.dt Captain Lucy in France [1919], by Aline Havard-A Project Gutenberg eBook
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“THOSE ARE OUR GUNS THAT SOUND SO CLOSE”
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[Illustration: “THOSE ARE OUR GUNS THAT SOUND SO CLOSE”]
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CAPTAIN LUCY||IN FRANCE
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BY
ALINE HAVARD
Author of
“CAPTAIN LUCY AND LIEUTENANT BOB”
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[Illustration: Logo]
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Illustrated by
RALPH P. COLEMAN
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PHILADELPHIA
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
1919
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COPYRIGHT
1919 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
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[Illustration: Logo]
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Captain Lucy in France
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Introduction
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To those who made friends with Lucy Gordon
on Governor’s Island it will seem a great change
to find her, in this second story, so far away from
home. She is only one of thousands, though, to
whom a few months of the great war brought more
changes than they ever thought could be crowded
into a lifetime.
Lucy can look back over less than a year to her
old life at the army post in New York Harbor before
the Colonel was ordered overseas. To that
brief summer time when the Gordon family was
united during her brother Bob’s West Point
graduation leave, and to the dark days of the
winter of 1917 when Bob was in a German prison.
Even then Lucy never lost hope, and her brave
confidence was gloriously rewarded with Bob’s
freedom. But in those dreadful weeks of waiting
she outgrew her childhood, as though even in that
pleasant home on Governor’s Island she knew that
peace and content could never come back to her
and to those she loved until America had fired her
final shot at Germany’s crumbling lines.
She could not guess what lay before her,—what
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old friends she was to meet again in strange new
places. Yet she had resolved, even before she had
any hope of crossing to the other side, that, come
what might, she would serve in her own way as
steadfastly as her father served, as valiantly as Bob.
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Contents
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CHAP. | | PAGE
I. | The Summons | #9:ch01#
II. | On the Allied Front | #34:ch02#
III. | A Glimpse of Bob | #56:ch03#
IV. | The Fortune of War | #82:ch04#
V. | The English Prisoner | #97:ch05#
VI. | A German Ally | #115:ch06#
VII. | Bob Gordon and Captain Beattie | #141:ch07#
VIII. | A Little French Heroine | #170:ch08#
IX. | The Fight Over Argenton | #194:ch09#
X. | The Plan of the Defenses | #216:ch10#
XI. | A Chance in a Thousand | #235:ch11#
XII. | Mrs. Gordon and Bob | #261:ch12#
XIII. | The Price of Victory | #281:ch13#
XIV. | A Desperate Resolve | #302:ch14#
XV. | Across the Lines | #326:ch15#
XVI. | The Yanks Are Coming | #356:ch16#
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Illustrations
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| PAGE
“Those Are Our Guns That Sound So Close” | #Frontispiece:frontis#
“This Meadow Is The Best Landing-Place” | #77:i077#
“Who’s That With You?” | #145:i145#
“What’s Your Business Here?” | #253:i253#
She Approached The Chimney | #336:i336#
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Captain Lucy in France
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Captain Lucy in France
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CHAPTER I||THE SUMMONS
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“The really nice part about doing hard work is
that you feel so happy when you’ve left off,” remarked
Janet Leslie, stretching her lazy length on
the shady grass with arms beneath her head. “Lie
down again, Lucy. We have still half an hour to
rest.”
“I’m not tired. I haven’t worked as hard as
you and Edith, because I stopped to read Bob’s
letter,” said Lucy Gordon, turning toward the
other girl of the trio, who was likewise lying on the
grass, her heavy pigtail fallen across one sunburned
cheek.
“U-h!” grunted Edith Morris with closed eyelids.
“That last row of beans was almost too much
for me. Gardening isn’t my strong point. I’d
rather be junior hospital aide all day.”
// 011.png
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Lucy’s hazel eyes wandered from her two companions
across the wide, level stretch of green, lit
by the noonday sun, to where the light, spring
shadows of the oak groves checkered its edges.
The smooth turf was all cut up into a dozen big
truck-gardens. With reckless disregard of the
beautiful velvet lawn, busy hands had plowed and
planted, until everywhere were springing up young
corn and beans, peas, lentils and potato plants.
Mr. Arthur Leslie’s big estate was given up to
raising food for hungry mouths, and this little
corner of it showed but a part of the changes that
had come to Highland House since the beginning
of the war.
It was the second week of May, 1918, and Lucy
Gordon was in England. Though only a few
miles from London, this quiet countryside seemed
very peaceful, but that was only when you looked
up at the clear, bright sky, or across the green fields.
To watch the people at their daily tasks was to see
that not one of them, from school children to old
men and women, was for one moment idle, or forgetful
of the burden each had to share. Certainly
Lucy could not forget it, but she often thanked the
constant work for the distraction it gave her
anxious thoughts. It was two months since her
father, now Colonel Gordon, had been ordered from
his home station at Governor’s Island, in New York
// 012.png
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Harbor, to the western front. His departure had
followed quickly her brother Bob’s convalescence
after his German captivity, and on top of it had
come her mother’s decision to put her knowledge of
the care of the sick and of children to some use in
the country which held her son and husband. Six
weeks ago Mrs. Gordon had sailed to join English
and American workers in the reclaimed French
villages behind the lines, and with her had gone
Lucy, after countless prayers to her mother, as well
as to Mr. Leslie, her kind and sympathetic Cousin
Henry, to be allowed to accept her English cousins’
invitation and remain as near as she could to her
family.
“I’ll take care of her, Sally,—let her come,” Mr.
Leslie had begged for her in those last, hurried days
at Governor’s Island. “Arthur Leslie’s girl will
love to have her there, and it’s tough leaving her
behind, even at your mother’s. I’ll be back and
forth often from the Continent, you know, and can
bring you news of each other.” For Mr. Leslie,
giving up the active superintendence of his big
lumber camps, had organized and equipped a Red
Cross unit which he meant to accompany to the
French front. In the end he had his way, and Mrs.
Gordon, only too glad to have Lucy near her so
long as she was safe, had given her consent.
That was six weeks ago, and they had passed
// 013.png
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more quickly than any weeks in the fifteen years
of Lucy’s life. For since coming to the beautiful
Surrey home of her unknown English cousins, she
had worked, like them, in almost every waking
moment, and longed like them to do more, far more
than was in their power, for the cause of the Allies.
Presently Janet roused herself to say thoughtfully,
as she blinked up at the sun, “It is harder for
Lucy than for us, because her family are all away.
Our brothers are gone, Edie, and my father, but we
both have our mothers left—though Mum wants to
join Cousin Sally this summer, Lucy, so perhaps
we’ll be left alone. You know your mother wrote
how few there are over there to help, and how many
of those poor French children are without homes.
I wish I were old enough to go.”
Lucy’s eyes flashed instant response to her
cousin’s words. In spite of her hard daily tasks
her eager, restless spirit was still unsatisfied, and
she dreamed, as in the year gone by, of greater and
braver efforts.
“That’s so,” assented Edith, lazily opening her
eyes, as she pondered Janet’s first words. “Of
course Janet is your cousin, but she’s Scotch and
English, and you’re American. Is all your family
in France, Lucy?”
“No—there’s William,” said Lucy, smiling to
herself as a little figure came before her mind’s eye
// 014.png
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with the name. “He’s my six-year-old brother, at
my grandmother’s in Connecticut. But my father
is with the A.E.F.[#] So is Bob—in aviation—and
Mother is behind the lines.” She sighed, but a
quick realization of the truth made her add more
cheerfully, “Still, it’s a lot to be as near to them as
I am.”
.pm fn-start // 1
American Expedition to France.
.pm fn-end
“I should think so!” exclaimed Janet, sitting up
with a sudden return of energy at sight of a quick
moving figure among the gardens. “Think if
you’d been left way off in America.” She turned
to her cousin as she spoke with a look of real understanding,
for already frank, generous Janet felt a
warm friendship for the courageous little American,
and found in Lucy no less a devotion than her
own to the Allies’ cause. “Here comes Mary Lee,”
she said, nodding toward the advancing figure of a
tall girl of eighteen, dressed, like themselves, in
khaki working suit. “Time’s up, I guess.”
The two rose quickly to their feet, and gathered
up rakes and hoes. “Time, Mary?” asked Edith,
lingering for a final stretch. “It seems about ten
minutes to-day since we came out from luncheon.”
“It’s a whole hour, lazybones,” said Mary Lee,
smiling as she showed the watch on her tanned
wrist. “I want you three to finish hoeing the corn
over here, if you will.”
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With no great enthusiasm but with obedient
alacrity, the young farm-hands shouldered their
hoes and walked off across the grass, for the Junior
War Workers were under orders, and submitted
like good soldiers to discipline. For days after her
arrival in England Lucy had marveled at the
organization which had marshaled thousands of
schoolboys and schoolgirls in efficient squads, under
the direction of their elders, and told them off for
countless duties throughout the land. Since she
herself became a member of the army of war workers
she had gardened for endless hot, weary, satisfying
hours. She had mended linen and sewed on
buttons in the wardrobe room of the near-by base
hospital, and had canvassed the countryside with
Janet in the little donkey-cart, for eggs and other
delicacies promised for the sick and wounded. It
was extraordinary the amount of work that could
be got, at no great hardship, from one willing and
active girl; and when the three got together it really
seemed as though they accomplished something, in
spite of all Lucy’s unsatisfied longings.
