote:

“Good-by, dear father and mother; my leg has been crushed. The French
officers are very kind.”

A postscript to this letter added by a French officer read:

“At this point the brave fellow died; please forward this to his


A story is told to-day of the bravery of French women and men which is
vouched for as true. Gen. de Castelnau and his three sons went to the
front at the outbreak of the war and Mme. de Castelnau retired to the
south. One of the sons was killed in the early fighting.

When the news of his son’s death was conveyed to Gen. de Castelnau, he
read the statement and then said quietly: “Gentlemen, let us continue.”

When the news reached the country house of the family in the south the
parish priest undertook the delicate task of conveying the news of the
death of her son to Mme. de Castelnau. The priest tried to break the
news to her but was so overcome with emotion that she guessed something
serious had happened. Mme. de Castelnau simply asked, “Which one?”
meaning whether it was her husband or one of her three sons who had been

When the 35th Regiment entered Muelhausen an aged Alsatian offered the
soldiers everything he possessed, pressing them to accept wine and food.
After they had finished their meal he bade them farewell, saying:

“I am now going to fight to kill my son, who is in the 40th Regiment of
German infantry.”


A correspondent tells of a strange little war picture. He got mixed with
a French regiment on the right. In returning to his own regiment he says
he crossed a field and passed up a big avenue of trees. Halfway up the
avenue was a German officer of lancers lying dead at the side of the

“How he got there was a mystery,” the soldier said. “We had seen no
cavalry, but there he lay. Some one had crossed his hands over his
breast and had put a little celluloid crucifix in them. Over his face
lay a beautiful little handkerchief--a lady’s handkerchief with lace
edging. The handkerchief, too, was a bit of a mystery, for there wasn’t
a woman within miles of the place.”


“Go back to your Pomeranian grenadiers,” writes Henri Berenger, the
Frenchman, to the German aviator who flew over Paris yesterday. “Mimi
Pinson is not for you. We don’t want your Kaiser, nor your Kultur, nor
your Kolossal, nor your capital. You are not even original. Wretched
Prussian cuckoo, where did you get your wings? Who invented aviation,
Germany or France? Who first crossed the Channel or the Alps, a German
or a Frenchman? What did you bring under your wings that we should
surrender to you intelligence, or liberty, or justice, or truth, or
love? Nothing of the kind. You brought death--a bomb--that is all. That
is why you will never have Paris. Paris is civilization in its beauty.
You are barbarism in your ugliness. Possibly you may bombard us and burn
our city, but we shall never surrender. Paris will be wherever the
French flag floats, and in the end chantecler will crow over the bloody
nests of your crushed tyrants.”


Georges Terpen, an 18-year-old Boy Scout of Liége, has just been
decorated by the King of the Belgians and has received a commission in
the army for the brilliant work which he has accomplished since the
beginning of hostilities. Young Terpen captured eleven spies, all of
whom have been shot. Near Malines he killed one Uhlan and captured
another, although he was suffering from a broken arm.

Two fellow Boy Scouts, 16 and 17 years old, were executed by the Germans
on the same day. Terpen declares that the only weapon he used against
the German soldiers was a long knife.


A corporal in a convoy of wounded at Champigny is quoted as saying that
in the fighting at Guise a regiment firing on the line heard the signal
to cease shooting. Immediately in front of them the men of the regiment
saw soldiers wearing caps like the English.

They advanced, cheering the English, and were met by a deadly discharge
of rifle fire. The Germans, he asserted, had used this subterfuge to
draw the French on.


The correspondent in Antwerp of an Amsterdam newspaper says that a
French biplane appeared over Brussels Saturday and in a hail of German
bullets twice circled the town, dropping hundreds of pamphlets
containing the message:

“Take courage; deliverance soon.”

The aviator then made off, after giving the spectators a daring
performance of loop the loop.


Wounded men in the hospitals of Boulogne related to the London _Express_
correspondent these incidents of the fighting between the British and
Germans. One of the men, he says, told of a trick which the British
learned in the Boer war which was carried out with deadly effect against
the Germans. The story of the incident follows:

“The enemy before sending their infantry against our positions opened a
hot artillery fire. Our artillery replied at first warmly, and then gun
after gun of the British batteries went silent.

“What’s up now?” I asked a comrade. There were a few minutes more of
artillery firing from the Germans, and then their infantry came on in
solid formation. We received them with rifle fire. Still they came on
and still we mowed them down. They were getting closer and we could
plainly see the dense masses moving. Then suddenly the whole of our
artillery opened fire.

“You see, the cannon had not been silenced at all, and it was a trick to
draw the Germans on. They went down in whole fields, for our guns got
them in open ground and, of course, they soon had enough. It was
impossible for those behind to come on past the dead.”


The Hanover _Courier_ prints this account by an eyewitness of the death
of Prince Wilhelm of Lippe, who fell in the assault on Liége on Aug. 6:

“After fierce fighting at close quarters we proceeded successfully
toward Liége. On the morning of the 6th we succeeded in getting on the
northern walls of Liége, where, however, we were completely surrounded
by Belgian troops, who drew ever closer around us and pressed us hard
amid a hail of bullets. By order of his Highness our detachment formed a
circle and we defended ourselves stoutly for some time, till at length
we saw strong reinforcements coming to our aid.

“In order to enable them to locate the exact spot where we were the
Prince rose to a kneeling position, pointed with his sword to the
approaching column and gave me, who lay a hand’s breadth away from him,
on top of our flag, the order to raise the flag so that we might be

“I raised the flag and waved it in a circle, which at once drew an extra
hail of bullets from the enemy. The flag was shot out of my hands,
while the same volley wounded the Prince fatally in the breast and
throat. His last words were, ‘Remember me!’”


Arriving home from France Mrs. Webster J. Scofield of Holmes told of
riding 120 miles imprisoned in a freight car, from Chatillon to Paris,
when the railroads suspended passenger service to move troops.

When she reached Chatillon, homeward bound, with two friends from
Jacksonville, Fla., there were no trains to take civilians to Paris.
They were told by a trainman that a freight car that stood on a side
track filled with gun carriages was going to Paris, and that if they hid
in it they could get through.

Mrs. Scofield, with three other women and two men, took the trainman’s
advice. They had hidden five hours in the darkness when a brakeman
locked the door and they were practically prisoners for six hours more,
until a soldier heard their cries in the Paris freight yards and let
them out.


When the British expeditionary army landed on French soil the natives
went wild with joy and women overwhelmed “Tommy Atkins” with kisses. A
letter received at London to-day by the wife of one of the soldiers at
the front declares:

“You would have been jealous if you had seen the women, old and young,
kiss us. I was kissed scores of times. The natives went frantic with joy
when they saw us. The women screamed with joy as they hugged us. Many
wept bitterly and then wiped away the tears and offered us small


An eye witness to the entry of the victorious Germans into Brussels
describes the advance as a wonderful sight. He writes as follows:

“The German entry into Brussels was a wonderful and impressive sight. I
have seen many military parades in time of peace, but never a parade on
so vast a scale, which went on without a hitch. It was impossible to
imagine that these men had been fighting continuously for ten days, or
that they had even been on active service. First of all came six
cyclists, then a detachment of cavalry, then a great mass of infantry,
then guns and field guns and more infantry, then huge howitzers, then a
pontoon train and then more infantry from 1.30 o’clock Thursday until
Sunday morning without a break.

“The pontoon trains were especially impressive. They were carried upside
down on trolleys, drawn by six horses. All cavalry horses as well as the
horses of the artillery and commissary were in wonderful condition. The
men also were very fresh and keen. Each company had a stove, the fire of
which was never out. There was always some hot drink ready for the
troops and the German soldiers told me that it is only this hot coffee
and soup which kept them going on long forward marches.

“The inhabitants of Brussels turned out by thousands to watch this
endless procession of Germans as they marched by singing all sorts of
songs and national airs. They sang in excellent tune, one company taking
up the refrain as soon as another stopped. Like everything else their
singing is perfectly organized.

“An aeroplane kept its station ahead of this advancing horde and it
signalled both day and night by dropping various colored stars. What
these signals meant I do not know, but all movements of the troops were
regulated by them.

“I became overwhelmed after watching this immense mass of men marching
by without a hitch for three days. I never believed such a perfect
machine could exist.”


