Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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ff-s?,M1 ff MAOflN CHAPTER XXIV. The Firing 8quad. few days later I had orders to report back to divisional headquarters, about thirty kilos behind the line. I reported to the A. P. M. (assistant provost marshal). He told me to report to billet No. 78 for quarters and rations. ' It was about eight o'clock at night > and I was tired and soon fell asleep In the straw of the billet It was a miserable night outside, cold, and a drizzly rain was falling. I About two in the morning I was Awakened by some one shaking me by the shoulder. Opening my, eyes I saw a regimental sergeant-major bending over me. He had-a. lighted lantern in his right hand. I started to ask him what was the matter, when he {tat his finger to his lips for silence and yhlspered: "Get on your equipment, and, without any noise, come with me." ? This greatly mystified me, but I obeyed his order. r Outside of the billet, I asked him what was up, but he shut me up with: MDon't ask questions, it's against orders. I don't know myself." 1 It was raining like the mischief. We splashed along a muddy road for about fifteen minutes, finally stopping at the entrance of what must have .been an old barn. In the darkness, I could hear pigs- grunting, as If they had just been disturbed. In front of ' ***" OT* nffinor 4? a mont I' UUC UUU1 OIUUU UU V1UVV& &U M MWVU (mackintosh). The R. S. M. went up to him, whispered something, and then left Thi3 officer called to me, asked I my name, number and regiment, at the Bame time, in the light of a lantern he was holding, maWng K notation to a ; little book. i When he had finished writing, he 'j whispered: [ "Go Into that billet and wait orders, land no talking. Understand?" [ I stumbled into the barn and sat on' [the floor in the darkness. I could see ,no one, but could hear men breathing {and moying; they 6eemed nervous and (restless. I know I was. J During my wait three other men I entered. Then the omcer potea nis head in the door and ordered: "Fall in, outside the billet, In single rank." . We fell In, standing at ease. Then ,'he commanded : "Squad?'Shun! Number P 11 There were twelve of us. i "Right?Turn! Left?"Wheel! Quick :?March!" And away we went. The frain was trickling down my back and jl was shivering from the cold. With the officer leading, we must have marched over an hour, plowing! - through the mud and occasionally ! 'stumbling into a shell hole In the road, | ir Tarn K ' r MJ I nn j ^j| I ^ *'" * * j.i Ipg B^B lftMiMF^Snnn^^!^^^^fflT ^o' 11' i fctf '''''"> I Buried With Honors. ^ when suddenly the officer made a \</ i J wheel, and we found ourselves in a sort i of enclosed courtyard. The dawn was breaking and the rain had ceased. In front of us were four stacks of; rifles, three to a stack. The officer brought us to attention and gave the order to unplle arms. We I each took a rifle. Giving us "Stand at | I ease," in a nervous ana snauy voice,; he informed: "Men, you are here on a very solemn' duty. You have been selected as a firing squad for the execution of a sol- i dier, who, having been found guilty | of a grievous crime against king and i country, has been regularly and duly tried and sentenced to be shot at 3:281 a. m. this date. This sentence has been I approved by the reviewing authority j and of-dered.carried out. It is our duty I to carry on with the sentence of the j ^ ?? ~?J' I ' ' " . l 011' <c> AMMAN SOLWri 0 WENT * ? MGUYMY 1 flumm, OTC W fRABCE ' 1917 BY' MTHuxarrcrvnr "TBere are twelve rifles, one of which contains a blank cartridge, the other eleven containing ball cartridges. Every man is expected to do his duty and fire to kill. Take your orders from me. ?quaa?soon v We came to attention. Then he left My heart was of lead and my knees shook. After standing at "attention" for what seemed a week, though In reality it could not have been over five minutes, we heard a low whispering In our rear and footsteps on the stone flagging of the courtyard. Our officer reappeared and In a low, but firm voice, ordered: "About?Turn p We turned about In the gray light of dawn, a few yards In front of me, I could make out a brick wall. Against this walk was a dark form with a white onnova nlnnftd nn <to Viroflsit WP were CV^UUIV ^>1UUVVK>UU. at*/ VMM WW .. - supposed to aim at this square. To the right of the form-I noticed a white spot on the wall. This