It was four o’clock, and the sun had commenced
to throw long shadows from the oak trees on the
grass, when Mary Lee called to the dozen girls,
busy here and there among the gardens, to stop
work for the day.
“Phew!” breathed Janet, pushing back the
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thick, dark hair from her hot face, and stepping
gingerly along the well cultivated row of tiny green
shoots. “I know what I’m going to do. I’m
going in to lie down on my sofa, and just be perfectly
worthless until it’s time for tea. Perhaps
I’ll play with the kitten, but nothing more strenuous.”
Lucy said nothing, but inwardly she knew what
she should do. At the noon rest she had only
skimmed over Bob’s letter, and now it fairly burned
the pocket of her khaki blouse. She had not seen
her brother since they said good-bye on the Governor’s
Island dock in September, 1917. She
shouldered her hoe and followed quickly in her
cousin’s footsteps, waving to Edith, who had started
homeward through the grove as Lucy and Janet set
off toward the house.
Half an hour later, bathed and free from clinging
chunks of Surrey earth, Lucy was sitting in the
window-seat of her bedroom in the beautiful old
house, beside the diamond-paned bay window.
Her soft, fair hair was smoothly brushed and
tied with a black ribbon, and her khaki uniform
changed for a blue linen dress. With a sigh of
satisfaction she took Bob’s hastily written letter
from its envelope and settled back among the
cushions to read.
// 017.png
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.pm letter-start
“Dear old Lucy:
“Hope you are not too homesick for the
U.S.A. It’s no use, so cheer up and do all you
can to help. But I know there’s no need to tell
you that.
“I am as well as possible, and, as you may
imagine, frightfully busy since the Boches began
their last big slugging at our lines. I can’t tell
you where I am, but it is, I’m sorry to say, nowhere
near Mother or Dad, so I haven’t seen either of
them for a month. I hope you got my last letter
telling the good news that I brought down my first
German plane. I am a full-fledged pilot at last,
and a first lieutenant, with some sweet little Nieuports
of my own that can do wonders in the air.
Cousin Henry watched me fly the other day. His
work brought him near here last week, and he gave
me news of Mother, which I was awfully glad to
get. Transportation in these parts is pretty
crowded just now and letters come through slowly.
I shouldn’t be surprised if you heard from her
oftener than I do. Cousin Henry, like the trump
he is, is working for all he’s worth. Time and
money are nothing for him to give where they will
help, and I wish I could write you some of the fine
things he has done. I didn’t see him long, for we
are on pretty constant duty now, and most of my
outlook lately consists of German trenches seen
eight thousand feet below me, with shrapnel spouting
up from them like fireworks. I float around
among the clouds and keep out of reach, while my
observer makes his maps or gets his little machine
// 018.png
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gun ready if the German taubes come buzzing too
near.”
.pm letter-end
“Out of reach,” Lucy murmured, with a quick
frown. “Not if I know him!” and a worried
wrinkle persisted on her forehead as she turned to
the last page.
.pm letter-start
“The Yanks are doing their good little bit on
the battle line. I wish there were more of us, but
we’re not to be despised. Fritz doesn’t seem to
think so, anyway, from the bombing he gives our
trenches whenever our Allies give him a little
respite. Father’s regiment did a fine piece of work
the other day near you know where. I can’t write
more definitely now, but he, with a number of his
officers, was recommended for decoration by the
French divisional commander.”
.pm letter-end
Lucy’s forehead cleared a little over this, and her
serious eyes brightened as she read the words. Bob
had only written a few lines more:
.pm letter-start
“I know you like the Leslies. If they are
Cousin Henry’s sort you couldn’t help it. Janet’s
brother Arthur is not far from here, and I intend
to meet him as soon as we can manage it. I saw
him last when I was ten and he was about seventeen.
I haven’t a second more to write, so good-bye.
Love and best wishes from
.ti +15
“Yours as ever,
.ti +20
“Bob.”
.pm letter-end
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“Lucy!” called Janet’s soft voice outside the
door, after half an hour had stolen by. “Aren’t
you coming down to tea?”
Lucy sat up and recalled her thoughts from
where Bob’s letter had led them, and her eyes from
the darkening fields and woods beyond the leaded
panes.
“I’m coming, Janet,” she answered, putting
back the letter in its envelope and rising swiftly
from the window-seat.
Lucy seldom indulged now in the reveries she
had once been so fond of. They were too apt to
become sad ones, and she wanted only to follow the
example of her cousins and do each day’s work
cheerfully. Rebellious moments came, and this last
half hour had been one of them, when nothing
seemed to matter but the endless salt waves that
separated her from all she loved the best. But
Lucy had gained stores of both patience and courage
since that dark day in December of the year
before when Bob had been reported missing.
She went out of her room and ran down the wide
staircase to the floor below. The big, many-windowed
drawing-room on the right had most of the
furniture removed or pushed close to the wall to
make place for bales of gauze and muslin, for
Highland House was the headquarters of the district
Red Cross Chapter. Beyond the drawing-room
// 020.png
.pn +1
was the library, and there a table at one side
was set with kettle and teacups, and the jingle of
china and silver sounded from the doorway.
“Here I am, Cousin Janet. I hope you’ve kept
a muffin for me?” said Lucy, looking inquiringly
at the table and at the small, bright-eyed lady who
presided at it with quick-moving fingers.
“Of course we have,” declared Mrs. Leslie with
a nod and smile, as she handed Lucy a cup of hot
milk and water, with a dash of tea in it.
“We’ve kept two, even,” said Janet, pointing
to the muffin plate from her lazy seat in a big chair.
“It’s wonderful what an appetite hoeing corn gives
one—even for war rations.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever again complain of food
at home,” sighed Lucy as she sank into a chair.
She had learned some lessons about the value of a
hearty meal during those eight weeks in England.
There was enough to eat at Highland House,
but it was simple food, limited to each one’s
needs.
“This looks wonderful,” she added, carefully
spreading the hot, split muffin with a slender share
of margarine, for butter was an unknown luxury
outside the hospitals.
“That must have been a long letter you had from
Bob,” remarked Janet, searching her cousin’s face
for signs of unusual worry or homesickness, after
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her hour’s seclusion. “But perhaps you weren’t
reading it much of the time?”
“No, I wasn’t,” said Lucy. “I was thinking
about—oh, you know—all sorts of things. But
everything Bob wrote was pretty good news. He’s
a pilot, as he told me last week, and doing the work
he loves to do. He spoke of seeing Arthur very
soon, as they’re not far apart.”
“Then he’s near Cantigny,” said Mrs. Leslie
quickly, “for that’s where Arthur is now.”
At mention of her eldest son she flushed a little,
chiefly with pride, but that feeling was always
mixed with fear, and more than ever now, since the
opening of the great offensive. Arthur Leslie had
served for over three years, had received four
wounds, and had been decorated with the Victoria
Cross and the Croix de Guerre. In his mother’s
anxious thoughts it seemed almost too much to hope
that he should be longer spared.
Lucy glanced up at Mrs. Leslie’s face, in that
moment when her thoughts were far away from the
tea-table and the cheerful room, thinking as she
had often done before, how gay and merry Cousin
Janet must have been in the happy days before the
war. She was cheerful still, in spite of the daily
crushing weight upon her, but her lips were close
set, and her dark eyes had a sad earnestness behind
their glancing brightness. “Two sons and her
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.pn +1
husband,” Lucy thought. “That’s one more than
Mother has to worry for.”
“Come, children,” Mrs. Leslie said, rousing herself
after a moment. “Let’s go in and get the
gauze cut and arranged for to-morrow’s work. I
expect a good many will be here.”
The two girls rose obediently, and as they did so,
the ring of the front door-bell sounded through the
house.
“Perhaps that’s some one come to help us,” suggested
Janet, while her mother, putting behind her
the ever-present dread of a telegram from the War
Office, said:
“More likely it’s old Mrs. Fry with those eggs
she promised to collect for me.”
She turned as she spoke to learn from the servant
who the visitor was. The newcomer, however, did
not wait for announcement, but came straight on,
and in another moment Mr. Henry Leslie walked
into the room.
“Cousin Henry!” cried Lucy and Janet in one
amazed breath.
He carried his hat and gloves still in his hand,
and his kind, bright face was heavily marked with
weariness and anxiety.
“Your boys were both well, Janet—Arthur too,”
were his first words as he met Mrs. Leslie’s eyes.
“You’re not on leave again so soon?” Lucy
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faltered, and as she spoke a dreadful fear clutched
at her heart and she caught tight hold of Janet’s
shoulder as she stood beside her.
“Only for two days,” was Mr. Leslie’s still unsmiling
answer, and as Lucy’s frightened eyes
searched his he reached out for her hand and took
it in a warm clasp.
“Let me speak to this child a minute, Janet,”
he said to Mrs. Leslie, and the next moment she
and Janet had left the room and Lucy was staring
pale and trembling into his face.
“Mother—Father—Bob,” were the thoughts
that whirled through her brain.
