Hi, I am Irum from Pakistan. Last year I presented an idea of lab magic. Lab magic is a virtual science lab for schools who cannot afford high quality labs. This solution is basically a science lab which has physics, chemistry and biology. And in the solution students can perform the same experiments as they perform in traditional labs through virtual equipment.


Hi there, so this is a little bit more of an advanced idea in terms of how do I manage different distances near the green, I'm not on the green, so I might be 20, 30, 40, 50 yards, 60 yards from the green, how do I manage those distances? For one, you got to choose a club. Many people use a pitching wedge, remember that's kind of like a 10 numerically or a sandwich, which is kind of like an 11 numerically, remember that higher the number the more loft on the club. So the idea would be to go ahead and get in your balance setup, start with that sort of Y of my arms and the club and notice the balls about the middle of my feet and I might even turn this target side foot a little bit outward. So I'm going to take a little practice swing, brush the grass, okay, practice swing, brush the grass. So if I want to go a short distance, I'm going to think about swinging so my hands pass my legs and pass my legs with a brush in between. It'll look a little like this and if I can do that the same way, pass my leg, pass my leg, guess what? Those balls ended up very close together, so I know that that's a short distance, but if I want to go a little farther, I'm going to think about swinging my hands to my pocket or my hip, brush at the bottom and swing to my pocket or hip. Notice I didn't try to hit harder, it's still smooth, I let the length of the swing change the distance the ball with. Pocket, pocket and those balls finish similar in distance. Yet if I want to go farther, well I'll think about swinging my hands up somewhere around chest high, brush at the bottom and chest high. So once again, not swinging harder, chest, chest, that ball is going to go a little different distance, but I can start to count on the distance that it'll go. So think about not so much where the club goes because I can't feel that, but think about my hands, leg to leg, pocket to pocket and chest to chest. See how that works for you as a little more advanced player.


Four Weeks in the Trenches, by Fritz Kreisler. To my dear wife Harriet, the best friend and staunchest comrade in all circumstances of life, I dedicate this little book, In Humble Token of Everlasting Gratitude and of Ocean. Preface This brief record of the fighting on the Eastern Front in the Great War is the outcome of a fortunate meeting. The writer chants to be dining with Mr. Kreisler soon after his arrival in this country, after his dismissal from the hospital where he recovered from his wound. For nearly two hours he listened, thrilled, and moved to the great violinist's modest, vivid narrative of his experiences and adventures. It seemed in the highest degree desirable that the American public should have an opportunity of reading this narrative from the pen of one in whose art so many of us take a profound interest. It also was apparent that since so little of an authentic nature had been heard from the Russo-Austrian field of warfare, this story would prove an important contribution to the contemporary history of the war. After much persuasion Mr. Kreisler reluctantly acceded to the suggestion that he write out his personal memories of the war for publication. He has completed his narrative in the midst of grave difficulties, writing it piecemeal in hotels and railway trains in the course of a concert tour through the country. It is offered by the publishers to the public with confidence that it will be found one of the most absorbing and informing narratives of the war that has yet appeared. F. G. Part I In trying to recall my impressions during my short war duty as an officer in the Austrian army, I find that my recollections of the period are very uneven and confused. Some of the experiences stand out with absolute clearness. Others, however, are blurred. Two or three events which took place in different localities seem merged into one, while in other instances recollection of the chronological order of things is missing. This curious indifference of the memory to the values of time and space may be due to the extraordinary physical and mental stress under which the impressions I am trying to chronicle were received. The same state of mind I find is rather characteristic of most people I have met who were in the war. It should not be forgotten, too, that the gigantic upheaval which changed the fundamental condition of life overnight and threatened the very existence of nations naturally dwarfed the individual into nothingness, and the existing interest in the common welfare left practically no room for personal considerations. Then again at the front the extreme uncertainty of the morrow tended to lessen the interest in the details of today. Consequently I may have missed a great many interesting happenings alongside of me which I would have wanted to note under other circumstances. One gets into a strange psychological, almost hypnotic state of mind while on the firing line which probably prevents the mind's eye from observing and noticing things in a normal way. This accounts, perhaps, for some blank spaces in my memory. Besides I went out completely resigned to my fate without much thought for the future. It never occurred to me that I might ever want to write my experiences and consequently I failed to take notes or to establish certain memo-technical landmarks by the aid of which I might now be able to reconstruct all details. I am, therefore, reduced to present an incoherent and rather piecemeal narrative of such episodes as forcibly impressed themselves upon my mind and left an ineradicable mark upon my memory. The outbreak of the war found my wife and me in Switzerland where we were taken a cure. On the 31st of July on opening the paper I read that the Third Army Corps to which my regiment which is stationed in Graz, belonged, had received an order for mobilization. Although I had resigned my commission as an officer two years before I immediately left Switzerland accompanied by my wife in order to report for duty. As it happened a wire reached me a day later calling me to the colours. We went by way of Munich. It was the first day of the declaration of the state of war in Germany. Intense excitement prevailed. Immunical traffic was stopped, no trains were running except for military purposes. It was only due to the fact that I revealed my intention of rejoining my regiment in Austria that I was able to pass through at all. But by both the civil and military authorities in Bavaria I was shown the greatest possible consideration and passed through as soon as possible. We reached Vienna on August 1st. A startling change had come over the city since I had left it only a few weeks before. Feverish activity everywhere prevailed. Reservists streamed in by thousands from all parts of the country to report at headquarters. Autos filled with officers whizzed past. Dense crowds surged up and down the streets. Bulletins and extra editions of newspapers passed from hand to hand. Immediately it was evident what a great level of war is. Differences in rank and social distinctions had practically ceased. All barriers seemed to have fallen. Everybody addressed everybody else. I saw the crowds stop officers of high rank and well-known members of the aristocracy in clergy, also state officials and court functionaries of high rank, in quest for information, which was imparted cheerfully and patiently. The imperial princes could frequently be seen on the Ringstrasse surrounded by cheering crowds or mingling with the public unceremoniously at the cafes talking to everybody. Of course the army was idolised, wherever the troops marched the public broke into cheers and every uniform was the centre of an ovation. While coming from the station I saw two young reservists, to all appearances, brothers, as they hurried to the barracks carrying their small belongings in a valise.  They passed a general in full uniform, up went their hands to their caps in military salute, whereupon the old general threw his arms wide open and embraced them both saying, Go on, my boys, do your duty bravely and stand firm for your emperor and your country. God willing you will come back to your old mother. The old lady smiled through her tears. A shout went up and the crowd surrounding the general cheered him. Long after I had left I could hear them shouting. A few streets further on I saw in an open cafe a young couple, a reservist in filled uniform and a young girl, his bride or sweetheart. They sat there hands linked, utterly oblivious of their surroundings and of the world at large. When somebody in the crowd aspired them a great shout went up, the public rushing to the table and surrounding them, then breaking into applause and waving hats and handkerchiefs. At first the young couple seemed to be utterly taken aback and only slowly did they realise that the ovation was meant for them. They seemed confused, the young girl blushing and hiding her face in her hands, the young man rising to his feet, saluting and bowing. More cheers and applause. He opened his mouth as if wanting to speak. There was a sudden silence. He was vainly struggling for expression, but then his face lit up as if by inspiration. Standing erect, hand at his cap, in a pose of military salute, he intoned the Austrian national hymn. In a second every head in the throng was bared. All traffic suddenly stopped, everybody, passengers as well as conductors of the cars joining in the anthem. The neighbouring windows soon filled with people and soon it was a chorus of thousands of voices. The volume of tone and the intensity of feeling seemed to raise the inspiring anthem to the uttermost heights of sublime majesty. We were then on our way to the station, and long afterwards we could hear the singing swelling like a human organ. What impressed me particularly in Vienna was the strict order everywhere. No mob disturbances of any kind in spite of the greatly increased liberty and relaxation of police regulations. Nor was there any runaway chauvinism noticeable, aside from the occasional singing of patriotic songs and demonstrations like the one I just described. The keynote of popular feeling was quiet dignity, joined to determination with an undercurrent of solemn gravity and responsibility. I had stopped in Vienna only long enough to bid good-bye to my father, and left for the headquarters of my regiment in Graz. I reported there for duty, and then went to join the Fourth Battalion, which was stationed at Leoben, one hour away from Graz, my orders being to take command of the first platoon of the Sixteenth Company. My platoon consisted of fifty-five men, two buglers, and an ambulance patrol of four. In Leoben my wife and I remained a week, which was spent in organising, equipping, requisitioning, recruiting and preliminary drilling. These were happy days, as we officers met for the first time, friendships and bonds being sealed which subsequently were tested in common danger and amidst privation and stress. Many of the officers had brought their wives and soon to delightful intercourse, utterly free from formality, developed without any regard or reference to rank well-forced station in private life. Among the reserve officers of my battalion were a famous sculptor, a well-known philologist, two university professors, one of mathematics and the other of natural science, a prince and a civil engineer at the head of one of the largest Austrian steel corporations. The surgeon of our battalion was the head of a great medical institution and a man of international fame. Among my men in the platoon were a painter, two college professors, a singer of repute, a banker and a post office official of high rank, but nobody cared, and in fact I myself did not know until much later what distinguished men were in my