A Delicate Mission
It was a flower-decorated and most attractive dining-room into which the six young men were ushered after being most graciously received by Mrs. Thompson. There was a promise, indeed, of good things in the eating line to come and nothing could have been more gratifying to healthy youths who had long been absent from home cooking and daintily served luxuries, no matter how well fed they were with plain and nutritive stuff.
And then, as the boys stood for a moment by their chairs in imitation of their hostess, somewhere at a distance in the house soft music began to play. Suddenly the lady clapped her hands, the double doors leading to the hall flew open and six smiling young girls, dressed in pink and white and with flowing ribbons, entered.
Rapid introductions followed, the younger lads, and especially Herbert, being somewhat awkward in acknowledgment; to say that all were taken aback, though some agreeablysurprised, was no exaggeration. As the genial hostess was busily engaged in wisely seating her guests, it was Roy Flynn's ready tongue that put all at ease. Addressing Mrs. Thompson and with a wave of his hand, he said:
"Faith, me dear lady, it's the princess ye are at furnishin' delights, and all of us ought to agree with me. As me old granddad used to say, 'Bad cest to the lad who don't admire the lasses,' though ye might guess that hits me friend here, Mr. Whitcomb."
More the manner than the words caused a laugh and a flutter. A tall, dark-haired, pretty damsel, Mrs. Thompson's elder daughter, who proved to be a great aid to her mother in leading the general conversation, from her seat by Corporal Hern waved her finger tips across the table at Roy.
"Oh, you say that so nicely. But we shall try to keep Mr. Whitcomb from running away, though there is, of course, no telling what any of you terrible warriors may take it into your heads to do."
Roy arose and made a profound bow to the girl and struck an attitude.
"Flowers by the wall,Buds at the table,Joy over all,Eat while you're able."
"Flowers by the wall,Buds at the table,Joy over all,Eat while you're able."
He shot this off exactly as though he had committed it to memory. It began, then, to appear that the red-haired, homely lad would surely become the lion of the evening, for all the girls and most of the boys, themselves short in wit, appealed to Roy for a characterization of this or that thing rapidly discussed. And Roy was ever ready, so that the laughter and gaiety made the dinner a pronounced success.
Throughout this effusiveness, though appreciative of the wit and repartee, Herb sat almost silent and observant, though as yet ignorant of what he was particularly to observe. He was near the middle of one side of the table and by him sat the younger of Mrs. Thompson's daughters, an over-fat, giggling girl, slow of speech and evidently lax in ideas. She had been addressed as Laura. Rose and she were no more alike than a slice of ham and an ice cream cone.
Evidently Herb was expected to make himself agreeable to Laura Thompson, judging by the girl's manner, and the pink-flounced creature on the other side of him was all smiles and giggles for Terry Newlin, from Company I.
As the guests became more and more filledwith good things and the hours grew longer the talk and laughter fell off a little, even Roy growing less verbose. Presently Rose Thompson, following a glance from her mother, made the request:
"Now, you boys might tell us something about your life and duties in camp. Mr. Hern, you're a non-com and in command here, of course, you——"
"No; you see, we are off duty," replied the complaisant corporal, "and there is no need for leadership here. But if we should need to be commanded in any way, why, then, Whitcomb over there is to have the say."
There was a rapid change of glances between Rose and her mother, the latter making a quick signal with her eyes. Almost instantly Rose called to Laura:
"Say, kid, the corporal here wants to get better acquainted with you, I know. He said he admires stout girls most—surely you said that, corporal. Besides, I am just dying to talk with Mr. Whitcomb."
"Herb's scared to death already, so don't make him breathe his last quite yet, Miss Thompson," Roy demanded. He would have said this more hilariously, seeing Herb's faceturn red, but something in the look his chum gave him shut him up. This also was not lost on Mrs. Thompson's elder daughter.
The sisters exchanged places and at once Rose Thompson set about making herself more than agreeable to Herb. She was plainly bent upon drawing him out of his shell, was apparently determined to discover his brighter side. And the lad, always gentle and polite, unbent so far as to laugh and reply in kind to her sallies, but he did not lose one word being said by the hostess. Presently that lady echoed her daughter's recent request for camp news, doings and methods.
Terry Newlin was almost as ready as Roy Flynn; indeed, he talked more, but really said less. And he never thought twice what it was best for him to say. Now, pleased to hold the attention of all the fair ones, he began to spout upon the subject in hand. He rattled away about the grub, the cots, the drill, the study, the officers; and presently, surer of sympathetic hearing, began to enlarge upon the complaints, as he himself viewed them.
Rose Thompson saw that Herbert was trying to catch Terry's eye and she at once strove to prevent his doing so, for it was evidentthat the trend that Terry had taken much pleased the hostess. But Herb was not to be denied. He glanced across to Roy, pointed his thumb at Terry and his finger down and shook his head; then leveled a finger at Roy and another finger upward and nodded. Roy, never lacking, caught the drift.
"Oh, box the corpse, Terry, and have the funeral over! Nobody's got any kick comin' at camp, and you know it! Why, company quarters are as good as home and no pig in the parlor nor hen nestin' in the bread-box, as Terry's been used to. Whurrah, lad! Ye give us all the blues!"
This silenced Terry, but not Mrs. Thompson. That diplomatic person saw the crucial moment was at hand to embark the spirit of discontent, and, looking her sweetest, she at once held the attention of the guests.
"But camp life must be really very crude, very uncomfy, very lonely, uninteresting and disconsolate, as Mr. Newlin has intimated. I can believe you are, most of you, actually homesick when you think of the real differences between camp and home, cold-blooded officers and mother love, plain fare and dainties, and all that. Now, isn't that so?"
A half audible assent from the girls went around the table. That kind of leaven was sure to work wonders. The boys listened as the hostess continued:
"And it does seem a truly terrible thing that all this hardship, all this preparation, all this loss of time from studies, business, worthy pleasures at home should be thought necessary when there is really so little to be gained. Am I not right? All for death or loss of means, or both, for being maimed for life, made blind, made a dependent."
