United States, however, could not give an absolute guarantee as to the third. It did not believe Ghiloni would be seized by the Entente Powers, did not recognize their right to do so, and if he were seized would demand his immediate release. On June 19 Ambassador Penfield

cabled that Ghiloni had been released and delivered to the American Embassy, and that he would return to the United States via Scandinavia. Forty-one official transatlantic messages, with the assistance of fate, had at last availed to snatch one man from the maelstrom.

Sea

There they

HE two Siberians, Gregory Dalmatoff and Alexander Ralnikoff, met in the Altdam camp for prisoners of war. They were captured, the first in 1914, the second in 1915. This year the majority of the prisoners had been sent out by the Germans to do agricultural labor. It was left to the Russian war prisoners exclusively to work on this Summer's crops. Ralnikoff and Dalmatoff were sent to work in Pomerania, in the neighborhood of Greutzneberg, not far from the Baltic coast, between Kolberg and Kammin. They were placed on the estate of an elderly woman. Life became much easier. The watch over them was not as rigid as in the camp, but they were compelled to work from morning till night.

The intention to escape never for a moment left the two Siberians. Ralnikoff had studied German in the camp for that purpose. Twice he made attempts to escape, but without success. The first time he deserted the camp on July 27, 1915. Living on potatoes, he and four comrades traveled 150 miles in twelve days. Then one night in an open field they stumbled against a powder magazine and a German sentinel. At first the sentinel was confused by the sudden encounter, and when he began to shoot they were already hiding in the bushes. Their lives were saved, but they were caught. Fourteen days of imprisonment with hands and feet chained, however, did not dampen the energy of the Siberian.

Two months afterward Ralnikoff again

started on a risky enterprise with some comrades, and reached the resort Murtzbart. There they were again caught when about to enter a boat. They were punished with twenty-eight days' confinement, under heavy guard, in a dark, cold cell on half a pound of bread daily with water. The torture was not light. Immediately after release the leader was dispatched to work again.

The other Siberian, Dalmatoff, was also an adventurous fellow. Hardened by outdoor life, accustomed to freedom, he could not bear imprisonment. Three days after being captured he made an attempt to jump off a moving train which was going from Mitau to the interior of Germany. The train was stopped and the prisoner caught.

Finding themselves on the estate of the elderly lady, the two minds became active again, with a view to escaping. Circumstances favored them. Each night they were locked up together with the horses in a stable, where quarters were made for them, and the woman inspected the lock every evening. The window was protected by an iron net.

For several days the two prisoners saved portions of their black bread for the expected journey. On the night of June 6, when all were asleep in the house, they broke through the window and climbed out. The road was familiar to them, as they had driven along it on several occasions. They walked till the early morning without mishap. At about 6 o'clock they hid themselves in the grain on the edge of a field. Within a

few yards of them, without suspecting it, Russian war prisoners were laboring. Till 5 in the afternoon no one noticed them.

After dinner a woman, evidently the lady of the estate, in the company of her son, a youngster, came out into the field. The boy soon directed himself toward the wheat to pick wild flowers. His mother came after him, and stumbled against the two men hiding there. She was so frightened that for some minutes she stood there unable to utter a sound. Meanwhile the two men took to their heels. Luckily, there were no soldiers in the vicinity. The two Germans in charge of the Russian laborers would not risk leaving them unguarded in order to go hunting for the two Siberians. The woman ran to the village, while the men were looking for a ditch in the grainfield in which to hide. A hunt after them was inevitable.

Crawling on the ground, Ralnikoff and Dalmatoff advanced a few hundred feet, and then hid again to see what was coming. Toward evening sounds of male and female voices reached them. Dogs were also accompanying them. Slowly the voices died away in the distance. Slightly raising their heads, the two men saw some gendarmes in the background.

was

On the third night the sea reached. Walking northward along the shore of a small bay, the escaped prisoners were looking for a boat. In one place they discovered some excellent fishing boats, but a guard was keeping watch over them. They walked for another seven or eight miles, and were rejoiced to discover a small boat with oars. the shore a tiny village was situated. Ascertaining that no one was watching them, the two men stole into a garden, where they found an old pail. This they filled with drinking water from the well, and took it to the boat and shoved out to sea.

On

Never before had these men from the Siberian steppes set eyes upon the sea. They did not know how to row, but they learned quickly. Then they discovered that the boat was leaking. Cutting off the corks from a rope lying in the boat,

they filled the hole. Far to the west the signal lights of German ships were glowing. Risking the danger of falling in the way of a mine-layer, they kept on northward, verifying their direction by the compass in the light of the lamp. Toward morning a favoring wind began to blow. They spread a coat on two oars, thus getting a semblance of a sail. The boat ran faster. Suddenly some fighting craft appeared on the horizon. It was necessary to hide. They hauled down the "sail" quickly, and heavily took to the oars. The vessels evidently did not notice the small boat, for they soon disappeared from view.

