Siegfried At Drachenfels

"This country sure was THE place for a fightin' man, way back many years ago, before Caesar set the styles in Armies of Occupation," remarked Grumpy Baldwin, as the You-Tell-'Em and I-Believe-It Club settled down for their weekly session.

"Take this here Siegfried fellow, f'r instance. Here he was, as strong as an ox, an' as good-lookin' as a furlough to the States, with a tender, lovin' mother, an' a rich dad who gave him anything he wanted, just so's it didn't cost more'n a mark, wholesale. But no—he wasn't satisfied—he wanted to see the world, an' there bein' no American army to join, he has to see the world at his own expense.

"So he hot-foots it up the Rhine, looking for small change an' adventures. Nothin' much happens in the adventure line, as business is rather dull, until he reaches the Sebenbrugen, which, for the ed-i-fi-cation of the ignorant, means Seven Mountains—only they ain't mountains, they're little hills.

"Among these hills is a blacksmith named Mimer, who was famed for his sword makin', an' as Siegfried had taken the first few lessons in Mimer's I. C. S. Mail Order Course in Sword Makin', he thought he might as well finish an' get his money's worth.

"But ol' Mimer, seein' as how Siegfried was much stronger and more intelligent than he was, is afraid that Siegfried will take his best customers, an' bein' too yellow to fight it out, he schemes as to how he can get rid of Siegfried without the coroner gettin' wise. So one day he sends Siegfried to the woods on a mountain top in the Sebenbrugen, overlookin' the Rhine, where Drachenfels ruins are now, to fetch some charcoal, an' on this peak was a dragon that ate nothin' but meat, an' preferred to kill it himself.

"Siegfried didn't know about this here dragon, so he went, amusin' hisself along the way by uprooting trees an' big boulders.

"Well, as Siegfried was standin' by a fire, waitin' for his charcoal, an' thinkin' nothin' but what a good time he'd have in Cologne on his month's pay of five pfennigs, and seventy groats fer overtime, this dragon sneaks up on him with the intention of havin' a square meal at our hero's expense—but as Siegfried has different intentions, they fights it out.

"Advancin' to the center uv the ring, they sparred for position. Siegfried, by some clever side-steppin', gets the sun in the dragon's eyes, an' also his right fist. He follows that with a left to the stomach. The dragon blocked, an' countered with a swift hook, but was stopped by a uppercut from Siegfried's left.

Dragon clinched, an' only the gong saved him from a knockout. The end uv the twelfth round found the dragon groggy, but still goin' strong, despairin', however, uv winnin'.

"Hitherto he'd played fair, but his appetite got the better uv his sense uv fair play. Now, all dragons has very fiery poisonous breath, an' this one was no exception, so he tries to gas Siegfried, but Siegfried gets his mask on in the regulation six seconds, picks up a burnin' branch from the fire, advances on Herr Dragon, an' just as the dragon opens his face to holler 'Kamerad!' Siegfried jams the burnin' branch down Mr. Dragon's throat, an' that finishes him.

"Siegfried's first impulse was to twist off the dragon's head for a souvenir to send to his girl. So he jerks it off an' to his astonishment a stream uv blood pours outa the dragon's corpse. A little bird tells Siegfried to bathe in the blood, as it will make him invulnerable to sword points an' bullets an' everything. So he plunges in, but a leaf from a tree drops on his back, an' so one little part of him fails to get this novel life insurance. But Siegfried isn't wise to that. Pickin' up the dragon's head he beats it homeward, so's to get in before taps.

"Friend Mimer doesn't see him comin' till it's too late to run, an' Siegfried, realizin' what a double-crossin' hound Mimer was, up and belts him a rap alongside the jaw, killin' him, thus savin' the hangman a job. Believe me, that boy was SOME scrapper.

"So you see the Huns wasn't so very much different in them days from what they are now. Right there is where they got their ideas for poison gas an' flame throwers an' double-crossin', an a lot of things too numerous to mention. Ain't I right?"

"Correct," said the bunch, and the club proceeded to other business.

First Sergeant Maroney feels that after twelve years in the army there is no real reason why he should not re-enlist. Sergeant Maroney wishes it to be known that all the old soldiers are not gone. He has found 15 in Company C.

With the increase in aspirants for a liberal education, comes new trials for the "top" and company clerk. They find a real job in furnishing a guard detail without a roar of protest from all sides. More grief.

Just before the advance at St. Mihiel, some new replacements from the 163rd Infantry joined this organization, this being their first experience at the front.

We were preparing to go over the top about 5 o'clock on the morning of September 12, 1918, when one of these replacements asked this question of one of the old men of the company: "What kind of birds are they, singing so early in the morning?" Upon being told they were machine gun bullets he sustained a terrible shock. Since that time he has a habit of taking the prone position every time he hears a bird sing.

Upon the signing of the armistice at 11 a. m., November 11, H Company, Twenty-third Infantry, was ordered to leave its position and relieve a detachment of the —th Division.

As we did not start until late, we did not reach our new position until about 10 o'clock at night the same date. No trouble was encountered until our mess sergeant, Charles F. Schultz, came along with his rolling kitchen.

This sergeant, being very particular, struck a few matches to see if it was a fit place for his kitchen. Two gallant recruits of the —th Division came charging down upon him with fixed bayonets, ordering him to "Put out that light."

Sergeant Schultz, being a mess sergeant (enough said"), wanted to know what they had to do with it, when one of the gallant warriors replied: "Well, if you fellows had been under fire as much as we have, you would be more careful about your lights."

The funniest part of it was the Boche on one side, and the troops on our side, had fires burning all over the country, while we could hear the marines singing: "The Second Division went over the top, parlez vous."

Upon arriving at Engers-on-Rhine, about the 15th of December, Company H, Twenty-third Infantry, was stationed at that place for about four days. One of the sergeants of this company was billeted with a German family which tried to make things pleasant for him.

