Dunstan and Chase, startled, faced him.
"Well, what's the latest sensation?" cried Chase.
"Didn't you see it?"
"See what?" queried Dunstan, excitedly.
"A light—a light flashing in one of the windows of the château."
"A light flashing in one of the windows!"
"Yes, yes; as sure as I'm standing here I saw a streak of light."
Although neither Dunstan nor Chase had observed it they were by no means incredulous. If some one had been in the château before, why not now?
There was something very strange—very mysterious in the whole affair. To the minds of the Red Cross men it became quite clear that the person, or persons, had known of their presence in the building and purposely kept out of their way, though for what reason, of course, none could conjecture.
"And so the adventure continues!" exclaimed Chase, rather slowly.
"Curious—curious indeed!" murmured Dunstan.
Don Hale's eyes were dilated with excitement and interest.
"Yes, sir, I just happened to catch it!" he cried. "A bright spot appeared for a single instant—then was gone. Shall we go back and investigate?"
"I certainly haven't the slightest intention of doing so," responded Chase, most emphatically. "Besides, what good would it do? Whoever is there would probably keep out of sight the same as they did before."
Don thereupon appealed to Dunstan.
The latter, however, shook his head.
"I reckon Chase is right," he replied.
Full of the ardor of youth and possessing in addition an adventurous spirit, the aviator's son, considerably disappointed, argued, pleaded and protested, and it is very probable that but for Chase Manning Dunstan would have willingly acceded to his wishes.
At length the youngest ambulancier, philosophically resigning himself to defeat, declared:
"Boys, I won't rest until I find out what it all means."
"Then I think you'll have to go without rest for a mighty long time," quoth Chase.
Long and earnestly the three stared toward the château, expecting and hoping to see a repetition of the light.
All the windows, however, remained but blank, gloomy patches of dark.
"Too little of this sort of thing is more than enough," declared Chase, presently. "It may take a German marmite or two to drive you chaps away, but not yours truly. En avant! Allons! Skip!"
"All right, mon generale," laughed Don. "Good-bye, old château!" He bowed and waved his hand toward the building. "When shall we four meet again?"
"I wonder!" said Dunstan, meditatively.
Down the gentle slope they went, soon discovering that the road, deeply shadowed in places by the thick woods on either hand, swung sharply around in a westerly direction. And not once during their journey through the great park could another glimpse of the Château de Morancourt be obtained.
The high ornamental wrought iron gate at the end of the carriage road was securely locked, but the ambulanciers, being both nimble and athletic, very easily climbed over the high stuccoed wall and lowered themselves into a rather narrow and dusty highway.
Dunstan promptly consulted his map, and having determined what route to follow, led the way.
To a stranger in the war zone that walk through the French countryside would undoubtedly have been a memorable one; for every now and again the booming of the artillery increased in violence, the sky flared with strange lights and more than once the ears of the ambulanciers caught the sinister scream of a shell; but familiarity with such things had served to dull the boys' sense of danger.
A battery to the north suddenly started into action, fired a number of rounds with tremendous rapidity, then relapsed into silence.
"We are living in a great age," declared Dunstan.
"It is certainly a little grating to some," said Chase.
A half hour's journey through a devastated country brought the Red Cross men to a little one-street village.
During their sojourn in northern France both Don and Dunstan had seen many ruined towns and villages, but in none was the destruction so complete as here. The pale moonlight streaming over this once peaceful little hamlet revealed indescribable havoc. Some buildings had been blown to pieces; of others but a few bits of jagged wall remained; almost everywhere piles of débris littered the ground and enormous shell-holes lined the disused road. This village was indeed a forlorn and melancholy-looking place. Not a sign of life! Not a sound to indicate the presence of other human beings. And yet, as the steady footfalls of the three Americans rang out on the cobbled pave, an animal scurrying into view from behind a wall dashed across their path. They had an instantaneous view of a pair of gleaming yellow eyes turned inquiringly toward them. Then the animal continued its wild course along the road, to disappear presently around the bend.
"Poor cat! What an eventful existence it must have had!" commented Dunstan. "Just think of the sensations the creature probably experienced when its intellectual superiors were pelting this place with shells!"
"From the looks of things one might suppose that nothing else escaped alive," remarked Don, walking across the street in order to gaze upon a conspicuous sign placed on the front of a tottering wall.
"Cave de Refuge"
"An echo of something that has passed!" said Dunstan. "No doubt at one time the cave, as the French call a cellar, served a very useful purpose. Allons—allons!"
Turning the bend, the three unexpectedly came upon a huge camion[9]resting on its side, the bluish-gray shadow of its massive form streaking fantastically across the road.
"Another symbol of the twentieth century!" growled Chase.
There could be no question as to what had happened: three wheels and a part of the rear of the vehicle had been destroyed, and the days of that particular camion were over forever.
The Red Cross men gathered around the battered object, once so powerful, now so inert and powerless, and speculated as to the consequences which had followed its destruction. What had happened to the drivers? Was that camion a temporary monument marking the spot where some obscure heroes had fallen?
"That's another thing we'll never know," said Dunstan, thoughtfully, after Don had given expression to such reflections.
Even to the aviator's son and the art student, who had had many unusual experiences in the war zone, there was something very strange and unique in going through a village so absolutely devoid of life. The utter silence, the wreck and ruin about them, the ghostly lights and bluish shadows half revealing, half concealing the details, all seemed to impart an air of curious unreality to the scene.
Continuing on, the ambulanciers were often compelled to climb over piles of wreckage which stretched across the entire width of the street, and their feet occasionally kicked up fragments of shells. Toward the center of the village the destruction was even more complete, and yet, strangely enough, not far beyond a roofless, spireless little church stood a gray, stuccoed building almost intact. Across the façade was painted in bold, black letters:
"Au Cheval NoirCafé and Restaurant"
"By George! What a kind fate has hovered over that place!" cried Don.
"Don't worry. Old Mars will get it yet," rejoined Chase.
"From the sublime to the ridiculous—the Château de Morancourt and the Cheval Noir!" put in Dunstan. "Let us visit the place."
"Of course," laughed Don.
