Winning a Cause Part 14

The statue is a symbol of the glorious deeds and the beautiful spirit of the women of France, England, and America, during the awful conflict. It is difficult to realize the complete revolution which took place in the lives of the women of the world when they awakened to the need for their services in connection with the war.

In forsaken schoolhouses and barns, as well as in quickly erected hospitals, near the firing lines, they moved quietly in and out among the patients, administering needed medicines, bringing cheer and comfort to the long line of wounded soldiers. At unexpected moments the hospital was bombarded, making it necessary for them hurriedly to transfer their patients to some other building. During a bombardment of a large theater which had been turned into a hospital, several patients were too ill to be moved. So some of the nurses, wearing steel helmets, remained to care for these men while sh.e.l.ls burst all around them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: This memorial to the memory of Edith Cavell was unveiled by Queen Alexandra in Norwich, England, at the opening of the Nurse Cavell Memorial Home. The statue and the home for district nurses are constant reminders of the nurse, a brave victim of Prussian despotism, who lived a patriot and died a martyr.]

Certain dressing stations in which the nurses cared for the most seriously wounded were so near the firing line that the men could be carried to them. Summoned, perhaps by a Red Cross dog, a nurse at times ventured out under the enemy's fire. In the fields or woods lay a badly injured man who must have constant care until darkness would permit bringing him in unseen by the enemy, for the Huns spared neither the wounded nor the Red Cross workers.

In the operating rooms, in hospital kitchens, on hospital trains and s.h.i.+ps, the nurses gave no thought for their own safety but worked untiringly to save the wounded.

But even thousands of miles from the firing line, women were saving lives and winning the victory. There were the girls who a.s.sisted the police in the places of the men gone to fight. Gloriously they served during many an air raid over France and England, ready in the face of danger to do their full duty,--like those of Paris, who behaved so bravely that some one suggested they be mentioned in the Orders of the Day. But the commanding officer's reply only reflected the daring spirit of the girls themselves. "No," he said, "we never mention soldiers in orders for doing their duty."

There were the women and girls who went to work in fireproof overalls, stopping before entering the shop to be inspected and to give up all jewelry, steel hairpins, and anything else which might cause an explosion of the munitions among which they worked. They might be seen often with their hair hanging in braids as they hurried to and fro between the different sheds, over the narrow wooden platforms, raised from the ground to prevent them from carrying in on the soles of their shoes any particles of grit, iron, steel, or gla.s.s, that might cause a spark among the high explosives. So well did these women work that near the end of the war in many places more sh.e.l.ls were made in two weeks than previously could be made in a year. The many women, willingly risking their lives in these shops, made this work possible.

In England alone, where seventy-five out of every hundred men stepped out to fight, seventy-five out of a hundred women and girls left their homes and stepped in to work or to serve.

More tiresome were the long hours spent at machines in large closed factories where army blankets and clothing of all sorts were turned out for the use of the fighting men.

Out on the farms the girls could be seen in overalls, plowing furrows in long, sloping fields, and planting potatoes and vegetables to help feed the world. With hard work and small pay, they too helped win the victory. One girl tells how on arriving home from work one night, she found at the house a letter from a friend.

"How jolly it must be," she wrote, "and how you must be enjoying it!"

That day had been particularly cold and wet and windy, but the girls had worked right through it. When they had finished, they were damp and weary and only glad that it was time for tea. "I don't feel a bit patriotic," said the girl, "and I don't care if I never plant another potato." She was an artist and found farm life very different from sitting in a quiet studio. But planting potatoes was more helpful to her country and so the next morning found her up early and ready to work again.

Like this artist many women, unused to common labor, gladly left lives of ease and good times to help win the war even by drudgery. In the case of English women this was particularly true, and would have been true in America if the war had continued much longer. As it was, the women of America responded to the call of service with the same spirit which sent millions of men to the colors. Besides those positions which, left open by men going into war, were filled by women, countless services were performed by them to add to the comfort and happiness of soldiers, sailors, and marines. Knitted articles were made for the needy in the service, and for the dest.i.tute in the ravaged war countries. Not a canteen in the whole United States but has seen the untiring devotion of weary workers who whole-heartedly sacrificed their time and household comforts. In Europe the Salvation Army "la.s.sies"

worked in the trenches themselves. Hospitals everywhere have been made more grateful sanctuaries by the tender rea.s.surance of the American nurse. As if by one voice the fighters of the nation unite in praise and appreciation of all the women who by their help made the second line of defense.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Somewhere in France these Salvation Army "la.s.sies" are baking pies and "doughnuts for the doughboys." Their kitchen is set up in a part of the trenches under constant fire from the German guns.