About the second day one of the children started to talk about a bomb. The sergeant was quite pleased they at last were talking about something he could understand, and started to tell them all about bombs, but did not make much of a hit with the child. The boy called his mother and sister, and they also began talking about bombs, pointing to the corner of the house.

The sergeant got up and looked out of the window, and at the house, but for the life of him could not see where any bombs had fallen. The funniest part of it was, he could understand enough of the language, with quite a few signs mixed in, to understand they expected him to be there when the bombing came off. The sergeant, having been at the front for quite a while, made up his mind if there was going to be any bombing he would be elsewhere.

This went on for three days, when at last he met a friend who understands the wig-wag well enough, and had him interpret. The Germans were going to have a Christmas tree, which they call a bäum, and they were trying to invite him to attend.

Gunnery Sergeant Gavin, the treasurer of the sergeants' mess, has a job now that parallels his prewar occupation—that of a cop in Haverill—and once again finds the "kale" blowing his way.

"Bill" asks the boys for their "kick-in" with the easy confidence of a rabbit asking a bulldog for its pet bone; but he makes a noise like the screech of a lost prairie wolf when he sees First Sergeant V—coming in for chow, for it is reported that the "top kicker" has not "dug down" since the scrap in Belleau Woods.

Gunnery Sergeant Krieg is the noisiest man in the mess, going around with his muffler cut entirely out all the time, and seeking places where the acoustics are good. Several of the neighbors have spoken to the treasurer about the Detroiter, but Gavin can't do anything towards suppressing the effervescent sergeant. Besides, most of the members are so quiet that Bill raises the average of the gang to a respectable attitude. He wins almost all the arguments because he can talk the loudest.

Corporal Merland A. Kopka, Forty-ninth Company, Fifth Marines, who has worn out 11 chairs, 50 pairs of "specs" and a thousand pairs of pants in his former capacity as head of the department of business administration in Ypsilanti High School, is still up to his old intellectual contortions.

This is his account of a subway accident in Paris last month in which he figured, and which, happily enough, turned out to be a mere false alarm:

"Then stygian darkness ensued, momentarily interrupted by fitful gleams of weird electricity that rose and fell with ghastly effect. Men stood rivited to the spot; women screamed in abject terror, and pandemonium reigned.

To increase the realism of living death that seemed to be enshrouding the sepulchral aspect of the place, a demonical guard of barbarous foreign countenance, with accent in gutteral tones, ordered the transoms closed.

I knew the end was nigh, and with calm indifference, devoid of hope, awaited the last gruesome catastrophe."

It is easily seen that the professor's powers of observation are in a well-oiled condition.

German: "What do you mean by driving over a corner of my lawn? It's an outrage."

Corporal Flannigan (who drives Major L. B. Clapham's car): "You don't know when you are lucky. It's a doggone sight better than shell holes."

In an ancient cottage facing the dawn, I located old Father Time without difficulty. I found myself in a great, plain room, severely gray. On a massive oaken settee before the brightly burning coals of the quaint old hearth sat one of many years, clear-eyed, stern, quiet-featured—the guardian of the ages—the object of my interview—Father Time, himself.

"Sir, do I intrude?" was the first query, the opening and closing of the heavy iron door having failed to bring attention to the entrant.

"In no way, my youth," he replied. "I am but marking time. Fresh young life brings me joyful hopes of the future. True, all must age. Even I once believed 1 could see slight changes in myself, but only for a time was I so deceived. I am a husky lad myself, not different than three or four thousand years ago. Can I aid you?" Abruptly was the pleasing personal conversation thus concluded. "Nothing about going home, however," he warned, in a calm, decisive tone, emphasized by gestures of the wrinkled hands.

"That's the topic of the day," I said. "What else is so much worth talking about? And my young fellow, you are the one supreme, conclusive autnority on that subject. Bound to no military silence, awed by no stale visions of military necessity, the one uncensored recorder of this volcanic day."

The harvester of the days had laid himself open to flattery in the opening conversation, and eagerly I followed that lead by addressing him as a "young fellow." But not a bit of it. I rather guess my host put off flattery along with his knickerbocker trousers about the time of tue first war, when Cain, manifesting greed, began butchery on his nearest neighbor—Brother Abel—which has been duplicated now and then since.

"Marine," said the old man, "the trouble with you and all the people of that great country of yours is speed. You want to breakfast in New York, lunch in Paris, and sup in the Holy City. Your trains are not swift enough. You will gain such speed soon that you will be going in circles. You seek short-cuts to knowledge. You expect, it seems, to have fortunes appear overnight. You are not, indeed, alone, in desiring results before they are duly earned by long-sustained efforts and sacrifice—the world leans that way—with you energetic Americans in the lead. Pay the price.'

"My God! As if this old world has not paid for a bit of peace; after this long dark night of sacrifice, stretching over the past four years and a half. Has there not been patience? Has there not been persistence?"

"Ah," replied Father Time, "but don't expect a new world to appear magically from the wreckage. It never has been so. The millions of allies and you Americans fought for principles. Principles which necessitate a new world. The world's premier statesmen are concluding your fight by aiming to assure permanently the victory. Patience, the world-making business was ever slow."

"Patience is all very well, but will our humble acceptance of an unambitious life on the Rhine contribute greatly to that new order you expound?" I came back quickly. "If so, for how long?"

"It must be done right. Your task is not over. Perhaps your sacrifices, and especially the ones of those in the homeland, are not yet equal to the benefits you will receive. I'll not argue that. Sit on the German lid a bit longer, lad.

"Individually," he continued, "the American soldier will improve little by an extended sojourn in Bocheland, I would say. He's not adapted to the life. His heart is in a land of energists not cluttered up with soulless human machines. Animals! Reptiles! I know, and have known, that herd from the beginning, and I do not advocate the expenditure of promising young life among them, but again—not too much speed. Patience."

"Father Time," I cried, "I own no Rollys-Royce. 1 am not a food profiteer, a world-beating millionaire; nor a government contractor. I merely have a healthy interest in this homegoing date. Please, what year will it be?"

