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[Illustration: _Where the Souls of Men are Calling_]

   WHERE THE SOULS
   OF MEN
   ARE CALLING

   BY
   CREDO HARRIS

   _Frontispiece by_
   JOHN R. NEILL

   NEW YORK
   BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY


   Copyright, 1918

   By

   BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY

   All Rights Reserved

   Made in U. S. A.


       *       *       *       *       *


     TO MAUD BLANC HARRIS


       *       *       *       *       *




WHERE THE SOULS OF MEN ARE CALLING




CHAPTER I

Hillsdale is "somewhere in the United States of America"--but there are
hundreds of Hillsdales!

This particular Hillsdale is no less, no more, than the others. It
contains the usual center of business activity clustering about a rather
modern hotel. One of its livery stables has been remodelled into a
moving-picture house, the other into a garage; one of its newspapers has
become a daily, the other still holds to a Friday issue. In its outlying
districts will be found hitching racks before the stores. Altogether,
Hillsdale might be said to be "on the fence," with one leg toward
progressiveness, the other still lingering in the past.

Its residences have not grown beyond the rambling, mellow kind, that
drowse in poetic languor amidst flowering vines and trees. These trees,
that also line the streets, meeting in cathedral arches overhead, might
be stately elms of New England, poplars of the middle-west, or live-oaks
of the south; for it must be strictly borne in mind that Hillsdale is
"somewhere in the United States."

One mild day in early April, 1917, in the side yard of a corner house
well away from traffic noises, two trim little women, Miss Sallie and
Miss Veemie Tumpson, were delicately uncovering their tulip beds when
Colonel Hampton, passing on his way down town, stopped and raised his
hat. An imperceptible agitation rustled their conventional exteriors,
since it was an occasion of pleasure when Colonel Hampton paused at
anyone's fence. They noticed, however, that his usual geniality was
lacking; that the kindly seams in his face were set into lines of
sternness.

"Well, m'em," he thundered, "their damned outrages continue!"

Miss Sallie gasped and stared at him, while her more timid sister was
too much taken aback to move. In the forty-odd years of their
acquaintance with this agreeable product of the mid-Victorian era, this
was the first time they had heard an oath pass his lips--without an
immediate apology; and the apology had not been forthcoming.

"Yes, m'em," he cried, striking the ferrule of his cane on the sidewalk,
"their damned outrages continue!"

"Why, Colonel," Miss Veemie faltered, "whatever can have happened?" She
was a trifle deaf, but she had no difficulty whatever in understanding
the irate gentleman before her.

"Colonel Hampton," Miss Sallie, as was her habit, took the offensive,
"what do you mean, sir!"

"Mean enough, and happened enough!" The cane again added emphasis.
"Those German vipers have torpedoed another of our ships! The
de-humanized outcasts, the blood-crazed toads, have wantonly destroyed
more American lives! I tell you, m'em, our President is getting damned
tired of it, and we'll have war as certain as your tulips are sure to
be the fairest in our proud city, m'em!"

The cheeks of the little ladies flushed at this dull prophecy, but for
quite a minute the three remained silent.

"Mercy, I hope not," Miss Veemie sighed at last--meaning the war, of
course. "It's terrible!"

"And peace can be terrible," the Colonel thundered. "A country that buys
peace at the price of dishonor is no better than a frump who sells her
soul for gewgaws and furbalows! When posterity shall read of how the
diseased mind of a single lunatic has stabbed history's richest pages
with a sword of murder, rapacity and lust, it will turn a lip of
contempt toward every nation that stood upon a vacuous neutrality. To
hell with neutrality, when a madman stalks abroad!"

Miss Veemie now felt that she had been silenced for the rest of time,
and Miss Sallie's delicate hands, incongruously housed in heavy garden
gloves, became expressive of horrified amazement.

"What?" he demanded, looking more than ever furious.

The little ladies jumped, and Miss Sallie made haste to say:

"Why--why nothing."

He eyed them for a moment; not suspiciously, but with anger at
everything in the universe--themselves, perhaps, excepted.

"Where's Jeb?" he asked.

"He went into the country again with his rifle this morning," Miss
Sallie answered. "He feels as you do, Colonel, that the time has come to
strike and we must be preparing for it."

"But I wish you'd speak to him," Miss Veemie imploringly added. "He's
bent on getting ready and being among the first, if the time comes,
and--and----"

"And he'll do it in splendid style, rest assured of it, m'em! Jeb will
make a fine soldier!--he comes from a line of soldiers!"

Tears filled Miss Veemie's eyes.

"We've never seriously thought that Jeb----" she began, but could get no
farther and relapsed into a sorrowful contemplation of the tulip bed.

"There, there; I know, I know," the old gentleman interrupted gently. "I
know how you feel about him; I know how you've both been more than
mothers to him!"

"We've done our best," there was a tightness in Miss Sallie's voice. "He
never remembered his own mother, and was so little when dear brother
Jebediah died."

"I know, I know," he murmured. "How old is Jeb?"

"Twenty-six."

Another silence fell upon them. Then the Colonel sighed, turned and
started on his way downtown, still muttering to himself as he went:

"I know, I know. All the same, that Kaiser's a damned murderer, and
we've got to smash him if it takes the last drop of blood in Hillsdale;
yes, sir, the last precious drop!" So by the time he reached the hotel
his step was vigorous and the ferrule of his cane struck the sidewalk
with military precision. Fifty-three years ago he had marched that way
with Grant--or was it with Lee? Hillsdales do spread over such a lot of
territory!

"Did you ever!" Miss Sallie gasped, breaking the silence.

"Sakes alive," Miss Veemie whispered, calling upon her nearest approach
to profanity. But they continued to stare after him, by unspoken accord
moving to the fence and leaning over it, farther and farther, to keep
him in sight as long as possible.

It was while they were so occupied that a girl stepped out upon the side
veranda. She hesitated an instant, poising lightly in surprise at their
rather unusual attitudes, and biting her lips to keep from laughing
outright. Then coming down into the garden, she asked:

"Is the parade in sight yet?"

Turning, they rushed at her.

"_Marian!_ When did you get home? How did you get in without our seeing
you?"

Her parasol fell to the ground before their onslaught of affectionate
greetings, as they held her off, only to draw her close to them.

"Why," she laughed, somewhat out of breath, "the front door was open--as
usual; so I came on through--as usual--looking for you!"

"_When_ did you get home?" they insisted. "Is it really you?"

"You little dears," she cried. "Oh, but it's good to see you!"

"But _when_ did you come?"

"Last night!"

"And you're going to stay?"

"Hm-hm," she laughed, kissing them upon the cheeks. "I suppose I'll have
to, unless Daddy has a change of heart and lets me go to France."

"France, nonsense! Stand off, and let's see you," Miss Sallie commanded.
"My! My! And you're really a trained nurse?"

"Really a trained nurse," she answered enthusiastically.

"I could never understand why you wanted to be," Miss Veemie faltered,
looking at her as though she were convinced that contact with the big
cities and hospitals and surgical cases must surely have left an
unfavorable impress. "But you haven't changed--I do believe! Why, child,
you're even prettier! Is that taffeta, my dear? How much did you pay for
it?"

"Sister Veemie," Miss Sallie interrupted with a shade of annoyance,
"for pity sake don't begin to talk dresses--though it _is_ becoming, my
dear," she turned to Marian. "Have you seen Jeb?"

The girl hesitated, yet not exactly in embarrassment, and answered
slowly:

"No. Is he well?"

"More than well--and simply daft with his preparations for the war!"

"Preparations for the war?" she asked, not understanding.

"Why, my child, he goes into the country every day to shoot his rifle,
he's so in earnest! I do believe that if Congress could hear half he
thinks about the insults we are forced to swallow, they'd declare war
to-morrow!"

"Sister Sallie thinks he should have been named Patrick Henry," Miss
Veemie sighed, "but I'm sure I can't imagine why! Jebediah is much
prettier."

Miss Sallie ignored this, and in a more confidential tone continued:

"When he was a little boy, a fortune teller said----"

"Oh, I know," Marian laughed, "--said he might be President some day!"

"Well, my dear, I really shouldn't wonder! But, oh, why have you stayed
away from us so long! Did nursing take so much time to learn? Now that
you're back," her voice grew tender, "I do hope you and Jeb--well, you
know that it was your dear mother's wish, and his dear mother's wish,
Marian."

"Please don't," the girl interrupted hastily. "I've heard that a
thousand times. Besides, Jeb and I were only four months old when our
mothers died; and besides that," she smiled prettily, "Jeb has surely
recovered from his silly notions by now."

"Jeb will entertain whatever notions I tell him to," Miss Sallie
declared with vigor.

"Then I don't want to see him," Marian laughed, though with not enough
conviction, perhaps, to keep Miss Sallie from darting a look of
encouragement at her sister, who, failing to understand it, observed:

"Colonel Hampton just passed before you came; did you see him?"

"No!--bless his old heart! How is he?--quite as foolishly angry with my
father as ever, I suppose?"

"He's not all to blame for that." Miss Sallie compressed her lips. "Your
father, my dear, is as good a hater as he is an editor."

"Which is going some," Marian laughed.

"Going how?" Miss Veemie asked, protestingly.

"I must say," Miss Sallie interposed, "that the Colonel has been a
devoted friend to Jeb!"

"And I'm devoted to the Colonel," Marian quickly replied, as though her
loyalty had been challenged. "You both know how I've deplored that
quarrel--why, it started long, long before I was born, and I'm sure
they've forgotten its origin!"

"Politics! Wretched politics," Miss Sallie sighed. "I've often thought,
my child, how easily you might re-cement their friendship." She looked
wistfully at the girl, who asked in all sincerity:

"How?"

"The Colonel is so fond of Jeb, and you are your father's only child!
Can't you just fancy them clasping hands beneath a wedding bell of
beautiful lilies?"

"It's easier to fancy them quarreling again the next day! No," she began
to laugh delightedly, "if you're so set on having a wedding, marry them
to each other; then they can fuss to their heart's content and nobody
will mind. There, forgive me!" she cried, putting her arms about Miss
Veemie, who was taking this seriously, and almost gasping for breath, "I
was horrid to joke about it! But you mustn't let Miss Sallie put those
silly thoughts on Jeb and me, really! Remember, I've been away two
years--two years this very sixth of April--and see how we've both
improved!"

There might have been a slight suspicion of yearning that somehow got
into her voice as she said this; at any rate, Miss Sallie thought so,
and wisely decided to let the subject rest awhile.

Marian walked to the fallen parasol, picked it up and opened it.

"I suppose I ought to be going," she said. "Father expects me about
twelve. Your tulips are looking well, for this early," she continued
evenly. "Do you still have the scarlet ones in this bed? And, oh, I
wonder if I can see the courthouse clock from your fence, as I used to!"

She leaned over the pickets, looking; then glanced up the street in the
other direction. Miss Sallie did not miss the significance of this, and
smiled.

"What time is it?" she asked, as Marian turned around.

"I--I really; isn't that funny? I've forgotten!" And to hide a very
genuine embarrassment she leaned again over the pickets; glancing, as
before, up and down the street where the courthouse was, and was not,
but now giving a little exclamation of pleasure.

"He's coming! Your spoiled nephew is at the corner."

She glanced at Miss Sallie, and found that little lady beaming
pleasantly with a "bless you, my children," countenance that sent the
blood flying to her cheeks. She felt suddenly afraid to stay and face
the man from whom, at the last moment and as a last resort, she had fled
to keep from giving a certain answer to his insistent pleadings. She
knew that he would plead again, even after two years of waiting; and, in
a sense, she wanted him to plead, though not just at this spot, nor
until she had gathered up her forces with which she might artfully
resist him awhile longer.

"Well, goodbye, everybody," she said quickly. "I must hurry downtown."

"Without seeing Jeb?" Miss Sallie exclaimed.

"Oh, I'll see him soon. We can't escape each other very long in
Hillsdale," she laughed.

"But, my child, it will only be a minute! You surely----"

Jeb, having entered by the front way, was now heard whistling as he came
through the house, and the next moment he stepped out on the side
veranda; then stopped, crying joyously:

"Marian!"

"Hello, Jeb," she said, advancing with a candor that belied the look
Miss Sallie had surprised half a minute before.

"Oh, Jeb," Miss Veemie glided toward him, "I've been so worried for fear
your gun had exploded and done something! Are you tired, dear?"

This adulation had been a daily occurrence in Jeb's life since he was
four years old, when these adoring aunts had taken him beneath their
roof. Usually he met it half way, but now, with an indifference that in
a moment of less excitement would have been pronounced, he passed her
and caught Marian's hand, crying:

"This _is_ a surprise! Did you drop out of the trees?"

"That savors horribly of monkeys, Jeb," she laughed, quietly withdrawing
her hand. "You used to do better!"

"I meant to ask how long since you dropped down from heaven, angel," he
smiled. "My word, but you're looking fit! For a three times winner, you
just about take the cake!"

"Cake, dear?" Miss Veemie sweetly inquired. "Certainly you shall!" And,
turning, she hurried busily into the house, Miss Sallie following with
an expression about her mouth which said as plainly as words that her
well-meaning sister would not emerge with cake, or anything else, to
interrupt a _tete-a-tete_ so promising.

Jeb waited until they had quite disappeared, then he crossed to Marian,
asking soberly:

"Why did you run away, just when you promised to tell me what I wanted
to hear?--and why didn't you answer my letters?"

"I wonder," she said, turning toward the flower beds, "if the tulips
will be in bloom soon! I'd so love to see them again!"

He laughed tenderly, but persisted:

"Why did you run away?--why didn't you answer my letters?"

"Oh, those things happened two years ago, Jeb. Haven't you advanced at
all?--do you always live in the past like a silly old man? You didn't
write but three times, anyway!"

"Good Lord, how many times did you expect me to write without getting an
answer?" he cried.

"Oh," she answered indifferently, "as many times as you thought it was
worth doing. I might have answered the fourth; one can never tell about
those things. Miss Sallie says you're getting ready to fight, Jeb. Are
you thinking of going over to join the British or French?"

"Not for me," he laughed, disregarding, somewhat to her surprise, the
subject of letters and answers. "They can peg along with their own
scrap; I'm getting in shape for this country, if it becomes involved!
You ought to see the hikes I take, Marian! Twelve miles in a
forenoon--easy! And my shooting is really--look here!" He began fumbling
in his pocket and brought out several paper targets which he unfolded
and held before her. "What d'you think of that for three hundred
yards!--five centers! Here's the four hundred!--look, Marian! Isn't it a
peach? By Jove, if ever I get a crack at those Huns, there'll be a few
less!"

From the targets, over which he was now bending in feverish interest,
she glanced up at him without being observed, her face somewhat puzzled.
She felt extremely gratified that Jeb had made these perfect scores, and
her spirit thrilled with his martial fervor; but, on the other hand, he
had just been talking about a certain question which she had evaded two
years ago by running away to take a hospital course in nursing, and it
seemed to her that he was dismissing it rather abruptly. Yet she knew
Jeb's temperament, as any girl will know a man with whom she has been a
play-fellow since childhood; and, although hardly prepared for it just
at this moment, she read aright that his love of self, his thirst for
praise, had in no wise diminished. Had she been asked for a direct
answer she could have told that his enthusiasm for target practice in
the woods, where for hours he pretended to be shooting Germans, was
vital to his abnormally active imagination; for Jeb, although a giant in
strength and a god in grace, possessed the brow and eyes of an
inveterate dreamer.

Formerly his dreams had run to adventure of a milder form, sometimes to
verse, once or twice or thrice or more to love. He had, as a matter of
fact, for short periods loved nearly all the girls in Hillsdale who were
pretty enough, and clever enough; never becoming really serious--unless
it was with her! But she had laughed at him then, sympathetically and
sweetly, reminding him that they had grown up together, besides being
each of them twenty-four.

Not that she believed these were serious obstacles, but at the time
they served; for, if the strict truth be told, Marian understood Jeb too
well to confess how much she cared. His exceptional charm, fascinating
her beyond anything she had experienced, was, on the other hand, marred
by his inordinate vanity. His extreme courtesy, urban manner and quick
instinct for thoughtful attentions to old and young alike, she read
truly as superficial, rather than sincere, kindnesses. The casual
acquaintance would not have discovered this--but Marian had grown up
with him! She _could_ love him, she had more than a hundred times told
herself--God, yes! Alone in the nights when his warm bronze coloring of
perfect health seemed near to her, she had admitted this. Yet by day she
laughed at it; and laughed at Jeb. Thereupon Jeb had settled down in
earnest to win her.

Miss Sallie and Miss Veemie had watched through a prayer-glass the
beginning of that ardent affair. From their lofty place of vantage
twenty-four and twenty-four might not have been quite suitable, but
years could stand for naught against the tower of mental strength and
character with which they knew Marian to be possessed. They would
gladly have greeted her as one of themselves, one to mother Jeb, to see
that he was warmly clothed and did not eat imprudently. He had always
been a child to them! Many times, in the bygone days, Miss Sallie would
hint at this ideal mating, till at last the daughter of Amos Strong had
wrapped the little woman in her arms, saying sweetly that she preferred
something in life besides "mothering an overgrown, selfish boy."

It had cost her something to say this, for in her heart she was just
beginning to know how adoringly she could be these things and more to
him. As a child she mothered him; at ten he bullied her; in their 'teens
she had bossed and mothered him again! Love him? She admitted it through
tears to her mirror--and yet, withal, she had understood him just a
shade too well!

Then came the day--as such days will--when she was cornered, pinioned,
made captive!--when she could no longer fight, and knew that surrender
was but a matter of hours. Much of that night (she remembered every
minute of it now!) she had lain awake watching her heart and her level
judgment wage their last battle; and the next afternoon, an hour before
he was to come, she quietly left for Baltimore, or New York--or it may
have been Chicago--to take the course in nursing.

Her eyes now swept him with tenderness as the memory of that day came
rushing back, but a shadow of disappointment crossed them as she saw
that he was still looking, fascinated, at the proof of his skill. Was
her return, after an absence of two years, so meaningless that he could
be engrossed by a few sheets of inert paper while she stood within touch
of him?

"You shoot very well, Jeb," she said, casually.

"Don't I though!" he cried. "See, Marian--here's the five hundred!"

"I should think," she said, glancing at it indifferently, "that you'd
join the regular army."

"You bet I will, if the time ever comes when we've got to fight! I
wouldn't ask for anything better! Gee, I wish we'd declare war
to-morrow!"

"I rather think," she slowly replied, "that your wish is very near
fulfillment, Jeb."

He turned quickly and stared at her.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, tensely.

Had her eyes been looking at him then she might have seen something in
his drawn face and blanched cheeks that would have struck dismay into
her very soul; but, as it was, she attributed the question purely and
simply to his eagerness for service, and answered with a suggestion of
sharpness that was not lost on him:

"Because there's a limit, Jeb, to the patience of a country, just as
there is to the patience of men and women. Even the mildest of us reach
the end of our endurance, sooner or later," she added, not knowing
whether she wanted to laugh or be furious.

"Oh, come," he cried, squaring his shoulders. "I thought maybe you had
some inside news from your father! Don't be a gloom, Marian! The war's
three thousand miles away from us, and that's where it's going to
stay--take my word for it!"

"But I thought you were crazy for it," she turned on him in surprise.

He shifted uneasily, but his voice rang strong and true as he answered:

"I am crazy for it! What d'you suppose I've been getting ready for all
these months? But you leave wars and that sort of thing to us men! You
haven't anything to do with 'em!"

"We have to nurse you in wars, Jeb, just as we do in times of peace,"
she laughed. "Really, I don't see how such big babies as some men I know
can conduct a first class war, anyhow!"

This was the old Marian again; lightly bantering, deliciously good to
look upon. He moved close to her, and asked earnestly:

"Why did you run away from me?"

"I wanted to be a nurse," she answered.

"But why did you decide so quickly to be a nurse?"

She hesitated, then smiled:

"It was better than the other alternative."

"Now that you are a nurse, can't you accept the other alternative, too?
You know I want you just as much."

His voice, deep and resonant with a timbre that went to women's hearts,
thrilled her delightfully. But she had not forgiven him for the paper
target episode, wherein she had been pushed aside to make way for his
skill. There were, moreover, plans that had been fermenting in her mind
for many months--plans of which marriage should not be a part--and she
answered him frankly:

"I really don't know at all, Jeb--I haven't had time to think. Of
course, should our country get into this war, daddy has promised to let
me go across at once; otherwise he insists that I can't. Still, if I go
to France, you will, too, for that matter," she added brightly. Then the
color flew to her cheeks. "Maybe when I saw you in uniform, Jeb, and
realized that you--that we might neither of us get back, then I
might--we might----"

She was looking down, unable to go farther without assistance; but he
offered none, and they stood for several moments in absolute
silence--for a quick spasm of fright had shot across his soul! The
sublimity of her partial surrender, contingent only upon his
transportation to a foreign battlefield, suddenly brought the war from
three thousand miles away to his very door. But his next feeling was one
of self-contempt, and squaring his shoulders with a jerk he said:

"I love your pluck! Then it's all settled."

"Oh, it isn't all settled by a great deal," she laughed; but, seeing his
face, gasped in mock astonishment. "Heavens! Which is making you look so
like a ghost--marriage or war?"

"They're quite synonymous," he replied, trying to match her banter. "May
I speak to your illustrious father?"

"That reminds me that I've an engagement with him right now," she
exclaimed. "For the present, you may say good-bye to Miss Sallie and
Miss Veemie for me."

With a pretty smile and toss of her head she swept him a little
courtesy, then turned to the gate, but he called after her:

"Wait! I'll go with you--and show him my targets!"

She stopped, looking back as though she had not heard aright.

"Targets?" she asked, slightly arching her brows.

"Why, these, of course," he cried, drawing them again from his breast
pocket. "I always hunt him up, or the Colonel, when I've made a
cracker-jack score! It tickles 'em to death!"

He sprang to the gate and held it open for her to pass, apparently
having forgotten everything but a desire to reap praise from one or the
other of these old gentlemen; who in their turns, although separately,
had never failed to be genially appreciative. The flavor of war, which
filled the air as a restless spirit since diplomatic relations with
Germany had come to an end--the numb fear with which he had been
obsessed but a moment ago--were completely relegated to the limbo of
forgetfulness as he now issued forth in search of praise wherewith to
feed his vanity.

Whenever it so happened that he failed to get a sufficient amount of
this from one or the other of these men, or from his adoring aunts, he
drew it from himself. He could not have named a night for months that he
had fallen asleep without first thinking of the splendid soldier he
would make. He would let his imagination run riot and live through
battle after battle, leading his men intrepidly--men who loved the very
ground on which he trod. Into the thickest places where old veterans
could not have stood the gaff, he went with calm indifference. Victory
followed victory--complete, hilarious victories! Dead Germans,
prisoners, and cannon which Jeb flung into the game bag of his waking
dreams, if put side by side, would have reached around the world.

'Tis true, that this top-lofty state of mind suffered a complete relapse
when Bernstorff got his papers, and for the first time Jeb seriously
felt the cold fingers of fear reach out and touch him. It had been a
peculiar change, that for awhile startled him more than the imminence of
war. He might have been thrilled over the wild race, the reckless dash,
as of unbridled horses, with which a nation long in suspense hurtled
toward a finality; but it was an elation thoroughly dampened by dread.
As the days had passed, however, and nothing more terrible happened, his
courage came creeping back, even growing into modest bravado. Excursions
to the country with his rifle became frequent again. He began to feel
himself stiffen-up when Miss Sallie would tell a neighbor how he was
getting ready for the possible war; this neighbor told other neighbors,
and he was soon basking in admiring looks which were as meat and drink
to him. It was on this crest of popularity that Marian found him when
she returned to Hillsdale.

With a face utterly devoid of expression she watched him now while he
held back the gate with one hand while trying to stuff the bulkily
folded targets into his pocket.

"Maybe you'd rather carry them, Marian," he said, "and we can look at
them again on the way downtown!"

She did not answer.

"I always take them down to your father, you know," he said again.

"I should think daddy would be immensely flattered," she observed,
passing out to the street.

Scarcely had the gate closed after them when Miss Sallie and Miss
Veemie, guilt written in every line of their radiant faces, tiptoed from
the house, stepped into the garden and ran to the fence. As they had
formerly done while watching Colonel Hampton stalk angrily townward,
they now, also, leaned farther and farther over the pickets, keeping the
young people who comprised their hope in view to the very last.




CHAPTER II


Colonel Hampton, after leaving the Tumpson sisters in a fog of
astonishment, did not pause at the hotel and sink into the porch chair
that had become his by right of daily occupation. This morning his mind
was set upon greater things. Affectionate greetings from passing friends
hardly checked him, and he strode deliberately onward to the office of
the Hills County _Eagle_, the daily, owned and edited by Amos Strong--a
long ago friend, although for twice a score of years his most
unrelenting political foe. There had been a time when the town
prophesied a "meeting" between these two, but their enmity had finally
congealed into nothing more deadly than complete estrangement.

Now, indifferent to a look of consternation on a reporter's face, the
Colonel stamped across the "city room," glared around until he saw a
glass door marked "editor," pushed it violently open without knocking
and closed it after him. This had not happened in the reporter's memory;
it had, on the other hand, been just the thing everybody feared might
come to pass.

The grizzled editor did not immediately look up; yet, when he did, his
astonishment was complete, and his ever alert mind reviewed the
_Eagle's_ recent utterances to discover if therein lay a reason for this
visit. Recalling nothing of particular belligerency--at any rate,
nothing against the Colonel--he said crisply:

"Take a seat, Colonel Hampton."

"Colonel Hampton will never take a seat in your office, sir," his caller
thundered, greatly emphasizing "Colonel Hampton." And, answering a
further look of perplexity in the editor's face that now betrayed a
growing anger, he continued jerkily: "We're coming very near to war,
sir; this country, our country, against those sickening anti-Christs who
bayonet children, rape women, and wantonly torture unto death
defenseless men--and boast of it, sir; gloat over it! It'll be our
country against that polluted swamp of slimy creatures, sir; and in our
country there shall be neither Democrats nor Republicans! Politics be
damned, sir! Until those breeders of paresis--those Hohenzollern
upstarts who, as God is my witness, are the vomit of hell--shall be
stripped of their freedom, you and I cast our vote for Humanity! Amos, I
want to take your hand, and I want you to take mine!"

Mr. Strong sprang to his feet and his chair fell heavily to the floor.
It was this alarming noise that reached the listening reporter's ear and
brought him in haste to his chief's aid; yet when he had pushed open the
door, unnoticed by those within, he drew quickly back and tiptoed to his
desk. There are some things at which even a reporter may not gaze.

"Do you agree with me that there should and will be war, Roger?" Mr.
Strong was saying half an hour later. They were comfortably settled now,
with cigars alight, and except for slight traces where tears had marked
their cheeks no one would have suspected aught but a lifetime of
congeniality.

"Both should and will, Amos! It is one of the few expressions in your
columns with which I have thoroughly concurred."

Mr. Strong burst into a merry laugh and waved the handkerchief that was
still in his hand, crying:

"Truce, truce! You forget, Roger!"

"So I do, so I do, Amos! We sha'n't open the old wounds again--at least,
not so long as our country is in need of cohesion. My anger, I assure
you, was never as great as my amazement that one of your talents
could--but there, there! I may have been somewhat wrong, also--as a
matter of fact, Amos, I shouldn't be surprised if that were so! Tell me
of Marian! When is she coming back to us again?"

A look of new pleasure crossed the editor's grizzled face as he
answered:

"She got home last night, Roger--and the first thing she did was to ask
about you, whom she believed I hated!" Again he laughed, with a buoyancy
that had not been in his voice for many years.

"She did that?" the Colonel cried, his eyes filling with tears. "God
bless her! She's a noble girl, worthy of her noble father! Do you know,
Amos, I'm beginning to believe that she showed extraordinary foresight
in taking that training! Why, even I considered it a romantic waste of
time,--and so did you, Roger," he turned accusingly. "Admit it!"

"I did, but I wanted to humor her; for the purpose was noble, and it
does a girl no harm. But I hope she won't hold me to a foolish promise I
made, to let her go across should we become involved in this titanic
struggle."

"God guide her aright," the Colonel whispered; to which his old friend
murmured:

"Amen."

"I stopped by the Tumpson's," the Colonel resumed, after they had been
for a moment silent. "Miss Sallie tells me that Jeb is out again with
his rifle, as usual, and is showing more eagerness to be ready. I
believe all our young men will respond nobly if the President calls for
volunteers."

"Without a doubt of it, Roger; and Jeb ought to make a fine
soldier--although he's had no military training."

"Well, no; but he's a handsome fellow, and a gentleman, and his father
was our friend, Amos. I can coach him, and give him a pretty fair idea
of what war is like."

"There's some talk of schools being inaugurated for teaching such chaps
as he, should the struggle really come; schools where the most approved
methods of modern warfare will be demonstrated by our regularly
qualified officers."

"Schools be damned, sir," the Colonel thundered. "What school, what
infant West Pointer, is qualified better than I, who fought my weight in
wildcats four successive years!--or you, sir, who I've no doubt fought
well, too, although under the banner of a----"

"Truce, truce!" Mr. Strong cried, this time laughing till tears of
pleasure ran down his cheeks. "At Shiloh, Roger, you knew how to honor a
truce, for I carried the flag to you myself--and you weren't old enough
to raise a mustache, either!"

"So you did, Amos; so you did--and, by gad, your cheeks were as smooth
as a girl's, too!" the Colonel's voice dropped to the softness of
reminiscence, growing harsh again as he added: "If I temporarily forget
the rules of honorable warfare, it's because my memory has been
corrupted by the vileness of those Outcasts who, in their ego-mania,
blaspheme the Almighty God by claiming kinship with Him. I wish you and
I could go over there and clean up that pestilential Prussian herd! By
gad, sir, they've the hoof and mouth disease, each confounded one of
them! Whenever I think of them I get rush of blood to the head!"

"And rush of words to the tongue, Roger," the editor added, good
naturedly. "But, my friend, such blasts of hatred are too German to be
acceptable. We're not a nation of small venom!"

"I don't give a cracky whether we are or not! Those rag-tag and bobtail
vermin are calling us names!--and, if I can't fight, by gad, I'll cuss
back!"

"No, you won't, and be part of the big, conquering nation that you are.
Those 'hymns of hate' don't affect England!--neither do the scores of
lewd verses that flow like filth all over Germany! They are merely the
wails of disappointed people, Roger,--the shrieks of a cruelly tricked
national soul! Let them pass!"

"Disappointed people fiddle-sticks!--and I say that it's a tragic
mistake to let anything pass! The most dangerous propaganda waged by
German spies in this country--more alarming in its results thus far than
the blowing up of munition factories, the setting afire of grain
elevators, the enciting of Mexico--has been the honorless skill with
which they have fed the American mind upon the idea of a disgruntled
Germany, a starving Germany, and all such twaddle! Can't you see why
such tales are being circulated? Simply to inject into our minds the
poison of national inertia, so that when war comes--as it some day
shall--every fellow will be likely to think: 'Oh, it can't last long
now!--let the other boys get ready; I haven't time!'"

"I hadn't thought of that, Roger."

"Then think of it now; and, furthermore, remember this, Amos: that no
sooner will war be declared before their propaganda will go one step
farther. Do you know what it will be? Peace talk! Crumbling Germany
ready to make terms! Why? Simply to keep filling our systems with more
of the national inertia poison--to keep us retarded--to keep us from
dashing into the big game with every fibre quivering, and our souls
afire to finish it up! Berlin's hope is that while America grows sleek
with too much optimism, Germany will grow stronger to prolong her
insolent and murderous campaign. Open your columns, Amos, and shout
these truths broadcast--for therein will rest the salvation of our
country! Germany poor in food or munitions?--fiddle-sticks! The German
people disgruntled?--twaddle!"