would be my target "Ready! Aim! Fire!" The dark form sank Into a huddled heap. My bullet sped on Its way, and hit the whitish spot on the wall; I could see the splinters fly. Some one else had received the rifle containing the blank cartridge, but my mind was at ease, there was no blood of a Tommy on my hands. "Order?Arms! About?Turn I Pile? Arms! Stand?Clear." The stacks were re-formed. "Quick ? March! Right ? Wheel!" And we left the scene of execution behind us. It was now daylight. After marching about five minutes, we were dismissed with the following instructions from the officer in command: "Return, alone, to your respective companies, and remember, no talking about this affair, or else it will go hard with the guilty ones."' We needed no urging to get away. I ' did not recognize any of the men on j tho firtnc snnnrl even the officer was a i stranger to me. The victim's relations and friends In j Blighty will never know that he was ! executed; they will be under the Im- j presslon that he died doing his bit for ' king and country. In the public casualty llsits his name j will appear under the caption "Accl- ! dentally Killed," or "Died." The day after the execution I re- ! celved orders to report back to the line, and to keep a still tongue in my head. Executions are a part of the day's work, but the part we hated most of all, I think?certainly the saddest. The British war department is thought by many people to be composed of rigid regulations all wound around with red itape. But It has a heart, and one of the evidences of this is the considerate way in which an execution Is concealed nmsl ?kAr\AwfAii fhA KAloHoia A# fho Tin. auu icpui ICU iv luc avmu i v vi vmv v? fortunate man. They never know the truth. He is listed in the bulletins as among the "accidentally killed." In the last ten years I have several times read stories in magazines of cowards changing, in a charge, to heroes. I used to langh at it It seemed easy for story-writers, but I said, "Men aren't made that way.V But over In France I learned once that the streak of yellow can turn all white. 11 picked up the story, bit by bit, from | the captain of the company, the sen-1 tries who guarded the poor fellow, as I well as from my own observations. At i first I did not realize the whole of his j story, but after a week of investigation It stood out as clear In my mind j as the mountains of my native West In the spring sunshine. It impressed me so much that I wrote It all down in rest billets on scraps of odd paper. The incidents are, as I say, every bit true; the feelings of the man are true ?I know from all I underwent In the! fighting over In France. We will call him Albert Lloyd. That wasn't his name, but It will do: Albert Lloyd was what the world terms a coward. In London they called him a slacker. His country had been at war nearly eighteen months, and still he was not in khaki. He had no good reason for not enlisting, being alone In the world, having been educated In an orphan asy-1 lum, and there being no one dependent j upon mm ror support. ?ie naa no gooa position to lose, and there was no j sweetheart to tell him with her lips i to go, while her eyes pleaded for him to stay. Every time he saw a recruiting ser-1 geant he'd slink around the corner out [ of sight, with a terrible fear gnawing I at his heart. When passing the big re-1 cruitlng posters, and on his way to ' business and back he passed many, he would pull down his cap and look the other way from that awful finger pointing at him, under the caption, "Your King and Country Need You;** or the baring eyee of Kitchfoer^ which ""Then tEe Zeppelin raids?daring them, he nsed to crouch In a corner of his boarding-house cellar, whimpering like a whipped puppy and calling upon the Lord to protect him. Even his landlady despised him, al-1 though she had to admit that he was j "good pay." He very seldom read the papers, but one momentous morning the landlady put the morning paper at his place before he came down to breakfast. Taking his seat he read the flaring headline, "Conscription Bill Passed," and nearly fainted. Excusing himself, he stumbled upstairs to his bedroom, with the horror of It gnawing Into his vitals. Having saved up a few pounds, he decided not to leave the house, and to sham sickness, so he stayed in his room and had the landlady serve his meals there. Every time there was a knock at the door he trembled all over. Imagining It