The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1915-06-03
MACHINES AND THE MAN
By FRANK FILsoN.


IOE rev minutes ne IOrSOt 10 De
afraid. He lay upon his face behind
the little shelter which he had dug
with his sword, waiting for the COM
mand to charge. On either side of
him he could see his men lying down,
also waiting, and adjusting tho mech
anism of their rifles.
He was lying amid a pandemoni-
UNI Of noises. The heavy shells from
the guns roared over him necessarily.
Mingled with these sounds came that
of the smaller artillery. a defying
screech that set his teeth on edge.
And with these, but blending. as it
were, was the boot of rifle bullets,
now overhead, now low beside him,
occasionally varied with squirt of
dust as bullet struck the ground.
Rycroft, being an imaginative boy,
had anticipated the stunning horrors
of battle. He knew that it would re-
Quire all a mans resolution to face
them. Still, he came of a military
family, and he had believed that
when his time came, he would not be
proved wanting.
But this actual experience was more
terrifying than anything he had ever
conceived. AS he lay there, helpless,
conscious that men were looking to
him for leadership, he felt his blood
turning to water. He was shaking,
he felt the sweat stream down his
face.
He had imagined a battle of men,
but this was a battle of machines.
1t was machines that were vomiting
out that hail Of bullets, that fury Of
shells. Machines, which had caught
him in their internal snare and were
bent on his destruction. And the en-.
envy was not anywhere in sight
Suddenly shrill whistle blew. II
was the signal for the attack Ry.
| croft leaped to his feet. with the au.
tomatism born of his camp training.
The men had sprung up on either side
| of him. The boot of the bullets was
terrible. 1t seemed a miracle that he
had escaped thus far.
He saw men begin to drop on either
side. The sergeant, next to him, flung
up his rifle, spun round, and collapsed
upon his face. Stories began to recur
| to the lieutenant's mind. He had heard
that men always spun round that
way when shot through the brain. He
saw the blood upon the sergeant's
head.
His knees would hardly bear him.
He heard his voice shouting com.
mands to his men. and did not recog.
nize it for his own, or know how II
issued from his lips. He did not
know what he was saying, and list
ened for the words Forward, boys!'
he was shouting.
He halted and crouched low. The
line had swept into an exposed angle
among the trees, and all the fire Of
the enemy was concentrated here. II
was hard to go forward, was becom
ing impossible. The men were lying
Town again, kneeling, firing. The fig
lres of the officers and non-comf
were seen, urging them to rise. Blu,
every man who stood upon his feet
withered under that internal bullet
stream. Rycroft saw the captain &C
down. The machines were winning
the victory.
And a sitting rage against this des
tiny rose in his heart and choked his
throat. He sprang to his feet and
shook his fist In the direction of the
cannon.
forward, boys!" he screamed. this
time with intent and not automatical
ly He began to run forward. his
knees quite steady now.
He heard the whole line rise to its
feet and follow him He realized that
his anger had communicated itself to
his followers. The same spirit had
seized upon the entire company, and
spread from company to company
throughout the regiment
As he ran he began to see the en-
envy for the first time. He saw long
lines of figures leap from Their
trenches to repel the attack. And he
became aware, too. that the shells
had ceased. The lines were too close
together, and the hostile gunners
could fire no longer for fear of hurt
ing their own men
It was bayonet against bayonet. The
attackers we're upon the trenches OF
the enemy. The machines had ceased
to act 1t was the men behind the
machines now, and these were pow
erless.
Suddenly Rycroft realized that. He
saw that the same moral force and
will-power were there, as on the foot
bali field, as at Crecy and Waterloo
The machine was, by itself, an i'm
potent, dead thing. 1t was only the
man that counted.
He was mixed with the melee. He
was in the heart of the stabbing as
sault. Bayonet crossed bayonet. He
saw everything as in a dream. He
was conscious of an inner personality
serene and quiet, in the heart Of the
storm He saw himself cut down a
man at a machine gun, who was aim
ing a rifle at him. He saw the en-
emy's lines break, surge backward;
he saw the defenders in wild retreat
pursued by his own men.
And he was standing alone, un
wounded, in the center of a painting
cheering throng. They were cheering
him. His sword was broken. and he
did not know how he had broken it
But he knew that he had found him.
self, the human personality. without
which the machines were SO many