"Where do you get this idea?" Mr. Strong looked at him in amazement.

"Out of my good, common horse-sense brain! You recall that story of the
German Government confiscating the people's copper utensils and taking
copper from the roofs of buildings, to keep up the manufacture of
ammunition? Any school boy should have known that they didn't
appropriate one copper pot, nor lift an inch of copper roofing, when the
vast mines of Sweden pour their enormous output--not only of copper, but
of unrivaled iron ore--in almost a continuous stream from Stockholm to
Luebeck Bay; and von Capelle's fleet is there to see it safely across,
too! The cry came forth that they were short of cotton for
explosives--and that cry was sent out on the very day a national holiday
had been proclaimed to celebrate their discovery of a method by which
all types of high explosives can be made without cotton! Why, Amos,
lying is a fine art with that government! I read in your own paper a
long and pathetic ditty, cabled from Amsterdam, about 'starving
Germany!' Don't you know that, with the millions of deported Belgians,
Serbians, and Poles--to say nothing of the war prisoners--Germany should
have this year a larger acreage under cultivation than at any time since
the Confederation? They know how to farm intensively over there, and get
their fertilizer, as they have already been getting their fats--from
their own dead. These are but the beginnings of other things our common
sense would teach us, were we not hypnotized with a morbid craving to
swallow their neatly prepared fairy-tales!"

"Roger," Mr. Strong sprang to his feet, "by the eternal, you speak
inspired words! They _have_ poisoned us with lies of a starving Imperial
Government; they'll continue to poison us with lies of an early
peace--and then prepare fresh blows while we wallow in our
self-complaisance! Open my columns? They'll blaze as columns of
righteous fire!" Leaning forward, he added: "Why shouldn't we be getting
ready here in Hillsdale? There's fine material for a company of militia!
Will you join with me in equipping one?"

The Colonel banged his hand down on the table.

"Done!" he cried.

"And there," the editor continued, pointing out of the window, "is the
captain for it!"

In an instant the Colonel was upon his feet, looking across the street
to where his old friend pointed.

"Jeb!--and Marian!" he added, his voice ringing with delight. "Which is
going to be the captain, Amos?" he chuckled. "By Gad, they're coming up!
He'll make a fine officer!"

But Amos Strong was looking tenderly at the girl; then he turned and
caught the Colonel's hand, crying:

"Roger, we'll set the pace for every city and town throughout our
country. We'll equip the company, so it'll be ready to go at the first
crack--and Jeb will be a credit!"

"One who'll capture hearts as well as Huns, I'll warrant--if he's not
already a helpless prisoner!"

The two old men looked at each other and smiled, and it was while they
were in this attitude that Marian and Jeb entered.

She stopped on the threshold, scarcely believing her eyes; and Jeb,
looking over her head, was no less mystified. That these two sworn
enemies should be standing there, holding hands in all friendliness,
surpassed the miraculous.

The men had turned cordially to welcome her, but hesitated at the
amazement that was pictured in her face. Their reconciliation had been
so spontaneously genuine that it seemed already to be a thing of long
standing, and they did not penetrate Marian's embarrassment until she
timidly advanced, asking:

"Is it all right for us to come in, Daddy? Were you and Colonel Hampton
really shaking hands?"

He approached swiftly and took her in his arms, turning to the Colonel
and repeating the girl's question:

"Were we really shaking hands, Roger?"

"By gad, Amos, we've been shaking hands every day for forty years, only
we didn't know it!"

"You should have come in before, Roger."

"How, in thunder, could I come in, when your perverted editorial columns
were----"

"Stop!" Marian cried, running to him and throwing her arms about his
neck. "Do you want it to begin all over again, just when I have you both
together for the first time in my life?"

But her father laughed good-naturedly, knowing that as soon as he called
"Truce!" the irate Colonel would subside.

"How in the world did it happen?" she asked, still clinging to the
Colonel's neck and looking up into his eyes which were fast growing
moist with tears of happiness. "Tell me at once, which of you was
generous enough to make the first move?"

"<DW30> and nonsense!" he exclaimed, trying to frown upon her severely.
"There was no generosity about it! I reckon Amos and I know where each
other lives!"

"You'll tell me, Daddy," she turned to him. "Which of you big babies was
big enough----"

"Don't tell her a thing, Amos," the Colonel thundered, getting red.

"So you're the one, then," she smiled up at him. "I'm going to call you
Uncle Roger!"--and she kissed him.

"I wish she'd call me Uncle Jeb," came a half sigh from across the
table.

"She'll be calling you _Captain_ Jeb,--eh, Roger?" Mr. Strong laughed.
"Tell them about it!"

"Oh," the Colonel said, wiping his glasses, "my best friend, here, has
proposed that he and I recruit a company of soldiers, equip it, and have
it ready for business. Jeb is to be its captain."

"You mean uniforms, and everything?" Jeb cried.

"Uniforms and everything," Mr. Strong emphatically answered. "The story
will run in to-morrow's _Eagle_, and we'll take recruits right here in
this office, where Colonel Hampton--your Uncle Roger," he pinched
Marian's cheek, "will have charge. We'll wire Washington for a hundred
and fifty equipments, and be drilling by this time next week. Now, what
do you think about it?"

"I'm crazy about it," Jeb shouted; and Marian, catching his hands,
cried:

"_Captain_ Jeb! I'm as proud of you as I can be!"

His eyes were sparkling as he gazed down at her; his vivid imagination
had lost no time picturing the khaki-clad lads, with him at their head,
marching, drilling, and doing all manner of things of which he could not
have told the names but had seen in the movies. She gloried in his
enthusiasm, and squeezed his hands again, whispering:

"I'm proud of you!"

"There must be books and manuals and the like in Washington," the
Colonel was saying, "which teach the duties of a captain; so we'll wire
for them, also. Then I'll coach you, Jeb; I'll make an officer out of
you, you young cub!"

More and more each of them had caught the spirit. Jeb's eyes danced; his
pulse was bounding; his dreams of military splendor were coming true.
Marian had clasped her hands and rather worshipfully stared at him. Mr.
Strong stood with legs apart, looking him over with unfeigned
admiration; while the Colonel, also gazing, unconsciously drummed a
marching tattoo with his fingers on the table.

It all seemed so easy! With the simple faith of men who implicitly
believed the War Department would suspend business to fulfil their
wishes, they decided to order uniforms and wire the Hillsdale
representative to dash out in search of books. Jeb would absorb the
books and become a captain; the Colonel, ensconced in Mr. Strong's room,
would recruit the company, which, in turn, would don the uniforms and
make Hillsdale gasp at its brilliant efficiency. Flags would wave,
citizens would applaud, and the President would send a message of
fervent congratulations. That was the way it seemed to Jeb. He did not
dream of the nearness of the war, which had been viewed by him, as by
millions of others, as a mirage far off beyond the seas. Now he spoke in
a voice that trembled with pride:

"I'll make it a company of sharpshooters in no time; for, if there's one
thing I can do, it's shoot! Look at my last targets!" he cried, drawing
them from his pocket.

Meanwhile, the key out in the telegraph room began an agitated ticking.
It was too early for "A.P. stuff," but the reporter recognized, by long
association, sounds resembling the _Eagle's_ call. Now he heard the
operator give a low whistle, and that, also, from long association, he
knew meant "flash!" so he sauntered back and sat on the table, waiting.
In another moment he burst into Mr. Strong's room, thrusting a message
across the targets which Jeb had just unfolded.

The editor read it and caught his breath, then passed it over to his
friend, with the brief remark to all:

"War's declared!"

The Colonel sprang up as if electrified. Standing at full height he
clasped both hands above his face and fervently cried:

"Thank God! The honor of our country is vindicated!"

War! Jeb felt suddenly sick and dizzy. The targets which had meant so
much to him, taking on a lustre as if they were jewels in his crown of
pride, and passports to a military future, became gray and sordid. He
hated them, he hated everything they stood for, and, seeing the eyes of
Marian and her father fixed upon the Colonel, he surreptitiously dropped
them to the floor, pushing them farther out of sight beneath the table
with his foot.

"War!" Marian gasped, as though she were struggling to take in the full
significance of this startling news. Then she flew to the editor and
wrapped him in her arms, saying excitedly: "Oh, Daddy, remember your
promise! I'm going!--I'm going! You _said_ I could if it ever came!--and
I'm all ready, Daddy dear, for the very first boat that leaves!"

The Colonel could not have told why, but suddenly he burst into tears,
coughed, made a great fuss pulling himself together, and thundered:

"War! War on the damnedest hierachy of fiends--if I may use the
term--the world has ever known! And we're going to thrash 'em if it
takes the last drop of blood in Hillsdale; yes, sir, the very last drop!
You, Jeb, will now lead your company into the thick of it! Lord, boy,
but I envy you!"

Marian left her father and ran to Jeb.

"Oh, just think!--maybe we can go on the same----" She stopped short,
frightened at the appearance of his face. She tried to finish the
sentence, but stammered over it as though her eyes, dilated with horror,
were holding her tongue captive by what she saw.

Amos Strong had turned and was looking out of the window, overcome by
the far-reaching consequences of his promise made half thoughtlessly two
years before, and he therefore did not see the mute tragedy being played
behind him; but the Colonel missed none of it, although his faith in Jeb
was too deeply rooted to be shaken. He merely believed that his young
friend had been shocked--for the moment shocked--and nothing more; a
belief which he considered justified when Jeb, calling upon every ounce
of the Tumpson pride, forced his knees to stiffen and his lips to smile.

Marian approached him.

"Jeb," she said, laughing a little hysterically, "you frightened me."

"How?" he turned to her slowly, still hammering himself into better
control.

"Never mind now! Some day I'll offer you an apology."

Although she was still laughing, the Colonel saw at once what had been
passing in her mind. It was an unfair suspicion, he thought, one
unworthy of her, and for an instant his anger flamed. _He'd_ show her
what kind of stuff the son of his old friend was made of! He'd make her
repent bitterly, by letting her realize that, once in France, Jeb might
be lost to her forever! It was a cruelty unlike the Colonel, but he was
mad through and through. To touch Jeb's honor was akin to touching his
own. So he joined in laughing with her, and exclaimed:

"Jeb, your company will get the pick of it, for it's always the first
boys over who draw the primest fighting--and you ought to be on the
firing line by June! Think of that, sir! Why, it'll be another case of
Kitchener's first hundred thousand--you'll get chewed up into little
bits! Gad, but I envy you! Why, I'll bet a cooky there isn't a fellow in
your company who comes out with both legs! It's an opportunity of a
life time, sir!"

Had Jeb not been quick enough to know that Marian was closely watching
him, he might have cried aloud for the Colonel to be quiet. The old
gentleman's enthusiastic words, in contrast to Jeb's earlier vision of
gay uniforms, flashing bayonets, flags, soft smiles and dewy eyes, made
the picture of actual war take on a thousand new horrors. He felt sick;
the next instant he hated himself--but, above all other things, these
people must never suspect him!

In the midst of this depression, while he seemed to be standing on a
slave-block, while critical eyes bored him for defects, he thought of
somebody's prophecy that the war would be over by July. This was a very
large straw for Jeb just then, so he grasped it eagerly, summoning
another grin and saying with a tremendous effort to keep his voice
steady:

"I wouldn't ask for a greater picnic--if we get there in time! But some
people think Germany's about done for!"

"That's because Germany _wants_ us to think so." Mr. Strong, still
looking out of the window, flung the words over his shoulder. "It's a
crafty part of their scheme to bait us--Roger has opened my eyes to
that!"

"By gad," the Colonel exclaimed, immensely pleased by the editor's
acknowledgment, "the war won't be over until the armies of William the
Vile, the Prussian Outcast Emperor, are licked to a frazzle--and that's
going to take five million of our men, a hundred billion of our dollars,
and a damned sight longer than any year, or two years, or three years;
you can bet your last nickel on it!"

Marian gasped, and turned quickly away in order that he might not see
her. She had not been as much affected by his words as by another look
in Jeb's grinning, sickly face which made her want to run and hide--and
cry. She, more than any of those present, could read his expressions
like type in a book; yet in all justice to him she had never before seen
an indication of cowardice and, impulsively loyal, desiring only to
rescue him in time so that the Colonel might not find him out, she swung
upon the old fellow's arm, saying gaily:

"He's unhappy thinking he won't get a chance!--that's what's the
matter, Uncle Roger!"

But even this new and affectionate title of "Uncle Roger" did not at
once penetrate the old gentleman's mind. His eyes, which had been fixed
on Jeb with an expression of hopefulness, were now studiously looking at
the floor. Rather hysterically, Marian caught the lapels of his coat and
put her face directly in his range of vision, crying:

"That's what it is!--I know it, Uncle Roger! Please understand me!"

"Sure, that's what it is," Jeb shouted forcefully, seeing the brink upon
which he had been standing, and making an heroic effort to act the part
of a man. "Sure it is," he repeated, with even more emphasis. "I don't
care how long the darned old war lasts!--it's only how short it might
last, that gets my goat!"

Marian was not deceived, but the Colonel, looking as though twenty years
had been taken from his shoulders, swallowed it whole and struck the
table sharply with his hand.

"By gad!" he cried, in a voice of thunder. "I know it, lad; I know it!
For a second--why, by gad, sir!"

Mr. Strong turned from the window.

"What's the matter, Roger?" he asked.

Marian, seeing traces of tears upon his cheeks--and guessing well the
reason--affectionately took his hand and pressed it to her lips. But her
eyes were staring, somewhat fearfully, at the Colonel, who cleared his
throat, looked at her steadily, and answered:

"Nothing, Amos."

"I--I'd better be going now," Jeb suggested, "for Aunt Sallie and Aunt
Veemie will want to hear the news."

"Tell them the town will be proud of you, my boy," Mr. Strong gave him a
salute; and the Colonel, in his enthusiasm forgetting he had harbored a
doubt of Jeb, shouted:

"And tell 'em I wouldn't be surprised if some day we put up a monument
to you! When a fellow charges through hails of bullets, each singing him
a lullaby, he never knows what instant one will come 'chunk!' into his
stomach! Gad, but it's a great game! I envy you, boy! And I'm going to
teach you all I know, so you'll be the best prepared officer that ever
stepped on foreign soil. You'll know how to lean low while charging,
sir, to escape some of the fire--for a man can keep on going with a hole
in his arm, or leg, or maybe his face, but protect your stomach, sir! A
hole through it brings on nausea, and nine times out of ten you'll have
to sit down. Officers don't sit down, sir, till they're knocked down for
keeps!"

Jeb had walked to the door, using all of his will power to shut out
these words which had so nearly snapped the last thread of his waning
courage. Thus far, he felt assured, no one in the room had suspected the
turmoil that had well nigh driven him frantic. It was not cowardice, he
told himself; merely a loss of self-control--for how could a chap remain
calm while the old Colonel was shooting his stomach full of holes? His
quick perception of situations made it clear that his exit now must
remove whatever vestige of doubt there might have existed in the minds
of those behind him, and, turning at the threshold, he laughed
boisterously:

"I'll remember everything, Colonel! You just teach me how to do it, and
between us the Huns'll get all their hides can hold!" He slammed the
door, and was gone.

"I'd forgotten you were such a bloodthirsty old wildcat, Roger," Mr.
Strong began to laugh.

"You've had no cause to," the Colonel looked humorously across at him.
"But my bark in this case was worse than my bite. I merely wanted to
stir the young man's ardor so that he'll be the more keen for a smell of
powder. Did you note his eyes sparkling, Amos?--did you, Marian?"

Marian had not stirred during the Colonel's admonitions to Jeb. She had
been sitting limply in her father's desk chair, looking at the targets
which lay crumpled and forgotten beneath the table. Now she answered
listlessly:

"Yes, I noticed it."

Her tone, as well as her attitude, caught the Colonel's attention and
sobered him. He glanced toward Amos Strong, who had again turned to the
window and, with hands crossed behind his back, was gazing down into the
street; then whispered guardedly:

"You mustn't jump at conclusions, my dear little girl. Jeb's the soul
of honor, and of courage; he's just a mite unstrung, that's all--why
shouldn't he be?"

"Why do you think I'm jumping at conclusions?" she asked, smiling at
him. "He ought to make a very fine soldier, and I'm sure he will."

"He will, indeed," the old fellow patted her cheek. "And now let me beg
of you, for your dear father's sake, to let the honor of Hillsdale rest
with Jeb, and you stay home here with us!"

"Oh, I couldn't stay home," she moved restlessly. "Don't put your plea
on old daddy's account--it isn't fair! He has you, now," she added,
trying to smile bravely. "Why, Uncle Roger, I was counting on you to
support me!"

"There, there! I will, I will! When do you want to start?"

"To-day," she answered, again listlessly.

"To-day?" he cried in astonishment. "Why, my dear child----"

She sprang to her feet, fighting back tears, and faced him.

"Certainly to-day," she said quickly. "Aren't men falling
to-day?--suffering and crying for help to-day? Are the Germans going to
stop firing until I get there?--or any of us can get there? Don't you
see the sooner everyone gets busy the sooner it will be over?--and can't
you see that I--I can't stay here a minute longer than is absolutely
necessary?" She looked down again at the fallen targets, and a little
shiver seemed to pass over her; then she crossed to her father, tiptoed
behind him and put her arms around his neck. "Your promise, Daddy?" she
asked, tenderly.

He wheeled, almost savagely, and gathered her close to him, saying
huskily:

"Your daddy never went back on a promise, dear."

"Damn those Hun outcasts!" the Colonel thundered, stamping from the room
and banging the door after him.




CHAPTER III


Jeb had stepped out upon the street with heavy feet. There was a dull
weight at his heart; a sickening weariness permeated his entire body.
The Colonel's words of warning to protect his stomach, the suggestion of
bullets ploughing through it, caused him to stop and loosen his belt,
which had begun to feel uncomfortable. He even ran his had over that
part of his anatomy and found that it seemed actually to be tender.

"What the hell's the matter with me?" he asked himself. "I'm no coward;
there hasn't been a coward in my family since the Crusade. No, it's the
Colonel's eternal cackling that's got my goat!"

Heartened somewhat, he continued at a faster pace and soon turned
through the side gate, thence across the porch into the Tumpson home.
Miss Sallie's voice from upstairs greeted him.

"Back safe, Jeb?"

The tenderness of her inquiry, subtly--though
unintentionally--suggesting that the manor lord had returned and
therefore the womenfolk must haste with ministering, greatly restored
his self-esteem. Again the sword began to lose its tarnish; again it
flashed in his hand with zest; again in imagination his company stepped
off with the precision of regulars!

"War's declared," he shouted. "Colonel Hampton and Mr. Strong have
patched up their fuss, and are going to recruit a company and make me
captain. We'll be smashing the Germans inside a month!"

He wondered at the strength with which these last words were spoken, and
was on the point of repeating them because their sound had caressed his
pride, when Miss Sallie gave a cry.

"Sister Veemie," she called, "come with me quickly! War is declared, and
our Jeb has been appointed to lead the soldiers! Oh, what shall become
of us!"

The last symptoms of trepidation lingering in his make-up now
disappeared entirely, and it was a tall, proud, imperious officer who
stood in the front hall waiting for the little ladies who, hand-in-hand,
came timidly down. Without speaking, Miss Veemie crossed to where he
stood. She did not seem to walk, but glide, so smooth and gentle was her
movement and the flow of her wide, rather old-fashioned skirt. Tiptoeing
and putting her arms around his neck, she simply whispered:

"Jeb!"

"Pshaw, Aunt Veemie," he said, feeling delightfully heroic, "it isn't
anything to take on about. We're at war, and at it for keeps!--that's
all there is to it! I've been honored with a captaincy, and we'll be in
France before July Fourth, and in Berlin by Thanksgiving. Think of
that!"

Miss Sallie caught his sleeve.

"Oh, Jeb," she cried, "if your dear father had lived to hear you speak
thus spiritedly!"

"We're so proud of you, dear," Miss Veemie whispered, her eyes gazing up
at him through tears of adulation. "You'll try not to get hurt, won't
you?" She admonished simply from force of habit.

It might have been a war god who dined in their home that evening. He
was seated in Jeb's place, and on either side of him sat a seamed though
gentle handmaiden, missing no opportunity to load his plate with good
things. Their faded cheeks were tinged with a glow that had not been
there in many years, their eyes sparkled with an almost forgotten light,
and the lace on their narrow-breasted bodices rose and fell with an
agitation that required at times a delicate hand to still.

The talk was of war, and Jeb handled the subject to his entire
satisfaction. His highly strung mind drew pictures that more and more
stirred their admiration--and horror. Working upon fragments of fact
that from day to day had been printed in the _Eagle_, he built a
structure of sacrifice and slaughter from which he alone arose supreme.
It was a dramatic dissertation and contained red-blooded sentiments that
would have done credit to a man who had actually played the giant game,
swapped trick for trick with death, and won out by sheer luck.

Curiously enough, he believed himself; he believed that his moment of
weakness earlier in the day had now passed into the limbo of things
never to be resurrected; he believed that his courage was absolute, that
no terrors were great enough to shake it. The ancient Egyptians brought
a skeleton to their feasts to remind them of death, but Jeb's apparent
familiarity with carnage seemed to be giving him new life.

A man may think he possesses a determined belief, yet unless he has
energy and faith enough to test it he is harboring little more than a
wish, a hope. If he is downright honest he will not permit himself to be
deceived--but the trouble is that hopes which he wishes were beliefs,
and wishes that he hopes will become beliefs, are blindfolds
deliberately placed across his eyes to spare him an unrestricted vision
of his naked soul. This is the most common type of cowardice in the
world.

The brave words Jeb uttered were most agreeable to his senses; they fed
the hole that should have been filled with courage, and he therefore
plunged onward into the realm of imageries until the little ladies felt
that they had never really known their Jeb. Certain were they that his
manliness had received a most inadequate appreciation.

Dinner over, he left them for the quietude of the garden. Back and forth
upon the path, bordered by wee budding tulips, he walked with springing
steps. His gaze was in the laced branches overhead, a tangle that broke
the calm flood of moonlight into silver patches and scattered them over
the ground. Back and forth across these he strode--one moment in sharp
outline, the next obscured--thinking, dreaming. He would not stop to
hear the unspoken message of this place, whispering to him everywhere
that the intricate mesh of branches represented Fear, through which the
pulseless courage shed upon man from God is shattered. He would not see,
in the tiny green tips pushing through the earth, that man's blooming
into perfection is a slow process, dependent upon the cultivation of his
soul. In this night of his greatest promise, he asked only to live with
dreams.

The soil surrounding Jeb's progress thus far in life had been prepared
by his two adoring aunts with very much the same care they bestowed on
their tulips. After he was put into their hands at the age of four,
neither their time, nor thought, nor means were spared in forcing his
development. But while Miss Sallie and Miss Veemie could intensify the
development of a tulip, it might not be said that they knew anything
about boys. To a critical eye--had it watched Jeb now walking this way
and that as a restive animal--the fruit of their labor would without
doubt have been pronounced satisfactory; yet only in a visual sense
could he have been called animal. So far as concerned temperament he was
merely a fretful peri locked up in a cage of flowers--for how in the
name of all creation had it been possible for Miss Sallie and Miss
Veemie, sole proprietresses of this male machine, to make him properly
masculine!

Within the dining-room there were no dreams. As he had passed out, the
little ladies remained silent for several minutes. Slowly Miss Sallie
raised her eyes and looked at her sister, then sharply exclaimed:

"Don't be a fool, now, Veemie!"

"I can't help it," the other choked. "It's an outrage for the Colonel to
have selected Jeb to do all those horrid things! He's nothing but a
boy!"

Miss Sallie was seldom out of patience with her more tender sister, yet
at this moment her love and her patriotism--by which is meant her heart
and soul--were violently in conflict. Fearing lest the former might
prevail, she replied with greater asperity:

"Well, be a fool if you must, but for pity sake don't let Jeb see you!
He's no boy any more; since this morning he's grown into a big, mature
man!--just the kind we need to end this horrible war! As for Marian,
she'll be glad enough to wait for him!"

Miss Sallie appeared not to see her sister rise hurriedly and leave the
room; but she waited, listening, until a door upstairs slammed, then
called softly to their maid:

"Be sure that Mr. Jeb's room is right!"

With this nightly admonition she went on tiptoe to her own room and
locked herself in. Until well nigh daylight a far-seeing God gazed
tenderly into the upturned faces of two women whose souls writhed in an
agony of pleading.




CHAPTER IV


When Jeb opened his eyes next morning, rather heavy after a scanty
sleep, he did not at once remember the great change that had come into
his life. He vaguely knew something had happened; then suddenly the
captaincy loomed ahead, startling him as though it were an exploding
bomb. There was nothing imaginary about this, and he lay awhile
considering it.

The same unpleasant weight crept over him; his heart beat rapidly, and
his body seemed to be very hollow. Unceasing panoramas of heroism cast
on his mental screen were one thing, but the military company in the
broad daylight of cold, hard fact did not appeal to him at all.
Embarking for a distant shore where men were torn by shells, where the
ground was slippery with the blood of countless thousands, where a
fellow's chances of getting back alive were, so he pictured it, one in a
million, brought a distinct feeling of panic. He could see the air
literally filled with bursting shrapnel, while red-hot bullets from
machine-guns swept the earth as clean as a scythe goes through the
ripening wheat. Man simply could not endure in a hell like that! It was
utterly impossible!

For a little while he gained a modicum of comfort by swearing at the
Administration, the President, the Cabinet. What right had they to
declare war, anyhow? Now, if we were going to fight Mexico!--or if the
Germans tried to come over _here_!--well, that would be a different
proposition!

The usual tonic of his bath, a shave, fresh clothes and breakfast began
to improve the situation, but he was still desperately depressed. The
adoring solicitude of his aunts--more tender after their night of
prayerful and palpitating concentration--helped but little.

"Where are you going this morning, dear?" Miss Sallie, trying to seem
natural, asked as he arose from the table. Miss Veemie repeated the
question with a look, not trusting herself to speak.

"Oh," he answered, with that indifference which is intended to imply
the highest type of courage--but never does unless the courage is
there!--"I suppose I ought to run downtown and see if the War Department
has answered about our uniforms and rifles. Then I'll stop by for a game
of tennis with Marian."

Miss Veemie, still silent, closed her eyes as though shutting out a
reality that her prayers had been unable to dissolve. Her sister became
busy taking up and putting down into their same places the sideboard
silver. Jeb felt an undeniable interest in the uniforms and rifles,
looking forward to them very much as a condemned man might view a
gallows. Nevertheless, after he had walked halfway to the _Eagle_
office, the mood sufficiently passed for him to enter with a certain
amount of _savoir faire_.

The Colonel had been there since eight o'clock, properly ensconced
behind a table especially placed for him. A ledger for recruits' names
lay open, with pens and ink-pot ready. Mr. Strong had not yet come down;
neither had a man thus far been recruited, although the _Eagle's_ story
was setting Hillsdale aflame with patriotism.

"Any news?" Jeb asked, shaking hands.

"No, sir," the Colonel answered, leaning near the window to glance up at
the courthouse clock. "But our telegrams have been received, and the War
Department is doubtless busily packing the things at this moment. They
ought to reach here to-morrow, without fail, if sent by express--as they
will be sent, of course. In times of war, Jeb, materials have to move
quickly, remember that! It was the secret of Stonewall Jackson's
greatest strength--and of Napoleon's. They moved like meteors!"

To-morrow! This brought the crisis so close that Jeb sat down and drew a
long breath. The old gentleman watched him for a moment, then in a voice
of tenderness asked:

"Did you know that Marian leaves to-night? Her father is going with her
as far as New York."

"Leaves for where?" Jeb exclaimed, straightening up.

"For France, of course! Where else would she be leaving for at a time
like this? Her father burned the wires last night; although I know how
each message burned more deeply into his heart! They leave here about
midnight."

Jeb remained silent, crushed by feelings of self-condemnation. How was
it that she possessed the courage to go, and he did not! The Colonel,
divining a different type of depression and wanting to cheer him up,
cried good humoredly:

"Here, sir! Before giving yourself over to moonings, just sign this
page; then you'll belong to your government body and soul! Your name
should be the first, anyhow!"

He held out the pen, but Jeb did not appear to see it. Instead, he arose
abruptly, saying:

"I'll--I'll have to attend to something first," and he hurried out.

"I'll sign it for you," the Colonel called; adding to himself, as he
chuckled merrily: "Gone after Marian, the young cub!"

But Jeb was after nothing but to escape that terrifying page which
suddenly appeared to him as a chamber of horrors; he heard nothing now
but the Colonel's promise to sign it by proxy, and an outraged voice
within which called him to look upon the courage of a girl. They were
driving him mad. He turned toward the open country, walking fast, but as
one who walks in sleep. Many tried to stop him, to congratulate him on
the good fortune of being a captain, but he rudely passed with scarcely
a word. Some looked after him, and a few complained rather knowingly:

"That's the trouble with militarism; it makes the officers so stuck up!"

On and on he went, to the wood where he had killed imaginary Germans;
and there, throwing himself on the ground, he began to fight another, a
very much more real battle.

In the meanwhile, long before the courthouse clock struck the hour of
noon, the Colonel had filled many pages of his ledger. Marian and her
father had come down, being afraid to leave each other during these last
few hours they would have together. The Colonel had told of Jeb's brief
visit, adding his own belief that the lad had gone out to the Strong
residence; and Marian took a seat by the window, where she could watch
the street and at the same time greet each recruit who entered to put
his name down on the company roster.

Despite the nearness of her departure, Mr. Strong and Colonel Hampton
were almost joyous as they noted the happy, though firm, looks of
determination radiating from the faces of men who came in streams to
offer the best they had.

The barber's assistant followed Hillsdale's most promising young lawyer;
the driver of Hincky's grocery wagon reached the door simultaneously
with the rising banker, and Mr. Strong felt a catch of pleasure at his
throat when the financier, stepping aside and putting a hand on the
driver's shoulder, said:

"After you, old fellow!"

An Italian bootblack from the hotel-stand looked in, asking shyly:

"You tak'a me?"

A woman in a faded dress brought her husky lad who twisted his hat with
awkward fingers.

"He ain't quite twenty-one," she said, in a low voice, "so I come to
give consent. He wants to go, thank God!--an' I can git along."

Colonel Hampton sprang up and embraced them both in one sweep of his
long arms; and, when the woman cried a little, Marian soothed her with
endearing words of praise.

Hillsdale, one way or another, was responding to its country's need.
During the day the recruiting list grew past the four-hundred mark--but,
although Marian's eyes grew tired gazing down upon those who were coming
and going in the street, nowhere did she get a glimpse of Jeb.

There had been neither time nor thought of luncheon, and during a lull,
about the middle of the afternoon, she arose wearily, saying:

"I think I'll go home now, and pack."

Both of the old gentlemen turned and looked at her mutely, their eyes
expressive of pain; for in the excitement of recruiting they had
temporarily forgotten the nearness of her leaving.

"Don't be sad," she smiled, bending over her father. "You'll have me for
several more days!" The Colonel, who for once forgot his gallantry and
remained seated, she kissed upon the forehead, murmuring: "I won't say
goodbye to you now, Uncle Roger, because I know you'll be down at the
train to-night. But you'll promise me to take care of daddy, won't you?
And Daddy," she turned, making a brave effort to laugh, "you promise to
take care of Uncle Roger, too!"

She realized that were either of them to attempt a word they would make
a sorry showing, and this would throw her into a torrential storm of
tears. Of all three in the editor's office, her shoulders carried the
heaviest burden. Each of the men was losing but one whom he loved; she
was losing two--and, besides these two, there was Jeb! Jeb, who had
thought more of his targets than of her return!--Jeb, who had not signed
the company roster, although over four hundred of Hillsdale's men had
come in gladly! She patted the Colonel's head and threw a hurried kiss
to her father, then was gone.