“Yes, Lucy dear, I have bad news for you,” said
Mr. Leslie in answer to that unspoken question.
“Bob is safe, thank God, but your father is seriously
wounded. Now be brave, little girl,” he
added as Lucy’s hand grew cold beneath his clasp.
Leading her to a chair he made her sit down and
knelt beside her. “Listen to every word I say,
for I can’t waste a moment.”
The awful dizziness in Lucy’s brain seemed to
subside a little. In a dazed sort of calmness she
forced herself to listen.
“Your mother is only twenty miles away from
him, but that stretch of twenty miles is impassable
just now. There are not trains enough to carry
shells and reinforcements to our hard pressed
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trenches, and Bob, farther up the line, where the
press is hardest on the American front, cannot
desert his post. Your father wants most awfully
to see one of you, and you are the only one I can
reach now. I’ve got permission where it seemed impossible.
I’m going to take you to him to-night.”
There was not the slightest doubt of Lucy’s consent
in Mr. Leslie’s words, and there was no longer
any fear or shrinking in the hazel eyes from which
Lucy shook the tears before she met his gaze.
While he spoke she had buried her face in her
hands, and the promise, made when Bob came out
of German captivity, never again to give way to
despair, seemed suddenly very hard to keep. But
she stopped trembling and sat erect. For months
she had breathed the atmosphere of brave endurance.
Now the thought uppermost in her mind
was this, “I must think only of Father. How we
can get to him most quickly.” Aloud she asked,
“When do we start, Cousin Henry?”
“You’re a brick!” said Mr. Leslie, but under
his breath, for his own voice would not obey him
just then, at sight of Lucy’s pale and tear-stained
face. He managed to say, “We must leave here
by seven o’clock.”
The next two hours seemed all one hurried flight
to Lucy, with dinner forced upon her, which she
choked down somehow, and Cousin Henry and
// 025.png
.pn +1
Janet hovering about her with hopeful words and
tender, sympathetic hands, and eyes that would fill
up with tears in spite of them. Then hurried farewells,
and the train that drew up in the gloom of
the little station. After that came the long ride to
Dover. It was not more than a few hours, but to
Lucy it was endless.
It seemed to her that days already had gone by,
when in the darkness of the first hours of the morning
she felt beneath her feet the gangway of the
ship that was to carry them across the channel.
And here for a moment she forgot her surroundings
and stood on the wind-swept deck, silent and
motionless. All at once she seemed to have come
very close to the great battle-field, for, borne
through the misty darkness, she heard, for the first
time clearly audible, the distant thunder of the
guns.
The water was whipped into choppy waves by
the shifting wind, and Lucy, standing by the cabin
window at Mr. Leslie’s side, saw the dim lights of
Dover bob up and down as the ship got under way.
The cabin and decks were crowded with people,
officers and men returning to duty from brief leaves
at home, as well as a number of nurses and women
war workers of various kinds. More than one of
these cast a friendly, pitying glance in Lucy’s direction,
but they were strangers to her, and she could
// 026.png
.pn +1
not so much as return their smiles just then. The
courage she had so resolutely summoned up at
Highland House was fast sinking. She dropped
down in the chair Mr. Leslie offered her in a
secluded corner, and, sheltered by the darkness
enforced by lurking submarines, buried her face in
her hands and cried until the tears ran down between
her fingers. Mr. Leslie let her alone for a
while, but presently she felt his arm steal about her
shaking shoulders, and raising her wet face she
faltered, suddenly ashamed, “I guess I’m a coward,
Cousin Henry, but I couldn’t help it.”
“I guess you’re not a coward,” was the quick
answer, and, as he had done months before, the day
he promised to go in search of Bob in prison, Mr.
Leslie sat silent and patted his little cousin’s shoulder,
with a tender, comforting hand. His thoughts
went back to his own little daughter, whom Lucy’s
unselfish care and comradeship had restored to
health and strength. “It isn’t always easy to be
brave, Lucy,” he said at last, “not for the bravest
of us.”
Gradually Lucy dried her tears, and, tired out
now almost beyond the power to think, she leaned
back in her chair and fell half asleep. But even in
her dreams her father’s face appeared before her.
She could see plainly his clear gray eyes and
bronzed cheeks. She saw him again as he stood on
// 027.png
.pn +1
the Governor’s Island dock, the day he left to join
his regiment,—tall and soldierly, in the uniform
which always seemed a part of himself, and which
he had worn for twenty-five years. The dream was
almost a reassuring one, even when she woke, for it
seemed somehow as though her father must still be
determined and confident. But on top of this came
the bitter certainty that when Mr. Leslie had said,
“He wants most awfully to see one of you,” he
had shrunk from adding “before he dies.”
At last she made up her mind to ask the question
until now evaded.
“Where is Father wounded, Cousin Henry?”
she whispered.
“He received a bullet through the lungs. His
regiment pushed ahead five hundred yards, against
heavy odds, and took the enemy’s trenches.” Mr.
Leslie bent down toward his little cousin as he
spoke, but a slow nod was her only answer.
At daybreak Calais was but a few miles distant.
Lucy went into a cabin to wash her tear-stained
face, and returning to Mr. Leslie’s side was persuaded
to eat a sandwich and drink a glass of milk.
The precautions observed during the crossing were
cast aside, and with the French coast in plain sight
beyond a narrow blue stretch of water, tramping
feet filled the decks, and windlasses began hauling
goods up from the crowded hold.
// 028.png
.pn +1
An hour later, after interviews in which Mr.
Leslie showed his papers half a dozen times over to
curious officials, he and Lucy walked down the
gangway onto the quay.
“France!” flashed across Lucy’s tired mind,
with even then a thrill, as slowly her eyes wandered
over the varied crowd of officers and men, French,
British and Americans, intent on landing and getting
their effects ashore, while stores were lowered
after them onto the docks. American soldiers in
campaign hats not yet exchanged for the steel helmets,
French guards with vigilant eyes on everything
around them, British officers and Tommies,
with here and there a big Highlander in kilt and
bonnet—all hurried about their business, shouting
what must be said in tones loud enough to rise
above the clamor, to which the continuous firing
from the front made a dull rumble of accompaniment.
It was a wonderful picture, but it all seemed
strange and indistinct to Lucy at that moment.
Her mind was too oppressed with grief to have a
keen realization of what was going on around her.
Mechanically she followed her cousin’s lead, and
found herself in a motor-bus bound for the Calais
station. Half a dozen English and as many American
officers shared the crowded seats. The Americans
were strangers to her, and she was glad of it.
// 029.png
.pn +1
The ride was short, and then, after an hour’s
wait, they were on board a train again, still crowded
in with soldiers and war workers. Mr. Leslie
urged Lucy to try to sleep a little, but she could
not. The guns were like thunder in the first mutter
of an approaching storm, and they were nearing the
storm every moment. About her sounded shouting
voices as the slow train moved on, with frequent
jolting stops and whistled signals.
Beyond the windows a lovely spring sun shone
down on the French fields and orchards, and as the
train followed the French coast line toward
Boulogne, her tired eyes brightened at sight of the
lovely scene unfolding on every side.
Here was France unconquered, undespoiled, still
in the beauty of its springtime, as in the days of
peace. The guns pounded at its doors and troop-trains
passed and repassed endlessly to its defense
through a world of green meadows and apple blossoms.
Women and children thronged the fields,
hard at work cultivating the ripening crops. They
stopped to wave friendly greetings to the soldiers
in the train. Near every red-roofed farmhouse
grew a little orchard, laden with pink and fragrant-smelling
blossoms. Through the open windows
Lucy caught whiffs of the sweet air, and, closing
her eyes a moment, could not believe she was nearing
the great battle-field.
// 030.png
.pn +1
After an hour they left the countryside behind
to enter Boulogne, and in the noise and confusion
of the big station Mr. Leslie insisted on Lucy’s
getting down with him for something to eat. It
was a hurried meal, taken among a crowd of traveling
officers and soldiers, for the train made only a
short stop.
“A quarter of our journey is over,” Mr. Leslie
told her, trying to put a little hopeful encouragement
into his voice, when they had started on their
way again.
Only a day ago, Lucy thought, as head on hand
she stared out at the flowery meadows, while the
train continued its slow way south, this journey
had held for her all that was marvelous and unobtainable.
In fancy she had made it more than
once, with quickening breath and beating heart.
To be in France—heroic France—nearing the very
field over which Bob had flown so boldly, the land
where the hard-pressed Allies stood undaunted.
But now she no longer looked with pleasure at that
lovely landscape outside the window. She was in
a strange, far country; America was thousands of
watery miles away, and her father lay wounded—alone,
and wanting her. The train seemed a cruel
tyrant as it lagged along, and she saw nothing but
her father’s face, then her mother’s, tired and despairing,
from where she vainly sought to reach him.
// 031.png
.pn +1
It was after a long morning’s travel that Mr.
Leslie pointed out the majestic walls of Amiens
Cathedral above the distant town. Lucy nodded
silently, her eyes upon the noble beauty of it, but
her mind wandering eastward beyond. The noise
of the guns, until now merged into one muffled
roar, seemed all at once to break apart into a hundred
mighty voices. Overpowered with a terrible
sense of dread she clasped Mr. Leslie’s hand for
comfort, and felt it close over hers with a kind, understanding
pressure.
