Part 10

"'Throw him over the side, if you want--I don't give a damn. But I guess you'll need someone to help you out, so go to it.'

"I was overjoyed. Just then Pinero came aft. The horse doctor turned to him and said: 'Look here, Pinero, I've seen lots of dirty work in my life, but that exhibition of yours on the dock is about the filthiest I've seen in a long time. Now, just take a tip from me. That young fellow, Smith, out of the Cavalry, from now on is working for me, and you lay your hands off of him. If I find you meddling with him, I'll push that silly grin of yours down your throat, until it chokes you. Now that's all I got to say, lay off of him. Do you understand?'

"Pinero started to mumble excuses, but the Doctor shut him up with 'I don't want to hear any more. I'm off o' you for life, but remember what I tell you. Steer clear from the two o' us, sabe?'

"I guess the second foreman sabied all right, because he vouchsafed no answer. My heart warmed to 'Doc' Casey and I slipped away unobserved.

"The next morning the Doctor fixed me up with court plaster and I was installed as Assistant Veterinarian at $30.00 for the trip. I was to sleep in 'Doc' Casey's stateroom, where he had his medicine stock, but before entering the room 'Doc' said to me: 'Take this bucket of water; put a few drops of creosote in it, and go aft on the hatch and take a good bath, and throw your underwear away.'

"I asked him his reason. He answered: 'When you take your shirt off, take a good look at it and you'll see why.'

"I began to feel itchy all over but minutely followed his instructions.

"I took my shirt off. One look was enough. It was alive, and over the rail it went. 'Doc' loaned me a white suit and took charge of my outer clothing. What he did with them I don't know, but that afternoon he returned them to me. They were shrunk a size smaller, but they were clean.

"Five days out we ran into a squall and our work was cut out for us. We were greatly overloaded and had to put horses on the decks in wooden stalls. The ship was lurching and pitching, and huge seas were belching over the gunwales.

"Several of the wooden stalls gave way and the horses got loose on the deck. With every lurch of the ship horses went down, kicking and snorting, and slid over the inclined deck, hitting against winches and hatchways, scraping their hide off. It was worth a man's life to get into that mess.

"I had to respect the foreman and second foreman more or less then. Into the midst of that struggling and kicking bunch of horses they went, 'Doc' Casey with them. Four of the horses had broken legs, and Pinero, instead of shooting them, cut their throats with a sharp dagger which he carried.

"One of the negroes from the lower hold staggered to the upper deck, his face blanched almost white, his eyes popping from his head. Between gasps he informed us that a whole section of stalls, twenty-four in all, had been carried away between decks, and that the horses were loose. He said three negroes of his gang were caught in this stampede.

"The foreman mustered most of the men, dividing them into three groups, in charge of himself, the second foreman and 'Doc' Casey. They went below. I followed.

"It was hell. The ship was pitching and lurching in a horrible manner. All I could see was a pile of kicking horses, smashed up planks, and the three negroes piled up in one corner. As the ship rolled they slid from side to side. There was nothing we could do. It was madness to attempt anything. The three negroes were dead, their bodies terribly mutilated from the hoofs of the horses.

"That night and the following day the ship rode the squall. Then it became calm and we all got busy. Of the twenty-four loose horses below, we had to shoot seventeen on account of injuries. Three others had died from broken necks. The four remaining horses were still alive but hardly had a square foot of hide left on them. I sure pitied them.

"The next day the three negroes were buried at sea without a word of prayer.

"About four days out of Bordeaux one of the large steam pipes in the lower hold burst. In this hold there were sixty-four horses. The engineer of the ship tried to repair the break, but it was almost worth a man's life to go down there in that hissing and scalding steam. The cries of the horses went straight to my heart. There they were, their bellies heaving, their nostrils red, inflamed, distended, gasping for breath, their feet spread apart and braced to keep them from falling. There would be a trembling of the legs, a few spasmodic attempts to retain their balance, as their bodies sank lower and lower, and this would be followed by a convulsive shiver as down they went with a crash to die on the deck. All we could do was to turn streams of cold salt water into the hold, thus trying to keep the heat down and save as many horses as possible.

"Why the engineer did not immediately shut off the steam, I don't know. I noted this fact in my report. It was four hours before he did so; then the two foremen, 'Doc' Casey and myself, followed by twelve other men, went into the hold. I shall never forget the sight as long as I live. Nearly every one of the horses was dead, and those that were still breathing had to be shot. Some of them were practically boiled alive. The weather was hot and it was not long before the rotting bodies made the stench on board unbearable. We had to get those bodies out. Long tackles were rigged up, and a chain was put around the necks of the horses. I worked the winch. The bodies were snaked along the passageways in the hold and up to the hatch. Some of the bodies would not hang together, and it was a common sight to see a dead horse suspended in the air, either by his neck or hind leg, drop suddenly into the hold below, leaving his head or his leg hanging to the tackle.

"Every horse sent to France is branded with a different brand. They have a system of indexing them. As each dead horse was snaked to the upper deck, 'Doc' had to stoop over and make a note of the brand before the horse was thrown overboard.

"As the dead horses were dropped over the side, a resounding splash was heard and the water was churned into a foamy white as the body momentarily sank from view. Then it would reappear and disappear in the wake of the ship, the sea gulls hovering and screaming above it.

