“Where do we go from here, boys,Where do we go from here?To punch the HunLike a son-of-a-gun.It’ll be some funTo make him runAnd get his bunAnd take his mon.Oh, hi, yi, that’s where we’ll go from here!”
“Where do we go from here, boys,Where do we go from here?To punch the HunLike a son-of-a-gun.It’ll be some funTo make him runAnd get his bunAnd take his mon.Oh, hi, yi, that’s where we’ll go from here!”
“Where do we go from here, boys,
Where do we go from here?
To punch the Hun
Like a son-of-a-gun.
It’ll be some fun
To make him run
And get his bun
And take his mon.
Oh, hi, yi, that’s where we’ll go from here!”
Some joined in. Laughter broke out down the line. One chap began to whistle the Sailor’s Hornpipe and another, in a deep bass voice, tried to put impromptu words to it, after the manner of the popular version concerning “de debbil,” but without much poetic success:
“Did you ever see the HeinieWith his skin all black and spinyA-diggin’ in the trenchesWith his big toe nail?”
“Did you ever see the HeinieWith his skin all black and spinyA-diggin’ in the trenchesWith his big toe nail?”
“Did you ever see the Heinie
With his skin all black and spiny
A-diggin’ in the trenches
With his big toe nail?”
And another laugh followed, but it was cut short by a shell which tore through the air only a little above the heads of the men, and exploded not a hundred feet behind the last line. It was immediately followed by a second that landed about the same distance from the front of the first line and ricocheted, turning and twisting, then lying still—not ten steps ahead of the line. There was a little squirming, and two fellows were obliged to step almost over the menacing thing. Pulling down their steel helmets and lowering their heads, they veered apart, while some arms went up in front of faces and eyes. But the shell proved a “dud.” Had it exploded it would doubtless have sent half a dozen boys to the graveyard and the hospital.
“One back and one front and the next one—”
“A clean miss!” shouted Clem.
The words were no more than said when his prediction came true. The shell went high and wide. But that which immediately followed was of a far more deadly character than shells. Shrapnel and whiz-bangs could not cover the ground, but it seemed as though the rain of machine-gun bullets that suddenly swept down from the thickets and rocks of the great hillside which loomed ahead must reach every inch of space.
“Double quick! Charge!” came the order, echoed from mouth to mouth by under-officers and still, like one man, that khaki-clad host went at it on the run. Every man saw that the more quickly the work was done the better chances he and his fellows had for surviving that leaden hail.
“Smash ’em! Tear ’em to pieces!” Clem found himself yelling again and again and he heardsimilar shoutson all sides of him.
“Give ’em ballyhoo!” howled young Giddings.
And they did—if that expresses something like annihilation! Before the Huns could do more than fire a round or two from ascore of well-placed machine-guns on the hillside the marines, like waves of avenging devils, were upon them with a fury that those long-practised death-dealers of the Fatherland had not before experienced and totally unprepared for. They were used to seeing their accurate shooting from such an array of fire-spitters stop their enemies and drive them back but no such result was in evidence now.
Many of the Huns broke and ran, some tried to hide, some threw up their hands and shouted: “Kamerad! Kamerad!” A few stuck to their guns until overpowered, and died fighting. Many, threatened with the bayonet, surrendered at once. And the marines went yelling on, overtaking the fleeing Germans, stabbing to death, shooting or clubbing with rifles those who still resisted. Breaking up the machine-gun nests, they rounded up the prisoners until the hillside was entirely in American hands. Then the Yanks halted and sought shelter from the German artillery which now began to throw shells upon the eastern and northern side of the hill from enemy positions beyond. On the southwestern slope, where they were out of danger from this fire, the victoriousregiments re-formed for further duty, bringing in all scattered units and trying to count the cost.
The taking of the hill had not been entirely one-sided, except in the matter of a victory. The machine-gunners had been placed in position to hold this strategic bit of ground and to make it hot for those who attempted to take it from them, and they were past masters at that sort of thing. The reception they gave the marines exacted a heavy toll.
Following fast upon the heels of the men from overseas came the wonderfully efficient American Red Cross. Ambulances rushed across the fields, many of carrying capacity only, a few fitted up for field dressing stations. Doctors and nurses, braving the enemy shells, attended the most urgent cases only, sending the majority back to the newly established evacuation hospitals which had, within two days, supplanted those of the overtaxed French, or to the bases that also had moved nearer this fighting front.
And so everywhere on the hillside up which the marines had so gloriously charged, thebrancardiersmoved with their stretchers, rapidly bringing away the wounded, whether friend or foe. And the officers who were stillon duty went about among the men, detailing squads here and there for burial duty and to help and comfort their unfortunate companions. It was the work of a little more than two hours.
Clem Stapley stood leaning on his rifle gazing far away over the green fields and woodlands of that beautiful, rolling country, not unlike his own homeland. The boy’s thoughts were filled with memories, the reaction from the strenuous experiences of the minutes just past caused him to sway a little on his feet. His company’s second-lieutenant, passing near, turned and look into the boy’s pale face.