“Are we almost there?” she asked faintly.
“Only an hour more, when we’ve passed
Amiens,” was the hopeful answer. “Then a short
ride in whatever we can find to pick us up, and we’ll
be in the town. It’s Château-Plessis—taken from
the Boches only two days ago—so communications
are at loose ends just now. Hold on a little longer,
dear—you’ve been such a trump all day.”
Lucy nodded dully, half deafened by the guns.
They were crashing out in one tremendous thundering
volley, till the tearing din struck on Lucy’s
ears and made them ring and tingle, while she
shrank back more than once as from a blow, when
two hours later they entered the paved streets of
Château-Plessis. The motor-lorry, which had made
a difficult way among the heaps of broken stone,
dropped them before the old town hall, over which
// 032.png
.pn +1
the Red Cross flag now floated. Mr. Leslie took
Lucy’s arm and led her up the wide stone steps.
A nurse came forward, and some men in uniform,
but Lucy hardly saw them. They entered a great,
many-windowed hall which had once been a court
of justice, but now was a crowded ward, filled to
overflowing with cots on which lay wounded men.
On the floor lay more men, on blankets or mattresses,
and between them stepped nurses and orderlies,
intent and earnest, without time to so much as
lift their tired eyes at sight of the newcomers. A
surgeon had exchanged a few quick words with Mr.
Leslie, and now he led the way to a door some distance
down the ward. This door he opened, and
after glancing inside the room, made Lucy a silent
sign to enter.
Lucy was trembling from head to foot as she
crossed the threshold. The hand that clutched at
Mr. Leslie’s left red marks across his fingers. But
she fought desperately to hide her fear as she raised
her eyes to face the nurse who came forward from
beside the cot at one end of the little room. She
might have spared herself that effort at self-control
made for her father’s sake. Colonel Gordon lay
motionless upon the pillows, his sun-tanned cheeks
not quite hiding the deadly pallor of his face. His
breathing was quick and labored and his eyes were
closed. But when Lucy knelt beside him and, forgetting
// 033.png
.pn +1
all else around her, caught his responseless
hand in hers, for a second his lids quivered and
parted and the wide gray eyes looked into hers.
Then the lids fluttered down again, and behind her
she heard the surgeon, speaking loud against the
roar of the guns, say, “He will hardly know her
now. He’s but half conscious.”
Lucy bent her head over her father’s hand, and
the tears, so long restrained, poured down her
cheeks in a warm, salty shower. Sobs choked her,
but she forced them back, or buried them in the
blanket’s woolly folds. Then the hand she held
stirred slowly in her clasp, and at the same time she
felt a soft touch upon her tumbled hair. Incredulous,
she raised her head, winking away the
tears, and saw her father’s eyes fixed full upon her.
Puzzled and uncertain, dimmed with pain, they met
her eager, longing gaze, but recognition was somewhere
in their depths.
“Lucy—you?” he murmured, and while Lucy,
at the faint smile that touched his weary face,
struggled for power to answer him, he added
clearly, “Poor little girl! I wanted so to see you.
It was hard for you—this journey.” His smile
had faded to a frown of pain, but his hold on Lucy’s
hand did not relax, and she, suddenly by some help
outside of herself grown strong again, bent down
and spoke close to his ear.
// 034.png
.pn +1
“I didn’t mind it, Father! I couldn’t leave you
here to get well all alone.” Could it really be her
old cheerful voice that spoke for her—the voice she
had thought never to hear again? She smiled into
the wondering eyes once more upraised to hers and
went on confidently: “You’re going to get well,
Father dear, you know. That old bullet in the
Spanish War didn’t get you, and neither will this
one. I know it—the way I knew that Bob was
coming back, even when the Germans had him.”
Was it hope or only longing for life that touched
with a new light the eyes until now so dim and
sombre? The surgeon leaned forward, his gaze
intently fixed on the wounded officer’s face. To
Lucy’s brave and resolute heart it seemed an echo
of her own prayers, as though her father felt already
what in her wakening confidence she so
longed to make him feel—that he was not going to
die.
// 035.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch02
CHAPTER II||ON THE ALLIED FRONT
.sp 2
“You’re a good little nurse, Lucy Gordon!
That’s the way to talk to a sick man,” said a strong,
eager voice beside her, as Lucy left her father’s
room at last, a long hour later. A tall young army
surgeon, with bright blue eyes and ruddy, freckled
face, had crossed the ward at sight of her. Lucy
looked quickly up and for very astonishment her
heart skipped a beat, while a slow smile lighted up
her tired face. For an instant she was at home
again on Governor’s Island, in that happy time
when her family had all been together. Was it only
two years since Captain Greyson had brought her
through the measles—or was it a hundred years?
Anyway he was a major now, from the leaves upon
his shoulders.
“Was it you in there all the time?” she asked
dazedly. “I never noticed.”
“That’s not surprising,” said the officer smiling.
He took Lucy’s arm and led her through a doorway
into a little ruined garden, lit by the afternoon
// 036.png
.pn +1
sunlight. “Here’s a bench; sit down until Miss
Pearse brings you out something to eat.”
Thankful beyond words for the presence of this
old friend to care for her in her utter weariness,
Lucy dropped down upon the stone seat and looked
again into Major Greyson’s face. “I’m glad to
see you,” she said simply. “Do you think—is there
a chance——?” She could get no further, her
shaky voice half lost in the cannons’ roar, but Major
Greyson bent down to catch her words.
“Yes, there is, and don’t stop for one moment
thinking it,” was his swift answer, as he looked at
Lucy with keen, honest eyes. “There’s more of a
chance since you talked with him than since he was
wounded. There’s a tide in the succession of weary
pain-racked days when nature needs hope and nothing
else to keep up the battle, and, by Jove, you
plucky little girl, you brought it!”
“I won’t cry again,” thought Lucy, fighting for
self-control. She clenched her hands together with
all her strength, while a solitary tear dropped down
upon them. Major Greyson saw her struggle and,
prompted by a heavy burst of firing from the
French and American batteries in front of Château-Plessis,
began to speak of the town’s capture.
“Things are still in poor shape here—hospitals
and everything. You see, we’ve been in possession
only since Tuesday,” he said, glancing about
// 037.png
.pn +1
the little garden, cluttered with fallen stones and
rubbish, to where, through a gap in the battered
wall, the half-ruined street showed beyond. “We
had a hard fight to get it but, strangely enough, in
spite of the heavy bombardment, the place wasn’t
deserted. Some of the inhabitants have simply
stuck it out, German occupation and all. It takes
a lot to drive these poor French people from their
homes.”
“But weren’t lots of them killed?” asked Lucy,
amazed.
“Not those who hid in their houses at the further
end of the town. It was the poor refugees trying
to get out of the place between bombardments who
suffered most. We are doing all we can for them.
Mr. Leslie has worked night and day, I’m certain,
since the opening of this last offensive.”
“But aren’t the German lines still very near?
The guns sound almost on top of us,” said Lucy,
her voice grown scared and trembling again as a
thunderous explosion hurt her ears.
“Oh, their lines are more than five miles away.
Those are our guns that sound so close,” said Major
Greyson reassuringly. He glanced over Lucy’s
shoulder as he spoke, and gave a nod of satisfaction.
“Good for you, Miss Pearse,” he said. “That’s
just exactly what she needs. Here’s your breakfast
and luncheon, Lucy, rolled into one.”
// 038.png
.pn +1
A young Red Cross nurse, with brown hair curling
beneath her veil, and lips that smiled a pleasant
welcome at the little newcomer, came quickly up
with a full tray, which she set down upon the
bench.
“Miss Pearse, here is Miss Lucy Gordon,” said
Major Greyson, nodding in Lucy’s direction.
“Miss Pearse has promised to take a little bit of
care of you, Lucy, if you’re not too big now to be
taken care of.”
“Indeed I’m not,” Lucy protested, rising to
hold out a friendly, grateful hand, which the young
nurse took warmly, saying:
“Perhaps you won’t think I’m taking much care
of you when you see what I’ve brought, Miss Gordon.
It isn’t even a lunch, but we’re rather hard
up here.”
“Oh, I’m not particular,” smiled Lucy, thinking
back a day to tea at Highland House, and to what
she had thought hardship then. Now, she suddenly
discovered that she was dying of hunger, at sight of
the eggs and bread and the cup of chocolate on the
little tray, when Miss Pearse uncovered the dishes.
“Sit down and eat it all,” urged Major Greyson.
“Your father is asleep and, anyway, I’m going
back to him.”
Lucy needed no more urging, and taking the tray
upon her knees she ate the little meal with keen
// 039.png
.pn +1
enjoyment, and a great feeling of returning
strength in both mind and body.
“That’s better,” remarked Miss Pearse ten
minutes later, when some of the healthy color had
stolen back into Lucy’s pale cheeks. “Now you
don’t look like a ghost any more. Here’s your
cousin coming to find you.”
She pointed to the doorway from which Mr.
Leslie was just coming out, and picked up the tray
of empty dishes, saying, “I’ll take these and go
back, for you won’t be alone now.”