Mme. Gilbert, wife of the French aviator, was recently arrested near
Clermont-Ferrand at the village of Paray-le-Monial, where she was
informed her husband was being fêted on his return from a successful
raid. On her arrival she found her alleged husband an impostor--a
warrant has been issued for his arrest, since the real Gilbert is at
Dole--and she was challenged by a gendarme when trying to return home.
Finding her without papers and carrying German uniform buttons, which
she bought from prisoners as souvenirs, he promptly arrested her.
Release was obtained with difficulty on the arrival of her
father-in-law with the necessary information.


Stories of the cool nerve of Belgian soldiers under fire are being told
everywhere by refugees and correspondents arriving from the battlefield
in lower Belgium. The story is told of one volunteer who returned after
a skirmish with Uhlans and calmly announced: “Well, I killed two.” Then
as he filled his pipe, he added:

“I hit one right there,” putting his finger to his forehead. “His helmet
went spinning and I picked it up later and saw the hole my bullet made.”

Clerks, brokers, and business men have been turned into fighting devils.
The Belgians were not out of their uniforms for days at a time. Sleeping
and eating in the trenches when they could, they became veritable
vagabonds. Even when catching a few winks of sleep the men lay with
their rifles on their arms ready for action.


The London _Daily Chronicle’s_ correspondent telegraphs the following
from Havre:

“‘I don’t know what has come over the German riflemen,’ an officer said
to me to-day, ‘but our men have become almost totally indifferent to the
German rifle fire. While it is going on they do their work singing,
whistling and joking in the trenches.’

“An army doctor who heard this statement was able to confirm it in a
remarkable way. Of 500 wounded who had come under his notice, or whom he
had treated, only one was suffering from a rifle bullet wound. All the
others had been hit by shrapnel bullets or bits of shells.

“I met to-day a gunner who is in charge of a Maxim gun, and who at one
time found himself right in the center and facing an oncoming German
frontal attack.

“‘But how we did mow them down,’ he said. ‘The section in front of me
must have consisted of 800 men, and every one of them got something. We
cleared the whole lot out, but from the flanks others closed up, and at
last we had to run for it. We were forced to leave the gun behind, but,
luckily, a well-planted German shell knocked it to bits before the
Germans reached it.’”


Some striking stories told by wounded soldiers returning from France are
given by the London _Standard_, among them the following:

“The blue-gray uniforms of the Germans are hard to see at a distance,”
said a Yorkshire light infantryman, “and for concealing movements are
more effective than our khaki, but it is surprising how quickly you
learn to pick out such things as buttons, badges, armlets, and even
peaks of caps or spikes of helmets in the sun and tell by them of the
moving men you cannot see otherwise.

“Aim at a button a mile off and you hit a German in the stomach, is what
we say, and it’s near enough to the truth. The Germans are such
sticklers for rules that I have seen their artillery keep firing away at
a position of ours after it had been occupied by their own men, and at
the hospitals they find quite a number of Germans hit by their own rifle


The London _Daily News_ prints a despatch from a staff correspondent
describing the recent fighting around St. Quentin. The despatch written
at St. Quentin and forwarded to London via Boulogne, reads:

“A battle is raging, with heavy fighting. It began here Saturday, was
continued yesterday, and was recommenced at dawn this morning. In a
dense wood between St. Quentin and La Fere a number of people had taken
refuge, peaceful peasantry for the most part. The wood was raided by a
band of German cavalry and, although the white flag was hoisted on the
outskirts, not the slightest notice was taken of it. The undergrowth was
as dry as tinder. The way to clear the screen was obvious, and the order
was given to fire it. This was done and in a few moments the wood was a
huge, raging fury of flames, roaring madly.

“A priest engaged in Red Cross work who had struggled through from this
desperate neighborhood told me this tale in the gray hours of this

“‘What happened to the people there?’ I asked.

“‘What happened? The good God alone knows,’ he replied as tears rolled
down his face.”


A never-ending source of wonder and delight to the French country folk
are the kilted Highland regiments with the British expeditionary force.
The Highlander in full gala rig, scarlet tunic, tartan phillibeg, with
the gay “sporan” or pouch, white gaiters and big bearskin headdress, is
a thing of beauty and joy forever at home, and even now when clad in
khaki he is a remarkable sight for foreigners.

The French could hardly believe their eyes when they saw the husky
regiments wearing what appeared to be short petticoats. True, the
garment of khaki was like the jacket, but it was undoubtedly a
petticoat. The inhabitants of the country through which they are passing
generally put them down as some wild troop of Amazons which the English
keep for serious fighting. When told that the kilted warriors are really
men, and Scotchmen, they remember the famous Scotch guards of the old
French kings and shout “Vivent les écossais!”

The bagpipes are another attraction and when the Gordons are stepping
out to “The Cock of the North,” or the Argyle and Sutherlands are
announcing their presence with “The Campbells Are Comin’,” whole
villages follow them for miles. There are four Highland regiments with
the British army, the two above mentioned, and the Black Watch and


When Lieut. St. Aubyn, killed in the Heligoland naval battle, was buried
the other day in London, his mother sent a wreath bearing the

“To my darling boy. I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”

The following authentic incident of the Heligoland fight is perhaps the
most dramatic of the war. A British destroyer, having sunk an enemy,
lowered a lifeboat to pick up German survivors. Before the lifeboat
returned a German cruiser came out and attacked her, forcing her to
abandon the lifeboat.

The British crew was left alone in an open boat without food twenty-five
miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy’s fortress, with
nothing but fog and foes surrounding. Suddenly up popped a British
submarine close by, opened the conning tower and took the British on
board, leaving the German survivors alone in the lifeboat.


Prince Frederick William of Lippe took his own life following a mistake
of his regiment, according to Lady Randolph Churchill, formerly Miss
Jennie Jerome of New York, who has arrived in London from Germany by way
of Holland.

“The true story of the death of Prince Frederick William of Lippe,” she
said, “is that he committed suicide. He was commanding a German cavalry
regiment before Liége on August 4 when his regiment, in the darkness of
evening, nearly annihilated a German infantry regiment which it had
mistaken for Belgians. The Prince shot himself, fearing to face the
anger of Emperor William. His widow, with whom I am acquainted, was
informed of his death on Aug. 14.”


“A gallant deed was performed by Capt. F. O. Grenfell of the 9th
Lancers,” cables a correspondent of the London _Daily Mail_. “He was hit
in both legs and had two fingers shot off at the same time. Almost as he
received these wounds a couple of guns posted near by were deprived of
their servers, all of whom save one were struck by the bursting of
shrapnel. The horses for the guns had been placed under cover.

“‘We’ll get the guns back!’ cried Grenfell, and at that, with several of
his men, in spite of his wounds, he did manage to harness the guns up
and get them away. He was then taken to a hospital.”


A correspondent sends the following by way of Antwerp:

“Yesterday morning a little man wearing an American army shirt, a pair
of British officer’s breeches, French puttees and a Seaforth
Highlander’s helmet, and carrying a camera the size of a parlor
phonograph, blew into the American Consulate in Ostend while I was
paying a flying visit there. He announced that his name was Donald C.
Thompson, a photographer from Topeka, Kan. Thompson made nine attempts
to get from Paris to the front. He was arrested nine times and spent
nine nights in prison. Each time he was taken before a military
tribunal. Utterly ignoring the subordinate officers, he would demand to
see the commanding officer. He would grasp that astonished official by
the hand and nearly wring it off, meanwhile inquiring solicitously after
the General’s health and that of his family.

“‘How many languages do you speak?’ I asked.

“‘Three,’ said he--‘English, American, and Yankee.’

“On one occasion he explained to the French officer who had arrested him
that he was in search of his wife and daughter, who were dying somewhere
on the Belgian frontier. The officer was so affected by the pathos of
the story that he wept on Thompson’s neck and sent him forward in a Red
Cross automobile.”


William Parker of St. Louis, who arrived in London from Rumania last
night, told of interesting things he had witnessed and passed through on
his journey. He said:

“When we got to Breslau the mining of the town’s approaches was in
operation and I had a good look at it. They were digging trenches about
three miles outside of Breslau and burying horrible looking bombs
eleven inches in diameter, row after row, as far as I could see. They
seemed to fear a Russian attack.

“I was allowed the privilege of looking over their Zeppelins at Breslau,
for use against the Russians.

“There seemed to be fifty of them, in tents with doors wide open.
Operators, officers, men and equipment were all aboard, ready to start
at a moment’s notice. They have sure got a system. I also saw some forty
aeroplanes there.

