New-York tribune., 1917-10-21
Trip Has All the Joys OF
Touring in a Stone Crusher
Plus Several Kinds OF
Danger
To Grasp for Support When
Jolted or Tipped Means To
Be Bitten, Burned or
Spiked
BY Floyd Gibbons


Bill did. The vibrations Of the heavy
motor increased to a convulsive fury
until the outlines of the big cylinders
jumped and jiggled before my eyes
The rasping and grating of the strain
ing gears made an inferno OF sound
in our steel she'll. Lurch left-Jerk'
right-a jolt forward-a dip downward,
and I was launched on my maiden
trip in his majesty's land ship. the
Tank.
The Duke of Denmark referred to
bv Bill was a military observer IN
Danish uniform, or maybe it was For
tuguese-who was a silent member OF
the party for whom the demonstra'
ton was being held. The interior
observations of the operations OF the
tank had been unanimously deiega'ea
to me. The exhibition was staged IN
an especially prepared testing grou"d
behind the British lines in France
A Gigantic Hog wallow
This parade ground Of tanks would
bring Joy to the heart OF hlppop0Va-
mus. 1t was gigantic hog wallow
in which these dripping, bespatteIeo
monsters with their riveted scaies
waddled and frolicked through pts oil
bottomless mud and slime down into
and UP out of water-tilled shell crat-
ers and over trenches and gullies'
Such terrain is as native 70 the tank
as the plains were for the puHslo'
The tank is a cross between an arma-
dillo and a steel Jail. A glacier
moves a little bit slower, but with no
greater intention of getting ,where IL
is going than does this modern mo-
loch of might.
To the imperviousness Of many
there is German compliment to the
effect that a can opener hasn't yet
been invented that can force an en-
trance. Hindenburg's motive experts
may simulate the movements OF tne
tanks entry by lowering themselves
through a sidewalk coal hole or crawl
ing I'd the chimney Of an open FIRE.
place. After that a sensation OF
occupancy may be experienced by
trip through a linen mangler or few
minutes repose in the industrious IN
nards of busy thrashing machine. !
can see no future for pleasure travel
in these tanks after the war. doubt
whether it will ever enter the lists or
peace time sports.
How Interior Looks
Dragging behind me two mud
anchors that had been my boots, | had
wormed my way into the gaseous in
terror of the "busy beetle" which name
amply described this armor plates
reptile. The operating crew, among
whom was Bill, was in position, each
member niched in mechanical
Granny criss-crossed with levers and
studded with switch boxes. On all
sides, above and below, right and left,
in front and behind, were wheels and
cogs, pulleys, belts and gear chains.
The available open-wall space was
taken up with drawers containing
folded belts of machine gun ammuni-
ton resembling the. looped hose of an
emergency fire apparatus.
The busy beetle has the steady
stride of stone crusher. Her for
ward movement is as relentless as
time, but not as fighty. She is one
idea animal, concerned only with the
accomplishment of getting there and
not bothered about any time element:
Through machine gun slit | peered
out on the sea of mud on which we
were sailing. Slowly the horizon,
visible from the aperture, began to
tip up on one end and the illusion
was puzzftng until dispelled by the
realization that the busy beetle was
on the dive. Over, forward or down.
ward progress was slSw and easy until
the machine poised on the lip Of a
large crater with its dripping prov
projected far over the edge.
Always Keeps Her Feet
Slowly our centre of gravity sd-
vanced over bridge and then silently
the bulk of unmentionable tons toppled
into the pit. With a splash and grunt
that sounded like the snort OF seals,
she landed almost on her nose, which
as quickly became her new ground base.
While the motor quiyered with an
attack of the jumps, the gears shrieked
and groaned as though locked in death
grips with one another. The tank
crossed the marshy bottom of the
crater and pushed up on the opposite
side. She took the ascent easily.
Pushing her muzzle high out of the
hole, she gained the brink. balanced
there a moment and then lowered her
nose for a straight-away or the next
hazard.
Aviators who loop the loop are
strapped to their seats, but the extra
passenger in tank is privileged to roll
around like a die in box, with per-
mission to steady himself with what
ever he can lay his hands on. All
available grips, however, are snares for
the uninitiated. To grasp one Of them
r tn ha
or spiked. | say this in tender memory
of a hot exhaust pipe which | en-
braced when the tank dived. But its
embrace and its consequent burns
saved me from the yawning of some
devouring gears in whose direction
had been jolted. Bill seemed to derive
much poorly concealed mirth over the
sizzling imprint of my blistered fingers
on the pipe.
Guns Drown Noise
| thought that the noise inside the
tank was deafening. At the conclu-
sion of the trip Bill told me | was
all wrong. "We don't mind noise" he
said. you see when she goes into
real action the rattle of our machine
You can't hear a sound Of it" II must
be admitted that there is sound and
then again there is noise.
But inside of the tank-its i'm
pressions on the senses Of sight, hear
ing and feeling are not for descrip-
tion. Only the imagination can COM
prehend place where the horns of
the well-known dilemma are spiked
and red hot, where metal dogs and
cats growl and snap at you, where
every hole and aperture is a mouth
piece for groans and Kisses, where the
air is heated to fumigation and the
light is of that place where Moses
stood in deshabille. where cogs grind