“Hurt eh? Can you walk? Better get back—”
“No, sir. No! Only a trifle. A scratch on the arm; spent bullet went up my sleeve like one of those black ants. I shook it out.”
“Let me see,” ordered the officer. Clem bared his arm and showed a long white and blue welt from wrist to elbow. On the fleshy part the skin had broken, and blood was trickling down.
“Go get it bandaged.”
“I can do it, if someone—”
“Help him, Terry. Get his jacket and shirt off. Use a little iodine. You’ll be all right.”
“Are we going on, sir, soon?” Clem asked.
“Very soon. To the village over the next rise, about three miles from here. Bouresches they call it.”
“I want to find my squad and tell them about poor Giddings. Have you seen my Captain?”
“Dead. At the bottom of the hill. Lieutenant Wells, too. I am in command now. Was Giddings—?”
“Yes. Went down while he was getting off a joke about a Hun who was yelling for mercy. When we turned to let some others of a gun crew have it—they had their gun trained on us—a brute fired at Giddings at about five steps. But I got the skunk with the bayonet and then Davidson and I went on and got two of the other gun-crew. The others of both crews surrendered; Jones’ squad, coming up, took them in. Then I got hit.”
A bugle call echoed sweetly along the slope. A sergeant came running up the hill, calling right and left to officers. He passed the lieutenant and Clem.
“Orders from the General. Form quick in place in the road due south of the hill. Headquarters down there now. Enemy attack from the east. We are to hold support positions.”
Again and again the bugle call sounded from the road. There was some lively running about and falling in. Then once more, in broken formations, the marines descended and under rapid orders lined up, partly along this old road, behind a low bank, and somewhat sheltered by a row of trees. Some of the regulars came up and formed beyond, in the same line. The rest were held in reserve farther back. At the left some regiments of French infantry stretched the line, making a front of about two miles. Fully half a mile to the east a French division occupied the first line facing the enemy positions.
Corporal Clem’s arm hurt considerably. A member of his squad had treated and bandaged it with materials out of a first aid kit. But the wound was becoming more and more painful, and his arm began to stiffen. He could not understand why he should feel sick at the stomach and hungry at the same time. The “Leathernecks” had noteaten since breakfast, and it was now well on in the afternoon.
Clem looked about him, for misery loves company. There were wide gaps in the line, though that was anything but comforting. It was horribly depressing to think that some of these cronies, jolly good fellows all, would now be dumped under the sod, and that others were never more to walk, nor to know the joy of health. Perhaps some would never see nor hear again. Many less seriously injured would bear scars all their lives.
Martin there, formerly next in line to Giddings, and now next to Clem, had his head elaborately done up in two-inch bandages. Replying to a question he said, jovially:
“When I get back to God’s country, I am going to take this old pan of a hat, hang it up in the prettiest place in the best room in the house and keep it covered with fresh flowers. Why? The darned old thing saved my life. I wouldn’t ’a’ had any bean left if this inverted wash basin thing hadn’t been covering it.”
“Poor Giddings always had a pick at his helmet,” remarked Clem. “He used to saythat just a hat wasn’t much good and that what a man wants in this war is a suit of armor made out of stove plates. In his case he was about right.”
“But wrong in mine,” said Martin.
“Say, what’s doing, Sarge?” asked a private of the non-com in the next squad, who now stood next to Clem in the line-up.
“The Heinies are going to make a push here, I believe,” was the answer.
“When?”
“Pretty soon. Guess we’ll hear the barrage laid down first. But maybe they think they’re strong enough to rush us without that.”
“Hope they do. It’s more lively. I don’t like them barrages. Make me think o’ my old uncle across the pond. He’s one o’ those bear hunters. Sez he’d a heap rather fight a bear than a hive o’ bees; you can see the bear.”
“Right-o! Here, too! You can stick a bayonet into a Hun, but you can’t even dodge these here mowin’-machine bullets.”
“Listen, fellows!” Clem held up his hand.
A distant shot, another, several, a dozen, a thousand, crack, bang, boom, as though all the Fourth of July celebrations that ever had been and ever would be had been turned loose at once.
“She’s on, boys! And there’ll be a lot of ricocheting bullets coming this far—so look out for them!” So spoke the lieutenant, now commander of Clem’s company, as he walked up and down the line.
The sergeant next to Clem turned to the officer.
“Do you think the Frogeaters can hold them, lieutenant?”
“Doubt it. They say the Huns outnumber them three to one. And they mean to drive right through to the Compiègne road. So it’s up to us to stop them, I guess.”
“We’ll try hard, lieutenant,” Clem offered.
Within twenty minutes the roar of the barrage ceased as suddenly as it began. Then came a lull, followed by the rattle of small arms which, at the distance, sounded much like a lot of youngsters cracking hickory nuts. Within half an hour after this the expected happened. For the tired and greatly outnumbered French, fighting savagely, had failed to stem the Hun tide and began to give way before it. Some retreated a little too late and these were quickly surrounded and taken prisoner, to suffer tortures in German detention camps for many a long day. The wounded were hurried to the rear.As the dressing stations to the extreme right of the support line became congested those set up in sheltered positions directly behind the hill were called on for duty. Then the many ambulances of the United States army, French army and American Red Cross dashed through the line of marines, and around the base of the hill.