The serene old figure arose, waving me with authority toward the door. Disappointed, I hesitated in the archway for a second, but sufficient to see a gentle expression spread over the face of Father Time. Catching hold of my arm, he whispered in my ear.

"Truly, you don't mean we are going home so soon?" I was saying, when the heavy door snapped shut with an air of finality.

There are many wild rumors flying around these days. The most recent is that the Ammunition Train show troupe is going to spring a big surprise when they come across with their new production, under the direction of the new manager, Chief Mechanic Weitzell. Whoop 'er up, boys! Maybe if you give us a good show we will put your names in the paper.

Johnny Newhall of the Y. M. C. A. was present at our first dance the other day. Have a good time, Johnny? And did you notice the lovely time Harry Clinkenbeard and Chandler were having? And did you see Snuffy Powers go up for fourths on the ice cream? Come again, John, only next time bring a few more ladies with you.

We wonder if Bollotto had anything to do with the withdrawal of Italy from the peace conference?

The members of headquarters were all pleased to hear that their commander, and battalion adjutant, First Lieut. J. E. Quivey, had been promoted to the rank of captain, but now comes the sad news that they will lose Captain Quivey, who is to take command of Company C.

Our battalion surgeon, Lieut. Joseph J. Meyer, is now on his way home. He is succeeded by Lieut. Frank Schubert, who promises to be as popular as his predecessor.

The Second Ammunition Train was slowly and painfully making its way over a shell-swept road leading into Somme-Py. German artillery had a perfect range and was scoring heavily.

During a lull in the rain of projectiles, the Engineers started to repair the damage. The hail of steel recommenced, but the engineers, with characteristic American courage, kept on with their work.

Far away down the road, a French camion was blown to bits. Then, as though placed by a huge, unseen hand, the spurts of smoke began creeping along the road at regular intervals.

A timid mule-skinner yelled: "Let's double tlme!" He was severely rebuked by one of his comrades.

A shell burst directly in front of the leading escort wagon. Two mules were promptly cut out of the harness, and once more the train moved on.

Another burst, and the bugler from the Ammunition Train, a German prisoner, and his French guard, were its ghastly toll.

There were many white, drawn faces now, but with grim determination the little cavalcade kept on its way—it's precious cargo still untouched—toward the distant slope of Blanc Mont.

"The marines and doughboys must get this ammunition by 5 o'clock," said the sergeant in charge, "and we must not fail them."

Another burst, and a corporal's horse was blown to pieces under him. The corporal jumped to his feet, his legs covered with the animal's blood. A passing ambulance driver, seeing the blood, called out: 'Hey buddie, don't weaken; here's an ambulance."

"Ambulance, h—l-" retorted the corporal. "What I want is another horse!"

At last Somme-Py was reached. The Germans were pouring a steady stream of gas shells into the town. Gas masks saved the day, although here another noncommissioned officer was left in the care of medical men.

On through the town and up the slope of Blanc Mont. Someone remarked: "Where in h—l are those Marines? Ain't they ever gonna stop?" Suddenly the air was rent by the sharp cracking of machine guns, followed by the whistle of bullets.

Familiar O. D. and forest-green figures were seen dodging through the stub pines. The rattle of musketry followed, and a marine captain stopped in his headlong rush to yell: "Hey, there, Ammunition Train! Where in h—l are you going—over the top? Unload that stuff and get out of here! Don't you know you're in the front line?"

The ammunition was unloaded and the teams clattered off down the hill at double-time—and then some! Many small holes in the wagons and covers bore mute testimony to the Hun's markmanship.

Such was the life of Company G, Second Ammunition Train, at Blanc Mont Ridge.

—Pvt. V. H. Burlingame.

While driving for Colonel Drury, on September 13. 1918, I saw a column of the Fifth Division being shelled by long-range guns.

The shelling started at daybreak, and lasted until 9 a. m. The first few shots fell short, and landed in a field. Whether or not anyone was killed there, I do not know.

An enemy plane was flying high over us, directing the artillery fire, and it was not long until the shells were dropping right into the road, where the traffic was jammed.

Vehicles and troops were going to the front. Many were killed here. One soldier's head was practically blown off, and strange as it may sound, he remained on the horse for some time before falling to the ground.

In the afternoon I drove Colonel Drury and Colonel Derby across a large open field between Thiacourt and Jaulny. Colonel Derby was trying to find a decent place to establish a first-aid station. He had decided upon a place under a concrete bridge, but, while on our way there that afternoon, we were followed by an enemy plane, flying quite low over us and firing on us with a machine gun. The bullets would fall all around us, lifting up bits of earth, which reminded me of a heavy rain storm. The location for the station was excellent, but the great difficulty was in getting to the place.

Colonel Drury directed six ambulances which were standing at the edge of Thiacourt, waiting for emergency calls, to go to the new first-aid station he had established. Had he not given this order the ambulances would have been riddled, for they had hardly gotten away when the place where they had been standing was severely shelled, several piles of small arms ammunition being set on fire.

These six ambulances were soon sent back, for it was too hot for them there, and Colonel Derby didn't approve of keeping them in such danger.

Here in this field two Germans were carrying a wounded American soldier across the field on a stretcher, when a shell burst on the litter, or so near that the soldier was badly torn up by this bursting shell that it was impossible to identify him, or even find his dog-tag. This soldier was being carried to a dressing station at the edge of the small wood back of Thiacourt.

This aid station was also hit squarely by an exploding shell, and several men killed.

We went back to headquarters, and later returned again, as Colonel Drury wanted to see how things were getting along. This time we did not stay long, for the Germans were sending over gas shells. We were lucky, for it seemed as if we had just gotten safely past when places were hit.

Sergeant Ramsey: "Gee, I am all in. At the house where I live, the pig is sick, and we were up all night with it."

First Sergeant Lee: "Ahem! The watch on the swine!"

Pvt. Glen Strickland is running around the outfit with his head and left eye bandaged up. The other night a couple of Heinies ran into him in Hönningen. He looks bad, but you ought to see the two Teutons. One is in a serious condition in the hospital the other is in the "mill."