platoon. A great cloak of brotherhood seemed to have enveloped everybody in everything, even differences in military rank not being so obvious at this time, for the officers made friends of their men and in turn were worshipped by them. My wife volunteered her services as Red Cross Nurse, insisting upon being sent to the front in order to be as near me as could be, but it developed later that no nurse was allowed to go farther than the large troop hospitals far in the rear of the actual operations. Upon my urgent appeal she desisted and remained in Vienna after I had left, nursing in the barracks which are now used for hospital work. In fact almost every third or fourth house, both private and public as well as schools, were given to the use of the government and converted into Red Cross stations. The happy days in Lieben came to an abrupt end. My regiment receiving orders to start immediately for the front. We proceeded to Graz, where we joined the other three battalions and were entrained for an unknown destination. We travelled via Budapest to Galatia and left the train as Strych, a very important railroad centre south of Lemberg. It must be understood that the only reports reaching us from the fighting line at the time were to the effect that the Russians had been driven back from our border and that the Austrian armies actually stood on the enemy's soil. Strych being hundreds of miles away from the Russian frontier, we could not but surmise that we were going to be stationed there some time for the purpose of training and manoeuvering. This belief was strengthened by the fact that our regiment belonged to the Landstrom or second line of reserves originally intended for home service. We were, however, alarmed that very same night and marched out of Strych for a distance of about twenty miles in conjunction with the entire Third Army Corps. After a short pause for the purpose of eating and feeding the horses, we marched another twenty-two miles. The first day's march constituted a very strong test of endurance in consequence of our comparative softness and lack of training, especially as in addition to his heavy rifle, bayonet ammunition and spade, each soldier was burdened with a knapsack containing emergency provisions in the form of tinned meats, coffee extract, sugar, salt, rice and biscuits, together with various tin cooking and eating utensils. Furthermore, a second pair of shoes, extra blouse, changes of underwear, etc. On top of this heavy pack, a winter overcoat and part of a tent were strapped, the entire weight of the equipment being in the neighbourhood of fifty pounds. The day wore on. Signs of fatigue soon manifested themselves, more and more strongly, and slowly the men dropped out one by one from sheer exhaustion. No murmur of complaint, however, would be heard. Most of those who fell out of the line after taking a breathing space for a few minutes staggered on again. The few that remained behind joined the regiment later on when camp was established. We wandered then at the necessity of such a forced march, being unable to see a reason for it, unless it was to put us in training. Night had fallen when we reached a small monastery in the midst of a forest where the peaceful surroundings and the monastic life entirely untouched by the war fever seemed strange indeed. Camp was established, tense erected, fires were lighted and coffee made. Soon a life of bustling activity sprang up in the wilderness in the midst of the forest which only a few hours before had been deserted. It made a weird and impressive picture in the wonderful starlight night. These soldiers sitting around the campfires, softly singing in chorus, the fantastic outlines of the monastery half hidden in the woods, the dark figures of the monks moving silently back and forth amongst the shadows of the trees as they brought refreshments to the troops, the red glow of the campfires illuminating the eager and enthusiastic faces of the young officers grouped around the kernel, the snorting and stamping of the horses nearby, an occasional melodic outcry of a sentinel out in the night. All these things merging into an unforgettable scene of great romanticism and beauty. That night I lay for a long while stretched near the smouldering ashes of the campfire, with my cape as a blanket, in a state of lassitude and somnolence, my soul filled with exaltation and happiness over the beauty around me. The rest, however, was of very short duration. For at six o'clock in the morning we were aroused, camp was broken up, and soon afterwards we started on a forced march of twenty-two miles without a halt during which we twice had to wade knee-deep through rivers. By midday most of the men were so exhausted that they could hardly crawl along. It was remarkable that the comparatively weaker and more refined city-bred people who had done little physical work in their lives, most of them being professional men, we stood hardships better than that of sturdy and, to all appearances, stronger peasants. The only explanation for it being perhaps that the city-bred people in consequence of their better surroundings and by reason of their education had more willpower and nervous strength than their peasants. At half-past two we reached a clearing in the midst of a wood through which a river flowed. Here camp was again established, and a half hour later all the hardships of the march were once more forgotten in the bustle of camp life. This time we had a full rest until the next morning, at four o'clock, when suddenly orders for marching were given. After we'd been under way for about three hours we heard far away repeated rumbling which sounded like distant thunder. Not for a moment did we associate it with cannonading being, as we supposed, hundreds of miles away from the nearest place where Russians could possibly be. Suddenly a mounted ordnance officer came rushing with a message to our colonel. We came to a halt, and all officers were summoned to the colonel, who, addressing us in his usual quiet, almost business-like way, said, Gentlemen, accept my congratulations. I have good news for you. We may meet the enemy today, and I sincerely hope to lead you to the fight before evening. We were thunderstruck at the sudden realization that the Russians had penetrated so deeply into Galatia. The despondency which followed this startling revelation, however, was quickly replaced by the intense excitement of beating the enemy so soon. We hurried back to our companies, imparting the news to the men who broke forth into shouts of enthusiasm. All the fatigue so plainly noticeable only a few minutes before suddenly vanished as if by magic, and everyone seemed alert, springy, and full of spirit. We energetically resumed the march in the direction of the distant rumbling, which indicated that the artillery of our advance guard had engaged the enemy. My regiment was then part of the main body of the division, a second division advanced on the road parallel to ours, about a mile and a quarter to our left. Both columns belonged to the Third Army Corps, and kept up constant communication with each other through mounted dispatch bearers and motorcycles. The cannonading and meanwhile become perceptibly nearer, and in the midst of the dense forest we again came to a short halt. Orders were given to load rifles, and upon emerging from the woods we fell into open formation, the men marching abreast, the companies at a distance of three hundred yards, with the battalions at a distance of about a thousand yards. We were slowly entering the range of the Russian artillery. About a mile ahead we could see numbers of harmless-looking round clouds, looking like ringlets of smoke from a huge cigar, indicating the places where shrapnel had exploded in mid-air. Our men, not being familiar with the spectacle, took no notice of it. But we officers knew its significance, and I daresay many a heart beat as wildly as mine did. We marched on until the command was given for us to deploy, and soon afterwards the first shrapnel whizzed over our heads. It did no harm, nor did the second and third. But the fourth hit three men in the battalion in the rear of us. Our forward movement, however, was not interrupted, and we did not see or hear anything beyond two or three startled cries. The next shell burst right ahead of us, sending a shower of bullets and still fragments around. A man about twenty yards to the right of my company, but not of my platoon, leapt into the air with an agonized cry, and fell in a heap mortally wounded. As we were advancing very swiftly I only saw it as in a dream while running by. Then came in rapid succession four or five terrific explosions right over our heads, and I felt a sudden gust of cold wind strike my cheek as a big shell fragment came howling through the air, plowing up the ground viciously as it struck and sending a spray of sand around. We ran on, perhaps a quarter of a mile, when from the rear came the sharp command, down! And the next second we lay on the ground, panting and exhausted, my heart almost bursting with the exertion. Simultaneously the whizzing of a motor above our heads could be heard, and we knew why the enemy shrapnel had so suddenly found us. It was a Russian aeroplane which presumably had signalled our approach, together with the range, to the Russian gunners, and now was probably directing their fire and closely watching its effect, for a chain of hills was hiding us from the view of the enemy, who consequently had to fire indirectly. The aircraft hovered above our heads, but we were forbidden to fire at it, the extremely difficult, almost vertical aim, promising little success, aside from the danger of our bullets falling back among us. Our reserves in the rear had apparently sighted the aircraft too, for soon we heard a volley of rifle fire from that direction, and simultaneously the airplane arose and disappeared in the clouds. Just then our own artillery came thundering up, occupied a little hill in the rear, and opened fire on the enemy. The moral effect of the thundering of one's own artillery is most extraordinary, and many of us thought that we had never heard any more welcome sound than the deep roaring and crashing that started in at our rear. It quickly helped to disperse the nervousness caused by the first entering into battle, and to restore self-control and confidence. Besides, by getting into action, our artillery was now focusing the attention and drawing the fire of the Russian guns, for most of the latter shells wind harmlessly above us, being aimed at the batteries in our rear. Considerably relieved by this diversion, we resumed our forward movement, and after about fifteen minutes of further rest, our goal being the little chain of hills which our advance guard had previously occupied pending our arrival. Here we were ordered to take up positions and dig trenches, any further advance being out of the question as the Russian artillery overlooked and commanded the entire plain stretching in front of us. We started at once to dig our trenches. Half of my platoon stepping forward abreast, the men being placed an arm's length apart. After laying their rifles down, barrels pointing towards the enemy, a line was drawn behind the row of rifles and parallel to it. Then each man would dig up the ground, starting from his part of the line backwards, throwing forward the earth removed until it formed a sort of breastwork. The second half of the platoon was meanwhile resting in the rear, rifle in hand and ready for action. After a half hour they took the place of the first division at work, and vice versa. Within an hour work on the trenches was so far advanced that they could be deepened while standing in them. Such an open trench affords sufficient shelter against rifle bullets striking from the front, and can be made in a measure shell-proof by being covered with boards if at hand and with sod. In the western area of the theatre of war, in France and Flanders, where whole armies were deadlocked, facing each other for weeks without shifting their position