“Don’t go far; how can I find you?” asked
Lucy, anxiously clinging to this new friend in the
sad strangeness of her surroundings.
“I shan’t be more than a hundred yards away,”
smiled the girl, nodding toward the door leading to
the big crowded ward, and taking up the tray she
crossed the garden, stopping to point out to Mr.
Leslie the bench where Lucy was.
Mr. Leslie had been snatching a little of the sleep
denied him for the past thirty-six hours, and now,
almost rested, he looked better than when Lucy had
first seen him at Highland House. Her spirits
rose unaccountably at sight of his more cheerful
face, as she made swift room for him on the seat
beside her.
“Major Greyson said Father could get better,”
were the eager words that came first to her lips.
// 040.png
.pn +1
She scanned Mr. Leslie’s face for confirmation of
her hopes, and found a part of what she sought in
the slow nod with which he answered:
“Major Greyson wouldn’t have said it if it were
not true; and, more than that, he told me he had
hopes. Thank God I brought you, dear. Your
father has been sleeping quietly ever since your
visit. He longed so for some of you to come, and
wondered in his fever where you were.”
“Oh, Cousin Henry,” Lucy cried, a desperate
longing rising in her own heart, “how many
days before Mother can be here? Surely the trains
must be running better now?”
“They are running every minute of the day and
night, but not just along her way, which is north-west.
And mostly they are freight cars, crammed
with men and munitions, being rushed to where they
are most needed. You see, it’s hard to tell just
when she can get here, for of the several telegrams
I know she has sent only one reached me.”
Lucy sat drearily silent.
“It won’t be many days, though,—I’m sure of
that,” declared Mr. Leslie, speaking in a more
hopeful tone after having put the facts frankly.
“Look for her any hour, and you may be just as
right as I am. And now see here,” he added, rising
from the bench and holding out his hand. “I want
you to come and get some sleep. You won’t be
// 041.png
.pn +1
any good to your father if you are all worn out.
Major Greyson says you may lie down in the
nurses’ resting room off the ward. I promise to
call you as soon as your father wakes.”
Sunset was streaming through the narrow lancet-shaped
windows of the room and gleaming on the
old stone floor when Miss Pearse’s voice, calling to
her, roused her from sleep. “The Colonel is awake
now,” she said, bending over the cot as Lucy rubbed
her heavy eyes.
Lucy sprang up, struggling to collect her
thoughts, as she followed the nurse out of the room.
She had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head
had touched the pillow, and now awake again to
the never-ending hammer of the guns upon her ears,
she marveled at it. She smoothed back her hair,
remembering dimly that she had not fixed it since
that morning on the boat, and wondering how long
before people living in a place like this could learn
to get up and go to bed as though they lived through
regular, peaceful hours. Miss Pearse looked as
neat and calm as the young nurse who had taught
the army girls first-aid on Governor’s Island,
though her cheeks were flushed just now with weariness
after a long, hard day. “Come in,” she said
to Lucy on the threshold of Colonel Gordon’s
room.
Lucy entered softly, for not yet had the uselessness
// 042.png
.pn +1
of quiet footsteps in the midst of thundering
guns occurred to her, and went to her father’s side.
His long sleep had lifted a little of the shadow from
his pale face, but his breathing was still short and
difficult, and his eyes were closed. Lucy’s heart
sank miserably as she looked at him. Behind her
Major Greyson entered, and kneeling beside the
cot, clasped the wounded officer’s wrist, looking
keenly into his face.
“Father,” said Lucy at last, her voice shaking in
spite of all she could do, “won’t you speak to me?”
Colonel Gordon stirred a little and opened his
eyes. For a moment he was silent, then, as before,
a smile flickered over his set lips, and taking
a hard breath he murmured, “Lucy—here—where’s——?”
The rest was lost as in sudden
weakness he closed his eyes again and turned his
face to the pillow.
“Where’s Mother, did you say?” entreated
Lucy, bending over him. “She’s coming, Father,
truly, she’ll soon be here!” But Colonel Gordon
could not speak in answer this time. Only his hand,
moving for a second toward Lucy’s arm, showed
that he felt her presence.
Lucy turned a despairing face to Major Greyson,
but his look of patient hopefulness had not
changed. He motioned to her to leave her father’s
side, and when, with a backward glance at that
// 043.png
.pn +1
still figure on the cot, she had obeyed, he drew her
outside the door and spoke as though answering
her question.
“It’s all right; I didn’t expect any more. This
is the worst time of the day for him. I still hope,
and have every reason to think he is better to-day
than yesterday.”
“Oh, Major Greyson,” Lucy faltered, vainly
seeking to put her thoughts into words.
The surgeon led her out again into the little
garden, over which darkness had now begun to
fall, unbrightened by lights from the sombre streets
of the half-ruined town. Lucy looked up at the
first twinkling stars in the clear sky, and they
seemed the only familiar things in all that dreary
cannon-racked desolation.
“You’re tired, poor little girl,” said Major
Greyson, when a great sigh had fallen involuntarily
from Lucy’s lips. “Miss Pearse is going
to take you across the street to the house where the
nurses sleep. You will be right by her, and I give
you my word at the slightest change in your father
you shall be sent for. You won’t be any good to-morrow
if you don’t sleep to-night. Mr. Leslie is
waiting in my room to have some supper with you
now.”
It was soon after eight o’clock when Lucy bade
her Cousin Henry good-night and left the hospital
// 044.png
.pn +1
in Miss Pearse’s charge. Mr. Leslie had done his
generous best in the past hour to cheer her, but
without success, though she had tried hard to respond
to his kind efforts. Her eyelids were like
leaden weights, her brain seemed to have no thought
nor feeling left in it, and she crossed the street,
which was cluttered with stones and débris, stumbling
as she walked, and vaguely wondering if all
this were true. Miss Pearse was very kind and
helped the tired girl to bed with gentle hands and
in understanding silence. But once in her narrow
cot, in the room adjoining that in which Miss Pearse
and another nurse slept, Lucy’s dulled mind amazingly
awoke and flashed before her pictures of
everything she had seen and done in the past day
and night. The pounding of the guns, which had
become for a while an almost unnoticed part of her
surroundings, seemed swelled to a horrible din that
beat like hammers on her forehead, and not even
with her head buried in the pillow could she find
peace enough to sleep.
For months afterward Lucy remembered that
first night at Château-Plessis. The misery of her
loneliness overwhelmed her as she lay there wide-eyed
in the thundering darkness, beset by fears she
vainly struggled to put aside, afraid to look back
at what seemed peaceful days behind, or ahead, to
what might come to-morrow. At last she could
// 045.png
.pn +1
bear it no longer, and sitting up in bed she determined
to go and beg Miss Pearse’s company, tired
though she knew the poor nurse must be after her
long day’s work. But Miss Pearse had not quite
forgotten the lonely little girl near her. Before
Lucy had left her bed she heard some one at the
door of her room, and a kind voice said, “Lucy!
Can’t you sleep? I’m going to lie down on your
bed beside you.”
There was not much room, but Lucy made all she
could, with a heart almost too grateful for speech,
and her faltered thanks was lost in the roar of the
cannon. With Miss Pearse dropping off to exhausted
sleep at her side, the thoughts that had tormented
her weary mind faded off into blankness.
At last she fell asleep.
When morning came Lucy opened her eyes and
found she was alone. The sun shining onto her cot
had awakened her, and, sitting up, she looked
soberly around at the bare, unfurnished room. The
plaster on the walls was cracked, and fallen stones
had nearly blocked up the chimney. Only in one
corner hung a picture, as though forgotten in hurried
flight. It was of a dog, jumping up to beg,
with ears pricked forward and twinkling eyes behind
his silky hair. Lucy smiled at it, wishing it
were alive. With heavy heart she shrank from facing
the new day, and desperately longed to fall back
// 046.png
.pn +1
into dreamland. But, unlike the night before, she
felt strength enough within her to summon up
her courage and make a prompt and vigorous effort.
“Come on, Lucy Gordon, buck up! You can’t
give in. Have they brought you this near the battle
line to be a coward, or are you going to help your
father and,” scornfully, “they used to call you
Captain Lucy?”
Like Alice in Wonderland, she was fond of scolding
herself, and could do it as effectively as any
one else could have done it for her. Close on top
of the scolding she got up and in her anxious eagerness
to be dressed and to see her father she forgot
to pity herself further, and thought more than anything
else that this day might bring her mother to
her before it ended. “But if only those guns would
stop one minute!” she faltered, as she paused in
her dressing to cover her ears, half deafened by the
double bombardment.
Out of the bag so hurriedly packed at Highland
House she selected a blue gingham dress, for the
day was warm and sunny. She gave a hasty glance
at her hair-ribbons in the little mirror she had
brought with her, and, after putting the bare room
in order, went out in search of the stairway. It was
close at hand, beyond the adjoining bedroom, the
foot of it opening directly on the street. Lucy
// 047.png
.pn +1
ran down it, the sound of voices coming to her from
outside above the cannons’ noise.