The Thirty-second Division, moving out, gave us a little change. On April 22 we moved from Hönningen to Gönnersdorf. The boys like it much better here.

All attempts to have Sergeant Beans O'Neil photographed have failed. The sergeant says: "When Ireland takes her place among the nations of the world, then, and not until then, let my photograph be taken."

"One minute, there, Sergeant Beattie! Where are you going with that chocolate?"

Sergeant Erickson and Sgt. Paul Hanlon were inspecting our new bath-house here in Gönnersdorf. when Erickson remarked: "This is a helluva bathhouse! A fellow is liable to get wet all over."

Mess Sergeant Paul met Supply Sergeant Etzler, who was wearing a nice shiny chevron. Said the mess sergeant: "How do you get all the new chevrons, Buck?" "How do you get all of your chocolate?" was the reply of the supply sergeant.

—Sgt. F. O. Billings, Battery F, 12th F. A.

It was a U. S. 1917 model, instead of the regulation Springfield service rifle of the Marine Corps, that a certain rear rank soldier fell out for inspection with one Saturday in Segendorf. It had no sling. Nor is it to be wondered that the all-seeing eyes of the inspecting officer detected the absence of the floor plate.

Just why the culprit's address is still "Somewhere in France," probably with a labor battalion, may be divined by the following:

Inspecting Officer: "Where is your sling?"

The Gadget: "I haven't any, sir."

Inspecting Officer: "Where is your floor plate?" The Gadget: "I lost it, sir."

Inspecting Officer: "Well, what in h-l would you do if these Germans were to attack you?"

The Gadget: "Sir, I'd consider the butt-stroke."

—Pvt. G. A. Stroh, 51st Co., 5th Marines.

When the Second Supply Trains took up their residence in Heddesdorf, Company D was quartered in the school building. Now, all doors of public buildings in this section open outward, while those of residences open inward.

When Sergeant Varney was transferred to a billet in a private house, he arrived home the first night, twisted the handle and yanked. After tugging a while, the "hausfrau" came to his assistance and opened the door, explaining that he should have pushed in. "Oh," exclaimed Varney, apologetically, "I was pushing toward myself."

"It ain't the individual, nor the army as a whole; But the everlasting team work of every single soul."

There seems to be a slump in the players of African golf now that baseball has arrived in full force. "Let's go!"
       —Sgt. Ramsey, Co. D, Supply Train.

Fifty marks isn't an awful lot of money, but it is quite a little paper.

Bolshevism===

"By their fruits ye shall know them." From the "Daily Mirror," an English newspaper:

The decree is proclaimed by the free association of Anarchists in the town of Saratoff.

In compliance with the decision of the Soviet of Peasants, Soldiers and Workmen's deputies of Kronstadt, the private possession of women is abolished.

Social inequalities and legitimate marriages having been a condition in the past, which served as an instrument in the hands of the burgeoise, thanks to which all the best species of all the beautiful have been the property of the bourgeoise, the proper continuation of the human race has been prevented. Such arguments have induced the organization to edict the present decree.

1. From March, the right to possess women of the ages of 17 to 32 is abolished.

2. The age of women shall be determined by birth certificates, or passports, or by testimony of witnesses, and on failure to produce documents, their age shall be determined by the Committee, who shall judge them according to appearance.

3. This decree does not affect women having five children.

4. The former owners may retain the right of using their wives without waiting their turns.

5. In case of resistance of the husband, he shall forfeit the right under the former paragraph.

6. All women, according to this decree, are exempted from private ownership, and are proclaimed to be the property of the whole nation.

7. The distribution and management of appropriated women, in compliance with the decision of the above said organization, are transferred to the Saratoff Anarchists' Club. In three days from the date of publication of this decree, all women given by it to the use of the whole nation, are obliged to present themselves to the given address, and to supply the required information.

9. Not included in "The Indian." (ed.)

8. Before the Committee is formed for the realization of this decree the citizens themselves will be charged with such control. N. B.—Any citizen noticing a woman not submitting herself to the address under this decree, is obliged to let it be known to the Anarchists' Club, giving the address, full name, and father's name of the woman.

10. Each man wishing to use a piece of public property should be the bearer of a certificate from the Factories Committee, the Professional Union, or the Workmen's, Soldiers' and Peasants' Council certifying that he belongs to the working family class.

11. Every working member is obliged to discount 2 per cent from his earnings to the fund of the public general action. N. B.—This committee in charge will put these discounted funds, with the specifications of names and lists, into the state banks, and other institutions handing down these funds to this popular generation.

12. Male citizens not belonging to the working classes, in order to have equal rights with the proletariat, are obliged to pay fifty dollars a month into the public fund.

13. The local branch of the state bank is obliged to begin reserve payments to the National Generation Funds.

14. All women proclaimed by this decree to be national property will receive from the fund an allowance of 115 dollars per month.

15. All women who become pregnant are released from their state duties for four months, up to three months before, and one month after, childbirth.

16. The children born are given to an institution for training after they are one month old, where they are to be trained and educated until they are 17 years of age, at the cost of public funds.

17. In the case of the birth of twins, the mother is to receive a prize of 100 dollars.

18. All citizens, men and women, are obliged carefully to watch their health.

19. Those who are guilty of spreading veneral disease will be held responsible, and severely punished.

20. Women having lost their health may apply to the Soviet for a pension.

21. The chief of the Anarchists will be in charge of the temporary technical measures relating to the realization of this decree.

22. All refusing to recognize and support this decree will be proclaimed enemies of the people and held strictly responsible.

York Spur's Dope

"The great things have not all been done." That's a good thing to think about when you get to believing you can't do what the other fellow has done or is doing. Yes, a mighty lot of great things have been done, but there are thousands upon thousands that haven't been done, that are waiting for you to do them.

You say you can't. You may think you can't. But I say you can. And deep down inside you there's something tells you you can, and you know by that self-same feeling that you can be as great as the next one if you want to hard enough. Hard enough to develop and use every energy that's in you.