"I've never been more proud of her," the Colonel said, beginning to
cough; and there was a huskiness in the editor's throat as he replied:

"I wish her dear mother could have lived to share our pride, Roger."

When at sundown the Colonel, closing his ledger with a bang, announced
the time was up, Mr. Strong took his arm and drew him gently from the
chair.

"I don't make a practice of this, Roger," he said, "but I think we're
entitled to stop by the hotel for a small--er----"

About this time a man, deep in a distant wood, turned wearily over on
the ground. His hair was disordered, and there were signs of suffering
in his face. A close observer would have noticed that his finger nails
were dirty, not from personal untidyness but because, while in some
mental anguish, they had been dug into the earth.

As wearily as he had turned, he now arose, swaying slightly from his
long prostrate position. Then he started cityward, at the same moment
that Colonel Hampton and Mr. Strong were touching glasses, with an
unspoken toast, to the health and safety of a girl who personified the
fighting spirit of America.

Long after Miss Sallie and Miss Veemie had retired that night Jeb sat in
the garden, a prey to desperate thoughts. When, far across the
undulating landscape, he heard the long, low whistle of an express that
would stop at Hillsdale, he arose and went slowly, with hesitating
steps, to the station. Mr. Strong and Marian and the Colonel were there
when he came within the circle of light; and, to his surprise, they
greeted him warmly--for he had feared this meeting, and would have been
almost glad to avoid it. Within his own conscience he had been so
pitilessly accused that it seemed as though every man and woman must
accuse him, also.

Through the silence of that midnight hour they stood, speaking
nervously, oppressed by the torturing heaviness which accompanies such
partings. With an effort Marian turned to him suddenly:

"When will you be coming over, Jeb?"

He was expecting this question; before leaving the garden he knew to a
certainty that it would be asked, and now answered promptly:

"I wish I were going with you to-night! But you're lucky in having had
your training, while mine is still to come. You can look for me, though,
just as soon as we can get the company in shape!"

"By gad," the Colonel exclaimed.

"Oh, Jeb," Marian leaned impulsively toward him, "you can't possibly
know how happy that makes me!"

The rails were beginning to hum, and a glaring headlight shot into view.
It was but a matter of seconds then before the brake-shoes ground upon
the metal wheels--another few seconds for hasty adieux--and the train
was off again.

Jeb and the Colonel watched the two red signal lights growing smaller,
until shut out by a curve; but they continued to stand, listening to the
rumble as it faded into the distance--into the dawn of a new world,
where the souls of men were calling, and from which the souls of
slackers stood back in fear!

When the last faint sound had become lost, and the purity of the night
was undisturbed, the two saddened men turned by mutual consent and
walked slowly homeward.




CHAPTER V


Three days later Mr. Strong returned and took up his duties with stoic
bravery. Marian had sailed with a unit happening to be in need of
nurses, and by now, he told the Colonel, she must be far out upon the
ocean. Each time the telegraph operator entered the anxious father's
heart stood still--for there were nests of conscienceless submarines
waiting for just such prey! But the cable came at last announcing:
"Safe. Quickly front." It required no translation to know that she was
doubtless at that moment speeding on her mission of mercy to the
trenches. For an hour the two old men sat without speaking, moodily
staring out of the window.

No word came from Washington, other than a polite note from the
Congressman which stated that books, such as he presumed the gentlemen
wanted, were much in demand but would be sent if procurable. From the
War Department--nothing!

At the expiration of another week, however, the official envelope
arrived. In warm terms its writer appreciated the patriotism of
Hillsdale, but regretted that uniforms and rifles were not being issued
just at present to organizations such as the gallant company in
question. The Colonel had inserted that word "gallant" when reading this
at a meeting called for the purpose, assuaging his conscience with the
excuse of civic necessity. He pointed out, also, that the equipment was
tentatively promised--if one chose to interpret the letter in this way;
and, of course, everyone did so choose. Then came another wait through
which the Colonel and Mr. Strong grew more and more depressed. For hours
they would sit in semi-silence, intermittently exchanging thoughts of
Marian and Jeb.

Since Jeb's name had been entered on the roster book he felt chained to
a slowly gnawing torture, for any train might bring over an army man to
administer the oaths of allegiance, and there would then be no escape.
But as weeks passed and nothing happened he began to breathe more
hopefully. The depression, born of fear, was wearing off, while the
self-satisfied conceit slunk back into its former place. It would have
been safe to say that Jeb was close to normal.

This respite, however, took a precipitate tumble one morning when he
received word to come at once to the office. As he entered, Mr. Strong
and the Colonel looked up with serious faces.

"There isn't any bad news from Marian?" he asked, breathlessly.

They shook their heads. But he saw that something serious had happened,
and guessed in a flash that the dreaded time was at hand! With a rush
all the old fear surged back to torture him.

"Jeb," the editor said, pointing to a chair, "we've decided your best
chance lies in the Reserve Officers' Corps. If you're ready now, we'll
help you make out the papers and see that you get properly fixed up."

"Chance of a lifetime, Jeb," the Colonel enthusiastically cried.
"Training, commission, fighting with the first contingent that goes
over! I congratulate you, sir!"

"But--but what about the company?" he faltered, feeling the world wobble
and reel.

"Company the devil, sir! Amos and I don't believe the Department intends
sending us the stuff! No, sir, they've doubtless settled on this other
scheme."

Only for a moment did Job hesitate, and then he arose supreme. His face
was white, his eyes blazed as fire, his voice became pinched and high
with emotion. Never, he declared, would he turn back from the duty
toward which he had set his will! That duty was to his comrades in
Hillsdale, who had paid him the high compliment of dedicating their
lives to his leadership. Desert them now, when the first opportunity
came for personal advancement, and he would be a traitor to all mankind!
If, merely for the love of fighting, he could so far forget these
confiding fellows, how could he ever look them in the eyes again!

The truth of the matter was that Jeb worked himself into a frenzy of
oratory which convinced in spite of logic. He was pleading desperately
for Jeb, for Jeb's hide, for Jeb's life. Having no suspicion of this the
two old gentlemen listened with rapture expressed in their moistening
eyes, and when he concluded, out of breath but defiant, they sprang up
and embraced him.

"By gad, sir," the Colonel cried, "you made the shades of eloquence,
from Webster to Demosthenes, sit up and cock their ears! Amos, when this
war's over we'll run him for the senate, eh?"

So the Officers' Reserve Corps was laid upon the shelf. Other men in
Hillsdale applied for it; some were ordered to report at the training
camp of their divisional area; but, for Jeb, the dark angel of torture
had again passed by.

At breakfast one morning, opening the _Eagle_, his blood congealed into
fine particles of ice. His head whirled, his body became sick in every
part. Leaving abruptly he went into the garden and there read, painfully
read, the big headlines and their accompanying story.

The draft! Drafting between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-one--and
he was twenty-six! He could not have been more in the center, in the
very bull's-eye, of the age selection! With all his senses in a panic,
his mind darted this way and that, seeking, as a trapped rat, some
avenue of exit; but on every side, so far as years counted, he was
equally hemmed in. A moment of fury took the place of fear, wherein he
cursed and raved against a government, calling itself paternal, that
would play fast and loose with its people's lives; but at last he fell
into a dull brooding, tinged with physical and mental nausea.

He was aroused by a voice, and looked up to behold the Colonel's head
and shoulders above the picket fence. The old gentleman's face was grave
and his well-known Stetson had been pulled lower to his eyes.

"I thought I'd find you," he was saying. "Walk down to my office with
me."

Since the sixth of April, now almost two months passed, the Colonel had
referred to the table in Mr. Strong's editorial sanctum as his office;
not alone because it pleased him so to do, but equally because his
friend would tolerate no other arrangement. Never having possessed an
office of any kind, he felt that it added dignity to his declining
years; and there, each morning, he would re-check the names on his
recruiting ledger, besides writing suggestions--some very good
suggestions--to the War Department. If the young Martian clerks, working
like bees in that august building at Sixteenth and Pennsylvania Avenue,
grew into the habit of unopening fat envelopes postmarked "Hillsdale"
until the very last moment, they learned to do so after a manner of
self-protection--but had the Colonel suspected this he would have gone
forthwith and flourished his cane, not only over their heads, but over
the heads of their heads, even unto the Mr. Secretary of War himself.

"I'm unhappy about you, Jeb," he said, as they fell into stride.

Jeb, having reached a state of mind wherein he expected at any moment to
be called a coward, felt his body stiffen as if to receive a blow. He
had become ashamed even to inquire for news of Marian, during these last
few days, as the contrast of their characters was a thing he preferred
keeping in the background. He now looked stolidly at the pavement, and
asked:

"What about?"--but the words were huskily inarticulate and he repeated
them, this time in a louder voice: "What about?"

"Oh, everything," the old gentleman answered. "Your splendid loyalty to
the company that won't be formed has robbed you of a place in other
branches of the service which by this time would have meant much to you,
and I'm afraid now it's too late to recover the lost ground." He failed
to notice that his young friend drew a breath of relief, or that he
stepped out with greater confidence. "You might be training this minute,
Jeb, were it not for my vain desire to put you quickly in a place of
command! I am greatly distressed--greatly to be blamed!"

"Please don't say that, sir," Jeb turned to him quickly, yet with more
pleasure than solicitude in his voice. "There'll be a second camp, and I
won't lose anything in the long run. Even if I never get to go at all,
Colonel, I've the satisfaction of having tried--that is, I _will_ have
tried; which, along with your kindness, is more than a compensation."

He meant this. He saw an opportunity, moreover, to beat the draft by
giving out ahead of time his determination to attend the second training
camp. It had not before occurred to him, because he had been too
mentally paralyzed to think clearly. Now a suspicion which once had
flickered in his mind came back with renewed vigor: that a kind of Fate
was watching his career. It had steered him safely past the home
company, and later had steered through rapids that might easily have
dashed him against the first training camp. At present it was pointing
to a secret passage of escape from conscription. To-day, he figured
rapidly, was the thirty-first of May; the second camp would not open
until August the twenty-seventh. Oh, lots of things could happen in
three months! Jeb had not felt quite so hopeful since the declaration of
war, and launched a flow of pyrotechnical sentiments which warmed the
Colonel's blood.

This wordy recklessness continued while they turned into the _Eagle_
building and ascended to the "office." Mr. Strong looked up smilingly as
they entered, and the Colonel, standing with legs apart, pushed back his
hat, exclaiming:

"Amos, Jeb has in him, I declare, sir, the spirit of the old days! He'll
make a record, sir, of which we'll be proud; and also make those
wretched Huns take water or I don't know a soldier! Rather than feel
depressed because our planning has thus far kept him away from the
Colors, he's confidently and happily looking forward to the second
training camp for officers, sir. Incidentally this will spare him the
odium--the odium, sir--of being drafted like a common slacker!"

"I'd die if I were drafted," Jeb put in. "I don't see how drafted men
can face their own kind, much less the enemy!"

"You're right," the Colonel thundered. "Such a system saps our manhood!
I thank God, Amos, that in the old days men responded to the call
without being driven like a herd of moral lepers!"

"Not so fast, not so fast," Mr. Strong began to laugh at them. "In the
old days, Roger, we owed our successes at arms to luck, rather than to a
finely organized army. Washington couldn't have whipped the British
without France; we couldn't have held our own with them again in 1812 if
they hadn't been up to their ears in the Peninsular War, and unable to
send anything like an equal force over here to engage us. It's the
truth, Roger, and we lose nothing by admitting it! The Mexican War was a
vastly superior power against a little one, and the same condition
prevailed when we tackled Spain. Only once in our history did we find it
necessary to draft, and that was when we fought an antagonist--I will
not say an enemy--in every way our equal; that, Roger," he laid his hand
on the Colonel's arm and spoke tenderly, "was when we fought you."

The Colonel looked out of the window. His eyes blinked several times
before he replied, in the same gentle voice:

"By gad, Amos, you did have to draft then, didn't you!"

"We did, and I'm frank to say we should have done so in every war before
and after. It's the only fair way, and the only efficient way! But aside
from what we should have done, today we're fighting neither Mexico nor
Spain. We're fighting a blood-glutted monster whose breath is poisonous
gas, whose touch is fever, whose thoughts are leprous. This is too
serious an emergency to trust in the hands of a fallacious volunteer
system! The Government, by which I mean ourselves, must look to its
knitting with an alertness never before found necessary, or this time we
perish. And I want to tell you, Roger, with all solemnity, that there
may be a score of legitimate reasons why a young man should not
volunteer, but none to caste dishonor on his endraftment. This nation
merely says to its young fighting men, 'Step up, my sons!'--then, all
who should fight, will; and those who should not, won't! There is no way
more fair; there is no way more honorable! So do not re-utter your
sentiments, either of you!"

"I expect you're right," the Colonel murmured.

"I know I am. And you'll realize it next Tuesday, Roger, when you see
what fine types of young fellows come before you to be registered. I put
you down as a registrar," he added, "because I am to be one, also."

"Thank goodness I won't have to register," Jeb said contentedly. "I'm
going to the second camp."

"You'll have to register, all the same, Jeb," the editor turned to him.
"All men in the age must do that."

"But how about the second camp?"

"There's some talk of taking no men in the second camp who are in the
draft age. Youngsters like you are wanted for the rank and file."

Mr. Strong turned to his desk and began opening mail, else he might have
read Jeb's secret at a glance. The Colonel, blissfully ignorant, leaned
over the ledger and began for the hundredth time to check off the
extinct roster, saying with resignation:

"That sounds reasonable, Amos; and, since there's no odium attached to a
drafted man, it may be all the greater achievement in the long run when
Jeb has worked himself up from the ranks. He'll be a better officer for
it."

"When is this registration?" Jeb tried to make his voice sound natural.

"Next Tuesday," Mr. Strong answered over his shoulder. The Colonel was
still preoccupied and did not look up. The next moment Jeb slipped out
and turned, dizzily, into Main street.




CHAPTER VI


For the remainder of that week Jeb was an ill man. He could neither eat
nor sleep, but paced restlessly about the garden, sometimes going far
into the country and coming home exhausted. He did not realize that his
panic-stricken mind was showing signs of its agony, or that his aunts
were becoming greatly alarmed. But Sunday morning Miss Sallie and Miss
Veemie held a consultation and decided to call Doctor Purdy--a gruff,
good-natured friend of the family, who not infrequently dropped in for a
cup of tea. This time he found his patient in the garden and was soon
walking arm in arm with him. Later he rejoined the ladies on the front
porch.

"Is it serious?" they asked, in a breath.

"Um," he answered, pursing his lips and looking out across the lawn,
"no."

They did not suspect that Doctor Purdy was utterly in the dark about
Jeb's ailment; nor that in a general way he had diagnosed it to be love
or debt, judging solely from a very evident depression. Neither did the
man of medicine guess how dangerously ill in mind his patient had
become; for Jeb, in the darkest hours of these days, during which he was
imminently faced with conscription--meaning to him a hell of hells in a
foreign battlefield--had so worked himself into an hysteria that
personal injury seemed the easiest and only solution to his suffering.
Were he to shoot off his finger, for instance, he would not be drafted!
He had read of this being done in other countries! Or, he might point
the rifle at his foot--but that, perhaps, would be a needless sacrifice.

He had thought it carefully out, and had been actually on the point of
deciding when the old physician appeared. Then Doctor Purdy, reading in
his eyes the very image of despair, left good suggestions as the best
medicine he then knew to bolster him up. The consequence was that Jeb,
instead of resorting to wounds, settled on a better plan: he would
become more ill, grow worse and worse, so that by Tuesday the doctor
might carry a certificate to the registration place exempting him from
service. He brightened wonderfully after this; he really became a
hopeful looking invalid for one who intended to flirt shamelessly with
death. He almost laughed. His appetite returned, and it was a hard knock
for him to take to his bed instead of sitting down at the sumptuous
feast which he knew Miss Sallie and Miss Veemie had provided. But bed it
must be, and no dinner.

News of his illness had got abroad somewhat, and during the afternoon
the Colonel and Mr. Strong called. When Miss Veemie, out of breath, came
up to tell him this he expressed a feeble wish to see them, arranging
himself deeper in the pillows and trying to remain calm.

"Well, sir," said the Colonel jovially, "this is no place for a soldier!
The time will come, doubtless, when we'll be dropping by to see you
tucked in white sheets, but then you'll have a leg off, or half your
head! You'll be a battle-scarred veteran, then!"

The light was not strong enough for any of them to have seen the effect
of this encouraging speech, but Jeb acquiesced feebly, adding a weak
desire that the prophecy might come true. This sentiment, just at this
time, did not escape the Colonel, who looked for the merest instant
startled--then put an unworthy thought aside as the invalid concluded:

"I'm awfully sorry I won't be out Tuesday to register."

"Don't let that worry you, my boy," Mr. Strong leaned gently over and
spoke to him. "The War Department has provided for those who happen to
be ill, so you won't miss it; we promise to see to that, eh, Roger?"

"He's in my district," the generous Colonel answered, "so I'll come by
here first thing Tuesday morning and fill out his card. Why, it'll be a
pleasure, Jeb!"

Where was the good fairy, the kind Fate, now that had stood between him
and this war horror! He felt limp and willing to lie still awhile; but
as soon as the guests had left he sprang up and feverishly paced the
floor.

Had he possessed one chum, to whom he could pour out this agony and who
in turn could have jolted him back into a normal perspective, Jeb might
have faced the issue with coolness and even gladness, as millions of
other fellows were doing. But he had started wrong, and the farther he
stumbled down the wrong road the harder it was to struggle back. Each
hour he had let himself be confronted with agonizing thoughts of pain
and death--strangling in the cruel embrace of the one, or being drawn
whimpering into the mysterious uncertainty of the other; vivid
prospects, these, that drew him into a state of dumb hysteria. He
loathed himself, he loathed everything about him, until the untoward
tomorrows were nearly effaced by the self-torment of todays. To be
caught between the two was an endless terror--since tomorrows are always
tomorrows, and todays face us with every dawn. Trembling at the
uncertainties ahead, he longed for that peace which is only found in the
finalities of yesterdays. With anguished eyes he peered into the future,
and wrung his hands impotently.

When he heard Miss Sallie and Miss Veemie coming up to say goodnight, he
slipped between the sheets and remained impassive while they fussed
about, touching the pillow here or patting the coverlet there. At last,
alone for the night, he crossed silently to the door and locked it; then
drew a chair to the window and gazed moodily out into the trees, one of
whose branches brushed the sill on which he leaned.

There was an agitation in the leaves that seemed to whisper eerie things
to him; they were stirred by some invisible emotion--by fear, he
thought. To his mind all nature was trembling before the great human
sacrifice about to be demanded of this fair land; and he imagined other
trees, forests upon forests of them, vines, flowers, grasses--aye,
mountains and gorges, even--being obsessed by this same dumb shivering.
"The world is shivering," he whispered. He was shivering! How long, he
wondered, must it be before this quietly shivering world would burst
into a raging frenzy, as these trees within touch of him had been
whipped by storms of unbridled passion! He recalled a storm in the
previous summer, when green leaves torn from their stems were driven
before the hurricane and plastered on these very window panes above his
head. He likened it to a man-made fury, wherein pieces of human body
would be blown about with the same unrelenting indifference.

By eight o'clock next morning Jeb was on his way downtown. Although his
face was white and somewhat drawn, the illness had disappeared; he had
eaten a man's size breakfast and declared himself to be fit. The shivers
that earlier made a playground of his frame were quiet; their elements
were present, but scattered by a resolution that was now driving him
onward--and well nigh driving him mad!

Turning into the _Eagle_ building he walked stolidly to the editor's
room and entered. As he had hoped, Mr. Strong was not there, and only
the Colonel arose, crying with outstretched hands:

"A soldier's recovery, on my word, sir! Jeb, you rebound like a rubber
ball--I'm proud of you!"

"You mustn't be proud of me," he replied slowly, not looking into the
honest face that smiled at him. "I am not fit to be proud of."

The words might have been taken for extreme modesty, but the tone fell
unpleasantly on the Colonel's ears. He recognized, or thought he
recognized, something that had its root in this young man before him;
not merely an expression of the moment. For an instant his keen eyes
bored into the averted face, causing Jeb to look up rather defiantly.

"Colonel," he said jerkily, "tomorrow is draft day. I'm afraid of it;
I'm a--a----" then it burst in a tone of desperation, "--a coward, sir!"

The office was perfectly still for nearly a minute, during which the
Colonel's scrutinizing gaze never faltered. He would have been vacuous
indeed to ask if this thing were a joke, for Jeb's whole attitude
condemned him. But the old gentleman was not the type who easily
surrendered the honor of his friends, and when he spoke his words came
haltingly, as though he were weighing this damning statement against all
that had formerly been good; he was unwilling to pronounce a verdict on
the bare face value of such an accusation without throwing into the
balance, not only Jeb's character since boyhood, but the affectionate
memory of his father.

"It takes a brave man to say that, Jeb, and you've certainly shown no
cowardice thus far. I prefer to think that you are mistaking a new
situation, a strange sensation, for this more unworthy thing--I won't
name it, sir!"

Whatever the hope to which Colonel Hampton clung, he could no longer
doubt Jeb's earnestness nor his sanity. He saw that this son of his dead
friend was speaking a horrible truth which he, himself, could not
possibly understand. And then he seemed suddenly to have aged, to have
grown old in a moment.

Sometimes an autumn will progress far while still holding the bounteous
greens of summer; the skies will have tempered their chill to trees and
grass, and even scattered wild flowers will retain their bloom. But, one
night, something taps upon the window pane. Faster, faster, like
metallic clicks of a speeding-up machine, the sleet rattles for a little
while, and lo! where are the leaves, the flowers, of yesterday! Thus did
the Colonel age at this quick approach of blighting cold which the
optimism of his nature was impotent to withstand. Yet he was still
unwilling to give up the fight. Jeb was afraid, not a coward! There lay
a vast difference between these, and he said hopefully:

"Get this in your mind, Jeb: bravery is the absence of fear, but courage
is the ability to overcome fear! It's no disgrace to be afraid; it's
only a disgrace to be a slave to fear. The man who possesses one pound
of fear and two pounds of courage, is a lion; reverse this order and you
have--that other thing, which I won't believe you are! Why, boy, I
remember my first experience well! My regiment was behind a hill,
waiting the word that would send us charging into action--and a red-hot
fight they said it would be, too! I was leaning on my rifle in the most
nonchalant attitude of indifference, but the truth was that if it hadn't
been for that prop my knees would have crumpled up. You're the first man
I ever told this to, and I wouldn't now unless I thought it would help
you. That was the most unhappy moment in my life; but, like all
troubles, it appeared to be much greater at a distance. Once in action I
had a rattling good time and hated like the devil to quit; and you'll be
the same way--I know you will. I'll go a step further with your case--as
also mine--and assert that the man who doesn't know fear is an utter
stranger to the extreme delights of courage--for courage is a delight to
the very soul after it takes possession. The trouble is, you've been
thinking too much; you've been picturing foreign things in a foreign
land, and your vision is distorted. Go to it, lad, and you'll be the
same game rooster your daddy was before you!"

The Colonel finished with a burst of enthusiasm that was genuine until
he saw the face of his staring listener. Then his jaws set and the
appearance of age again crept slowly back. He turned away and began
drumming on the table with his pencil.

"I suppose it can't be helped," he said, tremulously, after a death-like
silence wherein the breathing of each was distinctly audible. "I suppose
it's in one's make-up," he continued, as though pleading with an
invisible accuser who was sitting there in judgment upon the son of his
old friend. "It's probably like an ear for music, an eye for color, an
aptitude for this or that pursuit in life--just stuck in, you know,
without apparent cause; and so with the stuff that makes soldiers."
Then, turning in a sudden fury, he thundered: "But the hell of it is,
that every born male baby should be then and there a born soldier, else
nature has blundered in making it a male!--for a boy-child that comes
into the world without that divine element which later would make it
joyfully die for its country, ought to be a girl-child! I'm not sure
that it ought to be anything at all, judging from the nobility our
girls, our women, have always shown when their country bleeds! There's
Marian Strong, possessed with the courage of a lion--yes, sir, a lion! I
don't understand you; I don't understand anything--I'm damned if I
do!--not anything at all!"

Again, except for the drumming pencil, the same sickening stillness
filled the room. When Mr. Strong was heard outside talking to a member
of his staff, the old soldier and the young slacker looked at each other
quickly, almost guiltily, as if they had nearly been surprised in a
crime. To their relief he turned and descended the stairs, but the
Colonel tilted his chair until he could see the courthouse clock, saying
drily:

"He'll be back in a few minutes. The draft registration is tomorrow.
What are we going to do?"

Jeb felt as though his body were a sponge that had absorbed all the
sickening heaviness extant throughout the world. There was a strong
tugging within that demanded of him to cry aloud his intention to
enlist, but another personality whimpered desperately, "I can't--I
can't!" His own face now was drawn as the Colonel's had been; his eyes
seemed filmy, and when he spoke his voice was lifeless.

"I know it is," he said.

It did not escape the Colonel that Jeb had replied directly to the thing
which most concerned him. The draft was his evil fetish; second in
importance came the question of what he should do, or whether Mr. Strong
might return and be a witness to his disgrace--yet the Colonel even now
was unwilling to call it this. Applied to any one else--yes! Treating
with any one else he would doubtless have ordered him from the office.
But this was the son of his old friend; the boy he had watched with
pride, lo! these twenty-six years. One cannot in the batting of an eye
shake off an affection so deeply grounded!

"Well, sir, I know it, too," he suddenly exclaimed. "I ask you what we
are going to do!"

"I--I wish I knew," Jeb answered desperately. "I--I want to do
something----"

"You've _got_ to do something," the interruption came with
uncompromising sternness.

The door opened and Mr. Strong entered.

"Hullo," he cried, with a brevity characteristic of him when hurried.
"Would have been here sooner, but that plagued unit had to be got
fixed."

"What unit are you talking about, Amos?" the Colonel asked, glad and
sorry for the interruption.

The editor seated himself and began to run a thin steel paper knife
through one after another of several unopened letters.

"Barrow's," he answered, without turning around. "Barrow's hospital
unit--leaves some time tonight; and Wade, the man listed to go from
here, dropped a packing box on his foot. Barrow 'phoned me last night,
and I've been looking for a suitable man all morning."

Nearly everyone in Hillsdale had heard that the great Barrow was heading
a hospital unit, and the editor's nearest friends knew that he had been
honored with permission to select one man from his own town. Now this
man had come to grief! The Colonel looked across at Jeb. He saw at once
a miraculous opportunity, and whispered:

"Helping about a hospital is a fine work, Jeb. Of course, it isn't like
being with the Colors, but it means service--a very noble service!"

Jeb's mind had sprung farther ahead than the nobility of service. It saw
a place of comparative safety, far from the range of shells; there would
be no charging over parapets, no bullets would come ploughing through
his stomach, no shrapnel would tear shreds from his face! He thought
much of that face. He could actually be in France and come home a hero!
Besides all these considerations, he would escape the draft!

The Colonel, watching closely, read each argument, each emotion. For a
moment his own fearless, honest eyes drew to shiny points and his lips,
had he not controlled them, would have curled in disgust. But he could
not quite forget that Jeb was the son of his old friend; aye, and his
own friend. As there had been two personalities in Jeb, tugging for and
against enlistment, so were there two beings in the Colonel's soul
condemning and pleading for this weakling Hercules. He now turned
anxiously to the editor, asking:

"You haven't found anyone, have you, Amos?"

"Eh? No, Roger, I haven't. Our boys, who are not already pledged to the
Colors, prefer taking their turn with the draft."

"Then wire Barrow quickly that Jeb takes Wade's place!"

Mr. Strong swung about in his chair.

"Jeb? Does Jeb want _that_ branch of service?"

"He's crazy for it, Amos! He wants anything that'll get him to France as
speedily as possible."

The Colonel tried manfully, for the love of old associations, to look
without flinching into the eyes of Amos Strong. He felt that Jeb should
have told this lie--not, perhaps, an out and out lie, for Jeb did truly
want any service wherein he would escape the draft and gun-fire; but it
was a lie, nevertheless, and the Colonel's cheeks burned hotly.

"Well, I'm----!" Mr. Strong did not say it--not that he wouldn't have!
He turned, wrote a hurried direction and rang for his stenographer;
then, as she retired, he wheeled back again with a cordial smile.

"You've greatly surprised me, Jeb--that is, I'm delighted with your
resolution. I've a blank somewhere," he now began fumbling over the
littered desk, "and we'll make it out at once; just a form, you
know--all units have 'em in one style or another! Now: Name? ----
Residence? ---- Age? ----"

It was soon done and passed over for Jeb's signature which was attached
with a firm, confident hand. Mr. Strong wrote awhile further, and looked
up, saying:

"It may be slightly irregular, but the time is so short we can't help
ourselves; so I've vouched for your physical condition. I've also waived
indemnity in case you're killed, since, of course, thus far in life
you've contributed nothing to the support of your aunts."

This mention of being killed, put down in regular form, drove the color
from Jeb's cheeks; but it seemed absurd to him and the next moment he
laughed, saying:

"I don't suppose there's one chance in a thousand of that, way back in a
hospital!"

The desk telephone rang and Mr. Strong took up the receiver, thus
checking his reply.

"Yes, Barrow, I called you. I've a man for Wade's place. Still room?
Good! Jeb Tumpson--known him all his life! J-E-B, yes, Jeb. Not time to
mail it?--wait!" He reached for the application and began to read it
slowly, sometimes repeating so the listener could take it correctly
down. "When shall he report, Barrow? Good! He'll be uniformed there?
Splendid! Don't forget, if you should see my daughter! Well, goodbye and
good luck, Barrow; yours is a noble work, and God husband you!"

"Amen," the Colonel whispered.

Mr. Strong, hanging up the receiver, swung about enthusiastically.

"Jeb," he cried, "hustle! Barrow says bring only a suitcase and toilet
articles; report to his hospital as soon as your train lands you, and be
fitted out. I'll mail this original application to the proper place with
a notation that you've left. You'll take the fast express this
afternoon, reach him about nine-thirty, and sail some time after
midnight. That's moving some!" he slapped his thigh. "Now hurry home and
tell the little aunts. Roger and I will have money at the train for you.
Oh, by the way," he arose and followed Jeb who was about to pass out, "I
wouldn't let on about dangers, understand? Just pretend there aren't
any; for if those dear ladies knew you were going into a branch of
service where the death toll is higher than any place else in the army,
they'd be ill with worrying."

Jeb leaned against the door-jamb and opened his lips wide for breath.
His throat felt parched, his heart was beating like the roll-call on a
drum. But Mr. Strong, moved greatly by the moment, laid a hand on his
shoulder, adding:

"I haven't said as much as I want; I'm not going to, either. You know I
want to be proud of you, and I'll be watching for news with an interest
akin to that which I feel for Marian. You're going away to play a mighty
big game, boy, wherein Humanity is trumps and Patriotism, Righteousness
and Service are the other three aces. Yet even if you hold all these,
you may still lose unless you possess one more magic card: Self-respect.
We all owe to our soul a certain measure of self-respect, Jeb. It is a
gentleman's personal debt of honor to himself, demanding payment before
every other obligation, and is satisfied only when we face each of
life's crises with steel-tipped, crystal courage. Think of this often;
carry it with you everywhere; it is the last and best thing I can give
you. Now hustle!" he gave him an affectionate push. "We'll be at the
depot waiting."

Job went down the stairs in a storm of mental hysteria. His physical
senses seemed to be numb, but the brain more than made up for this. It
was writhing in an agony of fear, a chaos of racing tortures; yet in
their midst one thing stood aloof with the firmness of rock. This was
the belief--unassailable, absolute--that he could not by any human means
turn from the direction his life was pointing. He felt this profoundly.
His mind kicked and held back against it, but a great something was
calmly impelling him on. He hated this inexorable force; he cursed it;
for he did not realize that it was his own soul!

