CAMEOS OF WAR.

Auckland Star, Volume XLVI, Issue 62, 13 March 1915, Page 13

CAMEOS OF WAR.

DIED WITH A. SMILE. A pathetic story is told by a wounded soldier, now home, of an Irishman. "We came on him," he said, "after one of the fights on the Aisne.- 'What'can - we do for you?' we asked tenderly, for we could 6ee he was not long for this world. 'Can you whistle?' was the surprising, reply.- - r-»i_.^iji-«; : «----V*-' j;-, "Two of us said we could, and asked what he would like. 'A Xation Once Again,' he replied. "Tommy Burke whistled a-few bars, and the dying man's eyes were fixed on him firmly all the time. When- if wae over he-held out his hand to Tommy and said: 'Thank you, lad; it does mc heart good to hear the ould tune for the last |time this side of the grave.' Then lie j turned over and died with a smile on his' face." t A SMALL JOB. "Rot this for a small job," muttered Anderson, of the London Scottish. "Rot this—Yes—yes, sir—you're through." And lie begau to hum savage humour:— I wouldn't leave my little wooden hut' tor you! I'd stay the whole damn night to put you throusu! Then two indicators fell at once, and before the clamouring oilicers -were satisfied there was a fierce demand to know why in the name of- thunder and blazes —and why this, that, and the other. Anderson set his teeth upon a rising temper, and mentally registered- a vow to take it out of the little wooden hut— the field telephone exchange—if ever opportunity offered. "Made in Germany!"' he growled to himself. "Whales that?" came over the wires. . "Sorry, sir," said Anderson; "you're through." He dived; in one pocket for a yellow packet containing two crumpled cigarettes, very, precious. What few matches he had left were in another pocket, and before he could get at one of them three little indicators were down again, and he was chanting the monotonous "Through! you're through! Line engaged—wait a moment, please Yes, sir." And lie sighed: "Oh, rot this; for a small job. I. came out here to shoot, not to stuff pegs in a thirty-way j board." His left hand was groping for a match; again, in a pocket full of odds and ends. J A curious daydream was upon him, and; there was no.energy left for the ? finding! of matches.' This is what he saw: : — j The railway, station of his birthplace—-1 a small country town feeding'a branch I line to a string of villages —was' snowed! up. The / platforms were ' thick and white. Heavy masses of snow lay upon i the roofs. One train stood there I amongst the -snow, half buried. The train was empty, a dead thing, and all the windows of the carriages were I broken. Far away the horizon lay in a grey mist rising into brown clouds, •lowering and ominous, and suddenly a red up into the clouds, fell again, and then rose and spread. The first village of' those served by the branch line was in -flames. Anderson felt the blood surge in his- temples at the sight. - But there was worse. On his left— not many yards away—there was ; a crimson stain on the snow, and a sprawling body with hand outstretched towards a rifle. He turned about, only to see his own home a'smouldering ruin, a blackened skeleton against the white snow. Then Anderson solemnly cursed the enemy who had done this thing, and fell to wondering: why he stood - there alone, watching, doing nothing. "A small job," he thought. . . . The expression brought him back to the present. Five indicators were down, and his left hand found a match. He Jit his cigarette and flung the spent' match out/of the hut. It landed on muddy grass, beaten and trampled. Then it ..was a, matter of quick finger work and a few apologetic words. "Through—you're through—sorry, sir—

