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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.

A Perilous Escape

by Sea

Two Siberian petty officers, prisoners of war in Germany, made a daring and successful escape across the Baltic into Denmark, whence they were sent to Petrograd. There they told their story to a correspondent of the Novoye Vremya, who wrote the narrative here presented to readers of CURRENT HISTORY MAGAZINE.

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HE two Siberians, Gregory Dalmat started on a risky enterprise with some

off and Alexander Ralnikoff, met comrades, and reached the resort Murtzin the Altdam camp for prison

bart. There they were again caught ers of war. They were captured, the when about to enter a boat. They were first in 1914, the second in 1915. This punished with twenty-eight days' conyear the majority of the prisoners had finement, under heavy guard, in a dark, been sent out by the Germans to do cold cell on half a pound of bread daily agricultural labor. It was left to the with water. The torture was not light. Russian war prisoners exclusively to Immediately after release the leader was work on this Summer's crops. Ralnikoff dispatched to work again. and Dalmatoff were sent to work in The other Siberian, Dalmatoff, was Pomerania, in the neighborhood of also an adventurous fellow. Hardened by Greutzneberg, not far from the Baltic outdoor life, accustomed to freedom, he coast, between Kolberg and Kammin. could not bear imprisonment. Three days They were placed on the estate of an after being captured he made an attempt elderly woman. Life became much easier. to jump off a moving train which was goThe watch over them was not as rigid ing from Mitau to the interior of Geras in the camp, but they were compelled many. The train was stopped and the to work from morning till night.

prisoner caught. The intention to escape never for a Finding themselves on the estate of moment left the two Siberians. Ralni the elderly lady, the two minds became koff had studied German in the camp active again, with a view to escaping. for that purpose. Twice he made at Circumstances favored them. Each night tempts to escape, but without success. they were locked up together with the The first time he deserted the camp on horses in a stable, where quarters were July 27, 1915. Living on potatoes, he and made for them, and the woman inspected four comrades traveled 150 miles in the lock every evening. The window was twelve days. Then one night in an open protected by an iron net. field they stumbled against a powder For several days the two prisoners magazine and a German sentinel. At saved portions of their black bread for first the sentinel was confused by the the expected journey. On the night of sudden encounter, and when he began to June 6, when all were asleep in the house, shoot they were already hiding in the they broke through the window and bushes. Their lives were saved, but they climbed out. The road was familiar to were caught. Fourteen days of imprison them, as they had driven along it on ment with hands and feet chained, how several occasions. They walked till the ever, did not dampen the energy of the early morning without mishap. At about Siberian.

6 o'clock they hid themselves in the Two months afterward Ralnikoff again 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 ge 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.

On the third night the 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. On 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.

Never before had these men from the Siberian steppes set eyes upon the sea. They did not know how to row, but they learted 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.

The second night on the sea arriveda bleak, awful, and lonely night. A 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

resembled ghosts from another world. Their strength was gone. They began to lose all .hope. They did not know how far the current had carried them to the west.

They now moved to the north, dream




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 Comforts

of Home-in Trench Dugouts By a British Private


\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

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!

Oh, innocence!

My next home in the trenches was a wooden box, rectangular, four feet high, six wide, and twelve long. Ten of us lived there. The only way we could occupy it was by all sitting on haunches with our knees to our chins,

I remember I was fortunate enough to occupy a rum jar which, however, continually rolled from beneath me, but the dugout sticks in my memory mainly because I nearly broke my back in continually stooping double.

From this time onward my fortune in dugouts improved. I found one in a spot that was a little higher inside, that


was better protected by sandbags, that two or three pounds, visited us down the boasted a brazier! Four of us lived there. steps. Yes, it was an excellent dugout. One was a director of a building firm, Fourteen of us lived there.

The man opwith a pretty turn for cutting tins, and posite to me sat on a red plush, ornahe constructed a chimney and an oven mented, decrepit, drawing-room chairout of biscuit and jam tins. We rigged where it came from I cannot imagine, up a shelf, too. This was our luckiest unless it was from some ruined and dedugout, for one of our four contracted serted house near by long since destroyed German measles and we were isolated and altogether. I sat and slept on a petrol forbidden to do any work! We became tin. skilled in auction bridge.