“From Breslau we had a slow but not uncomfortable trip to Berlin. German
officers who spoke enough ‘American’ to make themselves understood saw
to it that we got coffee and food at stations along the way.

“You must know that ‘American’ is now officially recognized as a
language. Signs up everywhere say ‘American spoken here.’ The bill of
fare no longer reads ‘English roast beef,’ but ‘Amerikanischer roast
beef.’ So all along the line. It’s all American now, not English.”


A corporal and two privates of the Black Watch, all wounded, have just
arrived in London from the front. They were surrounded by a crowd and
cheered in the West End this morning. The corporal, telling how his
regiment fought, said:

“In the thick of it we were singing Harry Lauder’s latest. Aye, ’twas
grand. All around us were the dead and dying. Every now and then the
German shells burst and as we peppered away at ’em we sang ‘Roamin’ in
the Gloamin’’ and the ‘Lass o’ Killikrankie.’”

Somebody in the crowd asked: “What were the Jews doing?”

The Highlander replied:

“Their duty. We had three with us, and bonnier and braver lads I don’t
wish to see. They fought just splendidly.”

A private in the Berkshire regiment added:

“We had ten in our company. They were all good fighters, but six won’t
be seen again.”


All of Servia is enthusiastic in regard to the campaign for the conquest
of territory from the Austrians.

One of the most remarkable features is the ardent enthusiasm displayed
by the Servian women. Many of them have taken a pledge not to love a man
who has not killed at least one of the enemy.


The correspondent of the London _Chronicle_ says:

“In ---- the stationmaster, a brave old type, and one or two porters had
determined to stay on to the last. ‘We are here,’ he said, as though the
Germans would have to reckon with him, but he was emphatic in his
request for me to leave at once if another train could be got away,
which was very uncertain. As a matter of fact, after a bad quarter of
an hour, I was put on the last train to escape from this threatened
town, and left it with the sound of German guns in my ears, followed by
a dull explosion when the bridge behind me was blown up.

“My train, in which there were only four other men, skirted the German
army, and by a twist in the line almost ran into the enemy’s country,
but we rushed through the night and the engine driver laughed and put
his oily hand up to salute when I stepped out to the platform of an
unknown station. ‘The Germans won’t get us after all,’ he said. It was a
little risky all the same.

“The station was crowded with French soldiers and they were soon telling
me their experience of the hard fighting in which they had been engaged.
They were dirty, unshaven, dusty from head to foot, scorched by the
August sun, in tattered uniforms and broken boots, but they were
beautiful men for all their dirt, and the laughing courage, quiet
confidence and unbragging simplicity with which they assured me that the
Germans would soon be caught in a death trap and sent to their
destruction filled me with admiration which I cannot express in words.”


A correspondent of the London _Daily News_ cables his paper:

“From all I hear of the progress of the German advance the Germans were
in Amiens on Sunday. The city was evacuated and the railway tunnel
blown up. I judged it would be useful to visit the little town of
Beauvais, twenty miles almost due south of Amiens on the road from
Dieppe to Gournay.

“Crossing the bridge by the railway station, a French dragoon laughed
when he saw our startled look at what rested below against the bridge
supports. They are waiting for the Germans.

“The streets were strewn with broken glass bottles and barbed wire
entanglements were coiled everywhere. The little place is in a hollow.
One wanted but slight imagination to the flaming hell it could become at
any moment.

“It was growing dusk, and I suppose I have never before felt such an
urgent desire to leave a town.”


In a statement issued by the British War Office the following incidents
have been mentioned:

“During the action at Le Cateau all the officers and men of one of the
British batteries had been killed or wounded with the exception of one
subaltern and two gunners. These continued to serve one gun and kept up
a sound, raking fire and came out unhurt from the battlefield.

“On another occasion a portion of a supply column was cut off by a
detachment of German cavalry. The officer in charge was summoned to
surrender. He refused and, starting the motor off at full speed, dashed
safely through, only losing two lorries.”


The Paris correspondent of the London _Chronicle_ telegraphs:

“In the fighting at Compiègne, when the British captured several German
guns, the Dragoon Guards did wonderful work. There was one tremendous
cavalry charge, in which these dragoons were accompanied by their
farrier, armed only with his hammer, which he wielded with deadly
effect, according to the men.”


An amusing instance of the thoroughness of the German censor was shown
by a letter received the other day by a woman whose husband, an American
business man, is temporarily detained in Berlin.

The envelope was addressed in her husband’s handwriting and was stamped
with the censor’s official seal. Inside the envelope was a slip of paper
on which was scrawled in a queer-looking foreign script:

“Your husband, madam, is well, but too communicative.”


A correspondent of _Le Petit Journal_ relates a characteristic interview
with Jules Vedrines, the well-known airman, who already has done
distinguished service, but finds the service monotonous because he is
not allowed more activity. His work is confined to reconnoitering for
the troops and artillery. He says:

“If only they would let me go and leave my visiting card with Emperor


“It was a unique sight,” says the Paris correspondent of the London
_Daily Chronicle_, “when the members of the foreign embassies and
legations quit Paris for Bordeaux. They left in the dead of night and
their only illumination was moonlight.

“There was Sir Francis Bertie, in a black suit and bowler hat, talking
to the Italian Ambassador, who, with Signor Tittoni, were
distinguishable figures in gray and with soft felt hats. Myron T.
Herrick, the American Ambassador, had come down with his wife to say
good-by to his confrères, and M. Isvolsky, the Czar’s envoy, was
chatting with the Spanish Ambassador, who, like Mr. Herrick, is
remaining in Paris to perform the duties of courtesy that fall upon
neutrals at such a time.

“The windows of each carriage of the special train were labeled with the
names of the countries whose representatives it was carrying off. There
was even an inscription for the more or less imaginary republic of San
Marino, but no one appeared to answer to this honorific name. There were
the Persian Minister and M. Romonos, a black-bearded Greek, and the
Russian military attaché, in uniform, and _les braves Belges_, and all
sorts of servants, including a Chinese nurse, who was feeding a yellow
baby that had coal black eyes.

“At last a horn was blown and the train rolled away.

“Say what you like, it is no pleasant thing to see the world’s delegates
pack up their traps and leave the splendid city of Paris to its fate.”


A priest of Termonde describing the destitution of that town to a
correspondent, said:

“When the Germans attacked the town we had no guns. Our gendarmes and
soldiers fought at two or three places and drove the Germans back for
the moment, but with their numbers and equipment they could not help but
win. Our men retired in good order and blew up the bridges as they
retired. Nearly all the inhabitants left ahead of the troops. Some,
including myself, stayed and crossed the river in boats yesterday.

“The Germans had entered in the night and set the town afire. The German
soldiers seemed to go mad. They ran about setting the houses alight and
shouting, ‘This is how we will burn Antwerp in three days!’ Nobody
seemed to be in command, but I suppose that the burning was ordered.”


“Among a party of nurses who left Folkestone for the front,” says the
London _Daily Mail_ correspondent, “were a number of women wearing
riding breeches and spurs and long coats and helmets similar to those
worn in the tropics.

“Their duties will be to ride over the battlefield and look for the
wounded and render first aid, after which other nurses will convey the
stricken soldiers to the base hospital in motor cars. It is pointed out
that many wounded have died owing to not having received immediate


“Wealthy young Belgians have done great work,” writes a correspondent
from Antwerp, “by dashing at the German lines in armored automobiles,
each of which carried a single machine gun. In one instance one of these
cars stopped for lack of gasolene just as it reached a German patrol. A
daring young Belgian jumped out and filled the tank, and although
bullets fell about him, he reëntered the car uninjured and the machine
started forward again, while the mitrailleuse was working constantly.”


Police dogs are being used in this war in Red Cross work for the first
time, says a Paris correspondent. They are reported to be giving
excellent results. They have been trained to discover the wounded man
and to bring his cap or another piece of his wearing apparel back to
the headquarters of the Red Cross, and then to lead a nurse to the


Describing the flight from Paris, when the people feared the Germans
were about to attack the capital, a correspondent says:

“This great army in retreat was made up of every type familiar in Paris.

“Here were women of the gay world, poor creatures whose painted faces
had been washed with tears, and whose tight skirts and white stockings
were never made for a long march down the highways of France.

“Here, also, were thousands of those poor old ladies who live on a few
francs a week in the attics of the Paris streets, which Balzac knew;
they had fled from their poor sanctuaries and some of them were still
carrying cats and canaries, as dear to them as their own lives.