You can see their "box respirators," or gas-masks, worn at the "alert"

position. Home cooking for the soldiers made home itself seem not so far away after all!]

U. S. DESTROYER _OSMOND C. INGRAM_

If you were standing on the deck of a patrol boat watching for submarines and, looking down at the water, suddenly perceived a torpedo coming directly toward you and knew it would strike the boat beneath your feet in a few seconds, what would you do?

A bullet or a cannon ball moves so swiftly that it is not seen. If it is coming straight for you, you only know your danger when it is over and you lie wounded; or your friends know it when it is too late. But a moving torpedo can be seen, and for some seconds one may stand and know a terrible explosion and probable death are approaching him.

On October 14, 1917, the United States destroyer _Ca.s.sin_ was on duty looking for German submarines. After many hours scouting, a U-boat was discovered five or six miles away, and the _Ca.s.sin_ made all speed in its direction; but the U-boat perceived its danger and submerged. The _Ca.s.sin_ cruised around for some time, for the U-boat could not be far away and might come to the surface at any moment; but no periscope was to be seen. The patrol boat kept steaming in zigzag lines so that the U-boat would find it more difficult to strike her with a torpedo.

Before an hour had pa.s.sed, the commander of the _Ca.s.sin_ discovered the wake of a torpedo, a moving line of white on the surface of the ocean, and knew that in a few seconds the torpedo would strike his boat amids.h.i.+ps. To avoid this he ordered full steam ahead, hoping perhaps to avoid being struck at all, and at least not amids.h.i.+ps. But he had not seen the torpedo soon enough and it was quickly apparent that it would strike the _Ca.s.sin_ on the side and near the stern.

Ordinarily this would be less dangerous than if it struck amids.h.i.+ps where it would very likely disable the engines and possibly explode the boilers, but in the case of the _Ca.s.sin_, avoiding one danger only brought another and a more serious one, for piled on the deck near the stern were boxes of high explosives which would be set off by the striking of the torpedo.

Some of the crew had been watching the approach of the torpedo. Most of them were forward and would escape the terrible danger at the stern of the boat.

But Gunner's Mate, O. C. Ingram, did not hurry forward; he rushed aft and began to throw overboard the boxes of explosives. He did not stop to see how near the torpedo had come and how much time he had; he simply set to work to save the boat and her crew. Just as he hurled the last box from his hand, the torpedo struck the _Ca.s.sin_ with a terrible explosion, throwing Ingram far overboard into the sea.

The torpedo had struck the destroyer near the stern, and blew off about thirty feet of the boat. It disabled one of the engines, and the steering gear, but the after bulkhead kept out the water and the destroyer was later towed to port and repaired.

Had the explosives not been thrown overboard, the _Ca.s.sin_ would doubtless have been sunk and few if any of her crew saved. As it was, Gunner's Mate Ingram was the only one to lose his life, for he drowned before help was able to reach him.

The _Ca.s.sin_ did not attempt, even after this experience, to get to safety, but remained watching for the reappearance of the submarine.

When the U-boat finally came to the surface, she was greeted with several shots from the _Ca.s.sin_ and suddenly sank, or submerged. It is thought she was damaged and possibly destroyed.

The Secretary of the Navy, Josephus Daniels, sent the following letter to the commander, the other officers, and the crew of the _Ca.s.sin_:--

"The Department has received the report of the action between the U. S.

S. _Ca.s.sin_ and a German submarine on October 15, 1917, and notes with gratification the highly commendable conduct of yourself, the other officers, and the crew of the _Ca.s.sin_. The manner in which the _Ca.s.sin_ was kept under way with her steering-gear disabled and practically at the mercy of the submarine, and opened fire on her when she appeared, is well worthy of the best traditions of the Navy."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The U. S. Destroyer _Fanning_ with depth bombs stored in run-ways on the after deck. These may be instantly released and dropped over the stern. (Refer to page 152.) The high explosives stored in crates on the after deck of the _Ca.s.sin_ were in the same general location as the above, but not primed for action.]