The coast behind them was seen no longer, and the boat got into a strong current, which tossed it violently. The wind was increasing. Big waves were rising and washing over the sides. The inexperienced Siberians were seized by seasickness. Terrible headaches and vomiting forced them to drop their oars now and then. Besides, a wave filled their pail with sea water, and they had nothing to drink. They tasted the sea water, and their thirst only grew more painful. Toward night the storm grew more violent. The boat was being carried westward. With superhuman efforts, they again tried to row.

A

The second night on the sea arriveda bleak, awful, and lonely night. terrible fight for life had commenced. The boat was being thrown about like a feather. Dalmatoff vomited blood. At times the two brave fellows felt like jumping overboard to escape further torment. Ralnikoff was now rowing alone. Finally, he also dropped the oars and gave himself up to the current. Fortunately, the storm was abating by this time. The waves were diminishing in force. The Siberians in turn used the bottom of the boat for a resting place. When day came they found it horrifying to look at each other's face. Yellow, exhausted, with cheeks sunken, the two

ing of a steamer to pick them up, but no vessels were in sight. Toward noon they noticed swans flying northward. They were overjoyed, seeing in this a sign of the proximity of land. They plucked up their last powers and directed the boat to the northwest. Finally, they noticed a black point on the horizon. It was land, but whether an island or part of the continent, and of what country, they knew not. The joy of a speedy salvation injected new power in their veins, and after thirty-six hours of rocking on the waves of the Baltic they reached land.

Exhausted, they dropped on the shore. There was a hamlet not far off. A

woman saw two men fall to the ground and hastened to their aid. She soon brought out coffee to them. Of food they could have nothing at the time, Very soon the whole village turned out to see the Russian prisoners who had escaped from Germany. They questioned the refugees in Danish and shouted "Russland, England, Denmark, lieb, lieb, hurrah!"

The prisoners were placed in a cabin near the beach. All expressed amazement at their courage to brave such a storm. They were given medical treatment, allowed to recuperate, and were sent to Russia. They gratefully recall the kindnesses of the Danes to them.

THE

HE first night in trenches I slept with a friend in a small, box-like hole, six feet long and a yard square -and we were wearing greatcoats and full equipment minus pack and haversack. Our method of entrance was for me to crawl in first and for my friend to wriggle over me, pulling himself along by my belt, my equipment, and my face. We lay squashing each other and breathing on each other, more uncomfortable than ever in our lives, but we were tired -and we slept. They pulled us out by our feet.

The next night was something similar, only a little more so. This time it was a tiny hole that held one's head and shoulders. I got in first, and I was awakened by the wet greatcoat of a comrade rubbing gently over my face. He had gone to sleep on a firing step and had been awakened by snow and sleet when he was wet through. He had then come to join me in my hole. How bitterly I cursed him! And I remember I insisted on his crawling out to divest himself of his overcoat before allowing him to settle down. Poor lad! One alone could curl up in the hole, but with two one had to lie stretched out. My legs from the knees downward were in the slush outside, and every one who passed

Trench Dugouts

by-and it seemed as if half the British Army passed that hole that night-trod

on me.

In our next spell in trenches we had no dugout at all. We made one. We called it a dugout. Really it was merely a shelter. It was three feet high, two deep, and six long. The top was of corrugated iron, the sides of waterproof sheets, the seat (for we could only sit in it with our feet and legs dangling in the trench) of earth, and the supports were sticks. In it four of us had our being, when off duty, for several days. And we imagined ourselves much safer than when in the open!

was better protected by sandbags, that boasted a brazier! Four of us lived there. One was a director of a building firm, with a pretty turn for cutting tins, and he constructed a chimney and an oven out of biscuit and jam tins. We rigged up a shelf, too. This was our luckiest dugout, for one of our four contracted German measles and we were isolated and forbidden to do any work! We became skilled in auction bridge.

But I had been out at the front three months before I occupied a real dugout. One entered it backward in a sliding fashion-for the steps were merging into each other and we found it deep and cool-too cool and dark, and, fortunately for us, able to withstand minenwerfers, (trench mortars,) shells, rifle grenades, and whizz-bangs. My stove, on which I was boiling water, was put out three times and our candles twelve times by concussion on our first morning there. Also a lump of shell, weighing

IN

two or three pounds, visited us down the steps. Yes, it was an excellent dugout. Fourteen of us lived there. The man opposite to me sat on a red plush, ornamented, decrepit, drawing-room chairwhere it came from I cannot imagine, unless it was from some ruined and deserted house near by long since destroyed altogether. I sat and slept on a petrol tin.