“There was one young woman who walked with a pet monkey on her shoulder
while she carried a bird in a golden cage. Old men, who remembered 1870,
gave their arms to old ladies to whom they had made love when the
Prussians were at the gates of Paris then.

“It was pitiful to see these old people now hobbling along together.
Pitiful, but beautiful, also, because of their lasting love.

“Young boy students, with ties as black as their hats and rat tail hair,
marched in small companies of comrades, singing brave songs, as though
they had no fear in their hearts, and very little food, I think, in
their stomachs.

“Shopgirls and concierges, city clerks, old aristocrats, young boys and
girls, who supported grandfathers and grandmothers, and carried newborn
babies and gave pick-a-pack rides to little brothers and sisters, came
along the way of retreat.

“Each human being in the vast torrent of life will have an unforgettable
story of adventure to tell if life remains.”


The French troops are brave and fearless but too impetuous, says a
correspondent of the London _Daily Chronicle_. He adds:

“Careless of quick-firers, which experience should have taught them were
masked behind the enemy’s advance posts, they charged with the bayonet
and suffered needlessly heavy losses during the fighting at Creil and
Compiègne. One can only admire the gallantry of men who dare to charge
on foot against the enemy’s mounted men and who actually put a squadron
of them to flight, but one must say again: ‘_C’est magnifique, mais ce
n’est pas la guerre._’

“There have been many incidents of heroism in these last days of
fighting. It is, for instance, immensely characteristic of the French
spirit that an infantry battalion, having put to flight a detachment of
German outposts in the forest of Compiègne, calmly sat down to have a
picnic in the woods until, as they sat over their hot soup, laughing at
their exploit, they were attacked by a new force and cut to pieces.”


“The Russian Cossacks have painted all their white and gray horses
green, making them harmonize with the foliage, so that their movements
cannot be seen by scouting aeroplanes,” says a London correspondent.
This plan was first adopted by the British in the struggle with the


The correspondent of the London _Standard_ tells how destroyers and
submarines of the British fleet by close surveillance discovered the
passage between the mines which the German destroyers used in coming out
to the North Sea. With that information a flotilla of submarines and
destroyers proceeded to round up the German ships. When the operation
was finished the British vessels returned to their base with the
exception of one submarine.

There was much anxiety as to the fate of this vessel, and as nearly a
day passed without any news of her the fleet began to conclude she had
been lost. Just as this fear began to be viewed as a certainty the
submarine came calmly into the midst of the fleet and asked to be

The excitement among the bluejackets at the return of the wanderer
spread to every ship. The questions on every lip were, “Where has she
been and what has she been doing?” The explanation was soon
forthcoming, and all who heard it were thrilled at the daring feat
accomplished by the commander and crew.

The submarine actually had penetrated into the harbor of Bremerhaven,
where she fired two torpedoes. The Germans were panic-stricken, in the
midst of which the submarine went to sleep on the bottom of the harbor.
For hours the ship and crew remained there while the harbor was being
trawled, but the nets fortunately passed over her. As soon as he
considered it was safe the commander gave orders to proceed out of the
German harbor, the submarine returning across the North Sea without


A newspaper correspondent made a motor trip to Brussels and tells of
being ambushed by Germans. He says:

“We first sighted Germans when approaching a railway grade crossing
outside of Aerschot. There were a hundred of them waiting for us behind
a hedge, with rifles leveled. When a hundred yards away an officer in
the trailing gray cloak stepped into the middle of the road and held up
his hand and called out:


“I jammed on the brakes.

“‘Are you English?’ the officer demanded none too pleasantly.

“‘No, American,’ I said.

“‘I know America well,’ he said. ‘Atlantic City and Niagara Falls and
Coney Island. I have seen all your famous places.’

“Imagine standing in the middle of a Belgian road, surrounded by German
soldiers who looked as though they would rather shoot you than not, and
discussing the relative merits of hotels at Atlantic City with an
officer of an invading army.”


“Why, it’s Kitchener!” gasped the wounded soldiers in St. Thomas’s
Hospital, London, as the Secretary of State for War stepped in for a
visit of inspection, says a correspondent. Here’s his chat with a
trooper of the Royal Irish Dragoons:

“How are you getting on?” asked Lord Kitchener.

“All right, sir,” answered Trooper Craig.

“What’s your regiment?”

“The Irish Dragoons.”

“How did you get that hand?”

“My horse threw me and stamped on it, sir, just before it got killed by
a shell in a charge in Belgium.”

“Ah, but you got into them, didn’t you?” Lord Kitchener continued, with
a knowing air.

“Oh, yes, sir, we did,” answered the trooper, with a laugh, in which
Lord Kitchener joined.

“There are some more waiting for you, you know,” was Lord Kitchener’s
parting shot, and again the trooper laughed.


A curious story in connection with the sacking of Louvain is told by a
correspondent of a London paper. M. Pousette, a Swedish diplomat, was
there, watching the soldiers looting shops. He talked with a German

M. Pousette had a camera in his pocket. He asked the lieutenant if he
could take a picture. The lieutenant, not knowing that M. Pousette had
the camera, misunderstood the question, and, waving his hand toward a
particularly fine mansion, generously said: “Yes; go in that house.
There are a number of good ones there.”


A Swedish actress narrates how she was taken for a German spy in Paris,
and, not knowing how to proclaim her identity and being surrounded by a
shouting mob, she felt quite alarmed. Suddenly a lucky idea occurred to

She slightly raised her skirt, and, showing dainty little feet,
exclaimed: “You look at this! Do you call these German?”

She was saved and carried in triumph to her hotel.


The sinking of the Wilson line steamship _Runo_ by a mine in the North
Sea is described as follows:

“It was extremely fortunate that the little fleet of four trawlers,
homeward bound with their holds full of fish, chanced to be passing
almost within hailing distance of the _Runo_ at that moment. The
trawlers, regardless of the consequences to themselves, in view of the
possibility that there were other mines in the neighborhood, pushed
through the wreckage and picked up sailors and passengers who were
clinging to timbers and rafts. These were persons who, in the first
panic, had jumped overboard or had been blown into the sea. Others were
gathered from the decks of the fast sinking ship.

“The _Runo_, when she struck the mine, tilted at an angle which made it
difficult to launch the lifeboats. Only two were launched, survivors
said, and these after reaching the water were both overturned by
frightened passengers trying to get into them.

“The _Runo_, after settling by the head, remained in that position for
nearly two hours, her bulkheads holding her afloat until 6 o’clock when
the bulkheads suddenly gave way, elevating her stern high in the air for
a moment, after which she dipped quietly into the depths.

“The work of the trawlers is declared by the _Runo’s_ crew to have been
one of the finest episodes of its kind in the history of the sea.”


A London _Chronicle_ correspondent thus describes the irresistible
advance of the German troops:

“When I wrote my last despatch it seemed as inevitable as the rising of
the next day’s sun that the Germans should enter Paris on that very day.

“They were fighting the British troops at Creil when I came to that
town. Upon the following day they were holding the British in the forest
of Compiègne. They have been as near to Paris as Senlis, almost within
gunshot of the outer forts.

“‘Nothing seems to stop them,’ said many soldiers with whom I spoke. ‘We
kill them and kill them, but they still come on.’”


Cabling from Paris a correspondent says:

“In the fighting at Dieure the Germans signaled for a masked battery to
open fire on the French by having a military band play Chopin’s ‘Funeral


A correspondent in Ostend says that among the French wounded in recent
fighting was a dragoon with six bullet and three bayonet wounds in the
upper part of his body. He was expected to recover.


A London correspondent says: “A half-sheet typewritten French dictionary
of the most necessary words is carried by all soldiers of the British
expeditionary force.”


A London correspondent says:

“According to the September Navy List just issued the Kaiser is still an
honorary admiral of the British fleet, so it would seem that his
resignation has not yet reached Whitehall.”


Private Whitaker of the Coldstream Guards, writing to his fiancée,
describes the fighting at Compiègne in the following words, cables a
London correspondent:

“You could not miss the Germans. Our bullets plowed into them, but still
they came for us. I was well intrenched and my rifle got so hot I could
hardly hold it. I was wondering if I should have enough cartridges, when
a pal shouted, ‘Up, Guards, and at ’em!’ The next second he was rolled
over with a nasty knock on the shoulder. He jumped up and roared, ‘Let
me get at ’em!’

“They still came on and when we really did get the order to get at them
we made no mistakes. They cringed at the bayonet, but those on our left
tried to get around us.

