so of the wounded, but killing only a small number.

But the largest number of "effective" or successful explosives fell directly upon and among the tents of the medical staff; and, when I again visited the hospital a month or two afterwards, I was shown a great hole in the ground in the middle of the medical quarters, where a huge bomb had crashed into the tent of an American surgeon, exploded almost underneath his cot where he was peacefully sleeping, and literally blown him into fragments. Another surgeon in the next tent had a leg so badly shattered, involving the knee joint, that he had to be invalided home. Several other surgeons were wounded but none seriously.

As the German airmen planed swiftly up from their last cannonade they threw down a dozen handfuls of copper coins-German pfennigs and a few of our American cents. The meaning of this extraordinary performance frankly puzzled me; but the surgeons who told me of it had no doubt whatever of what it meant, and furiously resented it. According to them, it was a sign message: "Here, you dollar-hunting American dogs, you came into this war for money. Help yourself. This is your price." The doctors seemed even more annoyed about this incident than they did about the actual bombs, which, as they said with a shrug of the shoulders, was only what one had to expect if one went to war with the Boche.

By a singular coincidence, three of the members of the medical staff happened to be on special detail at a casualty clearing station just behind. the fighting lines. That very same night the station was severely bombed and all three of the American surgeons had an extremely narrow escape. A huge 200-pound bomb, of the "flyingpig" type, exploded right in the middle of the sleeping tents, but by a most merciful coincidence, the doctors had all gathered in the mess tent about thirty yards away where they were holding a meeting of the local hospital medical society. The discussion proved absorbing and so protracted that, at about 1.15 A.M., one of the participating members stepped to the door of the mess tent and shouted across to Dr. X-(who had had a very hard day in the operating-room and had retired to his cot) urgently inviting him to return, saying that refreshments were to be served, or at least that a pot of some kind was about to be opened,

and didn't he want to get in it, which sounds confusing. But then army language is always very strange. The recumbent doctor, who had not yet fallen asleep, protested feebly, but upon being urged that he was really needed "to take a hand"probably assist in some special surgical operation— he grumblingly rose and tottered across to the main mess tent. Hardly had he gotten inside the door when there was a flash, a tremendous bang, a "Whoosh!" that nearly flattened the mess tent, and when the members of the medical society picked themselves up, and went to see "where that one hit," they found, in the place of the tent and cot which had just been vacated by Dr. X-, a hole in the ground large enough to have buried an elephant in, and not one scrap or fragment of the tent, the cot, the doctor's clothing and his kit to be found anywhere!

The following morning Dr. X― made a careful search over all that region of the camp. With the assistance of his friends, he succeeded in recovering a sufficient number of the fragments of his clothing, kit, and personal belongings to about half fill his steel helmet a piece of his razor, the heel of one of his shoes, half a collar, a sliver of his shaving glass-and these, with the clothing he had on when he walked. across to the mess tent, constituted his entire earthly possessions.

Another curious feature about this particular attack was that a new type of bomb was dropped, in addition to the "flying pigs," which, instead of exploding upward and driving out its fragments in the direction of the sticks of a fan, exploded horizontally and sent its fragments fiendishly whizzing along about six inches above the surface of the ground. The surgeons told me that, in several of the tents, the boots and shoes which were on the floor were cut to pieces, and tent pegs were shattered into kindling wood, while objects a foot or more above the ground were unhurt and untouched. In one particular tent, nearly a hundred feet away from the site of the explosion, the legs were cut right out from under a couple of cots, dropping the canvas and blankets on the floor untorn and unmarked. Some of them said that the bomb appeared to be a boomerang or whirling knife-bladed propeller kind of contraption, having the power when exploded to send its parts skating or "planing" fifty, sixty, or even a hundred feet away from the site of the explosion.

station at Tarnopol-Tarnopol, the bloodiest, grimmest name up to now on all the fronts in all the war-drawing a private car, in which were the American officers who had come to see the drive. It was a quiet, pleasant Saturday evening, June 30, 1917, and the townsfolk were moving peaceably about the streets, little suspecting the impending terrors that were to make the name of their town synonymous with horror in all Russian history. Automobiles Automobiles were waiting at the station and through the long, white, Russian evening the American military men, under guidance of polite Russian officers, rode to the scene of the morrow's conflict.

