Part 9

"'We were pretty sure that we had him, but this arresting a spy on slim evidence is a ticklish matter. We didn't want to make a mess of the affair, or perhaps send an innocent man to his death, so the following day we again took up our stations. Sure enough, it was two greys in the morning, but in the afternoon he used two blacks. That night troops came through and were shelled. We had solved the problem. Two greys in the morning meant nothing. The actual signal to the enemy was the change of horses in the afternoon; two blacks meaning "troops coming through tonight, shell the road"; a grey and a black, "no troops expected, do not shell."

"'When it got dark, and it was safe to leave the hedge, we immediately reported the whole affair to the Town Major (an English officer detailed in charge of a French village or town occupied by English troops), who, accompanied by us and a detail of six men with fixed bayonets, went to the farmer's house that night and arrested him. He protested his innocence, but we took him to Military Police Headquarters, where, after a gruelling questioning, he confessed.

"'It was a mystery to us how this farmer knew that troops were coming through, because he never made a mistake in his schedule. After further questioning, he explained to us that if we searched in his cellar and raised up an old flag-stone with a ring in it, we would find a telephone set. The other end of this set was established in an estaminet in a little French village eleven kilos distant. His confederate was the proprietor of this estaminet, which was so situated on the road that troops coming into the village had to pass the door. As troops only march at night while in the fire sector, his confederate could safely figure out that the passing troops would be quartered in his village until the next night, when, under cover of darkness, they would start for the next village, and would have to pass the point in the road by the old church. He would immediately telephone this information to the farmer, who would change his horses accordingly. The hill on which he did his plowing could be easily observed from an observation balloon in the German lines, and thus the signal was given to the German artillery.

"'We still carried on with our third degree, and got further valuable information from him.

"'If, in the plowing, two grey horses were used on two consecutive afternoons, it meant that the use of the road had been indefinitely discontinued for troops and supplies.

"'Under a strong guard, which concealed itself in the hedge, the farmer was made to use two greys for two afternoons. The scheme worked. For weeks afterwards that road was only occasionally shelled, and our troops and supply trains used it at will. The spy at the other end was rounded up and both were taken to the base and shot.

"'We reported back to Old Pepper, expecting to be highly commended for our work, and we were--I don't think. All the blooming blighter said was:

"'"Well, you certainly took long enough to do it. I have a damn good mind to send you back to your units for incompetency and inefficiency."

"'We saluted and left.

"'You see, we didn't deserve any great credit because it was only through a lucky chance that we stumbled over the clue. So I guess Old Pepper was right after all.'"

After Curly had finished, everyone agreed with Happy's comment:

"Pretty nifty work, I call it, pretty nifty!"

"HORSES FOR FRANCE"

As Told by Yank

"HORSES FOR FRANCE"

"Just lend me your ear and I'll spin you a yarn about a trip I made on a horse ship back in 1914," said Yank, as he took a deep breath from his Woodbine and settled back against the wall of the dugout.

"Well, Yank, let's have the story," chimed in the rest.

"All right, heels together and eyes front. Here goes," answered Yank.

"It was in 1914, and the Great World's War was on, and there was I, in the United States and--_neutral_. For thirteen years I had been soldiering but had never been under fire. In my imagination I could hear the guns booming on the Western Front. I admit I was a trifle afraid; nevertheless, I had a great desire to get into the mix-up. How could I get over? I planned out many ways, but not one of them was practical.

"One day, while walking down Greenwich Avenue, New York, I passed an employment agency. Staring me in the face was a great flaring sign, 'Horses for France.' Under this was 'Men Wanted.' Here was my chance.

"Upon returning to my office I immediately got in touch, over the telephone, with two prominent men in New York who I knew were distinctly pro-Ally. After I had outlined my desire, an appointment was made for me to meet a certain gentleman at the Hotel Astor at four o'clock that afternoon. I met him. He was a Frenchman. At that time, in my eyes, a Frenchman was a hero, a man to be looked up to, a man fighting in the Great Cause. But now a Frenchman to me is more than a hero. After being introduced I went up into the Frenchman's room and talked over the matter of horses for France for about twenty minutes.