I

Not every soldier likes dugouts. have a friend who hates them. Always since a boy he has been obsessed with dreams of walls closing in upon him. One night not long ago he dreamed that the dugout he was in had collapsed and crushed him. In the morning he examined the supports, and partly because he concluded it was not altogether safe and partly because of the vivid nature of the dream, he removed his kit, and persuaded his companions to do likewise. hour afterward the dugout slid forward and fell in.

the green lanes of France you may meet at any time with men of all colors. There are black men marching there, brown men and bronze, besides all the English and French soldiery. A while ago a long column swung along the road to the tune of a melody sung in time to the marching feet. The tune you would know, but the words would be new to you, or at least seem so.

He roa te wa ki Tipirere,
He tino mamao,

He roa te wa ki Tipirere,

Ki taku kotiro,

E noho pikatiri,

Hei kona rehita koea,

He mamao rawa Tipirere

Ka tae ahua.

It is an old friend in new guise, and the last words of the first line will tell you that it is none other than "Tipperary." But what is the tongue that it is sung in and what of the men that sing it?

On the under side of the world there is a land where the trees never turn yellow; where the Summer is a fair

Not an

division of the year, with a month and a half thrown in for good measure. It is a land of big spaces, full, broad rivers, and turquoise lakes. In the south there are great mountains with their peaks clothed in perpetual snow and their glaciers moving toward the sun-bathed plains. In the interior there lived a race of chivalrous warriors who fought a great fight against British troops. Now New Zealand is as British as Sussex, and the spirit of the dark-skinned fighters who took up arms against the redcoats has come to France in the Maori contingent.

When the war came to New Zealand it found one Maori boy dwelling beside the waters of Lake Taupo. He was happy as he could be and not overworked. He had been taught English by the Catholic priest of Waihi, and he could read the papers slowly, but sufficiently well to tell that here was a great adventure offered him. He sat one night reading from the cables how the Germans had

thrown our army back from Mons. He did not know where Mons was, but he knew that men were wanted. * * * He took his younger brother out to the potato paddock and gave him detailed instructions as to what he was to do if the kumaras were by any chance ready for digging before he came back from settling the King's affairs. He shook hands solemnly with his grandfather and performed the "hongi," rubbing his own flat nose on the tattooed face of the old

man.

He shouldered his bundle and walked to Waioura, and then he took a train. In ten days he was wearing a khaki jacket and a, helmet and doing tedious drill on a hard-trodden square. Then, after the allotted space of training, he was embarked with his fellows, all of his own race, and the long journey to Egypt commenced. Arrived at Gallipoli he got his first taste of fighting, and heredity came uppermost. Disregarding all that an impressive Sergeant Major had drummed into his head, he forgot that a bayonet was for use at close quarters. He was sent with the other Maoris on a little piece of work that demanded much steadiness and the utmost quiet. They stealthily crept along to attack the Turk. It was to be a surprise attack, and the rifles were not to be fired. It was a surprise, and Honé went into the thick of the mêlée with his rifle clubbed like the "tiaha" or the "teko-teko" of his forebears. It was hard work, but orders were obeyed, and there were no noises but the sound of hard breathing and the thud of the rifle stocks and the cries of the wounded. Their object was achieved, and that night on the beach under Walker's they sat and talked in their own tongue of the glories of that half hour.

TH

Then they came to France, and we find them swinging along between the high poplars to the tune of "Tipperary," sung sweetly in their soft voices and with the perfect time that all Polynesian races are able to put into their music. Honé came, too, and here he is at the head of the column with two stripes on his sleeve. As he marches he wishes wistfully that his old grandfather and little Hori, his brother, could see him now and could have heard the cheers that greeted them in the streets of the first French town they passed through.

Once more he was in the thick of things, but this time he did not march back to the bivouac. A stretcher carried him to the waiting motor ambulance and he was hurried to the hospital, where a surgeon shook his head sadly over him.

He lay there for two days, but his spirit was already half round the world to the quiet lakeside where the white sand is washed by waters as blue as the clear sky. He thought himself back at Taupo sitting under the shade of the manuka bushes. The steam from the hot pools in the ti-tree was wafted across the water and the boiling mud geysers chuckled and gurgled like goblins as he told his brother and the old man of how he had fought the Turk and the Germans. The nurse at the other end of the ward was suddenly conscious of soft singing, and as she came along the passageway between the beds she heard that the voice .was Honé's. She, too, knew the tune, but the words were strange to her. "He roa te wa ki Tipirere, he tino mamao," he sang. And then, as the little boiling pools chuckled and laughed softly and the note of a distant bell-bird came across the arm of the lake from Waitanui, he closed his eyes and his spirit went to the place where all good warriors go.

in Alsace

had prohibited in the common schools. French could be taught privately outside of the German schools, but this made it a luxury accessible only to the children of well-to-do parents. Now, according to an article in the Bulletin des Armées, the