DRAMATIC ADVENTURES.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 258, 4 December 1914, Page 8

DRAMATIC ADVENTURES.

HOW LORD COWDRAY'S SON DIED. COMPANION'S THRILLING NARRATIVE. [From the ' 'Daily Mail'' Special Correspondent.] EEANCE, Sunday, October 11. One of the most dramatic adventures of the war is undoubtedly that which befell Sergeant-Major Mackay, of the Army Motor Transport (Army Service Corps), who, after being captured by the Germans, together with the Hon. Geoffrey Pearson, Lord Cowdray's 4 son, managed to escape in safety, while his companion was killed. This is the story of SergeantMajor Mackay's escape tqld in his own words: — "It was on the retreat from Mons. Geoffrey Pearson and I were acting as motor/cyclists with the motor transport. We were going along a straight piece of road, ,with open country on either side, and were letting our machines out for all they were worth. We were alone. Suddenly, without the least warning, we seemed to ride into a perfect hailstorm of bullets which came from somewhere on our left. Ahead of us the road ran into a little wood.

" 'Come on, Jeff, we'll ride for it,' I said, and we dashed through in safety. Hardly had we entered the wood belt, however, than we rode into a group of German cavalry—about 50 of them —scattered about on either side of the road. They immediately fired at us. We saw the-game was up as there was no getting away from them at all, so wfe tumbled off bur ( bikes,' put up oilr hands, and surrendered.

*' The Germans came lumbering at us with shouts of delight, and when they saw we were English spat at us, struck us, and pushed us about. They surrounded us with their horses and allowed us to mount our machines again, indicating with many expressive gestures the fate that awaited us if we should attempt to outdistance our escort and get away. We had no intention, however, of letting the German army have the use of our machines if we were to be prisoners. We turned off the lubricating oil, with the result that after a little while the machines jammed and became useless. The Germans were very suspicious and asked us why, since we were motor-cyclists, we could not repair our machines, but we replied that they were worn out "by hard wear and could not be put in order again. So we left the machines by the roadside. Taunts and Jeers. '' On enquiry we ascertained that we had fallen into the hands of the Mounted Grenadiers (Grenadiere zu Pferd). They took us before their captain, who spoke English well and was polite and considei'ate. -'I regret, gentlemen,' he said; 'that since you are not officers I cannot put you on parole.' As a matter of fact we were just as glad that he was not able to do so, as neither of us was reconciled to ihe idea of being locked up in Germany for the rest of the war.

' 'The Germans .treated us shamefully. They gave us nothing to eat and taunted and jeered at us at every opportunity. That night we spent in the open, ly.ing on the roadside between two men. We had no overcoats, and it was most bitterly cold. I think I have never been so cold in my life as I was that night.

'' The Mounted Grenadiers, who were going off somewhere else, handed us over to a regiment of infantry which was advancing in the direction of Paris. This was the King of Spain's* Eegiment of (Magdeburgisches Infanterie Regiment No. 66), and the way those men treated us was a revelation of German brutality. They took a sheer delight in knocking two defenceless Englishmen about, prodding us with their bayonets, jabbing us with the butts of their rifles, and kicking and pushing us as we marched along with them. The non-commissioned officers were the worst. Then they ordered us to carry their packs. I saw that discretion was in this case the better part of valour, so I took the one handed to me without a word, but Geoffrey flatly refused, like the high-spirited fellow he was. They hit him over the head with the butt-end of a rifle for that. Forced Into the Trenches.

"The Germans took' us with them on their advance against the French. Outside Meaux, near a village called Varreddes, they made us go into the trenches with them. We had a terrible experience there. We were thrust in the line with the rest under a terrific fire from the French guns and infantry. The French shrapnel was awful. The Germans fell like flies, and their bodies began to pile up in the tranches. "I had a good opportunity of seeing the German soldier under fire, and I must say he is plucky enough. He seems to be imbued with a kind of Oriental fatalism, and goes about his duties stolidly and quite heedless of the bullets flying around. The officers simply drive their men on, laying about them on all sides with the flat of-their swords. If a fellow put Ms head out of cover the officer would promptly fetch him one with his sword to remind him to be more careful.

"By this time Geoffrey and I had had quite enough of the gentle German. We were weary of the continual abuse and the bad treatment. In the trenches we were constantly exposed to the risk of being shot by the French or the British, so we came to the conclusion that in these circumstances we might as well take a sporting chance and risk being shot by the Germans in an attempt to escape. "We decided to make a dash for it. The Germans were all very busy with the fight, and we were able to crawl away unperceived out of the trenches and through the long grass. There were some civilian prisoners—hostages or something—in the trenches with us, and they were in the last stages of physical fear. I really believe that the poor beggars, fearing they might have to bear the consequences if we got clear away, drew the attentiou of the Germans to us. Anyhow, when we were about two. or three hundred yards away, the Germans saw us, and a number of them immediately opened fire. "By instinct, I suppose, I flung myself flat on my face, and I noticed that Geoffrey Pearson did the same. Seeing that we did not move, the Germans took no further notice of us, and I lay there for three hours without moving. Then, by very cautious reconnoitring, I ascertained that the trenches were empty, and that the Germans had gone. I turned to Geoffrey, who had lain immobile from the moment that we dropped. What I had feared at seeing him lie so still was true. He was dead, shot through the back of the head. -

"I had to leave him where he lay and creep away for safety. At any moment I might be detected where I was in the middle of the plain. I found a 16ft in the village of Varreddes, and

In view of the WAR and its Taxes, can this Dominion afford to spend £6,000,000 next year in Liquor ? In view of the Needs of Empire, can we allow 35,000 of our Citizens to be arrested for Drunkenness between now and next Poll, and to be muddled and depreciated by the Drinking Custom? In sight of the Melodramatic Brewer can the Democracy any longer afford to feed his Monopoly? The Brewers blush over their Balance Sheets —good reason why. The Subscribed Capital of the Sixty N.Z. Breweries is £477,000. Their Annual Profits are £250,000 —a cool 50 per cent. Liquor pays £900,000 into the Exchequer on condition that the people spend £6,000,000 over the Bar. And Liquor leaves US to clean up its mess. Take it in—Liquor "loads up its wreckage on the Taxpayer. We pay for the unholy mess this Traffic makes in our Land. We support the Inebriates on desolate islands. We pay Charitable" Aid to Drunkards' Wives. We keep Drunkards' Children in our Orphanages and Eeformatories. The Trade hands over to, us the Criminals it makes (nearly all there are). Can we afford to pay for the mess" consequent on our spending £6,000,000 on Liquor? ; The time has come to end this smug, sneakish, degrading business. Tell the Trade you cannot afford it any more. We have carried the Old Man of the Sea on our backs too long. Chuck him, and stand up straight.