"Just outside the entrance of the river leading to Bordeaux, a small, rakish boat, flying the tri-color of France, came alongside. We hove to and up the gangplank came three French officers. They were closeted for about twenty minutes with the Captain of the ship and our foreman. Then we continued on our course. In some places the banks of the river were only about twenty feet away. We could see the French women tilling their fields and as we went by these workers stopped and waved their hands in the air to us, and we waved back. It was my first sight of France, and I was not in any way disappointed. It lived up to my expectations.

"A little farther up the river we came to a large dock where ships were loading and discharging cargoes, and a thrill passed through me as I saw my first batch of German prisoners at work. They were immense fellows, nearly every one being six feet or over, and they were guarded by little French soldiers, averaging about five feet five inches, with long rifles and fixed bayonets. As we passed, the German prisoners scowled at us, and we, feeling quite safe on the deck, yelled back insults at them. One big Irishman, right near me, took great glee in jumping up and down on the hatchway and running his finger across his throat. This seemed to enrage the prisoners and they yelled something in German. The Irishman must have understood it, for he let out a volley of curses in return. The French sentry seemed to enjoy this barrage of insults and did not in any way attempt to curtail the prisoners' remarks.

"Pretty soon the prisoners faded out of sight and we came alongside the dock at Bordeaux. I was all eagerness and strained my eyes so as not to miss the least thing. The dock was full of French Cavalrymen, hurrying to and fro. Huge Turcos, black as the ace of spades, with white turbans on their heads, were majestically striding about.

"After we warped into the dock and made fast, our work was over. We had nothing to do with the unloading of the horses. The French Cavalrymen came on board with a bunch of Cavalry halters hanging over their arms. It was a marvel to see with what ease and efficiency that ship was unloaded. The condition of the horses was pitiful. They could hardly bend their legs from stiffness. They hobbled down the gangplank and stood trembling on the dock, stretching out their necks and taking long breaths of the pure air. Then they started to whinny, calling backward and forward to each other. Even though I did not understand horse language, I knew exactly what they were saying. They were thanking their horse God for their deliverance from that hell ship, and were looking forward to green pastures and a good roll in the dirt. Pretty soon you could see them bend their forelegs and lie down on the dock, and then try to roll over. Some of them did not have the strength for this and only feebly kicked. Pretty soon the whole dock was a mass of rolling horses, the Frenchmen jumping around, gesticulating and jabbering.

"After getting the horses up, the Frenchmen divided them into classes according to their height and weight. Then each horse was led into a ring chalked out on the dock and the army inspectors examined it. Very few were rejected. From this ring of chalk the horse was led into a portable stall and branded. You could hear the sing-song voice of the brander shouting out what sounded like 'Battry Loo.' As he yelled this, a French private came over, got the horse which had been branded, and led it away. An interpreter I was talking to informed me that the average life of a horse in the French Army was three days. These poor beasts had only left that hell ship to go into the worse Hell of bursting shells and cracking bullets.

"I, after passing a rigid examination as to my nationality, and being issued a cattleman's passport, inquired my way to the Prefect of Police. I delivered to him the sealed envelope which I had received in New York. Upon opening it, he was very gracious to me and directed me into a rear room, where an interpreter put me through a grilling examination. From there I was taken to a hotel, and the next morning, in the company of a Sergeant and a Private, got into a little matchbox compartment on the funniest looking train I ever saw. The track seemed about three feet wide, and the wheels of the cars like huge cogwheels on an engine, minus the cogs. After bumping, stopping, and sometimes sliding backwards for twenty-six hours, we reached a little town. Supplies were piled up there as high as houses. Officers and enlisted men were hurrying to and fro, and I could see long trains of supply wagons and artillery limbers always moving in the same direction, to the front.

"I was ushered into the presence of a French officer, who, I later found out, was a Brigadier-General of the Quartermaster Corps. I could hear a distant booming; they told me it was the guns of France, striving to hold back the German invaders. I trembled all over with excitement, and a feeling that I cannot describe rushed over me. I was listening to my first sound of the guns on the Western Front.

"Two days afterward I returned to Bordeaux, and shipped to New York on the French Liner _Rochambeau_. When I arrived in New York I reported to the Frenchman who had sent me over. He was very courteous and, as I reached out to shake hands with him, he placed both hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the right and left cheek. I was dumfounded and blushed all over. I think I could have borne another trip across with horses, but that being kissed upon my return completely got my goat.

"I went back to the routine of my office, but everything had lost color and seemed monotonous. I believe I had left my heart in France, and I felt mean and small over there, eating three squares a day and sleeping on a soft bed, when the armies on the other side were making the world's history.

"Several times later I passed that sign on Greenwich Street, 'Horses for France, Men Wanted,' and the pictures of the second foreman dropping the pasty-faced doctor would loom before my eyes. I do not know to this day what became of that nervy wreck of humanity, who had the temerity to tell our foreman where he got off at.

"So, Sailor Bill, old scout, how about that for a 'passage,'" concluded Yank.

Sailor Bill did not answer.

Curly butted in: "Me for the trenches every time."

The rest agreed with Curly. So did Yank.

THE END