The boys had not the slightest difficulty in following out the plan, as there was no door to bar their progress. Don led the way inside; and the three had only advanced a few feet into the shadowy interior when they heard an animal scurrying rapidly about, and the next instant a dark form, but dimly seen in the gloom, dashed frantically across the floor, whisked out into the roadway and was gone.
"Hello!—that cat again!" exclaimed Dunstan. "We seem to be seriously disturbing the poor creature's peace of mind. Turn on the light, Don."
A click sounded; then the flash-light, cutting a passage through the darkness, fell across a number of chairs and tables.
"Remarkable!" exclaimed Dunstan. "Apparently not a thing disturbed!"
"Yes, sir, it looks just exactly as if the Cheval Noir was open and ready for business," declared Don.
"Too bad it isn't!" sighed Chase. "I'm just in the mood for a jolly big meal."
"Oh, garçon, a bifteck aux pommes! Des haricots blancs! Une tasse de café noir!" sang out Don.
"If you order any more beefsteak and potatoes, beans and coffee there's going to be a right lively disturbance in the Cheval Noir," chuckled the art student. "I didn't realize before how hungry I was. Be seated, Messieurs. The treat is on me."
Thereupon the ambulanciers dropped into chairs which were ranged alongside a marble-topped table.
The interior of the Cheval Noir was decidedly typical of French inns. Facing the door stood a long counter, and its metal portions gleamed, sparkled and shone as Don's light played across their surfaces. Even the big clock which had once solemnly ticked off the passage of time hung in its place on the wall behind the counter.
"Another unusual experience!" drawled Dunstan. "How odd it is to be sitting here, monarchs of all we survey, and yet with nothing but a cozy inviting appearance to give us cheer. Say what you will, fellows, an air of comfort pervades these places that our up-to-date establishments in the new world sometimes seem to lack."
"And by way of compensation they also lack the cobwebs and the dirt," said Chase, dryly. "I can just imagine this inn in the heyday of its existence. Around these tables were probably seated a noisy, gesticulating lot of peasants, and chickens, enjoying the rights of democracy, wandered in and out. Oh, yes—'twas the simple life, all right, with the emphasis on the simple."
"Ecoutez—ecoutez!" broke in Don suddenly.
"But why should we listen, mon ami?" demanded Dunstan.
"Another sensation, I suppose!" cried Chase.
"I heard footsteps just outside."
"By all that's wonderful—footsteps in a deserted village!" cried Dunstan.
"Yes—yes." The aviator's son raised his voice. "Hello—hello! Qui est la?"
"Entrez—entrez, Monsieur, or Messieurs!" exclaimed Dunstan.
The Red Cross men did not wait to see whether their invitation would be accepted or not but, rising, made a concerted and rather precipitous rush for the door.
Before they had reached it, however, a tall dark form suddenly loomed up in the opening, and the rays of Don's light fell full on the face of a poilu.
Rather startled at being received in such an unceremonious fashion, the soldier abruptly halted, then, recovering himself, exclaimed in a deep, musical voice:
"Bon soir, Messieurs! From your accent I should judge that I have the honor of addressing Americans."
"Yes," laughed Don. "We belong to the Red Cross."
The man was attired in the uniform of a private, but it forcibly struck the aviator's son that not since he had come to France had he encountered a private of such distinguished mien and bearing. The Frenchman, tall and dark, wore a pointed Van Dyke beard. His features were aquiline; his eyes sharp and piercing. It could be readily seen at a glance that he was not one to be treated in an offhand and jocular fashion.
"We have been taking possession of the Cheval Noir," exclaimed Dunstan. "Will you not enter and keep us company for a while?"
"Quite willingly," assented the poilu, stepping inside.
The three reseated themselves at the table, while the soldier, pulling out a chair at the end, made himself comfortable.
"I suppose you are off duty, and, as a relaxation from your dangerous work, have been taking a stroll about the country?" he said, politely.
"Quite correct, Monsieur," replied Don.
Then the newcomer, in a suave and polished manner, began to make many inquiries concerning their particular section of the Red Cross, as well as about their personal experiences at the front. Finally Don, in his turn, put a question to the poilu.
"Monsieur," he asked, "have you ever seen the Château de Morancourt?"
"Who in this locality has not?" responded the other, laconically.
"We had a very curious experience there to-night," pursued Don.
"Indeed! May I inquire the nature of it?"
"Bien sure, Monsieur."
Thereupon Don began a spirited description of the puzzling event, to all of which the Frenchman, though by no means exhibiting the interest which the boy had expected, listened with respectful attention. At his conclusion the soldier laughed dryly and commented:
"As you say, quite a curious experience—the kind which would have a tendency to jar one's nerves. But what is strange and weird in the darkness and mystery of the night becomes by day the ordinary and the commonplace. How is it, mes Americaines, that you came to visit the château?"
"Because of the mystery," replied Don.
"The mystery?"
"Yes. Haven't you heard that a very valuable collection of paintings and other things completely disappeared from the place, and that so far no one has been able to discover the slightest trace of them?"
"And did you think you might help to solve such a perplexing problem?" exclaimed the soldier, half banteringly. "Ah, les Americaines are quite wonderful! And I might remark, en passant, that you ran a very great risk—a very great risk indeed. It is undoubtedly true that the Germans are keeping a watchful eye on the Château de Morancourt. But you probably will not venture to go there again?"
"Of course we shall," laughed Don.
"And the reason?"
"Possibly we might be able to find some clue after all."
"You weigh curiosity against danger and decide on the former, although knowing that the château may be destroyed at any moment?"
"Yes, Monsieur," said Don.
All the while the aviator's son had been wondering to what regiment this very distinguished-looking soldier of France might belong, but just as he was about to make some diplomatic inquiries the poilu rose to his feet, saying:
"I am glad to have had the opportunity of meeting you. Now I must say good-bye. Perhaps the hazards of war may bring us together again, but if not, allow me to take this occasion of wishing you continued immunity from shot and shell, as well as a safe return to your native country."
And then, after shaking hands with each in turn, he quickly walked outside.
"Quite an odd character!" pronounced Dunstan.