It was at once a solemn and a cheering sight. However horrible this war of science and ingenuity had become, it reacted in greater humanity than has ever been known.
The sound of an automobile horn in front caused Clem to look up and he was almost face to face with Don Richards. The younger lad was about to look away, but he quickly chose to salute his townsman. The corporal nodded stiffly as Don passed on.
The sound of rifle fire interspersed with the cloth-ripping noise of machine-guns and the detonation of heavier artillery, began to come nearer. A company of French infantry, marching in perfect order, but in quick time, appeared in the distance. It wheeled sharply and passed to the south, around the extreme right of the Americans. In a few minutes it was followed by other and larger contingents, a regiment in part,with great gaps in its ranks, a battalion of machine gunners, each squad with its wickedmitrailleuse, ammunition handcarts, more infantry and still more until very soon they had thinned out to scattered and broken units, often without officers. Many of these came up and passed through the American lines.
The expressions on the faces of these French soldiers told of varied emotions. Some were morose, angry, or despairing. Others laughed and jested. Some smiled and wore an air of undying confidence. Clem had learned too little French so far to understand their rapid utterances, but the lieutenant stood near him, talking with a French subaltern who spoke excellent English and who began to question the retreating soldiers. There was a nasal babble and then the translation, with some remarks, to the lieutenant. Clem easily caught much of it.
“He says the enemy was too strong for them; that there must be half a million men. But I think that an exaggeration.”
“This fellow says that the enemy came at them, swarming like ants. It is no use, he says, to try to check them now; they are irresistible.”
“This man declares that they are many, but they are not overwhelming, and that if the retreat had not been ordered we could have held the enemy awhile.”
“He says that it is no use to try to stop them—they come like a tidal wave.”
“This fellow hopes you Americans may stop them.”
“He says if there had only been a few more of us we could have stopped them.”
“Here is one who insists that Paris is doomed, and all is lost. But, you see, his companion was killed by his side.”
The officers moved rapidly away and then, almost suddenly, there was an end of the retreating French. The ambulances also had ceased in their errands of mercy over the ground ahead. A strange hush fell upon everything but the forces of nature. The breeze toyed with the wheat. Birds sang blithely; across the fields a cow was lowing, a poor creature, perhaps that a farmer who had suddenly vacated his home before the oncoming Huns, had failed to drive along toward the west.
The lieutenant passed along the line again, speaking to his men. He was a young man, tall, with fine square shoulders, a firm jawand a pleasant voice—every inch a soldier. He paused a moment and said to Clem:
“Your arm is better now? Well, try to think it is. You’ll need it. I hope it won’t interfere with your sleep tonight.” Then to the sergeant, in answer to a question: “Yes, they’re coming; re-forming first. There are enough of them to make us sit up and take notice. Three divisions to our one and a half. I don’t think any of us will take a nap during the next hour or so. But, remember, we’ve got to give them all there is in us! Keep cautioning your men to shoot low, to keep their heads, see their hind-sights, and try to hit what they aim at. It will be just like target practice, boys; only more so. Every time you score means that’s one less chance of your being scored on.”
Anticipation often goes reality “one better,” to use a betting phrase. The waiting for the expected battle was most irksome—nerve-racking to some. It cannot be a joyful thing to contemplate the killing of human beings, even though they are bent on killing. Upon such occasions minutes drag by like hours. It is an actual relief when the end of the suspense is at hand.
Clem glanced at his wrist watch—it was4:45. The enemy could be seen now in the distance, advancing steadily. They were coming on in mass formation straight across the waving wheat that the retreating French had avoided trampling down. The Huns gloried in this destruction. They were going to make this place a shambles with dying and dead when they should occupy this region. They would turn it into a desert of burned homes, felled trees, girdled orchards, ruined villages and looted factories—as all the territory they had thus far occupied had been desolated.
“Cut loose, boys! The range is nearly flat. Don’t fire too high. Now, then, every man for himself!” Thus ran the orders along the line and the crack of the rifles this time meant more to the advancing Germans than ever before. The French subaltern, sent to observe the behavior of the Americans went into ecstasies after the manner of his race. With eyes sticking out so far that there was danger of his butting into something and knocking them off, he watched the “Leathernecks” in long-range rifle action awhile; then he hurried back to his staff. Shortly he was back again with some higher officers of the French supportingline, and their enthusiasm was unbounded. The subaltern translated liberally:
“Voila!Your men shoot!Sacre!They are deliberate! They see their sights! They hit the mark! The Huns stop—they waver! Ah, they come on again! True they are brave men! And they obey their officers—also brave men! But behold again! The front rank is down, gone! What say you? Yes, wiped out! And still they come again? Ah now, it is too much. They lose all if they remain. Behold, they break! They retreat! They hide in the wheat! They creep away!”