The editor had followed him out, having duties elsewhere in the
building, so the Colonel sat alone listening to their retreating steps.
His fine head was erect, his hands were clasped and his arms thrust out
before him on the table. Jeb's confession was burning into his brain as
he reviewed every chapter of the boy's behavior since early April. Each
of Jeb's procrastinations and evasions now stood out clearly, connoting
but one thing, predicated on but one thing! Slowly the old gentleman's
mustache began to move in a curious way; by degrees his face became
convulsed; then, letting his head fall between the outstretched arms, he
yielded to a great sob:

"My God--a coward!"




CHAPTER VII


Some time before daylight Jeb fell asleep. In the work and hustle of
getting aboard and stowing supplies for his unit, of dodging a company
of Canadians looking to their own embarkation, and of steering his
course through half an army of sweating stevedores who were loading vast
quantities of freight for the Allied army, he had not thought of
himself. But he had felt the elation which comes to all who are
cohesively striving for a single purpose that lies beyond dangerous, and
as yet insurmountable, ground. He had responded to the _camaraderie_ of
these Canadian chaps, and it had been good. Now he slept.

The steamer that took his unit to France, and these few furloughed boys
from Canada back to their regiment, was not large as steamers go, but it
looked monstrous to Jeb. Had he been familiar with trans-Atlantic travel
he would have missed the library, main saloon, smoking and
writing-rooms, as these spaces which formerly belonged to the pleasure
traveler were now converted into bunks. Bunks were everywhere--empty
bunks for the most part on this trip, but ready for the great movement
later on. Perhaps the next time over she might bring the American boys!

When these lads from Canada, the doctors and the nurses (and the
stretcher bearers, of which Jeb was one, although he had not yet
discovered it) realized their transport was an old reconverted German
tub, they would have cheered an irony so delightful had not orders been
issued for complete silence. No one must know that this ship, secretly
restored from the ravages of her former crew, entertained the slightest
idea of sailing; not one of the swarm of spies in German pay, infesting
New York and its environs, must suspect this midnight-to-dawn
embarkation! So, while Jeb slept, tugs quietly warped her out, towed her
in ghostlike fashion toward the Bay and turned her free. By daylight she
was over the horizon.

And no one suspected that before daylight one of the sweating
stevedores, washed and smartly dressed, left his back-hall room in a
Hoboken boarding house, crossed to New York and entered a telephone
booth in a large hotel; thereupon calling an uptown number and telling a
keen-eyed man who listened gratefully that his wife was out of danger
and the doctor had left at two o'clock. Later that morning one of the
commercial messages which loaded the telegraph wires sped to a merchant
in Buenos Ayres asking quotations on 8,000 feet of 2-A grade mahogany
veneer; and, half an hour later, the Swedish Legation there was telling
Berlin that, upon this date, at 2 A. M., a steamer of 8,000 tons burden
had cleared New York, destination France.

When the bugles sounded reveille Jeb fell out with the others. This
taste of the military was decidedly acceptable to him. He regretted that
his unit did not fall in for mess, as the Canadian veterans, for
instance. He regretted keenly his ignorance of army matters, the manual,
even, and the habit that came with constant discipline of keeping
oneself smart, straight, clear-eyed and ever courteous--as a good
soldier is. There were several pretty nurses aboard--several who were
not!--and for once his classic features found worthy rivals in the less
handsome, though more perfectly conditioned, regulars.

Jeb had not realized as yet that he was stepping into an age where
Service counts above all other human assets; where the millionaire who
sits smugly in his club is contemptible beside the twenty-five dollar a
week man who puts his shoulder to the yoke. He had not seen this as yet,
nor could he have believed that henceforth, as never before, the real
men and real women of the world would be graded by the stamp of
_sterling service_, as distinguished from, and higher than, sterling
dollars. This great lesson he had yet to learn, as millions are learning
and will continue to learn.

There sometimes comes in the life of men an affinity for other men; when
two from afar will be drawn together as old acquaintances. This is more
usual when the sexes are crossed--at least, poets would have it so--but
in all reaches of human habitation there are moments when a man will see
another in a crowd and say to himself, "I'd like to meet that chap!"
Thus it was with Jeb and Sergeant Tim Doreen, one-time citizen of Galway
(the old sod), later American citizen, still later discharged with honor
from a Canadian regiment because of a grievous wound. But wounds meant
less to Tim than fighting and now, within six weeks, he was on his way
back. "Not as I wouldn't love to go wid me Stars an' Stripes, lad," he
carefully explained, "--for 'twould do me 'art good to slug the heathen
Boche from under its majistic folds--but ye'll be some time gittin'
ready over here, whilst the b'ys av me old rigiment is standin' at
attintion waitin' fer me this minute!"

He and Jeb possessed not one thing in common, yet each was endowed with
something the other would have given his all to own. Jeb's face, for
instance, was like a cameo, high-bred, delicate and intellectual; Tim's
was scarred by shrapnel--although it had never been much of a face to
start with! He had always wanted to be handsome, for he loved beauty
extravagantly, be it in man or woman. Jeb, moreover, was tall,
splendidly built, graceful; his hands were smooth, his fingers well
groomed, he carried himself with the air of a gentleman. Tim was short,
perhaps just within the army requirement; he was built like a pine knot,
was smartly soldierly but lacked every other grace; his hands were what
hands should be that had not shirked in the trenches. He could not have
passed for a gentleman--or for what is the usually accepted term for
that individual--with all the arts of Poole and the rest of Piccadilly
thrown in; and Tim's highest ambition would have been to walk some
evening into the Ritz-Carlton, Sheppards, Continental, or Plaza, "wid
clothes enough an' manners enough to make them as eats there break their
sweet necks wid lookin', an' strain their soft eyes wid admirin' av me!"

Jeb could have done it, for he drew just such looks in places given over
to social frivolities; so Tim liked Jeb, because Tim was generous and
knew only a manly man's psychology. Little did he dream which of the two
would attract the smiles of admiration, the tears of adulation, in the
great field of human service! Just one thing he did possess, however,
which Jeb would have given his world for, and that was courage. If ever
man bore the mark of courage, 'twas Tim Doreen! Perhaps the widest
breach between them might have been thus summed up: Jeb was well aware
that Jeb was handsome; Tim had never given a thought to the fact that
Tim was in the highest sense courageous.

The duties of a sergeant are not all hammocks and cigarettes. He
occupies an anomalous position of go-between for his captain and the
men; he must swear here, praise there, appear to be hurt at other times.
He must never miss anything, from a grumble beneath the breath to a
blistered heel or a bad tooth. He must lay alongside the men, in a
figurative sense, and get to know their souls; and get them to love him
or to hate him--but never to think of him with indifference. If his
captain is wise, he will listen to him patiently and follow his advice;
for a good sergeant maketh a happy company, just as truly as a good
housewife maketh a contented home.

There were few duties aboard ship. The Canadians were already veterans,
and their new captain who was taking them back allowed more loafing than
usual. He believed in a generous breathing space before the sterner
days to come--providing they kept themselves fit! Neither did Barrow
care much how his unit employed its time, if all hands attended his
lectures and first aid demonstrations; and so it came about that Tim and
Jeb sat many hours together. It also followed that Tim saw in his new
friend elements which puzzled him, for now, the sixth day out, he
turned, saying quietly:

"Lad, ye've been talkin' a lot about this Medical Corps job av yours,
an' the risk ye're takin'; an' whin ye're not talkin', ye're wonderin'
how soon we'll be blowed up be a submarine! W'ot ails ye now? W'ot's
bitin' ye?"

The irresistible caress of the Celtic tongue was in Tim's question, and
Jeb, hesitating but a moment, impulsively leaned toward him.

"Tim," he said, "I don't want you to think less of me, but the idea of
being sunk out here in mid ocean, or being shot up in a battle, scares
me stiff. I guess I'm a--a----"

"Don't say it," the other checked him. "Don't be callin' yeself w'ot
ye'd be knockin' the head off anither mon for sayin! I've suspected ye
had a strong leanin' thot way, Jeb, but hadn't thought no less av ye,
as I've seen manny a lad change from bad to good in the jumpin' av a
cartridge clip."

"But the worst of it is, Tim, that I came away to escape the draft; and
now I see the draft was a cinch to what I've got into."

"It _is_ not!" Tim vigorously replied. "I'd sooner have yer job twinty
times! To begin wid, ye only had wan chanct in eight to be taken in the
draft, but wid the doctors ye're _shure_ to see scrappin'! Thot's the
way to look at it, lad!"

"Oh, I know!--but I can't," Jeb muttered, despairingly. "Since Barrow
told me I had to lug a stretcher I haven't eaten a meal a day, Tim. It
isn't sea-sickness, either, for the ocean's like a mill pond; it's just
knowing the Medical mortality is heavier than any branch of the
service--heavier'n air fighting, even!"

"Thot's right," Tim said thoughtfully. "Medical comes
first--fifty-fifty, mind ye; thin the infantry, an' thin the air--or
maybe 'tis the artillery; I forget now. But, anyway, thot's w'ot makes
it worth a domn, can't ye see, lad? I own thot it don't strike me
funny-bone, though. Whin I stand up for to be shot at, I want to do
some shootin' meself; I don't want to have me hands glued to no
stretcher, an' me heart bleedin' for the poor divil on it, an' let a lot
of 'arf-fed outcasts plug me lights out! No, sor! Whin anny lunatic av a
Hun pulls his trigger at Tim Doreen it arouses me timper, an' I'd be apt
to drop me load an' go back an' take a swat at 'im; thin, like as not,
the doctors 'd have me court-martialled!"

"If you hadn't got blown up first," Jeb bitterly replied.

"Now, don't ye go thinkin' 'bout bein' blowed up! 'Tis the worst kind av
weed a soldier can smoke!--an' I'm sayin' 'tis been the trouble wid ye,
Jeb; ye think too much! Transfer thim thoughts to how quick ye're goin'
to blow up the inimies av yer country; thin yell wanst or twict like the
ould divil hisself, an' ye'll be itchin' for a scrap so's ye can't
sleep! Quit thinkin' thot rot 'bout bein' kilt--which ye can't control
in anny case; an' begin thinkin' how ye'll kill a Hun--which ye _can_
control! Thot's the creed, as good soldiers sees it!"

"But hell, Tim," he said, with something like a whine, "I can't
possibly shut out the dangers! They loom up like mountains."

"Hell yer _own_ self," the sergeant turned on him. "Dangers as looks
mountain high ain't no more'n a hill o' beans whin ye git ye're belly on
'em! W'y, look!--me ould fayther, wanst, waked me in the night sayin' as
a gang o' burglars was downstairs lootin' the family silver. Well, lad,
bein' but half awake I believed 'im, an' the goose flesh growed out on
me ar-rms so that--'tis the truth I'm tellin' ye--I plucked enough for a
parlor duster! But whin I got downstairs investigatin', the gang was no
more'n a loose shutter flappin' in the wind. The burglars was just a
noise--d'ye git me? No danger, but a noise--an' w'ot's a noise? Ye see,
Jeb, 'twas the wrong kind of thinkin'; an' the wrong kind of thinkin'
breeds fear, an' fear shrinks up a man whilst it makes the inimy grow
six inches. Put them six inches on yeself, say I, an' let the Boche
shrink--which he'll do, too, whin he sees ye've the bigger courage!"

It did not occur to Jeb that this man was doing his very utmost to
inspire one spark of the lacking courage; he did not realize that Tim
was thoughtfully picking his words, as carefully as though he were
telling stories to a little child. Tim would not have been the crack
sergeant that he was had Jeb suspected this!

"I can see them shrinking now," Jeb said, with something like a sneer at
Tim's assurance. "Why, everybody says they're the finest fighters on
earth!"

"Thin iverybody lies, an' 'tis Tim Doreen as says it! There ye go again
wid a lot of domn fool thinkin' of w'ot ye got no cause to think. Wasn't
I just after tellin' ye there ain't no worse dry-rot for a soldier? The
Boche can put up as good a scrap as most, lad, whin they're bunched in a
crowd, but take 'em mon for mon an' they ain't no fighters a-tall,
a-tall. I ain't denyin' their officers is hep to the game--but thot's
just w'ot proves me p'int: for do ye s'pose their fat-headed gineral
staff'd be silly enough to march ar-rmy after ar-rmy jam up aginst our
strong positions, bunched like a herd o' sheep, if they didn't know the
men was too spineless to go into the fray like us, or the British, or
the Frinch--which is to say, in open order an' like hell?"

"I don't see how that'll get us anywhere," Jeb remarked.

"'Twill get us _iverywhere_," Tim replied emphatically. "Didn't it get
us as far as we've got, whin we were at our wur-rst, an' thim at their
best? An' they was shure a rattlin' ar-rmy thot first year, make no
mistake on thot, lad! There was fine steel in 'em, mind ye: the 2nd
Bavarian Corps, now, which did me heart good to fight wid!--cruel,
unprincipled outcasts, to be shure, an' wid no mercy nor respect for
women--still, they was good fighters! But of late the b'ys tells me
their whole ar-rmy's been so watered down wid inferior stuff thot ye'd
not know it for the same; an' lest they're touchin' elbows an' absorbin'
courage w'ot comes from bein' clost, they ain't w'ot ye'd call reliable,
anny more. They can't stand the gaff as they wanst could! W'y, I was in
at the takin' av wan av their artillery positions on the Somme, lad, an'
may I be shot for a spy if we didn't find gunners chained to the wheels!
Ye don't need no searchlight to find the answer av thot, do ye now?
Their fightin' _machine_ is good, mind ye; but it ain't no more nor
less'n a red sausage machine whin iverythin's considered! But as for
the individual fightin' mon, w'y, he don't grow over there, a-tall,
a-tall!"

"That's all very well, Tim, but they kill a lot of our fellows, just the
same!"

"Shure, ivery now an' thin wan av the b'ys is sent west; but ye wouldn't
have a war all wan-sided, would ye? 'Twould be no war if ye did."

"It's all so horrible," Jeb shuddered. The mention of being "sent west"
did not appeal to him since he had learned that it was the Tommy's way
of saying that a man had been killed.

"Now, thot's where ye're wrong, lad," Tim straightened up to reach in
his breeches pockets for "the makings," but his hand came out empty and
he continued: "There's plenty av fun goin' on, an' laughs, too. I mind
me wan day whin the '75's was barkin' their throats out an' bein'
answered by God knows w'ot mighty ingines av war. We'd been brought up
clost an' was lookin' for a rush anny minute, so the men was jokin' for
the most part--thot or cussin'; 'tis all the same whin a rigiment feels
good! I was sint along to help the bombers adjust detonators an'
straighten out pins, whin I come on a little cockney lad--timid like
yeself, Jeb--holdin' a puddin' an' not knowin' w'ot to do wid it; so I
says to 'im:

"'Whin they git clost, now, pull out thot pin, count four, an' let her
fly!'

"''Ow let 'er fly?' he asks.

"'W'y, chuck 'er, ye blighter!' says I.

"'But 'ow farst must Hi count four?' he asks agin, lookin' worrit;
's'pose she goes hoff in me 'and?' he says.

"'Well,' says I, 'if she goes hoff in ye 'and, sonny, ye may stop
countin'.'

"An', Jeb," the sergeant added, "he laughed so 'twas all he could do to
keep from droppin' it; but he got the hang, so help me, an' did a man's
work thot day!"

"Oh, I couldn't do anything like that," Jeb cried despairingly. "I just
couldn't! The whole idea is horrible! And look at their submarines, all
around us everywhere!"

"Well, _look_ at 'em! Where the divil d'ye see 'em! Has anny wan av 'em
been comin' aboard for a nip av grog? There ye go thinkin' wrong again,
Jeb; ye make me lose me timper! Haven't we been sailin' right along in a
sea as smooth as a lass's cheek, now comin' sivin days? W'y, me b'y,
even this ould tub's too fast for 'em!" Tim yawned and rolled over on
the deck, where they had been sitting with their backs against a
partition wall that, in former days of German ownership, had inclosed
the "gesellschafthalle." He searched again through his pockets, and
yawned once more, saying: "Shure, an' 'tis a long time gittin' back wid
the b'ys! But don't ye worry over w'ot's ahead--wait till it comes clost
enough for ye to grab it. Most ivery trouble, lad, dies 'asy whin ye git
yer teeth in good, an' shake it wanst or twict! Give me a bit av the
makin's, Jeb; I left me own below!"

Jeb passed over his pouch and papers, then watched the sergeant roll a
cigarette, light it, and give the match an outward flip. Taking a few
deep inhalations he eyed Jeb back, and said thoughtfully:

"Lad, I don't want ye to take this wrong, but I've a mind to be askin'
if ye have less courage than a gir-rl--a _lady_ gir-rl, w'ot's been
raised in silver an' gold an' soft pilleys! I want ye to keep thot in
mind whilst I tell ye a story; 'tis a story av me own wound, whin I got
me 'packet' for Blighty--an' av a nurse w'ot had jist come out from the
States, an' av a Frinch doctor w'ot's the king av all men, so help me!
'Twas 'im as brought me in off No Man's Land, where I was bleedin' me
life away! He come right out through a rain av fire thot would have
curled yer hair into little kinks av wire--for his stretcher bearers had
been sore shot up thot day, an' he was doin' ivery kind av wur-rk at
wanst. But, to git along: Whin I opened me eyes in the dressin' station
dug-out I scarce knowed if I was alive or dead--so weak did I feel. He
was standin' near, shakin' his head at a purty nurse, an' sayin': 'We
got to lose 'im, for he's lost too much blood! If we had anny to
transfuse,' he says, 'we'd pull 'im through, but thot's impossible,' he
says, 'for me b'ys have bled too much a-ready,' he says."

Tim took another inhalation, and slowly continued:

"I was too weak to say me prayers--not thot I wasn't in need av thim!
The nurse was lookin' up at 'im wid big, wonderin' eyes, an' her breast
was heavin'. 'Will thot save 'im?' she asks. ''Tis the only thing,' he
answers, sorrowful. 'Thin save 'im,' she says, rollin' up her sleeve;
'here's the blood--save 'im, quick!'

"Well, Jeb," Tim sighed, "I never see sich a look as come into thot
doctor's face. He stared at her, thin shouted so's ye could a-heerd 'im
a mile: 'I won't do it!' But still she stands her ground, an' says in a
flash: 'Ye will, if ye do yer dooty!' 'But I need ye', he cries again;
'I can't spare ye!' But she gives it to 'im strong, lad, an' says: 'A
fightin' man is worth more'n a nurse jist now! Hurry, Doctor
Bonsecours!'--for thot's his name, Jeb. 'But I need ye anither way, me
darlin',' he pleads wid her--an' I hope to be shot for a spy if iver I
see a holier look in a mon's face! She weakened a bit, an' her cheeks
got r-rosy red, but she says up to him, brave as iver: 'Save this mon
first, for all av France needs him!' Mind ye, lad, her sayin' thot all
av France needed a beggar like me!--but 'twas because he hisself was
Frinch, no doubt!"

Tim wiped his sleeve across his eyes. He made no pretense at hiding the
tears that sprang to them, for they were tokens of a deep and lasting
gratitude, and he was not ashamed.

"An' so they did it, right there, lad, for a little runt av an Irishman;
an' the last thing I heerd her sayin', as she breathed in thot stuff--I
can't for the life av me remember its name--was: 'Plase be shure to take
enough, Doctor!'"

Tim did not mention how he had joined what little voice he possessed
with that of Bonsecours, pleading with her to make no such sacrifice;
and then, finding this useless, threatening to kill the great surgeon if
he so much as scratched her arm.

"Thot's the way people fight an' live out there, lad. Mind ye, the
blessed nurse hadn't known 'im more'n a week--maybe less; but it don't
take long for men or women to see the kind av stuff as is in each ither,
whin they're totterin' on the edge av No Man's Land! Annyway, I don't
know as she iver give 'im the answer he wanted; but w'ot's more to the
p'int av me story is this; thot she's nothin' but a blessed gir-rl, from
a little town back home, mind ye, but I'd have ye know thot the gr-reat
wur-rk Doctor Bonsecours has done is the talk av the Frinch ar-rmy--an'
she's his right-hand liftenant. She's as tender as tears, lad, but as
brave as a lion--an' in about the same job as yeself. She don't mind the
shells a-tall, a-tall! D'ye git that, Jeb?"

"What town did she come from?" Jeb asked, his eyes growing thoughtful.

"Sure, an' I can't think av it!"

"Was it----" He stopped abruptly, as a strange and curious sensation
seized him. It seemed as though the deck suddenly heaved upward--very
much like the feeling he would have if, sitting in a hammock, someone
sat down beside him. Immediately following this came a terrific
explosion, numbing in its intensity, and a wall of maddened water leaped
past the rail for a hundred feet into the air. In a twinkling Tim
dragged him through the door, as a shower of debris came down upon the
place where they had been sitting. The huge smoke funnel crashed to the
deck, scattering soot in all directions, then balanced an instant, and
plunged into the sea.

In the midst of this confusion, even before the funnel disappeared, Tim
was bellowing a command. His captain, at his side, waited as the men
poured up to them, then said drily:

"Belts on the nurses; see that everyone's on deck, and belt yourselves!"

Life belts were everywhere within easy reach and, as the men scattered,
Tim stopped an instant to hand one of them to his captain, who smilingly
took it but was later seen tying it on Dr. Barrow.

The sergeant then dashed below, hurrying toward the staterooms to be
sure that everyone got up to deck. In his reckless determination to make
Jeb see this duty through, he had not let go of his sleeve.

"Take the doors on thot side," he now yelled at him in a voice of
thunder, "an' I'll take this! Smash 'em down where they're jammed, an'
look clost iverywhere inside! Sometimes women faints!"

With this he released his hold; but Jeb, trying to go on, could not--he
could only cross his arms against the panels and press his head there to
shut out the terror. When Tim, kicking in a door three staterooms away,
saw this he made one spring back and landed his next kick on a spot that
made Jeb flinch. This was followed by another, and still another, while
a string of lurid oaths poured from his lips which burned like a lash of
fire. Jeb sprang around, one fist drawn back to kill, his eyes
glittering as points of iron; but the sergeant's eyes were as points of
steel. The next moment Jeb had started on the work of rescue. Tim worked
across from him--and smiled.

When Tim had become satisfied that no one remained below, they began
their retreat. By now the ship was listing to a degree which made it
necessary for them to walk with one foot on the panelled wall, and to
jump the cross halls. The stairs upward they negotiated with one foot on
the balusters. At the landing above a number of life belts, having slid
along the floor, lay piled in confusion against the wall; and before
stepping out on deck Tim tied one of these on Jeb, then safeguarded
himself, saying briefly:

"Stay clost to me!"

They found moving more difficult now, as the ship had not stopped
listing. The deck leaned so precipitously that they had to grasp the
hand-rail, and work themselves by this means slowly around to the upper
side. Tim moved with the coolness of a veteran. Jeb scrambled with the
energy of despair.

There were plenty of boats at this upper rail, but to let them over was
a difficult problem, since they must scrape down the ship's hull and
risk being capsized or smashed. Those at the lower rail were entirely
out of commission--splintered by the torpedo.

Tim saluted the captain--the ship's captain, this time--and barked his
report. He was ordered to boat No. 1. When he reached this position Jeb
was close behind, terror still pictured on his face. In a fury the
sergeant turned to him, crying:

"Look at the courage av thim nurses, ye ---- ---- ----! Can't ye try to
be a man? 'Ere, give a hand!" Another string of profanity rolling from
his tongue was as potent as the kick had been, for Jeb, still gasping,
fell to work.

And then a cry went up! It came from the breasts of those who waited
with limitless courage, and those who worked feverishly to save. It was
the heartrending, bloodcurdling cry of people doomed--for the ship had
begun to settle! Through his megaphone the captain yelled:

"Jump! Jump! For the love of God, jump!"




CHAPTER VIII


Jeb felt himself seized by the shoulder and torn from the davit to which
he held. Confusedly he heard Tim yelling: "Swim off as far as ye can,
lad!" and the next instant he was plunging downward, striking the ship's
side and sliding, bounding off, turning, striking again and sliding,
till he splashed into the water.

When his head came up--providentially with its senses--the sergeant's
command lingered and he set his face away, swimming with all his might.
Once or twice he paused for breath, because it is hard work propelling a
life belt through the water, but these rests were momentary; till,
feeling himself safe from suction, he turned over on his back and
floated. In this position he could see the ship, and was just in time to
watch the last of its passengers leave the rail. These were Tim and a
pretty nurse who had been too frightened at the dizzy height to take
the leap until, tearing free her hold, he had lifted her in his arms and
skidded down the side.

There was no confusion now. The sea had never seemed more peaceful.
Heads were bobbing merrily in the water, as though in for a pleasure
swim; beyond them lay the steamer, abjectly motionless--looking like a
monster which might have arisen from the deeps to bask upon the surface.
Jeb was wondering if he should not yet swim back and try to climb
aboard, when the great hulk swayed--gently at first, this way and that;
then, as if tender hands were lowering it into a grave, it slowly began
to sink.

At this point the prevailing quiet was shattered by a hell of sounds.
Had a score of nearby thunder storms been raging and a hundred frame
houses ruthlessly been crushed between two great forces, their combined
noises might have been compared to those issuing from the stricken
vessel as she took her plunge--until the closing waters choked them into
a kind of gurgling silence, as though a bellowing giant were being
drowned instead of a thing of splintering wood and groaning steel.

Dazed as Jeb was, he saw a mountain-high wave of seething foam rise from
the grave and roar toward him with the speed of unchecked horses.
Tossing like jack-straws on its crest were bunks, in part or whole,
chairs, planking, and debris of all descriptions. As it drew near he
took a deep breath and crossed his arms to protect his face. The next
second it was atop of him.

An eternity seemed to pass before he came up--an eternity during which
he rolled over and over in a seething green wilderness. When, choked and
coughing, he gained the surface he felt that it had been changed into
another world. The former peace of waters scarcely disturbed by gentle
waves whereon heads had bobbed in apparent merriment, the listed ship
that had lain sleeping on the skyline, were gone; in their stead was a
great waste of hissing bubbles which burst about his face and blinded
him. The surface had become an ocean of hisses--as though the submarine,
agent of that nation which generates hate, had by some wicked magic
changed the water with its hatred, too! And in the midst of this
confusion a chorus of three hundred passionate voices wailed their
anguish to a passive God; for, while these human beings had been whole
before, there were now many whom the sweeping wreckage had torn--some
with fractured bones, some disembowled, some mercifully dead! Never
could Jeb have dreamed a transition so horrible!

Already scores of panic-stricken were climbing on an overturned boat,
drifting off to the right. Another upturned boat floated at a greater
distance, and Jeb saw the bobbing heads appear again, beginning to move
as a flock of swimming ducks toward it. But many heads did not move at
all, and he knew what their inertia meant. One of this kind floated
close to him, and made him sick. He pushed it away, but it kept drifting
back, seeming unwilling to leave him, till in desperation he untied the
life belt tapes and let it sink. An hour earlier, had Jeb been told he
could do this, he would have screamed denials.

Presently a voice hailed him cheerily, and he beheld Tim, still holding
the little nurse, balanced on a kind of box affair that floated almost
flush with the water.

"Come over, Jeb," the sergeant called. "Shure, an' there's room for wan
more, an' 'tis cold ye'll be, I'm thinkin' afore we turn in tonight!"

"He oughtn't to joke like that," Jeb thought, beginning now to shiver;
for he had become tired, and swam the intervening distance painfully.

"Easy, lad," Tim leaned to give him a hand, "for if ye don't look smart
'tis off we go agin, an' 'twon't do the lass no good bein' colder'n she
is! Did I hurt ye now, me darlin'?" he asked a moment later of the
little nurse, who smiled back at him. Blood and water were trickling
down her ashen face from a scalp wound; yet she was many times more
fortunate than scores of other poor creatures near to them. There is an
unparalleled ruthlessness in a sweeping wave of heavy debris, beneath
which a human body can be ground to atoms.

Jeb had no more than safely got astride the box--a tippy affair it
was--when they were startled by someone blaspheming in a way that made
their flesh creep. Even Tim blanched; for in the voice he recognized the
timbre of insanity. He had seen this happen in the trenches, when men
driven mad by concussion or gas or horrors ran amuck among their
fellows. The one who now swam toward them was evidently a stoker--a
powerful creature. His face was grimed with coal dirt, his eyes were
red, and his blasphemies were interspersed with hilarity at the prospect
of cutting their throats. When thirty yards off he stopped swimming,
reached beneath the life belt and got out a knife--then, holding it
conveniently between his teeth, came on.

Jeb would have left the box and made a dash for the open sea had not Tim
checked him by a firm command; for, with the little nurse wounded in his
arms, the sergeant had but one recourse and he was man enough to take
it.

"Be smart now, Jeb," he said. "Reach thot broken oar, lad, lest it
floats past ye! Now brace yeself, an' whin the poor divil gits clost,
belt 'im wan on the head wid all yer might! Kill 'im the first crack!"

"Kill him!" Jeb screamed in horror. "Kill him! Man, I can't!"

"Ye fool, ye can an' ye will!" Tim's voice bit into him like a file.
"D'ye want 'im up here slittin' the throats av us--an' this gir-rul to
boot? He's looney, man! 'Tis 'im, or the three av us! Quick--str-rike!"

Jeb felt his muscles turn to steel under this commanding voice. The
piece of oar rose high above his head and, as the crazed stoker was
about to lay hand upon the box, came down with all his strength.

The little nurse clung tighter to the sergeant and buried her face in
his tunic.

"Dear Christ!" she whispered, shivering.

The man floated slowly by, rising and falling easily with the waves. His
face hung downward in the water, his arms were extended in the attitude
of a benediction. After him trailed a narrow streak of red, growing
wider though less bright as it mingled with the sea.

"I wonder if the poor divil still has thot knife in his teeth," was
Tim's observation, spoken from the depth of sorrow.

Jeb held the broken oar out before him as a thing unclean, then opened
his fingers and let it fall.

Scarcely more than twenty minutes could have passed since the vessel
sank, but she had been struck late in the afternoon and the sun now
slanted perilously near the horizon. Tim and the little nurse looked at
it thoughtfully, but neither spoke. Only a slight pressure of their arms
suggested that each believed it would never rise for them--or, rising,
would look upon a sea of floating dead. Jeb had not noticed the sun. His
face was lowered close to the planking of their frail refuge. The ocean
had again become a thing of peace and beauty--and silence. Those who
were on upturned boats had realized the impotency of screaming, and
merely clung with dogged tenacity; those who had been too much lacerated
to reach these places of imperfect shelter, had yielded to the cradling
waves and were now asleep. Thus the minutes dragged. Then the sergeant
gave a cry of consternation.

"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot! May I be shot for a spy, if 'tain't
the submarine!"

Little more than a hundred yards away a monster was rising from the
sea. Jeb looked up just as the conning tower emerged with water rushing
off it like small Niagaras. Then, on a line of its submerged length, the
ocean seemed to heave, pressed upward by the long gray hull that now
broke through. It arose majestically, sleek as a bathing seal,
reflecting the westering sun like wet granite. Almost at once the
man-hatch in the conning tower opened, two sailors bobbed out and drew
respectfully aside as an officer climbed leisurely to deck. He stood
awhile twisting his mustache, gazing at the overturned boats with their
desperate crews; for the partially submerged box nearer by, and its
three human atoms, he had not yet noticed.

At sight of him the sergeant's temper flared.

"Look!" he cried. "Look, Jeb!--look, me darlin'!--see for wanst in yer
lives a murderin' sore dressed in the livery av a rotten master!" As the
officer turned in their direction Tim shook his fist at him, this time
becoming the incarnation of rage. "Turn yer ugly mug away!--turn it
away, I tell ye, from a sight too blessed for yer dirty eyes to see!--ye
cholera germ!--ye fester!--ye--ye----Oh, me darlin'," he wailed to the
little nurse, "if ye'd but go deaf a minute whilst I tell 'im what's in
me 'art!" And in disappointment he held his thumb to his nose, by this
most desperate sign trying to express the insults his tongue could not
utter.