was a policeman who had come to take him away to the army. One morning his fears were realized. Sure enough, there stood a policeman with the fatal paper. Taking It in his - ? " > * * AlHotpf iremuuug uauu uc a wu um?v uVf Lloyd, was ordered to'report himself to the nearest recruiting station for physical examination. He reported Immediately, because he was afraid to disobey. The doctor looked with approval upon Lloyd's six feet of physical perfection, and thought what a fine guardsman he would make, but examined his heart twice before he passed him as "physically fitIt was beating so fast. From the recruiting depot Lloyd was taken, with many others, In charge of a sergeant, to the training depot at Aldershot, where he was given an outfit of khaki, and drew his other equipment He made a fine-looking soldier, except for the slight shrinking In his shoulders and the hunted look In his eyes. At the training depot It does not take long to find out a man's character, and Lloyd was promptly dubbed "windy." In the English army "windy" means cowardly. The smallest recruit In the barracks looked on him with con tempt, and was not slow to show it In many ways. Lloyd was a good soldier, learned quickly, obeyed every order promptly, never groused at the hardest fatigues. He was afraid to. He lived in deadly fear of the officers and "noncoms" over him. They also despised him. One morning about three months i after his enlistment Lloyd's company was paraded, and the names picked out for the next draft to France were read. . When his name was called, he did not step out smartly, two paces to the front, and answer cheerfully, "Here, i sir," as the others did. He just fainted in the ranks and was carried to bar: racks amid the sneers of the rest. That night was an agony of misery to him. He could not sleep. Just cried nnil whlmnprpd In his hunk, because on the morrow the draft was to sail j for France, where he would see death on all sides, and perhaps be killed himself. On the steamer, crossing the channel, he would have jumped overboard to escape, but was afraid of drowning. Arriving in France, he and the rest were huddled Into cattle cars. On the side of each appeared In white letters, "Homines 40, Chevaux 3." After hours of bumping over the uneven French roadbeds they arrived at the training -base of Bouen. ' At this place they were put through a week's rigid training In trench warfare. On the morning of the eli'hth day they paraded at ten o'clock, and were Inspected and passed by General H?, then were matched to the quartermaster's, to draw their gas helmets and trench equlpmeiA At four in the afternoon they were again hustled into cattle cars. This time the journey lasted two days. They disembarked at the town of Frevent and could hear a distant dull booming. With knees shaking, Lloyd asked the sergeant what the noise was, and nearly dropped when the sergeant In a namattrkaf Kai?a/I fatlo 1 cyiicu m a kSuiucTTuai vuivu bvuv "Oh, them's the guns up the line. We'll be up there In a couple o' days or so. Don't worry, my laddie, you'll see more of 'em than you want before you get 'ome to Blighty again, that is, If you're lucky enough to get back. Now lend a hand there unloadln' them cars, and quit that everlastin' shakin'. I believe yer scared." The last with a contemptuous sneer. They marched ten kilos, full pack, to a little dilapidated village, and the sound of the guns grew louder, constantly louder. The village was full of soldiers who turned out to inspect the new draft, the men who were shortly to be their mates In the trenches, for they were going "up the line" on the morrow, to "take over" their certain sector of trenches. The draft was paraded in front of | battalion headquarters and the men i were assigned to companies. Lloyd was the only man assigned to D company. Perhaps the officer in i charge of the draft had something to do with It, for he called Lloyd aside and said: "Lloyd, you are going to a new company. No one knows you. Tour bed will be'as you rfake it, so for God's sake, brace up and be a man. I think you have the stuff in you, my boy, so good-by and the best of luck to you." The next day the battalion tooK over their part of the trenches. It happened to be a very quiet day. The artillery behind the lines was still, except for an occasional shell sent over to let the Germans know the gunners were not asleep. In the darkness, In single file, the company .slowly th^r _wav flown the communication trench to th front line. No one noticed Lloyd' white and drawn face. After they had relieved the compan; In the trenches, Lloyd, with two1 of ih< old company men, was put on guard ii one of the traverses. Not a shot wa ; fired from the German lines, and n< one paid any attention to hln crouched on the firing step. On the first time in, a new recruit I not required to stand with his heat "over the top." He only "sits It out,' while the older men keep watch. At about ten o'clock, all of a sudden he thought hell had broken loose, an< ' (Touched and shivered up against th parapet Shells started bursting, as hi : imagined, right in their trench, when ii , 1'act they were landing about a hue flred yards in rear of them, in the sec : ond lines. One of the older men on guard, ton ' log to hid mate, said: "There goes Fritz with those d i , trench mortars again. It's about tlm cur artillery taped' them, and sen 'over a few. Well, m be d t j where's that blighter of a draft mai jfione to? There's his rifle leanlni j against the parapet He must hav I legged it Just keep your eye peeled j Dick, while I report it to the sergeant i I wonder If the fool knows he can bj 'Shot for such tricks as leavin' hi ! postr | Lloyd had gone. When the trend i mortars opened up, a maddening tei : ror seized Mm ana ne wanted to ran to get away from that hoiTible din ; anywhere to safety. So quietly sneak ing around the traverse, he came to th< entrance of. a communication trend and ran madly and blindly down It running Into traverses, stumbling Inti ! muddy holes/ and falling full lengtl o rer trench grids. . , x Groping blindly, with Ms armi stretched out In front of him, he a last came out of the trench Into th< village,'; or what used to be a village before toe German artillery razed It Mixed with his fear, he had a pe 'cullar sort of cunning, which whls pored to him to avoid all sentries, be cause If they saw him he would b< sent DacK to tnat awrai aesirucuuu u the front line, and perhaps be killet cr maimed. The thought made hln shudder, the cold sweat coming out ii t eads on his face. On his left, in the darkness, he conl< make out the shadowy forms of trees ' crawling on his hands and kneed, stop 1 plog and crouching with fear at eacl i s bell-burst, he finally reached an ol< j orchard and cowered at the base of I j 8hot-scarred apple tree. } He remained there all night, listen j in? to the sound of the guns and eve: j praying, praying that his useless lif< ! would be spared. ks dawn began to break, he coul< [dtucern little dark objects protrudini firom the ground all about him. uuri oulty mastered his fear and he crawle< | to one of the objects, and there, In th< [uncertain light, he read on a llttl [wooden cross: j ?Pte. H. S. Wheaton, No. 1670, Is I London Regt. R. F. Killed In action j April 25, 1916. R. L P." (Rest ii Peace). < r. v , . 1 When it dawned on him that he hai | been hiding all night in a cemeter; j his reason seemed to leaytf him, and i , mud desire to be free from it all madi him rush madly away, falling over lit ; tie wooden crosses, smashing some an< i trampling others under his feet. | ![n his flight he came to an ol< French dugout, half Hived In and par 'tlally flr.d with sll:uy and filthy wa tei. ' J-lie a fox being chased by thi humds, he dacKed into this hole, and throw himself on a pile of old emptj sandbags, wet and mildewed. Thenunconsciousness. On the next day, he came to; fai distant voices sounded in his ears, Onenin^ his pvph. in the entrance ol the dugout he saw a corporal aha two men with lixed bayonets. The corporal was addressing him# "Get up, you white-livered blighter I Curse you and the day you ever Joined D company, spoiling their fine record J It'll be you up against the wall, and a good Job too. Get hold of him, men, and If he makes a break, give him the bayonet, and send It home, the cowardly sneak. Come on, you, move, we've bee a looking for you long enough." Lloyd, trembling and weakened by his long fast, tottered out. assisted by a soldter on each side of him. They took him before the captain, but could get nothiag out of him but: 4'For Gocl's sake, sir, don't have me shot, don't have me shot!" The captain, utterly disgusted with him, sent him under escort to division frlol Ktt nnn r f-m fl r. ucuuquuiic.13 AVI Uitti UJ ? ?v.. tlal, charged with desertion tinder fire. They shoot deserters in France. During his trial, Lloyd