"And a very gentlemanly one," said Don.
"A little too high-toned for me," declared Chase.
The ambulanciers rose in a body, and presently, upon reaching the road, saw the poilu headed in the direction of the château, and, strangely enough, the cat was close at his heels.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Dunstan. "Not very complimentary to us, eh? We terrified the poor cat, while it follows the Frenchman like a creditor. I'd like to know where he's bound."
"To the Château de Morancourt, of course," drawled Chase.
"What makes you think so?"
"Take it from me, that, while he didn't say very much, Don's tale impressed him a whole lot—enough, I'll wager, to make him 'weigh curiosity against danger and decide on the former.'"
"That may be a pretty good guess," agreed Don.
The three idly watched the Frenchman until he had disappeared, and then, refreshed by their rest, began walking at a lively pace along the road.
The outskirts of the ruined village were soon reached and passed.
From the summit of a rather high hill they stopped to gaze upon an extensive panorama of the surrounding country. The object which excited their greatest interest was the upper portion of the wrecked tower of the ancient château, which rose, a somber, grim patch, just above an irregular line of shadowy and mysterious-looking trees.
"How fine it is!" exclaimed Don, enthusiastically.
"The only thing it lacks is a few spectral lights," declared Chase.
"And I have no doubt if we waited here long enough they'd appear," returned Dunstan.
The Americans turned away from the view, which even the growling of the distant guns and the war rockets could not rob of a peaceful grandeur, and continued their march.
Very soon a singularly picturesque and interesting scene appeared before their eyes. On the slopes of the opposite ridges was an immense encampment of soldiers—a little tented city, as it were. Row after row of tents stood out pale and ghost-like in the moonlight, and from innumerable camp-fires hazy columns of smoke floated upward, to lose themselves against the steely-blue tones of the sky. Here and there tethered horses, no doubt belonging to the artillery, could be seen, though but few of the poilus were visible.
"Charming!" exclaimed Dunstan. "Perhaps that is the very place to which our soldier visitor belongs."
"Perhaps," agreed Chase. "But I'm not going to do any more wondering to-night."
"At any rate we have a story to tell that will set all the fellows at the section to wondering," laughed the aviator's son.
Down the incline they went, branching off about a quarter of an hour later into a military highway, though, owing to the clearness of the night, there was little traffic moving in either direction. Now and again, however, they heard the steady, rhythmic tramp of marching feet and encountered small bodies of troops passing along. The moonlight glistened on rifles and accouterments, and its rays were strong enough to disclose dogged, grave expressions on the faces of these poilus, some of whom, perhaps before very long, would take their places on the firing line.
A railway ran by the side of the road, and occasionally miniature locomotives and trains journeyed past, the puffing of the engines blending with numerous other sounds which came over the air.
The ambulanciers did not hurry, and as every sentry stationed along the road brought them to a halt by a demand to see their passes, the hour was quite late when they finally saw the picturesque outlines of the Hotel de la Palette looming up in the distance.
"We've had quite a day of it," quoth Don.
"We've had quite a night of it," said Chase.
"We've had some experiences we shall not forget in a hurry," declared the art student.
Arriving at the section headquarters the three found that during their absence a high-explosive shell had torn a big hole in the eastern wall of the structure, whereupon Dunstan remarked, reflectively:
"Well, there's certainly nothing dull about life in the war zone!"
Several days passed, during which Don, Dunstan and Chase saw duty at the outpost. For the most part of the time the sector remained comparatively calm, though occasionally the big guns on both sides pounded away in a fashion that suggested the beginning of a real curtain of fire.
Don and the young chap from Maine were now working together on number eight, Dunstan and "Tiny" Mason having been assigned by Chief Wendell to take charge of ambulance number three.
All of the Red Cross drivers mentioned made several trips to the field hospital, but on none of their runs did they encounter any very thrilling adventures.
Don Hale had not forgotten the artillery officer's invitation to visit the battery; so when the day on which he was to be en repos rolled around he declared his intention of putting the plan into immediate execution.
"Not for me," drawled Chase. "I'm going to read all day and forget there is such a thing as war."
Dunstan, on the other hand, was decidedly enthusiastic.
"Sure, I'm going," he declared.
"Bully for you!" cried Don. "Hooray! We'll have a dandy time."
Immediately after breakfast the two left the Hotel de la Palette, and in due course reached that section of the country where the battery was located. By the aid of information which a sentry kindly gave them the boys discovered Lieutenant D'Arraing conversing with the crew of one of the big guns located behind a group of trees. His eyes brightened at their approach.
"Ah, bon jour, mes Americaines!" he cried, in cordial accents. "Your visit is very well timed indeed—unless you have already run into so much danger that you do not care to risk any more."
"Try us, and see," said Don, smilingly.
"I will take you at your word. One of our airplane observers brought in a report to the effect that he has very strong suspicions that the Germans have erected a wireless station on a certain building behind their trenches."
"Aha!" exclaimed Dunstan, interestedly.
"Of course we cannot permit any such liberty; so the captain and I shall shortly be off to an observation post, in order to spot the bursts of smoke from the shells when the work of putting that wireless plant out of commission is begun."
Don Hale's eyes sparkled. Hopefully and with much anticipation he awaited the lieutenant's next words, and they were exactly what he wanted to hear.
"I should be pleased to have you come along."
"Well, we'll be mighty glad to do so," cried the boy, delightedly.
"No mistake about that," chimed in Dunstan.
"Good! But I must warn you in advance that there is a very grave element of risk."
"That doesn't scare us a bit," laughed Don.
"It is settled, then. Here, let me show you." Lieutenant D'Arraing unrolled a military map and spread it out on the top of a row of bushes. Then calling the boys' attention to a numbered pencil mark on its surface, he added: "This is where our observer locates the wireless station of the Boches."
Don and Dunstan studied the map with great interest.
"How extraordinarily detailed it is!" cried the former.
"Yes; the position of every clump of trees and even of single ones is indicated—in fact such small things as hedges have not been omitted. Our game is very exacting, you know."
To the ordinary eye the map was quite confusing, for besides the multiplicity of typographical details there were numerous red and blue lines branching off from various points.