an inch, such trenches became an elaborate affair with extensive underground working and wing connections of lines which almost constitute little fortresses, and afford a certain measure of comfort. But where we were in Galatia, at the beginning of the war with conditions utterly unsteady and positions shifting daily and hourly, only the most superficial trenches were used. In fact, we thought ourselves fortunate if we could requisition enough straw to cover the bottom. That afternoon we had about half finished our work when our friend the aeroplane appeared on the horizon again. This time we immediately opened fire. It disappeared but apparently had seen enough, for very soon our position was shelled. By this time, however, Shrapnel would almost cease to be a source of concern to us, and we scarcely paid any attention to it. Human nerves quickly get accustomed to the most unusual conditions and circumstances, and I noticed that quite a number of them in actually fell asleep from sheer exhaustion in the trenches in spite of the roaring of the cannon about us and the whizzing of Shrapnel over our heads. I, too, soon got accustomed to the deadly missiles. In fact, I had already started to make observations of their peculiarities. My ear accustomed to differentiate sounds of all kinds. At some time ago, while we still advanced, noted a remarkable discrepancy in the peculiar whine produced by the different shells in their rapid flight through the air as they passed over our heads, some sounding shrill with a rising tendency, and others rather dull with a falling cadence. A short observation revealed the fact that the passing of a dull-sounding shell was invariably preceded by a flash from one of our own cannon in the rear on the hill, which conclusively proved it to be an Austrian shell. It must be understood that as we were advancing between the positions of the Austrian and Russian artillery, both kinds of shells were passing over our heads. As we advanced, the difference between shrill and dull shell grew less and less perceptible, until I could hardly tell them apart. Upon nearing the hill the difference increased again more and more until on the hill itself it was very marked. After our trench was finished I crawled to the top of the hill until I could make out the flash of the Russian guns on the opposite heights, and by timing the flash and actual passing of the shell, found to my astonishment that now the Russian missiles had become dull, while on the other hand the shrill shell was invariably heralded by a flash from one of our guns, now far in the rear. What had happened was this. Every shell describes in its course a parabolic line with the first half of the curve ascending and the second one descending. Apparently in the first half of its curve, that is, its course while ascending, the shell produced a dull wine accompanied by a falling cadence, which changes to a rising shrill as soon as the acme has been reached and the curve points downward again. The acme for both kinds of shells naturally was exactly half-distance between the Russian and Austrian artillery, and this was the point where I had noticed that the difference was the least marked. A few days later, in talking over my observation with an artillery officer, I was told the fact was known that the shells sounded different going up than when coming down, but this knowledge was not used for practical purposes. When I told him that I could actually determine by the sound the exact place where a shell coming from the opposing batteries was reaching its acme, he thought that this would be of great value in a case where the position of the opposing battery was hidden and thus could be located. He apparently spoke to his commander about me. For a few days later, I was sent on a reconnoiting tour with the object of marking on the map the exact spot where I thought the hostile shells were reaching their acme, and it was later on reported to me that I had succeeded in giving to our batteries the most exact range of the Russian guns. I have gone into this matter at some length because it is the only instance where my musical ear was of value during my service. To return to my narrative, the losses which my battalion suffered that day seemed extraordinarily small when compared with the accuracy of the Russian artillery's aim and the number of missiles they fired. I counted seventy-four shrapnel that burst in a circle of half a mile around us in about two hours, and yet we had no more than about eighteen casualties. The most difficult part was to lie still and motionless while death was being dealt all about us, and it was then and there that I had my first experience of seeing death next to me. A soldier of my platoon, while digging in the trench, suddenly leaned back, began to cough like an old man. A little blood broke from his lips, and he crumpled together in a heap, and lay quite still. I could not realise that this was the end, for his eyes were wide open, and his face wore the stamp of complete serenity. Apparently he had not suffered at all. The man had been a favourite with all of his fellows by reason of his good humour, and that he was now stretched out dead seemed unbelievable. I saw a great many men die afterwards, some suffering horribly, but I do not recall any death that affected me quite so much as that of this first victim in my platoon. End of Part One of Four Weeks in the Trenches The War Story of a Violinist by Fritz Kreisler Recording by FNH Please visit www.bookranger.co.uk Part Two of Four Weeks in the Trenches This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by FNH Four Weeks in the Trenches by Fritz Kreisler Part Two The artillery jewel had died out with the coming of darkness, and we settled down to rest, half of the men taking watch while the others slept. At five o'clock in the morning our regiment suddenly received the order to fall in, and together with two other regiments was drawn out of the fighting line. A commanding general had received news that an isolated detachment on the extreme right wing of our army, about fifteen miles east of us, had been entirely surrounded by a strong Russian body and we were ordered to relieve them. It must not be forgotten that our men had been under a most incredible strain for the last three days, with barely any rest during the nights and not more than one meal a day. They had actually welcomed entering the firing line as a relief from the fatigues of marching with their heavy burdens. It is curious how indifferent one becomes to danger if one's organism is worn down and brain and faculty of perception numbed by physical exertion. It was, therefore, with badly broken down strength that we started on this relief expedition, and it was good to see how unflinchingly the soldiers undertook their unexpected new task. All we had to say to our men was, Boys, your brothers are needing you. They are cut off from all possible relief unless you bring it. Their lives are at stake, and as they are defending one of the most strategically important points, the right wing of our army, you can turn the tide of the whole battle in our favour, so go on. And on they went, staggering and stumbling, and at the end of a few hours almost crawling, but ever forth. Suddenly we came up with another regiment which had been called to the same task, and the Colonel of the new regiment, being older in rank than our Colonel, took command of the newly formed Brigade of two regiments. My company happened to march at the head of the regiment, and the new Brigadier rode for some time alongside me. I was deeply impressed by his firm military and yet unassuming bearing, and his deep glowing enthusiasm for his army and his men. He told me with pride that two of his sons were serving in the army too, one as an artillery officer, and the other as an officer with the sappers. We were then approaching the point where we could hear distinctly the fire of our own batteries and the answer from the Russians, and here and there a volley of rifle fire. Our Colonel urged us on to renewed energy, and knowledge that we were nearing our goal seemed to give new strength to our men. Already we were witnessing evidences of the first fight that had passed here, for wounded men constantly passed us on stretchers. Suddenly I saw the face of the Colonel riding next to me light up with excitement as a wounded man was born past. He addressed a few words to the stretcher-bearers, and then turned to me saying, The regiment my son is fighting on the hill. It is one of their men they have brought by. He urged us on again, and it seemed to me as if I noticed, or was it my imagination, a new note of appeal in his face. Suddenly another stretcher was brought past. The Colonel at my side jumped from his horse crying out, My boy! and a feeble voice answered, Father. We all stopped, as if a command had been given, to look at the young officer who lay on the stretcher. His eyes all aglow with enthusiasm and joy, unmindful of his own wound as he cried out, Father, how splendid that the relief should just come from you! Go on! We held out splendidly. All we need is ammunition and a little moral support. Go on! Don't stop for me. I am all right. The old Colonel stood like a statue of bronze. His face had become suddenly ashen gray. He looked at the doctor and tried to catch his expression. The doctor seemed grave. But the young man urged us on, saying, Go on! Go on! I'll be all right tomorrow. A whole incident had not lasted more than five minutes, barely longer than it takes to write it. The Colonel mounted his horse, sternly commanding us to march forward, but the light had died out of his eyes. Within the next ten minutes a hail of shrapnel was greeting us, but hardly any one of us was conscious of it, so terrible and deeply were we affected by the scene of tragedy that had just been enacted before us. I remember foolishly mumbling something to the silent man riding next to me, something about the power of recuperation of youth, about the comparative harmlessness of the pointed steel-mantled rifle-bullets which on account of their terrific percussion make small, clean wounds and barely cause splintering of the bone or blood poisoning. I remember saying that I had quite a medical knowledge and that it seemed to me that his son was not mortally wounded. But he knew better. He never said a word, only a few minutes later. He was my only hope. And I can't express how ominous that word was, sounded to me. But just then the command to deploy was given, and the excitement that followed drowned for the time being all melancholy thoughts. We quickly ascended the hill where the isolated detachment of Austrians had kept the Russians at bay for fully twenty-four hours and opened fire on the enemy while the Second Regiment tried to turn the left flank. The Russians slowly fell back, but we followed them, and a sort of running fight ensued during which my regiment lost about fifty dead and wounded. The Russians temporarily resisted again, but soon the pressure from our other regiment on their flank began to be felt and they fled rather disorderly, leaving two machine guns, some ammunition, and four carriages full of provisions in our hands, while the regiment which had executed the flanking movement took two hundred and forty prisoners. Around eight o'clock at night the fight was stopped for want of light, and we took up our newly acquired positions, entrenched them well, and began to make ready for the night. Orders for outpost duty were given, and the officers were again called by the Brigadier Colonel, who in a few words outlined the situation to us, thanking us for the pertinacity and bravery shown by the troops, and adding that the success of the expedition lay in the fact that we had arrived in time to save the situation. Then the question of transporting prisoners to the rear came up, and while the Brigadier's eyes were searching us I felt that he was going to entrust me with a mission. He looked at me, gave me the order in a short, measured way, but his eyes gazed searchingly and deeply into mine, and I thought I understood the unspoken message. So tired as I was I immediately set out with a guard of twenty men to transport the two hundred and forty Russian prisoners, among whom were two officers, back behind the fighting-line. They seemed not unhappy over their lot, in fact, were smoking and chatting freely while we marched back. One of the Russian officers had a wound in his leg and was carried on a stretcher, but he too seemed quite at ease, conversing with me in French and congratulating me upon the bravery our isolated detachment had shown against the terrific onslaught. As soon as I had delivered them safely into the hands of the commander of our reserves, I inquired the way to the nearest field hospital, in search of the young officer, the son of Brigadier Colonel. It was then about nine o'clock at night, and on entering the peasant's hut where the field hospital was established, I saw at a glance that I had come too late. He lay there still, hands folded over his breast, with his serene and happy an expression as if asleep.  