Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 285, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 November 1916 — M’ DONALD NOW MAJOR “FOGHORN" [ARTICLE]

M’ DONALD NOW MAJOR “FOGHORN"

Canadian Who Enlisted as Private at Fifty-Three, Wins Another Promotion. VOlCt IS LIKE SEA SIREN One of the Big Human Personalities of War Turns Up in LondonServed in United Btates Cavalry. - Loudon. —"Foghorn” McDonald admits he’s as "Scotch as oatmeal,” but what he doesn't have to admit Is that he is beyond doubt the best-known mao In the wonderful big army Canada has sent over to fight for the mother country. Gen. Sir Sam Hughes, Canudian Minister of MlUtla aud Defense, Is .not Tealous of "Foghorn**** distinction. The rawest rookie In the rearmost ranks of the Dominion forces proclaims It on the fighting line and looks up to this world-wandering scion of the clan McDonald as a shining example of what a lowly “buck” can do In trying times like these. For “Foghorn” came over as a private himself Just two short years ago. Some of his home folks told him he was a “darned old fool” to enlist at fifty-three, but “Foghorn” had been a miner all his days. He bad hit the , western trull from sun-buked Batopilas in the wilds of Mexico to tbe snow-shrouded valleys of the Yukon, and he knew what perseverance and pluck and courage aud sacrifice could do. He knew he would “make the grade,” and so did a great crowd of his friends who gathered a day or two ago to “wet” that new third stripe and crown He was back from the front to receive this latest promotion, and he was toasted a major of his majesty’s forces. Voice la s Low Rumble. “Foghorn” was born Nell Roderick McDonald, but there are comparatively few who know him by that distinguished name. It’s Just plain “Foghorn” nowadays from one end of the trenches to the other, and one earful of that low rumbling, window-shattering, rock-shivering voice explodes all possible doubt as to the derivation of the nlckoame. There are plenty of Germans who know “Foghorn,” too. In the days of the deadlock, when trenches crept closer aud closer together, he was one of those who burrowed beneath the earth and set off great tqines under the enemy. He had not been a mining engineer in vain.. Often his voice would go booming across “No Man’s Land” hurling picturesque invectives at the Germans. Not to know “Foghorn” McDonald Is to miss one of the big human personalities of this war. It is not difficult to realize what a tower of encouragement and strength he is to the soldiers at the front. “He is the sort of officer whose men would follow him to the gates of hell itself and walk In laughing.” declared Major “Eddie” Holland, a long-time friend and a “V. C.” of the South African war. “And speaking of hades,” he added “there may or may not be something In the fact that Foghorn belongs to the Black Devils.” That is the name the Germans have given the Eighth Battalion, Canadian infantry, and the battalion has adopted as its insignia a small black imp dancing in glee. They were delighted with the appellation and are living up to it according to all reports from the Somme. He’s Not Afraid of Any Man. It has been said of Foghorn that “he’s not afraid of any man —and very few women.” His home Is in the great American West. He has lived much in the United States and almost every province in Canada can claim him as her own. His heart is as big as the world in which he has lived, and he has a way of calling a superior officer “Bill” or “Jim” or “George” and referring to a corporal as a “brother officer” that Js quite baffling to the Englishman’s idea of discipline. Someone spoke to “Fog” about"it. “Well, sir,” he explained, “it’s s man’s war, by gad, sir, and I respect every mother’s son who’s out there doing his bit. I was a full-fledged ‘buck’ myself once, and I know what they have to go through.” “Foghorn” served for a time as an officer Jn the United States army—the Third Volunteer Cavalry of the Spanlsh war. “I think tbe officer commanding onr regiment had fifteen or twenty million dollars," said “Foghorn;” “I had sl-35 myself.” : A day or two ago a staff colonel, fresh from Canada, walked Into the Savoy “Club.” “Hello. Foghorn,” he called out; “I heard you a couple of blocks down the street and came in to see you. Do you remember me?” “Remember you?” repeated “Fog,” “why bless yourprass-batted old soul* I’d know your hide In S tan yard. A “brass hat” is the arm* name for all staff officers, and it comes, of course, from the abundance of gold braid they wear on their caps.