sat as one dazed, and could put nothing forward In his defense, only an occasional "Don't have me shot!" His sentence was passed: "To be shot at 3:33 o'clock in the morning .oi May 18, 1916." This meant that he had_only one more day to live. (TO BE CONTINUED.) RFPflRT niSI.OYALTY. Columbia, April 29.?Governor Manning today issued a proclama " ion calling upon the people o: "South Carolina, for the security o lhe country and as a measure o defense, to be vigilant and t< promptly report all .violations of th< espionage and sedition laws, as wel is any traitorous conduct whicl come3 to their attention, to th< * 0 8 State Council of Defense. In thi proclamation, it is also asked tha y desertions from the army and nav; 0 be reported. The State Council o Defense is pointed out as the prope 0 agency to whom reports of viola a tions and suspicious cases should b made, and all members of count; g j councils are especially charged witl '? this vigilance. The following is the Governor' proclamation: e "In order that the laws of th e State and Nation against espionage 1 sedition, traitorous conduct anc ^ desertion from the Army and Nav; of the United States may be propel h ly enforced, and in order that th people of South Carolina may kno^ ? that in every locality there ar t agents'of the Government tthos I, duty it is to take cognizance*' o & and promptly report aH violation 1 of law affecting the national securi ; "Now, therefore, I, Richard 1 9 Manning, Governor of South Caro 8 lina, do hereby especially charge al j members of the South Carolin; w Council of Defense, all county chair ? men, and all members of the coun l* ty councils of defense in their re B spective counties of the State, t fnlra r%*\nmivonAA aomaAioIItt a? fVi, lf uoivc vvguiiiouvc toptcioaj vi mi< i above mentioned offenses against th 5 State and Federal Laws,, reportinj 1 the same to the chairman or secre 3 tary of the State Council of De t fense at their office in Columbia. 5 "In testimony whereof I hav< ' hereunto set my hand and cause< . the great seal of the State to- b< v fixed at Columbia, this 29th day o: - April, in the Year of Our Lord 1911 B and in the 142nd year of the Inde j pendence of the United tates of Am i erica. 1 "Richard I. Manning, i "Governor. ? "By the Governor, i "William Banks Dove 1 "Secretary of State. 1 In order that no person rtiay b< uncertain as to whom to report ir p the event such violations come tx e their notice, it is suggestedithat th< first report be made to the local de 1 fense council. The chairman foi z ? Abbeville County of the State Coun i nil nf Defense ia 0 whose post office address is Abbe 0 ville, S. C. LIBERTY BOND STORY. * % 3 ?? National War Work Council, Y. M 3 C. A., Atlanta, Ga. ^ Nearly all our fighting men art e saving money. That is the latesl ; word froig France. Many of then 3 are "paying for the privilege oi . fighting for Uncle Sam" by buying ^ Liberty Bonds and saving wai . stamps enough to make the folks whc aren't fighting ashamed of them! selves. Almost all American soldiers send money home on pay day, | E. A. Hungerford, one of the Y, . M. C. A. men at the front who is in a good position to know their fi1 rancps. writes. "The American sol I dier is the thriftiest American alive , 'I have Liberty Bonds, War Savings Stamps, Military insurance? and have alloted fifteen dollars a montli j to the folks back home,' said an ar. tillery man who was in the hut las! , evening. There are thousands oi 1 Uncle Sam's soldiers in France whc | can truthfully say the same thing ( "I want to send some moneji ; home,' is heard constantly by the Y. M. C. A. worker in France. The r 'Y' has purposely made it easy foi the soldier to send money home. All , he has to do is to leave his. monej with the man in the hut, get a re| ceipt for it, and indicate the name i j and address of the person to whom i he desires the money sent. The Y. ' M. C. A. has arrangements wit! banking institutions which makes ! possible the rapid and inexpensive 1 transfer of any amount of moneji ' J to any bank or person in the states, "Our soldiers are thinking straighl ; about money matters. They are nol > misers, by any means, and they are willing to spend a small amount or things that go to make life mor? enjoyable, but their chief thought is to insure their economic independence when the war is over anc r they return to civilian life. "The average sale to the soldiers f who come into our Y. M. C. A. cenf ter, and they are artillery men, enf gineers and dough-boys, is almosl j exactly a franc a day, thirty francs a or about six dollars a month. Bui ] the soldiers could gamble, and thej rj I could, at times, spend money yer?' haps, even more foolishly. The) ' > - ' '-iiiliilj.. 