Kings and queens, and the presidents of the early days didn't have one-tenth the comforts we have today, and we haven't one-tenth of what is actually going to exist in fifty or a hundred years from now. The boys and men of a hundred years ago were in the same fix we are. They never once dreamed or thought it possible for such things to exist as the things we consider ordinary sights of the day. And yet it was those same boys and men who helped to make the present what it is today.

It's up to yoa [sic]. Other men have done things which you call great, and which you think you can't do. The difference is they did it, or are doing it now, while you are wondering about what they did. You are thinking of the other fellow's great doings, and of what you can't do, instead of thinking of what you yourself can and are going to do.

There's an opportunity for everybody, but everybody doesn't want the opportunity bad enough to chance a failure. Are you going to be one of the few who really succeed in life? Or would you rather not succeed? It's up to you, as it is up to me, and the world's before us." The great things have not all been done."

When there's a race on, it's the man who "gets off," or gets started first who generally wins. He "gets the jump" on his competitor, and therefore has the advantage, but he doesn't always win. In this life of ours we've got to live a long time, and we've got to fight our way through in order to have enough to live on.

Life is a continual race, and the man who gets a thorough training when he's young has a great advantage over the man who does not, but he doesn't always win. The early training gives him a certain confidence that he can get along, and so he lets up a bit on his efforts. Then's the chance for us who haven't that thorough early training.

There are schools and there are books. There are lectures and there are talks. There are events of importance and events and happenings which have no great importance. It's these things, and the use we make of them, that are going to give us an even break with the man who had all the education money could buy when he was getting his high school and university training.

He feels as though he had earned a rest, and does not use his full ability, or he is plunging into affairs with equipment that makes it possible for him to do bigger things with less effort than another less fortunate. It's a problem that must be solved before we can win, whether we got an early start or a late one, and the only satisfactory answer to the problem is, work—study—and learn. After the work and study and learning, there's more work, more study and more learning to be done, else our efforts will amount to nothing.

The race is a long one, and is worth a hard try, regardless of the difficulties, and it's the best man who wins.

A young man asked an older man how to get on in the world, and the older man told him: "It makes no difference, young man, whether your father owns a motor boat or not. Learn to paddle your own canoe." That brings up the question of father and son. The father wants to help the son out with money and influence. All well and good, if it's borrowed money and influence, and the son pays it back. It becomes business then. But when you go home and get ready to become a civilian again, will you be broke and depend on father? Or have you saved up something to carry you along until you can get a job, and help you along after you've got the job?

The "old man" may go broke or have financial troubles of his own. He will help you and do all he can for you, but it'll hurt, and the worst part of the hurt will be the knowledge that his boy hasn't anything of his own. The old man always likes to see his boy make money and keep it, and make that money work.

That's the idea of the motor boat and the canoe. It takes money to run a motor boat and keep it up, but not so much for the canoe—and it takes paddling to make the canoe go. It's the starting point. We've got to start for ourselves, if we haven't already done it, and repay what we've borrowed from "dad," and make enough and save enough so that we can help him out as he has helped us out, if he needs it.

Company C, Second Engineers, has a first sergeant who is always looking forward to the accomplishment of great things.

At present, the height of his ambition is to stand before the Army of Occupation and have General Dickman say: "Sergeant, dismiss the army."

Personally, we do not believe our "fighting top" will realize his ambition, as he only has twenty more years in which to serve.

I beg the colonel to inspect the house at 54 Feld Strasse at the home of Mrs. Panzer. This woman has made a suit of underwear from American bedsacks, and now she is making two skirts from the same material for both her daughters. Is she allowed to have articles made from the material obtained from that source, found in her home?

You didn't know there were any gobs with the Second Division? Listen, my friends, where have you been these long months? Well, you are excused this time.

Yes, the gobs answer the "Doc" now, and when the seabags used to sing their doleful tune as they went to look for some perfectly good doughboy or leatherneck, they answered the "first aid," and they delivered the goods, too.

They were the ones who bandaged up some poor unfortunate, gave him a drink of water (perhaps the last), lighted the cigarette for him, and hustled him back to better and safer quarters. They were with the Marines, and are proud to be able to say they were with them through it all.

Here in the First Battalion of the Fifth a few of them are holding sick call each morning, listening and longing for the words that will send them back home, or back to the navy and a real uniform of blues again. Kept under the very competent hand of Dr. Shea (Lieut. M. C., U. S. N.), who guides, instructs and directs them, they are making a creditable showing, both around the sick bay and the companies, as the reports that the divisional surgeon sends out occasionally will show.

Though attempts are continually being made to put them down, they refused to stay put. First they lost Chief PhM. Gelette, whom all regretted to see go; and then it was Rogers, who took charge after the chief's departure. But things are still humming, however, under the guidance of George, pharmacist's mate first class, and even if you fail to see him on account of innumerable reports, he is still there.

Yes, they are real men — speaking athletically, of course. A good example is Griffith, pharmacists mate second class, who first brought attention to the gobs by some speedy playing on the Forty-ninth football team, and who is now "tossing the pill" for the Fifth Regiment's baseball team.

Among other "flatfeet" who bear the distinction of belonging to the "medical unit" of the First Battalion are PhM2c. Walker, Matthews, Deaver, Smith and Nichols; PhM3c. Leonard, Boyle, Budziuski, Crenshaw, Lawrence, and Cobb. With the exception of two or three, all contributed their bit toward the end and and some of them can boast the "crow de gook" and get away with it.

Even some of the army can lay claim of belonging to this "medical unit," Lieutenant Putnam, the dentist, and his able assistant, Pvt. C. Sutcliff. Better known throughout the battalion as "Dentical Charlie."

Despite the moans occasionally heard from some of the Marines, they do some wonderful work.

If you remember that: Things are never so good or so bad as they sem [sic]: and that is they seemed as good they really are, then they never could be so bad as they seem, and if they seemed as bad as they really are, then they never could be so bad as they seem, because, anything that is as bad as it seems is better than it really is for the reason that, knowing how bad a thing really is, is the best way of making it better; and when you make a thing better, you are taking away from it the element of time. Time is the only thing which gives the possibility of making things either better or worse than they really are. Thus time, and time only, will bring you to the place of your desire.

