Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 279, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 November 1916 — Page 2

UNDER FIRE

By RICHARD PARKER

'S'Z SWW ON- THE A? /- coofws. Ate&auE

CHAFFER XXl—Continued. That was the worst part of it all — the waiting. Heart-rending reports of happenings In many Belgian villages came to the British, for Courvolsler was only one of many hamlets that had tragedies to relate. And the British were powerless to aid those stricken people. Trench 27—the English trench which Streetman had Indicated upon his map as being the keystone to the enemy’s defense —lay in the first line of the British. All unconscious of any special designs that the Germans might have against their particular position, the Tommies stationed there proceeded to put things in shape for the general action that was bound to come. After completing their grim arrangements, there was little for them to do for the time being, except rest. And that they were glad enough to do, after their herculean exertions of those first days of the war. That there was worse ahead of them they did not doubt But in the meantime there was no reason why they should not make themselves at home. It was night—the second night following that fatal day when the Germans descended upon the Lion d'Or and robbed Jeanne Christophe of her father. In Trench 27 -four soldiers -—were playing poker under the shelter of a bombproof hut that they had constructed by digging into a side of the ditch. Dirty, unshaven, begrimed, they were nevertheless enjoying to the full their well-earned respite. And the flickering light of the candle which stood upon their rude table revealed no fear upon the face of any of them. At either end of the trench two men stood guard, while close at hand a periscope lay upon a makeshift bench, ready for instant use in case the watchers should detect any unusual and suspicious movements in front of them. Out there beneath the stars the first outpost of the enemy had already dug itself in. And in testimony of their alertness the Germans continually played a searchlight upon the Brltish.positlon. That prying shaft of light was never still. Now it swept the top of Trench 27, now flickered upon a tree close by, and then ■ searched the intervening ground between the two lines in an effort to detect some venturesome observer.

To the four privates in the bombproof shelter there came a momentary interruption, in the shape of a lieutenant, who sauntered into their trench from' the left. This youthful officer, whom they had already voted “rt bit of all-right,” observed them pleasantly. “Hello, boys!” be said. They sprang up and saluted, murmuring “Good evening, sir!” “How’s the game?” the lieutenant inquired. “Henry, there, is winning all our cigarettes.” one of the men said. The young officer smiled. And then, drawing a pencil and a postcard from his pocket, he seated himself and proceeded to write a note to a young woman in London. For Guy Falconer had consistently kept his promise to write Georgy every day. The privates promptly resumed their poker game. “I raise it one cigarette,” one of them said. And again Guy smiled. He was glad that his boys were enjoying themselves. So engrossed did Lieutenant Falconer become in his note to his lady love that he did not notice when his captain appeared, in the company of a civilian. Captain Montague paused and turned to his guest “Now, Mr. Brown,” he said, “you’re in the first line of the English trenches —Trench 27 —and I may say, you're the only American correspondent who has had this experience.” Charlie Brown looked about with undisguised interest. “And I rather butted in,” he remarked., “Well, as long as you stumbled inside our lines, you might as well see something, if you give me your word not to write anything.” “That's a nice thing to say to a newspaper man,” Charlie retorted. “But I have your word?” “I s'pose so!” It cost Mr. Brown some effort to promise that. He saw the makings of a bully scoop before him. And he hated to forego such a ■wonderful opportunity. “The closer you are to the front, the less you know of what’s happening,” Captain Montague resumed, “except on your own very small square of a very large checkerboard. , . • But, technically, you are under fire.” “Am 1?” Mr. Brown was surprised at that. “Somehow, I don’t feel any different," he said. “Yon would if you stuck your head over that trench and they happened to see it," the captain told him grimly. “Well—believe me, I’m not going to,” said Charlie. “Aren’t they unusually quiet tonight?” > “Yes, rather! But always before the evening's over they give us a bit of fireworks and go for some of our men with a lucky shrapnel or two. You see, they try to get our range in •