“We yelled like demons, and after racing as hard as we could for quite
500 yards we cut up nearly every German who had not run away. Then we
took up a new position.

“Here our cover was not so good. At our left were the cavalry. The
enemy’s guns were blazing away and they got to us nicely, but not for
long. You have read of the charge of the Light Brigade. It was nothing
to our charge.”


“A report from Basel confirms earlier statements that the Kaiser watched
the Germans bombarding Nancy,” says a correspondent of the London
_Standard_. “Attended at first by a small staff, he took up a position
on a hill overlooking the town, just outside the range of the French

“For several hours the Kaiser stood alone in an isolated spot in the
full glare of the sun, his eyes glued to a field glass through which he
was following the operations of his army. Finally he walked back to a
waiting automobile and was driven away unattended.”


From Paris comes the story of the arrival of twenty-eight Prussian
prisoners, the first to be seen in the French capital in the present
war. It seems they had become separated from their regiment and lost
their way. They asked a peasant near Meaux if the Germans had taken
Paris and how to get there. The peasant replied that he thought Paris
had fallen and would conduct them to the right road. When it was too
late the Prussians found he was leading them into the British lines.


Telegraphing from Sydney, N. S. W., the Reuter correspondent says:

“An attempt was made at Nauru Island, a German possession in the Pacific
just south of the equator and near the Gilbert Islands, to seize the
British steamship _Messina_. A German magistrate with a party in a small
boat approached the _Messina_ and demanded to go on board her.

“‘By whose orders?’ the mate of the _Messina_ asked.

“‘By orders of his Majesty, the Emperor of Germany,’ the magistrate

“The mate laughed at the magistrate and ordered full speed ahead, and
the _Messina_ soon reached the open sea.”


“A magnificent Gordon Highlander recently attracted attention at the
Gare du Nord,” telegraphs a correspondent from Paris. “He was in fine
humor, although he had been wounded in the side in the fighting on the
Marne. He had a sword in his hand which, he explained, he had captured
from a Uhlan directly after the German had struck him with it, and he
had shot his assailant dead.

“Some women of the French Red Cross on their way to the front caught
sight of the Scotsman and hurried up to see if he was badly hurt. An
animated conversation followed. The Highlander, anxious to express his
gratitude to the French Florence Nightingales, hesitated a moment; then
he kissed all of them on the cheeks. The crowd cheered delightedly and
the nurses were not in the least abashed.”


A London correspondent telegraphs the following incident:

“The master of the Grimsby steam trawler _Agatha_ reports that while
fishing in the North Sea he sighted a ship’s boat afloat, and supposing
that some disaster had occurred went toward it, put out a boat and found
the derelict to be a lifeboat supplied with sails, mast and oars. The
_Agatha_ tried to tow the prize home, but immediately an explosion
occurred, luckily too far distant to harm the trawler.

“A careful examination revealed that a mine had been attached to the
lifeboat by ropes and wires in such a manner as to explode and blow up
any ship which steamed alongside the lifeboat to pick it up.”


“There is much talk here,” says a Malta correspondent, “of a new German
siege gun which kills as much by poisonous gases liberated from the
shell as by the solid contents. The gun has a relatively small bore and
is easily mounted on wheels.

“The shell is loaded at the mouth of the gun, but a metallic shaft,
making a piece with the shell, is rammed tightly into the gun. Shell and
shaft are shot together.”


A Bourges correspondent says: “Among the spectators acclaiming the
French artillery passing through here were four lads, the eldest about
13. Several marches later the boys were found in a circle of the troops
partaking of the mess.

“They swore to follow until they came in contact with the enemy and to
lay down their lives for their country. A collection was immediately
raised among the soldiers. The boys were terribly depressed at being
compelled to return home afoot, charged with vagabondage under the
military law. The magistrate, with tears in his eyes, acquitted them.”


Telegraphing from Rotterdam a correspondent of the _New York Sun_ says:

“An American who arrived here from Berlin said to me:

“‘As the Berliners have been treated to a long, unbroken series of
bulletins announcing German victories and have an invincible belief in
the irresistibility of the German army, I asked why there were so few
English prisoners.

“‘The reply was: “We are not troubling ourselves to take many. The
hatred of our men for the British is uncontrollable.” This was
accompanied by a gesture which indicated that the wounded fare badly.’”


A Petrograd correspondent telegraphs the following: “An engagement at
Krinitz, between Lublin and Kholm, where the Austrians lost about 6,000
prisoners and several guns, was decided by a bayonet charge. The
Austrians got entangled in a bog, from which, after their surrender,
they had to be extricated with the assistance of ropes.”


Quoting from a letter received from a French officer a Bordeaux
correspondent tells how a French cavalry division held in check two
German corps for twenty-four hours:

“When the Germans were advancing from the north we were ordered to hold
a certain village at all costs with a few quick-firing guns and cavalry.
It was a heroic enterprise, but we succeeded.

“The German attack began in the morning. A terrific bombardment was
maintained all day; shells destroyed every building and the noise was
infernal. We had to scream and shout all orders. The church tower was
struck by a shell at the stroke of midnight and collapsed.

“Early in the morning we retreated under a hail of shells, after mowing
down masses of German infantry. We gave our army in the rear a whole
day’s rest and our exploit is mentioned in many orders as a historic
rearguard defensive action.”


A young reserve officer who has returned to Paris, relating how he
captured the sword of a Bavarian colonel, said:

“When charging the Bavarians I noticed that their colonel was striking
his own men with his sword to prevent them from running away. He was so
occupied in this that he forgot the approach of the French and was shot


A Rouen correspondent has obtained possession of the diary of a German
officer, who surrendered to a party of stragglers, and quotes the
following from it:

“Aug. 5.--Our losses to-day before Liége have been frightful. Never
mind; it is all allowed for. Besides the fallen are only Polish
beginners, the spilling of whose blood will spread the war lust at
home--a necessary factor. Wait till we put our experts on these deluded

“Aug. 11.--And now for the English, who are used to fighting farmers.
_Vorwärts, immer vorwärts._ To-night William the Greater has given us
beautiful advice: ‘You think each day of your Emperor; do not forget
God.’ His Majesty should remember that thinking of him we think of God,
for is he not the Almighty’s representative in this glorious fight for
the right?

“Aug. 12.--This is clearly to be an artillery war. As we foresaw, the
infantry counts for nothing.

“Aug. 15.--We are on the frontier; why do we wait? Has Russia really
dared to invade us? Two hussars were shot to-day for killing a child.
This may be war, but it is the imperial wish that we carry it on in a
manner befitting the most highly cultivated people.

“Aug. 14.--Every night now a chapter of the war of 1870 is read to us.
What a great notion! But is it necessary?”


The _Daily Chronicle’s_ correspondent at Amsterdam telegraphs as

“The Cologne _Gazette_ says: ‘A thousand English soldiers are now
prisoners of war at the Döberitz military exercise ground near Berlin.

“‘It is proposed to give English officers facilities for tennis and
golf, but this plan is opposed by the _Gazette_, which says that men of
the nation which plunged Germany into the war will be better occupied
sitting down thinking of their country’s sins.’”


“Official couriers arriving here from the American Legation at Brussels
witnessed a fresh sample of German atrocity toward the conquered
Belgians,” says a correspondent in Antwerp. “Passing slowly through
Louvain in an automobile, they saw sitting outside a partly burned house
a boy 8 years old whose hands and feet had been cut off at the wrists
and ankles. The Americans stopped and asked the child’s mother what had

“‘The Germans did it,’ she said with spiritless apathy.

“Evidently in terror lest she had said too much, she refused to answer
further questions. The child’s wrists and ankles were bandaged as if the
frightful injuries were inflicted recently. Details of the shooting down
of one Jesuit priest of Louvain were told to the American couriers by
another priest who witnessed the affair.

“It appears that the Jesuit kept a diary in which he had written the
following commentary on the sacking of the Louvain library: ‘Vandalism
worthy of Attila himself.’

“German officers forced him to read the words aloud, then marked a cross
in chalk on the back of his cassock as a target and sent a dozen bullets
into his back in the presence of twenty other Louvain priests.”


A wounded sergeant brought from the front told a Paris correspondent
that he owes his life to a bust of the Kaiser. The sergeant took it
from a village school and stuck it in his haversack. Soon afterward a
German bullet struck him, knocking him down. He found the bullet had
glanced off the head of the bust, chipping off one of the ends of the
Kaiser’s mustache.