Not every soldier likes dugouts. I But I had been out at the front three have a friend who hates them. Always months before I occupied a real dugout. since a boy he has been obsessed with One entered it backward in a sliding dreams of walls closing in upon him. fashion-for the steps were merging into One night not long ago he dreamed that each other—and we found it deep and the dugout he was in had collapsed and cool—too cool--and dark, and, fortu crushed him. In the morning he examnately for us, able to withstand minen ined the supports, and partly because he werfers, (trench mortars,) shells, rifle concluded it was not altogether safe and grenades, and whizz-bangs. My stove, partly because of the vivid nature of the on which I was boiling water, was put dream, he removed his kit, and persuaded out three times and our candles twelve his companions to do likewise. Not an times by concussion on our first morning hour afterward the dugout slid forward there. Also a lump of shell, weighing and fell in.

The Maori in France
By a British Correspondent

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N 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 you 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

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 Then they came to France, and we did not know where Mons was, but he find them swinging along between the knew that men were wanted. * He high poplars to the tune of “ Tipperary," took his younger brother out to the sung sweetly in their soft voices and potato paddock and gave him detailed with the perfect time that all Polynesian instructions as to what he was to do if races are able to put into their music. the kumaras were by any chance ready Honé came, too, and here he is at the for digging before he came back from head of the column with two stripes on settling the King's affairs. He shook his sleeve. As he marches he wishes hands solemnly with his grandfather and wistfully that his old grandfather and performed the “hongi,” rubbing his own little Hori, his brother, could see him flat nose on the tattooed face of the old now and could have heard the cheers that

greeted them in the streets of the first He shouldered his bundle and walked French town they passed through. to Waioura, and then he took a train. Once more he was in the thick of In ten days he was wearing a khaki things, but this time he did not march jacket and a, helmet and doing tedious back to the bivouac. A stretcher carried drill on a hard-trodden square. Then, him to the waiting motor ambulance and after the allotted space of training, he he was hurried to the hospital, where a was embarked with his fellows, all of his surgeon shook his head sadly over him. own race, and the long journey to Egypt He lay there for two days, but his commenced. Arrived at Gallipoli he got spirit was already half round the world his first taste of fighting, and heredity to the quiet lakeside where the white came uppermost. Disregarding all that sand is washed by waters as blue as the an impressive Sergeant Major had clear sky. He thought himself back at drummed into his head, he forgot that a Taupo sitting under the shade of the bayonet was for use at close quarters. manuka bushes. The steam from the hot He was sent with the other Maoris on a pools in the ti-tree was wafted across little piece of work that demanded much the water and the boiling mud geysers steadiness and the utmost quiet. They chuckled and gurgled like goblins as he stealthily crept along to attack the Turk. told his brother and the old man of how It was to be a surprise attack, and the he had fought the Turk and the Gerrifles were not to be fired. It was mans. The nurse at the other end of the surprise, and Honé went into the thick ward was suddenly conscious of soft singof the mêlée with his rifle clubbed ing, and as she came along the passagelike the “ tiaha " or the “ teko-teko of way between the beds she heard that the his forebears. It was hard work, but voice .was Honé's. She, too, knew the orders were obeyed, and there were no tune, but the words were strange to her. noises but the sound of hard breathing “He roa te wa ki Tipirere, he tino and the thud of the rifle stocks and the mamao," he sang. And then, as the little cries of the wounded. Their object was boiling pools chuckled and laughed softly achieved, and that night on the beach and the note of a distant bell-bird came under Walker's they sat and talked in across the arm of the lake from Waitanui, their own tongue of the glories of that he closed his eyes and his spirit went half hour.

to the place where all good warriors go.


French Schools in Alsace


HERE are

now flourishing French schools in the portion of Alsace

occupied by General Joffre's troops. In the single district of T. 6,000 little Alsatians are learning to use the language which the German Government

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

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