From the doctor I got the full information. He had received a shot in the abdomen, and a rifle-bullet had grazed his cheek. His last words had been a fervent expression of joy over the relief brought by his father, and the knowledge that the position would not be taken by the Russians. He had died as simply as a child, without regret and utterly happy. I took the orderly with me, asking him to carry all the belongings of the young officer with him in order to transmit them to his father. When I returned with the orderly, the Brigadier was issuing orders to his officers and conferring with them about the military situation. He saw me come, yet not a muscle moved in his face, nor did he interrupt his conversation. I was overwhelmed by the power this man showed at that minute, and admit I had not the courage to break the news to him, but it was unnecessary, for he understood. The faithful orderly stepped forward, as I had bitten him, presenting to the old man the pocketbook and small articles that belonged to his son. While he did so, he broke forth into sobs, lamenting aloud the loss of his beloved lieutenant, yet not a muscle moved in the face of the father. He took my report, nodded curtly, dismissed me without a word, and turned back to his ordnance officers, resuming the conversation. I assumed the command of my platoon, which in the meantime had been assigned to do some outpost duty under the command of the sergeant. I inquired about their position, and went out to join them. About midnight we were relieved, and when marching back passed the place where the tent of the Brigadier had been erected. I saw a dark figure lying on the floor, seemingly in deep sleep, and ordering my men to march on, I crept silently forward. Then I saw that his shoulders were convulsively shaking, and I knew that the mask of iron had fallen at last. The night was chilly, so I entered his tent in search of his overcoat, and laid it around his shoulders. He never noticed it. The next morning, when I saw him, his face was as immovable as it had been the night before, but he seemed to have aged many years. The next day was a comparatively restful one. We fortified the entrenchments which we had taken, and as our battle lines were extended to the right, from being on the extreme right, we became almost the centre of the new position, which extended for perhaps ten miles from northwest to southeast, about eighteen miles south of Lemberg. The next few days were given two repairs, provisioning, and resting, with occasional small skirmishes and shifting of positions. Then, one night, a scouting aeroplane brought news of a forward movement of about five Russian Army corps which seemed to push in the direction of our centre. Against this force, we could muster only about two Army corps, but our strategical position seemed a very good one, both the extreme flanks of our Army being protected by large and impassable swamps. Evidently, the Russians had realised the impossibility of turning our flanks, and were endeavouring to pierce our centre by means of a vigorous frontal attack relying upon their great superiority in numbers. Every preparation had been made to meet the onslaught during the night. At trenches had been strengthened. The artillery had been brought into position, cleverly masked by means of transplanted bushes. The field in front of us had been cleared of objects obstructing the view, and the sappers had been feverishly busy constructing formidable barbed wire entanglements, and carefully measuring the shooting distances, marking the different ranges by bundles of hay or other innocent-looking objects, which were placed here and there in the field. At nine o'clock in the morning, everything was ready to receive the enemy, the men taking a short and well-deserved rest in their trenches while we officers were called to the Colonel, who acquainted us with the general situation and, giving his orders, addressed us in a short, business-like way, appealing to our sense of duty, and expressing his firm belief in our victory.  The camp was absolutely quiet, the only movements noticeable being around the field kitchens in the rear, which were being removed from the battle-line. A half hour later any casual observer glancing over the deserted fields might have laughed at the intimation that the earth around him was harboring thousands of men armed to the teeth, and that pandemonium of hell would break loose within an hour. Barely a sound was audible, and a hush of expectancy descended upon us. I looked around at my men in the trench, some were quietly asleep, some were writing letters, others conversed in subdued and hushed tones. Every face I saw bore the unmistakable stamp of the feeling so characteristic of the last hour before a battle, that curious mixture of solemn dignity, grave responsibility, and suppressed emotion, with an undercurrent of sad resignation. They were pondering over their possible fate or perhaps dreaming of their dear ones at home. By and by even the little conversation ceased, and they sat quiet, silent, waiting and waiting, perhaps awed by their own silence. Sometimes one would bravely try to crack a joke, and they laughed, but it sounded strained. They were plainly nervous, these brave men that fought like lions in the open when led to an attack heedless of danger and destruction. They felt under a cloud in the security of the trenches, and they were conscious of it and ashamed. Sometimes my faithful orderly would turn his eye on me, mute, as if in quest of an explanation of his own feelings. Poor dear unsophisticated boy. I was as nervous as they all were, although trying my best to look unconcerned, but I knew that the hush that hovered around us like a dark cloud would give way like magic to wild enthusiasm as soon as the first shot broke the spell and the exhortation of the battle took hold of us all. Suddenly, at about ten o'clock, a dull thud sounded somewhere far away from us, and simultaneously we saw a small white round cloud, about half a mile ahead of us, where the shrapnel would have exploded. The battle had begun. Other shots followed shortly, exploding here and there, but doing no harm. The Russian gunners evidently were trying to locate and draw an answer from our batteries. These, however, remained mute, not caring to reveal their position. For a long time the Russians fired at random, mostly at too short a range to do any harm, but slowly the harmless-looking white clouds came nearer, until a shell, whining as it whizzed past us, burst about a hundred yards behind our trench. A second shell followed, exploding almost at the same place. At the same time we noticed a faint, spinning noise above us. Soaring high above our position, looking like a speck in the firmament, flew a Russian aeroplane, watching the effect of the shells, and presumably directing the fire of the Russian artillery. This explained its sudden accuracy. One of our aeroplane's rows, giving chase to the enemy, and simultaneously our batteries got into action. The Russians kept up a sharply concentrated, well-directed fire against our centre. Our gunners responding gallantly, and the spirited artillery-jewel which ensued, grew in intensity until the entrails of the earth seemed fairly to shake with the thunder. By one o'clock the incessant roaring, crashing, and splintering of bursting shells had become almost unendurable to our nerves, which were already strained to the snapping point by the lack of action and the expectancy. Suddenly there appeared a thin, dark line on the horizon which moved rapidly towards us, looking not unlike a huge running bird with immense outstretched wings. We looked through our field-glasses. There could be no doubt. It was Russian cavalry swooping down upon us with incredible impetus and swiftness. A quickly glanced at our colonel. He stared over mouth. This was indeed good fortune for us, too good to believe. No cavalry attack could stand before well-disciplined inventory, providing the latter kept cool and well-composed, calmly waiting until the riders came sufficiently close to take sure aim. There was action for us at last. A sharp word of command, and men scrambled out of the trenches for better view and aim, shouting with joy as they did so. What a change came over us all. My heart beat with wild exaltation. I glanced at my men. They were all eagerness and determination, hand at the trigger, eyes on the approaching enemy, every muscle strained, yet calm, their bronzed faces hardened into immobility, waiting for the command to fire. Every subaltern's officer's eye hung on their colonel, who stood about thirty yards ahead of us on a little hill, his figure well-defined in the sunlight, motionless, the very picture of calm assurance and proud bearing. He scanned the horizon with his glasses. Shrapnel was hailing about him, but he seemed utterly unaware of it. For that matter we had all forgotten it, though it kept up its terrible uproar, spitting here and there destruction into our midst. By this time the avalanche of tramping horses had come perceptibly nearer. Soon they would sweep up by the bundle of hay which marked the careful measured range within which our fire was terribly effective. Suddenly the mad stampede came to an abrupt standstill. Then the Cossacks scattered precipitively to the right and left. Only to disclose in their rear the advancing Russian infantry, the movements of which it had been their endeavour to avail. The infantry moved forward in loose lines, endlessly rolling on like shallow waves overtaking each other, one line running forward then suddenly disappearing by throwing itself down an opening fire on us to cover the advance of the other line, and so on, while their artillery kept up a hellish uproar spreading destruction through our lines. Simultaneously a Russian aeroplane swept down on us with a noise like an angered bird of prey, and pelted us with bombs, the effects of which, however, were more moral than actual, for we had regained the security of the trenches and opened fire on the approaching enemy, who in spite of heavy losses advanced steadily until they reached our wire entanglements. There he was greeted by a deadly fire from air machine guns. The first Russian lines were mowed down as if by a gigantic scythe, and so were the reserves as they tried to advance. The first attack had collapsed. After a short time, however, they came on again, this time more cautiously, armed with nippers to cut the barbed wire, and using the bodies of their own fallen comrades as a rampart. Again they were repulsed. Once more the cavalry executed a feigned attack under cover of which the Russian infantry rallied, strongly reinforced by reserves, and more determined than ever. Supported by heavy artillery fire, their lines rolled endlessly on, and hurled themselves against the barbed wire fences. For a short time it almost seemed as if they would break through by sheer weight of numbers. At that critical moment, however, our reserves succeeded