can't get a reply—Yes, here you arc. Through!" ' , And with the cigarette between his lips he hummed his ditty, less savagely, less humorously, with more determination— ' ■ ' J wouldn't leave my little wooden hut • -for you! ■ ■ - ■ ■ ■ r '. •,-••f • ; I'd stay the whole'.damn;'-Bfs&f to," put j you tlirougb! : ■ \ , -"■ He had a vague idea that his small job was going to help-in-putting the. enemy „ thrtjugh— ;tj^jjoop"rr and began to think the "game more worth the candle. But his fingers liad a tcndeiuiy to crook themselves upon an imaginary rifle, and they were not always- gentle' with 'the■ thirty-way w'.tehboard. .-""'■ i THE GERMAN PRISONERS. He lay in. a small, ward by . himself,, with a shattered shoulder. His eyes lit up when a visitor in gentle tones began, talking in his native tongue. | Near Strassburg he had a little land [ and one or two cows when war broke out. His wife conducted the village inn.. He had to join the colours,,and, was wounded and captured near Yprcs. j From under his pillow he produced a j photo of his'wife and bonnic little baby, | and the tears welled up-as he said that' for monthg he had not had a word from home, though since he had been a prisoner in English hands he had been! allowed to write once a week. j < Another scene. An officer of his Im-j peria] Majestys Prussian Guard, ; a young man of high connections, torn from the arms of the "bride of a" fortnight. He had received a dreadful wound during-'the great attack of his corps, and had lain for weeks helpless as a baby. j Xow he was to sent'to Kngland; and! ■he , cowered and clung to the nurses'who' had tended him. He feared to .leave-the' liospital, feared that lijs new custodians had- some, terrible-fate in store for him. I What caused this once:proud Prussian officer to be so unmanned?. ..it' some prick of conscience? Perhaps, the | nurses knew. . •'.'.*■.', THE X-RAY WORKER. ','.':.' . X-rays had eaten like .fire into his flesh. By day he worked. unceasingly— a slave to the passion- for curing others —while the scars upon his hands.wereri.kc. living coals burning in , a.- draught., ?y every moment of his dreams was an houripfe agony; but?not even in hie sleep did a sigh come. ■ And-by 'day. he went on * '■' -t < ,' ." We must, take- that j hand off to-mor- J row," said the, surgeons.\ ■ • - 7 , ' ";AVell; if you - must, you - must,". wa3the ianswer,. "I must..go ,on. -working< with : one." And; he smiled. ':', ■': ; i: •■ i -'■'Tliqn at-ten toTinorr.ow. ■• Tell,your, wife to -" ' '.. ,•■"-,'■, "Tell, my wife?" said.the ..man.. "Idaren't do that. 'She thinks. I amigrpw- J ing better. My God! i Tmsband with'one hand!".. * ~.' . •. -■•;'■ WICKED GERMAN HORSES . J '"Wicked devils,'those German horses, sir. Do you know, .the-other day. wo were just getting one of them, a big black ■ chap, out of the van, when he , went for. three of us. '. - ■'.:'•■ '•' Well,'' we got him; out ;all.-right, when he caught hold of- the collar of an A.V.C. man with his teeth, "and gave him a nasty shaking. For a prisoner ;of war, you see, sir, it wae absolutely agin rules. So we didn't give him another chance-^—" • "Why? IMd you court-martial, him? ,, , "Well, we-ehot. him. ■■ They're treachv 'erous, those Gernian horses." , ■- - IN AN ENGX.ISKVU.UiGE. i iS'we men have gone from bur village to take part in theswar. Some of. tfiem" jhave left families behind them. One'of them has been married for only two. of three months. His ■ wife ie expecting letters from the South of France. She; is so affectionately tearful that I (cays a writer in the "Westminster Gazette") do not'dare t» explain to. her that the South of-France is.certainly not his destination, and that she must not expect to learn from what place it is that he

