those new babies, when I saw the blood that smeared the
plaster and floors of that room, when I saw the little twisted baby
beds, a flush of hatred swept over me, as it did over all who saw it, a
new birth of hatred that could never die until those little babies and
those mothers and the nurse are avenged. That is a Silhouette of
Sacrilege that makes the gamut complete.

There was the desecration of the holy sanctuaries; there was the
desecration of the graves of brave soldiers of France; there was the
derision of his bronze cross; there was the desecration of the most
sacred day in Christendom, Good Friday, and then the desecration of
little children, mothers of new-born babes, and nurses. Could the case
be more complete? Could Silhouettes of Sacrilege cover a wider gamut
of hatred and disgust than these silhouettes picture?

VI

SILHOUETTES OF SILENCE

Two o'clock in the morning on the sea is sometimes cold and
disagreeable, and sometimes it is glorious with wonder and beauty. But
whether it is beautiful or whether it is cold and disagreeable, at that
exact hour in the war zone on every American transport, now, every boy
is summoned on deck until daylight. This is only one of the many
precautions that the navy is taking to save life in case of a U-boat
attack. One thing that ought to comfort every mother and father in
America is the care that is manifested and the precautions that are
taken by the navy in getting the soldiers to France. One of the most
thrilling chapters of the history of this war, when it is written, will
be that chapter. And one of the most wonderful, the most colossal
feats will be the safe transportation overseas of those millions of
soldiers with so little loss of life while doing it.

And one of the best precautions is this of getting every boy up out of
the hold and out of the staterooms, officers and all, on deck, standing
by the assigned life-boats and rafts. Not a single boy remains below
in the war zone.

Day is just breaking across the sea. It is a beautiful dawning. Five
thousand American boys line the railings of a certain great transport.
They are not allowed to smoke. They do not sing. They do not talk
much. Some of them are sleepy, for the average American boy is not
used to being awakened at two in the morning. They just stand and wait
and watch through five hours of silence as the great ship plunges its
way defiantly through the danger zone, saying in so