7; - 1 s just don't do it. the percentage t that could be accused of such an V unwise expenditure of money is jieg*: ligible, much smaller thaih in/civil- _ ian life. * / 8 THE SWEET POTATO ' y ' h STORAGE HOUSE ' ; s It has been estimated that from 25 to 50 per cent, of all sweet poe tatoes stored in banks or pita in the ^ !? South are lost through rot, some- '(f, I times the loss is even greater. PerY haps 90 per cent, of the farmers &, ? " of Abbeville county have had to e buy sweet potato seed this year bev cause they could not keep them in >; e banks. They had to give anywhere 6 from $1.50 to $2.00 per bushel for ' all they borlght and they were 8 scarce at that price. There are " enough potatoes lost in Abbeville js county each year to almost pay for " storage houses to store th^m in, ! " and' you have the house for several * years in the future. a To put up a sweet potato storage > house is very simple and inexpen- . " sive considering the amount lost ' " through rotting; For example, to 0 construct a house that will hold 500 e or 600 bushels of potatoes will ree quire 5178 board feet of lumber, ?g ? costing at the present prices around 'M $130.00. The building paper, roof- ' ing material, brick, lime, hinges, nails, and stove will not cost more yjj e than $40.00, making the house cost $ * when the materials are bought, 0 e around $170.00. Most of the farm- - t ^ ers own the timber and will only ^ havp +.X nar frtv tha onot -- r J f ; " sawing, which will make the house T cost much less. Considering the | price of potatoes at {$1.50 per bushel, and the loss at 50 per cent, we r can see how much they are worth. ' If the house cost $170.00 and saves Jh 150 bushels, or the amount that would rot if banked, there is a saving the first year of $75.00. If we take the price of potatoes at $1.00 ^ per bushel and the loss at J25 per cent, or 125 bushels we then save through the storge house $125.00, f which'will pay for the house if the farmers own the timber and have it ' sawed and potatoes are worth more than $1.00 per bushel. ^ A To keep potatoes requires three ^ things. The potatoes must be kept dry to keep out bacteria and fungi. m They must be supplied with air, so i . they can breathe and they must be kept warm so they will not freeze. > A storage house then must be built fc above the ground, must be air tight, 7j l ventilated; and must have a chim- < : ney. The potatoes must be cu*ed f by means of a stove, by keeping a : temperature of from 85 to 90 de>|grees for ten days. After the ' po- ; - tatoes are dried out the heating is discontinued and a temperature of ' 55 degrees, retained and regulated ' by the ventilators. In the cold ttan\ . a i ,? ter days it might be necessary to ,J put fire in the stove for the coldest j days and nights. Mr. W. J. Frank(|lin kept his house warm enough j last winter by using a lamp in the t house. There are farmers in California . shipping sweet potatoes to Georgia . and carrying away their money sim( ply because they cured their pota- ' toes by the above method. These 'r farmers can keep their potatoes if they will only construct sweet po| tatoes storge houses, and why not [ d? it? If a farmer does not make enough i potatoes to fill a house, then the rl thing to do is for several farmers to build one cooperatively. We ' have got to come to that eventually 1 anyway, and the sooner the better. ' Tn nninn tViprp is atrene+b. in union 1 there is prosperity also. In this day and time when the !j world is looking to America for r| food, we should do all we can to ' allow nothing to go to waste. The '| South lost around 25,000,000 bush'j els of potatoes every year worth !j $30,000,000. Clemson College will . 1 j give you all the information you !jneed to build a potato house and * your county agent will gladly as - 'V . 1 _i. J 'jsist you m getting tne nouse suutcu 1 W. A. Rowell, County Agent. 5 At 'the Alabama Experiment Station a Storage House \yas built by remodeling a negro cabin at a cost ' of only $42.00. } 1 t The Board of Visitors paid a trip r of inspection to Clemson. They inspected many departments and r were well pleased with the work.