"Upon leaving the Frenchman I was told to report to him three days later, at the same time and place. I left, bubbling over with enthusiasm and anticipation.

"During that interval of three days I mapped out a story of my life to present to him upon our second interview. The eventful day at last came, and once more I was closeted with him.

"I started in to tell him my history. He interrupted me by waving his right hand to the right and left. It reminded me of the 'butts' on a target range during rifle practice, when the soldier marking the target wigwags a miss to the firing-line. My heart sank. Then he spoke, and I was carried from despondency to the greatest height of expectation. He said: 'Pardon me, Monsieur, I already know your life,' and in an amazingly short time he told me more about myself than I ever knew. I had been carefully investigated.

"My instructions received from him were confidential, so I will not go into them. Anyway, he handed me an envelope and told me to carefully follow all instructions as contained therein.

"I immediately went back to my office, opened the envelope and on a typewritten sheet I read: 'Report at Goldsmith's Employment Agency, No. ---- Greenwich Street. Ship as an ordinary horseman and during voyage carefully follow the verbal instructions received by you during our interview, making careful note of all details immediately after happening. Be cautious in doing this. Upon landing in France report to the Prefecture of Police, Bordeaux, and obey his instructions to the letter. Good luck.'

"I went home and put on my oldest clothes; an old blue serge suit, an olive drab shirt, a heavy pair of army shoes and a woolen cap. I had let my beard grow and I certainly looked rough.

"In passing through City Hall Park, New York, one sees many derelicts of the human race sitting on the benches. I sat down between two of these wrecks of humanity and engaged them in conversation. I wanted to blend into their atmosphere. About ten minutes later a policeman came past and ordered the three of us to move on. I slouched away with the other two. Telling them that I was going out 'panhandling,' I took my leave, but not before one of them made an appealing and successful touch for a nickel. The method used by him in securing that nickel would have done credit to the greatest financiers in the country in putting through a deal involving millions.

"When I came to the Agency, there was a long line of bums, two and three deep, trying to ship as horsemen for France.

"It would be impossible to get a rougher and more unkempt gathering of men. It looked as if some huge giant had taken a fine comb and carefully combed the gutters of New York.

"I fell into this line and waited my turn. When I reached the desk, in front of me sat a little fat, greasy Jew. To describe his manner of handling the men as being impolite would be a great exaggeration. The way he handled that line of human cattle would have done the Kaiser's heart good.

"It came my turn, and this conversation ensued:

"'What do you know about horses?'

"I answered: 'Six years in the U.S. Cavalry.'

"The Agent: 'What Regiments?'

"'Eleventh and Twelfth.'

"'You're a liar. You never saw the Cavalry.'

"I felt like punching him in the nose but did not do so. I wanted to ship as a horseman. I showed him my discharges. He said: 'They're faked. What did you do, desert, or were you kicked out?'

"I was getting sore, and answered: 'Deserted the Twelfth; kicked out of the Eleventh.'

"'What's your name?'

"'John Smith.'

"'You're a German.'

"This was too much for me, and I answered: 'You're a damned liar.' I saw my chances of shipping vanishing in smoke.

"The Jew grinned and rubbed his hands, and said: 'You're all right. Go into that room and get a card made out, and come back at two o'clock.'

"I received a card and went to a beanery across the street and had a wonderful meal of corned beef hash, muddy coffee and huge slices of bread, minus butter. This cost me fifteen cents.

"At two o'clock I reported back, and with seventy-two others, herded like cattle, in a long, straggling line, flanked by three of the employes of the Agency, we marched to the Ferry and landed 'somewhere in New Jersey.'

"The ship, a huge three-stacker, was lying alongside. We were put into single file, ready to go up the gangplank. Then our real examination took place. At the foot of the gangplank were a group of men around a long table. They certainly put us through a third degree to find out if there was any German blood in us. Several men were turned down. I successfully passed the ordeal, was signed up for the voyage, and went aboard.

