A THRILLING JOURNEY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LII, Issue 16032, 25 September 1915, Page 2 (Supplement)

A THRILLING JOURNEY.

LIEUTENANT AND THE BABY.

DRAMATIC SEQUEL TO AN ESCAPE.

In the aridness of the official communiques and the second or third hand recitals of most of tho correspondents the future historian would have to draw on his imagination for all human interest were it not for the letters of combatants, which form a precious store of reference for the chronicler. Many of these are instinct with the atmosphere of war, and for this reason they are worth reproduction, as giving a more real idea of the situation and tlio fighting than all the official reports put together. Here is a 6tory told by a lieutenant of the Legion and given by a correspondent of the Journal: —

" It was at night, after the retreat from Luneville. Towards five I received a ball in the forehead—see the scar, on y>e right of the frontal bone. I fell stunned by the blow. One of my men picked me up, and 1 could hear him confusedly eaying: 'Our lieutenant is dead.' My comrades took me behind a wall and left me there "Towards seven I came to myself in a fever, and believing I was in the thick of the battle I shouted 'Forward,' but those to whom I gave the order were German ambulance men. They took me on a stretcher to Luneville, and*shut me in the barracks of tho Cha6seurs, which had been transformed into a hospital. Escape from Prison. " The window bars were old, and the fever gave me the strength of ten. I dug at the cement with a knife, and tore out a bar Slipping through, I fell from the first storey into an, empty passage leading to the Rue Jollivet. I was bleeding at the knees, but what matter? I crawled a few yards, and saw the Uhlans defiling past in the main street. Close by was a 4iouse where I had seen a light appear and then go out. After knocking gently and getting no answer, I broke down the door with my shoulder and went in, revolver in land. A whole family was hiding under the staircase, and in a whisper I eaid I was French and they had nothing to fear. " A trembling woman's finger were held out to guide me,. ' Give me a cloak, a hat, and a pair of trousers,' I said. In a seoend or two these were forthcoming. 'Which is the first road to come to?' ' The road to Bayon.' A man's toneless voice added: ' Lieutenant, you .are going—let ua go with you!' I lit my pocket-lamp to look at my companion, a lower middle-class family, the man pale, with chattering teeth, the, woman also pale, but resolute. and two children, one of seven, and the other a baby of nine months. 'All right,' I said, 'we will go—all five of us!'

"Disguised as a civilian, with bowed shoulders like an old man, I led the wav carrying the baby. We ran and crept along the banks of the Moselle where the bridges were occupied by troops. We had to cross, and the banks were steep. The man was an angler, and said that he knew a shallow place. Wo went on, but as we could see nothing in the storminess of the night, and as I heard the woman panting, I cried a halt, and said that at all costs we must cross. Holding the baby up at arm's length I entered the river. * The stream was slow, and the water cooled my fever. I reached the other side, and went back to fetch the woman and the other child.

. "For the love of God, do not leave me,' wailed the husband, and he hung on to my coat., I had to give him my word of honour that I would come back for him. i We had to go on noiselessly, for I had i heard the guttural cries of the sentinels on outpost duty. One thing astonished me—the Germans, t when they shut me up in the hospital, had left me my revolver. Doubtless they were in a hurry, and had put off. till later the searching of the prisoners. The baby began to wail. The outpost heard us, and ' WOT da?" rang out 150 yds away. We did not reply, and a shower of bullets swept us, whistling on all sides. 'Run, and run fast!' I cried, and I took the baby again. "A Grand Little Chap." " He wae crying just now, but was quiet again. Another shower of bullets. My left arm felt heavy, and my little finger hurt me horribly. It must be looked at later The family Hung on to my clothes, arid followed me. A wood loomed up on our left. With my free arm I urged them to hurry. At last we fell into a dense scrub. God be thanked! we were saved! But the undergrowth wag thick. The man had a knife with him, and I had still mine. So we went at it, cutting a. path through. The woman, motherly even in her terror, offered to take the baby to lighten me. 'No, no!' I said; »he does not weigh much, and he is asleep. We should wake him, and he would cry.' And whilst hacking at the bushes I asked the baby's name. 'Marcel,' she said; 'a"fine grand little chap, lieutenant!' I could guess her smile of maternal pride! "We cut so hard into the wood—l heard afterward* that it was tho forest of Parroy—that we came to- a clearing and a path. But how heavy the baby was! A grand, fine boy, said the mother, and I did not doubt her in the least. Could I have had a bullet in the shoulder? The swaddled-baby, to the hand that held him —my bent arm—all seemed of lead. We walked hard, going westward. Suddenly French voices challenged, ' Halt, who goes there?' 'A French officer,' I answered, and advanced to explain whom we were and whence we came. I tendered my papers, and by the lantern's light they were examined.

"'But you are wounded, lieutenantl* says the sergeant. 'Hush"! say nothing, for the sake of the others,' I replied, for by the glare of the lantern I had seen blood also on the baby's bonnet. 'Two men to take these good people to the rear,' I ordered with a sigh of satisfaction, ' and as for me, take ma to the first-aid station."

"I held out the child to its mother, saying, 'Be careful, no shaking; he 'is sleeping, do not wake him.' The man wanted to thank me, and give his name, but I did not wait. I went off at a jog trot, without turning round, for fear of betraying emotion. I had the little finger taken off—-see! the joint is missing—and two bullets through the shoulder, high up. "But that was nothing to compare with what I was suffering. For I can tell you now, gentlemen, I had known ever since the first shot that I was carrving a dead baby." !