“Cut that wheat all to pieces, boys! Don’t let any of them get away!” ordered the lieutenant, repeating a common order and it was just what the marines were doing.
Clem, with a hot gun, turned a moment to speak to the officer. “Are our machine-gun crews at work?” he asked.
“Yes, over there by that clump of trees. I never saw those lads do better work. I think those Huns have about enough. We win!”
“Any of our boys hurt?” asked the sergeant.
“A machine-gun crew of the enemy concentrated on one part of our right and didsome damage,” said the officer. “Two of their shrapnel burst among the doughboys to the south, I hear. Otherwise, I believe—”
“Nobody got hit here,” asserted the sergeant.
“They didn’t think it worth while to lay down a second barrage and their infantry hardly fired a shot,” laughed the officer.
“Got badly fooled,” said the sergeant. “Why don’t we go after them now?”
“I suppose our commander thinks they’re whipped enough and there are Hun batteries to the east of the hill that must be dislodged first. Hello, another air scrap is going to be pulled off!”
Five German planes were coming along, pretty low and in line, their evident intention being to seek revenge by bombing the line of “Leathernecks.” But four French battle-planes swept over to meet them, one fellow swooping low to cheer the marines for their splendid work. Two German fighting machines were high overhead in support of the big bombing planes.
The French and American light fieldpieces got busy and made it so hot for the foremost plane that it turned and retreated, trying to come back higher up. But by thattime the French planes had driven the others back, sending one down in flames behind the German lines. The guns turned their attention to smashing a German battery going into position beyond the wheat field and performed this duty admirably, dismounting all of the three German guns and killing every man with them. The Hun battle-planes, refusing to fight and retreating, had given two of the French planes a chance to signal the range to Allied batteries.
The day was fast coming to a close. When the marines and their supporters had broken ranks and bivouacked for the night Corporal Stapley went to the commanding officer of his company and asked if he might go over to the hill and visit the captain’s grave.
“He was an old Brighton boy and that is my school,” Clem said, “and he asked me if I would tell his wife, if anything happened to him. I thought I should like to write her—all that she would care to know.”
“Go ahead, Stapley; that’s a noble purpose. I’ll give you a note to enclose, saying how much we appreciated him and how bravely he met his fate. Take one of the men with you—some fellow that specially liked the captain. Get back at dark.”
It was half a mile back to the southern side of the hill where the bloody engagement of the morning had taken place and a like distance to the little plot of ground in the corner of a field where some of the American dead were buried. Clem and Private Martin easily found the captain’s resting-place.
Some sappers were still at work, and a slightly wounded staff-officer of the marines had been detailed to keep record of the burials. One fellow, his identification number and all papers about his person missing, had not been recognized nor interred. On the way back Clem glanced down at this unfortunate.
“It’s poor Giddings!” he exclaimed.
“What? Not that joker in your company?” protested the officer.
Clem nodded; Martin confirmed this. The lads helped to lower their comrade into his grave and stood with bowed heads duringthe brief reading of the burial service. Then they went into the field near by and made two wreaths of poppies and daisies to hang on the wooden crosses over Giddings and the captain.
The shadows were growing long; the two “Leathernecks” had quite a distance to travel in the return to camp. For a little way their road lay along the foot of the hill around which a well beaten track had been made by motor cars and artillery. Now and then they were met by ambulances plying between the dressing station west of the hill and of the last battle-field where the marines and regulars had repulsed the German advance. Some of the cars detoured part way up the hillside by a farm lane, on the slopes to seek further for wounded that might have been overlooked.
The driver of a passing ambulance, returning from the dressing station, offered to give the boys a lift and they accepted gladly. They ran on for less than a fourth of a mile when something got out of order with a spark plug which they stopped to replace, just beyond the lane turning up the hill.
“Be only a moment,” the driver said. “I’ll get you fellows right by your camp in ten minutes.”
“Plenty of time!” both said and, while Martin aided the driver a little, Clem walked to an opening in the thicket and gazed up to where, in the morning, he had seen such bloody work with rifle, pistol and bayonet.
Another ambulance came along the road. It seemed to Clem that he had heard the motor start somewhere back under the hill, though there could be nothing strange in that. There was an unusually large Red Cross in its patch of white on the side of the long, low car, and the machine glided along as though it possessed great motive force but was held down in speed. Two men were in the seat. When the car reached the lane it swung in and, without apparent slowing, ascended the grade, stopping about half way up. A few yards beyond it was an army ambulance, its driver walking away across the slope.
Clem’s very brief glance at the driver of the Red Cross car had caused him to start and wonder. He hardly knew why he gazed after the car with an unpleasant feeling, and then, in order to watch its movements, crossed the road and swung himself up on a branch of a low tree.
There were no other cars on the hill andapparently no other people, but the army ambulance man. Clem was cogitating:
“Now, can’t I think where? What had Don Richards said only yesterday? Spies? But would they dare again to come here boldly and—” his thoughts were cut short.