Jeb was trembling.

"Don't make him mad, Tim," he implored. "He might kill us!"

"The dirty coward can only kill wan thing, an' thot's me body, but me
soul'll go on cussin' 'im till the ind av doom." He shook his fist
again, becoming more derisive: "Look at his head, now! If 'tain't the
shape av a rotten pear may I be shot for a spy!--mind ye how it <DW72>s
up to a p'int, both fore-and-aft, and amidships; the fat-jowled swine!"

The man had been regarding them stolidly. He may not have understood
Tim's insults, but the gestures were unmistakable. Without taking away
his stare he spoke a brief command to one of the sailors who ducked
below, reappearing with a rifle.

Tim grew at once thoughtful, but Jeb, cowering lower, began to hurl
abuses at him. He had warned him, he cried; and now see what was going
to happen!

Without further ado the sailor took deliberate aim and fired; the little
nurse flinched, shuddered, and relaxed. Tim looked down at her with
widening, almost unbelieving, eyes; then raised his face to the sky and,
like a wounded animal, emitted one long howl. All of the plucky
sergeant's grief, fury, self-condemnation--aye, and love--were in that
wail of agony.

The sailor was aiming for another shot when Jeb's ears were filled with
a weird, screeching noise; a violent jolt of air almost knocked him from
the box, and a geyser of spray shot up ten feet from the submarine's
bow. Before even the deep boom of the distant gun that had fired this
projectile reached him, another screeching followed, another jolt of air
struck him in the face, and this time, with a mighty roar, the undersea
boat split almost in two.

Had not the officer and two sailors been so intent upon a petty revenge
they might have seen, coming at express speed between themselves and the
sun, a British fast patrol; however, it is difficult at best to detect
spots against so dazzling a light--and there is, besides, the working of
an all-powerful justice to be reckoned with!

The two sailors, standing between their commander and the explosion,
crumpled up as if they were air bags pricked with a knife; but the
officer did not fall. He staggered once, nearly losing his balance, and
then looked stupidly at the great hole into which roared a revenging
sea. His U-boat was sinking fast; though by no agency from within. Those
below would forever remain below; they had made their own grave, and
their casket would be the steel monster which typified the steel-clad
hand of another monster--their master!

But the officer did not think so loyally of his master when he found
himself about to face a Higher King. The steel-clad hand had forsaken
him; even the German God--the "made in Germany" one which German
professors and German pastors were loud in proclaiming as distinct and
more refined than the God who watches over England, France and
America--had now forsaken him. He felt the same impulse to howl that
Tim had felt, although love and self-condemnation were not a part of it;
only hatred. The water had reached his feet; with one more look around
he sprang outward and began to swim.

"I've been prayin' for thot, me darlin'," Tim whispered. His arms
relaxed from about the little dead nurse. With fingers of tenderness he
untied the life belt tapes, then let her sink gently into the waves.
"God bless ye, lass! 'Tis only today we met, but ye'll live wid Tim
Doreen an' no ither till he's sent west to ye!" Leaning forward he
watched her as she sank into the light green water, her hair streaming
gracefully upward as though waving him goodbye, till the brightness of
it was claimed by the darker green below. Then Tim became another man.

"Which way is thot----" he bellowed, but he saw the pear-shaped head
before Jeb could answer. With one gesture of fury he stripped off his
own life belt, and yelled: "Now, ye murderer av women, wan av us is due
in hell, an' 'tain't Tim Doreen, ayther, ye tub av slop!"

He struck out powerfully, straight for the man he had sworn to kill,
but in changing once from the overhand to side stroke he saw Jeb, white
as a sheet, swimming directly behind. Without pausing, he asked:

"W'ot the divil brings ye here?"

"I owe him something, too," Jeb panted. "I'm coming."

For an instant the sergeant forgot his oath, and a slow grin overspread
his face.

"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot?" he said. "God bless ye, lad; but ye
can help best by settin' on the box. 'Tis me own fight; do as I tell ye,
now!"

Jeb could not have described that fight, because he was too far off to
see distinctly--and Tim never referred to it. But he saw the German,
when Tim had come to within ten feet of him, turn and begin swimming
frantically away. There was doubtless something in the sergeant's eyes
that sapped the other's courage. Relentlessly Tim gained, each stroke
bringing him a few inches nearer, till he seemed to crawl up on the
officer's back. After that they might have been two splashing fish--till
Tim began slowly to swim back.

"God, Tim," Jeb cried, holding out a hand. "I wish you'd let me come!
I--I believe I might have done it!"

The sergeant drew himself on the tippy box, and panted:

"Ye'll have a chance, lad whin ye see ither dastardly things thim
outcasts do! No man can keep from fightin', Jeb! Shure, an' the Boches
make their own wur-rst inimies!"

He sat despondently, regaining his breath and blinking the water from
his eyes, when something caught to a sleeve button on his tunic made him
stare. It was a short piece of black-and-white striped ribbon--the Order
of the Iron Cross--which the German had worn in a breast button-hole of
his uniform.

"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot," he mused.

Slowly he twisted off the button, and the ribbon with it, then leaned
above the spot where the little nurse's hair had waved her last
farewell, and let them sink.

"'Tis me first dicoration, darlin'," he whispered; and it was not the
ocean water now that blinded him.

Just as the red sun dipped that night the patrol boat picked up the
last piece of human wreckage, and dashed toward the coast of France.




CHAPTER IX


Barrow's unit had suffered sorely, but its gaps were filled from other
sources and fresh supplies received from home. Close upon the middle of
August it moved to take the field. This delay had not been without
advantages, perhaps the chief of which was a fluency in French that many
of his men were able to acquire. It had also given Jeb an opportunity to
acquire an entirely new viewpoint regarding the purposes of this war,
which had not penetrated to Hillsdale.

As the train now proceeded slowly, switching here and there to let other
strings of cars pass toward the front with more important freight, Jeb
felt that he was at last nearing the great adventure. His experience
with the submarine left an indelible effect without producing anything
like the result Tim would have desired. For Jeb had been involuntarily
projected into that crisis before being given time to think; he had
gone with the stream, not buoyed by courage but spurred by despair. Once
tossed into the hideous vortex, he simply had to get out--which was
vastly different from deliberately going into it with eyes ahead, as now
when he approached the battle front! Nevertheless, the torture he faced
upon the floating box, although unknown to him, left an impress for the
good.

As he sat uncomfortably drawn up on the seat of a third-class
compartment he missed Tim, and wondered dully if the regiment, which
that little son of Mars had said was waiting for him--at
attention!--could now be in the thick of things. He pictured Tim chasing
Germans with the same dogged nerve that he had chased and caught the
murderer of the little nurse. As evening fell, battle scenes grew vivid
in the twilit compartment, because he was thinking again! Whenever
speeding trains passed, their approaching rumbles would make him start,
and leave him sick in spirit; for each time he would at first mistake
them for the growling of distant guns, and he dreaded the hour when
these sounds would reach him. He despised the thought of guns, despised
the military trains, despised the war, the blood and maiming;--he
despised himself. He needed Tim!

"Is there anything on your mind, old fellow?" one of the unit asked him
kindly.

"Oh, no," he forced himself to laugh. "Have a cigarette, won't you?"

Early next morning, after an almost sleepless night, the unit
disembarked at a village standing as a solitary outpost on the edge of a
great unknown wilderness. Beyond this point the railroad, even
civilization, had been paralyzed by the dragon that fed upon humanity.
If Jeb expected the villagers to be out in force to greet Barrow's unit,
he was disappointed; for, with the exception of a crippled man
laboriously pushing a cart, a nun who with bowed head came from one
doorway and hurried into another, and a bent old woman struggling to
take down the night shutters from her shop window, the place might have
been deserted. On the far side of his train, however, where he had not
looked, a group of soldiers lounged about their wagons waiting to take
these passengers of mercy forward; unshaven chaps they were, well
meriting the nickname of _poilus_--"the hairy ones."

Now that the train had stopped he could hear the far-off growling of
guns; deep-voiced monsters which his imagination pictured straining on
their leashes while snarling at each other across the space of
miles--truly dogs of war! He drew farther back in the seat, dreading to
get out; but the moment had come, the fellows and nurses were moving to
the door, the great task was at hand! He tried, while standing, to
simulate indifference, but his legs were weak and his teeth chattered,
just a little, in spite of his effort to control himself. It seemed as
if he were forever wanting to yawn, conscious of the heaviness upon his
chest.

With Dr. Barrow and a lieutenant on the first creaking wagon, the others
followed, but there was no road. A morass was there, that formerly had
been a road--a ditch sloshy with mud which, in some places, made it
necessary for all hands to climb down and put their shoulders to the
wheels.

"It is trying, this traveling in limbers," the lieutenant smiled
apologetically. "The incessant hauling up of shells from our bases
destroys the best of roads in a few days. But what would you?" he
shrugged, smiling again. "If the ammunition dumps are constantly
depleted, they must be fed!"

The far-off French artillery, in skillfully emplaced positions to right
and left, seeming to enfilade on a point immediately ahead, was so
vigorously directed that the German guns must have been dazed, since
their counter-battery work sounded spasmodic and--so far as distance
permitted Jeb to guess--never effective. Yet he was moving toward that
tumult; as inexorably as death, he approached it. With eyes feeding upon
this new world and ears startled by fierce rumblings, he felt as though
he were living in a nightmare; and when the next minute threatened to
snap his reason or strangle his frantically pounding heart, he turned to
the driver, asking--but fearful of the answer:

"Who's winning this battle?"

It was spoken only in Hillsdale French, aided by a two months stop in
Paris; but his poilu companion smiled brightly and replied in the
average Paris English:

"Oh, Monsieur, there is now for three days what you call _moment
decalme_. Tomorrow, if no rain, _oui_!--perhaps a ver' fine battle!"

Then this was a lull!--this cannonading, that to Jeb seemed reaching
from skyline to skyline, was only a lull! Merciful God, he cried in his
soul, what might a battle be like!

By midday, after hours of frightful tugging, they were halfway on their
journey, being well out on what two weeks ago was the battle field, but
now presenting a picture of broadcast desolation. Shell craters, caused
by heavier projectiles burrowing and bursting, pockmarked the ground
like a telescopic photograph of the moon. Fields, so lately rich with
waving grain, were blasted into subsidences and cavities, bisected by
crumbled trenches before which the wreckage of barbed-wire
entanglements--a fortnight since forming barriers so impregnable as to
resemble from a distance walls of red rust--lay snarled and tied into a
million knots by the ruthless lyddite fingers.

It was a pastoral landscape distorted by the paralysis of suffering and
death, and Jeb realized that not for many years would these tortured
fields regain their tranquillity. Where were rises, now lay depressions;
the loamy top soil was blown into dust and scattered to the winds, while
sterile clay and pebbly strata had been boiled up from below to take its
place. Mixed with this mass of unprofitable earth, strewn over its
surface and buried for a depth of thirty feet, were thousands of tons of
other wire, iron stakes, and wire stanchions; cartridge cases, rifles,
and gas gongs; sand bags, iron scraps, and forge tools; steel helmets,
spades, and telephones; pieces of uniforms, water pipes, pick axes, gas
masks, binoculars, trench periscopes, blankets, surgical dressings,
boots, aye, and human bones--all, all things which the plow shares of
coming generations would be turning up to remind man (should man ever
forget) that Humanity had once been outraged by a people who, although
made in the imitation of Christ, preferred to assume the habits of
beasts.

"How, in the name of God," Jeb cried, "could any army stand before such
a blasting as must have been here!"

"Our army did, Monsieur," the driver said quietly. "It not only stood,
but drove the Boche far back."

"Well, I take off my hat to your army!"

"The world does, also, Monsieur," his companion replied; although it was
modestly spoken, without a hint of boastfulness. "We do not fight like
the Boche, Monsieur," he added simply. "Their methods are more like a
mob with a bad conscience; they fight more with a dread of being
defeated than with the honesty of soldiers who have an honest cause."

He then explained to Jeb that these fields, after all, represented
merely the face to face struggle of man and man, and were therefore less
sickening than the devastation they would see farther on, which stood as
a monument to the enemy's vilest cupidity. This became apparent when
they began to cross that stretch of country gloatingly described by
German newspapers as "the empire of death"--meaning a territory seven or
eight miles in width, extending over the entire front, which by order of
"the High German Command" was converted absolutely into waste. Forced by
the Allies to retreat, this "High German Command" conceived that, by
leaving a barrier of desolation and cruelty so terrible, no army would
be hardy enough, or have heart enough, to advance across it. Their
system was complete, as the results now showed--although their
calculations had gone wrong.

"First, Monsieur," he said, "they began by robbing the American Relief
Committee's supplies, immediately following their solemn pledge to
permit this food to succor the starving peasantry; therefore those
pitiable folk, already tragic human wrecks, continued to starve. Next
they killed these peasants' cows to fill their own precious bellies, and
then the little babies began, by slow starvation, to die. But the men,
women, and boys old enough to till the soil, or work in German
factories, were fed and sent away; the girls pretty enough to wait upon
German officers--you know what that means, Monsieur--were dressed in
stolen finery and, weeping, driven to their new positions--six hundred
of them taken from within the space that you are looking on now,
although we have learned that many succeeded in killing themselves. Only
the helpless aged and the babes escaped these brutalities; for they,
being useless, were left to the mercy of the vultures, unless salvaged
by our army. Right on this ground we saved many such, Monsieur; _Mon
Dieu!_ but how our army did weep over them!"

Jeb had already seen enough to bring this recital well within the focus
of truth, and as the wagons wound slowly forward he further saw to what
depth of hatred and cold malice the mind of that "High Command"
descended. Burned villages and hamlets might have been expected, as
conflagrations spring from bursting shells, yet even his inexperienced
eye detected a very sharp distinction between ruins wrought by military
operations and the vandalism caused by unbridled, bestial passions. For
nowhere upon this barren outlook had a house been left standing--all was
a mass of tumbled brick and stone and clay and twisted timbers, licked
by flames or crumbled by explosions scientifically placed by German
engineers; nay, nor was there even a barn, nor an agricultural implement
with which some palsied peasant woman might in time reclaim her land.
Iron of plows, of harrows, of cultivators, lay in piles amidst the
ashes of their frames; spokes of wagon and cart wheels had been hacked
to splinters, and harness cut into useless bits. Wells had been fouled
by chucking in their own dead, or stable refuse. In the orchards every
tree stood girdled, the immature fruit wrinkled amidst withered leaves.
Never again, unless French nurserymen sped here hastily to bridge from
bark to bark, or graft onto the old stumps,--as they had elsewhere
attempted with varying promise--would these <DW72>s of arboriculture put
forth buds; neither would the poplars, planes, mulberries, willows--all
had been granted citizenship to this newly created German Empire, "the
empire of death."

"Where are those whom you did not salvage--I mean the girls? Are they
still in the German lines?" Jeb asked.

"Not if they have found a way to die," his comrade answered in a
whisper. "The Belshazzar feast of those Prussian swine, Monsieur, is the
Calvary of every maid who does not find a swifter way to God--but the
debauched officers know that, and keep them closely guarded. Oh," he
cried, "our hearts give thanks that your country is coming to help us
avenge these things! All along we have said that if the American spirit
of decency and fairness--so well known and loved by us--could but see
even the little which you have seen, your armies would be pouring to our
aid!--just as your wonderful nurses have come!"

Jeb felt a rush of self-righteous anger that for the moment transcended
his horror of going forward. While in Paris he had read official
translations from the German press; now with his own eyes he was looking
upon the things gloatingly described in the _Berliner Tageblatt_[1] when
it told the people of Berlin: "The enemy's mouth must stay dry, his eyes
turn in vain to the wells--they are buried in rubble. No four walls for
him to settle down into; all levelled and burnt out, the villages turned
into dumps of rubbish, churches and church towers laid out in ruins.
Smouldering fires and smoke and stench; a rumble spreading from village
to village--the mine charges still doing their final work, which leaves
nothing more to do."

[Footnote 1: _Berliner Tageblatt._ March 26, 1917.]

It was a cry of false triumph that must have stirred the German
soul to joy, because the very next day, he now remembered, the
_Lokalanzeiger_[2] had boastfully added: "No village or farm was left
standing, no road was left passable, no railroad track or embankment,
nothing, nothing whatever, not a tub, not a bench for those who will
succeed them in the abandoned places. _What they could not take with
them they have burnt or smashed._ In front of our new positions runs an
Empire of Death--a Death which lays the shrivelled hands of destruction
upon _all the works of Man and all the bloom of Nature_." This, "by
order of the High German Command."

[Footnote 2: _Berlin Lokalanzeiger_, March 27, 1917.]

It was the last word of Barbarity! But what the _Berliner Tageblatt_ and
the _Lokalanzeiger_ did not tell their readers, Jeb now realized with a
shudder, would have made a chapter of degeneracy and revolting crime
unparalleled in history.

Yet, even in the face of this, he turned sick at the thought of going
forward to the certain annihilation awaiting him in that ghostly
wilderness of mist and wet and wreckage ahead. On the other hand, how
in God's name could he keep from going, he asked himself, when the blood
of innocents was calling on every side! He felt again the "something
strong within him which commanded";--but he hated it!

Had Dr. Barrow been sufficiently skillful with the knife, he might have
dissected out this better Jeb who insisted on going forward, and let the
other crawl into a shell hole to hide for the rest of time; then both
Jebs would have been supremely satisfied. But, being first and foremost
a courageous man, he did not suspect that any one of his unit could
possibly falter. Jeb knew this, and it made him feel all the more alone.

They reached a rise in the rolling landscape and stopped to breathe
their beasts which were shaking the heavy limbers by their desperate
gasps for air. The ground sloped down and up again, and there, protected
from the enemy, a new world came into view--a world wherein American,
French and English engineers, commanding an army of construction, worked
feverishly, as ants. For an instant the nobler Jeb prevailed, and he
raised his eyes in a mute prayer of thankfulness for this trio of
forces--the strongest combination the world has ever seen! The rumbling
cannon ceased to jar his nerves, while he gazed wistfully at the low
clouds sweeping by in companies that seemed to hasten from this theatre
of wrath. Occasional gusts of white smoke burst into being just beneath
them and hung a moment suspended before racing on; or a distant squirt
of lace-like shrapnel, curving ever downward, came to see what went on
behind the Allied lines.

Beyond these gusts and squirts of man-made clouds, observation
balloons--the "sausages" of the enemy--floated motionless above the
horizon, sometimes catching a fleck of sunlight and glistening like dull
silver. There were no German fliers in the air that day, but high above,
as gray vultures hungrily soaring over one spot, two American, two
British and four French airmen glided back and forth, in and out,
circling, circling. With such grace and ease did they pirouette through
their reconnaisance that Jeb was reminded of an aerial quadrille being
danced five thousand feet above the earth; or, seeming to tire of this,
one of them would change the play to hide-and-seek, point toward the
translucent blue and scoot behind a cloud, with the others following. It
was a cordial invitation for the Boche to come up and fight! Jeb did not
see them again for several minutes, but he noticed that one of the kite
balloons suddenly burst into a little puff of flame and disappeared.
Unconsciously, he grinned.

"_Sacre bleu!_" the _poilu_ cried delightedly. "More honor to our
'75's'!"

"I thought the planes did it!" Jeb turned in surprise.

"Oh, no, Monsieur! That was done by one of our guns six miles away!"

Below the pirouetting airmen there was no poetry of motion. Here men
strained and panted and wiped grimy sweat from their eyes. A month ago
this ground ahead had been vigorously contested--the very spot on which
Jeb now stood had been well within the German lines.

In the thoroughness with which the engineers were making fast their
gains, a military observer would have read that not only would the
Allied army draw the sting from this "empire of death," but that never
again would this part of France be yielded to alien hands. As far as the
eye could reach roads were being improved, others made; the buried
railways were being excavated, metals straightened, or replaced if too
far bent; shell-proof dug-outs were having their finishing touches, some
to be used as dressing-stations for the wounded whom to-morrow might
bring in, others for storing ammunition. In a nearby wood, where trees
had been reduced to little more than gaunt trunks barren of leaf and
twig, observation posts were built with many tons of branches hauled
from the rear, and so artfully wired in place that the stricken giants
seemed almost ready to live again. This work in itself constituted
reason enough for the Allied airmen to sweep the sky of German
observers, since only by "putting out the enemy's eye" could such
secrets of camouflage be preserved. Wells were being bored by gas engine
power and pipes laid, as spider webs, to bring untainted water to man
and beast. Then, of course, shallow trenches had to be dug for
telephone wires which otherwise would perish in the first onslaught of
artillery fire.

Among the trenches of greater magnitude, recently pounded to the point
of obliteration, activities were being pressed at highest tension, for
here the destruction had been particularly severe. The Germans had held
them well, but no human agency could have prevailed against the
unfaltering valor of the Allies. Now they were in Allied hands, and
being prepared for Allied shelter. From sunken approaches to the
assembly trenches, and from there forward through an intricate maze of
communicating passages to the firing trench, tens of thousands of men
were busy with pick and shovel--not, however, constructing the narrow,
steep-sided affairs which proved so disastrous to the Germans on the
Somme, but a shallower type of trench having more flare and a wider
sole. Just behind them worked the plumbers and pipemen, the carpenters
and timber placers, the electricians with their coils of wire and
telephones; everything perfected with the greatest nicety today, which
tomorrow--or the next, or next, tomorrow--would be buried for future
plowshares. War could not be war unless it were the highest expression
of construction and destruction, even as it raises life and death to the
highest power of sublimity!

Boring like huge worms from the front line outward, were tunnellers,
biting into the earth with grim persistence to lay mines beneath the
enemy; not that this work would be finished in time for tomorrow's
action, wherein plans were already completed to press forward, but
should the German positions prove firm enough to establish another
temporary deadlock, then they would serve a purpose. By such forethought
are battles won, when nothing is underestimated, nothing overlooked, no
shade of opportunity neglected, and all chances accounted for.

"I never dreamed it was so gigantic a game as this," Jeb gasped.

"But there is much more, Monsieur," his companion smiled.

"Does no one ever rest?" Jeb asked, in a voice of awe.

"Oh, yes, Monsieur," the _poilu_ smiled again. "In places where the
trenches have been cleared and mended, where telephone wires have been
connected to instruments, where water pipes have been brought down and
fauceted, flooring built across mucky places, gas gongs installed,
ammunition, grenades and tinned food stored in the newly finished
shell-proof chambers, you will find a few over-exhausted men sprawled
out, sleeping."

While Jeb could see nothing of this, the driver promised to get him into
it soon enough--a suggestion that turned him away in search of other
scenes and thoughts. Off to the right two lines of snags marked what had
once been graceful poplars edging a famous _route national_, but
now----! He glanced quickly backward along the direction from which he
came. Here, at first, a brighter prospect met his eyes: the far-off
rolling <DW72>s were green, the far-off woods had not been stripped of
leaves; but never could the grim story be quite wiped out for, across
this verdant scene, as a long, thin reptile with a million legs, crawled
an endless line of artillery and munition trains.

"Can't I ever get away from it!" he cried to himself, shutting his eyes
in agony.

The horses had been rested and word came to proceed; the limbers creaked
and moved. Jeb gripped the seat in terror, feeling now that before they
got half way down the <DW72> a German gunner would pick them out and
touch the magic spring which reduces men--not symbolically but
literally--to dust. Yet he breathed more freely and sent another prayer
up for the engineers when almost at once they entered a sunken road,
converging toward the enemy although keeping well out of sight. At
places where the terrain did not admit of this shelter, or other roads
went off at tangents, long strips of canvas were stretched across the
openings, their outer sides being painted, in theatre scenery fashion,
to represent the surrounding ground. If the Germans had only known that
thousands of troops and thousands of tons of ammunition passed daily
within easy range of their guns, protected by a wall of 10-ounce canvas!
Another important reason for sweeping their planes from the sky!

The _poilu_ called Jeb's attention to these ingenious devices of
camouflage, seeming to think them a great joke.

"But for the good God having made the Boche, Monsieur, I should call
them asses with long ears for never estimating our _finesse_ and
resource."

"It wouldn't be disrespectful, Frenchie," one of the unit laughed,
"because the good God made asses, too!"

"Well, Monsieur, I feel there should be an apology somewhere! Perhaps it
is to the four-footed asses."

They climbed down at last and, each loaded with supplies, tramped
through half a mile of communicating trenches to the protected
dressing-stable dug-outs--roomy affairs, twenty feet below the surface
and opening rearward into a kind of quadrangle. Five hundred yards ahead
were the firing trenches, where things would happen; and the _poilu_,
observing this, grimly remarked:

"_Sacre bleu!_ They certainly have ordered you up to the very front,
Monsieur! 'Tis not often the women are brought so close--but it means,
Monsieur, that our Generals are positive of driving the Boche far back
tomorrow!"

The chief surgeon in charge here rushed to meet them with open arms,
embracing Dr. Barrow warmly; and then Barrow stepped back to look at
him, for this was the great Bonsecours! Georges Bonsecours! He saw a man
of medium height, and of medium build, slightly gray about his temples,
and in the neighborhood of forty years of age. No one of these things
was particularly distinguishing, but when he spoke--ah, then the
impelling magnetism which drew others close to him, the force which sent
them flying off to various duties, was easily explained. His eyes, while
twinkling merrily as though everything in life possessed a touch of
humor, also gave the impression that they could see beneath five layers
of skin tissue--that by some canny second sight they could detect a
piece of shrapnel without the aid of probes or X-ray; but a closer
inspection showed that they were set in a face which had become seamed
by weariness. His arms, also, hung with a directness that indicated
great fatigue.

While supplies were being stored away and the women nurses had retired
for a needed rest, the world-famed surgeon escorted Dr. Barrow farther
down the line of dressing-stations, particularly to see his own unit
which had been in this sector since the middle of April.

"Monsieur le Doctor," he said,--then continued in beautiful English--"I
am greatly impressed with the fortitude of your American women who have
assisted me. There is one--but why mention one, when they all typify to
my mind graceful columns of ivory; pure in their strength and certainty,
crystal in their thoughts and deeds! My operating table is a Grecian
temple, Monsieur, when they surround it."

"That is a beautiful tribute," said Barrow, flushing with pride.

"Not as beautiful, Monsieur, as the inspiration and assistance which one
of them has given me." He stopped, blushing like a girl, then continued
frankly with an infectious smile: "We learn to be outspoken on the edge
of No Man's Land--perhaps it is because we never know at what moment our
lips may be completely sealed that we appreciate the value of saying
fearlessly what is in our minds; therefore I will finish by telling you
that, next to an Allied victory, my greatest hope is that she may be
persuaded to share my fortune in Paris, after we are finished with the
fortunes of war!"

"I could wish no girl better luck than that," Barrow smiled. "To us at
home you stand as a kind of demi-god, a wizard, who----"

"Ah, Monsieur, I have accomplished nothing, really, until I came here,
where her sympathy and bravery have made me see new things! I tell her
that she inherits these traits from an angel mother and an American
Indian father."

Both men laughed delightedly; Dr. Barrow little dreaming at the moment
that this American girl, beloved by every one around her, was the
daughter of an old friend who edited a paper down--or was it up?--in
Hillsdale.

"You see that we are close to things here," Bonsecours continued, as
they walked along.

"I had wondered about the women being so near the front," Barrow
replied.

"Well, Monsieur, in some sectors this position is safer for them than
farther back--only, of course, when our artillery and line is as strong
as here, and the dressing-stations as well protected. Besides," he
added softly, "we are needing many nurses, and have lost fearfully in
men and orderlies."

The sun set clear that evening, putting a sparkle in the air which
touched one's nerves like wine. Shortly before twilight Jeb was drawn to
the entrance of his dug-out by the tramping and sloshing of many feet.
He walked the length of the quadrangle to where it joined a
communicating trench and for half an hour--even after the night had
grown too dark to see distinctly--watched an incessant line of soldiery
moving forward to positions. Tramp, tramp, they went, under orders of
silence, because something big was on the boards for tomorrow. But 'twas
not the quiet of glumness that enveloped them, for they showed in every
step an elasticity of spirits, as of muscles. He might have called it a
fluid line, so lithely did it flow by; he might have called it a line of
gods, so proudly did each man hold his steel-capped head!

The firing trench lay about six hundred yards from the German first
line; six hundred yards of No Man's Land waiting passively for the
shambles! Jeb wrung his hands and leaned against the earthen wall. With
that stark struggle for existence but a few hours off, how was it
possible for men to step out happily! What would he be doing, were he
amongst them!

The line was still passing, coming out of the impenetrable and
marching--who knew where! when he stumbled through the dark entrance of
the dug-out.

"What's going on out there?" a comrade asked.

"Ghosts," he answered, feeling for his bunk and throwing himself face
down on it.

He was tired to exhaustion, his nerves were starved for rest. The
dug-out was chilly after sundown and he reached fumblingly for his
blanket, found himself lying upon it and awkwardly wriggled under.

The warmth was good. In a little while the steady tramp of men going to
kill or die--for 'tis thus the gods play with us!--became a soothing
lullaby, and lured him into sleep.




CHAPTER X


From this deep slumber Jeb was aroused by the very incarnation of
doomsday noises that sent him bounding to the floor with nerves aquiver.
The blanket dragging after him hung from his shoulders, even as
bewilderment and sleep clung to his mind. His senses knew that it was
night, although details about him were brought into sharp relief by a
thousand flashes spasmodically flooding the dug-out with fiendish
brilliancy; and he knew that his body was cold, although the walls and
timbers seemed to be consumed by raging fires. He felt the ground
trembling in the throes of a titanic upheaval, while his entire being
seemed to be hammered and torn by the frightful cataclysm of sounds. He
stood as though paralyzed, unmindful that bits of earth and gravel were
sifting through chinks between the ceiling timbers and falling on his
head.

Other members of the unit had staggered into wakefulness and sat staring
at him, he thought, with greenish, flickering faces--accusingly, as if
he were responsible. Each knew the French guns had searched out and were
crumbling up the German defenses, but none had previously suspected that
an artillery bombardment could reach such fury. The desultory firing of
yesterday might well be understood as a _moment decalme_!

In this instant of terrified amazement Jeb and his comrades remained as
statues, simply staring with owlish eyes devoid of intelligence, since
it was well nigh impossible for men, uninitiated, to master their
faculties until the first shock had been absorbed.

'Twas not so much the roar of cannon from their distant places in the
rear--although these alone might doubtless have been startling
enough--but the shower of projectiles falling on the doomed line only
six hundred yards across No Man's Land. In answer to this bombardment
from an eight-mile line of guns accurately trained the day before, enemy
guns, trained with lesser accuracy, did their best to inflict an equal
punishment. The effect was a combination of the solemnity and the
littleness of man which defies every knack of human expression to
depict.

The seasoned soldier could have told some things; he could have
distinguished calibre from calibre as readily as the skillful fox hunter
knows the position of his racing hounds by the quality of their voices.
He could have spotted the vindictive crash of "75's," the deep-toned
bellowing of "heavies," or, nearer by--had they been in action--the
banging of trench mortars. In the sky he could have told from white or
greenish-orange flashes, from lace-like wreaths or fixed-star blasts,
where shrapnel or high explosive shells had burst; from the ringing of a
gas gong he could tell where "green cross" shells were falling; he
could, and gladly would, have explained--to his own satisfaction, at
least--the many freak phenomena: a solitary light spirally ascending
upward until lost in the clouds; sprays of fire and spark-showers
illumining the sky; rainbow arcs of angry red that flickered, as an
aurora borealis, from horizon to horizon.