"What do they mean?" queried Don.
"The location of certain batteries and their range," explained the artillery officer. "Now, kindly step this way."
About fifty feet further on the three came to a halt before a rounded elevation, on a mound of earth.
"Entrez, Messieurs," said Lieutenant D'Arraing, with a smile—he pointed to a dark, gloomy-looking opening at the base,—"and I'll introduce you to one of our special favorites—'Le Grand Pere.' Presently it will be paying some attention to the wireless over yonder."
"Goodness gracious!—there's concealment for you!" cried Don.
Cautiously the boy stepped down into the entrance, in a moment or two finding himself face to face with the breech of a big gun. The weapon, its muzzle projecting through another opening at the opposite end of the mound, was well protected by a heavily-timbered roof covered with earth. Even in the underground retreat the polished surfaces of the steel monster caught and reflected every stray beam of light.
"'Le Grand Pere' has done his full share of service," declared the French officer, when all were standing inside.
Then, to show how easily the piece of mechanism could be operated, he raised, lowered and moved the muzzle from side to side by means of little wheels.
"It seems almost like perfection," commented the aviator's son, as he carefully examined the "elements," as the figures on the gun's-sighting apparatus are called. "And yet I suppose experts are continually trying to make improvements."
"Yes; science is insatiable in its efforts to advance," said Lieutenant D'Arraing. "Here—look through this!"
He swung back the big breech-block, and Don, sighting through the long tube, saw a circular spot of brilliant daylight at the other end.
"You will notice that the inside is rifled," continued the lieutenant. "On the driving band of the projectiles are spiral grooves, which of course exactly coincide with those in the gun, and that is what gives the shell its rotation. Scientific calculations of the density of the atmosphere and pressure of the wind, and the use of trigonometry to find the range all combine to enable the gunners to fire with marvelous accuracy."
"What is your chief work—trying to put the opposing batteries out of commission?" queried Dunstan.
"By no means; though we should not miss an opportunity to do so. The main objective of the artillery, however, is to support the troops, to prepare the way for infantry charges and to prevent the enemy from bringing up supplies and reserves—in fact, to harass them in every way possible."
"This seems to be really a war of big guns," commented Don.
"Quite so!" assented the military man. He laughed. "Now, this is a two-story house. Below, and to one side, is our rest and recreation room. You may take a look if you wish."
The ambulanciers did wish, and a few moments later had clambered down a ladder to a subterranean room many feet underground. Straw was plentifully strewn about the floor, and several of the gun crew were lounging about at their ease.
"A chap doesn't have to bother much about shells in here," said Don.
"No," replied the lieutenant. "As a foundation the roof has iron girders and cement beams. Over these is about a foot of closely-packed earth. Next in order come a number of heavy logs, then earth again. And as a finishing touch there is a second series of logs and a layer of cement, topped off with another generous supply of good old terra firma."
"My, how safe I feel!" chirped Don.
"The life of an artilleryman is not so dangerous," admitted the officer; "for the moment things begin to get a bit too hot they can desert the gun pits, and in so doing are not obliged to cross any open spaces. One dive into the tunnel, and the cannoneers are safe! Passageways connect the various underground chambers, and telephones are installed wherever necessary."
Just as the concluding words fell from the officer's lips a terrific booming report made both of the ambulanciers give a perceptible start, though the gun crew about them gave no indication of even having beard it.
"A few high-explosives being dispatched without our compliments!" remarked the lieutenant. "Come, mes Americaines, and you can see one of the big guns in action."
One after another the three climbed nimbly up the ladder, and on emerging into the open saw a cloud of smoke hovering in the still air some twenty-five yards away.
"No wonder it made such an awful crack!" cried Don.
"Better stuff some of this in your ears," counseled Lieutenant D'Arraing. He presented to each a wad of raw cotton. "The concussions are pretty severe on ear-drums."
The Red Cross men thanked him and promptly followed his advice. In a moment they came to a hedge, behind which a gun crew, with remarkable precision and swiftness, was loading an enormous howitzer mounted on tractor-wheels.
"It takes seven cannoneers and a corporal to fire this gun," explained Lieutenant D'Arraing. "Each has a particular duty to perform, and when the projectile is ready for its long journey, the corporal gives the signal to fire, the lanyard is pulled, and what happens you will presently witness with your own eyes. Give her all the room you can, boys."
Don and Dunstan, highly interested, stepped back. It was a very wonderful thing, the ambulanciers thought, to be actual eye-witnesses of such a proceeding—indeed it made Don Hale almost feel as if he himself was an actual participant in the greatest war history has ever known. How many times had he heard the terrifying screech and scream of approaching shells and the frightful concussion which brought them to an end! And here was a projectile about to be launched off into space toward some point which none of them could see, but where, undoubtedly, were human beings who might be destroyed by its withering blast.
These reflections were abruptly terminated; for the corporal was speaking at the 'phone.
"Yes; ready to fire," he said.
Then came an instant's pause.
"Now!" thought Don, instinctively placing his hands to his ears.
"Fire!" commanded the corporal.
"FIRE!" COMMANDED THE CORPORAL.
"FIRE!" COMMANDED THE CORPORAL.
"FIRE!" COMMANDED THE CORPORAL.
The lanyard was pulled.
Instantly there followed a spurt of gleaming flame and a nerve-racking report which made the earth tremble; and as the great gun recoiled from the shock a thick cloud of smoke rolled upward and spread out among the trees.
Although prepared for the concussion, Don Hale felt almost as though his ear-drums had been burst by its terrific force.
But he almost forgot that an instant later, in his eagerness to watch the crew at work, for the breech of the gun was open ready for another projectile.
About sixteen seconds after the first shot had been fired another left the muzzle, and then came a series, the terrific crashes and reverberations following one another so fast that Don Hale found the strain almost too severe to stand. He gave a sigh of relief when, after fourteen high-explosive shells had been hurled into the enemy's line, the red bursts of flame and clouds of smoke abruptly ceased, and the destroying monster, after its last recoil, sank back motionless into place.