A man got down from the long, low car and quickly went to the other machine. He paused and looked about for a moment, then raised the hood and seemed to be working rapidly. He put down the hood and returned. Then the Red Cross car moved on rapidly up the hill to the far end of the lane, where it turned across pasture ground and veered about among the rocks and thickets, stopping presently on the south-east slope.
“Fire and flinders! It is—it is!” exclaimed Clem. “They wouldn’t dare to go so far east and expose themselves to the guns unless the Huns knew and approved of it.”
The boy dropped to the ground and, taking pad and pencil from his pocket, wrote the following:
“I beg leave to report that I have this moment discovered the Hun spies we were after yesterday. They have gone to theeastern side of Hill 165, probably to signal the German lines, as reported before. I also saw them disable an army ambulance. Fearing to fail in their arrest, and confident that I can accomplish this with the aid of the ambulance man on the hill, I take the liberty of delaying my return to post. Will report as soon as possible.Clement Stapley, Corporal.”
“I beg leave to report that I have this moment discovered the Hun spies we were after yesterday. They have gone to theeastern side of Hill 165, probably to signal the German lines, as reported before. I also saw them disable an army ambulance. Fearing to fail in their arrest, and confident that I can accomplish this with the aid of the ambulance man on the hill, I take the liberty of delaying my return to post. Will report as soon as possible.
Clement Stapley, Corporal.”
This sheet he folded, addressed, and handed to his companion, Martin. The ambulance had a new spark plug and was ready to start.
“Give this to the lieutenant as soon as you get in,” Clem said. “Now, please don’t ask any questions. I’m on an expedition the captain ordered yesterday and the lieutenant knows about it. You might tell him I said so. And, by the way, got any extra cartridges for your pistol? I might need them. I left mine in my kit. Will pay you back when I get back.”
“Maybe I could help you,” began Martin, but Clem backed off.
“No; I can handle this. Nothing much. When I come in I think you’ll see me bringing some Heinies along—pretty soon, too.”
Clem alone, hurried up the hill by the lane. He had but one purpose. His mind was singularly free from any thought of strategy as he went straight to the seat of the trouble. He meant simply to arrest these men and prove their guilt afterward. He reached the army ambulance and saw the driver returning with a wounded man’s arm over his shoulder. This soldier could walk, but he had been shot through the shoulder and had lain unconscious for a time in a shell hole, where he was overlooked. Clem recognized him as a member of his own company. The man smiled and tried to salute.
“Driver, I’ll help this man along. I think when you look at your engine you’ll find something wrong with it. I saw it done—from the road down yonder.”
The driver raised his engine hood. “Well, I should say! Look at that; will you? Every plug wire cut away and gone and the plugs smashed. Do you know who did this?”
“I think I can introduce you to the parties responsible. They’re right up there on the hill now,” Clem replied; then turned to the wounded soldier. “We want to get you in right away and—”
“You let me rest here a bit, Corp. I won’tbe any worse off and you go and get those devils. I bet they’re Heinies, drat ’em! I’d like to know some more of them are going the long road, even if I go the same.”
“You’re going to be all right, man.”
“Not on your life, Corp. Never. A fellow always knows when he’s got his for good and all!”
“Don’t believe it,” said Clem. “We’ll take you to the dressing station in that car of theirs shortly, unless another ambulance comes up here. Then you’d better go with it. Now, then, Mr. Driver, you look pretty husky. Feel like having a scrap?”
“I could cut the heart out of the weasel that disabled my car! That is if it was just ‘rough-house.’ I expect he’s got a gun with him.”
“Likely enough—haven’t you?” asked Clem.
“Why yes—in the car—army pistol. But I guess I’m not much at using it. I’m better with a knife. It’s either the gun or me, but I can’t hit a barn door up against it. I can shoot with a real gun, though. I’ve hunted and shot deer.”
“Well, then, bo, all you’ve got to do,” suggested the wounded man, “is to chaseback to that shell hole and get my rifle. She’s there; I forgot to fetch her. And she’s a dandy old pill-slinger, too, believe me.”
Ten minutes later the two young fellows went up to the end of the lane and turned sharply to the right, as Clem had seen the suspected Red Cross car do. It was now growing dusk, though the boys could easily make their way across the field. Clem had noticed a bunch of trees taller than those around on the edge of the woods below the summit of the hill, and that the top of one of these trees was partly cut off and hanging: the work of a shell. It was beyond this spot that the spies’ car had stopped.
“We’re getting there,” whispered the driver. “The Heinies are liable to send some whiz-bangs over here any time.”
“I hardly think so while that fellow is here,” Clem said. “We’ll see if I’m not right pretty soon. We’ll have to risk it, anyway.”
“Go ahead; I’ve risked more than that more than once.”
“What is your name?”
“Duncan. I’m from Maine. What’s yours?”
“Stapley. Marines. I’m from Pennsylvania. Go easy now; we’re getting up near the place and they’ll likely be watching out for somebody. Let’s wait until it’s a little darker, then sneak up. I have a hunch those chaps are on this side signaling information to their friends over east.”