The street was crowded with French soldiers, together
with a scattering of Americans, who looked
very much a part of things as they passed by, joined
in friendly groups with the poilus. One and all
were hot, dusty and loaded down with field equipment,
for there were few permissions just now, and
these men had been sent back for but a few hours’
respite from the fighting-line. Lucy’s eager, shining
eyes followed each American soldier as he
passed, all else forgotten but those dear familiar
figures, until two women, coming by with baskets
on their arms, stopping to smile and point in her
direction, recalled her to herself. She returned
their smiles as cheerfully as she could, wondering
much at the patient endurance which had left their
thin faces neither frightened nor despairing. A
dozen women passed her as she stood on the
threshold breathing the soft spring air, and several
children too. All were hurrying, intent upon their
errands, but they looked quiet and self-possessed,
not seeming even to hear the never ceasing explosions
which forced them to speak loudly in each
other’s ears.
A minute later Lucy caught sight of Miss Pearse
and Mr. Leslie crossing the street from the hospital,
and she quickly made her way among the
// 048.png
.pn +1
broken paving stones to meet them. With beating
heart she searched both their faces, and drew a sigh
of relief when Mr. Leslie met her anxious eyes with
a nod and smile of greeting.
“It’s all right, Lucy,” were his first words.
“Your father is, if anything, better. He is waiting
to see you now.” He looked with some concern
into her face, which was pale after the hours she
had lain awake, but she smiled with quick reassurance.
“Don’t say I look tired, Cousin Henry,” she
begged. “I did sleep some of the time, didn’t I,
Miss Pearse? And I feel perfectly well.”
“You slept more than I expected you to in this
racket,” said the nurse frankly. “It takes several
days to get so you don’t mind it.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” remarked Mr. Leslie,
as they mounted the steps of the quaint old building,
crowned with its two Gothic towers. “I’ve
been near here for several weeks now, but to tell
the truth I’m not used to it yet.”
The sun was shining brightly into Colonel Gordon’s
room, and as Lucy entered it her spirits rose
with a sudden great rush of hope. Her father’s
eyes were open and for the moment his slow, heavy
breathing did not contract his forehead into lines
of pain.
“Oh, good-morning, Father!” she said, gulping
// 049.png
.pn +1
down a wild desire to cry, and smiling crookedly instead.
She dropped onto the little chair beside the
cot and took his hand in hers. “You’re better, I
know you are,” she told him, with shining eyes.
“Hope so,” murmured Colonel Gordon, shifting
his weight cautiously on the pillows. The
fingers that Lucy held tightened and clasped hers,
and her father looked down at the little hand in the
blue sleeve. “Lucy,” he said slowly, as though
making an effort to collect his thoughts, “Leslie is
here with you—isn’t he?”
“Yes, indeed—he’s right outside,” said Lucy
quickly. Looking into her father’s eyes she saw
that they had grown clear and purposeful in spite
of the dark shadows of pain beneath. With a sudden
clearing of his brain he spoke more quickly:
“You ought not to be here. I asked for you
when I was too far gone to think.” He stopped for
a moment, listening to the guns. “They’re not far
off. Our lines cannot be more than four miles
away. You must go back to England.”
“Oh, Father!” cried Lucy breathlessly, “you
won’t make me go back as soon as this? The town
is quite safe, and I must see you a little stronger
before I go. Mother will be here soon, you know.
Think what a chance it is for me—to help you to
get well. Don’t you know how I’ve always longed
to help?”
// 050.png
.pn +1
A smile touched Colonel Gordon’s pale lips as
he answered slowly, “You have helped, little
daughter; I’ve got to get well. I know it since
you came. Before that it seemed easier not to—fight.”
He struggled for breath and closed his
eyes.
Terrified, Lucy started up, but her father’s
fingers still clasped hers, and, conquering her fear,
she sat quietly beside him until footsteps sounded
at the door and Major Greyson entered.
“All right—stay where you are,” he nodded, his
eyes on Colonel Gordon’s face.
The sun moved slowly across the floor, as for an
hour Lucy sat silent and motionless, until her
father’s fingers at last relaxed, and he fell into a
quiet sleep.
Miss Pearse put an arm about Lucy’s cramped
shoulders and led her from the room and out into
the garden.
“You poor little kid, you haven’t had your breakfast,”
she said, pointing to the tray she had made
ready and set on the old stone bench. “We’ve
finished long ago. Sit down this minute and eat,
and I’ll call Mr. Leslie. He’s been waiting to talk
to you.”
Lucy thought she had never tasted anything so
delicious as that breakfast of bread and army bacon.
She could not stop for more than a nod to Mr.
// 051.png
.pn +1
Leslie when he approached her, but his thoughtful
smile had a far-away look in it as though he had
plenty to think over while he waited for his little
cousin to satisfy her hunger. At last she put aside
her tray and he sat down by her on the bench, drawing
some papers and envelopes from his pocket.
“I’m going off to-day, Lucy,” he began, “to attend
to some business of my own, and secondly, to
arrange for your return to England. Hold on a
minute and let me finish,” he said quickly, as Lucy
showed every sign of interrupting him. “I have
to make those arrangements a day or two ahead if
you are to get through with as little delay as we
had in coming here. These papers have to be
signed by the proper authorities, and they cannot
always be found at a moment’s notice. It doesn’t
mean that you must leave to-morrow or even the
day after, though I have just had rather a debate
with Major Greyson on the subject.”
“Does he wish me to go?” asked Lucy indignantly.
“No, I’ll have to confess it was I who made the
suggestion. I said this beastly bombardment was
too hard on your nerves. Your father is better,
your mother is on her way here, and you ought to
go. Major Greyson seemed to think he knows you
better than I. He declared that your nerves could
stand the strain, and that so long as you were here
// 052.png
.pn +1
you might stay two or three days longer, for your
father’s sake.”
“He’s right; I can stand it,” exclaimed Lucy
with a quick, happy smile, for it is happiness to have
struggled hard for courage and to have found it at
last. “I may stay, Cousin Henry—you said I
might?” she pleaded, all her fear and loneliness
forgotten in renewed longing to be of service to her
father, and to see her mother again, if only for an
hour.
“I’m going to find out about the journey back,”
was Mr. Leslie’s cautious answer. “We needn’t
decide just yet on the time for it—especially as we
shouldn’t be able to keep to any schedule. We shall
have to return as best we can.”
“Are you going now, Cousin Henry? Which
way?” asked Lucy, feeling suddenly very down-hearted
at the thought of losing his brave, comforting
presence.
“To Amiens to-day; to American Headquarters
in this sector some time to-morrow, and back here
to-morrow night. The distances are short, and I’ve
already booked a ride in a motor-lorry to Amiens.
I know you’re in good hands, little girl,” he added,
rising from the bench and taking Lucy’s hands in
his. “Miss Pearse has promised me to take care
of you, and Major Greyson is right on the spot. I
won’t be gone longer than to-morrow night.”
// 053.png
.pn +1
“All right—don’t worry about me,” said Lucy,
summoning the ghost of a smile as she slipped her
arm through his and walked with him to the ruined
gateway of the little garden. All around the gate
rose-bushes were bursting into leaf and bud as
though this spring the stones of the wall were still
solidly in place, and the garden paths still swept
and tidy. Outside they met Major Greyson crossing
the street from the officers’ mess.
“Are you off, Leslie?” he inquired, stopping at
the gate. Then with a frank nod of cheerful encouragement
at sight of Lucy’s serious face, he
added, “We’ll have good news for you when you
come back.”
“Keep your eye on this little soldier,” urged Mr.
Leslie, trying not to feel anxious at the moment of
departure.
“Don’t worry about Captain Lucy—oh, yes,”
to Lucy, “that’s what they used to call you!”—was
the prompt response. “I’m going to take her in
now to see the Colonel. He’s really better, and the
guns have slowed down a trifle—perhaps they can
hear each other speak.”
“Good-bye, Cousin Henry,” said Lucy, still
lingering at the gate. “Bring Mother back with
you, that’s all I ask.”
On that day and the next, to Lucy’s unspeakable
gratitude, Colonel Gordon continued to improve.
// 054.png
.pn +1
Slowly he came back from the shadowy depths of
unconsciousness, and hour by hour his powerful
frame gained a new victory over his desperate weakness.
His heavy, hard breathing grew gradually
more natural, and on the morning following Mr.
Leslie’s departure, for the first time in many days,
the deadly pallor was gone from his thin face, and
the lines of pain faded from his forehead as he
slept. The artillery fire had slackened on both
sides into what seemed comparative quiet. For
long hours Lucy had sat beside him, a silent prayer
of utter thankfulness in her heart, her only desire
that her mother should come and find them together
at this happy moment. Again and again she had
imagined the meeting. Her mother’s tired and
anxious face, worn with a long journey’s dreadful
apprehensions, and the swift and joyful relief of
the good news awaiting her. “If she would only
come to-night,” she thought on the evening Mr.
Leslie had promised to return. Fears and doubts
on her mother’s account began to trouble her,
though Miss Pearse assured her they were needless.
“She may have to endure a hundred tiresome
delays on the road, but she will not be in danger,”
the kind young nurse persuaded her. “The railroads
are out of range of the guns. Just have
patience a little longer.” Once more she repeated
// 055.png
.pn +1
this as she and Lucy crossed the street that night
on their way to bed. Mr. Leslie had not yet come,
but it was early to expect him.
