Movie Pictorial (May 1915)

MOVIE PICTORIAL ridden London, through,” he continued, “War here is not what it was the last time we were together.” “I hope it is not quite what it was at Lule Bur- gas,” answered Denman with a grin. “I have been sent down here to transfer a little of it to the winding film, but I don’t care for any more ex- periences like I had then.” They both laughed at the recollection, though at the time it had been no laughing matter. The affair at Lule Burgas had made Denman a hero in the eyes of the rest of the cinematographers and correspondents with the allied armies. After the defeat of the Turkish army at Kirk Kilesse, Denman had managed to secure a horse, and breaking away from the army, had arrived near Lule Burgas ahead of the Bulgarians. Concealing himself in a small cave of boulders in the hills he had waited for days until the at- tack on the town took place, and then training his camera on the struggle had witnessed the ter- rible charges made by the Bulgarians. Time after time they had assaulted the town leaving dead in huge piles after each unsuccessful attempt. But finally the Turks had weakened, and giving way, had begun the terrible retreat to the last lines at Chatalja. Hiding the film among the rocks, Denman had made his way back to the rear and the correspondents’ camp. But he no sooner arrived than he had been placed under arrest for disobeying the censor’s orders for the correspondents and cinematogra- phers to remain in the rear. The officers, convinced that he had had no chance to use the camera, had finally been compelled to release him with the threat that if he were again missing he would be sent through the lines and out of the country. “You certainly took more of a chance than any of the rest of us,” said Claybourne admiringly. “And I saw the film later in London.” “I hid it among the rocks,” Denman said with a laugh, “and it took me several days to find it. But I managed to get it out past the censor.” Denman learned that the Englishman was going to Chihuahua on the same train as himself, and extended an invitation for him to cross to El Paso and spend the time with him until time to start. They were seated in Denman’s room discussing the status of the war-correspondent. T HE two had first met at the Hotel Bulgarie, in Sofia. The hotel at that time was known as the International Correspondents’ Club—the I. C. C. —for it was given over entirely to newspaper men, photographers and cinematographers, who were waiting permission from the government to start for the front. A strong friendship had sprung up between the two. It had continued through the war, and they had told each other goodby in Paris, months later. Claybourne was comparing war below the Rio Grande with the recent one in the Balkans. “War is different here,” said the correspondent, meditatively smoking one of Denman’s cigars. “You remember the peasants we saw marching into Sofia to take up arms?” he asked, and as Denman nodded he continued. “They were real fighters; their very nature is warlike. At peaceful pursuits they don’t amount to much, but when they fight They came to the capital, leaving their little farms, giving up everything for the chance of striking a blow at the hated Turk. They were uniformed, armed, drilled a very little, perhaps, and sent to the front.” “You saw them later at Lule Burgas,” he re- sumed. “They refused to shoot their enemies and insisted on making bayonet charges! Think of that in modern warfare! “They were placed in the front ranks and they were made to bear the brunt of the charges. But they wanted to see the whites of the enemies’ eyes before they struck a blow. You know the result. When the Turks would see that unwaver- ing line coming they would throw down their guns and run! Their officers were pushed aside and the men shouting ‘La nosche’ would begin a mad stampede for safety in the rear.” Claybourne sank back in his chair. “They were not afraid of the bullets, but of the bayonet, the knife as they called it.” After a moment Claybourne resumed, as Den- man made no response. “But here. I witnessed the battle of Tierra Blanca. I saw the attack on Ojinaga. I saw the city taken. But with the bayonet? No, by ma- chine guns and cannon. It is true that the sol- diers attacked, but only half-heartedly. I was in the thick of both engagements and I never found a man killed by a bayonet thrust. The soldiers even cast away their bayonets, deeming them in the way.” Denman wore a tolerant smile. He took Gar- diner’s telegram from his pocket and passed it to the other. “I suppose you are the source of information to such papers as caused Gardiner to put in that little phrase about no heroism shown,” he said banter- ingly. is the firing squad with a handy ’dobe wall to stop stray bullets. Not much of a choice.” Just the same. Clay, old boy, there must be those in the army who are not fighting merely to save their own lives, or swayed by hope of gain. I believe there are and we are going to find them before we see the United States again.” I I. T'YENMAN had been at Jiminez for three days l J waiting for the movement of the troops to Yermo, which had been selected as the base for the final movement on Torreon. Claybourne he had left at Chihuahua, the correspondent deciding to remain there until Villa himself left to lead the advance of the first attack. Having gone through the two Balkan wars, and having witnessed almost the en- tire struggle with the Italians in Tripoli, Denman