The Dillon herald. [volume] (Dillon, S.C.) 1894-????, 1918-03-07

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holes. leaving behind them only O.
vast listening silence. Jammed In
underground stations they waited
with ears pricked up for the good re-
assuring din of their guns I. :.
Only there was one silly young man
who walked through dark. abandon
ed strets down to the embankment
and stood. a diminutive figure lean
ing with one arm against the ancient.
unruffied oblelisk. looking up :.
At the same time, too, from every
aerodrome in the London defence area
(Which. by the way. Is not q small
circle around the metropolis, but be-
gins right smack-dab against the
North seal, fast little British chas-
ers, each with a machine gun. went
roaring up into the night, 10000
feet in ten minutes. And a criss-
cross OF many searchlights drove the
moon from the sky. And q great
many guns, mobile and immobile,
whose long, beautiful nozzles were
always trained on the sky. popped
open their little eyes. On every Brit
ish front in the world these guns are
named Archibald-the aristocratic
name of an aristocrat among guns.
Abruptly we stopped, waiting. The
telephonist called out a long jargon
of syllables, at which one had the
Londoner's instinct to stick ones
fingers into the ones ears and drive
into hole in the ground only that
there was no hole. Without taking
his eye off the beam the second lieu
tenant called them over to his SER
geant:
"Barrage! Plum pudding
-16-13!"
"Barrage! Plum puddn-Q-1s-
1913. sir"
Plum puddn-Q" and the gun
obeyed with brief, well-greased
drone. "Ninetee'. sixtee', thirtee'!"
and two ammunition runners shifted
like cats along the racks.
I'm bearing, sir!" called the ser
geant
"Gunfire!" called the second lieu.
tenant.
"Yi!" called the sergeant, and a
binding sheet Of orange lightning
ed out with an ear splitting. BRAIN
curdling concussion. "Eee!" "Yah!"
"Yi!" and another bang! Gin! Clear
Fire! the three syllables stand for, IL
that's Of any interest.) Zee yah vi
bang! Zee yah vi bang! AS fast as
the crew could feed the shells into
the breech-- ee yah vi bang! And
the hotter the better-eees yah vi
bang! One was conscious only of a
binding succession Of orange light
nings with intervals of smothering
black. One bent ones head and
writhed into the racking conclusions
as one leans into a gale. Although
the sharpest memory one retains
memory seized in the split fraction
of seconds the figure of the
second lieutenant. standing like a
marbel statute against the concus-
sions, his eyes fixed wide open on the
unruffled beam.
Zee yah vi bang!-it is the song
of the barrage.
Nine minutes of it passed.
"Stopfire! land hotly to the tele-
phonist) Get on to Controll!"
''Thirty-two fifty" droned a brand
new voice from out among the man
gold wurzels-the height finder dron-
ing to the range dial man. The long
drawn whistle Of the last shell, dy-
Ing. left the night to a distant, bassa-
profundo purr-a purr that attract
ed searchlight beams as a magnet
attracts iron filings. In fact, the
second lieutenant never took his
eyes of it where 1t was swimming
hither and thither in the great white
lake the beam painted in the sky,
some $4,000 yards away. like an agi-
tated goldfish in a bowl
"Thirty-two hundred"
Control. sir!'
"Wanta speak to the staff cap
tain!" But the staff captain had seen
1t. too. and had lain on it an entire
octave OF the keyboard Of lights and
guns which were at his finger-tips.
"Tihrty-one fifty"
In bearing, sir!"
"Gunfire!"
Cyl" and another of those orange
colored conclusions. Zee yah vi
bang! Zee yah vi bang! 1t was
merely the rial burst.
Stophre! (and to himself) By
God. we can't miss it," 1t was the
moment Of his greatest glory, the
savage glory OF a target in the beam.
Thirty fifty"
Thirty hundred"
I'm bearing, sir"
''Gunfire!"
'41!' and bang! Zee yah vi bang!
Zee yah vi bang! Lord, corrected