Before what was probably the largest crowd ever assembled on Coblenz Island, the Third Army Horse Show and Tournament opened with a bang.

It was a regular community fair, on a magnificent scale, with the "fakir" features missing. Several hangars had been erected, and each had an exhibition of its own that attracted an endless stream of officers and men. The motor exhibit was excellent, and various makes for airplanes, tractors, trucks and cars were to be seen.

Another interesting exhibit was of various makes of machine guns, assembled and taken down. French, British, American and German airplanes were shown, including scout and bombing planes. These were open for free inspection, with competent officers to explain their works in detail and answer any questions concerning them.

The observation ("sausage") balloon, in the afternoon, gave a realistic exhibition of what an attack on a balloon by anti-aircraft guns is like, by releasing a quantity of smoke bombs while at a height of 2,000 feet.

The steeple-chase for officers was wildly exciting, and the addition of a few British and French officers added to the enthusiasm of the event. Perhaps some of these officers witnessed their first exhibition of real American "rooting."

There was no necessity for anyone to go hungry, as two hangars were set apart to feed officers and men with hot chocolate, sandwiches and doughnuts. Rolling kitchens were supplied for this work by the various welfare associations.

The chilly wind and threatening weather Friday morning kept the attendance down, but in the afternoon officers and men turned out in force. More than a thousand French officers and poilus blended the horizon blue of their uniforms with the olive drab, while a French band prevented gaps in the flow of music.

At the hangars where the "eats" were served by the welfare organizations, 6,000 men per hour were fed. This was made possible by the excellent arrangement whereby the men were admitted in six continuous streams.

Among the planes on display, the German Fokker seemed to lead in interest. No wood enters into its construction, and it is one of the fastest and easiest maneuvering planes made.

The old-fashioned circus parade, with its bandwagon, clown, kicking mule, and bareback riders. caused great amusement.

Panoramic photographs of the Army of Occupation, carnival scenes, and cities along the Rhine, were on sale at one tent. Among them was an excellent picture of Secretary Daniels addressing the Second Division at Vallendar, April 18.

In addition to the classes already announced, the Educational Center desires applications to be filed for the following courses:

(A) Three months' courses to be given at the Vocational School at Engers: (1) Photography, use of camera, development, making of prints; (2) lithography, making of printers' cuts. (3) Mechanical drawing, making of working drawings. (4) Sign painting and lettering.

(B) Two weeks' course to be given at the Vocational School at Niederbieber: (5) Motorcycle and sidecar driving, including a general knowledge of carburetor, magneto, and tire repairing.

Last week was closed in the Railhead Detachment with a musical program. The first sergeant made a brilliant "debut" in the latest song hit, "Tomorrow You Sign the Payroll." He was accompanied by the company clerk. The instrument used was an "Underwood." Ohly [sic] one incident occurred to mar a perfect evening. One buck, who has just received a G. C. M.. complained that it brought visions to him of cheerless days of enforced idleness.

Secretary of War Newton D. Baker reviewed the Seventeenth Field Artillery at it's home in Ehrenbreitstein the 25th of April. While the boys where all at attention and not a soul stirring, some ex-shell greaser yelled, "I wanna go home."

It's a good thing the rest were at attention. Coming to a big buck the Secretary asked, "What state are you from?"

"From the baby state, sir."

"Texas?"
"No sir, Rhode Island."

A sergeant was asked what state he was from. "Washington, D. C." was the answer. He should have replied, "State of affairs, sir." Secretary Baker was very much pleased with the cleanliness of the old fortress.

Employer: "Jones, your work is very unsatisfactory, and I will have to let you go. When I employed you I asked if you had any references and you said your company commander had recommended you very strongly. I would like to know what kind of an officer he was to recommend a man like you."

Ex-Buck: "As a matter of fact sir, he did recommend me several times for a court-martial."

From all the German intelligence reports on how the division was repeatedly annihilated, the German people must think the Second has more lives than a cat.

A major was sauntering along the street the other day, when his curiosity was aroused by a series of groaning, creaking and grinding sounds, which were louder and more persistent than the busy hum of the machinery inside our bakery.

"Why do they drag the oven chambers about over the floor like that?" he inquired of a buck who was standing nearby.

"Sir," replied the buck, "that ain't oven chambers. That's 'Gunboat' Parkins walking across the room with his new hobs on."

Cpl. Archie Robinette is a real genius when it comes to inventing labor-saving devices and systems. While the company sojourned at Is-Sur-Tille, he discovered a system which eliminated the carrying of pans to the proof-racks. He would crawl along on his hands and knees, and push each pan along in front of him to save the trouble of carrying it. Great good might have come of this practice, if the C. O. hadn't happened in and stopped it in its early stages. He told Archie that it was a bright idea, but that he was wearing out the pans.

Sgt. Morris N. Breazeale, Bakery Co. 319.

"It affords me great satisfaction to be able to announce that, in the Third Army Carnival and Horse Show, the Second Division tied for first place with the troops of the Third Army in the Horse Show, and took second place in the Motor Show (events and exhibits combined).

"I desire to express my thanks for, and my deep appreciation of, the energetic, able and efficient work of the Horse Show committees, the officers in charge of the motor exhibits and track team, and of all the other officers and men of the Second Division, who participated in the Second Division and Third Corps Horse Shows, and the Third Army Carnival and Horse Show.

JOHN A. LEJEUNE,
Major General, U. S. M. C.,
Commanding.

Anyone in the division who did not get in as a charter member of the Second Division Association, can join by sending his application, with two dollars, to the secretary of the association. Be sure to send your organization and your home address.

Those who have left the division, and who are with other organizations, as well as those who have gone home, can join by sending their applications to the Secretary, Second Division Headquarters, A. P. O. 710, American E. F. with two dolars for initiation fee and first year's dues.