"At the head of the gangplank stood the toughest specimen of humanity I have ever seen. He looked like a huge gorilla, and had a big, crescent-shaped, livid scar running from his left ear under his chin up to his right eye. Every time he spoke the edges of the scar grew white. His nose was broken and he had huge, shaggy eyebrows. His hand was resting on the rail of the ship. It looked like a ham, and inwardly I figured out what would happen to me if that hamlike fist ever came in contact with the point of my jaw. As we passed him he showered us with a few complimentary remarks, such as 'Of all the lousy scum I have seen, this bunch of lubbers is the worst, and this is what they give me to take thirteen hundred horses over to Bordeaux.' Later on I found this individual was the chief foreman of the horse gang.

"We were ordered aft and sat on the hatch. The fellow on my right was a huge, blue-gummed negro. He was continually scratching himself. I unconsciously eased away from him and bumped into the fellow sitting on my left. After a good look at him I eased back again in the direction of the negro. I don't think that he had taken a bath since escaping from the cradle. Right then my uppermost thought was how I could duck this trip to France. The general conversation among the horse gang was: 'When do we eat?'

"We must have sat there about twenty minutes when the second foreman came aft. I took fifteen guesses at his nationality, and at last came to the conclusion that he was a cross between a Chinaman and a Mexican. He was thin, about six feet tall, and wore a huge sombrero. His skin was tanned the color of leather. Every time he smiled I had the impression that the next minute he would plant a stiletto in my back. His name was Pinero. His introduction to us was very brief: 'Get up off of that ---- ---- hatch and line up against the rail.' We did as ordered. Then he commanded: 'All the niggers line up alongside of the port rail.' I guess a lot of them did not know what he meant by the 'port rail' because they looked very much bewildered. With an oath he snapped out: 'You ---- ---- idiots! The port rail is that rail over there. Come on! Move or I'll soon move you.' He looked well able to do this and the niggers quickly shuffled over to the place designated. He quickly divided us into squads of twelve men, then ordered: 'All of you who are deserters from the Army and who have seen service in the Cavalry, step to the front.' Four others besides myself stepped out. The first man he came to he informed: 'You're a straw boss. Do you know what a straw boss is?' This man meekly answered, 'No, sir.' With another oath, the second foreman said: 'All right, you're not a straw boss; fall back.' I got the cue immediately. My turn came next.

"'Do you know what a straw boss is?'

"I said: 'Sure.'

"He said: 'All right, you're a straw boss.'

"I had not the least idea of what he was talking about, but made up my mind that it would not take me long to find out. Then he passed down the line, picking out straw bosses. I asked one of the men in my gang what were the duties of a straw boss. He had been over with horses before, and told me that a straw boss meant being in charge of the gang to feed the horses and that he had to draw and keep careful check of the straw, hay, oats and bran. As I had served in the Cavalry, this job, as I figured, would be regular pie for me.

"In about an hour and a half's time Pinero had selected his straw bosses and divided the men into gangs, and assigned us to our quarters on the ship. These quarters were between decks and very much crowded, and the stench was awful. Iron bunks, three deep, with filthy and lousy mattresses on them, were set into the sides of the ship. The atmosphere in that dirty hole turned my stomach and I was longing for the fresh air of the deck. A dirty bum, with tobacco juice running out of the corner of his mouth, turned to me and asked: 'Do the gray-backs bother you much, matey?' A shudder ran through me as I answered: 'Not much.' I figured out that as soon as I got them, as I knew in a very short time I should, they certainly would bother me, but I had to keep a stiff upper lip if I wanted to retain their respect and my authority as straw boss. Yes, 'gray-backs' are cooties.