Whether Lucy took her companion’s words to
heart or whether she was too sleepy to worry about
anything for long, she went to sleep that night without
much trouble, glad of what was really a lull in
the bombardment.
For several hours in the welcome quiet she slept
peacefully, until a dream began disturbing her until
she tossed restlessly on the hard, narrow cot.
The dream became a nightmare—a whirling thing
about some mad adventure. It roused her almost
to wakefulness, but not enough to know she was
awake. Was she at home on Governor’s Island?
The drums were beating wildly in her ears. Now
she had risen into the air—with Bob in his airplane.
But they were in a thunder-storm, or else what was
that awful thunder? She sat up, wide awake, conscious
of having called out with all her strength.
Miss Pearse’s voice spoke to her from the door.
“Did you call, Lucy? Don’t be frightened. I
was coming in to stay with you.” She shouted, but
Lucy could not hear her. The roar and crash of
the guns was like the noise of thunderbolts above
the house—a thousand of them together. Miss
Pearse sat down on the cot beside her and spoke
into her ear.
// 056.png
.pn +1
“The town is not in danger, but the firing started
again an hour ago. The Germans have begun a
big attack for miles along the line.”
// 057.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
CHAPTER III||A GLIMPSE OF BOB
.sp 2
Lucy knew she could sleep no more that night.
She got up and began to dress, with pounding heart
and uncertain fingers. There was no use trying to
talk. Miss Pearse and her companion, Miss
Willis, were also getting dressed, intending to return
to duty at the hospital in anticipation of heavy
casualties from the front. Dawn was just breaking
through the shadowy darkness. Lucy stood
by the open window, her ear-drums ringing from
the quivering air, and thought of the peace of a
Surrey morning, when often she had looked out at
dawn on the quiet woodland, and of the first soft
notes of the birds around them when she and Janet
had started out early to their gardens. If she were
only back there! As this thought came unbidden
she tied her hair-ribbon with a sharp, reproachful
jerk, and answered herself with genuine scorn.
“Is this what all your longing to get nearer to
the front and be as brave as Bob amounts to?
Slacker! Heavens, what a big one,” she breathed,
// 058.png
.pn +1
her mind distracted from all else as a mighty explosion
shook the house.
“Lucy, are you ready?” asked Miss Pearse in
her ear. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.
Come to the hospital.”
Out in the street in the half darkness, figures of
men were hurrying past, calling to each other in
scraps of French or English that went unheard in
the increasing uproar. The eastern sky was
illumined before the dawn by bursts of red and
yellow fire, and the air smelt thickly of smoke and
dust. Lucy thought dazedly of her father, then
of her mother, remembering thankfully Miss
Pearse’s confidence that she must be further from
the guns than Château-Plessis. Perhaps Mr. Leslie
might be with her—he must surely be almost
back by now. Lastly, her anxious thoughts
hovered about her brother and could find no comfort
there. Was Bob in the midst of that awful
conflict? She knew he was, since the attack must
reach as far as Cantigny. At that moment,
though, it did not seem possible that such a bombardment
could last many hours.
Outside the ward Major Greyson was talking
with a convalescent infantry officer whom Lucy
knew. At sight of her they both came forward,
and Captain Lewis said close to her ear, “Don’t be
frightened. We are holding them well. Half of
// 059.png
.pn +1
this infernal racket comes from our own guns, you
know.”
“It isn’t pleasant to hear, though, is it, Lucy?”
asked Major Greyson. “Your father had a little
morphine, so he is sleeping. He’s doing splendidly.
Think of that instead of your other worries. It
will soon be daylight now, and this won’t last forever.”
Lucy nodded without speaking, for even in
shouts she could hardly hear her own voice. The
officers left her, each bound on a different errand,
and she followed Miss Pearse into the nurses’
dining-room.
The first shafts of light were stealing through the
narrow windows and in the dusk a dozen nurses
were hurriedly breakfasting. Miss Pearse made
room for Lucy beside her and handed her a plate
and cup. A general haste of preparation filled the
air. As they ate in silence, the bursting shells
making speech next to impossible, other nurses and
orderlies went back and forth outside the room,
carrying blankets and mattresses in a last effort to
find more room in the already crowded building.
This hospital, improvised by the American Medical
Corps, and a second, in charge of a French staff,
were the only ones in Château-Plessis, and the need
had grown overwhelming.
Before the nurses scattered Miss Pearse brought
// 060.png
.pn +1
word to Lucy that she might go to her father’s
room. The darkness had vanished now, and the
clear light of dawn filled the hospital. Lucy found
Major Greyson by Colonel Gordon’s bedside.
“He’s still asleep,” he said when she was close
enough to hear him, nodding his head toward the
quiet figure on the cot. “His pulse is good, and
he breathes easily. You may stay here a while, if
you like—he may wake any minute.”
Major Greyson had risen from the chair and,
seeing him ready to go, Lucy hastily asked the questions
that were trembling on her tongue. “Major
Greyson, where do you think Mother is? And
Cousin Henry promised to be back last night!”
She shouted into his ear as he bent down to listen,
but the bursting shells almost drowned her words.
He nodded quickly to show he understood.
“They are held up,” he said with certainty.
“The railroad is open to nothing but troop-trains
to-day. With luck they may manage to get on a
supply-train, but I’m afraid they’re blocked somewhere
along the road. You mustn’t worry,” he
added, speaking as hopefully as he could in a voice
which in a quiet place would have carried across a
field. “They are well out of danger—further from
the front than we are.”
Lucy sat down beside her father, thankful that
he had slept through this much of the tumult, and
// 061.png
.pn +1
fell to thinking of Bob until her fear for him grew
greater than her courage, and resolutely she tried
to turn her thoughts away. Had not Bob come
back once from deadly peril? From the merciless
hands of the enemy? Remembering her own
despair in that dreadful December of 1917, Lucy
never failed to find some hope for her brother’s
safety. Her father did not wake, and when a nurse
came to take her place she left him and went out
into the little garden. The sun was rising gloriously
behind the clouds of dust and smoke blown
from the batteries before the town. The pounding
of the cannon seemed for a moment to have slackened,
even a slight lessening of the din bringing a
quick relief to her tired ears. Down by the ruined
gate there was a little crowd of people, and she
made haste to join them. They were doctors,
nurses and convalescents together with a few people
of the town, their eyes all turned toward the rising
sun, and their hands lifted as a shield against its
rays.
“What is it?” asked Lucy of a medical officer
who stood beside her, binoculars in hand.
He pointed to where the sky was touched with
pale rose above the clouds of smoke. Three little
specks were darting up toward the blue. “Can
you see those planes? The Germans are trying
hard to get a detailed plan of our new batteries.
// 062.png
.pn +1
Their airmen have been up for hours, but so far our
scouts have been too much for them. Look there!”
Above the mounting specks appeared two others,
seeming to pounce down upon them. Lucy held
her breath as the newcomers swooped and circled,
closing in upon the three below, until a feathery
cloud cut them off from the eager, watching
eyes.
The moment of suspense among the little group
changed to a stirring of anxiety and disappointment,
felt rather than heard in the cannon’s roar.
Most of the hospital staff members tore themselves
away to return to their duties, but Lucy could not
take her dazzled eyes from that glowing sky. Half
unconsciously she followed the little group of
townspeople who, seeking a place in the open, away
from the pointed towers of the old town hall, moved
step by step down the ruined street to the square
of which the hospital made a corner. The sun had
risen higher now, and beneath it the planes were
again visible against a background of pearl and
rose. As they gazed breathlessly up at those
moving dots that were men in desperate struggle,
one of the planes fell swiftly toward the earth.
Lucy gave a quick gasp of anguish. She could not
bear to watch, but neither could she turn her eyes
away. Was the plane just brought down Allied
or enemy? She inquired of her nearest neighbor
// 063.png
.pn +1
in disjointed shouts of French, but the woman
shook her head sadly, knowing no more than she.
Was Bob among them? Lucy longed most to
know that, for better or worse. “It’s waiting I
never can bear,” she had said to Marian Leslie
months before. Now it seemed as though the war
was all made up of waiting.
The young doctor had left her his binoculars, but
she found it hard to use them in the quivering roar
of the guns against the glaring sky. If the airplanes
would come a little nearer she thought she
could find out something. That wish at least was
quickly granted. Out of the distance the specks
grew bigger with amazing swiftness. Lucy winked
her eyes, before which disks of red and black
were dizzily floating, from the glowing sunlight.
Around her, fingers were pointed in excited
gestures, and her ears caught fragments of shouts
and exclamations. On came the airplanes, until in
what seemed but a breath of time they had grown
to big winged objects that hovered in plain sight,
far overhead, but not a mile away in horizontal
flight. Now they were out of the sun’s path, and
the watching eyes could look at them undazzled.
There were six, as nearly as Lucy with fast beating
heart could count them in among the feathery
clouds that flecked the sky. The little crowd had
gathered to three times its size, and for all the
// 064.png
.pn +1
thunder of the guns, the cries of the excited people
could be heard in their anxious expectancy.