It is necessary that the organization to which the applicant belonged and his home address be given.

The horse battalion of the Ammunition Train was "sitting on the world" for a while after the taking of Blanc Mont Ridge. We had pitched our camp in a little spruce woods which camouflaged us completely, and had settled down to a life of peace and industry. As no demand was made upon us to haul ammunition for several days, we devoted our spare time to building homes.

It was not long before a flourishing city had sprung up in the wilderness. Houses boasting two rooms, three or four bunks and a cook-stove, made the mushroom cities of ammunition in America look like the ruins of ancient history.

Despite our prosperity, and though we lived like kings, there was a great void in our lives—or rather, in our stomachs. We have yet to see the cook who can make "corn-willie" and hardtack into a dish to suit the royal palate. It came to pass, however, that a great feast was prepared for us. Fresh meat had been brought in, also reasonably fresh bread, and the chow which resulted was topped by a whole mess kit lid heaped with "bulldoze" pudding.

The supper had reached this last and crowning course, when the air was rent by a wild shriek and a tremendous crash. Two beautiful homes, which, luckily, were vacant at the time, were reduced to splinters. Another shriek and another crash, another, and then another, and the once beautiful city was abandoned.

The feast came to an untimely end, though it will go down in history that a few brave souls went back for seconds, and even thirds, of the delicious "bulldoze" pudding.

—Pvt. J. J. Keating.
Co. E, 2nd Am. Train.

A young miss from California asks a certain Ammunition Train private if he cannot get out of the army quicker on good behavior. Evidently thinks he is doing time in the guardhouse!

When you're feeling rather homesick, and your thoughts begin to wander far away from this man's army; did you ever stop to ponder that your pay keeps going on, no matter how poor business gets, and your room rent costs you nothing; while the chow the K. P. slings in your mess-kit may not be as good as that you got at home; yet the week-end brings no board bill that will set you back ten bones; and the clothes your "Uncle" hands you may not fit like a boot—think of paying FIFTY dollars for an all-wool "civie" suit!

But it's mighty dull and lonesome, keeping watch on this old Rhine, while we're waiting word from Paris that the treaty has been signed; you can bet there will be a howl that will be heard from here to Nome, when the C. O. gently breaks the news—"Boys, the A. of O. goes home!"

—Cpl. R. A. Stevens, 23rd Infantry.

Did you know that we have with us in our "Second," gobs capacitating as Red Cross men, under naval medical officers? These gobs are about as combative a non-combatant force imaginable.

For instance: Pharmacists Mate Bateman heard a "first-aid" cry while in the Champagne sector Leaping from his fox hole, he ran through a nice barrage to the source of the outcry, where he found a man who desired to know, "Isn't this French itch, and shouldn't I be evacuted?" displaying an irritated arm.

The PhM. answered: "No, it is hob-nail abraisons that you'll be evacuated with," at the same time giving "hob-nail" first-aid.

"Say, Corporal Driewhiskt, what is the reason for such a commotion inside that house?"

"Oh, that's a scrap between two muleteers who became estranged on account of professional jealousy," replied the corporal.

—O. Kalamity.

Anyhow, being in the Army of Occupation over here is better than being in the Unoccupied Army over there.

A list of the battle engagements of the Second Division during the war with Germany, including organizations which are entitled to the silver bands for the pike of the regimental colors, awarded under paragraph 244, Army Regulations:

(1) Toulon Sector, Verdun, France—15 March to May 13, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 5th Marines, 6th Marines, 6th Machine Gun Battalion.

(2) Toulon Sector, Verdun, France—24 March to 13 May, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver band: 12th Field Artillery.

(3) Troyon Sector, France—15 March to 13 May, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 23rd Infantry, 5th Machine Gun Battalion.

(4) Troyon Sector, France—24 March to 13 May, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands 15th Field Artillery.

(5) Toulon-Troyon Sectors, Verdun, France—15 March to 9 May, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 9th Infantry.

(6) Toulon-Troyon Sectors, Verdun, France—15 March to 13 May, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver ver [sic] bands: 4th Machine Gun Battalion, 1st Field Signal Battalion, 2nd Engineers.

(7) Toulon-Troyon Sector's, Verdun, France—24 March to 13 May, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver band: 17th Field Artillery.

(8) Aisne defensive, France—31 May to 5 June, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 9th Infantry, 23rd Infantry, 5th Marines, 6th Marines, 2nd Engineers, 4th Machine Gun Battalion, 5th Machine Gun Battalion, 6th Machine Gun Battalion, 1st Field Signal Battalion.

(9) Aisne defensive, France—4 June to 5 June. 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 9th In-Field [sic] Artillery, 15th Field Artillery, 17th Field Artillery.

(10) Chateau-Thierry Sector, France—6 June to 9 July, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 9th and 23rd Infantry, 5th and 6th Marines, 2nd Engineers, 4th, 5th and 6th Machine Gun Battalions, 1st Field Signal Battalion, 12th, 15th and 17th Field Artillery regiments.

(11) Aisne-Marne offensive, France—18 July to 19 July, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands. Same as in (8).

(12) Aisne-Marne offensive, France, 18 July to 25 July, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: Same as in (9).

(13) Marbache Sector, France—9 August to 16 August, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands. Same as in (8).

(14) Marbache Sector, France—9 August to 22 August, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands. Same as in (9).

(15) St. Mihiel offensive, France—12 September to 16 September, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: Same as in (10).

(16) Meuse-Argonne offensive (Champagne) France—1 October to 10 October, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 9th and 23rd Infantry, 5th and 6th Marines, 4th, 5th and 6th Machine Gun Battalions, First Field Signal Battalion.

(17) Meuse-Argonne offensive (Champagne), France—1 October to 26 October, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 2nd Engineers.

(18) Meuse-Argonne offensive (Champagne), France—1 October to 28 October, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: 12th, 15th and 17th Field Artillery regiments.

(19) Meuse-Argonne offensive, France—1 November to 11 November, 1918. Organizations entitled to silver bands: Same as in (10).