And thus, on Sunday morning, July 1st, we find them crouched in the wheat field, awaiting the charge in the valley below them. No war correspondents were there, and I have had to take General Scott's own story of what he saw that day. He told it to me a few days later in a great, high-ceiling room, in the Winter Palace.

"My party went to the observation post at eight o'clock in the morning. It was a dugout, and it was so full of Russian officers that we felt we were in the way. It was a tremendously important time for the Russians, so we removed ourselves to a wheat field on a hillside, crouched in the grain and kept our glasses fixed on the trenches half a mile away. A tremendous artillery fire began exactly at nine o'clock from thousands of guns. In the midst of all the tumult I noticed a horse grazing in the field near by, unheeding the noise. The Russian trenches suddenly became alive with men, who leaped out and ran forward.

In a

'After five minutes they disappeared into the Austrian trenches. To our astonishment we saw men climbing out of the Austrian trenches and running to the Russian trenches as fast as they could go. We thought the Russians had got hit in the eye. But it was quite the reverse. near by telephone post they had gotten word that hese men who were running back were Austrian prisoners. After half an hour the battle lost itself in a great forest and we could see no more of it, so we sent back to headquarters to discover what had happened.

And what had happened?

Those oncharging regiments, which the American officers saw from their wheaten nests, were, in most part, Czechoslovaks. All of All of them, indeed, had once been Russian prisoners, soldiers of the Austrian army, who had been captured by Russian troops or had gone over to them in various battles on the eastern front.

If the American officers on that hillside could have seen into the minds and hearts of those onrushing, gray-clad soldiers, they would

have found therein a dream and a prayer for a new and free Bohemia. An ancient mistake -made in 1526, when the Bohemian people elected a traitorous Hapsburg as their king, and put themselves finally into the clutches of Austria and Hungary-was what these men had in mind as, under the gaze of those American eyes, they went into battle.

And what was happening across the way, when the hordes of men, in Austrian uniform, climbed out and hurried to the Russian line so eagerly that General Scott thought they must be retreating Russians? A thousand small but thrilling things that could not be seen in detail toward the distant hillside. Captain Furlinger, a Czechoslovak, met his brother over there, a soldier in the Austrian army. Within five minutes the brother had shed his Austrian garments, had put on the Russian uniform, donated by a wounded soldier, and was dashing ahead against the Austrians. Another Czechoslovak soldier, with bayonet upraised to kill an Austrian, suddenly cried, "Father!" and, dropping his gun, kissed the Austrian soldier he had been ready to kill. There were thousands of Czechoslovaks in those Austrian trenches, thousands of greetings and cheers of joy. Kerensky had known where to strike.

At the end of that drive, in which 28,000 prisoners were taken, there were in all Russia more than 300,000 Czechoslovaks, who, at various times and occasions, had gone over from the Austrian armies to the Russian; men more desperately pro-Ally through their hatred of Austria and Germany and their hopes of Bohemian freedom than men of many others of the Allied armies. And, on that day, they won their spurs; on that day, while the American soldiers watched them fight-for there was good hard fighting to do, with plenty of real Austrians and real Germans to slay-they gained the right to form a Bohemian national army. Through the following days the world, on its map of Russia, watched them fight their way to Halicz and take it? The news went forth that the Russian giant had been awakened at last. The Germans and the Austrians sent floods of reserves to strengthen their lines.

And then came Tarnopol.

Three Czechoslovak regiments, at the very front, were bracing themselves to take the shock of an oncoming German drive, and save the menaced city of Tarnopol. Behind and alongside them were Russian regiments. As the fighting grew hot for a certain regiment of Russians it broke and fled. The enemy poured in through the hole they had made. Behind the Czechoslovaks the Russians began to re