The darkness grew thicker and gave way to night. The watchers had found shelter, both against possible German shells or discovery, behind a boulder where they crouched for several minutes. No shells came that way, though the booming of cannon not very far away to the east and northeast showed that the Huns were awake and replying to the constant cannonading of the French and Americans. All around the boys it was as quiet as any night in early summer. Once, overhead, they heard the call of a night bird and once the twitter of some small feathered citizen disturbed in its slumbers in a thicket. There was the squeak of a mouse or shrew beneath the turf almost at their feet. In a whisper that could not have been heard twenty feet away Clem told his companion what he suspected, from his recollection of the doubtful ambulance driver’s face and from Don Richards’ brief account of the signaling near Montdidier. After what Clem had seen here and the injury to the army ambulance, there was enough to satisfy Duncan that they had Hun spies to deal with.
“I’m going to get up and take a look round,” he said. “Going to be an old dead tree; it’s a trick we Indians pull off to fool moose. You see I’ve got a little Indian blood in me. Fact. Proud of it.” And with that Duncan crawled up on the boulder and slowly stood up, his arms extended crookedly, one held higher than the other. Thus he remained for several minutes. Then he came down, even more slowly.
“Say, pard, you’ve got the dope. They’re up there all right, about two hundred yards, and they’re signaling. There’s a light going up and down, bull’s eye, turned away, but I could see the reflection on a rock.”
“Well, we’re here to stop that and get those fellows,” said Clem. “Shall we rush them?”
“No, no! We’d only give them a fine chance to bore us full of holes. They don’t want to be surprised, you can bet. But we can stalk them, as we do bear on high ground, and work the bird call so as to make them think nobody’s around in our direction. Are you on?”
“I am! Say, I guess you are Indian all right. You lead off—and I’ll follow and do just as you do, as near as I can.”
“Only be careful where you put your hands and knees. Don’t crack any sticks nor roll any stones. Ready?”
Clem wondered at first whether the method would prove successful. It loomed up like a large undertaking, considering the distance. Would it not be better to just march right up on the spies and trade gun-fire with them, if need be? But the farther the boys progressed the more Clem became convinced that this was the only means of surprising the enemy. The nature of the ground was such that any one walking boldly up could have been seen first by the spies, and held up or shot. Fortunate, indeed, was it that this fellow Duncan was on the hill. Truly a wonderful chap when it came to this sort of thing.
Slowly they went, on hands and knees, for another fifty feet or more, stopping every little while to listen, and Duncan made a soft twittering sound exactly like the little bird in the thicket below. Presently he rose cautiously to take a look and get the bearings, after which he turned and put his lips to Clem’s ear.
“Man on watch about a hundred feet from us, sitting on a rock. He don’t look this way. I think I’d better edge off a little and work around so as to come up on the other chap, and you work up nearer this one, behind the thicket. When I yell he’ll turn and then you’ve got him. Wait till I yell.”
There is little doubt that this plan would work out well. The German mind can not cope in matters of woodcraft and ambush with that of an American backwoodsman. Duncan wormed himself away and Clem could not detect a sound made in his progress. Hardly more than fifteen minutes would be required for him to gain his object, but in less than five minutes a whistle sounded up the hill. The watcher ran that way and there was the buzz of a self-starter and the whir of a motor. Before the bushwhackers had time to collect their senses the long car, with its lights on, was running back across the field.
Duncan joined Clem. “Rotten luck! But glad you didn’t shoot. And say, they’ve got to go slow over and around those rocks. Can’t we head ’em off if we go down the hill straight toward the foot of the lane? How’re your legs?”
“I’m with you!” announced Clem, and together, with the easy, long-stepping lope of the runner trained in the woods, the two set off, leaping over the obstacles in their way, dodging around boulders and thicket patches, and making good time in spite of the uneven ground.
But they had not covered a third of the distance and had several hundred yards yet to go when they saw that the chase was hopeless. The car had made far better time than they had believed possible and when it reached the head of the lane it turned and shot like an arrow down the hill.
The boys stopped and gazed in bitter disappointment after the retreating foemen.
“I wish we had sailed into them up yonder,” Clem said.
“Gettin’ shot ourselves would have been worse than this,” Duncan argued.
“Say, look, they’ve stopped! About where your car is!” Clem exclaimed. “Maybe we can—”
Duncan raised the army rifle as though to bring it into position for firing. “If it wasn’t so blamed dark I could get ’em,” he declared. “Anyway, I can make a try.” But Clem stopped him.
“Hold on, man! You may hit the wounded man there!”
“Blazes! Never thought of it. Can’t risk that. Couldn’t stop ’em, anyhow; not in a million shots, with only their lights to shoot at.”
“There they go on again. We’re licked this time,” Clem said, mournfully. “Come on; let’s get back to the lane. I’ll help you make that poor chap comfortable. Then I’ll go down and try to get another ambulance. I’ve got to get back to camp pretty soon. Say, it’s going to be tough to have to admit we couldn’t arrest those spies. It’s what I stayed out for and sent word to the lieutenant that I could do. He’ll be sore, and Martin will rub it into me for a month. Say, those spies have put out their lights now.”