the daytime, trad then at night they shoot at the same range.” Charlie Brown and his escort had not talked long before Guy Falconer came out of his abstraction. He raised his head all at once and looked inquiringly at the civilian. Then he jumped up and approached Charlie with outstretched hand. “I thought I recognized that voice!” he exclaimed. “Do you remember me, Charlie Brown?”* “Hello, Guy!” the delighted American cried. “So you did come over to the front, after all? Didn’t I say you would ?” “Yes! I came over with the first the recruiting sergeant! And here I am! . . . But what are you doing at the front?” Charlie explained how he had fallen into the hands of the Germans, how they had set him free and started him toward Brussels.’ But his rebellious nature had .revolted; and having hidden by day traveled by night, he had made straight for the place where be understood the British to be intrenched. Mr. Brown had scarcely finished his brief recital when there followed an ominous -whistle, which seemed to come from over his head. Off in the distance there was a flash and an explosion. , “What’s that?” the American asked. “Oh, just one of our shells traveling somewhere to our friends, the enemy,” the captain informed him. “That will probably start their evening song,” Guy remarked. “They needn’t hurry on my account,” Charlie said. For a few minutes they stood there, discussing the war. “What's it for?” the newspaper man asked. “There’s no individual hatred —no great, soul-stirringemotional crisis behind it all.” “But England was forced into it,” Captain Montague interposed. “And I dare say France and Russia and Austria all feel they were forced into it, too,” Charlie replied. “That's the whole trouble. Each nation believes honestly that it’s in the right, and in some way I suppose each of them is. ... I don’t know—l’m not a big enough man to attempt to say. . . Apd" what good is it all?” “It is that Militarism shall cease—that never again can there be another war like this,” the English captain told him. ~~ ~ - As they talked, a doctor, accompanied by two stretcher bearers, entered the trench, and, finding that there was no need for their services in that quarter, they passed on; “That’s the Red Cross,” Captain Montague explained, noticing the jour-

“Hello Guy!” the Delighted American Cried.

nalist’s interest in the trio. Following close upon his words came another of those sinister whistles. “That’s one of their shells!” the captain continued, meaning the Germans. * At the information Mr. Brown promptly dusked and huddled down upon the b£uch under the overhang of the trench. -- “You needn't duck, old man! It wouldn't do you any good,” the elder officer remarked. “Anyway, that shell was on its way toward one of our batteries,” he added, pointing to their rear. “Well, now they’ve started, anyhow,” Guy said. “Sometimes they fire only one or two shots —and then again they go on all night,” his senior officer explained. Stepping to the field telephone, which rang insistently, Captain Montague received a message from the battery posted some distance behind. When Guy Falconer learned that some light bombs were to be let off, be

THE REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER. IND.

begged the captain to let him climb the tree that rose near one end of the trench, in order that he might try tc get the range of the German guns. The captain did not like the idea. He had been cautioned not to expose his men—and especially his officers — unnecessarily. And he warned Guy that he might get picked off by a German sniper. -Not a chance!” Guy protested. “Please! It would be ripping really to do something.” The captain perceived that the inaction of waiting for an attack was fast setting Guy’s nerves on edge. And at last he gave his consent. For a little time Guy called out directions to the captain, who stood at the telephone relaying Guy's instructions to the battery. In the light furnished by the British bombs the youthful lieutenant carefully watched the effect of the shells that whistled over their heads and burst increasingly nearer to the Teuton artillery. “Right on a gun!” Guy shouted at hast. “I saw it crumple! That’s it! Keep the range at twenty-nine fifty!” The words were hardly out of his mouth before he came toppling from his perch. The captain and one of the privates caught the limp figure Just before it struck the ground, and they laid him tenderly upon the dipt floor of Trench 27. “They’ve got him. . . . He’s not dead, though.” . . . Captain Montague kneeled beside the lad and bent over him. And a corporal with some knowledge of- first-aid procedure undertook to stop Guy’s bleeding. He was seriously wounded—that much was clear. And he was unconscious. “Beastly dull” —so Guy had been writing Georgy Wagstaff. “Awfully hot—no excitement. Haven’t sepn a German or any decent food. But that doesn’t matter. Tell mother I’m being careful.” “Poor kid!” Charlie Brown exclaimed. It was a grim business—* war! “Sad —very sad!” the captain agreed. “But perhaps he’-ll pull through; and if he doesn’t —well! forgive me, Mr. Brown, if I seem heartless—but remember! this is new to you and he’s only one, and I’ve seen so many!” Captain Montague noticed that the American correspondent was white and somewhat unsteady. “I feel a bit shaken. Do you mind if I go back now?” Charlie asked. “Certainly not!” —‘‘lf I come across the surgeon or any of the Red Cross, you don’t mind if I send them back, do you?” Charlie wanted to do what he could to help his friend.