She paused impressively to let that sink in and another acquiescent sigh escaped, Herb noting with surprise that some of the boys joined in this, particularly Terry Newlin.
"And then," Mrs. Thompson continued, "what do we gain? What is it all for? Do we need to fear any European power away over here after this terrible war is over? Except England! Very probably England, who will fight always and against everything for commercial supremacy and her control of the seas. Are we not now fighting England's battles, and how will she thank us?
"You poor boys away off there in those awful trenches, wallowing in mud, sleeping on straw, covered with vermin, with the dinof bursting shells in your ears, the horrid expectation of death continually, seeing your loved comrades cut down, horribly wounded, dying or killed outright, your mind and body constantly suffering from these—surely you cannot disagree——"
This last, in her most engaging manner, was addressed to Roy Flynn. The lad had risen and leaning forward, with both fists on the table, was glaring at the woman savagely; all the jollity in his round, red face had suddenly fled.
"Do you mean to try to make slackers of us; to preach the doctrine of discontent?" he demanded.
"No, indeed! Not at all, my dear boy. You quite misunderstand me, I am sure. Nothing could be more foreign to my thoughts. I am only deeply filled with sympathy for the lads who are going away to fight our battles, to bleed and die for us, while we, as it seems most selfishly, remain here in peace and security at home, able to do so little. And all for so little gain, probably for no gain at all. Our country is confronted by such a gigantic task. On us, soon, will fall the brunt of the effort to oppose the greatest military power on earth, and what can——?"
She paused a moment, noting Herbert's quick glance and apparent signal to Roy, who instantly resumed his seat, but refrained from again adopting his jovial manner and speech.
"You see," Mrs. Thompson went on, "the Germans are so wonderfully able, are such a thoroughly capable race that it is well-nigh impossible to equal them in anything. They——"
Herbert decided that he must at last get into the conversation.
"Why do you so highly praise the Germans?" he asked abruptly. "We Americans refuse to believe that they are such wonderfully capable people. They are awful brags and try to make the rest of the world think they are the top notch of mankind, but in what way they show it I can't see.
"Young man, you are evidently not fully informed. You have not been in Germany, as I have. The German people are the most efficient——"
"No people are efficient who set the whole world against them," interrupted Herb.
"Mere jealousy on the part of other nations!" scoffed the lady. "But anyway, whatever you may think of the Germans,this fact remains: they have not invaded our country to war on us——"
"Only because they couldn't," interposed Roy.
"They have not injured any of our people——"
"Oh! How about theLusitaniaand some other boats?" chimed in Anthony Wayne Bartlett-Smith.
"Merely the fortunes of war as aimed at another country. Americans had no business to be on that boat when they had already been warned. How could the submarines choose between——?"
"Will you pardon me," Herbert suddenly requested, "for asking to be excused for a few moments so that I may call up our captain to ask at what hour we are to return? May I use your 'phone?"
The boy had arrived at a rapid conclusion, believing that drastic measures should be adopted. Half-way methods were distasteful to him. He was not certain that he had sufficient grounds for action, but anyway, that would be up to Captain Leighton. No doubt Herb could have the rest of the soldier guests with him, all except Terry Newlin, who seemed to be naturally disgruntled.
The bland face of the hostess went suddenly red and then very white, but she indicated the front hallway where the telephone hung. Then, as Herb arose, both he and Roy noticed that the lady nodded her head toward her elder daughter, who quickly got up and followed Herbert through the archway.
As the boy reached his hand for the instrument there was a quick step beside him and slender fingers were thrust forward to push his hand aside.
Slender Fingers Thrust His Hand Aside.
Hitting the Mark
"May I ask for what purpose, really, are you going to 'phone?" Rose Thompson asked.
"I told your mother what for, didn't I?" Herb replied.
"I know; yes. But your real reason?"
"Great Jehoshaphat! If you don't want me to use it I can get one next door, perhaps, or somewhere."
"No; use this one. But I have asked you a question. Now please answer. I want to know very much, indeed, and I know you will not refuse me."
"Won't I? There must be many a thing that you want to know right badly and can't. Well, I will use your 'phone as it's getting late." He had glanced at the hall clock.
"That clock is fast, very!" the girl declared. "And I must know. I must!"
She had interposed herself between Herbert and the 'phone and she looked very determined.It was not a pleasing position for the boy to be in, opposed by a gentle-appearing girl. Many a chap, even less tender-hearted than he, would have turned away, hoping for some other way to proceed, but Herb saw his duty first and clearly, the girl's attitude making him the more determined.
"Now, see here, Miss Thompson, you can hear me talk, can't you? I don't like to scrap with women, but I know my orders. Come, let me have that 'phone, or I'll have to take it, anyway."
She had put her hand against his breast and held him back. "When you tell me."
"To see when we are to return, I said. The captain told me to call him up about it."
"But that is not all. Tell me." Evidently she was playing for time.
"Oh, nonsense! Let me have that 'phone." And with a quick dive past her he did get it, and though she caught the cord and pulled it violently once, he held receiver and mouth-piece firmly in place.
"Give me the camp, please; Company H Barracks. Yes.—Captain Leighton? Whitcomb.—Return when?—Yes, we're all here.—It was indeed a dandy dinner!—I understand.—Yes.—Right away.—All right." He hung up the receiver.
"I suppose now, you are satisfied, Miss Thompson."
The girl hesitated a moment, thinking, staring at him. "I think I am. And I think you are anything but a gentleman!" Suddenly she darted forward and dashed into the dining-room, Herb following with long strides.
"Yes, mother!" she exclaimed.
The hostess gave Herbert a look of such mingled hate and fear that had he been less immune would have turned him cold. She struck the table bell and turned toward the kitchen door. It opened to admit only a broad, very blonde face.
"Gretchen, you know my orders! At once; then remain! Laura, our hats and dusters! Rose, the suitcases are ready!"
Herbert knew that Rose had seen through his message and he surmised at once that all this had been planned ahead with German thoroughness, in case of failure to entirely convince all the guests. Perhaps it was the woman's first attempt at sowing discontent among the soldiers; perhaps the first of any of such bold attempts.
He saw that, with a good start in the powerful car which they had, the Thompsonscould get over the State line and thus avoid immediate detention; possibly then go in hiding for a time and give the government authorities no end of trouble later.
Perhaps the authorities would not even wish to detain the woman, but at any rate the boy resolved to see to it that Captain Leighton could come into touch with the situation, first hand.
To carry out this determination there was but one logical thing to do and to do quickly.
Herbert stood in the archway as Rose and Laura faced him. His service revolver, all the while in its holster under his coat, now was in his hand.
"The first person, except as ordered, who makes even an attempt to leave or enter this room will be shot; man or woman! Flynn, slip out and tell the servants this; then go watch for Captain Leighton, who will soon be here! The Thompson car, Bartlett; you go out and hold that! Newlin, you remain where you are; perhaps the captain may want to question you! You other fellows, go out of each of those other doors and lock them outside; then wait for the captain!"
Mrs. Thompson sank into a chair, her eyes, in fear, glaring at Herbert. Laura, intears, knelt by her. Two of the other girls sat weakly at the table, one with her face in her hands; the other two, clasped in each other's arms, stood in a far corner. But Rose Thompson fearlessly faced Herbert, her head thrown back, her arms stretched down, her fists clenched, in precisely the most approved dramatic attitude for the occasion. And the boy had one fleeting thought that he had never seen a human face more to be admired.
"This is a nice return for our hospitality! I think I could kill you!"
"Don't do it, please." He smiled. "I want to get a whack at your dear friends over in Germany first."
"Huh! They'll eat you up!" Rose retorted. "They'll——"
"They are not our friends——" wailed Mrs. Thompson, who was evidently not equal to this phase of the situation.
"Mother, hush! Don't be a coward! And don't lie! What if they are? We have a right to do as we please. Have what friends we wish. You coward, to threaten women!" she suddenly flashed out at Herbert. "But, pshaw! I'm not afraid of you. And I am going out that door! We all are! This is our house! Stand aside! Do you hear?"
Herbert merely shook his head.
"I'm going out, I tell you! You won't dare to shoot! Poof! I'm not afraid of you, I guess! You would not dare to threaten men this way! But women—oh, you think you're very safe! Come, let me pass!"
"Look here, Miss Thompson, if you think I like this business, you get another think. But I know my duty just the same. And, honestly, you won't look half as nice laid out in a coffin, not even with a million flowers, as you do now. So don't tempt me to use this gun, for I will if you get gay!"
"I dare you!" the girl shouted.
"Well, if you really want to see how it feels to have a bullet go plowing through your anatomy, just make a dive for that doorway. Go ahead and try it." With a hand that wavered not in the least he leveled the pistol barrel straight at her. For one moment the girl stood irresolute, bravely weighing the chances. Then a wail from her mother and a cry of alarm from one of the other girls who thought she was going to start checked her. She stepped back and sank into a chair.
There came the opening and slamming of the front door, heavy footfalls, and CaptainLeighton, with a sergeant and two men, entered the room, saluting.
In twenty minutes the captain had heard Herbert's story, listened to Rose Thompson's impassioned admissions and Mrs. Thompson's weak effort at defense, and had disposed of the matter.
"General Harding is away and I am ordered to take care of this case. Good work on your part, Whitcomb. We have suspected Mrs. Thompson,néeHeinig, of duplicity before. In the pay of German agents, no doubt. Well, Mrs. Thompson, we don't care to war on women. We can advise you, however, to cut out this sort of thing; or later, as certain as death, it will mean a long prison sentence. You will be closely watched from this on. You may go free now, but must break up and leave here at once. I have no doubt the State Department would recommend you for passports through Holland, if you would like to return to Germany and we surely would be glad to have you go. Now, men, all fall in and we shall return to camp."
As Herb passed out he summoned one more spark of courage to address Rose Thompson, who was glaring at him.
"You have your nerve, all right, but notjust quite enough. If you had slipped out I wouldn't have shot at you for ten billion dollars. Good-by, and give my love to Kaiser Bill; I may get the chance to shoot at him some day and I'll do that!"
Camp life went along the same routine: drill and practise and study. Herbert and Roy heard nothing more about the dinner incident, except that the captain once told Sergeant Jenkins who told Corporal Hern who told Roy that Mrs. Thompson and her daughters had, indeed, sailed for the other side, to what part and ultimate destination were not known.
Just prior to drill one morning Captain Leighton sent for Herbert.
"I want you to keep this under your hat," he said. "There is a call for expert shots to form several snipers' platoons, or perhaps companies, as yet uncertain as to numbers. Other camps are trying out men and we have picked some few here. The general remembers you as having been recommended in this particular and I am to try you out. You are excused from drill, so report at the range in half an hour."
"How about Flynn? He can shoot," Herb said.
"Can? Tell Lieutenant Mitchell to excuse Flynn from drill also. We'll find out what you boys can do."
The Brighton lads naturally thought this would be a simple test of their own shooting before the captain only, but when they crossed the field to the meadow that faced the wide targets and pits they saw a dozen men already there and soon discerned several officers and the commander himself. As they stepped up to the group and saluted, General Harding greeted Herb and Roy almost jocosely.
"Ha! Ready to bat some more balls over the net, eh, Whitcomb? I hear you made some rapid returns and good placement shots down at Mrs. Thompson's not long ago. Now we are going to find out if you can really shoot as well as you play tennis."
The boys observed that all the other marksmen were lying flat, some with head, some with feet toward the target and they were seeking every means to rest their rifles steadily, to set telescope sights just so, to get their elevations of rear sight perfectly and then to delay shooting until satisfied as to every condition.
Herb was assigned a place and a target at two hundred yards; just behind him stood aflagman. The boy requested the latter to signal to the marker not to touch the target until he had fired ten shots, and this was done.
Tallied scores were being shown the officers, and they paid very little attention to any one in particular. But Roy, standing back of Herb, said:
"The general keeps looking this way; got his eye on you, me boy. There goes your fresh target up; now give it to her! With that size bull's-eye it's a cinch."
Herb brought his gun to his shoulder and, standing, fired five shots in rapid succession, hardly four seconds apart. Then, slipping in another clip, he repeated even a little more quickly. After a few moments a big letter "P" was shoved up in front of the target, the marker, evidently having some difficulty in finding it, as perfect scores were indeed a rarity, even on a twelve-inch bull's-eye.
"Here comes the general and the whole bunch almost on a trot. The old man saw you do that!" announced Roy, and in a moment the commander had his hand on Herb's shoulder, though he was talking fast to the other officers:
"Saw it all. Done standing. Quick work,too; no dallying." Then to the lad: "Can you repeat that?"
Herbert nodded. "That's not remarkable; so can Flynn here. With practice 'most anybody ought to."
"But they can't! Few can. Now, do you think you could impart the knowledge; teach something of the skill you have in shooting? Because if you can we shall make you both instructors. What do you think about it?"
The Match
Brigadier-general Harding, grizzled, grim, but possessing that human quality without which no commander of men is entirely successful, gazed into the level, steady, smiling brown eyes of the boy who stood straight, tall and every inch a soldier before him.
"Anyone who understands shooting at all ought to be able to tell what he knows and how he does it," Herbert answered. "Shooting is a good deal like anything else that's lots of fun; you've got to love it and study it and have good eyes and then practise. And then, too, there's the gun. You've got to have a perfect gun to make A-1 scores and to do any fancy shooting."
"Well, that's a good gun, isn't it?"
"No; not very. I guess they make them so fast and so many of them that the boring tool wears and the rifling is not the best. Then, too, the sights may not be perfectly centered—you've got to look to that. Thestock, too, is queer; it doesn't fit like a gun should."
"I have been led to suppose that this is as good as a rifle could be."
"It may be as good as an army gun can be made on contract, cheaply and in great quantities. But I doubt even that. As a fine shooting-piece it is not to be mentioned alongside of the high-grade sporting rifles you can buy. If you wanted to go into a rifle match, or if you went after lions or elephants or grizzly bears you wouldn't pick out this; you'd get a gun with a reputation and that you could rely on perfectly. With a gun of that sort a nearly perfect score on a six-inch bull's-eye wouldn't be out of the way."
"But these guns are all inspected, I am told," argued the general.
"You can only inspect the shooting qualities of a gun by trying it carefully; the bore might look all right, but yet the grooves may keyhole a bullet or cut one side out of it and make it shoot almost around a corner."
"You keep your gun clean, of course? A dirty gun may give bad results."
"Perfectly clean! A dirty gun will never shoot straight."
The general turned to Roy Flynn.
"And you can do this sort of hitting, too? Let's see you."
And Roy did it, not exactly punching a big hole in the center of his bull's-eye with a few only a little nearer the edge, as Herbert had done, but all his shots were safely in the black. Again the letter "P" went up and genuine admiration was expressed by the little coterie of onlookers. Roy, answering direct praise from Colonel Walling, indicated his chum.
"Owe it to him, sir. He taught me to shoot. Couldn't hit a flock of church steeples comin' at me before he showed me. I used to have a sort of bright idea that the harder you pulled the trigger the harder she shot, until he told me and which end to put to me shoulder. But I agree with him about these fowlin' pieces; they weren't rightly made for shootin' at all, but I think for beatin' carpet. You ought to just see me own gun and Whitcomb's."
"What calibers are your guns?" asked the general.
"They shoot a 30-30," Herbert said.
"Would you boys prefer using them?"
Both expressed themselves as most pleased to be allowed to do this.
"Then send for them; we shall have them bored for the government cartridge, if you are willing, and see if you can show them superior. Will you see that this is done, Captain Leighton? Now, Whitcomb, when instructing, how would you go about it, first?"
"Show a man how to hold a gun and how to pull it hard against his shoulder. Then to see his sights, hunting sights at first, with both eyes open."
"Both open?"
"By all means, sir. That doesn't strain the sighting eye; it doesn't dim the object fired at; it permits, on the plan of the stereoscope, to get some idea of the distance of the target. I think that nearly all very expert shots open both eyes; all trap shooters do."
The officers all laughed outright and the general queried:
"How about that, Captain Pierce? You are an expert shot, I believe."
"Not that expert!" The officer addressed waved his hand at the targets. "Perhaps the reason is that I shut one eye. But the best marksman I ever knew, excepting present company of course, an old fellow in the West, used to open both eyes; he said no mancould shoot excellently with one eye shut. And yet, general, our physical examiners condemn a bad right eye and admit a bad left one."
"That's a question for them to settle at Washington. Well, gentlemen, have these scores all turned in for a general conference on the subject and we shall pick our quota of men for this new formation and recommend officers. I shall name Whitcomb in ours, for one squad, and as an instructor until they leave. Come, there is much else to do."
"Fine, fine, fine business, old scout!" caroled Roy when the two were alone. "I knew you'd catch the boss."
"But, Roy, it isn't fair. I couldn't get in a word—but you also deserve to be made a corporal."
"Cor-nothing. A corpse, mebbe. And if you don't have me in your squad, then, me for a deserter, by cracky! Say, I wonder what they are going to do with us as lead slingers, anyway."
But this query was to remain unanswered for many a long day, during which time the business of the camp, that of making expert soldiers, went on through the summer months, the boys seeing many changes take place in the make-up of the troops.
After a time some were sent to the South; others came: regiments of rookies, National Guardsmen, regulars or some companies made up of all of these, the purpose being for the experienced men to set the greenhorns an example.
But almost unchanged, though increasing in numbers, the marksmen's platoon, at first so called, but growing at last under instruction into a full provisional company, went bravely on perfecting itself in the art of getting ready to knock over individual Germans at long range, or to pot a low-flying enemy airplane.
At this latter practice especially Herbert became the admiration of the camp. Airplane-shaped balloons were sent up on windy days for the men to practise shooting at as they were blown swiftly by, but the majority were unsuccessful in hitting them, though a degree of excellence on the part of many rapid-firing marksmen was gained.
A lanky, loose-jointed, slow-moving young fellow from the mountains of Kentucky, Jed Shoemaker by name, long practised in the truly fine art of barking squirrels and knocking the heads off grouse, alternated with Herbert in holding the record for puncturing andbringing down these make-believe flying-machines; and in several contests between the two at ringed targets on short range the Kentuckian led slightly in scoring, but at long range, over a hundred yards, Herb generally had a little the better of it.
At these matches the utmost good nature was shown by both principals, though there were several rooters for Herbert who tried to belittle the mountaineer's shooting. But the big fellow did not let this mar the kindliness in his soul nor lessen his natural generosity toward a competitor. He would not boast over his winning.
Every time Herbert made a particularly fine shot or won a match his opponent would slap him on the back and shout:
"Center! Right in theh middle, b'gosh! Good! That's theh dern time you-all seed yer sights fine an' wiped my eye! Good boy!"
And Herbert was not to be outdone in this matter. He recognized the Kentuckian's real worth and a warm friendship sprang up between them. Roy Flynn, ever jolly, bright and big-hearted, and strong-minded Billy Phillips, made up a quartet that always pulled together and that never permitted to go unchallenged any snobbish reference or slursat the mountaineer's backwoods' crudity. An army camp is a mecca of democracy, and any departure from the "Hail, fellow! Well met!" scheme of things is almost unanimously condemned.
Nevertheless, soldiers are but human, and in spite of their grim work they want something to laugh at, to make merry over, to relieve the tension of long hours of hard and almost constant effort. And such fellows as Jed Shoemaker, in appearance, manners, talk, could not help furnishing his companions with the desired means for hilarity at the big fellow's expense.
But the thing went further than this. There are in every big bunch of boys some who seem to get actual satisfaction out of turning jest to earnest, of making hateful reference out of happy chance; and such in the camp also took their whack at poor Jed.
Among this fish-minded, low-diving fry was Martin Gaul, he of the whisky-imbibing tendencies. He did not seem to be able to see the harmless, jovial, that's-a-good-joke-on-me character of the Kentuckian and so he turned what ludicrousness there was into bitter ridicule.
Whitcomb, Phillips, and Williams hadagreed to say nothing about Flynn's scrap with Gaul, and Roy himself was the very last man to tell of it. Therefore Gaul came to recognize this and to gradually take advantage of it, exerting again his bluster and bullying tactics where he thought he could get away with them. Gaul was never jovial or good-natured, but in time became known in Company H barracks as "the grouchy one."
Shoemaker, of Company D, now also an instructor in rifle practise and a newly appointed corporal in the marksmen's platoon, was talking to several men outside of barracks when Gaul joined them.
"We-all," announced the Kentuckian, "are a-goin' tu have a leetle rifle match atween two picked teams, an' hit's goin' tu be a corker! Me an' Whitcomb's captins of theh two bunches, an' jedgin' from theh way some o' theh fellers is shootin' lately, it'll be a sight tu make yer eyes watter."
"If your eyes watered much there wouldn't be anything left of you, you big simp!" snapped Gaul. "You don't think you can get a bunch that can shoot with Whitcomb's crew; do you? Won't have a show." Gaul seemed unusually bitter.
"Mebbe not! Mebbe not! Cain't jesttell till they try. Theh's right smart fellers tu pick from."
"Good land, fellow, where did you learn to talk? You murder the language like a butcher sticks hogs. Can't you speak English better?"
"Well, I hain't had no chanct tu go tu school none, er not much, anyway. Sort o' reckon I kin make me understood, though, some, even though I cain't spout like you-all, b'gosh!"
"'You-all! Hain't! Reckon! Chanct!' Saints have mercy! If I had to talk like that I'd commit suicide. When you came here from where you hang up your hat why didn't you bring some brains, or don't they have 'em down there?"
"They has 'em, sure," laughed Jed, "but mebbe they don't try to use 'em none, for mighty few of 'em goes tu jail er Congress. When this heh war is over how'd you-all like tu come down theh in our mountings an' learn we-uns some o' your blame smart orneryness?"
This raised a laugh at Gaul and it very naturally made that fellow lose his temper. And with him to get angry was to want to fight, or threaten it, getting away with the bluff, if possible.
"What you want is a good, hard wallop, you lop-sided ignoramus, and mebbe you'll get it if you get too gay with me!" Had Gaul turned then and seen Herb and Roy standing observant across the company street he would have been less blustering, but now he had to talk loud to offset Shoemaker's wit.
But lanky Jed wasted no more repartee on that evidently quarrelsome fellow, the sting of whose sarcasm he had repeatedly felt before. He only laughed, then grew suddenly grave. He thrust his long face almost against that of Gaul.
"I'm a-waitin' fer thet wallop!" he invited.
Gaul was more of a moral coward than a physical one; he could never have it said that he refused such a dare, especially from an ignorant guy who surely could know nothing of the manly art. And so Gaul made the mistake of drawing back for a swinging punch and in that second Jed's face was withdrawn and with one swift leap upward, which stunt previously no one would have given him credit for, he shot out two long legs the extremities of which caught Gaul in the chest and sent him to earth in a heap. The others had to lift him to his feet.
Getting Over and On
This encounter, though witnessed by only a half dozen, gave Jed Shoemaker a new standing in the camp.
The shoot came off and it was a success in that a fine degree of nearly equal interest in the contesting teams was shown.
Shoemaker's team received about as much applause as did the boys that Herb led; and when the mountaineer's boys came out the victors by the exceedingly small margin of five in the total scores they got all that was coming to them.
Then Jed was seen to go across to the inspector-general, Colonel Short, and make a request, whereupon the individual highest scores were read out, Herbert leading in them.
In the cheering that followed it was plain that the Kentuckian was the leader; and when the two, Jed and Herb, advanced before the officers' stand and warmly shook hands there was another burst of applause, led by Captain Leighton.
The general, joined by certain other officers, came down from his seat and as the regimental audience filed away he summoned both teams to line up. He then addressed them:
"Men, this final test of marksmanship is the crucial one in the selection of snipers—we used to call them sharpshooters in the old days—to form the first platoon, and others will immediately follow. I know of no better way than to pick by scores and general deportment, for the first platoon, thirty-nine men in all. Lieutenant Loring will lead you."
There was a very decided handclapping, for Loring, though young, was deservedly popular and had the distinction of having served as a regular and corporal with Pershing in Mexico and as a private in the Philippines.
"With the formation of the other platoons, to form the first company of expert riflemen from this camp and the first of the kind in the army, I believe, your commander will be Captain Leighton, now of our Company H."
The men all were pleased with this choice. Herbert noticed that even Gaul, who had scored fairly well in the shooting, vigorously clapped his hands.
"The sergeants of this first platoon," continued the general, "will be Berry and Small,and the corporals of the four squads are Whitcomb, Phillips, Shoemaker and Lang."
Loud applause followed this combined announcement of non-commissioned officers.
The general further remarked upon the necessity of continued drill and training together in the new formation and added:
"Hold yourselves in readiness, men, for orders that may come from Washington at any time respecting new duties. Your squads, Lieutenant Loring, may be divided up in France, each serving on active duty with a platoon reduced to three regular squads and one of yours. It is the idea to place these men in certain positions where organized sniping is most effective, the snipers, of course, to be protected by the regular men. And now, I hope and feel sure that each and every one of you, when before the enemy, will give a good account of himself and do his duty in our great cause!"
And the general received the greatest cheering of the occasion.
Old Ocean! The rolling, billowy blue, apparently endless, with nothing but the paler sky, sometimes the gray, threatening sky, dipping into the dark water on everyside. And the vessel; its never ceasing engines throbbing, turning, whirring, sending the great hull on and on and on, over swells, through shorter billows, sloshing into whitecaps, and the two insignificant humans up there at the wheel directing the mapped course of this great bulk of steel so that her road was as clear, as certain, as though with wheels under her instead of astern, she followed a turnpike on the solid earth. But by no means alone. Not far behind, so close indeed that the white divided waters were always visible, another transport, also full of troops, sailed the blue sea, and back of that still another plainly in sight in daytime and at times discernible at night.
And on every side the greyhounds of the sea. Uncle Sam takes chances in sending his troopships over the ocean, for well he knows that, lurking in many places, the enemy submarines, the U-boats that have done most to make the history of this war so remarkable, and have added so greatly to its horrors, seek their prey like man-eating sharks ready to attack helpless swimmers.
The convoy vessels, with their sharp-eyed watchers and heavy guns, bring to port in safety the transport ships.
"Sorry for you, old chump," was Herbert's remark to Roy, as the latter stood by the rail in the wee small hours of night and made as though to cast his entire stomach into the briny depths far below. From bits of his strained conversation one would imagine that the boy might attempt to cast himself overboard so as to keep company with the stomach which so far he had been unable to detach, and so Herbert chose not to leave him. "Say, old man, what you want to do——"
"Oh, you go plumb to thunder across lots with what I ought to do!" groaned Flynn. "You've told me about ten billion fool things I ought to do. There's only one thing I ought to do and that is die. If you felt like me you'd say: 'Here goes nothin',' and hit the briny kerplunk in about two seconds. Take it from me, Herb, it isn't just awful; it's worse than war. I'd rather go up to a forty-two-centimeter just as she goes off and feed me face with the shell comin' out of her than be seasick. I'd rather swallow shrapnel, time fuse and all, and have it go off and turn me inside out than have this darned old heavin' pond coax a ten-dollar dinner out o' me. Say, I feel it comin' again!"
"Forget it," said Herb. "You come onand lie down and that'll make you feel better. Try it, at any rate. Come on now, or I'll carry you down!"
Much of this sort of dialogue went on every night, Roy finding, as did a few others, that the doctor's medicine was not effective.
It was a relief to the boy, as well as to Herb who had lost sleep remaining up with him night after night, when the ship entered a narrow harbor across a wide, unruffled bay somewhere on the long coast of France and warped up to a newly-timbered and planked dock having all of the earmarks, as it were, of American construction.
Indeed, a dozen carpenters who were unmistakably Yankee in get-up and movements, and who later proved it by their speech, were still at work on the office building that flanked the wharf. These fellows came in for a guying.
The boys in khaki leaning over the side, perched on cabin roofs, lifeboats, stanchions, railings and in rigging, feeling more than gay at seeing land again and the fact of having had a safe trip against possible dangers, had to let their exuberance be felt.
"Yip, yip, yip, yip! Get the dog-catcher's net! There's a son-of-a-gun from the landof the sun; eh, Yank?" shouted Roy, leading the fun, as usual.
"Sure, those ginks are all from God's country!"
"Hey, Yank! Does your mother know you're out, over here?"
"Hush, fellers! Salute; that there boob's General Hatchet-and-Saw and yonder's Colonel Sawdust!"
"Dollars to doughnuts they're makin' better wages than John D—— right now!"
"Glory be! Wish I was a nail driver 'stead of a dough boy!"
"That good-lookin' fellow looks like he came from good old Pittsburgh! That's my city!"
"Huh! Don't see black soot on him! Most clean people come from Detroit!"
"No; St. Louis. We wash out there more than once a month, fellow!"
"In the Big Muddy, I reckon!" shouted the Pittsburgher.
"And you need it twice a day!" was shouted back.
"Hey, you wood butchers! Made any coffins for the Booches yet? Soon's we get there they'll need 'em!"
"Listen to him! Booches! Boshes, man; that's the way to pronoun——"
"Hi, yi! Can the college education! Everybody knows it's Bewches! Don't show yer ignor——"
"Give him the Iron Cross! Boches, you simp! Ask these natives over here; it's their word."
"Bet you can't ask 'em anything; they'll mostly beat it when you try to buy eats!"
"Say, Yank, hey! You with the square! Had any frogs' legs yet? Or snails?"
"Oh, glory! Gimme some snails right now; nice, fat ones, alive, fresh and salted! I could eat thousand-leggers or rattlesnakes right now!"
"Hooray! Wonder where we mess!"
"Next week! An' I feel like we messed last in Noo York."
"Me! I'll be glad to get down on terra cotta again!"
"Aw, terra firma, you blamed ignor——"
"Listen to the perfessor! Say, can't you see a joke?"