in executing a flanking movement, surprised and caught in a deadly crossfire, the Russian line wavered, and finally they fled in disorder. All these combined artillery, infantry, cavalry, and aeroplane attacks had utterly failed in their object of dislodging our centre or shaking its position, each one being frustrated by the resourceful cool alertness of our commanding general, and the splendid heroism and stoicism of our troops. But the strain of the continuous fighting for nearly the whole day without spite of any kind, or chance for food or rest, in the end told on the power of endurance of our men, and when the last attack had been successfully repulsed, they lay mostly prostrated on the ground, panting and exhausted. Our losses had been very considerable, too. Stretcherbearers being busy administering first aid and carrying the wounded back to the nearest field hospital, while many a brave man lay stark and still. By eight o'clock it had grown perceptibly cooler. We now had time to collect our impressions and look about us. The Russians had left many dead on the field, and at the barbed wire entanglements which our sappers had constructed as an obstacle to their advance. Their bodies lay heaped upon each other, looking not unlike the more innocent bundles of hay lying in the field. We could see the small red cross-parties in the field climbing over the horribly grotesque tumult of bodies, trying to disentangle the wounded from the dead and administer first aid to them. Enthusiasm seemed suddenly to disappear before this terrible spectacle. Life that only a few hours before had glowed with enthusiasm and exultation suddenly paled and sickened. The silence of the night was interrupted only by the low moaning of the wounded that came regularly to us. It was hideous in its terrible monotony. The moon had risen, throwing fantastic lights and shadows over the desolate landscape, and the heat up dead. These grotesque piles of human bodies seemed like a monstrous sacrificial offering emulated on the altar of some fiendishly cruel and deep deity. I felt faint and sick at heart and near swooning away. I lay on the floor for some time unconscious of what was going on around me in a sort of stupor, utterly crushed over the horrors about me. I do not know how long I had lain there—perhaps ten minutes, perhaps half an hour—when suddenly I heard a gruff, deep voice behind me, the brigadier, who had come around to inspect and to give orders about the outposts. His calm, quiet voice brought me to my senses, and I reported to him. His self-assurance, kindness, and determination dominated the situation. Within five minutes he had restored confidence, giving definite orders for the welfare of everyone, man and beast alike, showing his solicitude for the wounded, for the sick and weak ones, and mingling praise and admonition in just measure. As by magic I felt fortified. He was a real man, undaunted by nervous qualms or by oversensitiveness. The horrors of the war were distasteful to him, but he bore them with equanimity. It was perhaps the first time in my life that I regretted that my artistic education had oversharpened and overstrung my nervous system, when I saw how manfully and bravely that man bore what seemed to me almost unbearable. His whole machinery of thinking was not complicated, and not for a moment did his qualms of velchmerts or exaggerated altruism burden his conscience and interfere with his straight line of conduct which was wholly determined by duty and code of honour. In his private life he was an unusually kind man, his solicitude for his subordinates, for prisoners, and for the wounded was touching. Yet he saw the horrors of war unflinchingly and without weakening, for were they not the consequences of the devotion of men to their cause. The whole thing seemed quite natural to him. The man was clearly in his element and dominated it. After having inspected the outposts, I went back, bedded myself in a soft sand heap, covered myself up, and was soon fast, peacefully asleep. During the night the dew moistened the sand, and when I woke in the morning I found myself encased in a plastering which could not be removed for days. End of Part 2 Recording by FNH Please visit www.bookranger.co.uk Part 3 Of Four Weeks in the Trenches This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit www.librivox.org. Recording by FNH Four Weeks in the Trenches by Fritz Kreisler Our hopes of getting a little rest and respite from the fighting were soon shattered. For a scouting aeroplane brought news that the Russians were again advancing in overwhelming strength. Our commanding general coming to the conclusion that we've reduced and weakened forces at his command he cannot possibly offer any effective resistance to a renewed onslaught had determined to fall back slowly before their pressure. The consequence was a series of retreating battles for us, which lasted about ten days, and which constituted what is now called the Battle of Lemberg. We were terribly outnumbered by the Russians, and in order to extricate our army and prevent it from being surrounded and cut off we constantly had to retreat, one detachment taking up positions to resist the advancing Russians, trying to hold them at all costs in order to give the rest of the army sufficient time to retire to safety. This maneuvering could not, of course, be carried out without forces guarding the rear and covering the retreats suffering sometimes terrible losses. These were depressing days, with rain and storm adding to the gloom. The men tremed wearily, hanging their heads, ashamed and humiliated by the retreat, the necessity of which they could not grasp, having as they thought, successfully repulsed the enemy. It was difficult to make them understand that our regiment was only a cog in a huge wheel of the Austrian fighting machine, and that with a battle line extending over many miles it was quite natural that the partial successes could take place, and yet the consideration of general strategy necessitated retreat. Our arguing made little impression on the men, for they only shook their heads and said, we were victorious, we should have gone on. The spirit of retreating troops is vastly different from that shown by an advancing army, and it was probably in recognition of this well-known psychological state that our general staff had in the beginning attacked the Russians wherever they could in spite of the overwhelming superiority of the foe. But the reinforcements the Russians were able to draw upon had swelled their ranks so enormously that any attack would have been little short of madness. The real hardships and privations for us began only now. The few roads of Galatia which at best are in bad condition, through the constant passing of heavy artillery and wagons of all kinds following each other in endless procession through constant rains, had become well nigh impassable, the heavy mud constituting an additional impediment to the marching troops. In order to get all of the train carrying provisions out of the possible reach of a sudden raid by Russian cavalry, it had to be sent miles back of us, so as not to interfere with the movement of the troops. This caused somewhat of an interruption in the organisation of the commissary department, and very little food reached the troops, and that only at very long intervals. The distribution of food to an army even in peace and under the best conditions is very complicated and a difficult undertaking. Provisions are shipped from the interior to the important railway centres, which serve as huge army depots, and form the bases from which the different army corps draw their provisions and from which they are constantly replenished. They in turn supply the divisions and brigades, wherefrom the regiments and battalions draw their provisions. So it is seen that the Great Aorta which leads from the interior to the big depots slowly subdivides itself into smaller arteries and feeders, until they reach the ultimate destination, the extreme front. This distribution of food had now become a formidable task, in consequence of the unforeseen movements and diversions which were forced upon us by the unexpected developments of the battle, and it often happened that food supplies intended for a certain detachment would reach their destination only after the departure of that detachment. My platoon had by this time shrunk from 55 men to about 34, and those remaining had become very hardened, efficient and fit. It is astonishing how quickly the human organism adjusts itself, if need be, to the most difficult circumstances. So far as I was concerned, for instance, I adapted myself to the new life without any trouble at all, responding to the unusual demands upon me automatically, as it were. My rather impaired eyesight improved in the open, with only wide distances to look at. I found that my muscles served me better than ever before. I leaped and ran and supported fatigue that would have appalled me under other circumstances. In the field, all neurotic symptoms seemed to disappear as by magic, and one's whole system is charged with energy and vitality. Perhaps this is due to the open-air life with its simplified standards, freed from all the complex exigencies of society's laws and unhampered by conventionalities, as well to the constant throb of excitement, caused by the activity, the adventure and the uncertainty of fate. The very massing together of so many individuals with every will merged into one that strives with gigantic effort towards a common end, and the consequent simplicity and directness of all purpose, seem to release and unhinge all of the primitive aboriginal forces stored in the human soul, and tend to create the indescribable atmosphere of exaltation which envelops everything and everybody, as with a magic cloak. It is extraordinary how quickly suggestions of luxury, culture, refinement—in fact, all of the gentle aspects of life which one had considered to be an integral part of one's life are quickly forgotten, and more than that, not even missed. Centuries dropped from one, and one becomes a primeval man, nearing the cave-dweller in an incredible short time. For twenty-one days I went without taking off my clothes, sleeping on wet grass or in mud, or in the swamps, wherever need be, and with nothing but my cape to cover me. Nothing disturbs one. One night while sleeping we were drenched to the skin by torrential rains. We never stirred, but waited for the sun to dry us out again. Many things considered necessities of civilization simply drop out of existence. A toothbrush was not imaginable. We ate instinctively when we had food, with our hands. If we had stopped to think of it all, we should have thought it ludicrous to use knife and fork. We were all looking like shaggy, lean wolves from the necessity of subsisting on next to nothing. I remember having gone for more than three days at a time without any food whatsoever, and many a time we had to lick the new dew from the grass for want of water.    