writes ' home. The scryant-girl, at. the' farm understands the situation'much' better .than "the"'.newly-made wife., , Her. '" lad" is' in itne [Marines., If you.i.ask her where he is, she says "Somewhere in the North Sea." r The.post-card'that' ; comes to her," with, a, b]6tch ; -where. ,the * r postmark would ordinarily, be, teljs .hiejr-i nothing more definite".than that; but she j is' satisfied and cheerful,,a pleasant', con- • trast, to .some other,.' women .in", the yil; j lagef'whohaye.heen.so'ihuch alannedhy ■; feverish-;loeal7 preparations' to7*eceiv«7 the Germans-to land every day. *'""* | • ANGLO-FRENCH COMEDY. ) "Do "you speak French,'sir? ~ \v".ell, ; -I wish' you'd, explain" ,to ..these - Johnnies that we want : to take them to the- Base ( i Commander, to,fix. things...You*. see7>ve"re I ' their prisoners, and they're bur prisoners I in a way, too. In fact, it's a bajlly ■ j funny go"." ■ , .7. 17 ;.*..,..'•; !,' A big'A.S.C. driver, liejstood laughing i beside a7decided novelty, in motor cars. EncaSed.in steel, oneVr.two inches .thick, warranted to keep put stray shrapnel > and 'rilie bullets,'it reminded "one. of, the ' mediaeval warhprae. masked \frpin head jto knee against the deadly arrow. Only i just'arrived from England, it'had.been 'given a trial run,"but at one of the nuip- ' erous barricades, which" block '/the roads ]in the war' zone the driver, "and his conij panion 'were challenged. , Having 'no I" laisser-pass'er " /for. thfe car,'.they .were technically arrested by the French'sentinels. The latter proved so dulT-ofeom- " prehension "'that' the . mcii hi" khaki bundled'two of> \ < ni«ngroom" of- the car, rifles and bayonets , and all, and brought 'them, 'at a 6panking jpace to th'eiir statt'ing , place. "". 7 : /. I j 'Biil the Trench' sdldiers'were. far, from I ,'' liappy '• about' it", arid' /demanded ,*to | ■ tjkein "to theiV:own.commandant.. I;eJf.piairied ■ "'to the- gesticulating piouj)iouß I that the proper authority ,hf' this' ihatt'er I i' was the British commandant, jand off* the' ' four'of. them.drove to his" headquarters. -, '" •'-A.SOIJBIEfty'GRAirE:.'.' .'A 7 Peaceful, .upon .the. quiet .hillside, herests [.alone, ....our,' gallant, 'soldier son.The .afr.is-fragrant '.'with, the scent of < dying flowers., The. last-raysiof-.the.set-' rest .lingeringly upon the .spot, . as,though, reluctant to.leave him,kloijc' to .the" night. Only a; few shoi;t r hpurs ago .thesy-brought ;his. body (thither;.thesilcjtt' represeritatiye. of his/many;; <com- ■ rades"-.who i lie .jupon: the-., battlefield. j Slowly they come .up, the hill to the J sound of. muffled drums, drums'; ."that seemed- like' the*"ghostlyeehpes %om iar' j across the sea inhere the;fight still-rages;..' ' A short prayer for hii soul/three vpiley.s j i reverberating .amongst,'the' hills, [adast i farewell from'ttie ,bugles.- and t call "ilife' as oyer ■ fqrthjm: -Theabroad Jbosom.of. Xature has .received-him (again', Jas she i3.nowr;receivingso,imany,;of•her.; .'noblest < sons.--. -Shall' ilsee, 'theni ■\ again? .Ah! -who can.-tell! )- Must' they; - j only -become ~fl '.memory', for • ever .more T' i-AVhat :angel; f ronv tfie {skies- shallicomrienLsate ..for the gallant lads ; w ho marched' i a way jsb gaily only' a,-few- weeks, , ago.7 -Life.- has "it's;' compensations, tjtey,- , say-;'.',but7what/? shall-comfort.'.'weeding:. j widowhood, what > shall i.comfort ■' shad-' owed childhood .with the "tragedy of .life'; and death thrust too early upon it? And lyet;;injthe^ria.iric ; of God,>uch;.things;are.;' I - Yon'quiet grave --is the .'symbpl--of-.it all, of that land where, men struggle together unwearyingly, where. death hangs : I like 'a - pall oyer: fields that only,. aft cw' ' weeks ago - were' bright withf sunshine. " "X3pd;give us .victory!" we,"cry; ,bikt ■ what'power'in:jlHeayen. or7ori. shall give us back.'our 'gallant;dead?-7' 'fin'the years' to. cqme'7.shall-.meh7lose ] all-memory of the horror' and the blood? Shall they build them cities, shall they ... feast and /p-iake'vmerry ' pri ' the fields where our mien are dying to-ady?. Truly;' for such is the way of the generations. But weep not,, thou wh'ose>beloved-lies. ! far away. His glory, ;hi 3 ;Tiondur lies buried* with his comrade here.' upon this- ' quiet - hillside. '; 'So profane foot ' shall. ever her e disturb his rest. Go, then, ye 'desolate.and kneel'where, amidst the lengthening .shadows.; there is "peace.---CCJrtG.' in the " Scotsman."