"That means the demolition of a portion of a German front-line trench," exclaimed Lieutenant D'Arraing. "Ah! another weapon is taking up the refrain."
Somewhere in the forest, not so very far away, the boom of a second big gun was heard; and this kept steadily firing until fifteen more shells had been sent toward the east, then a third went into action.
"Whew! It would take some time for a chap to get used to all that awful racket," gasped Don.
"Will my head ever stop aching!" murmured Dunstan.
"Pretty hard, I know, when one is not accustomed to it," put in Lieutenant D'Arraing, with a smile. "Now we shall have to look. When a man hits another he is apt to get a blow in return."
"Well, we are in a good place," said Don, his eye on the mouth of an opening leading to an abri.
The ambulanciers waited expectantly, and, sure enough, but a few moments had elapsed when shells were crashing both to the right and left of the battery, but fortunately far enough away to make a dash into the cave unnecessary.
When the flurry was over the lieutenant remarked:
"Come along. I'll introduce you to Captain Langlois."
As the three followed a narrow lane through the woods the reports of various guns of the battery echoed and reëchoed among the hills, the staccato rattle and bang of the lighter field-pieces blending in with the deep and solemn booming of the bigger guns.
They soon reached a battery of the former type, also so well concealed from view by various devices that they might easily have passed by without noting its presence.
"The eighteen pounders!" shouted Lieutenant D'Arraing in Don's ear. "Each shell contains three hundred bullets. They can be fired with very great rapidity."
The ambulancier did not need to be told this—the evidence was right before him. Terrific crash after terrific crash, following a lurid sheet of flame and a spurt of smoke, was coming from each field-piece; and after every shot the empty shells were discharged and fresh projectiles slipped into place.
"Did you ever see such wicked and vindictive-looking little chaps!" exclaimed Don, yelling with all his might, so as to make himself heard above the din. "They seem to be lashing out in perfect fury. Somewhere somebody is being deluged with a hail of lead."
"And every crash we hear may mean a tragedy some miles off," shouted Dunstan, gravely.
"The horse artillery is very useful," put in the lieutenant, using his hands as a megaphone. "When the poilus 'go over the top' they are the guns which thunder along the roads and fields, to give them support and encouragement. They also help to prepare the way for infantry charges by smashing to pieces the barbed-wire entanglements in front of the trenches."
Conversation under the circumstances was a very difficult matter; so the party hurried away, though wherever they went it seemed impossible to get beyond the roar of the batteries.
In a large spacious dugout they found Captain Langlois, with a couple of other officers, poring over a large map of the sector. He was a middle-aged man whose black hair was plentifully sprinkled with gray. He greeted the Americans pleasantly, though he appeared a little dubious as to the advisability of allowing them to run the risk of a journey to the observation post. A few diplomatic words from Lieutenant D'Arraing, however, soon straightened out matters, and he gave his consent.
"Kindly take seats, Messieurs," he said. "I shall be ready in a few moments."
The dugout, besides being furnished with several chairs and a table, had a number of bunks ranged around the walls. Then, of course, military maps of various kinds and sizes were prominently in evidence on all sides.
While they were waiting for the Captain, Don began to tell Lieutenant D'Arraing about their interesting experience at the Château de Morancourt. The artillery lieutenant listened attentively, from time to time shaking his head in a puzzled fashion.
"Very mystifying, to say the least!" he exclaimed. "However, I've heard some of the boys speak of the soldier you met. I believe he is on an extended leave of absence and for some reason or other which no one seems to understand makes his home at the café and restaurant, with a cat as his sole companion."
"What!—actually living at the Cheval Noir!" cried Don. "And he never said a word about it. How is that for something queer, Dunstan Farrington?"
"It certainly is," admitted the art student. "He was so polite, too. I wonder why he didn't give us an introduction to the cat."
"The poilus around here regard him as an odd sort of a chap," volunteered the artillery officer.
"By George, I'm beginning to scent another mystery!" declared Don. "And I won't be satisfied until——"
"Messieurs, I am ready."
The voice of the captain, breaking in upon Don's words, caused them all to rise to their feet.
Trooping behind the erect form of the veteran military man into the bright glare of out-of-doors, Don Hale reflected, with a little chuckle of delight, that it is not given to many to accompany artillery officers on such an expedition.
A little later the members of the party, preceded by a telephone man, were making their way with the utmost caution through a field of wheat. With a soft blue sky filled with fleecy clouds overhead, the waving grain close about them, and the pleasant scent which growing vegetation exhales, their situation suggested anything but warfare. Undismayed by the grumblings of the great guns and the whistling of the shells which soared overhead, larks flew unconcernedly about, and frequently their chatter or song was wafted over the balmy air.
Here and there ugly shell-holes were encountered, and very often the operator, fearing that the wires which led to the observation post might have been damaged, stopped to examine them. The situation was decidedly thrilling, and the aviator's son did not mind admitting, to himself at least, that his nerves were at a very keen tension.
To the east, hazy in the distance, a German observation balloon hovered in the air, swinging lazily in the gentle currents. It wasn't altogether pleasant to think that the observers in the basket might have their powerful glasses leveled on that particular spot in the wheat field across which they were now passing. And very likely, too, there were men posted at various observation stations who were keeping a watchful eye open for just the sort of thing they were now engaged upon.
It was quite natural, therefore, that whenever the boy heard the awesome scream of a shell a little louder than usual his heart beat faster.
Going this way and that and concealing their movements in every possible manner, the five reached a deep trench, which zig-zagged across a field absolutely bare of vegetation. One by one they leaped into it, and, in single file, continued steadily along.
"Don't forget to keep your heads down," cautioned Lieutenant D'Arraing.
"Never fear!" said Don. "We won't do anything to bring about an inglorious end to the expedition."
Presently the trench led upward over the slope of a hill, and when the top was reached turned sharply to the left. A few yards further on, around a bend, the boys discovered the observation post, roofed over with corrugated iron. Right beside it was a dugout.
"Here we are," spoke up Lieutenant D'Arraing. "And if I am not mistaken our being here won't be a very good thing for the Boches."
