HOW A BRITISH OFFICER WAS MURDERED.

Rangitikei Advocate and Manawatu Argus, Volume XLI, Issue 11698, 19 October 1916, Page 6

HOW A BRITISH OFFICER WAS MURDERED.

ENTICED INTO GERMAN DUG-OUT.

BY GERMANS SHAMMING WOUNDS AND OFFERING TO SURRENDER.

A graphic story of how a young British officer was enticed into a captured dug-out to rescue Germans sdamming wounds, and was then murdered in cold blood, is told by private just returned from France. “I was all for bombin’ it first, and askin’ questions afterwards,” remarked the private; but Mr said, ‘No. by God! not in my platoon, Micky. It’s a point of honour, Micky.’*’ How Micky and his colleagues in the trench aveaged'the officer’s death by accounting for seven Germans hidden in the dug-out is told below. ‘‘There is nothing on earth can stop us now . so long as the munitions keep going at full pressure,” said a, young captain, who knew thut he has to lose his right foot, and was less cast down about it than the average civilian is over the prospect of losing a worn-out tooth.

He was one of the laughing crews of bundaged merry-makers 1 talked with this morning (writes a correspondent), on one of the big white hospital ships which arrived at Southampton. True, all were bandaged, many were unable to move from their cots. But all were laughing and smoking cigarettes like holiday-makers on a pleasure excursion.

■There was one particular Tparty of private soldiers, with a lance-cor-poral land a couple |of corporals among them, which, as a specimen group of our magnificent New Army men, will remain always in ruy memory. They were gathered together in the shade of a projecting portion of boatdeck ; all “walking cases,” mostly bandaged for more than one wound; ail ragged and bloodstained as to their uniforms, bronzed and weather-worn as to their hands and faces, with the indescribable fighting-iine look in their eyes; full of laughter and good cheer, aud carrying among them a wheelbarrow load of souvenirs in the shape • of Boche helmets, clubs, daggers, and the like. PLIGHT OF FRITZ. One half the party, I should say, were from the neighbourhood of Pozieres, and the rest from the extreme right of our line, where we ;)oin hands with our gallant Allies, round and about Guillemont. Some of these last were no more than twenty-four hours from the actual firing line. All were glad to talk. “It’s a great do, sure enough; an’ if Fritz has to put in another winter in the trenches he’ll be a mighty sick man before it’s over. I don’t see how he’s going to stick it.”

“Come to that, how does he stick it now? ’Taint because lie likes it. What else can he do. You saw the machine gun chains. He’s driven to his job like a beast, is the Boche ” “That’s so. I’d be sorry for the beggar if be didn’t play so many dirty tricks.” “Not me, mate; I’ll never be sorry for the Boche. Been too much of the blighter. If you’d seen the way be killed ray officer you wouldn’t waste no bloomin’ sorrow on him Them as’ve seen is as full o’ dirty tricks as a cartload of monkeys, or else they’re foamin’ at the mouth like mad dogs. A Boche is no good till he’s dead. I say. We’ve bin too soft with ’em.” “What as it about your officer, then. Micky?” “Mr , as fine a lad he was as ever ye saw on p’rade; an’ he knew how to take care of his platoon, too, I can tell ye. We was in their front line then, clearin’ the trench. We’d took a whole lot o’ the beggars prisoners, an’ Mr he’d never let ye lay a finger on a Boche if the fellow made a sign o’ puttin’ up his hands, although he’d seen something o’ their dirty tricks too. ‘No, by God!” he said, ‘not in my platoon, Micky, It’s a point of honour, Micky,’ he says. Much they care for honour, the cruel beasts they are. REVENGING OFFICER’S DEATH

“We come to a dug-out that had the entrance to it all blown in, an’ I was all for bombin’ it first and askin’ questions after. But my officer ho wouldn’t ’ave it. He kep’ in front, with me an’ the rest of No. 1 section behind him. ‘Wo is da?’ he sings out down the dug-out, in their own lingo, you see. And one of the sausago-eaters he calls out, all so meek an’ perlite, in English, you know. ‘Only me, sir,” he says. ‘Well, come on out, an’ nobody’ll hurt ye,” says Mr . ‘Oaunot move, sir; very bad wound, sir,’ says the Boche —curse him ! “Well, I wanted to go aud see to the blighter, but Mr saw the bomb in me band, and didn’t altogether trust me, maybe, ‘Wait a minute, Micky,’ says he, an’ down he goes. N'ex’ minute I heard a groan, an’ ‘They’ve stuck me, Micky,’ very faint like, from Mr

“ ‘Here, boys,’ I says to the section. ‘The swine have killed Mr Well, we just made one rush for that dug-out. One of ’ora stuck rue with his hay’nit, here, ye see. He’ll do no more stickin ! I smashed his head with me butt. An’ I got one other, with mo hay’nit. An’ 1 could hoar others runuin’ like rabbits in the passages. I got one of ours to look after Mr done; and sent the others back to the trench, quick, to see if they could catch any of the Bodies gettin’ out another way. Then one other chap an’ me, wo followed on, where we hoard ’mu ruunin’;«n’ don’t mind tollin’ von, what with pour young Mr an’ the sting o’ that Boche bay’nit in mo aide, J was seeing pretty red. “Thorn was two of the dovils I’d got in tho dug-out; aw’ there were live mon; altogether-one a sergeant. There was two o’ my chaps waitin’ for ’em when they got to the other trainmen in the trench, an’ my mate an’ me, wo come along pretty close behind Vra. They squealed all right, when they saw the point o’ Tim ’a bay'nit in tho sun just at tho mouth of the dug-out, where they thought they was goln’ to get dear. They turned ah’ come our way then, with Tim an’ his mate behind ’em,' An’ then they met me an’ my mate; an’—-well, they won’t moot nobody else this aide o* hell. “We fought like rats in that

hole; an’ poor Tim he was killed. I got chipped about a bit myself; but I was that wild.about my officer, they hadn’t got much of a chance, the dirty hounds.” “Aye, it - were a pity they got Tim, an’ the officer; a pity, that,” The speaker was a very big man, with a rough-hewn granite-like face, a farm worker, I would say; by no means sad, or gloomy; but of a reflective turn. His bauds were enormous, and another man told me he had done great execution with them ad close quarters. I could well believe it. He ruminated now, apparently with great satisfaction. “Yes, it’s batter not to trust ’em till you’ve put the steel or a bullet into ’em. Three’s nothin’ very civilised about ’em, even when they’ve lived in England. “If England’s got any sense, there won’t be anymore of tbem live here yet awhile.” “Tom’s goiu’ to stand for Parliament when tbe war’s over. ” “I could teach ’em a bit about Bocbes, if I did. ’ ’

“Weil, see you raise the bacon ration for us, Tom. ’ “Just mention that little matter of the strawberry jam, won’t ye?”