But the uninitiated Medical Corps unit, numbed to inertia, was only
sensible to an overhead riot of screeching demons, as shells hurtling
forward were passed and answered by shells hurtling back--a sky of
flying steel and a horizon of blasted earth! In moments of greatest
concussion, simultaneous with the most blinding flashes, the air about
their faces seemed to jump; crazy little vortexes scurried past the
dug-out opening, or flew in across the floor, like phantom kittens
seized by some curious madness. To Jeb's highly imaginative, and now
half-crazed, mind these represented newly liberated souls, in anguish
seeking refuge from the hurricane of death and its drenching rain of
fire. He had not then found out how many hundreds of shells must be
fired to wound one man!

On the Allied side the bombardment, with growing intensity, became a
_barrage_. Explosions came as thick as drum taps when a roll is sounded.
There seemed to be no intermission, really; no more, at any rate, than
one's ear can detect between clicks in a telegraph room when the
instruments work rapidly.

Barrow and Bonsecours ran in. They looked weirdly grotesque in the
fitful playing of lights, and Bonsecours shouted something, although no
voice seemed to issue from his lips. Then with vigorous gestures he
beckoned the men up to him--having come especially to get this new unit
straightened out, since his own veterans knew exactly what to do.

Jeb had not moved, for the blanket still hung from his shoulders.
Neither had the others arisen from their bunks, so bewildered were they
also by the chorus of death engines.

"Up now, and active!" the great surgeon yelled. "Stretchers! You go out
shortly!"

"Go out!" Jeb screamed, finding his voice in a burst. "Go out!" he
screamed again. "God Almighty, no one can go out _there_!"

His face was ghostlike, his eyes were large, staring, vacant. Bonsecours
stepped nearer and studied him, bellowing in a tone that had made more
than one man obey:

"There are twenty thousand fine fellows, _mon chere enfant_, each about
to spring from his trench with the firm belief that if he gets hit we
shall bring him in. No man dares break faith with a friend who thus
relies on him!" He had put both hands on Jeb's shoulders and now
continued to look steadfastly, honestly into his eyes. Then quickly he
kissed him on both cheeks, saying: "I'll believe in you tonight, to do
as I would do were my duty not back here!"

A strange feeling of warmth and strength passed through Jeb's veins, but
he was given no time for reply, because this man of iron turned to the
assembled unit, shouting:

"At dawn this curtain of shells will be lifted and dropped on the Boche
second line. That instant our boys go over the top, across No Man's
Land. But Germans burrow under ground in a _barrage_, or run out forward
and lie down to escape it; so there will still be many with machine-guns
left to rake the open stretch, and not all of our brave fellows will get
across. It is those," he added, in a voice of thunder, "whom the good
God expects us to bring in!"

There was no disobeying this man. Jeb felt sick through and through, but
as the others filed out, every second one with a folded stretcher, he,
also, followed. Yet he wanted to hold back; he wanted to dash into the
darkest niche of the dug-out, bury his face there and--well, die! To
die at once, outright, was preferable to the mental torture of expected
laceration and suffering; nor could even the great Bonsecours have
convinced him that these two monsters were not crouching, waiting
especially for the moment when he should step forth.

While the dressing-station shelters opened into a roomy quadrangle, that
in turn connected with trenches, there had also been cut narrow roadways
up past the side of each dug-out, ascending sharply toward the front. By
this rough and gravelly, though more direct, means, stretcher-bearers
could be upon the crest in a twinkling, thence forward and downward over
narrow bridges spanning the first line trench to No Man's Land itself.

As the stretcher-bearers of Barrow's unit poured out beneath the sky--or
what would have been a sky had not incarnate fiends usurped it--Jeb
found himself moving next to Bonsecours. Even in this strain, when men
were thinking in terms of armies, the famous surgeon with infinite tact
went about supporting the props of one human atom. After all, he had
been trained to mend one man at a time! He spoke no word until they had
climbed the sloping roadway and laid flat, peeping over; then, with his
lips close to Jeb's ear, he shouted:

"Have no fear! When man calls on the highest expression of his will, he
becomes indomitable; he succeeds in the highest terms of success--and
thus will you succeed, _mon pauvre enfant_! Look!"

He sprang up, pointing where the fringe of that French fire curtain
touched this great stage. The blinding lights flickered over his face
and made him supreme at that moment. In the continuous, head-splitting
noises of three thousand shells per minute, bursting on an eight-mile
segment, he looked more like a war god than an agent of mercy.

The German position was crumbling--rather, it was being blasted out of
existence. To Jeb it might have marked the very brink of hell. The
flashes were almost as a steady white and greenish-orange blaze, and
showed the earth spurting in great bunches upward; stiff winds that had
sent clouds scurrying the day before now caught the ground smoke and
drew it, as a sweeping prairie fire, back upon the enemy. This was a
propitious wind, and on its wings the death gas sped.

Between the armies lay No Man's Land in utter desolation, but each
little detail, each inconspicuous bit of wreckage left from earlier
struggles, stood boldly outlined in the calcium glare. This was the
stretch of ground he would be searching when the curtain lifted--except
that its surface would then be strewn with men; some drawn up in pain,
some moaning, some whimpering, some cursing, some terribly still. Had
ever a curtain lifted on more poignant tragedy! Was there a parallel in
crime to this wholesale slaughter which a treacherous nation thrust upon
a peaceful world! Jeb tried to wonder how many dead might be there, but
found that his mind would not leave the point of destruction; it had
become riveted, as a bird is said to be mesmerized by a slowly
approaching snake.

Lying just behind the ridge, feeling the earth tremble beneath his body,
waiting for Bonsecours' command to dash into that cockpit of suffering
and there mingle with the torn, the dying and the dead, he repeated
over and over the great surgeon's words which bit into him like acid:
"It is those whom the good God expects us to bring in!"

The dawn was coming! No sun appeared, but the flashes grew less
blinding; the ground close to his face began to show natural browns
where formerly had been flickering greens, and his hands looked more
alive than dead. Also did the whole scene change as sky and earth
increased their fury in this blending of the real and unreal; for, now
added to the noises and fitful lights, were huge balls of white smoke,
and brown, springing into quick existence; some expanded to balloon size
and swept majestically onward, upward; some, caught in a vortex of
madness,--swirling, writhing, darting,--formed devilishly gruesome
arabesques that yet were formless; some burst like pon-pons; some
released long streamers and darted earthward. Jeb's eyes were held by
this appalling grandeur; his soul was chained, numbed, by its unlicensed
braggadocio.

As though some invisible hand touched the spring of a jumping-jack box
eight miles in length and released twenty thousand monkeys, the trench
beneath Jeb seemed to open with a snap. Even above the cannonading he
could hear men give vent to savage cheering. But his blood congealed and
his fingers dug into the earth, his breath came in agonized gasps, as he
watched them rush pell-mell, with bayonets fixed, across that deadly
strip of ground.

Then suddenly the artillery ceased. The far-off German guns still
roared, but they were as taps of rain upon a roof to ears that had
almost bled from other detonations. For a moment Jeb thought he had been
stricken deaf, and turned a questioning glance at Bonsecours, whose eyes
were staring ahead in strained expectancy.

"See, Americans! The curtain has raised for our brave fellows, and it
will now fall on the second line!"

In the immediate silence his voice seemed to be bellowing--then the
mighty guns, having lifted the range, crashed out again. Yet, mingled
with the blasting of this second line, could be heard the spiteful
rattling of machine-guns, the fusillade of rifle fire, as the enemy,
scrambling to places from the punishment they had just been through,
poured death into the headlong charge.

The scene to Jeb now became a phantasmagoria of horrors. Men running
with the speed of deer suddenly, and without apparent cause, pitched
forward, rose and again went down; some stumbled awkwardly and did not
try to rise. But the great wave, like a breaker rolling inward, swept
irresistibly. Tired and encumbered though each man was who made up this
wave, in a prodigiously short time they were pouring into the German
trench.

Such is the accuracy of modern warfare--and of the French, who are the
finest artillerymen in the world--that at the expiration of six minutes
another appalling silence filled the air. The curtain of fire had again
been lifted, to fall this time still farther back; even as the sweeping
wave of infantry, without apparently a check, rolled on to take the
second German line just emerging from its bath of fire.

Bonsecours seemed too fascinated to give or think of orders, yet he knew
the time was not quite ripe, for part of a division had yet to come up
from the assembly trenches in the rear, to form another wave which would
go barging after the first.

Streams of these steel-helmeted fellows now began to pass--as the fluid
line had passed in yesterday's twilight--close below Jeb. In the
broadening daylight he could distinctly see their bronzed, immobile
faces; their swinging gait, suggesting abundant reserve power, and their
eyes that bespoke an utter disregard of dangers. They were men, second
to none in determination and reckless personal valor, who did not endure
hardship, but rode upon it; who did not work, without first laughing it
into play. If the sun was hot, they sweated good humor; and, if the sky
rained torrents, good humor trickled in rivulets down their backs. They
had learned to treat flying shells with contempt, except when any of
their comrades fell--and then a cold fury would burst amidst their
ranks, exploding, not into tears, but oaths! Those oaths!--snapped
barkingly from mouth to mouth while death was bursting right and left
and overhead, and bayonets were fixing for a greater toll!

Jeb felt, with an uncanny sense of prophecy, that in this marching line
was depicted a new phase of man growing out of war. The individual
preferment which many of them enjoyed four years ago had thinned to
nothingness in the welding of this great warrior-force of comrades, who
never again would quite resume their former status. For, when a clubman
eats and sleeps and jokes and fights beside the waiter who used to bring
his cocktail, he learns to love that man, and the love is mutual; when a
millionaire is dragged to shelter by the husky grocer's boy who used to
leave a basket at his kitchen door, he also loves that boy, and the boy
loves him. Each finds in the other values which are not measured by
worldly goods, or the stamp of birth, or family influence; each sees in
the naked soul of each truer riches which transcend what formerly had
been false. And thus, in the armies of those supermen who after the war
march home to lasting peace, the stamp of aristocracy will be the
Aristocracy of Worth. It was many months before Jeb realized that,
almost unconsciously, he had read this prophecy in the fire of
death-dealing shells.

Again the range lifted, this time past a hamlet that stood in partial
ruins on a hill. It had been spared complete destruction at German
hands, doubtless because the enemy had left it hurriedly, and now the
French artillerymen carefully avoided it lest a few old folk and
children might be there. The human wave would sweep it clean enough of
aliens! Yet that wave had come upon a rocky shore, and Jeb imagined he
could hear the metallic clash and rasp of bayonet on bayonet, the gasps
and sobs and curses of men fighting without quarter.

The new division just brought up now scrambled over the top, but No
Man's Land had been largely stripped of dangers. Victory sparkled in the
air; safety smiled at Jeb; with these fellows carrying the battle ever
away from him, performing the unbelievable in pluck and endurance, he
did not so much mind the thought of going for the wounded! But the
uplift was transient--it fled in a panic as Bonsecours called:

"Quick, _mes chere enfants_, be after them! Overlook no one! Let the
walking cases get in alone, and bring the others with all haste!
There's one of your American girls in my unit who bids you God-speed!
Go!"

The time had come! Dripping sweat from every pore, desperately seized
again with trembling, Jeb staggered to his feet and started forward.




CHAPTER XI


Bonsecours' command had been well timed, for up and down the line other
men bearing stretchers bounded forward. Jeb's partner in this work, a
lanky middle-westerner, called "Omaha" for love--although "John
Hastings" was stamped in his identification disk--sprang out at a
dog-trot, crossing the trench bridge and quickly getting into the plain
below as if he were an old hand at this game instead of undertaking it
now for the first time.

Jeb, following closely at his heels, had become utterly terrified. His
flesh was numb and his legs moved automatically, rather than by
conscious effort. The former mite of courage had atrophied. He felt
wretchedly alone and unprotected, as an atom of dust drifting across a
sunbeam. He wanted to clutch at something--to hold himself back--to
scream!

Half a mile to right and left the Germans were plastering No Man's Land
with a pitiless fire, but thus far the ground immediately about him
remained scarcely touched. Shells occasionally burst on the trenches
just behind, but Barrow's unit luckily was being permitted to go without
serious embarrassment. And yet Jeb knew that it was only a matter of
time before he and Hastings would receive a blasting. He shivered,
jabbering words he could not have recalled a minute later; once cursing
himself for a coward, then calling himself a liar for having said it.

There were not as many prone men on the field as he had expected to
find. To his bulging eyes which watched the first charge, men seemed to
be falling everywhere, but as a matter of fact this was not so.

They had gone quite a third of the distance across when Hastings stopped
and unrolled the stretcher, shouting:

"Here's one! Lend a hand, Jeb!"

The coolness of the voice, its utmost naturalness, gave Jeb a most
agreeable feeling, and before remembering again that men who drop in
battle are things of blood and pain, he was easing one gently over on
the brown canvas.

They started to come in, Hastings at the forward handles, he at the
rear; moving as fast as the added weight permitted, skirting shell holes
and stepping over fragments of barbed-wire. Crossing the first trench
bridge a hundred faces looked up at them, steadily, unemotionally.
Another division had been brought up after the second wave swept out,
and a few of these fellows now said quietly: "Bravo!" But their thoughts
were with the chap who lay silent on the canvas.

Reaching the top of the gravelly roadway that sloped to the
dressing-stations, burying their heels in the loose earth which rolled
along with them as they descended, the stretcher-bearers saw Barrow in a
white jacket, and several white-faced nurses expectantly waiting; for
this had been the first man brought in. Even as he was stripped and laid
upon the crude table, Jeb and Hastings were well on their way out again.

In four hours No Man's Land had been fairly well cleared of suffering.
Although Jeb was growing indifferent to the sight of blood, several
times, as a result of extreme fear, he had been actively sick. The
shells were as terrifying as ever; moreover, he and Hastings had to
penetrate farther each time in search of wounded. Their last trip took
them nearly to the scarp of blasted ground on which stood the
half-destroyed hamlet. True, there had been shells bursting within a
hundred yards of Jeb; but it so happened that he was particularly
engrossed with lifting or easing some of the wounded. Once, when a
splinter of steel cut Hastings' sleeve, the lanky westerner gave a
whistle.

"That was close," he said.

And Jeb, newly terrified by the words, looked up quickly, asking:

"Did one come by?"

"Well, if it did, it did," Hastings answered. "Cut out your chills, Jeb,
and let's get this feller in!"

But Jeb could not "cut out" the chill at once because another shell
burst while he was looking, driving him into a panic so acute that
Hastings began to swear.

Toward midday the wind fell and the heat became intense. Smoke, acrid
and at times stifling, hung in the hollows like white- and
brown-streaked palls, and the unwholesome smell of burning which infests
battlefields was sickening. Jeb's clothes were wringing wet, and each
time he panted across the first trench bridge he noted how the waiting
men under steel helmets were drenched with perspiration. One of them
called up to him:

"It's our turn next!--keep an eye open for me!"

The fellow was trying to grin, but succeeded only in making an ugly
leer. Jeb read it in a flash--the man was afraid!--and a stinging sense
of mortification came over him as he wondered if his own face had been
as tell-tale--if it were now as tell-tale!

Over on the battle front, and especially around the half-destroyed
hamlet, the Germans were contesting every foot that led to their third
line of defense, while the Allies fought with stark madness to dislodge
them. The airmen hovering above, having for the third time that day
swept the sky of combatants, saw with surprise that armies on both sides
were losing cohesion. Some units of the Allies had lost direction,
others bored their way through the German line then, finding themselves
hemmed in, fought out again; in many places were noticed small groups so
intent upon their own little conflicts that they seemed to be having no
part in the big game, at all. But these aerial observers realized that
the tremendous sledge-hammer blows, directed with consummate skill and
resiliency, left the mass of wastage on the German side; for, with
strategical and tactical problems suddenly changed from boxed-in trench
warfare to the elastic manoeuvers of open battle, the directing mind
which is more elastic, all things else being equal, wins the day--and,
whatever other virtues the Boche may possess, his mind can hardly be
said to expand spontaneously. At the same time, the enemy was dying
hard: fortifying at a moment's notice when forced into a corner, and
making heroic resistance with machine-guns in patches of woods, craters,
or other favorable moulding of the terrain.

When Jeb sweated in behind Hastings at one o'clock he staggered down the
road without seeing it. From lack of food, and the horrible wrenching
nausea he had suffered, as well as the terror gnawing more and more
into his soul, he was pretty well done for.

Barrow, noting this with the eye of a skilful physician, sent a nurse
for black coffee and a bowl of soup, but Jeb rebelled in disgust at the
thought of it.

"Come, now," his chief said commandingly, when the nurse returned, "shut
your eyes and drink them down, I tell you! We need you, Jeb; you mustn't
kick up sick the first day!"

We need you! The words stirred new life in him. Then came a vision of
the great Bonsecours as he had pointed toward No Man's Land and cried:
"It is those whom the good God expects us to bring in!"

He swallowed the soup and coffee, doggedly turned and followed Hastings
up the <DW72> again. But, behind the back of his lanky partner, he was
whimpering softly. Never before had the battle scene beyond inspired him
with so much terror as now, for its ebb and flow was leaving a greater
human wreckage than the Red Cross men could handle. The wounded were
arriving at longer periods, because the stretcher-bearers were having
farther and farther to go for them; and the disturbing fact was
becoming evident that there were less stretcher-bearers than had started
out in the morning.

Before Jeb's eyes now the third division barged over the top, leaving
the front trench deserted. He saw the line hold beautifully for the
first hundred yards, then become more and more phantom-like as it
plunged deeper into the pall of smoke. He wondered dully if the fellow
who had said: "Watch for me!" had found his nerve, or was still grinning
the sickly leer of cowardice.

"That smoke ain't such a bad screen, Jeb," Hastings shouted. "Come on;
let's get busy!"

Into it again they passed; many times that afternoon they came out and
passed again into it. The last trip took them nearly to the old German
first line--since morning blasted level with the ground--before they
found a man who had not passed the point of aid. There were plenty about
them of the other kind, for machine-guns here had done frightful work.
Leading the way back, confused by sounds and smoke, Hastings lost
direction, coming within a trice of being picked up and carried by a
sudden rush of the French troops. Jeb, more insane with fear than
anger, cursed him with every oath he had ever heard, but the forward
stretcher-bearer, making allowances, went indifferently on.

They had got about halfway when the wounded man suddenly raised up,
clutched at Jeb, and fell over to the ground. Jeb dropped the handles
and screamed with terror, for it had been a ghastly sight, just a little
more than his already badly rattled nerves could stand. But Hastings,
turning, kneeled down for a better look; then solemnly arose and pointed
with his thumb toward the conflict. Back they started for another load,
but this last experience had almost been Jeb's undoing. He was obsessed
with the idea that it had been the omen of Death reaching for him; he
was gasping pitifully, ever alert for shell fire, and cringing at
detonations too far off to be of danger. Try as he would to make his
feet go forward, his hands pulled against the stretcher handles, until
Hastings turned and repaid him with a longer string of oaths. These, and
a memory of the ennobling words of Bonsecours, gave him strength for a
new spurt; yet both soon began to lose efficiency.

They had found a wounded chap and were well on their way out, crossing
the crater-scarred stretch which had been No Man's Land that
morning--for No Man's Lands shift from day to day. They moved slowly,
and Jeb was dragging; yet in an effort to keep going he had riveted his
gaze on the shoulders of Hastings. Then, suddenly, although Hastings'
shoulders remained unchanged, his head disappeared; evaporating into
air.

For an instant it seemed to Jeb as though his eyes were playing a trick,
but the next second the lanky middle-westerner crumpled up. A warm mist
settled upon Jeb's face. With a piercing shriek of uncontrollable terror
he dropped the handles and sprang into the nearest shell hole; cowering
close under its side, pressing his mouth against the earth and moaning.




CHAPTER XII


The last case in Bonsecours' unit had just been lifted from the table.
Swathed in bandages it was laid once more upon a stretcher and carried
rearward to a waiting ambulance whose racks would then be filled.
Carefully, to spare his charges added pain, the driver engaged the
clutch and started, but in so vile a condition was this road that the
heavily loaded machine plunged as a mired horse. Yet there were no
groans. Teeth might have been grit within that canopy of suffering, but
the men were too game to make an outcry.

A nurse having come as far as the ambulance, now gave a stifled sob as
she watched it lumber, like a huge beetle, over the uneven terrain. Her
arms stiffened and her hands closed into little brown fists--for she
knew too well what those bumps and plunges were doing to the lacerated
human freight!

Standing alone upon a mound of earth and staring after it, her face
touched by the amber glow of a westering sun that hung as an immense
orange in the smoke of battle, all of Hillsdale would have gasped at her
amazing beauty. For the mere prettiness which they had known, enhanced
by happiness and laughter, was now transformed. As the chisel of Michael
Angelo first carved but a placid face for the Mary in his masterful
Pieta, and later gnawed into it shadows of pain and love until it became
a part of God, so had the chisel of suffering humanity brought out the
wonderful character which had been a latent part of this Nurse Marian.
Her figure, while always the embodiment of grace, though attuned to the
easy things of life, now stood as if it were akin to war's great sinew.
She seemed indeed to be an ivory column of strength and softness, of
support and beauty, of courage and tenderness.

In another minute she turned and went back to the dressing-stations
where there was much cleaning up to be done--or as much as could be
done--before the next stretcher arrived. Yet it did not come. The room,
the table, the instruments had been put in order; the great Bonsecours
sat resting on a box, and the other nurses had stepped outside the
entrance, furtively watching. It seemed incredible that in all the
head-splitting noises so near to them there should not be wounded men
for the gathering!

"I don't understand it," he arose and crossed to Marian. "But, surely,
some will be here soon!"--for, unlike Barrow's unit stationed a hundred
yards away, his orderlies and assistants had been trained in many
battles. There could be only one answer if they remained out much
longer!--and he would then go himself, to fetch his own cases. He had
done it many times before, which was one of the reasons the French army
worshipped him.

"I'll run up and look," she cried.

"No, I'm afraid," he said.

"The great Bonsecours afraid?" she laughed--for, no matter how tired her
own body might feel, she always managed to laugh when he showed signs of
great fatigue.

"Afraid I could not live if anything happened to you, _mon chere_," he
murmured.

A startled look flashed into her eyes, slightly different than that
caused by the excitement of battle. Many weeks ago her intuition had
measured the strength of this man's love for her, and had seen with
unerring accuracy his honorable resistance to its pleading, when, during
temporary lulls in their work, he might have spoken. That he had said
this much now, indicated an overpowering mental and physical exhaustion.
Even as she realized this, he realized his weakness, and hastened to
add:

"I will go; you must stay inside."

"No, no," she sprang between him and the dug-out entrance. "You are so
tired! I know you've not slept for two days!"

"Have you?" he smiled at her.

"Lots!" she lied--and he knew she lied. "I want you to rest--you owe it
to them out there! It will take only a second for me to run up and have
one peep!--there's no danger in that, and I can tell you if they're
coming!"

"It will bring them no sooner," he sighed, sinking back again upon the
box, "and there is danger--plenty of it."

Almost immediately he was asleep. She looked at him tenderly for a
moment, then ran into the quadrangle, turning and following the steep
path which led to the high ground above the dug-outs.

The scene beyond, as she now crouched and peered over the crest, was
what she might have expected--yet one can never become quite used to
such pictures as that! Below was the first-line trench, deserted since
the third division had been sent forward, and its emptiness gave her a
feeling of insecurity. She would have preferred a visual line of
stalwart fellows between her and the maddened enemy, instead of one that
had gone into the smoke. She looked back to see if another division were
coming up, but the intervening world seemed destitute of habitation,
save along the smoke-fringed horizon where French artillery spoke. Once
more she turned to the empty trench, her face perplexed and somewhat
frightened.

Just ahead lay the No Man's Land of eight hours ago; the new one for
tomorrow had not yet been plotted out, but would doubtless lie a mile or
so nearer the Rhine. Her staring eyes then caught and held two men,
walking tandem, and she knew they carried a stretcher. They were two
hundred yards away, obscured by smoke, and coming slowly. For an instant
she glanced over the field hoping to discover others, and, on looking
back, was amazed to find that the first were nowhere in sight. The air
was already more or less thick with death, and she gasped at the thought
of what their disappearance must mean.

Indifferent to the warning of Bonsecours--whom she knew would never
hesitate were he in her place--she ran swiftly down to the trench,
kneeled on the narrow bridge and frantically called in the hope that
some one, slightly wounded or ill, perhaps, had been left behind who now
might help her. But the solitude was ghastly. She called again and
again, screaming that some of her unit had been shelled with the man
they were bringing in. The pity of this seemed infinitely worse than the
wounding of combatants; yet the ditch remained utterly devoid of
life--the only answer she seemed to catch was that it waited merely to
embrace the dead. Without giving a further thought to dangers, she
sprang up and ran out across the field.

Going breathlessly, she watched for a glimpse of the brown stretcher.
Prone bodies might not have guided her aright, for there were several of
these; but the point she sought would have a stretcher, and there had
been no other stretchers within sight. Then she came upon it. Hastings
lay as he had fallen. One hand still grasped the handle--it was his left
hand, the side whereon he wore the Red Cross emblem. Quick tears blinded
her, but she brushed them away and kneeled by the wounded soldier. He
lived, although merciful unconsciousness had come to him. She looked
hastily around to see--at the same time wanting not to see--where the
other man had fallen, and shuddered when she realized that he must have
been blown to dust. The wounded soldier, then, was the only one here who
needed her! She started to roll him on the stretcher, intending to drag
it behind her and in this way sled him in; but its poles had been
shattered. She tried to lift him, and found that to be utterly
impossible.

The confusion was maddening out there upon that deserted No Man's Land.
To the dug-out openings, pointing away from it, noises had been
partially tempered; certainly the acrid smoke was less down in the
quadrangle, and she had therefore not been prepared for quite such a
cataclysm. Now a shell burst within fifty feet of her, providentially
first burrowing, but sending a fountain of earth into the air that fell
upon her like hail. Another burst.

In desperation dragging the wounded soldier to a nearby crater she slid
him into it, and was about to follow when checked by a curious
sight--for a man crouched there with his face against the side. One
could have died in that position, yet this man lived because his body
trembled visibly. Encircling his sleeve was the band of the Red Cross,
and upon seeing this she leaped down to him, asking fearfully:

"Are you badly wounded?"

He did not look around, and she laid a hand gently on his arm, not
daring to touch it firmly lest it be shattered.

"Tell me," she began again, in a louder voice, "are you badly wounded?"

Slowly he turned a face matted with sweat and powdered earth, haggard,
as though it had been drawn up from a grave. She uttered a wild scream
of recognition.

"Jeb!"

Her eyes opened to him. They suggested fluid-vague sympathies and fears
that many a man would have bartered his life for; but this one before
her only stared back with a look that was hardly sane, then turned again
to the crater wall. He seemed to be stunned; without feeling, indeed,
because dust and grit were plastered on one of his eye-balls.

"Jeb," she screamed, horrified at this, "tell me quickly where you're
hurt!--oh, Jeb!"

He shook his head, muttering something she could not hear; but his
gesture implied a negative. At first she did not understand; she could
not reconcile this with the fact that he crouched inactive when wounded
men were gasping for relief.

"Not hurt?" she insisted, taking hold of his arm. "But you must be, Jeb!
You must be--to be _here_!"

Petulantly he shook off her hand; slowly she drew away from him,
beginning--yet fearing--to understand. "But you must be, Jeb! You must
be--to be _here_!"

"Help me, Jeb! There's a man behind you hit pretty hard!--help me get
him in!"

She had again reached out and taken hold of him, but this time he jerked
away, crying with his mouth against the earth:

"Let him stay! Only a fool would go out there!"

Her young eyes, already schooled in a realm of ravages that exists
beyond the ken of those who do not go to wars, grew suddenly older. They
seemed at last to have met a thing they could not look upon! They had
witnessed the dying of many men--but here was a dying soul! As she had
healed men, she now clutched for an heroic remedy in the hope of saving
this more precious thing than life. But first, pitifully pleading, with
her lips close to his ear, she asked:

"You _must_ be wounded! For the love of Christ tell me the shell blew
you here--that you didn't come willingly! Tell me even that you're
dying, Jeb, but not----"

She could not say it, and waited, while his silence answered. Forgetting
everything else she sprang to her feet and stepped back, her eyes
narrowing at what she had discovered to be under his uniform--or,
rather, not under it! In a panic she realized that here was a derelict
ship of manliness being irresistibly driven by a hurricane of Fear; that
a complete wreck was imminent unless she were the master-pilot. Her
cheeks were aflame with indignation, her body bending tensely forward
might have been a spring of steel set to release some instrument of
torture--and then she let the bolt descend like the wrath of furies.

With the smoke of shells sweeping over them, sometimes enveloping her
head and shoulders as though she were looking through a storm of anger,
she called on God to witness that he was a cringing coward. She stood
above him transformed into a superb though outraged figure of Liberty,
lashing him with words that at any other time her tongue would have
refused to speak; words, some of which she did not know the meaning but
had heard from the lips of suffering soldiers. Unconsciously she was
following the maxim of a famous officer who one day said to her that all
men are cowards somewhere, but brave everywhere if sufficiently
aroused; and now she brutally strove to bruise his soul, hysterically
telling herself that if it could be made to bleed it would become
purified.

Much of this, owing to her incoherence and the noise of battle--and,
perhaps, the chaotic tumult in his brain--was unheard; but some little
of it registered, for suddenly he turned upon his knees and stared at
her, as though his normal faculties were beginning to quicken. For half
a minute he stared. No words, no gestures, could have been as eloquent
as the look which burned from his pale, haggard face; it was as liquid
fire being poured upon the woman for whom he had once avowed a love, and
who now cursed him! The tableau, with its weird setting--her
condemnation as a whip of flame curled snake-like above his head--might
have been a picture put into life, and called "The Flagellation of a
Soul"! Then, clapping his hands to his ears, he bowed his head,
shrieking:

"Stop it! You hurt!"

"I intend to hurt," she cried down at him. "If you were in the Army
you'd be stood before the wall and shot for this!--maybe they'll do it
yet! Thank God, the people at home can't see you, you damnable coward!"
Yet with her next breath she was wailing to the torn world and tortured
air: "Tell me that I've lied! Oh, Jeb, tell me that I've lied!"

He pressed his face again into the powdered earth, and something about
his dogged attitude said that she was going too far. Her woman's
instinct sent this warning just in time, abruptly causing her to realize
that a self-esteem once crushed into complete abasement can never look
upon fellow man with its former level eyes--and she was here to save,
not to destroy! The crouching figure on whom she had inflicted a wound
without having done the slightest good, was, after all, a big,
imaginative child in a vast night, utterly unprepared by rearing and
training, psychology or properly directed thought, to cope with this
demon-carnival into which he had been projected. And why should not the
shell's concussion have stunned him into this sad plight?

Retrospection flickering as a shadow picture on the brain has more than
once averted tragedies. In the passing of a second she now saw two
long-ago scenes: one, his desperate and victorious fight with a boy who
had kicked her puppy; the other, neighbors rushing with blankets to a
nearby pond, calling that he had swum out and saved a drowning
lad--nearly perishing in the effort! While she stared, still horrified;
while shells rent the air, and dust and smoke half blinded her, a spirit
of maternalism began to plead for this one-time schoolmate--champion of
her little dog, life-saver to a comrade! What had she done but add to
the agony of one already agonized beyond his power to escape!

A great pity filled her soul, and her body seemed to become liquefied
into a tossing sea of tears. With a sob she bent over him and, as all
ages of womanhood instinctively understand, gently drew his head against
her breast.

"Oh, Jeb! Can't you pull yourself together? Won't you try to be a man?"
she asked fiercely.

He staggered up and backed against the crater, holding his hands out to
keep her off when she would have followed. But his cheeks had turned
from white to crimson, and his eyes flashed a holy, or an unholy, fire.

"I hope to God I never get back to-night," he cried hoarsely. "I hope to
God you'll never have to look at anything as despicable as I've been!"