Not far away, close to the parapet of the trench, stood a row of bushes. With a wave of his hand, indicating these, the captain exclaimed:
"I think it will be safe for you, boys, to take a look from there."
While the operator by the entrance to the dugout was adjusting the telephone to the wire Don and Dunstan, both provided with field-glasses, cautiously moved forward, with the lieutenant by their side.
"Now we are ready for the fireworks!" muttered Don Hale, grimly.
He carefully pushed aside the bushes and saw stretching before him a steep slope, with a wide valley at the bottom and ranges of hills beyond, the summits cutting clearly against masses of white clouds. The wooded hills and bluish distance seen here and there between breaks made a very charming picture in the bright, clear sunlight; but it was not upon these features that the eyes of the aviator's son were intently fixed, for even with the unaided eye he could make out the lines of trenches, both French and German, running in a curiously irregular fashion across the near and far slopes. To the south a few faint grayish spots scattered here and there, inside the French lines, indicated what remained of a little hamlet. In the entire valley Don could not discover a single tree which had escaped the ravages of warfare.
"Do you see a spur on the hillside directly opposite?" asked Lieutenant D'Arraing, who, standing by the side of Don, was peering through a pair of field-glasses.
"Yes—yes," said Don eagerly.
"Take a look at it through your binocular."
"TAKE A LOOK AT IT."
"TAKE A LOOK AT IT."
"TAKE A LOOK AT IT."
The aviator's son placed the instrument to his eyes. The spur which the artillery officer had indicated instantly became strong and clear.
"Now swing your glass to the left," commanded the lieutenant, "and stop when you come to a little whitish patch almost hidden by trees."
"I have it," exclaimed Don.
"I think you will find in a few moments that our battery has it, too," commented the other, dryly. "You might not suspect it, but that insignificant little light spot is a part of the side of a building, and on that building has been erected——"
"The wireless plant," supplemented Don, eagerly.
By this time the telephone operator, with the receivers attached to his ears, was ready to transmit the captain's orders to the battery, while the senior officer in the observation post had his glasses leveled on the distance.
"How strange it is," reflected Don Hale, "that people some three miles away are moving unconcernedly about a certain building, totally unaware of the fact that within a moment or two they will be exposed to the most terrible danger!"
He lowered his binocular, for the captain was speaking.
"First piece," he commanded.
"First piece," echoed the telephone operator, speaking into the transmitter.
"Direction: wireless station; range five thousand yards."
The message was flashed over the wire, and a few moments later word came that the battery was in readiness.
"Fire!" commanded the captain.
That was an extraordinarily interesting moment to Don Hale.
The operator had scarcely ceased speaking when, from the hill to the rear, came the report of one of the howitzers, and as the projectile, describing a parabola, passed overhead, making the same screeching, screaming sound with which he had become so familiar, Don once more directed the glasses upon the wireless station.
Breathlessly, he waited.
"Ah-h-h-h!"
A long-drawn-out exclamation came from his lips.
A cloud of black smoke suddenly shot up in the distance, completely shutting from view the object upon which he had his eyes so intently fixed. A few seconds later came a faint, dull boom.
What had happened?
Don could not tell. But, with fascinated attention, the boy watched the swirling black mass rolling along the surface of the ground and spreading slowly upward and outward, until it suggested the rounded form of a huge tree.
"Confound it!—wasted!" growled the captain.
"Too short!" murmured the lieutenant.
"Plus fifty yards; augment by thirty minutes," called out the captain.
As the man at the telephone transmitted the order the lieutenant explained to the interested ambulanciers just what the captain's words meant.
"Plus means to increase the range and less to shorten it," he said; "augment tells the cannoneer that he must aim further to the right and 'diminish' means further to the left. The sighting apparatus of the gun is, of course, accurately graduated."
Another roar, and a second projectile was on its way.
Again an inky column, with lashing, tossing edges, spurted above the tree tops. And the aviator's son could instantly see that another shell had been wasted; for the bit of wall now gleamed brightly against a background of smoke.
The captain, lowering his glass, gave voluble expression to his annoyance and disgust; then, swinging around toward the telephonist, he commanded:
"The same elements, less thirty. Fire!"
"Same elements, less thirty," repeated the operator. "Fire!"
Boom!
The confining hills flung the thunderous echoes in all directions. The same whirr and scream overhead again—and for a third time Don Hale saw where the projectile had landed.
Still the wireless station had evidently not been touched.
"H'm—h'm!" murmured Captain Langlois. "Pas mal—pas mal; not bad—not bad! Same elements, less fifteen. Fire!"
And a few moments later the light spot flashed from view, completely obliterated by another enormous and sinister-looking cloud of smoke.
For a second time the intensely interested Don Hale was in doubt as to the result, yet in another moment he realized that the artillerymen had been successful; for the captain, with a grunt indicative of satisfaction, faced Lieutenant D'Arraing, declaring:
"Enfin, Monsieur le Lieutenant, c'est fait!"
"At last it is done!" murmured Don, translating the captain's words.
"And I guess he's about right," exclaimed Dunstan.
Sure enough—when the slowly-disappearing smoke had lifted the ambulanciers saw that the portion of the building they had looked upon before was no longer in sight, and both could very readily imagine that where it had stood there was nothing but unsightly piles of wreckage and a huge shell-hole.
"As I expected!" remarked Captain Langlois. "If that really was a wireless plant it won't be sending out any more electric waves."
"I should say not," said Don, a little soberly.
"Inscribe the elements," commanded the captain.
"Inscribe the elements," repeated the operator, speaking to the man at the battery end of the wire.
Don could not help reflecting upon the methodical and businesslike manner of the whole proceeding. There was nothing to indicate that either of the officers held any feeling of hate or vindictiveness toward the foe; their attitude was rather that of men who having had important work to do are glad of its successful accomplishment.
"Do you know what 'inscribe the elements' means?" asked the lieutenant, breaking in upon the boy's thoughts.
"I think I do, Monsieur le Lieutenant," replied Don. "The officer in command of the battery is to write on a chart the exact elements in order that they may have the information in case they should ever be required to fire at the same point again."
"Precisely so," said the other, with a smile.