"One fellow in my gang was a trouble-maker. He must have been about forty years old and looked as hard as nails. He was having an argument with a pasty-faced looking specimen of humanity, about twenty-six years old. To me this man appeared to be in the last stages of consumption. I told the old fellow to cut out his argument and leave the other fellow alone. Upon hearing this he squirted a well-directed stream of tobacco juice through his front teeth, which landed on my shoe. I inwardly admired and respected his accuracy. I saw my authority waning and knew that I would have to answer this insult quickly. I took two or three quick steps forward and swung on his jaw with my fist. His head went up against the iron bunk with a sickening sound and he crumpled up and fell on the deck, the blood pouring from a cut in his head. I felt sick and faint, thinking that he had been killed, but it would not do outwardly to show these signs of weakness on my part, so without even moving near him I ordered one of the men to look him over and see if he was all right. He soon came around. From that time on he was the most faithful man in the section and greatly respected me. The rest of the men growled and mumbled and I thought I was in for a terrible beating. Lying close at hand was an iron spike about 18 inches long. Grasping this, I turned to the rest, trying to be as tough as I possibly could:

"'If any of the rest of you bums thinks he's boss around here, start something, and I will sink this into his head.' Although I was quailing underneath, still I got away with it, and from that time on I was boss of my section.

"Every man was smoking or chewing tobacco. Pretty soon the hold became thick with smoke, and I was gasping for breath, when the voice of the foreman came down the companionway:

"'Turn out on deck and give a hand loading the horses. Look alive or I'll come down there and rouse you out pretty ---- ---- quick.'

"We needed no second invitation and lined up on the deck. I looked over the rail. On the dock were hundreds of the sorriest looking specimens of horse-flesh I ever laid eyes on. These horses were in groups of ten or twelve, being held by horsemen from the New Jersey Stockyards. A lot of the men who had shipped as horsemen had never led a horse in their lives, and it was pitiful to see their fear.

"The foreman let out a volley of oaths for them to move quickly, and they decided to accept the lesser evil and take a chance with the horses.

"Then the work of loading commenced.

"I have been in a Cavalry Regiment when hurry-up orders were received to entrain for the Mexican Border and helped to load eleven hundred horses on trains. But the confusion on that dock was indescribable. The horses were loaded by three runways. My gang was detailed on the after one. The foreman was leaning over the rail, glaring down upon us and now and then giving instructions mixed with horrible oaths. He had a huge marlin spike in his hand. On the dock was the second foreman, in his large sombrero, a red handkerchief around his neck, wearing a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and carrying in his right hand a coiled lariat. It did one's heart good to see him rope the horses which broke loose. Watching his first performance, I knew I had been right in thinking he had Mexican blood in his veins.

"A bleary-eyed drunk was trying to lead a horse by the halter up our run. He was looking back at the horse, at the same time tugging and jerking on the halter. You could see the white in the horse's eyes, and I knew right away, from my experience with horses, that this was a bad one, an "outlaw," as we would term him in the Cavalry. The drunk was cursing and swearing and kicking up at the horse's head. The foreman saw this and directed his barrage at the offender.

"'How in h---- do you expect to lead a horse while you're looking at him? Turn your back to him, you lousy bum. You are blocking the whole run. Turn your back to him, I say. You can't lead him thataway. If I come down there, I'll soon show you how to get him aboard.'

"The bleary-eyed one became bewildered and in his excitement lost his footing on the slippery runway and fell underneath the horse, at the same time loosening his hold on the halter chain. The horse jerked his head loose, reared up, turned around and made a break for the dock. The man on the gangway tried to scramble out of the way. The horse, in wheeling, let fly with both heels and caught him below the right ear with his near hind foot. With a piercing shriek the drunk clasped both hands to his head, fell over backward and rolled to the foot of the gangplank, where he lay in a crumpled heap, the blood pouring from his nose and mouth and the wound below his ear.

"Hearing this shriek, several of the men leading their horses, turned them loose in their fright, and there was a mad stampede on the dock.

"The pasty-faced horseman, whom I helped out a little while before in the argument, was standing near the runway, holding on to a horse. He turned his horse loose and rushed to the bloody mass, which was twitching with convulsive shudders. The foreman snapped out a long string of curses that almost froze my heart:

"'What did I tell you? Didn't I tell you not to look at him? I knew you would get it, and a damned good job, too; blocking that run with your fool tricks.'