A Jesuit priest who escaped from Louvain before the destruction of that
city has written to his father, Philip Cooley, as follows:

“All our people escaped except eleven scholastics. One of these was shot
at once, as he had a war diary on his person. The others were taken to
Brussels where they were to have been shot, but the American Minister
stepped in and stopped it.

“He told the Germans that his Government would declare war if any of
those persons were shot.”


In one little town near Clearmont we came in for a strange echo of war.
A woman in a high cart drove past quickly. I was talking with a woman of
the inn.

There was silence, then an outburst from the handsome Sibyl-faced
hostess who had two sons at war. “Think of it,” she said; “three of our
soldiers were chased from the fight at Creil. They took refuge with
her. She is rich and has a garden. She hid them in a hayloft and threw
their uniforms in the garden. The Germans came. They slept in her house.

“They said: ‘We are forced to fight; it is not of our seeking. The
French attacked us.’

“They found the uniforms. They put a pistol to her breast.

“‘We will shoot you if you do not say where these soldiers are.’

“She cried: ‘In the loft.’

“They shot them all--three traitors--and it would have been so easy to


The London _Daily Express’s_ Paris correspondent says that the British
captured seventeen howitzers and a number of smaller guns. The German
cavalry losses were appalling. A captured German cavalry officer
estimates the wastage of horses, especially in the Belgian campaign, at
about two-thirds of the total allotted to the army operating in the
direction of Paris.

The army was hampered by a shortage of cavalry scouts, and since it
entered France many battery horses have been transferred to the cavalry.
As a result guns have been abandoned and have fallen into the hands of
the British in large numbers. The horseless cavalrymen are now marching
with the infantry.

The officer is despondent over the future, but thinks that the German
right intends to stand in the positions prepared during the advance and
await reënforcements.


The London _Daily Mail’s_ Petrograd correspondent sends a description of
M. Poiret, a French aviator who is serving with the Russian army, of a
flight over the German position, accompanied by a staff captain:

“I rose to a height of 5,000 feet,” said Poiret. “Fighting was in full
swing. The Captain with me already had made some valuable observations
when the Germans, noticing my French machine, opened fire on it.

“A number of their bullets pierced the wings of the aeroplane and others
struck the stays. We still flew on, however, as it was necessary to
obtain the exact position of the enemy. Then the German artillery began.
Their shells burst near the aeroplane and each explosion caused it to
rock. It was difficult to retain control as pieces of shells had
seriously damaged two of the stays. The fantastic dance in the air
lasted twenty minutes.

“The Captain was wounded in the heel but continued to make observations.
Finally I turned the machine and landed home safely. I found ten bullet
marks and two fragments of shells in the machine.”


“The German attempts at spying are amazingly daring near Toulon. Attempt
follows attempt with an incredible indifference to the sudden death
which follows capture,” writes a correspondent.

“One of the patrol thought he saw a movement down among the vines on the
side of a deserted road and knew that something was wrong. He
immediately gave a hail. As there was no reply he fired two shots among
the vines. Some one gave a scream, and the soldier ran up with his
bayonet at the ready.

“Three men jumped out from among the vines and one of them fired twice
at him with a revolver or automatic pistol. He was not hit and went
right at them with his bayonet, firing again as he ran. He killed one
man. More soldiers ran up and they chased the two men that were left
down the deserted road to the little bay. There was a small petrol
launch lying close in shore. Immediately afterward the launch put her
bow around and went out to sea.

“But that’s not the most dramatic part of this evening’s business. It
was suspected that more men had come ashore from the launch. A general
alarm was sent out immediately. This precaution was well justified, for
two men were caught trying to blow up one of the railway bridges.

“These two men were given exactly one minute to prepare themselves. They
were shoved against the pier of the bridge and the firing party shot
them from so close a distance that one man’s clothes caught fire. He
didn’t seem to know that he was hit at first, for he started trying to
put out the places where his coat and vest were burning. Then he went
down plump on the ground. The other man died instantly.

“When the German was trying to put out his burning clothes just before
he slipped down he kept saying in broken English (not German, mind you),
‘I vill burn! I vill burn!’ He seemed quite unable to realize he was


“The French bluejacket is a fine fellow but in every way presents a big
contrast alongside his present war mates of the British navy,” says a

“To begin with, he must dramatize all his emotions. I saw a ship from
foreign parts coming to Boulogne. One man, evidently expected, for there
was a large crowd, stepped ashore. There was tremendous earnestness in
his face. Courage, patriotism, duty--all these shone out, transfiguring
a somewhat slovenly figure. Several women embraced him as he stepped
ashore. This he accepted as a tribute due to him. When he had taken
enough he waved the rest aside and pointed in the direction of the
Marine Department Office.

“I go!” he called out. He made a brief speech, fiery, religious,
earnest. Then he kissed his mother, said good-by to everyone, and
crossed the quay to the Marine Department of War. His shipmates looked
on admiringly. The customs authorities did not search him for
contraband. He was the brave patriot going to serve his country afloat.


Here is a delightful story from a correspondent in France:

“A party of British bluejackets were being entertained by their future
allies ashore. A middy came off with the leave boat at 10 o’clock. He
noticed some of the men were half seas over and all were jolly.

“One of the bluejackets he saw had a bottle concealed beneath his
jumper. He directed a petty officer to take it from him and throw it
overboard. This was done--and the owner of it promptly jumped in after
it. The next moment half the boat’s company had dived overboard; the
other half were restrained by the officers. Fortunately every man was
saved. Next morning there was a parade on the quarter deck. The captain
complimented the men on their exploit of the night before, thanked God
they were safe and expressed pleasure that he had such a body of men
under him. The men received his praise stolidly. Then one spoke out:

“‘Sorry we were unsuccessful, sir,’ he said, saluting.

“‘But--but!’ said the captain, ‘I understood Seaman Robert Hodge was

“‘Yes, sir, but we dived after the whiskey, sir. We knew Bob could look
after himself.’”


Details of how his son was wounded have just reached the French Foreign
Minister, Delcassé.

Lieutenant Jacques Delcassé, his sword in one hand and a revolver in the
other, was charging at the head of his company when a German bullet
struck him down. Gallantly struggling to his feet, Delcassé again dashed
at the enemy, but a second ball placed him out of action.

To his wife, who arrived at Bordeaux to-day, the Foreign Minister said:
“I’m proud of Jacques; he did his duty.”


In the hospital at Bordeaux a soldier of the Second French Colonial
Regiment was operated upon for a horrible wound in the thigh, caused by
an explosive bullet. The orifice made by the bullet on entry was clean
and narrow, whereas at the exit it was several centimeters wide, while
the intermediate flesh was a mass of bruised and torn tissues, which
were entirely destroyed. As the surgeon cut away the flesh the wounded
man remarked:

“The blackguards! To think that I served two years in Morocco without a
scratch, and now these German scoundrels have served me like this.”


Here are two instances of individual French heroism:

“In a village on the point of occupation by German cavalry, a French
soldier, the last of his regiment there, heard a woman’s cries. He
turned back. At that moment a Uhlan patrol entered the village. The
soldier hid behind a door and then shot down the first officer and then
one of the soldiers.

“While the rest of the patrol hesitated, the soldier rushed out, seized
the officer’s riderless horse, swung himself into the saddle and,
hoisting the woman behind him, rode off amid a hail of bullets. Both
reached the French lines unscathed.

“The second act of bravery cost the hero his life. On the banks of the
Oise a captain of engineers had been ordered to blow up a bridge in
order to cover the French retreat.

“When a detachment of the enemy appeared on the other side of the bridge
the officer ordered his men back and then himself running forward fired
the mine with his own hand, meeting a death which he must have known to
be certain.”


A remarkable story of a soldier caught in a trap amid a rain of bullets,
who dug his way to safety with his bayonet, was told in a hospital at

“A body of Russian troops was lured into the open through the flying of
a white flag,” the soldier said, “when the bullets began to rain upon
us. There was no cover in sight and I began to dig a hole with my
bayonet. Either it would be my grave or my protection from the rifle

“One bullet hit me, but I continued to dig. A second bullet hit me and
this went clear through my lungs.

“The hole was half finished when a third bullet struck me in the leg.
Finally I finished the hole and tumbled into it just as a fourth shot
hit my other leg. I became unconscious and remembered nothing more until
I woke up here.”