The captain readily gave his assent. “I’m through with war,” Charlie Brown said as he shook hands with Montague. “I’m off to London. I’ll see, his mother there, and that kid girl of his—and then go to New York, where there’s no war, thank God! And you know, Cap, when I’m home, sitting at my desk, looking down over Broadway where war only means some more headlines on the front page about some unpronounceable places, and you turn over the paper to see how stocks closed, or who won the game—when I’m back there and the war stuff comes over the wire, I’ll be thinking of ydu fellows over hcre under fire, and I’ll be wishing you luck, old man, the best of luck!” The captain thanked him; and they said good-by. Charlie lingered for one last look at, the wounded Guy. ‘T hope you pull through, old boy!” he said; he knew, though, that Guy could not hear him. “Do what you can for him, won’t you?” he asked the captain. “I know his mother. . . . This whole business is hell, isn’t it?” CHAPTER XXII. A Meeting in the Trenches. Charlie Brown had gone, and Captain Montague had ordered his men to place Guy upon a heap of straw, where he must lie until the doctor came. In Trench 27 an atmosphere of sadness had succeeded the air of light-hearted carelessness that Charlie BroWn had found when he arrived there. The candle still flickered upon the table round which the poker players had lately sat. But all thought of that frivolous game had vanished from their minds. It was not that they had not already seen many of their men shot down. But Guy Falconer had quickly endeared himself to all—officers and enlisted men alike. And now that he had received his billet, in the German bullet, there was not one soul in Trench 27 that was not both sobered and sad. ' But ..they had litfTe'~ffine to bestow upon a contemplation of war’s horrors. Five minutes had scarcely elapsed after Charlie Brown’s departure when a sergeant appeared, holding a prisoner by the arm. It was Streetman —that prisoner. And he w’as far from presenting the jaunty figure that usually distinguished him. His clothing—civilian clothing—was badly torn, his face was scratched and dirty, and his right arm was in a sling. The man’s hat was gone, too. The sergeant reported to his captain that while on patrol duty he had caught the fellow skulking around. “He came from the German lines,” he said. Captain Montague held the candle to Streetman’s face. “And in civilian’s clothes! A spy, eh?” he exclaimed. “No. no. captain! An Englishman—a loyal Englishman!” Streetman protested. They searched him; but found nothing of importance. "He’s got some kind of cock-and-bull story about being wounded and then —” the sergeant started to say, when Streetman interrupted him.

“Never mind that! I tell you Fve information that's vital to England,” he Insisted. But the captain was still suspicious of him. “My name's Lee—Walter Lee,” Streetman asserted, “formerly of the British army. I’ve been in business in Belgium—the automobile business. My papers there will prove what I say. The Germans took my factory—kept me prisoner all night in the cellar. That's when I learned their plans from some major—Major von Brenig and a Captain Karl. *1 could listen to them talking—there were holes in the floor from that shell fire. I realized -what it would mean to England if I could bring word to the British army of this secret plan of the Germans. During the night I managed to escape through the cellar window’. They followed me. and I got one of their bayonets in the shoulder. They left me for dead; but

“An Englishman—a Loyal Englishman!” Streetman Protested.