Duncan mumbled something about their running on with lights out to avoid being recognized. He hoped they’d run into a shell hole and break their blamed necks. The young down-east woodsman was grievously put out not to avenge himself on the men who damaged his ambulance.
Not another word was exchanged between the two youths while they were crossing theopen ground to the lane. They reached and turned down the well-worn road a little above the ambulance.
“He’s asleep, I guess,” Clem said, glancing at the soldier lying on the cot that Duncan had spread for him. Theambulancierwent over and stooped down to look at or speak to the wounded man. Then he straightened up with a jerk and stepped back. Though his nerves were of steel after the many bitter experiences following battles, raids, artillery fire and gas attacks, he must have had a sharp prod at the sight that met him. It is one thing to see men killed, maimed, blown to pieces in fair fighting, but quite another thing to find one foully murdered outside of the area of fighting.
“Killed!—stabbed! They’ve killed him! Those—those devils!” His voice was thick with rage.
Clem could only weakly repeat part of this—it was too horrible for mere words. Instinctively they both turned to gaze down the lane again toward where the spies had fled. And suddenly, from the bottom of the hill, the two bright lights of an approaching ambulance glared at them ominously.
Staplely and Duncan with their weapons ready, waited, crouching. In their agitation they had not observed other ambulances coming along the road at the foot of the hill and they did not doubt that the spies, seeing no light and not suspecting the return of theambulancierwhose car they had broken and whose passenger they had killed, might be returning perhaps to lie in wait for him. They seemed to be having things all their own way of late so why should they not try to accomplish more?
The glaring lights came nearer. The throbbing motor had easily the better of hills such as this. The seekers of a just revenge tried to see who was on the driver’s seat behind the lights—a difficult thing to do. A voice caused their weapons to lower.
“Reckon dis de place t’ stop. One amberlance done quit gittin’ all het up, heah. Yu kin turn her roun’ easy by backin’ intode fiel’ a ways, lessen yu hits a groun’hawg hole er sumpin’.”
“No groundhogs in this country, Wash. We might hit a rock, though. Hello, you fellows! Are you stuck?” This last addressed to Duncan and Stapley who had risen and come forward.
If Clem felt any bitterness toward Don he did not think of it now; there was too much else to occupy his mind. But Don, leaping to the ground instantly, seemed not to know him. Duncan knew Don and at once began to relate their experiences.
“And you mean to say you fellows couldn’t stop them? Let them get away up yonder and murder this poor helpless soldier on the way! And only yesterday this fellow,” with a bend of his head he referred to Clem, “rubbed it into me because—”
“Well, that—that was dif—” began Clem.
“Not a bit of it! But why parley? Duncan, you and I can get busy. Those fellows are down there yet, in the road just west of the lane. They’re doing something to their car. That’s twice I’ve run into them fixing it, but I didn’t know them this time. Wash, confound you, were you asleep? Why didn’t you tell me—?”
“Sleep yuse’f! How’s I know—?”
“Cut the comedy! Come on, if you’re sure that was the spies,” Clem said.
“Hold on! You’re not in this and they’ll be there awhile, you can bet,” said Don. “You fellows slipped up in your attempt and this is my job. There’s one way to get those chaps and that only, Duncan. Listen to me—Wash, you get in back and lie low. We two will get in on the front seat. We’ll dim the lights and then go along singing and let on we’re half tipsy until we get right up to them. I’ll stop and ask them for a drink and you turn the bull’s-eye on them and if it’s the spies we’ll act quick; see?”
“I’m going with you,” said Clem.
“Not in my car,” Don retorted. But Clem walked to Don’s ambulance and jumped in.
“We can scrap afterwards, Richards; not now. Come on—three are better than two.”
“That’s so,” asserted Duncan.
The plan was carried out as laid down. With all their science and suspicions those Hun spies had no idea of any such thing being pulled off. Though three half-drunk Yankees were an unusual sight, especially in an ambulance, it was nothing to bother about. To humor them and let them go on was a simple matter.
“Oh, we won’t go home till evenin’!” sang Clem.
“Till mornin’, you blamed fool! D-don’t ye know the words?” Don shouted, tickled to give Clem a dig. “Aw, dry up an’ let me sing it! Thish-a-way it goes: Oh, we won’t get home till mornin’, till broad-s-say—.”
With a grinding of brakes the ambulance came to a sudden stop, almost even with the long, low car by the roadside. “S-say,” continued Don, “any—you blokes got a drink? One good service man to another; eh, friend? Just a little nip—you fellers are Red Cross, ain’t you? Eh? Les’ see—. Hands up! Both of you, quick! One move and you’re dead men! Out, fellows, and put a rope on them!”
One of the spies, the weazen fellow, began to protest in excellent English:
“What do you mean by this? We haven’t done anything to—.” But Duncan snatched up a clump of grass roots and shoved it into the fellow’s mouth. The other man cowered back and tried at first to keep his face away from the electric bull’s-eye Clem threw on them. Through Duncan’s dexterity with strong twine taken from Don’s toolbox,both men had their arms tied behind them in a jiffy so that they winced with the pain.