A Reuter despatch from Paris says that a British soldier of the 6th
Dragoons, suffering from bullet wounds in the hip, told of a grim
incident at Compiègne.

The night before the battle the dragoon’s squadron was on outpost duty.
Some firing had been heard, and he rode ahead of his squadron to find
out what was happening, in the belief that French cavalry were engaged
with the Germans close at hand.

The dragoon cantered along the moonlit road, until suddenly, in the
shadow of the trees, he found himself in the midst of a group of
horsemen--Germans. He had a carbine across the neck of his horse and
fired point blank into the breast of a German trooper, with whose horse
his own collided. The German was as quick with his weapon and both men
fell to the ground, the German dead, the British soldier with a bullet
through his hip.

An instant later the British squadron came clattering up and cut the
German detachment--about thirty strong--to pieces.


In the orders of the day made public at Bordeaux numerous cases of
bravery are cited. Two of them follow:

“Private Phillips of the Second Battalion of riflemen, during the battle
ran out under fire to his captain, who was mortally wounded, and brought
him in. Private Phillips went eight times to the firing line under
violent shelling to give water to the wounded and he also assisted his
commandant to rally riflemen dispersed by the enemy’s fire.

“Bugler Martin of the 14th Hussars, a member of a patrol commanded by
Lieutenant de Champigny, in a fierce skirmish with a German patrol,
seeing his commander wounded and captured, charged the German officer
who had made a prisoner of De Champigny, killed him with his own hand
and rescued De Champigny.”


“Vienna Bakeries” all over France have now changed their title to
“Parisian Bakeries,” says a Paris correspondent.


When fighting was general about Brussels smart women of the Belgian
capital motored out to watch battles in the cool of the afternoon as
gaily as though going to the races, says an Ostend correspondent.


Here is part of the description of scenes on the battlefields on the
banks of the Marne as told to a Paris correspondent by an eyewitness:

“The greatest optimism reigns. I saw the remains of blown-up bridges and
hundreds of lifeless horses and mules in the deserted trenches. Dead
soldiers had been buried and the wounded cared for, and some priests
were throwing burning brushwood on carcasses.

“In the blazing sunshine not far away I saw a little boy, son of a
Turco--for the Turcos often bring their wives and children on or near
the battlefield.

“He had a rifle of some wounded soldier which he was hugging in his
little arms as if it were a toy. He was perfectly happy surrounded by
evidences of death, destruction, suffering and blood. His father was
lying wounded in a village close by. The child had strayed away.”


A Petrograd correspondent says:

“Wounded officers who have returned from East Prussia charge that the
Germans are poisoning the water. A woman brought water to soldiers and
they immediately became ill. Their officer tendered the water to a
German, who refused to drink it, and when analyzed it was found to have
contained arsenic.”


Four gunners of the Royal Field Artillery at Folkestone had an
experience which has set all the Channel town to laughing, says a London
correspondent. The gunners recently hired a small boat and rowed out
into the Channel.

The following morning a boat from Calais, the French city just across
the Channel, swung the missing rowboat down to the dock at Folkestone
and the four gunners sheepishly followed.

Nervous because of the delay in getting to the scene of war, the four
men had decided they would row to Calais. They had failed to provide
food and water and found the thirty-mile pull under a hot sun a task
they had not expected. Finally they hailed a French fishing vessel.


A correspondent in Limoges cables:

“On a train loaded with wounded which passed through here was a young
French officer, Albert Palaphy, whose unusual bravery on the field of
battle won for him the Legion of Honor.

“As a corporal of the 10th Dragoons at the beginning of the war Palaphy
took part in the recent violent combat with the Germans. In the thick of
the battle the brigadier, finding his colonel wounded and helpless,
rushed to his aid. Palaphy hoisted the injured man upon his shoulders,
and under a rain of machine gun bullets carried the colonel safely to
the French lines. That same day Palaphy was promoted to be a sergeant.

“Shortly afterward, although wounded, he distinguished himself in
another affair, leading a charge of his squad against the Baden Guard,
whose standard he himself captured. Wounded by a bullet which had plowed
through the lower part of his stomach and covered with lance thrusts, he
was removed from the battlefield in the night. Then he learned that he
had been promoted to be a sub-lieutenant and nominated chevalier in the
Legion of Honor.

“This incident of decorating a soldier on the battlefield recalls
Napoleonic times.”


The following incident is told by a Paris correspondent:

“Near a little village in Lorraine a German lieutenant was effectively
using his artillery on the French. A Hussar had been taken a prisoner to
the village, which was defended by 300 Germans. Under cover of their
own artillery fire the French infantry advanced irresistibly.

“The German officer, who saw that he could not hold out, asked the
Hussar’s advice. Of course the French soldier answered, ‘If you resist
you’re all dead.’ ‘Yes,’ says the German, ‘but if we surrender, still we
will all be shot.’ The Hussar assured him that France respects the laws
of war, that prisoners are well treated and every one of them would be
safe. The German officer quickly resolved to stop his resistance.

“Then the brave little French Hussar, with the German officer beside him
and followed by 300 pointed helmets, marched to the first French officer
and handed over his prisoners.”


A Paris correspondent cables: “Ten members attended the French Academy’s
regular meeting this week and discussed the word ‘exode’ for the
dictionary. ‘Exode’ means exodus.

“Marcel Prévost, the writer, who is an artillery captain, gave his
confrères a description of the Paris defenses.”


“The scene is a village on the outskirts of Muelhausen,” says a
correspondent in Bordeaux. “A lieutenant of German scouts dashes up to
the door of the only inn in the village, posts men at the doorway and
entering, seats himself at a deal table.

“He draws his saber and places it on the table at his side and orders
food in menacing tones.

“The village waiter is equal to the occasion. He goes to an outhouse and
fetches a hayfork and places it at the other side of the visitor.

“‘Stop, what does this mean?’ roars the lieutenant furiously.

“‘Why,’ says the waiter innocently, pointing to the saber, ‘I thought
that was your knife, so I brought you a fork to match.’”


Says a Paris correspondent:

“One Parisian, seeing his supply of absinthe was reduced, with no chance
for obtaining more, drank his last bottle almost at one drink and died.”


The plight of a Swiss woman is told by a Bordeaux correspondent:

Living at Basel she married a German. Two sons were born to them.
Afterward she married a Frenchman and had two more sons. All four of her
sons were called to arms, two on each side.

The mother has just received news that all four have fallen in battle.


Kaiser Wilhelm wept when he signed Germany’s declaration of war against
Russia, according to Liston Lewis, a lawyer of New York. Mr. Lewis said
his information came from one of the highest officials in Germany.

“We reached Berlin on July 29,” he said. “There were stirring scenes
there then. The enthusiasm of the people was deep. They were firm in the
conviction that England, France and Russia were determined to make an
aggressive war on Germany.

“An intimate friend of the Kaiser told me that Wilhelm did not believe
such a thing as a general European war possible. He had been told by the
German Ambassador in Petrograd that the Russian army was not mobilizing
in the West, and had no intention of mobilizing.

“Not until the members of the General Staff put proof of the aggressive
movements of the Russian army before him and insisted that he would be
responsible for what might follow unless he declared war would the
Kaiser believe Russia’s perfidy. Then he asked to be left alone for an

“At the expiration of that time he was found in tears. ‘I can’t do
otherwise,’ he remarked as he signed the declaration of war.”


Representatives of the German Government have arrived in Copenhagen with
a series of film war pictures taken under the Kaiser’s immediate and
personal supervision. These pictures, which already have been exhibited
to a private gathering of press representatives, show the bright side of
the German army, its appearance when marching and the magnificence of
its equipment and organization.

The heroism of the Kaiser himself is shown in a number of heroic
attitudes. One picture is headed, “The Kaiser Under Fire,” but it shows
his Imperial Majesty as merely looking through field glasses and gives
no indication of danger to him. Another shows the Kaiser’s luxurious
headquarters, erected at a safe distance behind the firing line,
consisting of a number of magnificently furnished asbestos huts, in
which his Majesty can live as comfortably and luxuriously as in his
palace at Potsdam.


A French private soldier of the name of Baba Couli-Baly of the 45th
Infantry has been mentioned for his coolness and accurate rifle fire.
While guarding a train of automobiles he put fifteen German cavalrymen
to flight.

Second Lieutenant Boquet and Sergeant Major Mercoer of the same regiment
have been mentioned in orders for their daring in effecting the capture
of a German officer attached to the General Staff who was found making a
reconnoissance in an automobile.