The ambulanciers still kept their eyes upon the German trenches, as shells were now occasionally exploding here and there. After a short time, due to the steady increase in the bombardment, dark and light puffs of smoke, according to the character of the shell, were rising continually into view. Vaguely suggestive of the surf, ever tumbling in fleecy foam upon the beach, were these appearing and disappearing smoke clouds softened by atmosphere distance.
"The first part of our work is completed; now for the second!" remarked Lieutenant D'Arraing. "Far to the right, where you see that little leafless tree sticking up, we intend to get the range of the Boche trenches."
"But the French and German lines look mighty close right there," declared Don. "Isn't there danger of a shell falling short and perhaps striking too near our front?"
"Yes; but we don't expect such a thing to happen," put in the captain, smilingly.
"I'm mighty glad I don't have to give directions for the firing," said Dunstan.
"I think the French can be mighty glad of that, too," came from Don.
He chuckled faintly.
The captain was now giving the range to the telephone operator, who, in his turn, transmitted the order.
"Fire!" commanded the artillery officer.
Just as interestedly as before the ambulanciers waited to see the result of the shot.
The whistle of the projectile had been lost to the ear when a geyser of smoke rose considerably beyond and to the left of the tree.
"That won't do at all," grumbled Captain Langlois.
He and the lieutenant held a consultation, studying the map, and having come to a decision the gunners to the rear were presently informed of the necessary readjustments in the range.
A second shot went astray; so did a third. But each was just a little nearer the mark. The fourth struck to the right, but so close that the smoke floated in front of the solitary tree and partially obscured its form.
"As you see, mes Americaines, it is only a question of time when we get what we wish," commented Lieutenant D'Arraing.
"I reckon the Germans learned that long ago," said Don.
The fifth shot proved the artillery officer's confidence to be based upon good reasons; for when the smoke of the shell-burst began to clear away the powerful field-glasses revealed the fact that a considerable portion of a snake-like line of sand-bags running across the slope had completely disappeared.
"Which means, of course, a very disastrous occurrence—from their point of view!" exclaimed Dunstan, with a long breath.
"I don't like to think about it," declared Don.
The ambulanciers, not wishing to trespass too much upon the kindness and courtesy of the French officers, soon decided that it was time for them to leave. Accordingly, they expressed their warm thanks and appreciation of the opportunity which had been afforded them.
Very politely, both the captain and lieutenant declared that it had given them pleasure to extend the privilege.
"Now, cher amis, what are you going to do?" asked the lieutenant.
"I wonder if we couldn't visit the front-line trenches?" cried Don, with a sudden idea.
"I see no reason why you cannot. Red Cross men as a rule are accorded far more privileges than newspaper correspondents." Taking out a small pad from his pocket, Lieutenant D'Arraing scribbled a few lines, then, handing the sheet of paper to the aviator's son, added: "If you should happen to be stopped en route this will probably smooth the way."
Bidding good-bye to the obliging artillerymen, Don and Dunstan set out, headed toward a distant point where scarcely any firing was taking place. They very soon reached a boyau, or communication trench, which, curving and twisting in all manner of ways, led toward the firing-line, and into this they turned. Soldiers were going and coming, and many times the Americans received a pleasant word of greeting. Along that section of the front, as well as elsewhere, an astonishing number of transverse ditches had been dug, starting from about a mile behind the lines—indeed a veritable maze of passageways, so intricate and bewildering as to make it sometimes difficult to find one's way, cut across the earth, never running for many meters in the same direction. They were constructed in this manner so that the fragments of a shell exploding in the trench could travel only a very short distance, thus giving security to the poilus who occupied the adjoining sections.
Constant work, especially during rainy weather, was necessary in order to keep the ditches in repair. Supporting timbers often had to be added. Then, every now and again, enemy shells partially wrecked or destroyed considerable portions; and for the work of reconstruction or digging new trenches the services of soldiers housed in dugouts along the second or third lines were often called into requisition.
At many places all the labor was done under cover of darkness. Here the trenches were within easy view of the German observers, and had they discovered any signs of activity it would, of course, have meant a deluge of shells.
As the ambulanciers continued, very often hearing the ominous hum of bullets ripping past close overhead, they felt profoundly thankful for the protection the two feet of wall above their heads afforded.
At length, when Don and Dunstan arrived at the second line, or support trenches, an officer stepped from one of the crowded passageways, to command them peremptorily to halt. It is very likely, too, that he would just as peremptorily have ordered the two back but for Lieutenant D'Arraing's note.
"All right, mes Americaines," he said, after glancing over it. "You may proceed. The firing-line is only about one hundred yards from here. I presume you have never been so near the enemy before. Let me hope it is not your intention to pay them a visit."
"We couldn't be persuaded to," replied Don, with a smile.
"About how far apart are the trenches?" asked Dunstan, casually.
"In some places right along here only about twenty meters," was the startling answer.
"Great Cæsar! Only about sixty-five feet!" murmured Don.
The thought of being in such close proximity to the Germans thrilled and awed the aviator's son.
As the boys, after nodding a good-bye to the officer, tramped along the "duck walk," or slatted wooden flooring of the trench, they rather marveled at the seeming indifference of the silent soldiers whom they here and there encountered lounging idly about. None of them seemed to be paying the slightest attention to the projectiles. Turning into one of the front-line trenches, they found the blue-uniformed soldiers of France on the alert. Many of them were standing on a narrow little platform about a foot from the bottom of the excavation known as the "firing step." Some gazed earnestly through trench periscopes; others had their rifles resting across sand-bags or through openings in the breastworks. Still others held hand-grenades, ready to throw on the instant, while laid out within easy reach were rows of these deadly weapons.
The ambulanciers, slowly following the ramifications of the trench, discovered dugouts all along the rear wall, or parados, as it is called. These excavations were, of course, located to one side of the trenches and immediately below.
After traveling for some distance Don and Dunstan came upon another roofed-over observation post in which a young soldier was stationed. Beside him stood a mitrailleuse, its polished muzzle pointing straight ahead.