Sometime later Secretary Daniels told the following story of the naming of a new and very fast destroyer:--

"Awhile ago I was asked to give a name to a new destroyer. I took up first the names of the great admirals, and then the great captains, and all the American heroes of the sea, and all were worthy. And then I thought of Osmond C. Ingram, second-cla.s.s gunner's mate on the destroyer _Ca.s.sin_. I thought of the night when he was on watch and saw a U-boat's torpedo headed for his s.h.i.+p. He was standing near the place where the high explosives were stored, and the torpedo was headed for that spot. In a flash he was engaged in hurling overboard those deadly explosives, which would have destroyed the s.h.i.+p if they remained on board, and he managed to get rid of enough of them to save the lives of all the officers and sailors on board, but he lost his own life. So I named the newest and finest addition to the American navy the _Osmond C. Ingram_."

JOYCE KILMER

The first poet and author in the American army to give up his life for the cause of freedom was Joyce Kilmer. Like Alan Seeger, another American poet who fell fighting in the Foreign Legion of France, Joyce Kilmer greatly loved life. He loved the flowers and birds and trees.

Probably his finest poem is one which he wrote about trees. He loved the people around him, impatient only with those who did not love and make the most of the life that G.o.d had given them. He loved children, and simple everyday things, as he shows in one of his latest poems, "The Snowman in the Yard."

"But I have something no architect or gardener ever made, A thing that is shaped by the busy touch of little mittened hands; And the Judge would give up his lovely estate, where the level snow is laid, For the tiny house with the trampled yard, the yard where the snowman stands."

After his graduation from Columbia University in 1908, he became a teacher of Latin in the high school at Morristown, New Jersey, his home state. He seemed but a lad himself,--tall, with stern, dark eyes, a clear, musical voice, and a winning smile. Jovial, gracious, and gentlemanly in his manners, he made many friends both in his home state and in New York, where he soon took his wife and little son to live.

In college he had written some poetry. In New York he hoped to write more. He began his career there as editor of a journal for hors.e.m.e.n.

But he did not remain at this work long. He became in turn a salesman in a large New York book store, an a.s.sistant editor, and then an editor. When the war broke out, he was a member of the staff of the _New York Times_. He had written several poems, and prose articles for popular magazines and periodicals. At the age of twenty-five he was widely known, enough of a celebrity, in fact, to have his name appear in "Who's Who in America."

He liked adventure, as does any American youth. He was always glad to visit a friend who had met with an accident or any other unusual circ.u.mstance. He found himself in what he considered an interesting and entertaining predicament when in New York he was struck by a train and had to be carried to a hospital. "Such things did not happen every day," he said, and he took the experience in good humor.

Soon after landing in France, he wrote a description of a long march made by his regiment. At the end of the march, the men were too weary even to spread out their blankets, but dropped down to rest on the floor of the loft in the French peasant home where they were billeted for the night. But even that experience was new and interesting.

Later, when the men were somewhat rested, they missed one of their mates, and on going down stairs found him with his frozen feet in a tub of cold water furnished him by the peasant woman. The little girl of the home was on his knees, and the two boys were standing beside him--as Joyce Kilmer described them--"_envying_ him" his frozen feet.

He also found interesting work at the front, in connection with the trench newspaper, _The Stars and Stripes_.

At the dawn of a dark and misty Sunday morning in July, his regiment was ordered to charge across the river Ourcq and take the hill beyond, from where the enemy's machine guns were pouring down a withering rain of bullets. His own battalion, he learned, was not to be in the lead.

So he promptly asked and obtained permission to join the leading battalion.

Across the river they charged and for five days fought for the heights.

But Joyce Kilmer was not there to witness the victory.

In the fiercest battles, the bravest officers often go before and lead their men into the fight, thus encouraging them more than if following them or charging at their side. The fight beyond the Ourcq was a fierce one, and the chief officer dashed on ahead of his men. Touching elbows with him was Sergeant Kilmer. When the battalion adjutant was killed, he served, although without a commission, as a sort of aid to the battalion commander.

To the very heights he rushed, and threw himself down at a little ridge where he might peer over and seek out the hidden enemy machine gun battery. It was there, lying as if still scouting, that his comrades found him, so like his living self that they did not at first think him dead.

They buried him at the edge of a little wood, called the Wood of the Burned Bridge, close to the rippling waters of the Ourcq, and at the foot of the unforgetable hill.