Why not? There is nothing to be done. In the end you talk of your own death with as little excitement as you would of a luncheon engagement. There is nothing left in your mind but the fact that hordes of men to whom you belong are fighting against other hordes, and your side must win. My memory of these days is very much blurred, every day being pretty nearly the same as the preceding one, fatiguing marches, little rest, and comparatively little fighting. It is quite possible that our commander tried to divide the work of the troops in a just manner, and that in consequence of my regiment having borne the brunt of two terrible attacks and having suffered considerable loss, we were now temporarily withdrawn from the fighting line, and not once during these days were assigned to the duty of a rearguard. Consequently we had only a few unimportant skirmishes in these days. Twice while guarding the flank through having to repulse attacks of Cossacks, and once being harassed by an armored automobile. But the movements of an automobile being confined to the road we had no difficulty in avoiding its fire, and as for the Cossacks with their eternal feigned attacks we had reached the point where we almost ignored them. We were in the first days of September, and upon reaching the swamps near Gridek south of Lemberg a determined stand was decided upon by our commanding general. It seemed the most precipitous place for a formidable defence, there being only a few roads through otherwise impassable swamps. On September 6th my battalion was ordered to take up a position commanding a defile which formed one of the possible approaches for the enemy. Here we awaited the Russians, and they were not long incoming. First they violently shelled our position and silenced one of our batteries. Finding their artillery fire did not draw any answer from our side. They attempted to storm our position by means of frontal infantry attacks combined with occasional raids of Cossacks which were always repulsed. Finally the Russian infantry succeeded in establishing a number of trenches, the one opposite us not more than five hundred yards away. It was the first time we had come in close touch with the Russians, almost with inhaling distance, and with the aid of our field-glasses we could occasionally even get a glimpse of their faces and recognise their features. We stayed four days opposite each other, neither side gaining a foot at ground. It was there and then that I made a curious observation. After the second day we had almost grown to know each other. The Russians would laughingly call over to us and the Austrians would answer. The salient feature of these three days fighting was the extraordinary lack of hatred. In fact it is astonishing how little actual hatred exists between fighting men. One fights fiercely and passionately mass against mass, but as soon as the mass crystallise itself into human individuals whose features one can actually recognise, hatred almost ceases. Of course fighting continues, but somehow it loses its fierceness and takes more the form of a sport, each side being eager to get to the best of the other. One still shoots at his opponent, but always regrets when he sees him drop. By the morning of the third day we knew nearly every member of the opposing trench, the favourite of my men being a giant red-bearded Russian whose constant pastime consisted in jumping like a jack-in-the-box from the trench, crying over to us as he did so. He was frequently shot at, but never hit. Then he grew bolder, showing himself longer and longer, until finally he jumped out of the trench altogether, shouting to us wildly and waving his cap. His good humility and bravado appealed to our boys, and none of them attempted to shoot at him while he presented such a splendid target. Finally one of our men, who did not want to be second in bravery, jumped out of the trench and presented himself in the full sunlight. Not one attempt was made to shoot at him, either, and these two men began to gesticulate at each other, inviting each other to come nearer. All fighting had suddenly ceased, and both opposing parties were looking on, laughing like boys at play. Finally the Russian would draw a step nearer, and our man boldly advanced too. Then the Russians urged on their man with shouts and laughter, and he made a big leap forward standing still, whereupon the Austrian also jumped forward, and so, step by step, they approached until they nearly touched each other. They had left their rifles behind, and we thought that they were going to indulge in a fistfight, all of us being sorry for our champion, for he was a small and insignificant-looking man who looked as if he could be crushed with one blow by his gigantic opponent. But lo and behold! The big Russian held out his hand, which held a package of tobacco, and our Austrian, seizing the tobacco, grasped the hand of the Russian, and then reaching in his pocket produced a long Austrian cigar, which he ceremoniously presented to the Russian. It was indeed a funny sight to see the small, wiring, lean Austrian talking in exaggerated terms of politeness to the blond Russian giant, who listened gravely and attentively as if he understood every word. By this time all precautions and even ideas of fighting had been forgotten, and we were surprised to find ourselves out of the shelter of our trenches, and fully exposed to the Russians who in turn leaned out of their own trenches and showed their heads in full. This unofficial truce had lasted about 20 minutes, and succeeded more in restoring good humor and joy of life among our soldiers than a trainload of provisions would have done. It was one of the incidents that helped to relieve the monotony of trench life, and was hardly welcomed by all of us. The fighting, however, soon was resumed with all its earnestness and fierceness, but from this moment on a certain camaraderie was established between the two opposing trenches. Between skirmishes an unofficial truce would frequently be called for the purpose of removing the wounded. During these times, when the stretcher-bearers were busy, no shot would be fired on either side. Nor was this an isolated case. For similar intermittent truces, sometimes accompanied by actual intercourse between the opposing forces, were quite common all along the battle-line. That very night I was hurriedly summoned to the trenches of the Thirteenth Company, about half a mile east of us, in order to act as an interpreter between the major commanding that battalion and two singular guests he had just received. A Russian officer earned his orderly. The pair, carrying a white flag, had hailed one of the numerous Austrian outposts placed during the night in front of the trenches, and had been sent blindfolded back to the major. The Russian officer spoke only broken French. He commanded one of the opposing trenches, and from his narrative it appeared that his men had not received any food supplies for some days and were actually on the point of starvation. Not being able to stand their misery any longer, he had taken the bull by the horns, and with utter confidence and straightforwardness of a fearless nature had simply come over to us the enemy for help, offering a little barrel of water which his companion carried on his head, and a little tobacco in exchange for some provisions. The major seemed at first perhaps a little perplexed and undecided about this singular request, but his generous nature and chivalry soon asserted itself. One single look at the emaciated and worn faces of our guests sufficiently substantiated the truth of their story, for both men were utterly exhausted and on the verge of collapse. The next minute messengers were flying to the different trenches of the battalion to solicit and collect contributions, and the officers scrambled over each other in the noble contest to deplete their own last and cherished reserves for the supper of their guests. Soon the latter was seated as comfortably as circumstances permitted, before a feast of canned beef, cheese, biscuits, and a slice of salami, my own proud contribution consisting of two tablets of chocolate, part of a precious reserve for extreme cases. It was a strange sight to see these two Russians in an Austrian trench surrounded by cordality and tender solicitude. The big brotherhood of humanity had for the time enveloped friend and foe, stamping out all hatred and racial differences. It is wonderful how the most tender flowers of civilization can go hand in hand with the most brutal atrocities of grim modern warfare. In the meanwhile the messengers had returned almost staggering under the weight of a sack filled with the gifts of our soldiers to the enemy. Pieces of bread and biscuits with here and there a slice of bacon or a lump of cheese all thrown peli-meli together. Many a man must have parted with his last piece of bread in order not to be outdone by the others in generosity. For our own provisions were running very low. It is true that the bread and biscuits were mildewed, the cheese stale, and the bacon as hard as stone, but the boys gave the best they could. The very poverty and humbleness of the gifts attesting their own desperate plight and bearing proud witness to the extent of their sacrifice. With tears in their eyes and reiterated protestations of thanks our guests staggered back through the night to their lines, undoubtedly carrying with them tender memories of Austrian generosity and hospitality. On the morning of the next day a Russian detachment succeeded in storming a hill on our flank, commanding the striffer space between ourselves and our reserves in the rear, thus cutting us off from our main body. They established there a machine gun battery, and although we were under cover in our trench, we were now in a very precarious position, for no more provisions or ammunition could reach us, all attempts to do so breaking down under a terrific machine gun fire, but we had orders to hold our position at all cost to the last man. Unfortunately our ammunition was giving out in spite of our husbanding it as much as possible and shooting only when we had a sure target. The Russians soon found that each shot meant a victim and took no chances on showing even the tips of their caps. Neither could we move the least bit without being the target for a volley from their side. Up to this day I cannot understand why they did not try to rush us, but apparently they were unaware of our comparative weakness. Also for another reason our position had become more and more untenable. We were on swampy ground, and the water was constantly oozing in from the bottom of the trench, so that we sometimes had to stand nearly knee-deep and were forced to bail the water out with our caps. It is difficult to imagine a more deplorable situation than to have to stay for four days in a foul trench, half filled with swamp water, constantly exposed to destructive fire at the enemy, utterly isolated and hopeless. Soon we were completely without food or water, and our ammunition was almost exhausted. During the night here and there daring men would rush through the space swept by the Russian gunfire, which was kept up constantly trying to bring us what scanty supplies they could procure from neighboring trenches better provided than we were, but the little they brought was nothing compared to our needs. On the evening of that third day, knowing that our ammunition was giving out, we felt that the next day would bring the end, and all our thoughts turned homewards and to the dear ones. We all wrote what we considered our parting and last farewell, each one pledging himself to deliver and take care of the letters of the others if he survived. It was a grave, sad, deeply touching moment when we resigned ourselves to the inevitable, and yet somehow we felt relieved and satisfied that the end might come and grimly resolved to sell our lives dearly. Never before had I as much reason to admire the wonderful power of endurance and stoicism of our soldiers as on that night. Once resigned to the worst, all the old-time spirit returned as if by magic. They sat together playing cards in as much moonlight as would fall into the deep trench, relating jokes and bolstering up one another's courage. The fourth day broke gloomy with the drizzling rain. At ten o'clock one of our men became suddenly insane, jumped out of the trench, danced wildly, and divested himself of every stitch of clothing while doing so. Strange to say the Russians must have realised that the man was insane, for they never fired at him. Neither did they at the two men who jumped out to draw him back. We succeeded in comforting and subduing him, and he soon fell into a stupor and remained motionless for some time. As soon as darkness fell we succeeded in conveying him back to the reserves, and I understand that he got quite well again in a few days. At five o'clock that afternoon we suddenly received orders through a running messenger who was braving the incessant machine gun fire that our positions were about to be abandoned and that we were to evacuate our trench under the cover of darkness at eleven o'clock. I cannot but confess that we all breathed more freely on the receipt of that information. But unfortunately the purpose could not be carried out. The Russians by this time evidently had realised our comparatively defenseless condition and utter lack of ammunition. For that same night we heard two shots ring out, being the signal from our sentinels that they were surprised and that danger was near. I hardly had time to draw my sword to grasp my revolver with my left hand and issue a command to my men to hold their bayonets in readiness, when we heard a tramping of horses and saw dark figures swooping down upon us. For once the Cossacks had actually carried out their attack, undoubtedly owing to their intimate knowledge of our lack of ammunition.  