A curious uncanny silence hovered over the trench; no one was speaking; no one seemed to be paying any attention to the appearance of the Americans in their midst—all were playing the game of waiting with the utmost alertness. For that was the line which was guarding France from the invader; and probably graven in the heart of every soldier were the words made famous at Verdun:
"Ils ne passeront pas"—"They shall not pass."
"Sixty-five feet—sixty-five feet!" murmured Don, over and over again.
It scarcely seemed possible that only such a short distance beyond the parapet of the trench there were other grimly silent men standing side by side and perhaps having as their battle cry the slogan:
"On to Paris!"
"Isn't it wonderful to think, Dunstan, that we are really on the firing line!" said Don. "My, wouldn't I give a lot to look through one of these periscopes!"
Although the words were spoken almost in a whisper a soldier using one of the instruments overheard him.
"You may, mon garçon," he said, in an equally cautious tone.
"Merci, merci!—thank you!—thank you!" said Don.
Eagerly he placed his eye to the periscope.
What a thrill shot through the boy as the secrets of "No Man's Land" were revealed to him! Right in front of the trench stretched a maze of barbed wire entanglements, but every growing thing had been blasted, withered and shot to pieces. The trees that remained standing were gaunt, bare poles, and the ground all about looked as if some terrible convulsion of nature had upheaved and overturned it. Scarcely any of the forms bore a semblance to their original shape. Only a few yards away he could see the rim of a huge shell-crater, into the yawning depths of which a portion of the barbed wire had disappeared. Less than a hundred feet beyond stretched a yellow, muddy line of sand-bags, and right in front of these, extending out for some distance, were stakes driven into the ground and strung with innumerable wires.
"And not a sign of life!" murmured Don. "It just looks as if nothing ever did exist or could exist along this awful stretch of 'No Man's Land.'"
Dunstan now took his turn at the periscope, and presently having satisfied their curiosity the two thanked the obliging soldier and moved on.
During all this time the sharp cracking of rifles was continuous. Sometimes single bullets snapped over the top of the trench—sometimes a regular fusillade; then, at longer intervals, came the rapid-fire, vicious reports of a machine gun in action. Now and again a poilu sent a shot across the barren stretch of ground and a thin wisp of bluish smoke from the muzzle of his rifle floated lazily upward.
"They can't let Fritz do all the work," commented Don.
"Bonjour, Messieurs! On a tour of inspection, I suppose?" broke in a low voice.
An officer standing by the entrance to a dugout was regarding them smilingly.
"Yes," said Don, with an answering smile.
"Want to take a look inside?"
The officer pointed to the entrance.
"Very much indeed," declared Dunstan.
"All right. You're welcome. I'll go first; otherwise you might take a tumble."
He lowered himself into the opening and presently disappeared into the cavernous depths, and by the time Don had his feet on the rungs of the ladder an electric light, flashing up, dispelled the gloom.
The ambulanciers found that this particular dugout was about six feet square and scarcely high enough for a man to stand erect in.
"Perhaps you have been in finer apartments," said the officer, "but I must confess that this place has an irresistible attraction for me at times."
"I don't doubt it," laughed Dunstan. "How many men can sleep here?"
"Three or four, and the accommodations are not so bad except in rainy weather; then it's the most confounded place imaginable."
"It must be," said Don.
"Many a time I've seen the water in the trenches above a man's knees, and we have to work mighty hard pumping it out. We live in mud, eat in mud, sleep in mud, and look as if we were made of mud."
"Must be uncomfortable, sure enough!" commented Don.
"Uncomfortable isn't the word that hits it, mon garçon; it's perfect and unadulterated misery. However, there seems to be nothing which hasn't some good in it."
"Yes?" said Don questioningly.
"The floods put an end to the prowling of the trench rats for a time."
"Do you have many of them?"
"Well, I should say so! Nothing is safe from these thieving rascals. It's a positive wonder they don't try to get away with our steel helmets."
After a few moments' conversation the three clambered up the ladder and emerged into the open air. With the officer accompanying them, Don and Dunstan presently walked around a bend, and came upon a trench that started out at right angles to the firing-line and wound in a most irregular fashion across "No Man's Land."
"Hello!" exclaimed Don, in surprise. "Where does that go?"
"To the listening post," answered the military man.
"The listening post?"
"Yes, mon ami. And the end of it is so close to the enemy's trenches that the sentry who is stationed there—and one always is—can easily overhear the voices of the Boches. The sentry's duty is to listen and observe, and, as you can very well imagine, it is a pretty dangerous assignment."
"I'll wager it is," said Don. "I'd rather keep to the main street."
"Very naturally. A man in such an isolated position stands a good chance of being cut off from all help. Should the sentry discover a German patrol or anything else that looks at all suspicious he'd communicate the facts at once. Then, as a discourager to any German tricks, six hundred cartridges a minute could be sent crashing across 'No Man's Land.'"
"Is there an abri out there for the sentry?" asked Don.
"Well, rather!"
The aviator's son glanced toward the listening post with fascinated attention. The trench appeared so perfectly safe, with the walls rising on either side—and yet what peril lurked in every meter of the way!
"By the looks of things one might judge that the Germans could rush this trench and capture it," he remarked, reflectively.
"Yes; but the very instant they started the wires would flash the news back to the support trenches," said the officer, "and the reserves would come pouring out and stem it in short order. Surprise attacks do not cut much figure in this war."
"Crack—crack—crack!"—three rifle shots in quick succession.
A dull thud followed, as one of the bullets struck a sand-bag.
The soldier smiled.
"No occasion to worry, mes garçons," he continued.
"We're not doing any," grinned Don.
Not very long afterward the ambulanciers resumed their journey.
On and on they went, at a leisurely pace, always seeing the same sights and hearing the same sounds. Occasionally the twitter of birds came to their ears. They alone could dare to show themselves above the surface.
"This isn't like any war that was ever fought before," declared Dunstan, at length, in meditative tones.
And then, as the aviator's son was about to reply, a most frightful—a most deafening detonation burst upon their ears.
Almost instantly a second explosion followed. The earth seemed to reel and shake—the whole air to be filled with an awful vibration. The terrified ambulanciers, gasping—staggering—were almost thrown to the ground.