It was he now who occupied the place of the mighty, and she the one who
felt like cowering. Turning savagely he all but tossed the unconscious
soldier to his shoulders, struggled up the shell hole and ran toward the
dressing-stations. Scarcely knowing that her feet touched ground, she
flew behind him; sobbing, laughing, wringing her hands--lifted by the
great storm of victory which swept her soul.

But at the deserted trench he stopped, laid his burden on the little
bridge and turned back.

"Jeb, take him all the way in," she pleaded, catching at his sleeve--but
he shook off her hand, yelling like a madman:

"You can get help from here!--don't touch me!--I ain't fit!"

The next instant he was dashing headlong into the smoke. Frantically she
screamed:

"Come back!--Jeb!--your unit!"

But she might have made the men on Mars hear as easily. Once she started
to run after him, yet the fruitlessness of such a chase--and, more
important still, the unconscious soldier's claim for aid--checked her.
Blinded by tears, she dashed up the road and down to the quadrangle,
staggered into the dug-out, and cried in a strange voice to Bonsecours:

"There's a man out there I can't bring in!"

He sprang up as if electrified. But her words had not alarmed him so
much as her appearance and, in desperation catching her by the
shoulders, he demanded:

"What has happened--tell me!"

"N--nothing," she sank upon the box, burying her face in her folded
arms. She was sobbing hysterically now, and nurses rarely did
this--until they snapped!

"Tell me!--tell me!" he cried, leaning over her, and fighting as he had
never fought to keep from holding her close to him. His heart had been
too nearly starved, his strength too nearly exhausted, to withstand a
scene like this. "If you pity me, tell me what has happened," he
implored.

She did not look up, but impulsively reached for one of his hands and
pressed it fiercely, almost savagely, against her cheek. This must have
been the comfort she needed, this touch of a man who was every inch a
man, because the sobs at once grew quiet; and, in full control of her
nerves, she arose, saying urgently:

"Quick! He's on the trench bridge!"

As in a dream, the great Bonsecours sprang out.




CHAPTER XIII


Jeb dashed blindly ahead, indifferent to shells and death, not caring
where he went so that it was toward the thick of battle. He wanted to be
killed; he wanted to die as Hastings died, showing the world how real
men are capable of making the last big sacrifice. But his torturing
conscience laughed at the presumption, for Hastings had typified a
faultless courage; and his brain ceaselessly echoed the scorn which
Marian had hurled at him, spurring him as rowels of hot steel to greater
speed.

The smoke, as a heavy fog, shrouded the uncontested No Man's Land, being
quite impenetrable beyond a radius of fifty yards. It was as though he
were running constantly beneath a low, flattened dome which kept
accurate pace with him, through the sides of whose inverted rim new
objects sprang into view with almost magic suddenness. Yet he saw little
of anything beyond a girl's look of horror, heard nothing but her
outraged words. Scarcely knowing it he hurdled prostrate figures,
stumbled into craters, tripped on vagrant ends of wire entanglements,
till at last, through sheer exhaustion, he fell face down amidst a small
group of the dead.

His maddened race had taken him close to the scene of battle; indeed, he
had crossed the old first and second German trenches without observing
them, so completely demolished had they been by the French _barrage_.
The fighting was yet somewhere beyond, although not waged with anything
like the intensity of an hour ago. The artillery had almost entirely
ceased, and the lesser rattle of machine-guns was diminishing. Yet he
listened, trying to locate the thickest part of it, intending to push
there as soon as he regained his breath; but always just above the
noises came Marian's burning words, and for awhile he lay with tightly
closed eyes, letting them beat upon him as blows.

Gradually, as his breathing grew more normal, other words mingled with
hers in a kind of verbal potpourri--jumbled and unmeaning, yet soon
getting clear of the confusion and sounding in his ears like a clarion
voice:

"When man calls on the highest expression of his will, he becomes
indomitable; he succeeds in the highest terms of success--and thus will
you succeed, _mon pauvre enfant_!"

He thought this over with a sense of comfort. It _would_ feel good to
become indomitable, to succeed in the highest terms of success! Had he
ever stopped, and with solemn deliberation called upon the highest
expression of his will? He tried to remember. Surely he had given no
thought to will power when tossed into the ocean from the sinking
ship--nor at any time since coming to this battle front! Each day, from
the historic Sixth of April even unto the present minute, he unsparingly
admitted, had been spent by him amidst concocted fears and magnified
dangers; but never once had he buried his teeth in a single manly
purpose, as Tim might have expressed it. This brought Tim to mind, and
the many sane things he had said aboard ship. Then another voice,
enriched not alone by affection but by the pride of age as it had
spoken 'way back yonder in the Hillsdale _Eagle_ office:

"I want to be proud of you," it now said calmly. "You're going out to
play a mighty big game, boy, wherein Humanity is trumps, and Patriotism,
Righteousness and Service are the other three aces. Yet, even if you
hold all these, you may still lose unless you possess one more magic
card: Self-respect! We all owe to our soul a certain measure of
self-respect, Jeb. It is a gentleman's personal debt of honor to
himself, demanding payment before every other obligation, and is
satisfied only when we face each of life's crises with steel-tipped,
crystal courage!"

Jeb rolled despairingly over on his back, gripping his hands and
whispering:

"Oh, God, give me that steel-tipped, crystal courage!"

The sun had set, and with its decline the battlefield grew peculiarly
still. A barely perceptible current of air was stirring, and he watched
the low canopy of smoke slowly drifting; feeling very small amidst the
dead and desolation as he fancied that it might be a silent, winged
army of souls gliding eastward to a new dawn.

Suddenly he wondered about the battle--what had become of it! Except for
desultory cannonading far to the left, perfect quiet, almost peace,
reigned over the darkening ground. In the region where he lay, human
passions seemed to have burned into ashes as cold and lifeless as the
six or eight calm bodies near to him. He knew the Allies were silently
consolidating their gains while, beyond, the Germans strengthened
positions for another resistance; the armies of construction were
creating what armies of destruction would furiously undo. So uncannily
silent had the immediate world become that now, for the first time, he
noticed a singing in his ears, caused by twelve hours of hellish
concussions--and then, coming more completely to himself, he discovered
that for the first time in many days he was hungry.

Jeb sat up and seriously took stock of himself. He had come here to die,
but was beginning to resent the very thought of it; he had run to get
away from--what? Disgrace and mortification? Why continue to suffer
these if a means were at hand to wipe them off the slate? For what
purpose should he be disgraced and mortified if, henceforth, he played a
man's part! Near his feet was a dead soldier whose face happened to be
turned directly toward him, and through the gathering twilight Jeb saw
that the eyes were open, steadily fixed upon him as if waiting to see
what he would decide. But this ghastly picture brought him no feeling of
revulsion as it might have, earlier; instead, he gazed back for quite a
minute, seeming to discover in the dead eyes an expression of reproach
so poignant that he finally whispered:

"I don't blame you, old fellow; I haven't done the right thing, at all."

From this he turned to the others about him, and with a new vision saw
them in the places they had occupied at home: father, husband, brother,
son! His mind leapt the span of miles and looked in upon the anxious
faces--hopeful, perhaps--of mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, who
waited; and a new kinship sprang up within him for those stricken
families of France!

"Oh, the crucifixion of waiting!" he murmured, his eyes again caressing
the prostrate forms. For he seemed to be living among men, not dead but
yet unborn; helpless, silent, sleeping things whose souls alone were
quick--alive somewhere in a wonderful twilight land of peace! Why pity
these deserted temples of spirit-heroes! "And to think," he whispered
softly, "that you fellows have learned to die! How did it feel? A little
gasp?--some dizziness?--surprise, perhaps?--and then God's great
entwining arms?"

But the dead eyes staring at him seemed to answer:

"Not until you face it like a soldier of Humanity! Not until you strike
a manly blow for the little nations which were ravaged; the women,
children, helpless men, ground in the mailed fist of a lying tyrant! God
entwines those within His arms who fight for right, not run from it!"

Jeb sprang up, alive to action. Death, then, was but an ephemeral part
of this big game; he was fighting not only for today, but for the
future; fighting for the peace and righteousness of years to come,
long, long after he, in any case, would have been dead! He turned
impulsively to the staring eyes, and whispered: "Thanks, old
fellow!"--then started toward the new French lines.

Night had fallen, and the world about him was dark except when bathed
with the light of star shells, intermittently fired from the opposing
armies. Yet he realized that these balls of blinding whiteness must be
quite a distance away, since their calcium glare but vaguely penetrated
the canopy of smoke, touching the wreckage and the dead with ghost-like
iridescence and making them appear almost as unreal as real. He could
not even tell from what point these shells were fired, as no spot-lights
showed--merely their effect which diffused the smoke alike on all sides.

Suddenly, somewhere behind him, came a sharp rattle of machine-gun fire.
He dropped to the ground, listening; wondering in a panic how this fight
could have started so far back when he had not even come in touch with
the rear French lines. In five minutes all was still again. Either the
scrimmage hinged on a false alarm, or a rush had been made for the
possession of some slight point, or--but why guess! Anyhow, it had been
short; but, as a barking dog when the night is still will awaken other
dogs far across the country-side, so did this brief fusillade draw
intermittent firing from many points in more distant places.

Instead of helping Jeb determine his position, these but added to his
confusion. Directions of the compass might be anywhere; he was
unquestionably lost, with the best of chances for walking into an enemy
outpost and being taken prisoner--and he had heard enough of Germany's
treatment of prisoners to prefer death rather than capture.

Several star shells must now have been fired from flare pistols
somewhere, because objects about him took shape, and he dropped flat,
simulating death, not knowing how many eyes were on the watch for
movements. When darkness came again his sense of location had not been
helped.

Crouching, sometimes crawling on his stomach, but going forward ever
more cautiously, he was driven cold with terror when, within thirty
feet of him, out of the very air about him, came low, guttural sounds of
talking. The words were German.

His first impulse was to dash wildly through the smoke and escape, but
even as his muscles grew taut to make the spring a voice commanded him
to halt. It was not an outside voice this time, but one within; and,
although trembling, he froze closer to the ground, obeying instantly.
Then the sound of a spade thrust into soil, raised and emptied, told of
digging. Digging what? Graves? No, the German army, that great Imperial
Machine, was being pounded too hard to bother with its dead! The German
God could look after them--or the Allies!

Not knowing how to cope with this new situation he began cautiously to
crawl away, feeling for a corpse to hide behind should another lot of
stars go up and expose him there; yet when his fingers touched a cold,
bearded face he nearly cried aloud. A sudden loathing for this inanimate
thing almost sent him running;--the next second, answering a silent
command, he stretched beside it as though he and it were bunkies in a
cantonment. But his heart was beating unmercifully, confusing his ears
which strained for every sound. Regularly the spades and picks continued
their work; minute dragged into minute, till another iridescence pierced
the smoke. He then peeped out. To his surprise there was but one man in
sight; a solitary sentinel standing above an excavation--Jeb could not
tell how deep.

When darkness again fell he was more than ever confused. Whether these
men were inside their own lines laying mines for an expected advance, or
by some cunning had got behind the Allies for a devilish purpose, taxed
his ingenuity to decide. At any rate, this was no place for him; no
ingenuity was required to determine that. He felt that somewhere to the
right the French must be, but it was a guess based largely upon hope.
Right or wrong, an effort must be made at once to report this digging
party, and slowly he crept off; prone at first, then arising to his
hands and knees.

In this way he must have gone a thousand yards when the terrain began
sharply to ascend, and more than ever puzzled he stopped again,
listening. Only the far off, spasmodic growling of the "heavies" told
that fifteen miles away someone was being unmercifully plastered; but
the nearer artillery slept. With eyes and ears straining to their
utmost, with muscles held ready to relax and let him flatten out at the
first sign of enemies, he continued up this new and very dangerous
<DW72>, possessing no idea where it would lead, knowing only that he must
reach his own lines before dawn. And now he realized that the air was
becoming more pure.

Frequently after sundown in this part of France a light mist rises in
the lowlands. To-night there had been no mist, but the terrain had lent
itself to cup the hovering battle smoke, holding it in depressions as
lakes of vapor, while the higher points stood clear. Jeb was now
creeping up one of these higher points; and within half an hour his eyes
looked at the stars, his grateful nostrils breathed a pure, untainted
atmosphere. Like a snake he slid head-first into the nearest shell hole,
climbed warily back to its edge, and watched.

The sky was so bejewelled, the Milky Way so white, that a luminosity
bathed the earth about him which, in contrast to the smoky lowland,
seemed almost bright. Before him lay what had once been the little
hamlet on the scarp--he recognized it, remembering how the French
_barrage_ had in mercy been lifted over it. But it had not escaped a
severe pounding. A few sections of torn walls, a few chimneys, here and
there a gable still supporting one end of a caved-in roof, made a
skyline that was saggy, unreal and awe-inspiring. No life was anywhere
apparent. Crumbled on its solitary hill, overlooking a white-and-brown
streaked sea of smoke that lapped its feet, it typified the most acute
expression of desolation.

Having taken his bearings on the North Star and become assured of which
way lay the French and British rear, he was leaving the crater when a
sound made him draw back again in haste, a muffled sound of iron
striking stone.

The old fear bit into him with all its terrors. He was getting weak from
hunger, anyway, and his nerves had been through more than ordinary
nerves could stand; yet, since the sounds came from somewhere in the
ruins they might well mean a villager trying to dig himself out. 'Twas
a heartening thought, and Jeb was on the point of creeping forward when
a sentry appeared around a pyramid of fallen stones--a tremendous
fellow, wearing the Boche uniform. A moment later eight Germans came
toward him, picking their way over piles of rubble and carrying spidery
things he recognized as machine-guns. Crouching low beneath the crater's
side he waited breathlessly, while they passed so near that he could
smell their sweaty clothing. After several minutes he peeped out; the
sentry and they had disappeared. Without doubt this was a night party
fortifying the ruined hamlet on the scarp; but, if that were so, where
in the name of God, he asked himself, could the Allied army be!

Objects were now growing more distinct, and for an instant he was driven
cold with terror believing this to be the sign of dawn; but a silvery
glow in the eastern sky proclaimed a rising moon. In imminent danger of
discovery when this should become still brighter he dared not remain in
the shell hole. On the other hand, fear had him pinioned with such long
claws that he hardly dared to move at all; and had one German, wounded
and defenseless, come upon him then demanding his surrender he could not
have raised a finger in defense. He merely wanted safety now; a place to
hide--he cared not for how long. His ears had closed to the stern
demands of will power; the words of Mr. Strong, and Bonsecours, and even
Marian, had lost their potency. An appeal more powerful than all of
these was needed to raise him to the place of man!

Ahead, almost at his hands, were scattered bricks and clay chunks of
blasted buildings; but twenty feet beyond stood a section of upright
wall, supported beneath by twisted doorway timbers and propped by the
wreckage of a roof which, at one side, reached the ground. It was a
forbidding place, seeming on the point of tottering over, although this
very danger might grant it immunity from German searchers.

Making himself as flat as possible he wriggled forward, listened a
moment at the threshold, then crept inside and crawled to the farthest,
darkest corner. The next instant his blood was congealed by a piercing
scream not three feet from his face.




CHAPTER XIV


Out of the darkness, right into his face, this scream came, ending in a
weak, despairing, but above all else heartrending, moan; then everything
grew still. Jeb could have neither moved nor uttered a cry; he had
recoiled in terror, crouching as a part of the fallen masonry that
littered the floor.

Almost at once quick steps resounded through the ruined streets,
scrambling over heaps of wreckage and coming nearer until they passed
with a kind of ruthless determination just outside the tottering wall.
In another moment they had turned an angle and the sentry, silhouetted
against the lighter sky, stood peering through the doorway. He barked
something in German that had an ominous sound, and the nearby voice
began an hysterical whimpering, interspersed with pleading in rapidly
spoken French which Jeb partially understood. At least, he realized a
girl was in this dark place with him, and that she was promising to make
no further outcry. Weak and thin her voice seemed, though rasping in a
kind of frenzy, as she attempted to excuse a former disobedience by
trying to explain how someone had come and frightened her. Luckily for
Jeb the man gruffly interrupted with another flow of German, or his fate
might then and there have been sealed.

"Please--please," the girl moaned, "oh, please don't come in! I won't
cry again!"

He hesitated, as if considering; then growled a threat and turned back.

Waiting until he had quite gone and the last sound of his boots upon the
rubble had died away, Jeb summoned his French and cautiously whispered:

"I'm your friend--don't make a noise!"

A slight movement in the corner first answered him, then a wee voice
asked:

"Is Monsieur English?"

"No, American."

The sound which followed this lingered in his ears long afterward. It
was scarcely a gasp, nor moan, nor groan, but an inarticulate animal
sound expressive of what the body feels when snatched in the nick of
time from destruction. A moment later she had crawled through the
darkness; her hands passed quickly over his sleeve, his shoulder, then
found his neck and clasped it passionately.

Drawing her gently to his lap he realized that she was merely a child
who had come to him--a skeleton child, of perhaps eight or nine years
old, seeming to be little more than bones dressed in scanty clothing.
Touching his lips to her cheeks he whispered encouragement, promising
prodigious things without regard to their possible accomplishment, until
her body ceased to quiver. Then she whispered tremulously:

"Are you the American who fed us?"

"No, little one, I haven't fed you." He, too, spoke in the merest
whisper.

"But yes, Monsieur, indeed you did! _Le bon cure_ said the American gave
us food for many, many months. Oh, I wish I had some now!"

"He meant the American Relief, little one. Haven't you any food now?"

"Not since two days, Monsieur. The Boche," he felt her quiver again as
she pronounced this name, "used to take our American food and give us
their own black kind; but the cure told us to submit gracefully, as
those who had tried to object were killed. But two days ago a German, a
Kommandantur, they called him, Monsieur, said that he felt so very, very
sorry for us he thought we had better starve; and since then we have had
nothing."

"Where is the cure now?" he asked, feeling himself grow hot with rage.

"Dead, Monsieur. They killed him for trying to defend his bell."

"Defend his bell?"

"Quite so, Monsieur." She snuggled into a more comfortable position, as
though the presence of this American removed all dangers; she found it
good, furthermore, to talk to someone, even in whispers, and amidst
ruins, and about the horrors buried there. "Before blowing up the Marie
they lowered the bell--for everything iron in the village they said must
be sent into Germany. But the cure loved his bell--so did we all,
Monsieur--and he threw his arms about it, pleading. But this made the
soldiers laugh very much." She waited an instant, as though listening,
then continued: "So they got a blanket, Monsieur, and tossed him into
the air, but always let him fall upon the stones. He was very old, was
_le bon cure_,--but so good! Then officers came up, and they carried
open bottles of wine, and around their necks were strung on cords many
women's finger rings and bracelets. My mother uttered a prayer, because
she thought they would help _le bon cure_, but when they were told he
had tried to protect his bell, they jumped over and over him, Monsieur,
pretending to prance like horses, and kept sticking him with their spurs
until his poor face was cut and swollen. We cried out for shame, but he
held up the Crucifix toward us and gently shook his head--so we turned
away weeping. But they let us bury him, Monsieur," she added, tenderly.

"Where are your parents?" Jeb asked, shuddering not alone at the tale of
barbarity, but because this young child had become so inured to these
sights that she could passively recite them.

"Dead, Monsieur," she answered, in a tone that might itself have been
dead. "Quite dead," she added, dispiritedly. "My father was summoned
with many others to Avricourt. When they came back the Germans marched
him past our house tied to the tail of one of their horses, but would
not let us speak to him; yet he turned his face so we could see a blue
cross marked upon his cheek, and then my mother fainted--she was not
well, Monsieur. That night they shot him."

Her poor little body was beginning to shake, but he drew her closer with
soothing words, while his heart was wrung by pity. For the moment he
forgot what had been uppermost in his mind: to discover through her if
this place lay within the German lines and how far were the Allies. She
took courage from his endearments and continued, although in the same
lifeless whisper:

"The next day they marched my mother and other women away, Monsieur. I
ran after her but was thrust back; yet she called telling me to hide the
children in the cellar."

"Then your mother may not be dead," he suggested hopefully.

"But yes, Monsieur. I watched them for a great way along the
road--there are no trees now, and I could see. Several times she fell;
the last time a soldier raised his gun twice, and twice brought it down.
Oh, I wanted to help her then, but they laughed and held me!"

Jeb was growing beside himself at these unheard-of barbarities, but he
managed to ask gently:

"Why are you not in the cellar now?--listen!"

The sound of iron striking stone again reached him. She understood, and
answered quietly:

"It is where they dig, Monsieur. They have been doing it since sundown;
and it was their coming and going through the cellars that made me bring
the children here, in fear of them."

"But where are the children?" he asked, for no sound had come from the
corner she had left.

"There are three, Monsieur, in the dark behind me. Two live, but they do
not know me any more. They are so young," she said apologetically, "that
the things they have seen quite put out their minds--but they obey me,
very nicely."

"Merciful God," he gasped.

"The other," her voice resumed its tone of dull despair, "was killed but
a little while ago by the man who looked in. Monsieur, we were very
hungry and frightened, and she was crying; but I tried--oh, how I
tried--to comfort her! Then in anger he came, and--and stuck her with
the long knife on his gun. Oh, Monsieur," she whispered, clinging to him
in a new terror, "I was glad for the darkness!"

A sob, arising from the very depths of Jeb's soul, burst from his lips.
Scalding tears of rage and anguish streamed down his cheeks; and these
must have touched her upturned face, for she raised a thin hand and
patted him, whispering:

"You are very kind, Monsieur, to weep for her."

"My poor little child," he moaned, "my poor little child! Oh, what a
plight they've left you in!--with only the dead, and worse than dead!"

The moon had cleared by now, bathing the ruined hamlet with a silvery
sheen, although the place which sheltered them remained in darkness.
But through a rift in the broken wall stole one narrow beam of light,
and he moved slightly to let this fall upon her face--then just in time
caught himself, else he would have given a cry of pain and fury.

Her eyes, horrified and shadowed by the cruelties she had witnessed,
were turned to him; great, dark, hollow eyes which seemed to be looking
directly through him to some confusion of thoughts beyond. Her face was
pinched and blue with lack of nourishment, the skin stretched tightly
over cheek bones which seemed about to push through; her lips were
wax-like, dry and cracked, and her ears were almost transparent. But
even more appalling than any of these was the utter despair, the absence
of hope or desire of life, that had changed the bloom of youth to the
decay of age. She might have been the wan ghost of a shrivelled old
woman lying in his arms, instead of young flesh and blood!

This martyred child, who should be sleeping happily amidst dreams of
dolls and play--what was the ghastly thing into which she had been
made? The father, who with horse and plowshare should be summoned by the
morning cock to yielding fields--where was that servant of the vineyard?
The mother, who should be planning for the harvest which her capable
hands would convert into winter comforts--what of her? A wee tot, whose
sobbing should have been stilled by tender arms--did she understand the
caress of steel? And the other two, whose minds had been snapped by
horrors and privations--did their locked-in souls realize these things
to be the result of military necessity?--or a nation's degeneracy!

Yet what could he expect from a people whose idol in philosophy, their
pampered Nietschke, teaches and writes: "Morality is a symptom of
decadence! There is no right other than that of theft, usurpation and
violence!" It is in his book for all to read! What hope of an army, or
hope of mercy from it, whose Kaiser confesses himself to be a liar or a
lunatic by proclaiming: "The spirit of God has descended upon Me because
I am the German Emperor! I am the instrument of the Most High. I am His
sword, His representative on earth. Woe and death to those who oppose
My will! Death to the infidel who denies My mission! Let all the enemies
of the German nation perish. God demands their destruction--God, who by
My mouth summons you to carry out His decrees!"[3]

[Footnote 3: From the Kaiser's proclamation to his army, Sept. 13,
1914.]

As Jeb recalled these utterances, their blasphemy made him cringe. He
wrapped the little broken body tighter in his arms. Was she, then, what
she was by a loving God's decree? He kissed her hair and groaned in
righteous anger. Did that Outcast Emperor dare call himself the
representative of God on earth, and thereupon urge his menials to do
evil for the sake of evil, destroy for destruction's sake, pillage for
the bestial love of it, outrage the life, honor and liberty of the
helpless, leaving a wide trail that everywhere led to the most loathsome
crimes?--did "the spirit of God descend upon" this vampire, and call him
"chosen"?

Jeb found himself trembling in every muscle as a deep rage at these
blasphemies spread throughout his frame. As tropic storms strike
languid forests, swaying, threshing, rending trees this way and that, so
a mighty rush of fury swept him. Slowly at first, then faster, the
almost forgotten taper flame of manliness that flickered on the altar of
his inmost being leaped higher, until it blazed as a consuming fire. The
eyes of his soul were open; the strength of his soul grasped the sword
of Humanity to strike for this child, and the thousands like her, whose
injury was irreparable, who had been blasted, damned, by the ego-mania
of accursed hypocrites!

"Oh, little one," he whispered to her fiercely, "if all the boys back
home could see the things you've shown me, they'd break their necks
getting over here to smash that upstart German power!"

For a moment he bowed his head, as though in prayer. The far-off
rumbling of cannon, sublimely rising from the distant horizon, might
have been a deep-toned organ sending its hymn of victory through the
vaulted space; and, while he listened, the little hand was raised again
to touch his cheek, as the weak voice murmured:

"Monsieur, I feel better since you came."

"I must get you away," he kissed her quickly. "Now listen well, and
answer well, for everything depends on what you know!"

The indomitable spirit of France which kept these people alive through
hardships and outrages that will never be written, bounded through her
veins and warmed them. He felt her body snuggle more confidingly, as if
to assure him that he would not be disappointed in her share of this new
partnership.

After careful questioning he learned enough to open his eyes. The French
lines had indeed passed northward, leaving this ruined hamlet in its
wake. But for several months prior to yesterday's engagement the Germans
had been working on gigantic subterranean operations, beginning at the
levels of the cellar floors and penetrating downward until the entire
village sub-area had been converted into a kind of catacomb. Here a
great number of machine-guns were stored with quantities of ammunition,
and a garrison put in charge which numbered upwards of two thousand men.
A machine-gun regiment, he mentally noted. These had fought when the
French came but, instead of retreating, ducked into the sub-cellars and
closed the openings which had been artfully contrived to escape notice.
When the French passed, thinking the enemy had been driven before them,
the Boche quietly emerged after nightfall and slipped away in several
directions, taking many guns and spades and boxes of ammunition.

Jeb felt that he now understood the mystery of that digging party back
on the plain, as also the nearer sounds. They were units of this
garrison--and there must be many others like them scattered
about--fortifying for a particular counter attack tomorrow when, with a
line of machine-gun sections operating in the Allied rear, defeat might
be turned to victory. It was an audacious scheme, thus to burrow while a
victorious army passed over them, and then come up out of the ground and
strike again!

"How far is it to the place they're digging here?" he asked.

"Just there, beyond this wall--but a little ways," she pointed in the
direction from which the sentry had come.

"How many are there?"

"I could not say, Monsieur; but few, assuredly, as I saw quite as many
as I thought were in the ground, and more, slip away after dark with the
guns and spades and boxes."

"Then wait very quietly till I come back," he lifted her from his lap,
but she clung desperately and would have cried had he not promised to
return safely.

She let him go then and he crawled away, passing just outside the door
to see if the street were clear. Skirting the torn walls and keeping in
the heavier shadows, creeping over piles of rubble as silently as a rat,
he came at last to a point which overlooked the hole where men toiled,
wearily, though in desperate haste. The sentry paced back and forth
within a hundred feet of him, sometimes speaking in monosyllables to his
comrades below.

At highest tension Jeb waited, until he felt not only sure of their
strength but reasonably certain that no others remained in the lower
strata of catacombs; because they rested at frequent intervals, implying
a state of exhaustion, and this, in turn, indicated an absence of relief
shifts. Fifteen men in all were there, besides the sentry. On the street
level their rifles had been stacked. The hole--a machine-gun
redoubt--in which they dug was about five feet deep; the sides were
steep; the only weapons near at hand were picks and spades.

Tingling with excitement, he stole carefully back to the ruined door and
entered, bringing with him a stout club picked from the debris. The
girl's arms flew about him at once, and the wan voice whispered
tremulously:

"Oh, Monsieur, if you had not come!"

"But I did come," he took her again upon his lap, seeming in a much
better humor than when he had gone out. "We're about to get away, little
one; are you big enough to do just what I say?"

There was a look of reproach in her eyes which he could not, of course,
have seen, but he felt her arms tighten.

"Everything," she whispered. "Can Monsieur carry the little sisters?"

"Monsieur can, but he isn't going to," he muttered fiercely. "They'll
have two-legged horses to ride, and so will you. Now, I'm going over by
the door, and when I get there I want you to give a loud cry."

"Oh, Monsieur," she trembled, "he will come and--and----"

"I want him to come, but he won't do any more than that. We're going to
take those men and punish them for a lot of things they've done."

"Capture them, Monsieur?--by Monsieur's own self?"

"By Monsieur's own self," he gave her a squeeze, then sat her back upon
the ground. "Now, when I get close to the door, cry!--then you may close
your eyes until I say look; but don't cry again, whatever happens."

Picking up the club he took a position in the deepest shadow and waited.
Spartan little soldier that she was, she now sent a wail into the night
that would have brought a dozen sentries; then, as before, everything
was silent. Also, as before, hurried, angry steps soon were heard; yet
this time, as the sentry passed close outside the rear wall, he talked.
Jeb at first thought that it might be the mumbling of an enraged man,
but he took a tighter grip upon his club when another voice laughed a
reply.

The two Germans turned the angle of the side wall, stumbling over loose
stones and uttering words that scarcely needed translation. A patch of
moonlight fell athwart the sill, and Jeb watched this, knowing it would
tell better than his ears when the crucial time had come. The men were
just outside now, and the breathing of one became audible--a workman,
doubtless, following to see what would happen. Then a shadow fell across
the spot of light, and slowly a bayonet glided within two feet of Jeb's
face--the bayonet that might yet be warm from having dried a child's
tears! After it came the sentry, stooping as he entered, while his
companion, who chortled with a kind of insane glee, pressed closely at
his heels.

Jeb had been standing in deep shadow to one side, with the club drawn
back. He waited until both men were well within the door, then made a
vicious swing, and then another; there were two sharp cracks of wood on
bone, and the two who had come to kill lay dead.

"It's all right," he whispered through the darkness. "Bring the
children, quick!"

"Thank God, Monsieur," her voice reached him.

Kneeling, he stripped the sentry of ammunition, examined the rifle until
he had mastered its mechanism, and saw that it was loaded and ready.
When the children reached him--the two smaller ones staring vacantly
ahead as if walking in their sleep--he whispered:

"Now, do just as I say: follow closely, keep in the shadows and make no
noise. When I put back my hand, stop and wait; when I call, come at
once. Is that clear, little one?"

"But, oh, Monsieur," she panted, "should we not run now?"

"We couldn't make it, for one thing," he answered slowly, "and, besides,
I--I don't think I'll ever run again, little one," he stooped and kissed
her--although she did not understand. "Ready? Come along!"




CHAPTER XV


He felt the call now of three great forces: America, Humanity, and his
soul--but the greatest of these was Humanity! Each held him by a new, a
strong appeal; each looked confidently to the best there was in him,
wrapped him in entreating arms that struggled to inspire the highest
type of courage.

Carefully the little refugees followed him out into the calm moonlight,
the tots whose minds had gone back to shadowland acting as automatons
under the silent direction of their sister. He stopped once, as though
with indecision, and looked at them; then set his teeth fast and again
went on. Hugging the snagged walls, crossing open places on hands and
knees, they came finally to the spot Jeb had previously selected for
them to wait, while he crept ahead to reach the pyramids of stacked
rifles before letting his presence be known.