thought that he was pretty well versed in all kinds of warfare, but he was gaining new experiences every day. He was accustomed to seeing troops officered by men in glittering uniforms, and the men them- selves in uniforms as fine but without the yards of gold braid that distinguished their superiors. Heie the majority of men wore no uniforms at all, unless the denim suits that were now being made for them at Chihuahua could be so called. These were merely very ordinary “overalls” and a jacket to match. What uniforms were in the army had been distributed almost entirely among the cavalry, of which there was possibly three thou- sand. “The papers are right for once, Denman,” an- swered Claybourne seriously. “The people here have but very little knowledge why they are fight- ing. Most of them in the army like the life be- cause, it affords them a living. Others are bandits and this sort of an existence appeals to them. Lots of them have had their choice between the army and a firing squad. And some of them choose the latter occasionally.” “■pERHAPS you are right.” Denman restored the -T telegram to his pocket. “But I don’t believe you are. There must be those in the army who are making as great a sacrifice as the Bulgarian peas- ants did. And I’ll wager you the best dinner to be had in old Paree that I bring out proof of this when I return.” “Taken,” readily answered Claybourne good na- turedly. “Of course there may be exceptions to the rules I have laid down, but I don’t think so.” When the Englishman made up his mind he was hard to change, but he was also willing to try to supply arguments to back up his theories and con- vince the opposition. He lighted another cigar. “The troops will not stand out and fight openly.” The weed was going freely and he leaned back in enjoyment. “But of course neither would the Turks at the close of the war. But you know the reason of that. A few of us know; but not the world. The Turks are a brave people, whatever else may be said of them. They will take more than an even chance if they are treated right. But we know the story of the Balkans. Blunt bayonets, swords that were not sharp enough to kill and then—Kumanova. Wooden bullets make poor ammunition to stem the tide of a victorious army.” The correspondent threw away the cigar as if he would as easily rid himself of the memory of certain happenings in the Balkans. “God, Claybourne,” burst out Denman, hoarsely, living over again that awful instant when they had discovered that the Turkish soldiers had been given wooden bullets to beat back the allies’ attack. “To think. And the men had lived on raw maize, roots of trees and food not fit for swine, in hopes of staying and turning the enemy into a rout. Then because of grafting army officials they were given rounds of wooden bullets. The officers had pocketed the differ- ence in the cost between steel and wood.” Claybourne rose from his chair and pressing the bell, gave the boy who answered an order for two whiskies. “There might have been a different tale come out of the Balkans,” he said turning back from the door with the drinks. “But—-t h e r 'e wasn’t. Here, though, war is merely a game. The leading general will be on one side until his capture and then he will switch to the other. His men go with him, or there Men of all descriptions were in the ranks; for- eigners of practically every nationality were there; and women and girls had taken their places in the ranks, standing as warlike as any of the men and bearing their guns with as much familiarity. Dozens of the companies were captained by Ameri- cans; Germans who had seen service in the army in the Fatherland were majors; and there was a sprinkling of men of all countries—or none—who had learned the business of war in that great melt- ing pot, the French Foreign Legion in Africa. Denman had had as yet no chance to observe them in battle, but the army, despite its nondescript appearance, looked formidable. On the fourth day of his stay in Jiminez the troop trains began mov- ing southward, the railroad having been repaired where the federals had destroyed it in hopes of delaying the advance until their reinforcements from Coahuila could arrive. In front of the troop trains were sent several “armored” trains to repel any attack that might be made. These trains were a novelty to Denman and he had taken several pictures of them. They were composed of box-cars painted in fine squares, and resembled nothing so much as huge checker- boards. In the sides of the cars were small squares of wood which could be moved aside to allow for the muzzle of a machine gun, of which there were three in every car. One of the sharpshooters ques- tioned by the photographer informed him that the squares had been painted to better conceal the openings for the guns and to confuse the marks- men of the opposing side. The cars were not ar- mored in any way except that thin plates of steel had been nailed to the inside of the cars to pro- tect the gunners from rifle fire. Denman finding that a detachment of cavalry was preparing to leave, hurried back to the house where he had been staying and procuring the camera, returned to the station to board the train and go on south, his pass being good on any of the troop trains. During his absence he found that Villa had arrived on a special train from Chihua- hua. The rebel chief was busily engaged in assist- ing the station master in clearing the yards of the troop trains, his own train having been shunted