I fired with my revolver at the hazy figure above me, saw it topple over, and then lost consciousness. This happened to the best of my recollection, at about half-past ten at night. Upon coming to my senses I found my faith all orderly kneeling in the trench by my side. He fairly shouted with delight as I opened my eyes. According to his story the Austrians falling back under the cavalry charge had evacuated the trench without noticing in the darkness that I was missing, but soon discovering my absence he started back to the trench in search of me. It was a perilous undertaking for him, for the Cossacks were still riding about, and he showed me with pride the place where a stray bullet had perforated his knapsack during the search. He revived me, gave me first aid, and succeeded with great difficulty in helping me out of the trench. For more than three hours we stumbled on in the night, trying to find our own lines again. Twice we encountered a small troop of Cossacks, but upon hearing the trampling we quietly lay down on the wayside without a motion until they passed. Happily we were not noticed by them, and from then on we stumbled on without any further incident until we were hailed by an Austrian outpost and in safety. By this time I was utterly exhausted and again lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes I was in the little hut where our ambulance gave first aid. Therefrom I was transported to the nearest Field Hospital. This however had to be broken up and the wounded removed because of the Russian advance. We were hastily put on the big ambulance wagons without springs, the jolting of which over the bad road caused us such suffering that we should almost have preferred to walk or crawl. We tried to reach the railway station at Carmono, but found a Russian detachment had intercepted us. In the streets of the village a shell burst almost in front of our wagons, making the horses shy and causing a great deal of confusion. We had to turn back, and after a long and wearosome detour reached our destination, the troop hospital in Sambor, in a state of great exhaustion. There I remained but a day. The less seriously wounded had to make a place for the graver cases, and being among the former I was transferred by hospital train to Miskolsey in Hungary. The same crowded conditions prevailed here as in Sambor, and after a night's rest I again was put on board a Red Cross train en route to Vienna. We were met at the station by a number of Red Cross nurses and assistant doctors. To my great joy my wife was among the former, having been assigned to that particular duty. The short official telegram to the effect that I was being sent home wounded on hospital train number sixteen was the first news she had received about me for fully four weeks. None of my field postcards had arrived, and she was suffering extreme nervous strain from the long anxiety and suspense which she had tried in vain to numb by feverish work in her hospital. I remained two weeks in Vienna, and then was transferred to the sulfur bath of Baden nearby, where large hospitals had been established to relieve the overcrowding of Vienna. There I remained until the first of November, when I was ordered to appear before a mixed commission of Army surgeons and senior officers for a medical examination. Two weeks later I received formal information that I had been pronounced invalid and physically unfit for Army duty at the front or at home, and consequently was exempted from further service. My military experience ended there, and with deep regret I bade goodbye to my loyal brother officers, comrades, and faithful orderly, and discarded my well-beloved uniform for the nondescript garb of the civilian, grateful that I had been permitted to be of any, if ever so little, service to my fatherland. THE END OF FOUR WEEKS IN THE TRENCHES THE WAR STORY OF A VIOLINIST by Fritz Kreisler Recording by FNH Please visit www.bookranger.co.uk


Hey guys, shea bear again doing a little vlogging today Not working on anything I had to come with monkey to work Because At two o'clock I've got a doctor's appointment.  So So I had to come with her for those of you guys that don't know she does a lot of traveling for work She's home health care. It's all All that stuff there She So it's not like I can drop her off at work go to my appointment and go pick her back up when she's off Her job involves driving different to different homes and areas All day every day. That's why there's so many miles on this truck. It's got 461,000 now or something like that but So she just went into a patient So I thought I'd just do some vlogging today She's got another patient to do here in this section and then we're going to go do my My we're going to go to my doctor And then she's got some more patients to do after that. So it'll be a long day for us But that's okay, but she loves her job Just like I love working on stuff, you know, she loves helping people out. She does a good job She's very good at it. She works for her for like I think five different offices different companies so she travels all over the place and Sometimes if I'm not going to be doing something at the house, you know, or we're going to do something after she Is off work. I'll just come with her because Like the area she's got some in the town we live in But most of them's all like at least an hour away from the house.  So Over afternoon patients for at the after the doctor We're going to be around the town that the doctors in so There's no sense in her driving me clear back home See that'd be like almost two-hour drive just just to draw me off at home and gas and so But anyway, that's what we're doing today. So I'm gonna be vlogging a little bit off and on, you know so That's pretty cool What else? So, you know, I just sent a truck weight on her playing my game on my phone or whatever and It's already it's hot today. What time is it it is Supposed to get like like around 80 Um It's 1130 right now 1127 right now. So So we'll do her next patient soon. She gets done with this one and then we'll drive over We'll just go to my doctor find out what's going on there. I had an echo done and The tech said that my heart looked okay and everything that That may cause anything any issues look fine I don't have any leaky valves or anything like that the size of my heart's okay. So that's good. That's good news But I do know she had mentioned something about blockage because of scar tissue in my lungs. So The next thing I don't know if they're gonna run a stress test, but I know they're talking about COPD I may have that So I gotta find out what's going on because I did the Working on the chainsaw yesterday that video Man that about killed me she that shoulda took Because you know through during my cuts. I'm a lot of times I'm actually just taking a break You know, I just got to sit down and relax and catch my breath. So I mean that should have been maybe I Half an hour job 40-minute job tops and you know, I spent a couple hours doing that but We'll find out what's going on get straightened out.  So so it's So we're kind of hanging out together today, so And we'll see what happens at the doctor. So anyway, just want to vlog all day long today So when you see this you will have seen what my me and monkey's day was So I just got back from the doctor Well, just got out of the doctor We got she's got three more patients to do Well two more after this one And then we get to go home But the doctor we really don't know anything because last Friday. I went in had my echo done and For some reason this Friday today. They don't have the results from that echo so No news there But we did manage to monkey kind of got on their ass for me and you know said look we need to get this pulmonary thing so I Go for my pulmonary test May 8th So hopefully and then I go see the doctor again after that So hopefully we can find out what's going on and all that good stuff So it's hot it is like let's see Let's see what the temperature is Here in Florida Right now Right now I'm in Silver Springs 90 degrees Hot Let's see what the real feel is The real feel is 92 that's what I'm going by because I mean it may be 90 if the real feels 92 then to me It's 92 so There's that So anyway That's pretty much my vlog. Just a quick vlog for you Just a vlog update. I Guess we can call it a vlog date So anyway, let me see what else that'd be about it Not sure what we're gonna. I know she's got to work tomorrow. So I don't know if I'm going with her Yet or not or if I'm gonna do something there in the garage at the house. So I Don't know we'll see And we're at the next one We've got one more after this and Then we can go home and I'm gonna make a video something for a chef Shea Bear, so I'll be doing a video of making supper tonight, so Looked like my My lens cover like closes automatically Sometimes you don't get it all the way, you know, it kind of Looks like that It kind of looked like that for a second, but I could see myself fine in the screen. I'm gonna hmm All right, so we got one more to do and well then we go to the grocery store and then we go home So we've got one more after this one All right, we're at her last patience It is 625 she just went into her last patient Then we're gonna go to the store and Get stuff for supper and also For a video for a product review So guys, I'm gonna get off here. Thanks for watching. Thanks for spending the day with me. I appreciate it Shea Bear. I'll see you guys soon. Bye. Bye. Take care