"Then he noticed the pasty-faced horseman stooping over the victim and went on:

"'Get 'im by the heels, you cross between a corpse and a mummy, and drag him out of the way. We bloody well got to get this ship loaded to catch the tide.'

"The pale-faced man kept on with his examination without paying any attention to the foreman's instructions. The foreman got blue in the face and bubbled over with rage.

"'Did you hear what I tell you? Get 'im out of the way or I'll go down there and pound some obedience into you. This ship's got to be loaded.'

"The man still paid no attention. The foreman was speechless. In a few seconds the stooping man straightened up, and looking the foreman straight in the eye, calmly replied: 'He's dead.' This did not seem to faze the foreman in the least and he bellowed out: 'How do you know he is dead?' The man answered simply: 'I'm a doctor.' Then the foreman once again exploded: 'A doctor! Blawst my deadlights, a doctor! Well, if you're a doctor, what in h---- are you doing on a horse ship? You ought to be rolling pills for the highbrows.'

"The doctor never took his piercing look from the eye of the foreman. The foreman was now like an enraged bull. Spitting all over himself, he blustered out: 'Well, if he's dead, there is no doctor that can do him any good. A couple o' you black skunks over there,' addressing two negroes who were almost blanched to a bluish white and who were trembling nearby, 'get a-hold of him and drag 'im out of the way.' One of the negroes, with a leering grin, replied: 'I shipped on this here ship to handle hosses, and I don't allow nohow that it's my work to tote corpses around.'

"Just then the second foreman rushed over, gave the negro a push out of the way and, grabbing the heels of the dead man, pulled him away from the run. I turned away, sickened with disgust. He then took an empty oat-sack and spread it over the bloody head.

"Just then the clanging bell of an ambulance was heard and a white-clothed doctor, followed by two men with a stretcher, pushed their way through the crowd of horses and horsemen. He was accompanied by a policeman. The body was put into the ambulance and taken away, while the police officer went on board the ship.

"The pasty-faced doctor was holding onto the rail of the runway and coughing. I thought each gasp would be his last. The second foreman was talking to him, but the doctor paid no attention. Then the second foreman coolly measured his distance and swung on the point of his jaw. The doctor crumpled up and fell on the dock. At this cowardly and dastardly act, I saw red and made a leap at the foreman. An onrushing light flashed in front of me and a huge locomotive, going sixty miles an hour, hit me between the eyes; then, blackness. When I came to, I was lying in my bunk in the hold. I had an awful headache. Then everything came back to me with a flash. I could hear the gurgling of water against the ship's side and knew we were under way. Right then and there I decided never again, especially while aboard ship, to interfere with a foreman. Among that gang of human wrecks and cutthroats it was every man for himself, and the survival of the fittest. I had two beautiful black eyes, and my nose felt like a football.

"I went up on deck. The moon and stars were out and the twinkling lights of New York Harbor were gradually fading into the distance. Leaning over the rail were the chief foreman and the veterinarian, 'Doc' Casey, by name. I listened to their conversation. The chief foreman was talking:

"'Load horses? Why, that bunch of scum that they wished on me couldn't load lump sugar, one lump at a time. How Brown expects me to deliver 1300 horses into Bordeaux with this scurvy outfit, I don't know. We're lucky, I'm thinkin', if 500 o' them don't die. Why, there's not one o' the blighters knows which end of a horse eats hay. I tell you, Doc, your work is cut out for you. If, in a few days, you don't have a couple hundred cases of colic on your hands, then I'm a bloomin' liar.'

"'Doc' Casey answered:

"'Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Goorty, this is my third trip over and I have seen some tough bunches, but this one is the limit. I sure admit I have a job on my hands. It's too bad that Pinero let out on that young fellow from the Cavalry, because, in my mind, that was a pretty cowardly blow. He seemed to know how to handle horses. What do you say if I give him the job of Assistant Veterinarian? He's had six years' cavalry experience.'

"The foreman answered: