For a moment Jimmy could see nothing. Possibly this was because he strained his eyes too much, but of course he was looking out into a darkness so black that it seemed to swallow up everything. And there was rain, too, a misty, drizzling rain, which alone would have hampered vision. Then Jimmy closed his strained orbs, and when he opened them again his vision was nearer normal.
"Do you see it yet?" whispered Bob. "Squint along my finger."
Jimmy did so.
"You have pretty good eyes to see anything in this blackness," he was saying when he suddenly became aware of something moving out there among the holes caused by the American shells.
It was more, he said afterward, as though part of the darkness itself moved rather than that he actually saw something. But it was enough to direct his attention to what Bob pointed out.
"Itissomething," was Jimmy's cautious declaration. "And coming this way!"
There was a movement on the part of Bob, and his chum knew he was getting his rifle in readiness. Jimmy followed this example. They were on the alert.
"Don't fire until you challenge," cautioned Jimmy. "It might be one of our fellows, you know."
"One of our fellows—out there? How could it be!"
"Might have advanced too far, been wounded and have waited for darkness to crawl back to our lines. Wait a second more until we see what he's up to."
"It's a man, sure!" Bob whispered, "and he's crawling toward us on his stomach."
"Let's do the same ourselves and crawl out to meet him," suggested Jimmy. "If he has a grenade, or a bomb, and tries to throw it, we may forestall him."
"Our orders were to stay here," decided Bob, and he was a great stickler for obeying orders to the letter. Perhaps even his small newspaper experience was responsible for this.
Suddenly the silence of the darkness was broken by an unmistakable sneeze. True, the sneezer, if I may use such a term, tried to stifle the explosion, but he was not altogether successful. It was a sneeze, and nothing could disguise it.
"Did you hear—" began Bob.
And then, to the greater surprise of the two listeners, there came a muttered exclamation inGerman.
"For the love of gas masks!" breathed Jimmy. "Take aim, Bob!"
And in another moment the fire of two rifles would have been concentrated on that moving splotch of blackness, whence had come the sneeze, except that the guttural German expletive was followed by a tense whisper. And the words came in good English.
"Don't shoot, boys! I'm Schnitz!"
Bob said, afterward, that the reaction was so great that he actually had a fit of nervous shivering, and Jimmy admitted the same. They fully expected a rush of the Huns, but they had made up their minds that first they would "get" the advance guard in the shape of the man who had sneezed. And then to hear the unmistakable voice of their comrade in arms!
It was almost unbelievable, and, for a moment, both listening lads had a doubt. This might be some trick of the Germans, and "Schnitz" was a sufficiently common Teutonic name, shortened as it was. But a moment later the voice from the darkness went on in the same cautious whisper:
"Don't fire, Bob—Jimmy! If you do, you'll spoil a little surprise-party."
"Say, what does this mean!" asked Jimmy, a bit sternly, for he was suffering from a reaction.
"You're supposed to be in the dugout, or somewhere back there," said Bob, when Franz had crawled to them and had arisen to stand beside them. "What brought you out? Were you sent?"
"I sent myself," was the laconic answer. "I couldn't stand it being cooped up back there. My ankle felt a lot better, and I took French leave, as it were. I sneaked out and I crawled over toward the Hun trenches. And say, I've got some information that the K.O. will give his eye teeth to have. They're raising a little party to come over and try to get back some of the land we took from 'em this morning. The Huns are going to raid our position in half an hour."
"Are you sure?" demanded Bob, and yet he knew that Franz would not say it if it were not so.
"Well, I'm as sure as one can be of anything in this war," was the answer in a whisper, all the talk being of that calibre. "I crawled over until I could hear the sentries talking. Then I located a dugout. The door was open and more talk floated out. I heard enough to tell me that the raid is going to be made just before daylight and on this position."
"You mean where we are?" asked Bob.
"As nearly as I can tell," answered Franz, whose knowledge of theGerman language had again done him and his friends such good service.
"Whew!" softly whistled Jimmy. "We'd better get word to the K.O. in a jiffy. You'll get blue streaks, though, Schnitz, for disobeying orders."
"Oh, I guess not," was the easy answer. "It'll all be forgotten in the excitement. I just had to go out. I heard where you fellows were stationed on listening post and I started out with the intention of crawling back to your position. Hit it, too; didn't I?"
"That sneeze came near causing you to be hit, and with something harder than a rubber ball," said Jimmy grimly. "Bob? you'd better go back with him and let him tell his yarn to the captain. He doesn't know the password, and I'll have to stay here on duty. But hurry back and let me know what the word is."
"Right-O!" assented Bob, and a moment later he and Franz were stumbling back over the rough ground, and through the rain and darkness, toward the dugout where the officer in charge of that particular sector was on duty. A captured German dugout had been taken over, and such comforts as it afforded were utilized.
Just as Franz had surmised, the import of the news he brought in wiped out his offense against orders. He told in detail what he had overheard, and quick, sharp commands were at once sent out over the telephone, for the engineers had hastily strung wires when the advanced posts had been taken by the onrushing American doughboys.
And the information Franz had secured by his bold act proved correct in every detail. The Germans, smarting under their defeat, were determined on revenge. The raiding party came over—but they found the Americans ready.
It was not a large raid, not as large as Franz, in his enthusiasm, had intimated. And it was evidently undertaken to get back the commanding position occupied by that part of the 509th to which the five Brothers were assigned.
But with the advent of the foe the Americans opened such a fire from rifles, hand grenades and light artillery, while the scene was illuminated by flaring lights, that the Huns were almost completely wiped out. A number of prisoners were taken, for the Boches, once they found the tide of battle going against them, threw down their guns and cried: "Kamerad!"
Sharp as was the fighting, it was only a slight incident in the great war. Such skirmishes, or trench raids, were occurring all along the Western front every night. But slight as it was it took the lives of several gallant American lads, and a number were wounded. Roger Barlow received a slight flesh wound, but he refused to go back to the dressing station, insisting on getting back into the fight when his hurt had received first-aid treatment.
"The only trouble was, though," Roger said later, "that the scrap was all over when I got back from the first-aid post. Pity you fellows couldn't have kept it going until I could join you."
"Better to have it over with sharp and sudden than drag along," replied Jimmy. "They killed poor Baker right in front of me," he added, naming a "bunkie" of whom he and the five Brothers were very fond. "I might just as well have received that bullet."
"Yes. It's a queer world," mused Bob. "If it hadn't been that Franz went out against orders and got information, we might all be dead now."
And this was true.
Once more silence settled down over the trenches, but it was now almost morning, and with the breaking of dawn the rain that had been a drizzle all night settled into a steady downpour.
"Not much fighting to-day," decided Roger, when the four Brothers were at breakfast together—and a cold breakfast at that, for there was no fuel to heat the coffee, though word went around that the traveling kitchens were on their way toward the trenches.
Roger was right. Each side consolidated its positions, and each seemed waiting for what the other might do. This state of affairs continued for three days, during which the rain lasted. Save for an occasional artillery duel at night, precipitated often by some nervous sentry firing his rifle, there was no actual battle.
At the first chance, when he was off duty, Jimmy secured permission to go back to their former headquarters.
"I want to find out about Iggy if I can," he said, "and also make inquiries about Sergeant Maxwell and that money I owe you fellows."
"You don't owe it to us!" declared Roger.
"I sure do!" was the answer. "Just as much as if I'd borrowed it from you!" declared Jimmy. "And I'm going to pay up, too!"
He returned from his little trip much sooner than his comrades had expected. There was a joyous light in his face as he greeted them, and cried:
"Good news, fellows! Good news!"
There were so many sorts of good news possible for Jimmy to have brought back from the former headquarters at the rear that, for a moment, his three chums did not know what question to put next.
The war might be over, though until the Germans were worse whipped than they then were there would be poor satisfaction in that, reflected Roger.
It was Bob, however, who blurted out:
"Is Iggy all right?"
"You said it!" cried Jimmy, dancing around "like a venerable ostrich," as Bob said afterward. "He isn't all right, exactly, for he's pretty badly mussed up. But he's not going West, and if that isn't good news I don't know what is!"
"That's the best news you've given us since you said the soup kitchens were on their way the day after the big fight," declared Schnitz. "How much is he hurt?"
"Well, really not any at all, except for some bad bruises, and he says they'll be better in a day or so. No internal injuries that the doctors can find, and outside of the bruises and scratches—and he has them in plenty—he's as good as any of us."
"But how in the world did it happen?" asked Bob. "Didn't you see him with his head all caved in and his spine broken?"
"Well, I thought I did," admitted Jimmy. "But the fact is that the blood on his face, as I guess I told you before, came from a man who was killed by a shell, right in front of Iggy. And that numb feeling of his legs was because they were both 'asleep'. You know, when you lie too long on your arm, or keep your leg in a cramped position. He got all over that after he'd been in bed a few hours.
"You see the stuff that caved in on him, after the shell exploded, formed a sort of arch over his head, and took the weight off his face. He'd have been dead except for that. But he's practically all right, and will be back with us soon. He's crazy to see you fellows. I thought he'd kiss me, the way some of the Frenchies do when they get excited."
"Well, we'll go to see him as soon as we get leave," decided Bob.
"Don't think I'm asking this because of the money involved," said Schnitz, a little later, "though we all agree that it's fine and generous of you to have offered to whack up. But did you hear anything of Sergeant Maxwell?"
"Not a word," declared Jimmy, "nor the missing five thousand francs, either. Both have mysteriously disappeared."
"What's the official report on the serg.?" asked Roger.
"Just missing—that's all," said Jimmy, simply. "I made inquiries about him as soon as I had located Iggy in a hospital. Sergeant Maxwell is down as missing. Of course, there's no report about my money. In fact, we five, and the serg. himself, are the only ones who know about it."
"Missing," mused Bob. "Does it say without official leave, or anything like that?"
"No, it doesn't," went on the owner of the five thousand francs. "He isn't classed as a deserter—yet."
"Do you think he will be?" Franz wanted to know, impressed by something in Jimmy's voice.
The latter did not reply for a moment. And then he felt that he must not only be generous but just. So he said:
"No, I don't! Sergeant Maxwell has proved himself too many times to be as straight as a die, to go wrong now. I don't really believe he went away purposely with my money. He may be wounded, and have wandered into the German lines. If he did, with that cash on him—good-night little old five thousand francs!" and Jimmy pretended to kiss them adieu. "And, fellows, we mustn't forget that he may be lying dead in some rain-filled shell hole," he went on softly. "We'll just suspend judgment, that's all. Forget the bad news about Maxwell and remember the good news about Iggy. And we'll all go to see Ig as soon as we can."
"You said it!" declared Bob. "I won't forget how it seemed like a bit of home and heaven to me, Jimmy, when you came to the hospital where I was. We sure will go cheer up Iggy!"
"He wants to write to his mother the worst way," went on Jimmy. "And he insists on writing in English. You know how his letters read, but he simply won't stick to Polish which he can handle all right. It's got to be English or nothing."
"Did he write?" asked Roger.
"Not while I was there. His wrist is still too sore. But he made me promise to bring paper, a pen, and everything, when I came again, and, if he can't write, one of us is to do it for him—but in English, mind!"
"Well do it!" declared Bob.
It was three days later when they all received permission to go to the rear and call on Iggy who was still in the hospital, though likely to be discharged as cured inside of a week. There was still a lull in the fighting about the sector where our five Brothers, or, rather, four, were stationed. But there was an indefinite something in the air that told of fierce battles to come. The Huns had too much at stake to wait long.
"Ach! So glad it is I am to see you!" voiced Iggy, when the four were admitted to him. "Dit you paper and pen pring!" he asked Jimmy, eagerly. "I myself can write to mother now. See, shmine wrist she is all so K.O. now."
"K.O.?" cried Roger. "What's the commanding officer got to do with your wrist, Iggy?" For, of course, you know that the commanding officer in an army is designated as "K.O."
"He means O.K." declared Jimmy. "Got his letters twisted; that's all.He means his wrist is all right."
"His wrist is all right and his letter will be all write," punnedRoger.
"That will be about all from you!" commented Bob, sternly.
"Yes, Iggy, I've got all the makings for a first-class screed," went on Jimmy with a smile. "Do you want to write yourself, or shall I?"
"Myself will I do it," said Iggy, simply. And when, after considerable labor, mental and physical, he handed the scribbled paper to Jimmy, he said: "Read her and see much how better as I do him in English now. Read him," and he indicated the letter he had written to his mother. And, to please him, and because there was nothing very personal in the epistle, Jimmy read it. His chums, at Iggy's request, read it also. And this is what Iggy's four Brothers saw:
"Deer Mother. In bed am i and a pritty lady she bring to me all i can eats good, i was not shooted like is some of thee soljiers, but on me fell rocks and stoanes so i was moastly mushed but Roger and jimmee thay gat me oaut. i tell you of loav for yon i have mauch. soon i go fightting agen wich is batter than in hoarse-pottle bein. i got bumps an kuts but noat mooch alse. jimee he is to give me soam moaney what he gat for killing a bad germans and wen i gats my share to you i it sand will yet. good-bye deer Mother from your loafing soan Iggy."
"That's a dandy letter!" declared Jimmy when he had finished reading it. "I'll get it right off for you, Iggy."
"Better writing I am doing yes, is it not?" anxiously inquired thePolish lad.
"You bet!" declared Bob, and his eyes, as well as those of his chums, were moist, for there was a pathetic note in the missive, in spite of its queerness.
"He knew enough to use a capital now and then, which is more than he did at Camp Sterling," declared Bob, when they had left the hospital, to go back to their stations.
"You didn't tell him that his share of the five thousand francs, as well as yours and ours, was missing; did you?" inquired Franz.
"What was the use?" asked Jimmy. "Poor Iggy has troubles enough as it is. But he'll get his share all right to send home."
"Just like Jimmy Blazes," declared Roger to Bob, afterward.
It was three or four days after this that Iggy was able to leave the hospital, and take his place with his chums.
"The five Brothers are together again!" cried Jimmy, when the reunion took place. "Now let the Huns tremble!"
"By golly yes!" declared the Polish lad. "I fight can now like three soldiers, so much did they give me eats in the hoarspottle. A fine place she is—tha hoarspottle.
"But the longer we can keep out of such places as hospitals the better," remarked Jimmy. "Now then, Iggy, what is it you want most?"
"Well, Blazes, if you excuse me—but you did say you would the reward moany crack among us. No, it was not crack; he was a word—"
"Split!" suggested Bob.
"Yas. Him it was. You say you split him—that moany, Jimmy, and if I could to my mothar send what you say you give me—maybe she of need have for him now."
Jimmy looked queerly at his chums. Truth to tell he had scarcely any cash at present, and to give Iggy his share of the five thousand francs—about two hundred dollars—was out of the question.
Bob took the financial bull by the horns.
"Look here, Iggy," he said. "Jimmy has played hard luck. He had that money but—"
"Doan't tell me he is loss!" cried Iggy. "Oh, doan't tell me he is loss! I so much think of that two hundred dollars—mine fader or mine mothar never so much have at once see in all their lives. Two hundred dollar—Oh if he is loss—"
"It's only lost for a while—temporarily," said Jimmy. "I wasn't going to tell you, but Bob spilled the beans, I left the cash with Sergeant Maxwell to keep for me, and the sergeant is missing with the dough. But as soon as I get my money from home you'll get your share—the two hundred bucks, Iggy, and so will the others."
"Nonsense! Forget it!" cried Roger. "Do you think—"
But he had a chance for no more, for at that moment came the signal that the Huns had launched a gas attack. Instantly the five Brothers, and all up and down the line the other Americans, donned their gas masks. This was but the preliminary to what turned out to be some of the fiercest fighting of that particular series of battles. The Germans followed up the gas attack with a fierce deluge of shells and shrapnel, and half an hour later our heroes were under heavy fire.
"It's an attack in force!" cried a lieutenant as he hurried along the trench where the Khaki Boys were stationed. "And the word is, stand where you are! Don't give back an inch!"
His words were drowned in the roar of big guns.
Silently the five Brothers, again united and ready to fight to the death, gazed at one another as they lined up in the trench. That is they were silent as regards conversation, for they could not talk with their gas masks on, and the warning given by the lieutenant—the warning and the admonition to stand fast—had been the last words he uttered before he, too, donned the protecting device. And no sooner had the five Brothers and those about them begun to breathe through the chemicals that destroyed the terrible chlorine, than over it came rolling in a deadly, yellowish cloud.
And yet it was far from silent in that hideous storm, for the very ground shook and trembled with the intensity of the gun-fire—the gun-fire not only of the Germans but the Allies as well.
It was an attack in force, and the fire was of the fiercest. Protected somewhat by the trench, in which they were, nevertheless the members of the company to which our heroes belonged sustained several casualties.
At one place a high explosive shell struck on the very edge of the trench, caving it in, and burying beneath tons of earth and stone the unfortunate Sammies stationed there. And the worst of it was that no adequate revenge could be taken just then—at least no revenge that was visible to the enraged comrades of the killed and wounded.
For the orders were to stay in the trenches and repel the attack at first. Later the counter-attack on the part of the Americans would take place, and then it might be that the Huns would be made to pay dearly for their work.
Jimmy looked through the grotesque goggles of his gas mask at his chums. If appearances went for anything they were on the alert and ready to jump over the top at the signal and fight to the death. But the word was delayed, for what, doubtless, were good military reasons. There was little that could be accomplished in firing one's rifle over the top of the trench. This was all right in the case of sniping, but for a general attack the work had to be done by the artillery, big and little. Later would come the rush in the open, or the standing fast to repel the attack of the gray hordes. And then the rifle fire of the infantry would tell.
It was hard waiting—to be stuck down in what was, literally, a "mud hole," and stay there while, over one's head, shrilled and screamed the big shells, that must create untold havoc, damage and death in the rear.
Fortunately, however, as was learned later, the Germans did not have the range accurately. They wasted much of their fire on unoccupied ground in the immediate rear of the American position, and it was only an occasional shell that landed near the trenches. So the position of our heroes was not as bad as at first they imagined.
But it seemed bad enough, and the firing from the Hun positions was intense, and as long as Jimmy, Bob and the others did not know that the Boches did not have them under accurate fire, they suffered nearly as much mentally, as though the knowledge had been positive.
For an hour or two the terrific artillery duel kept up, the Germans hoping to blast away all trenches, barbed wire entanglements and sweep away any opposing forces so that the ground wrested away might be gained back. And during this time the forces of the defenders of liberty were, in the main, inactive. There was little to be gained in rushing the enemy just yet. That time would come later.
And so under a deluge of high explosives, of shrapnel, of trench bombs and the deadly gas the five Khaki Boys and their comrades in arms suffered—physically and mentally. For a gas mask is both physical and mental torture. It is safe, and that is about the best that can be said for it. Merely to sit quietly with one on is a torture, and to work or fight in one is about the limit of human endurance.
Still the orders were to keep them on, and they were kept. But more than once Roger, Franz or Iggy would look around as though for a sight of some one in authority who would tell them to remove the hideous head-pieces.
But the Huns still kept sending over the poisonous gas from shells and from the big cylinders of it they had brought up to the front lines. And the wind was in their favor, blowing straight toward the American lines, so that the deadly yellow fumes came over in rolling clouds.
And then, somehow, word came back to the officers in charge of the big American guns that their shells were having an effect on the Hun artillery. Piece after piece of the Boche batteries were silenced, and at last the Sammies began to obtain mastery of the artillery situation.
And then it was that a barrage could be laid down, and an advance attack made. But it had to be made under somewhat adverse conditions, for gas masks must be worn. And to leap from the trench, and stumble over No Man's Land, under heavy fire, and discharge one's own rifle, all the while wearing one of the canvas and rubber contraptions, was not real fighting—at least so Jimmy said afterward.
But such it had to be, and at the signal the five Brothers leaped up with their comrades and went over the top again—over the top of the trenches that had either been dug when the new position was taken and held, or over the top of some of the trenches wrested previously from the Germans.
There was no shouting and yelling, such as often and ordinarily preceded an attack over the top. One can not shout in a gas mask. But there was shouting in the hearts of the Sammies as they rushed forward to do their share in destroying the beast from the earth.
Upward and onward they rushed and then they were in the midst of the battle. And yet not exactly in the midst, for the actual conflict was rather of longer distance than that. Hand-to-hand fighting had not yet occurred. But they advanced, firing as they rushed on, not in close formation, for that offered too good a target, but separated. They would fire, rush on, drop to earth, rise again, fire and rush on. And so it went.
And then, after an hour or two, there came a sudden shift in the wind. It was presaged by a calm, so that the deadly chlorine gas rose straight up instead of being blown over the American lines. And then, with a suddenness that must have been disconcerting to the Huns, the gas was blown back in their very faces.
Without doubt such fiends as devised that form of fighting were, in a way, prepared for this, and had their gas masks ready. There were times, in the early stages of the gas war, when often whole companies of Germans would be wiped out by a sudden change in the wind, when gas was being sent over. But the Boches learned from experience.
However, whether or not the return of their own gas worked any havoc among the Germans it did one good thing; it enabled Jimmy and his chums, as well as their comrades, to remove their own oppressive head-coverings, after a certain time had elapsed.
Once they took them off, they sniffed cautiously of the air. There was none of the choking taint of the chlorine—a gas which seems to dissolve the lung tissues—the air was sweet and pure—that is, comparatively so, though it was odorous with powder fumes. But these were a perfume compared to chlorine.
"Oh, this is better!" cried Jimmy, as he breathed deep and filled his lungs naturally, for though there is everything to be said in favor of the gas mask when an attack is on, one can not breathe naturally in it.
"I should say so!" agreed Bob.
"Well, where do we go from here?" chanted Roger.
Their particular fighting contingent had been halted in a grain field. All about them, that is up and down such a line as had been formed, the fighting was going on.
And on either side of them, and in front and behind, there was the rumble and roar and thunder of heavy guns. In the ranks of the comrades of the five Brothers there were bloody gaps. They had won their way thus far at no small sacrifice of life and limb. But, so far, our friends had escaped scatheless, though they all bore wounds, as you know.
It was a pleasant, sunny day—that is, it would have been pleasant had it not been for the war. That spoiled the pleasantness, but nothing could stop the sunshine. To the great orb that had seen the earth formed, this fighting, momentous as it was destined to be, was only an incident in the rolling on of the ages of time.
"Wonder why we're being held up?" ventured Franz. "I haven't had half enough of fighting yet."
"Nor of me, neither," declared Iggy, who seemed to have recovered all his spunk and spirit. "It is of a betterness to shoot lots when of a gas mast you are delivered, yes?"
"Right, old top!" shouted Jimmy. "Hello!" he went on, as he saw the major of the battalion approaching. "I guess here's where we get orders!"
And they got them—orders to advance. And this time they went forward with yells, for it was said that the gas attack was over—the kindly wind had done its work well.
"There they are! There are the Huns!" cried Roger.
His chums looked, and saw dimly through the smoke, a gray line, like some great worm, that would oppose their progress.
"Come on! Come on! Eat 'em up!" shouted Jimmy.
The others needed no urging. At the Huns they went—firing and being fired at.
For a time it was a battle of rifles—the artillery and machine-guns seemed to have been silenced temporarily. On rushed the Sammies, in their own peculiar but comparatively safe, open formation. Rushing, dropping, firing, up again, now down, but ever going onward, led by their officers.
The Huns received the fire, and that it was deadly was evidenced by the gaps torn in the gray ranks. Then they would close up, fire as though by platoons, and come on slowly.
Suddenly the comparative slowness of the rifle fire was broken by the staccato explosions of a machine-gun. It opened on the left of the position taken up by Jimmy and his chums, and in an instant had mowed down several doughboys.
"Take what cover you can!" shouted a lieutenant. "Where's that gun?Did any one notice?" "Over in that red mill!" some one shouted.Afterward it developed that this was Franz, who was an expert shot andquick in judgment.
Dropping flat in the low-growing grain, many eyes of the Sammies turned in the direction of the red mill. It was a French one, of picturesque construction. And as Jimmy and his chums looked they saw a little wisp of smoke come from one of the windows. Then came another staccato discharge, but this time with less deadly effect.
"We've got to get that gun!" cried the lieutenant. "Volunteers wanted to rush the red mill! Who'll come with me?"
Characteristic it was of the lieutenant to ask who would come with him. American officers do that. A German would have said "Go!" The American said "Come!"
And characteristic it was of the Sammies that everyone within the sound of the young officer's voice answered, as one:
"I will!"
"Keep your heads down! You may get them knocked off soon enough when the rush comes," went on the lieutenant, for in their eagerness to answer and be selected for the dangerous mission, some had partly raised themselves from their prone positions.
"There's no question but that's a German machine-gun in that old mill; is there?" asked the lieutenant.
"Here's one of the bullets, sir," replied Roger, tossing over one that had penetrated the earth near where he was lying, and come out after striking a stone. "That's a bit of Hun lead all right."
He tossed it over to the officer, who was stretched out in the young, green grain near by.
"Yes, that's German all right," was the answer. "It's larger than ours. I thought perhaps some of our men might have gone in there to pepper the Huns. Well, we've got to get it—that's all."
"And soon, too," murmured Jimmy. "Whew! This is fierce!"
A hail of lead from the weapon in the old red mill drew this exclamation from him. Fortunately the men were low enough to escape the worst of the firing, but some were wounded and one killed.
"There's two guns in that mill, sir!" called Franz, who was lying nearBob. "They're both firing together."
"You're right," was the lieutenant's comment. "Well, so much the more work for us to do. How many of us are here?"
It developed, by an improvised roll call, that there were fifteen, including our five Brothers. With the lieutenant who was in immediate command, there were sixteen.
"We'll all go!" was the officer's decision. "Fill your magazines, get your hand grenades where you can reach 'em and be ready for the rush. It's got to be a rush, and I hope it lasts long enough for some of us to get there," he added soberly. "Boys, it's a desperate chance we're taking, but a machine-gun nest there may hold up the advance. Maybe it is holding it up. We've got to clean out the red mill!"
"We're with you!" cried Jimmy and the others.
And, as he spoke and the others cheered their assents, there came another burst of fierce fire from the machine-guns hidden in the old red mill. But there was too much elevation and the bullets, this time, flew harmlessly over the backs of the Yanks.
"Now for it!" cried the lieutenant. "They may have to put in a fresh belt of cartridges, or the guns may have heated or jammed. We'll take a chance. We'll make three lines of five each. I'll lead one, and there'll be six in that. Blaise, you take four men, and Simpson, you take four. We'll spread out—fan shape—and don't stand upright—run crouching. Now, Blaise and Simpson, pick your men, and give me the word when you're ready."
Of course Jimmy picked his four Brothers, and they crawled up behind him, ready for the word. Sergeant Simpson, a brave but somewhat reckless lad, had four of his own choosing, and there were five who crawled over to line up behind the lieutenant.
"All ready?" asked the officer. "Ready," answered Jimmy, and the other leader gave a like reply.
"Then come on, and may we all live to get there!" cried the gallant officer.
He arose to a crouching position and started to run toward the red mill, followed by Jimmy and his four, and Simpson and his quartette. And, as they rushed on, the automatic guns cut loose again.
The dust in the grain field rose in little spurts as the bullets struck, and the rattle of the spiteful machine-gun made a chorus with the snapping and popping of the American rifles. For Jimmy and the others fired from the hip as they ran.
They could not hope to do much execution on the German gunners, protected as the latter were by the old mill. But some chance bullet, entering through crack or crevice, might end the activity of one or more of the Hun crews. It was the only thing to do, however, until they could come to hand grips—to cold steel—with the hidden Boches.
"Come on! Come on!" cried the lieutenant.
"Come on! Come on!" echoed Jimmy and Simpson.
They were nearing the red mill now. They could see no one in it, but the sight of two windows, on either side of the big, open door, seemed to give evidence of the location of the machine-guns. Smokeless powder was being used, but there was a thin film of smoke, for all of that, and this smoke floated from the two windows.
"There they are!" cried the lieutenant. "Come on, boys, we have 'em now!"
But the glory of it was not to be—for him. Hardly had the words left his mouth than he crumpled up, rolled completely over and lay still. Afterward a dozen bullets were found in his body.
But the others halted not. The man immediately behind the fallen lieutenant leaped over his lifeless body and led the advance, as Jimmy and Simpson were doing.
They were close to the mill now. They could see the flashes of fire coming from the guns which were shooting through the windows. And the fire was deadly. Jimmy heard a yell from Franz, who was directly in his rear. He did not dare stop or turn around but he shouted:
"Done for, Schnitz?"
"Only one finger nipped," was the grim answer. "Go on! We're with you!"
One machine-gun concentrated on Simpson and his four gallant lads, and, in less time than it takes for you to read these words, the five lives were snuffed out.
"Come on! Come on!" yelled Jimmy. He was so mad with rage he hardly knew what he was saying or doing. He saw a German face at one of the windows. Quickly he fired. The face turned crimson with blood and disappeared.
Mason, who was leading the other four, since the death of the lieutenant, stumbled and fell twenty feet away from the red mill. One of his companions assumed the lead of the three who were left, and Jimmy and his four chums now converged with these four in a rush toward the open portal.
They were now out of range of the guns, which could not be turned at such an angle as to rake them. But hard fighting was yet to come.
"Wait!" shouted Jimmy, as he reached the threshold of the door, and saw, to his left, a group of Huns about a gun that seemed to have jammed. And not all the Huns were alive, either, showing that the fire of the attacking party had done part of its work.
With a quick motion Jimmy threw a hand grenade into the midst of the German crew, at the same time falling back himself behind the door post, and pushing Bob, who was now next him, into the same safe position.
There was a roar as the grenade burst, and smoke, for the moment, obscured the scene. When it was blown away, drifting through the doors and windows, there was no longer a German machine-gun crew, and all that remained of the gun was torn and twisted metal.
Jimmy's quick action with the hand grenade had saved fierce fighting for possession of the weapon. But the other remained—the second on the other side of the main door of the mill. To this some of the gallant lads gave their attention. With wild yells they rushed at the German crew, and to their credit—if credit it be—let it be said that these Huns did not cry "Kamerad!" They were ready for a fight and they got it. It was a case of cold steel, and there were no better exponents of that mode of fighting than the American lads.
There was a short and bloody conflict and then it was over. But at sad cost to the attacking party. Of the sixteen that had started to wipe out the machine-gun nest in the old red mill, the five Brothers alone were left alive, and, save for slight flesh wounds, which all of them had, they were not seriously injured. No, I am not quite correct in saying that only these five were left alive. There was one other, a lad named Blakeley from New Jersey. But he was so badly wounded, by a bayonet thrust from a German, that his death was only a question of minutes.
He managed, before he passed away, to whisper a message to his loved ones at home, and this Jimmy Blaise undertook to send by letter.
"And now, let's see what's next to do," murmured Roger, when the dead lad had been reverently laid with the other Americans killed in the mill.
"I don't believe we're going to have much choice," said Jimmy, grimly, as he pointed through the window.
"Why?" asked Roger.
"The Germans have surrounded the place," was the answer. "We're trapped—that's why!"
For a moment Jimmy's companions did not quite understand him. Was he perpetrating some grim joke, or had he received an injury on the head that made him irresponsible?
Suddenly the concussion of a heavy gun shook the mill, making the old walls rattle and sending up little clouds of grain dust from nooks and crannies where it had gathered for many peaceful years.
"The Germans have surrounded us?" cried Roger. "Do you mean that?"
"Look for yourself," said Jimmy, and his very calmness as he pointed from the window seemed to indicate that he was master of himself.
His four companions looked as he indicated. Rolling down from the hills, which surrounded the little valley in which the mill was located, were ranks of gray-clad men; Huns beyond a doubt. And they were coming in force.
"Do you suppose they are after us?" asked Bob, and he was quite surprised when his four chums burst into laughter. No, I am wrong. Only three of them laughed—Roger, Jimmy and Franz. Iggy looked on almost as uncomprehendingly as did Bob, but Iggy was staring at a dead German on the floor of the mill—a German he had killed by a bayonet thrust from behind, when that same German was about to fire his revolver, pointblank, at Roger. Iggy was filled with many emotions as he looked at his work—work undertaken and carried out for Liberty.
"What's the matter?" asked Bob, a bit nettled. "Doesn't it look as though they were after us?"
"I don't know why I laughed," confessed Jimmy. "Sort of nervous, I guess. But the idea of a German army, or at least several divisions, coming to capture us five struck me as funny."
"Well, you said we were being surrounded!" protested Bob.
"Well, I meant it, too. But in a general way," went on Jimmy. "I don't suppose the Huns know we are here. Of course they may realize it after they find out we've silenced the machine guns. But for the present this seems to be a big advance. I guess there's going to be some fierce fighting. They've brought up some of their reserves to stop our progress, and by the fortunes of war, we're caught in a back current."
"You mean none of our fellows are here?" asked Roger.
"None that you can see," went on Jimmy. "I guess we sort of over-ran our objective. There must have been a withdrawal and we didn't know it.
"We were too intent on capturing this mill. And we did, though it wasn't easy. And now the Germans are coming on, and—well, if we can stay here long enough, and keep hidden, we may get out of it yet. But—"
He shrugged his shoulders. It was too much of a question for him to solve.
"But I don't see that we are completely surrounded," declared Franz, hopefully, as he gazed from the window.
"Sure not!" broke in Iggy, who now began to comprehend, in a measure, what was in the wind. "We may out run by der back door yet."
"Not a chance," declared Jimmy. "Look over there!"
He pointed in the direction where their own lines were supposed to be located—where they probably were, for it was from there that the lads had come in the rush during the gas attack. But now the way over which they had hastened, amid fire and smoke and death and wounds, was occupied by a line of gray. The Germans had slipped down from the left flank and had cut off the retreat of the five Brothers in the mill. And as the advancing army was coming on in the shape of a huge semi-circle toward the mill it can easily be seen that if the boys were not exactly surrounded it was so near that perilous situation as to be what is called a distinction without a difference.
For a moment, after they had comprehended the situation to which Jimmy had called their attention, they were all silent. Then Iggy caused another laugh by remarking.
"Well, I eat me now. I haf some of my rations and I hear where is water running yet. Always in our countries where is a mill is water. Of a dryness I am, and water is good for of a dryness."
"That's the truest thing you've said in a long while!" cried Jimmy, clapping his chum on the back. "Fellows, we'd better eat and drink while we can. We have our emergency rations, and, as Iggy says, there must be water where there's a mill. It isn't a wind one and there's no steam or electricity here yet. Let's get ready for a siege."
"Do you really think they know we're here?" asked Bob, and he pointed out toward the advancing German army.
"To be perfectly frank, I don't," said Jimmy. "I think the situation is just this—but let's go get washed up a bit, and then we can eat and talk. I'm as dry as a bone, and this—well this place isn't just the most inviting," and he could not repress a shudder as he looked at the death and devastation all about them. The bodies of the killed Germans were sprawled in all positions, some even resting on the guns. Then, too, there were bodies of the companions of the five Brothers. As Jimmy said, it was no place to eat and talk.
They found where the mill stream came down the flume to turn the wheel, and there they washed and drank, and then, finding a room where the miller had evidently lived, they sat down to make what meal they could. And as they ate the Germans advanced down the hills to occupy the valley in which was located the old red mill.
"Now let's hear your opinion, Blazes," called Bob.
They all seemed instinctively to turn to Jimmy as a leader now. Nor was this the first time.
"Well, I think we've seen the last of some Germans and the first of others," he began.
"Sounds like a puzzle," commented Bob.
"It may turn out to be before we get through with it," was Jimmy's grim reply. "But here's the situation as I see it. You know we started, some days ago, to drive back the Huns. To a certain extent we succeeded. Then came a lull, and that ended when they launched an attack to-day—an attack with the gas as a preface.
"We did our best then, and I guess we must have rolled back part of a wing of one of the German divisions. But our particular sector was halted, and we seem to have gone on too far, or else the others got orders to retreat, and we didn't, and here we are.
"Now I think the two German machine-gun crews that were in this mill were probably what was left of the force our boys succeeded in wiping out. They had orders to stay as long as possible to delay our advance, and they stayed—got to give 'em that credit.
"But we just had to wipe 'em out, and we did. That's to our credit. This seems to be the last of some not very large German force that started the game this morning. And now comes a much larger force," and he indicated the Hun hordes rolling down the slopes. "It was probably the knowledge of the advance of this big body of troops that caused the retreat, or halt, of our main force. We're probably waiting for reserves, or we may be playing a deeper game—to get the Huns in this valley and clean 'em up.
"That, of course, is up to the General Staff. But that doesn't change our position. We're here, but I don't believe those Huns know it. The army, or division, or whatever it is, that's coming on now may not even know that this mill, for a time, was held by some of their own men. Though, of course, later, when orders and instructions are interchanged, this fact will come out.
"But before then I hope we'll either be out of here, or in a position to give a better account of ourselves," went on Jimmy, who was sitting on a box, munching part of his rations, and drinking from an old tin cup he had found.
"What's that mean?" asked Franz.
"Well, either we can escape, or our boys will drive these Huns back, and in that case we'll be all right. I admit it's going to be a ticklish proposition to escape from here though," and Jimmy went to an upper window and took another observation.
"Are they closing in?" asked Bob.
"They seem to have halted," replied Jimmy. "At least the center has. The two wings are coming on like a pair of pliers getting ready to nip us between the jaws."
"Ach! Den will dey squeeze us?" asked Iggy.
"If they know we are here I suppose they'll try it," declared Jimmy. "But maybe we can inflict a few bites before they crush us! Fellows, we'd better look to the defense. How much ammunition have we?"
"Mighty little!" declared Roger, gloomily. "I fired about all I had coming on in the rush."
"Same here," admitted Bob.
"Maybe a machine-gun yet we could shoot," suggested Iggy. "One only was bust by your grenade, Jimmy. Maybe one iss—"
"By Jove! He's right!" cried Jimmy. "I never thought of that. If worst comes to worst we may, for a short time, turn the German's own gun on 'em. Come on and we'll take a look."
To the delight of the Khaki Boys the second machine-gun was in good order, and there was considerable ammunition left.
"But can we work it?" asked Bob.
"Let me take a look," suggested Franz. "I saw something of 'em when they had me a prisoner."
"Something good may come of that, after all," cried Jimmy. "Here you go, Schnitz, take a look."
This Franz did, and presently reported that there was no reason why they should not work the German gun. Accordingly it was freed from the dead Huns about it, and the ammunition was overhauled. There was also some ammunition for the German rifles that had fallen from the dead hands of their owners, and this, together with the guns, was collected.
In addition to this the lads had a few rounds left for their own rifles, though, as Roger had said there was very little available. They had fired fast and fiercely in the rush on the old mill.
"Let's look around and see if the Huns had any food they didn't gobble," suggested Roger. "That ration of mine was only a sample."
A look from the mill windows showed that the advancing German army had no present intentions, as far as could be judged, of attacking the red mill. They did not seem to be paying any attention to it.
So far there had been a total absence of either artillery or rifle fire. The advance had been made silently and comparatively quietly. On either side of the mill, in the far distance, and to the rear, however, were dull rumblings and booms that told of war's activities.
Greatly to their relief, the lads found quite a store of food the Germans had put away, evidently in preparation for a long stay in the mill. It was not food of the best quality, but it was better than nothing, they all agreed. And there was water in plenty.
"If they come at us we'll fight as long as we can," decided Jimmy, which was the sentiment of all, "and we'll live to the best of our ability meanwhile."
"But they don't seem to be going to attack," ventured Roger. "They look to me as though they were settling down for a long stay. I can't see 'em digging trenches yet, but maybe there are some already dug."
While getting the food and ammunition in readiness, and dragging back the dead bodies out of the way, the boys occasionally looked from the mill windows. As Roger had said, the army appeared to have come to a halt, both the center and the wings.
The Khaki Boys had just finished binding up their minor hurts, and were talking of their chances for escape, when there suddenly sounded outside a whine, a scream and a mingled roar.
The next instant there was an explosion that threw them all flat from the force of the concussion, and a terrific noise deafened them. They seemed to be at the ending of the career of this part of the old earth as they saw the whole front wall of the red mill collapse, falling as though sliced off by a gigantic cleaver.
Stunned by the concussion, half choked by the clouds of dust and smoke, terribly jarred when they had been felled by the force of the explosion just outside the mill, our five heroes lay, for several seconds, totally unable to stir. Had there been a rush of Huns on them at that moment, or had some following explosion endangered the mill, they would not have been able to move to save themselves.
But, for a time, there was no further explosion, so that the Khaki Boys had a chance to recover their breath, and, what was more important in their perilous situation, gather their no less scattered wits.
"What—what in the name of the great Attila himself was that?" gaspedRoger.
"I think it was yet a gun what went off," mildly said Iggy.
"A gun? Say, it must have been the grandfather of all the cannon theHuns ever made," declared Jimmy. "Are any of you alive?"
"Guess we're all alive," answered Bob, as he slowly arose and shook some of the dust from him. For the dust was thick all over, in clouds and scattered about. Some of it was flour dust and other was the lime and mortar that had held together the front wall which had collapsed and slid outward. The whole front of the mill was open.
There was no doubt about their all being alive, but, for a time, even this had been in doubt. They were still stunned, but they managed to gather in a knot about Jimmy. They were hardly able to breathe, partly because of the shock and partly because of the choking dust.
"There goes our defense," said Bob, gloomily, pointing to where the machine-gun stood—the one they had decided to use against their enemies. It had been crushed by the falling wall.
"Lucky we had the rations in the back room," commented Roger, "Else we'd go hungry."
"We may yet," returned Jimmy, grimly.
"What do you mean!" asked Bob, anxiously.
"Well, I don't believe that was a chance shot," went on the young sergeant. "If they see the mill still standing they may try another, and that may take off the roof. And then——"
"Whoa! Hold on a minute! A little at a time!" protested Bob. "This is enough. Don't give us any more."
"We've got to know where we're at!" declared Jimmy, and there was a new quality to his voice. "If this mill is within range of the German guns, and, unquestionably, it is, we've got to get out."
"Or go down cellar," added Roger.
"I don't believe any cellar, unless it was double bomb proof, would be safe if another shell like that came over," said Franz.
"Was it a German shell or one of ours?" asked Bob. "That would be interesting to know. I don't suppose, though," he went on, "that it really makes much difference, after you're dead, whether you're killed by an enemy shell, or by one fired in mistake by one of your friends. At the same time if the American guns have come up it may mean that the Germans will have to retreat and we'll be safe."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," declared Jimmy. "It will mean a big battle, anyhow, if the Americans and some of the French and British have come up. And that may mean we'll have a chance to join our friends. But, in the meantime, maybe we can tell whether that was a Hun shell, sent to blow this mill off the earth, or whether it was from the good old United States."
Cautiously they advanced across the floor, toward what had been the front of the mill. Caution was necessary, for with the collapse of the front wall and part of the sides, the floor supports were weakened.
"No telling where that shell landed," declared Bob. "It's buried deep, and about ten tons of mortar and bricks are on top of it. If we had seen it coming——"
"Look out—duck!" suddenly yelled Franz, as he grabbed Jimmy, who was nearest him and darted toward the rear of the structure.
"What's the matter?" cried Bob.
"Another shell coming!" shouted Franz, and, even as he spoke there was that horrid screeching sound. "Duck!"
Together they ran to the farthest corner of the old mill. Whether it would have been better to have tried to get out none of them stopped to think. They were in a panic.
And then came the explosion, but so distant that it caused no more than a mere rumble of the ground, and a faintly-felt concussion of the now tottery building.
"Missed us that time," declared Roger. "But they're getting our range."
"No, they didn't fire at us," declared Franz. "If they had they would have hit us, for undoubtedly the gunners know the effect of that first shot. The Huns aren't shooting at us purposely."
"Do you mean that shell came from a German battery?" asked Bob.
"It did," affirmed Franz. "I saw the puff of smoke from a battery on the hill where the Germans are grouped. Then I knew they were firing in our direction. But of course I couldn't see the shell, and I didn't know where it would land. But I didn't want to take a chance. That either went over or fell short. But there's no question, now, as to where the firing is coming from—it's from the German lines."
"Then there's no chance for us," said Roger, gloomily.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," declared Franz. "They don't know we're here, and they evidently aren't firing directly at this mill. They may be using it to get the range, and that's why they dropped the first shell here. But we still have a chance."
"I don't see it!" declared Bob. "We can't get out—surrounded as we are by the enemy, and if we stay here another chance shell may wreck the place."
"Better as we noathing do, maybe; eh?" suggested the Polish lad.
"I guess you've struck it," assented Jimmy. "There isn't very much we can do. We might take a chance and sneak out, but I think very likely, the Germans are well supplied with glasses. They are, most certainly, watching this mill, if for no other reason than that it's so conspicuous. If we run out they'll be sure to spot us, and it would mean capture sure."
"Then what do you, advise, Blazes!" asked Roger.
"That we see if there's a chance of getting down in the cellar and staying there. Some of these old mills had very thick foundation walls. I don't know just how long this one will stand up if many more such shells as the first one came over, but we can try it. In fact, it seems to be our only chance."
"All right—to the cellar!" cried Bob. "And don't forget to take with us what food and water we can. Maybe we'll be held there some time. If there's a big battle it may last several days, though if our boys drive back the Huns we'll take the opportunity to slip out and join our friends."
"That's right," agreed Jimmy. "Just think, fellows, what's happening to us now may have happened to poor Maxwell. Maybe that's why he hasn't been heard from. If we don't come back they'll list us as missing, and no one will know whether we've run away, been killed or captured. So we'll have to suspend judgment on the man that's got our thousand dollars."
"That's so," agreed Franz. "I never looked at it in just that way. We never thought this would happen to us, any more than I thought I'd be captured."
They were gathering up such food as remained to them, and Bob was looking for something in which to carry some water to the cellar, when there came again that nerve-racking screech, followed by a roar and bang that seemed to knock the very bottom out of the world itself.
And this time the boys were conscious, for a brief instant at least, that the old mill was gone. It seemed to fall apart, to disintegrate, to crumble like some time-worn structure. And then all five of the lads lost consciousness and seemed to be slipping down into everlasting blackness, while all about them fell and rattled and banged stones, bricks, mortar-dust and dirt, mingled with cracked and splintered wood.
It was Iggy who first recovered his senses. Whether he was less shocked, or whether his nerves were in such a state from his recent experience as to make his unconsciousness of shorter duration, does not matter. The fact is he opened his eyes. And he was at once conscious that he was held down by the weight of much debris. It was on his legs and on his body, but his arms and head were free.
"Ach! Back again am I in de shell hole! It was a dream, yes, that I was taken out!" exclaimed the poor Polish lad. "It a dream must of been! I shall sleep again!"
But as he was closing his eyes, for he really, as he said later, thought that he was back in the shell hole, he saw Jimmy, who was half buried near him, moving slightly.
"Oh, Jimmy Blazes! And dey kill you, too!" sighed Iggy. "How sorry I am we both deat are alretty!"
"Who's dead?" asked Jimmy, in a faint voice. "I'm not, anyhow, but blamed near it. Is that you, Iggy?"
"Yes, I it is. But I know not if I am deader or aliver."
"Take my word for it—you're alive so far, though how long you'll be that way—or me, either—I can't say," said Jimmy. "What happened, anyhow?"
To Iggy's relief Jimmy managed to scramble out of the pile of dirt and stones that half buried him. And then, from another corner of what seemed to be the cellar, a third voice said:
"They sent over a proper shell, that time." It was Franz.
"Apropershell? Mostimproper, I call it!" came from Roger. "It blew the mill to pieces!"
"And us along with it," added Bob. "Are we in the cellar?"
"Sub-cellar, basement—anything you like to call it!" put in Jimmy."But is it possible that none of us is seriously hurt?"
He walked over a pile of masonry and beams. He saw Bob crawling out of a hole and Franz swinging himself down from what appeared to be a ledge. Roger picked himself up from a corner. Only Iggy seemed to be seriously hurt, but it was demonstrated, a few moments later, that he was not. For he scrambled out, scattering the dust in a cloud, and stood with his chums.
They were a sorry sight—covered with dust and streaks of blood, for the wounds they had bound up had opened again, and they had many fresh scratches and cuts.
"It's very evident what happened," declared Jimmy. "They must have dropped a shell on the roof, and it blew the mill right down into the ground, and us with it. We're in the cellar—or what was once the cellar."
"And the next question is, how to get out," added Bob.
"Hark!" exclaimed Jimmy, holding up a warning hand.
There was silence, broken by a faint, crackling noise.
"Do you think you hear the German guns, or ours!" cried Bob.
"Neither one," said Jimmy, and there was a curious note in his voice. "What I hear—and what you'll all hear, soon—is the crackling of flames. The old mill—or what's left of it, boys—is on fire!"
"Then let's get out!" yelled Roger.
Jimmy looked about him, without moving. Above them there seemed to be a solid mass of torn beams and jumbled masonry. On either side there were stone walls—cracked walls, it is true, but, nevertheless, too solid to admit the passage of the Khaki Boys. And only on one side was there an opening, but this was so choked with debris as to make it seemingly impossible to make egress that way. And, as the young soldiers stood there, trapped under the collapsed mill, the sound of the crackling flames became more plain. They could smell, now, the smoke of burning wood.
"We've got to get out! We've got to get out!" yelled Bob.
He rushed to a place where, through a crisscross of beams and planks, he could see daylight. Yet, though there were openings, none of them was large enough to permit the passage of the smallest of the five Brothers. And the wooden beams and planks were all of extraordinary thickness.
"We're trapped! Trapped! And the fire coming nearer!" half sobbed Bob.
And then he saw through the crisscross of beams, coming toward the burning mill, a man who seemed to be an American officer. And yet he wore no such uniform as Bob had ever seen before.
"Steady, boys!" cried this strange rescuer, as he glimpsed them. "I'll soon have you out! Wait! Don't bring the ruins down on top of you!"