a very intricate and artistic bottle. Anything you wished while it was in your possession came true. But you had to settle the bottle to someone else in a fortnight for less than you paid for it. If you didn't, you'd go stark, staring mad. This is Peter Laurie opening the doors of the mystery playhouse. Yes, tonight's bedtime story is about a body. An empty bottle. Well, not quite empty. Maybe, but you'll see what I mean in a minute. Let's just say for now that this is no ordinary bottle. And I think you'll be interested to hear about it. I really do. Robert Murray Stevenson wrote this story many, many years ago. But it's been modernized and the scene changed from Hawaii to New York City. So get yourself set for something different in a way of a mystery. Listen now to a fascinating thing about an infant. A body bottle for one cent? No, I can't get rid of it. I can't get rid of it. See him? See him in the bottle laughing at me. See him head jumping up and down and laughing. He can't get away from it. He can't get away from me. He did this by the bottle for one cent and now I can't get rid of it. Come gentlemen, let me close the door. Well as you can see gentlemen, my wife is mad. Mr. Wilder, in my entire career as a psychiatrist I've never heard anything so strange. Your wife is absolutely convinced there is an infant in that bottle. I told you it was an unusual case, Dr. Jenkins. That's why I asked your assistance. I'm inclined to think it's paranoia, delusions. Well that was my original diagnosis, Dr. Jenkins, but now I'm thinking of schizophrenia. Projection of personality. No, it's neither of those things. It's the bottle. I wish I had never set eyes on... Come Mr. Wilder, you're not beginning to think the bottle is inhabited by a creature. I don't know what I think. Ever since that bottle came into this house nothing has been the same.  It's in the blood. My grandfather...  And as for this bottle, there's absolutely no scientific evidence. I'm going to take that attitude. What's the use of talking to you at all? Dr. Erickson, I suggest we let Mr. Wilder tell us what he wants to in his own way. Science or no science, there's something diabolical about that bottle. It was strange just the way it came into my possession. It all started about four weeks ago. It was late when I left the office. It had just started to rain so I darted into a doorway while I looked for a camera. All of a sudden I was conscious of my surroundings. I was shopping at the doorway. Though I'll swear that there had never been one there before. It was our anniversary and I thought I'd buy something to celebrate the occasion. I want something for a woman, not too expensive. May I suggest this bottle here on the shelf? Well, that's very nice, but I can't afford anything like that. Oh, you'd be surprised at how inexpensive it is, sir. It's fine lime, the exquisite gold lacing, the twisted glass here around the neck. A master glassblower made that piece. Well, it's very nice, but perhaps something else would be more... I'm sorry, sir. The bottle is the only piece we have for sale. Wait, this big store, all this stuff... Oh, I admit it's clear, sir, and I don't blame you for being surprised. I was engaged to set up this shop, fill it with curios, and then offer this bottle as our sole item, not merchandise. I think I've heard of anything so eccentric. Let me see that bottle again. Yes, sir. Well, I'm not an expert, but I can see this bottle is worth a lot of money. Maybe $1,000. Oh, that's the oddest part. You can buy it for three cents. Three cents? Is this some kind of a joke? I hadn't been offered a lot of money. I wouldn't be working here. You'll think I'm a little mad now, sir, but I can't sell you the bottle without explaining certain things. All right, go ahead, explain. First, it is said there's an imp in the bottle, and the person who possesses the bottle can have all the things he wishes for. Aladdin's lamp. Now, I know it's a joke, as you will, sir. Second, whoever possesses the bottle soon begins to go mad. If he doesn't get rid of it within a fortnight, he becomes completely and eternally mad. Well, the whole thing's clear now. Some rich eccentric is having a bit of fun. I hope it's something like that. Third, whoever buys the bottle can only get rid of it by reselling it for less than he paid for it. Well, I'm not gullible if somebody thinks he can offer a beautiful expensive bottle for sale of three cents, hang a lot of superstitious ideas on it, and have fun watching someone shy away. Well, he's mistaken in my case. I'm not superstitious. I'll buy that bottle. There you are. Here's the three cents. How nice is we've ever had. And I think that legend is perfectly false, maybe. Especially that part about the owner of the bottle getting anything he wishes for it. Oh, I wish I had $20,000. Now I'll get it, darling. Hello? Oh, hello, Jameson. I always thought he'd go out with a heart failure. He left me $20,000. Huh? Oh, sure, sure, I'm glad to forget the money. Okay. Call me tomorrow. Is something wrong here? Susan, if you don't mind, let's not go out to dinner, right? I'd just like to sit around and look at that bottle.  It's that bottle, isn't it? All right, so it is. Darling, you're not going to start all that about the silly legend again, are you? Lily, how do you know it's silly? $20,000, the other things. Don't you realize that every time I've made a wish, it's come true? Coincidence, dear. But what if it isn't coincidence? The legend is true.  You promised we'd never talk about it. What good will not talking about it? It's just a doorbell, dear. I'll get it. Whatever it is, I don't want to see it. All right, dear. Sorry, insistent. Alice. Who is he, dear? You crooked lawyer who's been pestering me for weeks. Tell him to get out before I throw him out. Oh, are you going to throw out? You? How dare you walk in here? Well, you won't see me in your office or I came here. My business with you is important. You haven't any business with me. You never have had and you never will have.  Now look here, Mr. Wilder, you can't talk to me like that. I'll sue you for defamation of character. I'll sue you.  Said Mr. Ellis died of heartache. Oh, I know what's in your mind. That bottle. You think it had something to do with Mr. Ellis's death. Don't you see it's just coincidence and all this about beginning to go mad. It's too superstitious nonsense. Robert, are you going to talk to me? Oh, darling, please. In three more days, the fortnight ends. And I shall be complete. Robert, why don't you take that bottle off and leave it someplace? Get rid of it. According to the legend, the only way I can get rid of it is by selling it for less than I'd pay for it. Then sell it if you insist. And head that bottle around telling about the legend and offering it for two cents, then people would know I'm sorry. Then just take it out and get rid of it. Please, Robert, for my sake, if not for your own. If in some magical manner it comes back to me, then you'll know that the legend is true. And if it is true, I won't be back. Won't be back? Oh, Robert, don't talk like that, darling. I don't want you to go at all. Stay here. No, I'm going now, Susan. Let me have that bottle. Robert, no, I don't want you to leave. And let go of it. Robert! I have to do it.  I have to do it. Robert, please don't go! Robert! I was almost out of my mind when I left the house with the bottle. I felt that unless I got rid of it, the legend about the bottle was true and I'd soon go mad. I walked down a dark street and stuffed the bottle deep into an ash barrel. Then we leave, get pretty shaky. I called a cab and asked him to drive me to the nearest place. I could get a drink. Here you are, sir. Well, how much do I owe you? Down a hair. Okay? Here you are. Keep the change. Thanks. Hey, fella. Yes? You left something in the cab. Well, what is it? It's got there. I put it there. Search me, fella. I guess you had it with you when you got in the cab. Let's drive here. Here's five dollars. What? Drive to the Brooklyn Bridge and take that bottle and throw it in the river.  I don't understand, but for five bucks I don't have to. Leave it to me, mister. I'll get rid of that bottle for you. No, just the cigarette. Okay. Here's a change, mister. Give it. Something swell is just happening to me. But all right. I guess I gave you a devil of a time. It all seems so silly now. Let's not talk about it anymore. Let's have that drink. I'll mix it. No, no, nothing to it.  Let me do it. I hope that some of that lock to the lift cabinet seems to be jammed or something. Oh, now I got it. It's all right, dear. I... Do you think it would disturb him? Thank you. I won't be a moment. The doctor says you're going to be all right. Robert, I can't stand for this. Even though I don't believe in this foolish legend, I can see what it's done to you. But you must believe it. You saw how the bottle came back after I tried to get rid of it. No, Robert. It must have been in the liquor cabinet all the time. You were so excited when you rushed out of here, I didn't even think you had it with you.  No suit. In any event, I'm going to put an end to all this. I'm going to take that bottle and sell it. And sell it for less than you paid for it. For two cents. Then, darling, if I do, will you be satisfied in your own mind that nothing is going to happen to you? Yes, Susan. If you can sell the bottle and I'll be all right. I know I will. If anyone comes to the door, we won't answer it. Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit? On the contrary. I've helped one of them all day. Ever since you told me that you sold the bottle to Mr. James. All right, Robert. A toast. A toast. I drink to the ruination of all imps, be they in bottles or otherwise. Darling, you're not listening. Susan, there's just one thing to bother. How did you ever get Jamison to buy the bottle? He's such a superstitious old guy. Well, to tell you the truth, he was pretty difficult. He said he'd take the temporarily to help us out. But he made me promise I'd find someone else to buy it from him. What? No one would buy it from Penny. Whoever did, it'd be stuck with him. Robert, you have plenty of friends who do anything to help you get over this ridiculous delusion. Friends? Who? What friends? Never mind. Now, for the last time, Robert, Mr. Jameson did buy the bottle from you, and I have arranged to have someone else buy it from Jameson. You have? Yes, I have, and that's all you need now. Now, is this a celebration, or isn't it? Oh, darling, I'm sorry. You certainly have some fun coming to me. I won't say any more about it, I promise you. That's better. Now, let's drink this champagne before it gets flat. Oh, someone would come at a time like this. Don't answer. Well, I'd better. Oh, not Susan. I think it's something I ordered from the stool right here. I'll be right back. Is Robert Wilder? Yes. I got a package here for you. I don't know what's in it, but it's Mark Frato. Must be glad. That's quite all right. I know what it is. Thank you. Oh, lady, just one more thing. Yes? This sounds kind of screwy, but it says on here, COD-1 Penny. That's right. COD-1 Penny. So you can say what you like, a paranoia, a schizophrenia, use all the scientific terminology that you want. I know that my wife went mad because of the bottle in her. However, I hardly expect famous psychiatrists like yourselves to believe that. As I told you, Dr. Jenkins, it's a most unusual case. I was unaware of these facts, however, when I asked you to consult with me. I understand, doctor. First, Mr. Wilder believed the bottle was inhabited by a genie, a creature. Then, through association and suggestion, his wife has led to believe the same thing. The bottle comes to her and she believes she is mad. Her malady has all the earmarks of oral suggestion. I believe that's why it is. Well, yes, yes. As in self-hypnosis. A perfect analysis, doctor Jenkins. I wish I could believe something like that. Mr. Wilder, I think I have a cure for your wife. You mean a... Do you really think you can help Susan? I believe so. If she is able to sell the bottle within the fortnight to someone else, it might cure her. Or, at least, compel her to believe she was cured. Yes, yes, that's the legend. But how could she sell the bottle? She paid one cent for it. There is no smaller monetary denomination. No, not in American money. Dr. Erickson, do you still have that English hat penny, that locked charm of yours? Hat penny. I think I see what you have in mind, doctor Jenkins. Well, yes, I still have it. Here. Oh, thank you. If the woman deludes herself that she can only be cured by selling the bottle, then I'll humor her and buy it. Excellent, doctor Jenkins. Mr. Wilder, I think we can promise to have your wife well again in a few weeks. Or in a few days, for that matter.  Just a moment, doctor. I don't quite understand you. You mean that you're going to buy the bottle? Yes, for a hat penny. But you know you'll never be able to sell it again. Sell it? You let me take care of that problem, Mr. Wilder. Go along, doctor. Doctor, wait. Don't you understand what I'm trying to tell you? If you buy that bottle, then you'll become mad. Well, I'll take my chance on that. Good night, Mr. Wilder. Doctor Jenkins. Doctor Jenkins. So he doesn't believe me. Well, I warned him. I warned him. And, doctor Jenkins, what about doctor Jenkins? Did he go mad? Well, now, what do you think? Do you think it's possible that there was something in that bottle? Or I couldn't be cut there? Still, I'd like to know how that doctor comes out, wouldn't you? Anyway, that was tonight's mystery playhouse performance, The Bottle Limb by Robert Bruce Stevenson. See, we'd better hurry down to the green room or we'll be late for the preview of our next mystery. This is Peter Lowry closing the doors to mystery playhouse. Good night. Good night.