He could distinctly hear the sounds of digging now, but there was no
exchange of words--doubtless the stilled sentry had been the only
loquacious spirit among them. This presence of human beings laboring in
silence at dead of night made his task decidedly ticklish, and minutes
passed before he gained a position behind the last pile of rubble,
overlooking the hole.

Besides the fourteen Germans he had expected to see below, he now made
out one other, an officer, who, doubtless because he sat well beneath
the opposite wall, had escaped observation during the first
reconnaissance. This brought the total to fifteen--three clips of
cartridges and no misses, he told himself, if it came to a fight. The
men toiled surlily, as though that beaver-like industry, everywhere
displayed by the German army in fatigue work, had about reached the
quitting point. It was, moreover, possible that they sulked for having
been detailed to a duty which meant almost certain death.

Jeb did not know how to challenge them, but a pointed rifle and a stern
command in any language is never difficult of translation between
soldiers of opposing armies. He saw now that six of them were laboring
with a large stone, and there could be no more favorable time for him to
act. With a bound he reached the edge.

"Hands up!" he barked.

The fifteen faces turned to him were blank with astonishment.

"Hands up!" he repeated.

The officer, first to recover, made a quick reach for his pistol, and
Jeb dropped him in his tracks. This shot, and its effect, broke the
spell. Spades and picks were thrown aside, the stone fell with a crash,
and the men, thoroughly cowered, raised their hands, calling: "Kamerad!
Kamerad!"--the same old cry that has rung from Verdun to the sea,
although Jeb was hearing it for the first time.

By gesture he commanded them to climb out, one at a time, and in single
file to march farther away from the rifles, since at some personal cost
they might have yet attempted a rush and overpowered him. But there was
no rush in these exhausted men, and, except for a few who showed signs
of relief, they took the situation with stolid gravity.

In a hundred yards he halted them and called the child, who came bravely
out of hiding with the remnants of her family; but, confronted by the
grimly uniformed line, she drew back screaming.

"It's all right, little one," Jeb called reassuringly. "These are your
horses; come quickly, hop up and ride!"

One of the prisoners, understanding French, began to laugh as he
translated this to his comrades, but Jeb peremptorily stopped all
conversation. To let these fellows get an inch beyond the strictest
discipline was to invite disaster. Yet now he could give orders through
this interpreter, and soon the column was marching silently southward,
its first three men each bearing on his shoulders a wan little victim
from the "empire of death." The others followed obediently enough, while
Jeb, in a position to enfilade the column--thus maintaining a command of
each file--brought up the rear. From his attitude and voice the captives
seemed to know that he was on a very dangerous tension, and that the
slightest hesitation on their part would mean instant death. They had no
desire to test his skill further than that one snap shot through their
officer's brain.

His first concern was to drive straight southward and get clear of the
machine-gun redoubts, which he felt sure were being extended westward;
and as the success of this plan hinged largely upon absolute silence, he
had promised fourteen inches of bayonet to the first man who spoke,
coughed, sneezed, or stubbed his toe. Moreover, he was recklessly
prepared to execute this threat without a second's hesitation, fully
realizing that if he would hold supremacy against such overpowering odds
he must let his words and acts mesh with the nicety of machine gears, or
his authority would vanish.

From time to time, when the burden of this responsibility began to wear
down his courage, and fear came creeping in at the sheer audacity of
this undertaking, he would raise his eyes to the three little tots
ahead--and feel every nerve grow steady. As a consequence, the men were
thoroughly in hand, stepping with caution and showing every disposition
to carry out his orders.

In this way they covered perhaps a mile, reaching a ground of
comparative safety where their silence might have relaxed without
bringing about disaster. But Jeb would take no chance, and forced the
column to proceed with the same scrupulous care. As he was skirting a
group of the dead, that looked frightfully grotesque in the pale
moonlight, a voice almost at his back sent terror to his soul--then joy.

"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot!" it said guardedly.

"Tim!" he cried, instantly calling a halt. There could be no mistaking
that voice, were it heard anywhere on earth. "Tim, where are you?"

"If it ain't Jeb, may I be shot for a spy! B'ys, deliverance is come!"
And the sergeant raised himself to a sitting position, while several
forms about him also began to stir.

"You blessed Irishman," said Jeb, delightedly, "if I could take my eyes
off this bunch, darned if I wouldn't kiss you!"

"Ye've brought better'n a kiss, lad--but ye can do thot yit, mind ye, if
I see inither sun!"

"Are you too badly hurt to be carried in?"

"Thot's a divil av a question, now! Sure, me an' the b'ys is too
continted to move for annything, lest 'tis a pitcher av ice-water----"
his voice seemed to crack at the mention of this.

Through the interpreter Jeb ordered a man to lift him; and as a big
fellow stepped forward, Tim chuckled:

"If this don't beat the Dutch, may I be shot--ow! me leg! Here, ye
butcher, don't ye know better'n to handle a mon like a trunk! Kneel, ye
spalpeen, whilst I straddle the neck av ye!"

When the German arose with Tim firmly astride his shoulders Jeb sent out
another prisoner, then another, until nine wounded were prepared for
transport rearward.

"You're sure there aren't any more, Tim?" he asked.

"Faith, an' I wisht there was, lad," the sergeant answered soberly.
"Pass me up me rifle, like a good b'y, forinst we start! I see be the
black-and-gold button on me ar-rmy mule thot he's a Landstrumer, an'
they's tricky b'ys, at times!"

There was a cheer so spontaneous about this Irishman, whose very genius
for happiness had lightened many a heavy burden, that his mount began
to shake with laughter; whereupon Tim, in spite of a wound that pained
grievously, grinned down at him.

"Laugh away, ye fat-headed Fritz," he said. "But don't go tryin' to buck
me off, or 'tis Tim Doreen'll crack yer periscope--bein' as he's settin'
on it! Jeb, ye've two spare ar-rmy mules--let thim bring in all the
rifles, like a good lad!"

They had gone but a little way when Tim caught the German by the ear,
saying:

"Gee-haw, ye beggarly Boche! Turn 'round, an' take me to the boss av
this job!"--but, as the prisoner did no more than flinch, he called
back: "Jeb, order this outcast to halt, whilst ye come up to us!"

When this had been accomplished through the interpreter, and the two
friends were moving side by side, the sergeant asked:

"D'ye think there's no fear av this divil understandin' God's language?
Thin, I've a mind to ask w'ot's come over ye, lad--but ye mustn't be
takin' it amiss! Ye know thot whin I saw ye last, ye wasn't w'ot I'd
call love-sick for a scrap!"

"Tim," he answered, in an awed voice, "it was the sight of those
children!"

"The childer, ye say! Thim w'ot's forinst us?"

"Yes. They did it! God, but they were a terrible sight to see--it sort
of made me crazy!"

"'Tis a Christian kind av insanity, lad," the sergeant mused. "I hope
ye'll be havin' a domn fine lot av it!"

Thus, when the low-lying moon flooded the dressing-station quadrangle,
Jeb, with fourteen prisoners, nine wounded comrades and three little
citizens from the "empire of death," was challenged by lookouts of a new
regiment that had arrived during the night to occupy the old front line
trench. The next minute cheers were ringing from a thousand throats.

Crossing the narrow bridge Tim, though weak from pain, yelled:

"Sind a squad after us, lads, an' ye can have our mules whin they're
unloaded!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Bonsecours had turned with a sigh of relief from the last of his
cases and stepped outside for a breath of air, when the sound of
cheering reached him.

"There is some good news," he called to Marian, who came and stood
nearby, listening. Yet, even at that moment, his thoughts were of her,
and he turned, saying gently: "You must rest; I really insist upon it!
If you don't, I--I shall break down, myself."

She looked at him searchingly, reading well the fatigue, the unutterable
strain, which marked his face, and whispered:

"You're the one who needs it! Don't you realize how helpless we would be
here without you?"

"And how helpless I would be without _you_?" he murmured. "Oh, my
wonderful Marian----!" He checked himself with an effort; yet, had the
moon been brighter, he would have seen the pallor in her face yield to a
flood of warm color.

The tramp of men was coming nearer, men who slipped and stumbled down
the steep road, and then a group of curious figures staggered into view,
seeming in the uncertain light scarcely to be human. Turning right they
marched heavily to the dressing-station entrance and, at Jeb's command,
halted.

Bonsecours, with mouth agape, stepped back at their approach, while
Marian drew slightly closer to him. There is nothing in the French
language which exactly corresponds to our expression of amazement:
"Well, I'll be damned!" but whatever comes nearest to it is what the
great surgeon now said, like a common sapper. At the same instant the
nurse at his side gave a low cry. She was not looking at Jeb, but at the
children.




CHAPTER XVI


Scarcely were the children lifted down before Marian had kneeled and
taken them in her arms. Quicker than Bonsecours she had read the story
of their destruction, and now sobbed over them as though her heart would
break. One had clasped her neck, but the other two, unable to stand,
merely stared with wide-open eyes devoid of the slightest understanding.
It was when the great French surgeon looked upon these--little tots
whose minds were shattered by cruelties purposely conceived for them,
and whose bodies were starved to skeleton thinness in order that thieves
and degenerates might grow fat--that he swore a mighty oath and buried
his face in his hands.

"_Mon Dieu, mon Dieu_," he muttered fiercely, "how many more will they
add to the thousands I have already seen!"

Jeb had glanced only once at Marian, being afraid of the reproach her
eyes might still hold for him; but as soon as a squad trotted up to
receive the prisoners he turned away, welcoming another duty which
sternly summoned him back to the plain. For the machine-gun redoubts had
to be taken before their deadly fire could pour into those brave fellows
who had swept ahead--and this must be done before uncompromising
daylight made the work too costly! So he turned without glancing again
at Marian. Yet no decoration for a brave deed might have been more
brilliant than her look which followed him, could she have shut out the
torturing picture of his debasement at the shell hole. A quick prayer
sprang from her soul into space as she whispered fervently: "God keep
his courage stiff!" She had not thought about his body; she did not care
about his body! It was to make a soldier that she prayed.

Bonsecours, having seen the look and movement of her lips, asked gently:

"Do you know him?"

"We grew up in the same town, back home," she answered, still gazing
after Jeb.

"Oh!" he said. It was a gasp of pain, and he stood as though a shell
had burst and stunned him. In his headlong work between guns of opposing
armies, he had never stopped to wonder if there might be someone else in
this Nurse Marian's life; and now, stung by a possible realization of
it, his mind leaped outward to fears and fancied facts--all of which she
might have told him were groundless. Turning toward the dug-out, he said
briefly over his shoulder: "Please see to the children. My own cases are
waiting."

Down into the trench Jeb had run, calling for an officer, and was soon
making his report to the Colonel, who peremptorily asked:

"You can show us these positions?"

"Two of them, sir; the others must occupy the same general line."

Silently, but in the highest spirits, three thousand men went over the
top, deploying in open order to make their drag-net stretch to its
farthest capacity and sweep up the redoubts, whose locations, after all,
were largely a matter of conjecture.

Jeb, fighting hard to hold himself steady, pressed toward the right,
where he thought the first digging party could be found; yet, before he
sighted it, firing broke out to his left, then farther to his left--each
time with the unmistakable fusillade of machine-guns answered by
cracking rifles. One bunch at a time, the enemy was being flushed from
cover; yet at each new outburst he gasped more and more for
air,--feeling in his soul what was coming over him, and swearing roundly
to drive it back.

"We ain't going to miss anything, are we?" a cheery voice at his back
called out.

"We'll find it, all right," he panted; but might have saved his breath,
for that very instant they were met by a fire which, in a light less
deceptive, would have been gruelling even to their openly deployed
skirmish line.

Without awaiting commands--were there any to wait for--the men, ducking
low, dashed past him toward the pit, leaped down into it gouging their
bayonets right and left. With the sentry's rifle still in his hands he
tried to follow; but at the brink, being confronted by sounds of steel
upon steel, oaths, grunts, yells of victory and of pain, his legs
refused to move. The old fear was wrapping itself about him. But then
came cries of "Kamerad!"--and upon hearing these he bounded in, knowing
the place had surrendered.

"The ruined hamlet next," he yelled. "There's a lot of supplies there!"

The men sprang out after him, laughing now in sheer exuberance of
spirits, and throwing taunts at a few of their disgruntled mates who had
been left to watch the prisoners and spoils. But Jeb could not laugh.
His jaws were set in grim determination. He was soul-sick and furious.
He had not played fair--although his comrades were far from suspecting
it. He swore to himself over and over, on the memory of those children
whom he had saved at this place, that he would be the first to go in and
the last to come out, were it to mean death a hundred times.

But the hamlet put up no resistance; it lay still and deserted, as
though some marauding monster had torn it in its teeth and passed on by.
This silence, however, did not deceive Jeb. Even through the chaos of
his brain he had a rather fair idea of how many small engagements had
taken place back on the plain, and judged them to be far short of the
newly built redoubts; thereby conjecturing that several of the companies
must have deserted their positions and fallen in upon the more secure
catacombs. Advising the men to scatter and search the cellars, he
discovered at last a large, although artfully disguised, opening to the
subterranean area below.

"Who speaks German?" he asked, of those who stood about him.

"I," said one.

"Then yell down and tell 'em to come out, or be blown out!"

But someone below must have understood English and quickly translated,
because long cries of "Kamerad, Kamerad," floated eerily up, as if a
cover had been lifted from some pit in hell releasing the wails of
incarcerated spirits. Answering with yells of derision the troops
climbed to the street level and formed to receive prisoners; whereupon,
casting rifles aside as they gained the open, the inhabitants of this
underworld filed out.

When the catacombs had been searched and quantities of munitions for the
machine-guns salvaged, Jeb led the way back across the now silent No
Man's Land that had passed into the pages of history. One by one the
other units were picked up, standing guard over captured positions.
Everything had been swept into the Allied pocket at an insignificant
cost.

Dawn had not yet streaked the east. Except for a fitful shot somewhere
back across the plain, where an overstrained sentry fired at a shadow,
the world slept. The regiment, flushed and happy, sprang down into its
trench; and Jeb was turning glumly toward the gravelly road, when the
Colonel stepped after him.

"I haven't your name," he said. "I want to send it in."

"Oh, that's all right," Jeb answered, afraid to look at this commander
of men, lest even in the dim light his stricken conscience might be
revealed.

"But it isn't all right," the officer smiled. "I heard what you did
earlier to-night--a rather fine thing, that!--and now you've turned
another trick, giving us eight hundred prisoners, twelve machine-gun
sections, and various stuff. You deserve a mention."

"Then just tell 'em," Jeb began; but he could not claim it and, blushing
guiltily, hurried off, yelling over his shoulder: "It isn't worth while,
really!"

Yet there had been something else that happened out on the field which
meant a great deal more to him. It had been while they were marching
homeward, when this same officer had laid a hand upon his arm and said:
"I hope the American army which landed yesterday is made up of your
stuff!" The words did not in any sense imply doubt; merely compliment,
but Jeb inwardly cringed because the American Army had been graded, even
in ignorance, with such as he. At that instant he had made a resolve--an
earnest, solemn resolve--to join that army and, by its influence, prove
himself worthy.

He now went hurriedly down into the quadrangle and turned to the dug-out
where he expected to find Bonsecours--the man who superseded Barrow in
authority. For he guessed that an ambulance would be standing farther at
the rear, waiting for the nine men whom he had brought in. When it took
them back, he determined that it would also take him to the fellows
from home who had just landed--to a new opportunity! Perhaps it was
ready to leave at any moment, and this thought gave him greater speed.

As he entered Tim, the last to receive attention, lay in a stretcher
ready to be moved. He had insisted upon being last, claiming this
preference because of the fact that he was a sergeant; and now, although
with a badly shattered leg which the surgeon had told him might later
have to go, he grinned broadly as Jeb clasped his hand. Bonsecours'
greeting also was affectionate and genuine; for, despite his fading hope
of happiness, and the memory of Jeb's face which had worn the stamp of
abject fear twenty-four hours earlier, he was too big a man to refuse
tribute to a manly deed.

"Well, lad," Tim, his mouth drawn with pain, tried to laugh--tried to
"bluff it out" so Jeb would not suspect the truth, "I'm thinkin' thot
life's wan domn hole after anither! First, mind ye, 'tis the swimmin'
hole, thin the shell hole, thin a hole in me leg, an' next we know 'tis
a stay-for-keeps hole in the ground! W'ot a divil av a hole the ould
world is, after all! But me leg'll be all right in a fortnight, lad,"
(oh, Tim, you beloved liar!) "an' thin I'll be back wid the b'ys twict
as strong as iver!"

"That's mighty fine news," Jeb laughed. "But I hope to go back with you
now!"

"I'm not goin' now," Tim cried angrily. "I've swore 'tis not a step I
take till I've said 'God bless ye' to thot angel nurse!"

"There, there, Tim, keep quiet! Haven't I promised that you could?"
Bonsecours smiled at him.

"Thin w'ot's the lad sayin' about takin' me now?"

"Oh, I only meant when you are ready, Tim," Jeb did his part to quiet
the excited little sergeant; then, to the doctor, he added quickly: "I
want to go back with the ambulance, that's all. The Americans landed
yesterday, and----"

"But," the surgeon gasped at this unusual request, "Barrow needs you!"

"I guess he doesn't, so awfully much," Jeb flushed. "If you can possibly
arrange it for me, I'll be greatly obliged. I've--I've just got to get
in the ranks, Doctor! I can't explain what I mean--but it's those
children! Why, if each of the ten million American fellows who
registered for our New Army could see only a part of cruelties I've
seen, they'd break their necks getting over here!--and they wouldn't go
back, either, not even for Christmas, till the last of these German
High-in-Command was in prison, or dead! I'm only asking for a chance to
make good----"

"Cut thot out," Tim called huskily. "It hur-rts me leg!"

Bonsecours laughed but, still protesting, said:

"I can't keep the ambulance waiting!"

"You won't have to; I'm ready now."

"But your kit----?"

"Is on my back, sir."

Two big orderlies came in and picked up the stretcher, whereupon Tim
grew again excited.

"Put me down, ye little runts," he yelled, "afore I git up an'
smash----"

"There, there," Bonsecours hastily interposed; saying to them: "Take
this brave fellow to Dug-out Three--he wants to see Nurse Marian. I'll
be right after you." But the instant they had left he turned to Jeb,
asking sharply: "Do you realize what your leaving means?"

"I think I do, sir."

"You would deliberately put upon me the responsibility of sending you?"

"Why, yes," Jeb answered, somewhat perplexed.

"Then I refuse!" the surgeon snapped. "I refuse, until you bring me word
that your little nurse friend from America desires it!"

Unaware of what was passing in Bonsecours' mind, Jeb stared after him in
complete amazement. He had intended, of course, to see Marian and say
good-bye to her, although it was an interview toward which he looked
with so much dread that once or twice he had thought of escaping it, and
writing her from somewhere else. Yet now he must bring some word from
her to this cranky surgeon, or he dared not leave, at all! His nerves
were rattled, and he fumbled through his pockets for the "makings";
spilled the tobacco and threw his ineffectual effort away in disgust.
Marian was in Dug-out Three, with Tim, Bonsecours, and the
stretcher-bearers! Oh, well, he told himself, perhaps it would be
easier to have them all present!--and he went out resolutely, turning
toward the third entrance. But on the threshold his resolution failed,
and he drew back, staring.

The soft light from an oil lamp made the interior look warm and
attractive, particularly because Marian was standing by the side of Tim,
smiling tenderly down at him. Across from her Bonsecours stood, also
smiling, but with a look of weariness--perhaps it was unhappiness. The
bearers were grinning, as the little sergeant now continued with what,
evidently, he had been saying:

"So ye see, lass, I couldn't go Blighty till I'd whispered a 'God bless
ye' to me own, an' only, sister!"

"I'd be very proud if you were my brother, Tim," she replied,
soothingly.

"She'd be very proud _if I were_," he looked at Bonsecours with a broad
grin. "Now w'ot d'ye know about thot, Doctor! If _I were_, indade!--as
if I _wasn't_! Shure, an' if the same blood don't run in both our veins,
'tis not Tim Doreen as would be here now, a-tellin' av it!"

"You're perfectly right," the surgeon laughed. "I did that deed myself,
and it ought to make you her brother!"

"_Ought_ to! Faith, an' it _did_!--iver since thot day the blessed angel
says to ye: 'Thin do yer dooty an' save 'im!', as she put out her ar-rm
for the sacrifice thot kept me here on earth!"

"Please stop--both of you!" she implored.

"Shure, lass, an' 'tis no harm speakin' av a noble deed. An' now," he
added, folding his hands upon his breast, and closing his eyes in mock
contentment, "'tis me last wish an' tistament to make the good Doctor
Bonsecours me brother-in-law!"

"One must be in his right mind to make a last 'wish and tistament,'"
Marian tried to look at him severely; but, the next instant, she leaned
impulsively over and kissed his cheeks--then ran out the doorway.

Jeb had barely time to draw back when she dashed past him and turned
toward the road leading above the dug-outs. She might readily have seen
him had her haste and confusion been less, because the dawn was coming,
and objects in the quadrangle were vaguely beginning to take shape. A
new day was creeping up over the hill. The cold, unsympathetic light,
matching the compass of his thoughts, made the world look gray and
sordid.

He had heard, and now realized with a new depression that henceforth he
could be no more a part of her life than any one of the millions who
were fighting the battle of Humanity in this stricken land. Not that he
pretended to love her inordinately, by any means, but a man need only
love a girl with a very small portion of his heart to feel a throb of
pain when she surrenders to some one else. It was this sense of being
left behind that hurt; of being deserted by his old playmate--and of
deserving it! He turned slowly and followed after her.

She did not hear him as he came up, and when he approached to within a
few feet of her he saw the reason. The dawn was streaking the sky with
pink and salmon tints, and, although her eyes were gazing into it, her
thoughts reached far beyond. Standing upon the hilltop, her hands
crossed over the red emblem on her breast, the half-light of soft color
touching her immobile face, she typified the Spirit of Mercy poised
above the unawakened battlefield, ready at the first gun's crash to fly
downward with her warmth, her strength, her sympathy.

For the moment forgetting his own mission in the presence of the
transfigured Marian, Jeb stood abashed. Yet the minutes were passing,
and the ambulance would not wait.

"I--I came up to say good-bye," he stammered, awkwardly. "I'm going."

She turned, seeming reluctant to be torn from her meditations, and
quietly asked:

"Where?"

He told her in a few words, adding:

"Bonsecours won't give his permission unless you agree."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

But she knew. From a multitude of small things, and with an intuition
almost divine, she read another chapter of the great surgeon's nobility,
and turned her eyes again toward the rainbow east. It was perhaps what
she saw there in the changing sunrise that impelled her to whisper
softly:

"I hope you'll always be as brave as you were last night, Jeb."

His cheeks burned, but he faced her without flinching and replied:

"I'm never going to run away again, if that's what you mean!"

"I had not intended to put it so cruelly, Jeb. You've done a great thing
to-night, because you conquered two enemies at the same time--the one
within you being infinitely a harder fight than the one without. I
appreciate that, and am glad for you."

"I want you to forget that--that disgrace at the shell hole," he said,
doggedly.

"Forget?" Her voice broke hysterically, and her eyes filled with tears
of pity. "Ask me to forgive it, Jeb, and I may--but, forget it? Oh, how
can I? Don't you understand?--I _saw_ it! I _saw_ it!"

"Stop, stop--please!" he cried huskily, passing his hand across his
face. "Then don't forget, if--if you can't; but I'd hate to think of the
Colonel, and Aunt Sallie, and----"

"Your secret is safe, if that's what you fear," she said, now as
composedly as she had a moment before been moved. Again, for half a
minute, she faced the sunrise, when her voice came wistfully:

"Oh, God, if--if I just hadn't _seen_ it!"

He realized with full conviction that an impassable gulf lay between him
and this girl. It was not his debasing weakness, so much as her
discovery of it, that would forever stamp him with the brand of shame.
The Arab sheik who one time said: "A thief may loot my tent and I will
curse all thieves, but do I catch him at it and he dies!"--expressed the
mind of all humanity. Marian had _seen_ Jeb; and this meant that he was
dead to her.

He watched her for a moment longer, then in a dispirited voice asked:

"Shall I tell Bonsecours it's all right for me to go?"

Without taking her face from the east, she answered evenly:

"Yes; tell him it's all right for you to go. I am praying God to watch
over you, and--and make you truly worthy of a place among our soldiers
from home."

He glanced back, and saw, far beyond the quadrangle, two
stretcher-bearers carrying Tim to the waiting ambulance. Once more he
looked at Marian, tried twice to speak, but stood humbly mute before
her--awed by her ennobling beauty. For again her exquisite hands were
crossed over the red emblem upon her breast, her eyes gazed into the
glorified sky, and her lips moved as she pleaded with the God of Hosts
to fire this playmate at her side with the divine spark of courage--and
keep him brave.

Jeb bowed his head, feeling as though he were within the precinct of a
holy shrine; then in silence turned and went down the road, walking with
firm steps which, he prayed, would lead to the dawn of a new manhood.

The first of the "75's" crashed spitefully, and in a chaotic instant the
air and earth again were shorn of their blessed peace. Instantly the sky
became streaked with trails of smoke from over-passing shells. Far to
the north they fell and burst into white spray, as though a long
Atlantic comber were pounding on a rocky shore.

She turned once and looked toward it, moved by infinite pity for the men
who were being shattered; then started slowly back into the quadrangle,
just as Bonsecours dashed wildly up in search of her.

There were no words that he could say; he merely stood in front of her,
holding out his arms. Her fingers, still laced over the Red Cross,
fluttered nervously, as a butterfly, at the beginning of a summer storm,
will cling to a flower--wanting, yet not daring to leave lest its frail
wings, caught upon the wind, might carry it far out into an unexplored
world. But her eyes gazed at him with illimitable yearning; then gently
she swayed, stretched out her hands, and ran to him.




CHAPTER XVII


Trees that lined the streets of Hillsdale were touched with tints of red
and gold, frescoed by the magic brush of approaching winter.

In the _Eagle_ office sat the Colonel and Mr. Strong, looking
thoughtfully into their laps. Tears glistened on their cheeks; for
several minutes neither of them had spoken. Held in the editor's fingers
was an open letter just received, while in the Colonel's inert hand lay
a clipping from the Paris _Figaro_. The Colonel now glanced up slowly
but, seeing Mr. Strong's face, sharply exclaimed:

"I wish you'd stop your infernal weeping, Amos!"

"I wish you'd stop your own!" the editor replied with equal asperity;
then both of them began to laugh.

"I confess, Amos, that it's hard to keep back tears. Why, by gad, sir,
he has done as much as we ever did in the old fracas over here!--more,
sir! And Marian--who the devil is that fellow she eulogizes to the sky?
Here," he handed over the clipping, "read this again! It's a pity it
isn't printed in English!"

"Let me first read what Marian says, Roger; then we'll take the
clipping."

Three times within the last half hour these old gentlemen had followed
exactly this same routine: first taking Marian's letter, written from
Paris where she had been sent for a well-earned rest, and then
laboriously translating the newspaper item she inclosed to them.

Mr. Strong now adjusted his glasses and began the letter a fourth time,
while the Colonel leaned forward, hanging upon each word. It recited
first what Tim Doreen had magnanimously told about Jeb, losing none of
that Irishman's vividness; then it went on at great length to describe a
certain Dr. Georges Bonsecours. Page after page she wrote of him; citing
innumerable instances of his valor, both while under gruelling fire out
on the field and endless hours of indefatigable work beneath the dug-out
shelters. Having fully covered his present, she dashed into his past
with a reckless disregard of ink and paper, and filled many other pages.
Only once did the Colonel interrupt, and then to remark drily:

"Seems like a pretty thorough biographical sketch, Amos."

He had made this same observation, just at this same place, upon each of
the previous readings; and the editor had hesitated, cleared his
throat--as he now did--before continuing with the only mention Marian
had written of this great surgeon's future, which was, briefly:

"When the war is over, he is coming out to Hillsdale."

For a fourth time now Mr. Strong's eyes grew moist, as he asked:

"What do you suppose he wants to come out here to Hillsdale for?"

The Colonel had not previously deigned to answer this; he had merely
subsided into silence and let a lump rise in his throat in sympathy with
the editor. This time, however, he turned squarely to his friend and
asked:

"Amos, are you trying to be a pig-headed old fool, or do you really want
the truth!"

Mr. Strong looked at him rather humorously.

"I think I'll dodge the truth, at any rate, Roger--until this doctor
arrives. How do you think Miss Sallie and Miss Veemie will take it?"

"Take it? Why, they'll take it just as we do--with joyful hearts,
because their boy and our girl have achieved great things! I never
wanted her to marry Jeb, anyhow!" And to Mr. Strong's smile of surprise,
he thundered: "By cracky, I tell you I didn't, Roger! Jeb was too
immature for her--he had yet to prove himself!"

"He's proved himself now," the editor emphatically replied.

"He has, indeed," the Colonel's voice sank to tenderness. "He has,
indeed," he added to himself, as though he could not quite understand
it. "But, Amos, she needs a man of broader calibre--you know she does!
They weren't ever seriously in love with each other, anyhow!--don't
interrupt me again!--I tell you they weren't! Just because their dear
mothers expressed a wish for them to marry, you, and those two little
old maids out there, got to sentimentalizing over it until the poor
children were hypnotized. Why, confound it, I call them lucky to have
escaped! I wonder, by the way," he added thoughtfully, "if this Doctor
What's-his-name talks English, or the jargon in which that clipping is
printed! He'll have a stupid time here in Hillsdale, that's all I've got
to say."

Mr. Strong laughed outright.

"You're mighty cock-sure about him and Marian!"

"Because I don't admit being a pig-headed old fool," the Colonel
grinned. "If ever invisible words were written between lines of a
letter, they're there in your hand! He's asked her, to a certainty; and
she has either said yes, or intends to! Wait for the next mail! The
little vixen is just preparing us--see if I ain't right! Now, read the
other, Amos," he added gently.

The clipping was a long one, being a list of men in the American Army
who had been recommended for the _Croix de Guerre_, and, among the many,
he read:

"'Soldier Jebediah Tumpson, for going through a heavy barrage to search
for a wounded platoon leader, and after two hours under constant fire
bringing him back in safety.'"

"What's that thing they want to give him?" the Colonel asked, after they
had been silent with their own thoughts for several moments. There was a
huskiness in his voice that suggested another approach of tears.

"_Croix de Guerre_," Mr. Strong coughed and answered. "It means the
Cross of War."

"Then why the devil didn't you say Cross of War, Amos," he demanded,
trying valiantly to hide his emotion. "What's the sense of using words
that sound like a dog fight!--g-r-r-r-r!--Croix de G-r-r-r-r,
indeed!--when you know how to say it in decent American English!"

The editor smiled understandingly, and again they relapsed into
meditation; their hearts beating happily, the Colonel's stout boot
tapping contentedly upon the oaken floor.

"Amos," he shouted, springing at last to his feet, "there's no damned
German army ever recruited can stand before our boys when we get good
and mad!"

Mr. Strong arose and closed his roll-top desk with a bang. Laying a hand
on his friend's shoulder, he said:

"You're damn right! Now get your overcoat----"

"Pouf! I don't need any overcoat!" the Colonel cried disdainfully,
feeling himself warmed by the old spirit of 1861, which had been fanned
into a comforting glow by the new spirit of 1917.

"Yes, you do, Roger, for I heard you coughing only yesterday!--and you
remember what I promised Marian!"

"I will, if you put on your muffler, Amos!"

"Oh, very well. But what I started to say is, that--while I don't make a
practice of it--I think we're entitled to go to the hotel for a
small--er-a! Then we'll walk out Main street, and take this good news to
the little aunts!"

"And some flowers, Amos! Tulips, if we can find any--a big bunch of
'em!"

THE END


       *       *       *       *       *


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   Britton Publishing Company    New York





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Where the Souls of Men are Calling, by
Credo Harris and John R. Neill

*** 