it was only a flesh wound. And for the last twenty hours- I’ve been seeking the British position somewhere near Trench 27—for that’s the vital spot—when your sergeant caught me.” “Trench 27. eh?” the captain said. “Yes!” Streetman answered eagerly. “Is it near here?” . “Remember, sir, you are not questioning me,” Captain Montague replied. “So you won’t believe me? Yet you’ve looked at my papers. Don’t they convince you?” “Papers are easily forged,” Montague told him. Still, he w r as somewhat impressed by the other’s glib tale, and he allowed the captive to proceed with his story. “The Germans are to attack tonight in force at your Trench 27, in the hope of cutting through the British lines.” Streetman continued. “Your only chance is to bring up every possible man to protect that trench. Otherwise we’ll be beaten. You see what it means. . . . Ah! There’s your field telephone! Let me communicate with headquarters! They’ll understand!” He started for the telephone. But Captain Montague sprang in front of him. “Keep away from that instrument!” he commanded. And, turning to the sergeant, he ordered him to take the prisoner to headquarters. “You can explain to them,” he informed Streetman. “By then it may be too late,” the fellow replied. “Their attack was to be at midnight.” “Indeed!”* the English officer exclaimed dryly. “It's past midnight now.” And straightway he became more doqbtful than ever of the stranger’s story. “Then they’re likely to charge any minute,” the spy declared with wellsimulated alarm. “I’ve got to telephone. It’s soy England! I beg of you to believe aid Let me inform headquarters—let "them decide! Do you dare take the responsibility?” , One of the privates on guard suddenly called out.> “Somethin’ crawlin’ out there, captain! Looks like a man!” The sergeant faced to the front, with gun ready for action. “He’s cornin’ this way!” another soldier cried. Streetman saw another chance for his plan to succeed, and he quickly seized it. “You see, captain, it's the start of their attack!” he said excitedly. “For God’s sake let me telephone!” he begged. At last Captain Montague was con- © vinced. “Quickly then—telephone!” he said. And while Streetman sprang to the instrument, the British officer ordered his men to their stations. “Keep your eyes open—and give ’em the best we’ve got!” he urged them. Meanwhile, out there in the moonlight between the two lines of trenches, that dark figure crawled nearer. Rifle fire crackled out from the German watchers, and the skulker broke into a stumbling run. “They’re tryln’ to pot him from the other side!” one of the Britishers cried. “Another trick to fool us!” Captain Montague observed. (TO BE-

Monster of the Sea.

The average weight of the Greenland whale Is 100 t0n5—224,000 pounds —equal to that of 80 elephants or that of 400 bears.

SORGHUM VARIETIES FOR GREAT PLAINS

ORDINARY BLACKHULL KAFIR AND DWARF FETERITA.

(Prepared by the United States Department of Agriculture.) After tests for several seasons, the United States department of agriculture is recommending four new varieties of sorghum for trial in the central and southern Great Plains area. Tha varieties have resulted from the plant introduction and breeding work of the department. They are described in Bulletin 383 recently Issued by the department. Dwarf hegari is primarily a grain sorghum, but like Blackhull kafir it is valuable also a forage plant. In general appearance it is intermediate between Blackhull kafir and feterita. It is almost, if not quite, as early in maturity as feterita, and at the Chillicothe (Texas) field station, where it has been under test for five years, it has produced better seed crops than any other variety of sorghum, and has become quite popular with the farmers in that locality. Many farmers prefer it to Dwarf milo on account of its higher forage value and the greater ease of harvesting, due to the erect heads. Improved Feterita. Improved feterita ls~a late Importation of this variety of sorghum, having been obtained from Africa in 1908, two years after the first successful importation of feterita. It has been selected for uniformity and leafiness, and shows a higher yielding power than the earlier importation. Dwarf feterita originated from a plant whicirwas only two anti one-half feet high and two' weeks earlier in maturity than the general crop of feterita. It has not fully retained either its dwarfness or its earliness, but has made consistently high yields of grain and appears to be of some value where an early maturing graih crop is desired. White milo is a variety of sorghum which has been grown to small extent throughout Oklahoma and Texas for a number of years. A dwarf strain of

WHITE MILO, DWARF HEGARI, IMPROVED FETERITA, DWARF FETERITAAND SCHROCK KAFIR.