“Do you fellows think this is funny? Let us loose, at once! We have no time for jokes!” demanded the taller one, gazing at Don’s revolver in a manner that showed he knew it was no joke.
“But you had time to play one of your kind of jokes on that poor wounded soldier up on the hill,” Clem returned and the thin face of the spy grew ghastly white. “We haven’t been up on the hill,” he asserted—but another wad of grass-roots stopped his talk also. Don took the bull’s-eye from Clem and threw it into the tall man’s face.
“Well, Stapley, I guess you know him; don’t you?”
“The fellow on the train, sure enough,” Clem said.
“Wonderful!” said Don. “You do have a lucid flash now and then.” But before Clem could reply Don began to enlighten the spy:
“I guess you remember us back there in America. We got off at Lofton, too. We got your cronies, Shultz and the whiskered chap, and I got your pard up near Montdidier.”
Of course the man could make no reply. Don continued:
“Duncan, you can run my car, I guess. You take these nice chaps into camp. In about half an hour they’ll face a firing squad.”
But Duncan shook his head. “What’s in me has got to come out. I’m an ambulance driver and working to save people—ours and theirs, too—but that don’t say I don’t just love gettin’ square more’n anything else on this green earth! I told the corporal here I have a little Indian in me. I have a heap and it’s reached high mark right now. It might get the corporal in trouble and it may get me in trouble, but I reckon you’re out of it, Richards. No matter; what I want is to be the firing squad that fixes these blood-smeared polecats. But I don’t want to do it with a gun. You just leave it to me. I’m goin’ to take ’em over here in this field an’ stick a knife into—”
“No, Duncan, you are not going to do anything of the kind!” Don said in horror. “I won’t consent to this being anything irregular. You may go along and see them shot, if you want to, but you can’t knife them. Hold on there! Put that knife up, or I’m going to shoot it out of your fingers. It would just about break my heart to hurt you, old man, because I know you’re goodstuff, but don’t try that thing. Come, you’ve got more white blood in you than Indian and don’t imitate these Huns.”
Duncan stood looking earnestly at Don while he spoke. Then, without a word, he put his long-bladed claspknife into his pocket.
“You take my car, because it’s surer than this one, and get these chaps where they’ll do no more harm. I’ll run their car and I’ll have them send out for yours and fix it. I hope they’ll let you get into the squad that does the shooting.”
“I don’t like to deprive you of your own car,” Duncan said. It was easy to see that the fellow was true-blue, even if an act of savagery made his blood boil with desire for personal revenge.
“Your errand is more important than mine,” Don continued. “Besides, I’m glad, for Stapley and I would be sure to scrap on the way. I’d have to rub it in about his letting these men get away on the hill. And Stapley can’t take anything from me good-naturedly. He can explain to you later what he thinks of me. I know already and I don’t care a hoot. Come, Wash, climb out of there! We’ve got to see if we can make this ramshackle ambulance travel. So long, Duncan.”
The military court gave the spiesshort shrift. Duncan was one of the firing squad that did quick executions. The armyambulancierthen went his way. Before morning he was again driving his own ambulance and Don Richards’ car had been turned over to him and the grinning Wash. Work on Hill 165 had been finished.
“The marines are going to try to take Bouresches and Belleau Wood to-day, I hear,” Don said to Duncan, as they met on the road.
“I wish I was in that bunch of real men,” Duncan replied and passed on. That was the last Don ever saw of the brave fellow, for Duncan was shifted north of the Oise River where another Hun drive seemed imminent, as they were short of ambulances in that sector.
Don’s orders were to run in close to the American fighting forces without too grave risk, and if there was an advance, to keep pretty near to it, as there would necessarily be many casualties. As the Germans had learned already to recognize the Yanks as their most formidable foes, they were sending some of their best troops to stop them.
The Red Cross was showing splendid efficiency now. From stretcher bearers to dressing stations, from its own evacuation hospitals to ideally equipped bases and convalescent camps, it was the model for all things humane in warfare. Eager were its men and women in doing their share of the arduous and dangerous work, and proud, indeed, those who were identified in any way with its glorious efforts.
“Drive the enemy from Bouresches and Belleau Wood!” was the order from headquarters. Again, as one man, the marines went forward. The Huns must be taught that their advance at the Château-Thierry front was at an end.
“Pound the enemy’s lines in Bouresches!” came the order to the artillery as a forerunner of the charge of the marines, and the artillery pounded. Across the grain and flowering fields marched the soldiers, advancing in thin lines, one after the other, the marines in the center and on either flank a battalion of doughboys, regulars of the United States army. This was the good old training in American fighting methods: Advance on a run and lie down, advance and lie down, the front rank shooting all the while, and when these fellows, who must bear the bruntof the strong defense that the enemy was making, were thinned out reinforcements were rushed from the rear to fill up the broken ranks.