We've heard a lot of things about the weather, from sultry Honolulu to Francaise, but the kind we like the best, I suppose you all have guessed, is the kind that makes the whole world bright and, gay.

About two years ago, when chilly winds did blow, we left our homes to fight for liberty. We had read a lot of rhymes about the sunny climes of France, and other countries o'er the sea.

We camped in a grassy grove, where through the mud we strove, for days and days, from reveille to taps; and while we cleaned our shoes, we had an awful case of blues, and at inspections, we surely did look like yaps.

For many months in France they led us a merry dance, and of weather we had much, in form of rain. O'er all a deep gloom fell as we plowed o'er hill and dell; we fought the mud with might and main.

When at last the war was o'er, we had dreams and dreams galore, of Germany, where the sun shines every day. But if they call this spring, I fain my way would wing to the grandest place on earth—the U. S, A.

Oh, joy! They're palming off some of that surplus salmon on the Germans. Why not turn some of that "corned willie" loose, too? It's about time for these squareheads to find out what the horrors of war are really like.

Saw an ad. in a magazine th [sic] other day of a hotel in Yuma, Ariz., and it said in big letters over the hotel door: "Free Board for Every Day the Sun Doesn't Shine," and I thought that it would be disastrous for some of these European hotel-keepers to do the same, especially those in Neuwied.

Did you notice that fine-looking Packard three-ton truck at the Third Army Auto Show—the one that won first prize? Well, that truck is a First Field Signal Battalion truck, and it went all through the war with us, driven all the time by its proud exhibitor, Chauffeur William E. Stillwell. He was ably assisted by Chauffeur Raymond R. Fowler. Both boys certainly deserved all the credit they could get, as they put in a lot of time and energy making the old truck look like a new one.
—Sgt. Oscar J. Anderson.

We lost one of our most popular members last week, he having been transferred to the States for discharge. He is Joe Mangone, of Boston. Although we're mighty sorry to lose him, we're glad he can be back home with his people.

We have a man in the band peculiarly gifted as a detective. Anyone having lost his discharge papers; his monthly pay in a crap game or by betting on the R. S. 0. baseball team, will do well to consult him.

A member of the band and two Company C men recently visited Chateau Thierry, Belleau Wood, and other noted places in that vicinity. While there they heard a —th Division man lecturing to some innocent "Y'' women about how he won the war there (with the aid of his division).

He didn't happen to hail from the Second, or any other "regular" division, so the boys were forced to expose him.

The best German-American-French combinaticn we have heard yet was a three-piece German band playing "When Yankee Doodle Learns to Parlez Vous Francaise."

Giving all soldier talent shows due credit, we wish to compliment the Sixth Marines on the dandy show they put over here recently. It was new, snappy, and real—big stuff all the way through.

The other night, just as the bugler was putting us to bed with "taps," a band began to play. It was the 128th Infantry band. The Thirty-second Division was entraining, and they had a good reason to rejoice—but wait until the engineers start home. Several horns, instead of being crooked, will be straightened out by playing "Homeward Bound."

Judging by the latest reports, our show troupe, under the direction of Sergeant Shelton, an old-timer, is having a successful run on the First Division circuit. Here's wishing you all kinds of luck, George.

Our popular mess sergeant has bought a lot of new dishes, and, in addition, is feeding us like real men should be fed. 'Atta boy, Frank!

Oh, well, boys, what's the use of worrying? We are going home soon. Secretary Daniels said so himself.

Company D has a real laundry. Gee, isn't it great? Eh, Waters?

Lieutenant Benjamin has charge of our commissary. Under his care it is progressing rapidly, and is very prosperous, supplying us with much-needed luxuries.

When the company reached Waldorf [sic], Germany, on the hike to the Rhine, Rube and Jim, bunkies, were nearly frantic. They had been without tobacco for two days, and worse, no one else in the company had any that could be begged or borrowed.

"Believe me," said Jim, throwing himself down on his blankets in the corner of the haymow where they were quartered for the night, "I'd just about commit murder for some Bull Durham."

A gloomy silence followed. Suddenly Rube's face brightened a little.

"Say!" he exclaimed. "When I helped load the office furniture on the escort wagon this morning, I saw 'bout a dozen sacks of "Bull" lying loose on the floor of the wagon. Belonged to the mule skinner, I reckon."

"Maybe we can swipe some tonight," said Jim, hopefully.

"But there'll be a sentry guarding the wagons," objected Rube.

"I tell you!" whispered the more resourceful Jim "After dark, you go and start something some distance from our wagon, to attract the sentry's attention, and I'll grab off a sack of 'Bull'."

"Great!" agreed Rube.

At about 8 o'clock that night, things began to happen in the field where the battalion wagon train was parked. A crash and a yell were heard on one side of the field, and, as the sentry started in that direction on the double, a dark form might have been seen slipping into F Company's escort wagon. Jim—for it was he—landed on something soft in the wagon, and an enraged grunt told him that he had landed squarely on the sleeping mule-skinner! Ensued a brief but desperate combat, during which Jim, one hand over the struggling driver's mouth, managed, with the other, to clutch a sack of "Bull."

He jumped from the wagon and threw himself under it. He landed in a large mud puddle, but forced himself to lie still until the chase which the driver instigated had died out. Then he limped painfully to his hay loft, to find a bloody-nosed, anxious Rube awaiting him.

"Had an awful scrap with the sentry," whispered Rube. "Didja get it?"

"Betcha!" replied Jim, taking off his wet clothes. Both went to sleep, and dreamed of a happy, smoky morrow.

The next morning the bunkies decided to wait until after breakfast to enjoy their first smoke in three days.

Dishevelled and muddy, but smiling, they got in the chow line, and approached the place where mush and bacon were being given out. Then their jaws dropped, and they looked at one another in startled dismay.

For, with each ration of mush, the K. P. was handing out a large sack of "Bull!"

Corporal Shriner of the Second Supply Train has lost his tin lizzie, the oldest Ford in the trains. It has been ordered turned in.