"Say, fellers—everybody! Let's give a big hooraw for the noble land of France. Now, then, are you ready? Hip, hip——"
The yell that followed might almost have made the French think that the Boches had made a land attack from the sea, did they not know that now such was impossible.
And now, even if the mess had not been called for many hours after the landing, the khaki-clad boys would not have gone hungry, for as they fell in line on command and filed down from the ship hundreds of kindly-faced girls, lads, women and even old men, greeted them smilingly and tendered each soldier a dainty, ample bit of delicious food: meaty sandwiches, tasty little cakes, cups of milk and sour wine—looking surprised, indeed, when the latter was refused by many, Herb and Roy being among this number.
Lieutenant Loring, standing near and noticing this, said to the boys:
"You are right, fellows, of course, morally considering the matter, but here it is a little different from our country. The water is generally vile and often you will have to endanger your health or go thirsty; besides, there is so little alcohol in this common wine, 'vin-ordinaire,' they call it, that it is really not intoxicating. That may let you down occasionally for a drink of it when you can't get milk."
Again, when thousands of long cigarettes came their way, Herb and Roy were among a very few who refused them. The donors were taken aback, indeed. But the boys'messmates, those of their company, had long since acknowledged the sanity of the arguments against tobacco, even though failing in the practise of abstinence.
Facing the Enemy
"Go to it, old scout! That's what we're here for."
Such was Corporal Whitcomb's grave remark to Private Flynn when out of the squad of eight expert marksmen stationed in a rocky pit to help protect a certain new havoc-wreaking, shrapnel-shooting field-piece, three were chosen to first go out and stop any attempt of the enemy to pot-shot the artillerymen who were working the gun very much to the hurt of the German trenches three hundred yards away.
A little rocky hill held by the American troops new in action gave a protection to the position of the wonderful gun that shelled the enemy trenches disastrously beyond and successfully prevented the setting up of German heavy ordnance in the vast plain in the rear.
It was, therefore, impossible to try to smash the new gun by shells; it was well-nigh suicidal to attempt to charge the position, and, therefore, it became a matter of sharpshooting,of night raids and of dropping bombs from German planes very high overhead.
But the enemy were soon to learn that in the matter of marksmanship their best was greatly outclassed, and also that to escape injury from high-powered, .30-caliber bullets sent into the air their warplanes had to seek a very considerable elevation from which the dropping of bombs was an uncertain thing. Moreover, there were powerful French-American airplanes not far behind the American trenches, and they had come out and up to meet these German planes, downing two of them.
Meanwhile, from its pit, successfully bomb-proofed and camouflaged, the new gun barked every few minutes, throwing out no smoke to disclose its position. From the hilltop there was an occasional rattle of machine guns and the crack of rifles, another squad of snipers, under Corporal Lang, being there on duty, backed also by a platoon of United States Regulars. And on the other side of the hill, Herbert learned, there was another pit that contained another one of the terrible new guns, similarly guarded by Billy Phillips' squad and more Regulars.
That first twenty-four hours had been "acorker," as Roy Flynn put it. There had been something doing every minute from the time the platoon had left the French training camp where Uncle Sam's infantry was getting the fine points from French officers relative to modern trench warfare.
At nightfall the platoon had entered six auto trucks, called by the British "lorries," and had proceeded with a French guide toward the front, though going where few knew, and in fact the exact destination had been disclosed only to lieutenant Loring and Sergeants Barry and Small.
It had been very dark and rainy. The road, at first smooth, had glistened like a mirror; the occasional lights from road lamps and windows, closer together in the villages, had thrown a luster quite uncanny over everything. Then the lights had become less frequent, the road suddenly rougher, even rutty, the speed had grown less and they were always floundering along, or sometimes stuck in the mud.
There had seemed to be little else in that part of the world but mud, mud, mud! Yet the boys had been compelled to get out of the cars but little, even to ease the weight when stalled, for the motors were powerfuland the trucks generally put up to give the best of service.
Herbert and some of his squad had ridden with Lieutenant Loring and the guide in the first lorry and they had forged somewhat in advance of the other cars, being stuck in the mud but seldom, and had plowed through puddles, holes and miry hollows with a certainty that was admirable. Considering the number in the car and Roy's presence and the fact that the men had all slept well before starting, there had been little said; often they had covered miles without a word being uttered.
Once two long, boxed-in autos, going very slowly, had been met. The officer guide had ordered a stop to exchange a few words with the chauffeur of the cars, but dimly seen by the occupants of the lorry. When the guide had commanded the advance again he had said something, in a low voice in French, to the lieutenant. Loring had leaned over toward Barry and Whitcomb and whispered the one word: "Wounded."
On and on and on they had traveled. Down into a valley, creeping across a narrow, low bridge of stone; then slowly up and up for a time; on the level once more, evidentlyfollowing the side of a ridge, as the horizon on one side between a blank space of black earth and the gray sky seemed higher than the car. And then, from over to the left, startlingly sudden to every one of those hardy young Americans, had come the sound of firing, the crack and crackle of firearms, followed presently by the tearing, resonant fusillading of a machine-gun that, at a distance, reminds one of the rapid rolling of a barrel down hill over stony ground.
Again the guide had made a remark which Loring once more translated. "He says that's what he likes to hear. Do you? Well, I fancy we shall hear quite enough of it."
And then, half a mile farther on, during which time all had distinctly discerned the not very distant boom of cannon and once again the nearer firing of many guns, the French officer halted the car, waited until the others had come up and then informed Loring that from this on, for nearly a mile, they must proceed silently on foot.
The command had been issued; a rough formation had been made there in the rain and the muddy road; the men had been given extra loads of provisions to carry besides their army kits, and they had goneforward, not a sound being uttered. After a time rear sentries had received them, others had been passed, one facetious Irishman saying aloud to the lieutenant:
"This is worse than the East Side in a raid in the gamblin' houses, bedad! An' the weather ain't so bad in the dear ould U. S., even in March, but nivver ye moind! Jest go git thim Huns, me lad. Jest go git 'em! I wisht they'd be comin' my way now an' thin."
