IV
It was from Miss Meadows principally that Hamilton learned the details of his rescue. It was from her that he learned, for instance, that it was McCall who had helped the negro, Williams, to save his life. Where was McCall? Meadows would not tell, although she hinted that it was near-by. He guessed that it was in an adjoining ward and that she was afraid that if she told him how close, he would attempt to visit him before his full strength had returned. Meadows had heard part of the story from McCall himself and part she remembered from a newspaper account, although names of places and persons had been carefully deleted. There were other details that Dr. Levin supplied.
Apparently Hamilton had proceeded beyond his objective and fallen wounded at the edge of Chartreux Woods just before the enemy began to lay down a box barrage upon it. Hamilton wondered how he had got there. His last memory had been of advancing upon a line of trenches. Chartreux Woods lay beyond and to the left.
“Probably out of your head,” explained Dr. Levin. “You know there was a slight wound on your scalp. Probably a machine-gun bullet.”
“Must have been that,” agreed Hamilton. “Only an idiot would have done it otherwise.”
At any rate, it seemed, Hamilton had reached the last line of trenches assigned as his objective and, while his men were still mopping up, had blundered on. At the edge of the forest, weak from loss of blood, he had fallen.
It was there that McCall, whose company was lying entrenched opposite the wood, ready to advance when the signal should come, saw him the next morning, through the first gray of a drizzlingdawn—the body of an American soldier lying in the open a few feet from the first row of trees and a hundred yards away. He did not know that it was Hamilton, only that it was a wounded American. Howshould he guess that it was Hamilton, who was supposed to be holding a position to the right and rear of his own?
And now McCall had let himself lightly over the top and was running swiftly through the mud toward his goal. Suddenly the barrage upon the forest broke and McCall flung himself to the ground. In a general way he knew that the lowness of the ground would probably shield him from observation, but to expose himself needlessly would be folly. He began to crawl forward slowly. He would continue this way for a few feet, then dive into a shell hole or behind a stump.
Across the narrow field high explosive shells were shattering the trees with thunderous roars. Projectiles screamed and whined overhead. Somewhere a machine gun chattered. A light drizzle was falling and all these sounds seemed like a thousand angry thunders following a thousand devastating lightnings. Once McCall threw himself into a puddle a second before a high explosive shell struck the earth a hundred yards away with a terrible crash that shook the earth and spattered rock, earth and metal as from a volcano’s mouth. McCall noticed with relief that Hamilton lay protected by the sweep of the terrain.
McCall doggedly kept on. As he reached his goal, he saw for the first time whom he was saving. Hamilton, his buddy! McCall quickly tied his emergency bandage around the wound in Hamilton’s chest, slid the prostrate form over his shoulder and started back. A trickle of blood which blinded his right eye told him that he had been wounded. But it was no time to quit and painfully, his wound throbbing with every step, he managed to stagger into a shell hole. Then everything turned black.
In the meantime Williams, in command of a detachment of pioneer troops assigned to McCall’s company, had been watching breathlessly from a fire step in the front-line trench. Now, when he saw McCall stagger into the shell hole, he was over the parapet in a flash and wriggling across the muddy, shell-torn ground like a snake. Half way across, a spent fragment of shell struck his head and dazedhim. But he kept on, as in a trance, and reached the two white officers before his head cleared. McCall was recovering consciousness and Williams bound his wound. To his own wound he paid no attention. Then the two began their return to the American line, dragging and pushing the body of Hamilton between them.
Within the trenches all was excitement, and it was all that the lieutenant in charge of the company could do to keep every man in the front-line trench from swarming over the top.
“They’ll bring him back!” he shouted. “There’s no use any one else risking his life. Get down from the fire step and stay down if you value your lives!”
The lieutenant swore and prayed in turn. The men recklessly stuck their heads above the parapet and shouted words of encouragement, although they knew that their voices were no match for the thunder of the artillery.
“Come on now! Stick it out! Just a little longer! Come on!” Their voices pleaded.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, they were creeping. They had come within a few yards of the trench and the men were shouting themselves hoarse.
“Come on! You’re almost there! Stick it out!”
Suddenly there was a terrific explosion that sent showers of rock and mud into the trench and both Williams and McCall rolled over, the blood gushing from many wounds. Hamilton, between them, had been completely protected. This time there was no holding them. A half dozen whites and blacks were over the parapet and back again, bearing the three wounded officers.
“You’ll get court-martialed sure as hell for this!” yelled the lieutenant. Tears were in his eyes—“Or you’ll all get cited for bravery.”
He was right. The next morning they heard from the old man (the colonel). Every one of them, including McCall and Williams, had been cited for conspicuous bravery on the field of battle, over and above their line of duty, in rescuing the wounded.