Rescue party! Ever see men who have faced death in a leaky boat all through a black night? I'll never forget their faces--something was stamped there that will never come out--a grim, strained, white look you don't like to see. The few boats we spotted bobbed about like corks on the waves. The men were too numb to pull on their oars. They had been rowing all night. Some of them were half dressed. Once we pulled them in and helped fit them out with clothes we heard their story. They had been struck amidships by a blasted torpedo along about midnight. Their boat was a yacht something like our own; the impact of the shell blew her to a thousand bits. The men asleep were killed like rats in a trap. The few on deck managed to launch some boats and rafts before they were sucked down with the vessel. That midnight attack made our score against the Hun a little higher, not that I needed any incentive to hate him another notch. I had a vision stamped on my mind I could never forget. I could still see that black snake of a train crawling into the crowded station at Havre--hear the long-drawn grinding of the brakes and hissing of steam--see the guards keeping back the mob surging forward for a chance to welcome home its sons. There was endless noise and confusion--but occasionally you would find a silent watcher--a woman and sometimes a man, who stood motionless, staring at the cars--muscles taut, waiting for God knows what horror. Yes, you don't forget the first sight of the returned prisoners, in their worn uniforms. White-faced boys looking about eagerly for the face of friends--friends at last, after three long years! No, you never forget those battle-scarred men, with here an arm gone, or a leg--or worse, the eyes blinded forever. Oh, my God! you dream of it nights afterward; you see that endless line of maimed and broken men. . . . Hate Germans! I tell you I'm a peace-loving man and all I want is my little home, with the wife and the kids, but do you think I'd stop fighting in this war while there is yet a drop of blood left in me? Not much! I love my own too well to let them suffer as those French and Belgian women have--that's the answer! ENSIGN STAFFORD SPEAKS: A YANKEE STANDS BY I HAVEN'T anything to tell about. Being torpedoed is an old story now. Any number of men have met Fritz on the way over, and, if they haven't been quick enough, he's managed to take a shot at them, but it isn't often we fail to get a chance to return fire. Just let a periscope stick its head out of water, and I'll show you action on deck that would make a Kansas cyclone look tame--not that I've seen one. My home is in the East. The best we can boast about is a blizzard or two, and a sixty-mile gale. I enlisted as a signalman, and was assigned to duty on a merchant ship. There were two other U. S. N. signalmen aboard her, and we managed to make the time fly talking about home and the people we knew.