Poor fellow! They learned afterward that he had been transferred to the trenches later and that the "Huns" had come his way. No doubt many of the enemy had been sorry for it and others had not gone back, but neither had he. The first little American burying ground at the bottom of the ridge was as far as he and some of his fellows got. The platoon to which they had belonged still held the trench, though against odds.
At night, the darker the better, is the time when there is an exchange of troops in the trenches, when fresh contingents take the places of those too long tried by the terrible strain of standing guard against the enemy's surprises, drives, raids, gas attacks, barrages, bombing and shell fire.
So the coming of the snipers' platoon had been altogether favorable, not the hardiest of the enemy daring to risk chances of going against the little hill at a time when all the advantage would be on the side of its defenders, even though the Germans on this sector outnumbered the Americans two to one.
The gun pits and their accompanying dugouts, with pole and earth-covered shelters begun by the French and greatly improved by Uncle Sam's boys, were both crude and comfortable, the drainage on the hillside being far better than that of most trenches, especially those in low ground. There was mud, of course, though not so deep as if the rain water had been allowed merely to seep away. Then, too, the U. S. Regulars, under cover of night, had cut numerous poles from the young forest and on these had laid boards sent over the route of frequent supplies.
Handing copies of maps to each of the sergeants and corporals, Loring had detailed the squads to the positions they now occupied. With dispatches introducing him he went with the first squad, Whitcomb's men, to the first gun pit, sending the others on, with their dispatches, where he was soon to join them.
Into the north side gun pit, then, had marched Herbert's squad; they were put under the immediate command of Lieutenant Jackson, U. S. A., middle-aged, firm and as nearly silent as possible, and they at once had been assigned to quarters, told to rest and to eat. Loring had said a few words to Herbert, shaken his hand and gone away.
After some hours Lieutenant Jackson came to Herbert; the latter noticed that he had not been sent for and that the officer seemed to be, while enforcing discipline, a thoroughly democratic fellow, aware of the conditions of war, yet displaying that comradeship which must spring up between men of sense in times of danger and of stress.
"Your boys, I am told, are all fine shots. Have they practised shooting at night?"
"Yes; much," Herb answered. "They have been taught to see their sights against the sky and quickly, without altering position of eye and barrel, keeping the cheek against the stock all the while, to put the muzzle end on the object to be hit and press the trigger. We hold both eyes open, as always, when shooting, but especially at night, thus seeing the object the more clearly. Nine times out of ten we can hit a black markas big as a man a hundred yards, or over. It depends, of course, upon how dark it is."
"See here, my boy, I'm going to leave the placing of your men, the selection of them for duty and the care of them, to you, the general rules of our camp here to be followed. You will fall into these quickly and you had better keep your young men as much to themselves as possible, fraternizing, of course, when off duty. My men, being regulars, are apt to regard you young chaps with small respect for their soldierly qualities. I will, however, issue orders for a contrary attitude; I myself feel very different; young chaps are the coming winners of this war, there's no mistake."
"Now you can see what we're up against," he went on. "The Germans out there, or as the French call them, the 'Boches,' can get at us in no other way than by raids and sniping. We have driven off two raids and we have lost three men by sniping—three good men, too. Now, it's up to you to see to it that these snipers get sniped; to lay for 'em and get 'em as they come. It'll be hunting men who are hunting you, and the best hunter and shot wins. Dangerous business, my boy. Somehow I think that youpersonally are equal to it, even though you've never yet been under fire and you may get nervous. But are your men equal to it? It's not like a charge or phalanx firing, nor company action. I've been there; in the Philippines and at Santiago. Private then. Your boys have all got to have their nerve with them, as well as their skill. I hope they have not made a mistake in sending you here before you were tried under fire. We shall see. But I suppose one place to get used to it is as good as another.
"There is this about the situation also: You not only have to beat the Hun snipers' shooting, but you've got to see them first. It's pretty certain you can't always do that.
"And here's another feature: You've got to be good runners, for if you're hunting for snipers, night or day, you may suddenly run into a bunch of raiders. In some cases, too, you may be placed so as to hold these fellows off a bit until you can get word to us. You see there are many situations possible and there will be still more that you can't think of; circumstances totally unforeseen and sometimes mighty hard to comprehend in a hurry. Just the other day we had one.
"The gun boys were giving her a cleaningup—they keep her pretty nice, you see, just like a fire company does its engine; take a real pride in it. Well, they were working away, or five of them were—four were sleeping. My men were mostly loafing and sleeping, too, and some were on guard and lookout, one fellow at the listening point. I was making out reports and accounts—there's too much of that. There wasn't a gun to be heard for miles; all quiet, except for the big guns over on the French sector, ten miles away, that you heard a while ago.
"Then, all of a sudden the men at post called out: 'Airplane high up! French machine coming back from the Boche line! They're shooting at her!'
"We heard several guns go off over in their trenches, but as she kept on we didn't think any more about her. It's a common enough sight and I had gone back to my papers and the boys to their duties.
"And then, it didn't seem to me to be five minutes before the awfullest kick-up of dust and rocks I ever saw, or hope to see, upset the whole bunch of us—it was right on the outside of the pit, though we've got it pretty well smoothed over now. It blinded one of my men permanently, poor chap;sent him back yesterday. And it laid another up for a bit; struck in the back with a big flying stone. Blew all my papers so far I've never been able to find half of them. You see this is war!
"That was no French plane; it was a Hun. He had painted his blamed machine so it looked like a Frenchman; mebbe it was a captured one in the first place, and then, when he got well over our lines, he turned and shut off his engine and dived right down over our pit. Did it so quick nobody got on to him to shoot at him until he had dropped his bomb and if that had hit our shelter top it would have got every one of us and upset the gun.
"But they got him beyond just as he was going over their trenches; our gun men had luckily just slipped a shell in and the corporal jumped and sighted and let Mr. Birdman have it just once, and, by jingo, it got him! Busted twenty feet to one side of him, turned him clear over and dumped him on the ground; smashed the machine all up, of course. What it did to the man you can guess.
"Oh, this is war, my boy! Real war! As I said, I haven't been able to find half of those reports yet."