“‘Yas, sir, dass right; only I thought maybe you had “Sampson” by mistake.’” He jested about them freely, did Colonel Hayward, but the jests were of a kind to betray the intense pride he felt in the soldierly character and spirited daring of the men under him. The Hun learned to regard with wholesome fear a charge of Hayward’s “bellhops and waiters,” as he styled them. At the beginning of the war there were only 750 officers, 393 nurses, and 3,619 enlisted men belonging to the Medical Department of the American Army. In November, 1918, the corresponding figures were 39,363 officers, 21,344 nurses, and 245,652 enlisted men. In the 19 months elapsing from the declaration of the war to the signing of the armistice the American Army created an embarkation service which succeeded in shipping overseas 2,075,834 men, and 5,153,000 tons of cargo. During the whole period of active hostilities the American Army lost at sea only 200,000 deadweight tons of transports. Of this total, 142,000 tons were sunk by torpedoes. No American transport was lost on its eastward voyage. GOOD OLD POTTS One of the Men the British Took to Gallipoli to Show Their Grit Private Frederick Potts did a V. C. bit at Gallipoli. An attack was being made on a very strongly fortified Turkish position, a sector stretching from Hill 70 to Hill 112. Potts was in the advance on Hill 70. It was a terrible day. The heat was intense. The country was uncommonly difficult, largely sand and scrub, the scrub being so parched that it took fire in many places from the shell fire, and in crossing these patches some of the men who fell wounded were burned to death. Potts’ section was ascending Hill 70 in short spurts, making occasional halts. After taking shelter in a little gulley, it was ordered to charge. Potts rushed forward with his comrades; but he had not gone more than twenty yards when he was shot down, a bullet having entered the left thigh. Potts was then about a quarter of a mile from the top of the hill. He was lucky enough to be lying in a little thicket formed of the scrub, and this gave him some sort of shelter and hid him from view. Not long after he fell there crawled towards him a fellow-townsman, who was badly wounded. Potts recognized him. “Is that you, Andrews?” he said. “Yes,” came the feeble answer. “I’m jolly pleased you’ve come,” said Potts. Then Andrews dragged himself as close as he could get—he had been shot through the groin—and the two lay perfectly still for some minutes fully expecting that the Turks would find and kill them.