Two Americans arrived at Ostend yesterday battered and haggard, but
wherever they met Germans the waving of the big American passport
secured them politeness.

At Sottegehem they came upon some German officers in a wayside tavern. A
lieutenant called for a song in English. One of the Americans obliged
with “You Made Me Love You, I Didn’t Want to Do It.”

The lieutenant then said: “If you come from Brussels you must be

The officer disappeared and returned with arms laden with ten pounds of
butter and a hundred eggs. He then kindly offered to steal two bicycles
to relieve them from walking.


Two German aviation officers had to land near a Belgian village and were
attacked by the local residents, who armed themselves with shotguns. One
of the Germans succeeded in seizing the village magistrate as a hostage,
and while he kept his pistol at that official’s head his companion
repaired the motor. They then made the magistrate mount the aeroplane,
which luckily was able to ascend with three passengers, and sped away.

Two other German airmen whose aeroplane was wrecked when it came down
were dazed and stunned from their fall. Immediately they were attacked
by a group of French peasants armed with pitchforks and scythes. The
Germans held these men at bay with their revolvers until they reached
the dense woods, in which they hid.

Peasants and soldiers hunted them systematically for days. They spent
anxious hours crouching in holes like rabbits, while their pursuers
fired shotguns and rifles into every suspicious thicket. They lived on
beets and the only water they had was dew, which they sucked from
leaves. Their minds almost gave way under the strain and they were
burning with fever when a German patrol found them.


From an officer who was with Prince Joachim when he was wounded the
following description of the incident has been obtained:

“It was during the hottest part of the battle, just before the Russian
resistance was broken, that the Prince, who was with the staff as
information officer, was despatched to the firing line to learn how the
situation stood. He rode off with Adjutant-Captain von Tahlzahn and had
to traverse the distance, almost a mile, under a heavy hail of shell and
occasional volleys.

“As the Russian artillery was well served and knew all the ranges from
previous measurements, the ride was not a particularly pleasant one, but
he came through safely and stood talking with the officers when a
shrapnel burst in their vicinity. The Prince and the Adjutant were both
hit, the latter receiving contusions on the leg, but the shot not

“To stop and whip out an emergency bandage, which the Prince, like every
officer and private, carries sewed inside the blouse, and bind it around
the thigh to check the bleeding was the work of only a moment. It was a
long and dangerous task, however, to get him back to the first bandaging
station, about a mile to the rear, under fire, and from there he was
transported to the advanced hospital at Allenstein, where he remained
until he was able to travel.”


Under date of Antwerp, Sunday, September 20, 1914, the London _Standard_
published the following story from a correspondent:

“When the German troops under General von Boehn entered Aerschot the
burgomaster awaited the Germans at the entrance to the town, and to
General von Boehn made offers of hospitality.

“The General was gracious enough, and said that so long as everybody in
the place showed the quietest demeanor the town and the lives of those
in it were safe; if not, the reprisals would be pitiless. The
burgomaster offered the hospitality of his own house to the General and
his officers, and this was also accepted.

“General von Boehn, with his chief of staff and another officer, took
up their quarters under the roof of the mayor. At night the General and
his officers dined with the family, consisting of the burgomaster and
his wife and their son and daughter.

“The meal progressed with every sign of geniality, and the conduct of
the officers was perfectly respectful and normal, but toward the end of
the dinner they drank very freely. By the time everybody had retired the
three Germans were all very much the worse for drink.

“In the early hours of the morning the members of the household were
roused by a shriek from the room occupied by the daughter. The son
rushed in and found his sister struggling in the arms of the chief of

“The young man, aroused to a frenzy, attacked the scoundrel. There was a
fierce struggle, which ended in the son shooting the chief of staff.

“The tragedy was witnessed by most of the household, but the shot did
not arouse the General and the other officer, drunkenly asleep in their
beds. The terrified household had to wait until morning for the
dénouement of the tragedy.

“The next morning the body of the chief of staff was discovered by the
officer. The General was terribly cold in his wrath.

“‘The price must be paid,’ he said.

“The burgomaster, his son and two men-servants were put against the wall
and shot.

“The carnage in the streets, with burning, hacking and stabbing,


A correspondent in France describes an incident at Havre when the United
States cruiser _Tennessee_ lay in the harbor and a British transport,
the decks of which were thronged with soldiers, passed her. The American
cruiser dipped the Stars and Stripes, and suddenly the British Tommies
broke into “Rule, Britannia.”

“Then,” says the correspondent, “an amazing thing happened. I heard and
was thrilled by it. The gallant American sailors took up the rolling
chorus--‘Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves. Britons, never,
never, never shall be slaves!’ It was the most perfect act of
brotherliness which I have ever witnessed.”


The Berlin correspondent of the New Rotterdam _Courant_ writes:

“The most gloomy sight to be seen in these days is the advertisements of
deaths in the dignified _Kreuz Zeitung_. The families of officers there
make known the blows that have fallen upon them.

“In the last few days this newspaper has published fifty death
announcements of officers. Every evening powerful families are

“It is endless misery, which is borne with the greatest resignation. An
old lady appeared yesterday at the information bureau and had then to
learn that her three sons, officers, were all dead, and yet she found
strength to bear the blow in her feeling of patriotism.”


An Exchange Telegraph special from Berlin says after the French
surrender of Longwy the Crown Prince had an interview with the French
commander, who handed over his sword.

Contrary to all military customs, the Prince took the sword and broke
it, saying: “I must take your sword, for you fought us dishonorably.
Your soldiers used dumdums.”

The French commander replied: “This is the first I ever heard of dumdums
being used in the French army.”



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                          You Will Scream at

                            THE BLUNDERS OF
                            A BASHFUL MAN.

                         The World’s Champion
                              Funny Book.

                      READ IT! READ IT! READ IT!


It eradicates wrinkles, banishes care, and by its laughter-compelling
mirth and irresistible humor rejuvenates the whole body. Whether you are
a bashful man or not, you should read


In this screamingly funny volume the reader follows with rapt attention
and hilarious delight, the mishaps, mortifications, confusions, and
agonizing mental and physical distresses of a self-conscious,
hypersensitive, appallingly bashful young man, in a succession of
astounding accidents, and ludicrous predicaments, that convulse the
reader with cyclonic laughter, causing him to hold both sides for fear
of exploding from an excess of uproarious merriment.

All records beaten as a fun-maker, rib-tickler, and laugh-provoker. This
marvellous volume of merriment proves melancholy an impostor, and grim
care a joke. With joyous gales of mirth it dissipates gloom and banishes


              Better Than Drugs! Better Than Vaudeville!

                       A WHOLE CIRCUS IN ITSELF!

             The Time, the Place, the Opportunity is Here!

                              BUY IT NOW!

=THE BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN= contains 170 solid pages of reading
matter, illustrated, is bound in heavy lithographed paper covers, and
will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price, 25
cents. Address orders to

                   J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
             P. O. Box 767.      57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

                    IT GRIPS! THRILLS! HYPNOTIZES!


                         Holds You Spellbound.

                              GIPSY BLAIR

                    The Romantic Hero of the Mystic
                    Realm of Detective Literature.


Those of you who have read “Macon Moore” will welcome this additional
story by the same author =JUDSON R. TAYLOR=.

=GIPSY BLAIR, The Western Detective=, is a mighty figure of stupendous
interest, whose astounding adventures and uncanny exploits one watches
with throbbing heart and bated breath. In this tense and gripping drama
from real life, one witnesses the unfolding of an absorbingly
interesting series of criminal plots and counterplots, which revolve
around a man of superb courage and heroic mould, at times fighting
single-handed against bands of the most notorious and desperate
criminals. The rescue of the beautiful Lucy Leonard, from the clutches
of murderous desperadoes and outlaws, vibrates every nerve in the human
body and is one of the most fascinating and stirring incidents ever
recorded in criminal history.

     Impossible to resist the weird fascination of this hair-raising
     drama of love and lawlessness.


     It makes the masterpieces of other detective fiction seem dull and

GIPSY BLAIR contains 250 pages, printed from large type, and bound in
attractive, illustrated paper covers. For sale by booksellers
everywhere, or sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of =Price, 25 Cents.=

                    BUY HERE AND NOW! DON’T DELAY!

                   J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
             P. O. Box 767.      57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

Dalcassé again dashed=> Delcassé again dashed {pg 106}

intermediate flash was=> intermediate flash was {pg 106}

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