COMPOSTED MANURE SUITED FOR GARDEN

Better Than Ordinary Article and Much Cheaper—Directions for Making Pile.

By J. S. GARDNER,

tural Experiment Station.)

Well-rotted manure is better than fresh manure for gardens. It Is also cheaper than commercial fertilizers in these war times when the supplies of some fertilizers are cut off by the blockade and the materials used in making others are very high in price because they are used in making explosives. Composted manure is as good or better than the ordinary well-rotted article and very much cheaper because more can be saved and much less is wasted by being washed away or leaching into the soil while rotting. It is a better balanced plant food and does not produce so much ,leaf and vine instead of the fruit or roots for which most garden crops are grown. At the University of Missouri such a compost pile is made every year, not only for garden use, but for use in potting house and greenhouse plants. The directions given the workers there are as follows: Select a level, welldrained spot as near the barndoor as possible, where the wash cannot go through the pile and Wash out the plant food. Dig away three or four inches of the looser surface soil over a strip four feet wide and as long as desired. Fill the hole with well-rotted or

this variety has been obtained by the department, which very much resembles the ordinary Dwarf Yellow mijo. White milo has given evidence of greater drought resistance than even the ordinary Dwarf milo and feterita. ' Tests at Chillicothe. These four varieties of sorghum were grown in field tests at the Chillicothe (Texas) field station for the years, 1913, 1914, and 1915. Dwarf hegari made the highest average yield of both fodder and grain for this period, with Dwarf feterita second in grain yield, but lower in yield of fodder. At Amarillo, Tex., for the same period Dwarf feterita gave the highest grain yield, with Improved feterita second in grain yield and only surpassed by Blackhull kafir in the amount of fodder produced. At Hays, Kan., for the two year 1914 and 1915, White milo gave the highest grain yield and a fodder yield about equal to that of Dwarf hegari. The grain yield of White milo was about ten bushels greater per acre than that of the ordinary Dwarf milo. It was, found possible at Chillicothe (Texas) to obtain two grain crops in one year from Dwarf hegari and the two feteritas. The Dwarf milo, however, produced only one cutting. Purpose of Bulletin. The purpose of the bulletin is not to urge the general adoption of these new varieties in preference present standard varieties of the Great Plains. It is intended to serve as a source of information in regard to these varieties at a time when they are being sent out for trial among the farmers, and it is believed that one pr more of them Is apt to fill the needs of certain limited localities and become of considerable importance within the next ten years. This bulletin, “New Sorghum Varieties for the Central and Southern Qreat Plains,” may be obtained from the department of agriculture as long as the supply for free distribution lasts.

composted manure and pile on top of this alternate six-inch layers of fresh manure and weeds or sod, mixed with some earth, until the pile Is about waist high. The weed seed will be killed in the process if the heap is properly handled, and an addition of such extra material as leaves and straw Increases the amount of compost obtained from a given amount of manure. When many leaves* are used, add lime to make them decay more quickly and sweeten the acid condition they produce. The whole pile should be covered with a thin layer of earth to help absorb the ammonia and many other valuable plant foods which escape in the vapor. Keep pile wet but not So well soaked that water runs from it and carries away the plant food. Fork over and rebuild the pile every six or eight weeks and cover it again with earth. Composting should be completed in from six months to a year, depending on the klpd of material used and whether llme iind water have been used to hasten decay. From 10 to 15 tofts of compost should be added per acre or a little more than if undiluted manure had been used.

Missouri Agricul-

MUCH SATISFACTION IN SILO

Fortunate Owners Will Save Considerable of Cbrn Crop That Would Go to Waste. Those who have silos are fortunate this year. They will save much of the corp that might go to waste. But where late corn Is not ensiled it should be harvested if possible, as the stalks will be relished by farm animals.