Lucy gave a quick look around her as she lowered
her head for an instant to ease the aching muscles
of her eyes and throat. A few people from the
hospital had rejoined the crowd and familiar faces
were among them. A queer sensation of having
caught a glimpse of some one intently watching
her—of a keen pair of eyes looking out from among
the group of shawled women and old men and boys
gathered from the near-by streets—made her glance
around once more. There was no one now whose
gaze was not turned upward, and she looked at
the clouds again, the strange impression forgotten.
The six planes had separated into two groups.
Two were high among the clouds, the remaining
four moving here and there below them. Of the
four one was clearly out of the fight, for in another
moment it turned and veered off in the direction of
the French and German lines, sinking slowly as it
flew.
“That’s a Boche,” said a voice in Lucy’s ear.
Captain Lewis was at her side and, taking the
glasses she held, he leveled them at the sky. “Now
they are in range again,” he added. “Our men
are above in those little Nieuports. The Boches
below are in big Fokker battle-planes. They could
// 065.png
.pn +1
eat up our little fellows if they could reach them.
Luckily the Nieuports can keep above. That
fourth who was put out of the game leaves them
three to two—pretty close.” Lucy leaned nearer
to catch his words, for in his preoccupation he forgot
to speak loud enough. A burst of fire from a
big German plane made one of the Nieuports veer
sharply from its level poise above the enemy. The
glasses stiffened in the young officer’s hands, but in
a moment the Nieuport righted itself and rose
again beside its fellow. From the French trenches
anti-aircraft guns were sending shots that burst
below the German craft in spouts of flame. But
they fell short of the targets, the gunners evidently
fearing to hit the little Nieuports so close above
them.
As the battle shifted nearer the planes flew over
the eastern end of the town. In another five
minutes Captain Lewis seized Lucy’s arm, saying,
“Come on—come back to the hospital. They may
be over us in a moment.” As Lucy, too lost in that
terrible and thrilling struggle to even hear his
words, stood silent and unheeding he shook her arm
and shouted in her ear, “Come on! Look, here’s
the patrol come to break up the crowd. You can’t
stay here.”
A guard of a dozen French soldiers with a
sergeant had arrived to disperse the people, who,
// 066.png
.pn +1
oblivious like Lucy to possible danger, still stood
gazing spellbound into the sky. Even when
ordered with shouts and unceremonious gestures to
get under shelter they walked slowly from the spot,
turning again and again toward the clouds among
which the five planes darted, each pouring a deadly
fire upon its enemy.
Lucy got back somehow into the hospital garden,
but there she stopped, and Captain Lewis, seeing
the planes were not directly overhead, stopped with
her. They were not alone, but the few others stood
like them in tense silence, watching the two little
Nieuports still swooping about their big opponents
in quick attack or momentary retreat, and every
watcher awaited with eager hopes and prayers the
final decision. Lucy’s racing heart beat until her
throat ached intolerably and her head began to
swim. She clutched at the stone heap that was
the gate-post, trying to quiet her panting breath.
Suddenly a shout went up around her. One of the
big German Fokkers had tilted oddly on its side.
One wing was drooping helplessly, its wire supports
cut by machine-gun bullets; and now flames darted
from the body of the plane and it began to fall.
Lucy covered her face with her hands. Then an
arm stole around her shoulders and Miss Pearse’s
kind voice said in her ear, “Oh, Lucy, don’t tremble
so! I know it is awful to see for the first time—but
// 067.png
.pn +1
it’s war, you know. And I think the fight is
ours!”
Lucy looked up again, not trying to answer.
The German plane was gone. A quick stir among
the little group told her that things were happening
swiftly. At that moment the tide of battle turned.
The two enemy biplanes, unwilling to remain
beneath the galling fire of the little Nieuports which
hung like deadly hornets above them, had made
tremendous efforts to rise to a level with their
antagonists. But fast as they rose, the lighter
planes rose still faster, until a cloud drove in between
Allied and German craft, concealing each
from the other. Only the Germans were visible
to the watchers below. They evidently saw in the
momentary check a good chance of escape and sped
off swiftly like great birds through the bright morning
air toward the safe shelter of the German lines.
A perfect hail of fire from the French and American
trenches met them as they passed this perilous
frontier. Puffs of smoke and balls of red and yellow
fire enveloped them, while from behind the
drifting cloud the Nieuports darted in pursuit.
But the target was beyond the reach of the anti-aircraft
gunners. The German planes sailed majestically
on, and the little Nieuports, remembering
that discretion is a part of valor, forbore to cross
into German territory.
// 068.png
.pn +1
“They’re coming back. They’re quite all right,
you see!” cried Captain Lewis at Lucy’s side.
From the little group a wild cheer went up at sight
of the two daring little scouts returning unharmed
from a battle which had cost the enemy dearly without
the compensation of a glimpse at the Allies’
defenses.
“They are looking for a place to land,” continued
Captain Lewis, his glasses pointed again at the sky.
“One fellow has a badly riddled wing. There
they come—they are going to land on that big
meadow just outside the town, inside our lines.”
As he spoke the Nieuports slowly dropped in a
long slanting course until in a moment the hospital
towers hid them from sight.
Lucy stirred and sighed as though waking from
a dream. Her neck and shoulders ached so she
could hardly straighten them, and her eyes were
almost blinded by long gazing at the sunny sky.
She looked around, blinking, at the little crowd of
people who seemed, like herself, slowly coming back
to earth to take up their tasks again. The street
had once more filled with people, chiefly women who
had paused with baskets on their arms, oblivious of
what they set out to do. Now they moved on with
hurried steps as if trying to overtake the time.
Lucy suddenly remembered the face that she had
seen watching her with such furtive intentness from
// 069.png
.pn +1
among the townspeople in the square. The impression,
made at a moment when she was too preoccupied
to give it any thought, was too strong to
be forgotten. Some one’s eyes had been fixed upon
her with a piercing earnestness, but beyond that
she had seen nothing—no definiteness of face or
figure. In the midst of wondering she remembered
her father and ran back at once to the hospital.
Colonel Gordon was awake, lying quietly upon
his pillows, his lips set and his eyes keen and
thoughtful as the crash of the bombardment struck
his ears. At sight of Lucy he smiled and held out
a welcoming hand, but the searching look did not
fade from his eyes, and his thin face wore some of
the old confident determination that Lucy so well
remembered. For a moment joy at the change in
his appearance overwhelmed her, until the look in
his eyes deepened to one of painful anxiety as he
said, struggling to make himself heard above the
guns:
“You must go, Lucy—you can’t stay here.
Where is Cousin Henry?”
Eager to relieve his mind, Lucy shouted, “I’m
going, Father—soon! Cousin Henry will be back
to-night or to-morrow. Major Greyson says he is
held up somewhere. Like Mother, you know—she’s
on her way here too. I’m going back to England
just as soon as he can take me. Anyway, the
// 070.png
.pn +1
Germans haven’t got ahead a bit, and the bombardment
is letting up—so Captain Lewis says.” She
stopped, breathless, wondering if the firing really
had slackened, as in her ears the merciless pounding
still continued.
Colonel Gordon’s face remained unchanged, and
drawing Lucy down to him he kissed her, saying,
“Send Major Greyson to me as soon as he can
manage it. You are going back now if it is any
way possible.”
Lucy went thoughtfully out into the ward and,
meeting Major Greyson, sent him to her father’s
room. Then Miss Pearse found her and took her
off to lunch, at which she sat down tired and
famished.
“I guess you are hungry,” remarked the young
nurse, helping her to a steaming ladleful of cabbage
soup. “I would lie down a little while after
this if I were you,” she added, with a glance at
Lucy’s flushed cheeks. “You mustn’t be too tired
for your journey back to Calais, for I’m afraid it
will be a long and tiresome one.”
She rose from the table as she spoke in answer
to a knock at the door. Almost at once she came
back saying, “Major Greyson would like to speak
to you a minute, Lucy.”
Outside the door the officer gave Lucy a nod of
greeting and spoke quickly.
// 071.png
.pn +1
“I wanted to tell you that we have arranged for
you to leave here to-morrow morning. One of the
nurses sent back for rest to Calais is going too. I
can’t stop to give you the details now, but your
father will not have you wait for Leslie, in case he
does not get here to-night.” He gave an emphatic
nod at sight of Lucy’s troubled face. “He’s right,
you know. Leslie would have taken you off before
this; but things turn up so quickly, one can’t plan
everything. Go back and eat your lunch now. I’ll
see you later.”
Lucy went back and sat down again, her appetite
chased away. Now that departure was really at
hand her thoughts and feelings were very conflicting.
Longing for the peace of Surrey and its freedom
from the terrible sights and sounds about her
was mixed with a great and growing sense of pride
and satisfaction in her nearness to the heart of the
great struggle; in the never-dying hope that she
might be of service to the cause she loved so well.
Thinking these things she choked down her bread
untasted, wishing desperately that her mother
would come. Suddenly something struck her ears
like a great shock. She started up, gasping, and
saw that the nurses had started up likewise, but now
they were dropping back into their chairs, with faint
smiles of pure relief. In a flash she understood.
The bombardment had ceased. Not died away to
// 072.png
.pn +1
utter silence, but compared with the ear-splitting
din of the night and morning the scattering fire
remaining seemed no more than rifle shots.
Miss Pearse said, “Sit down, Lucy. It’s stopped,
thank heaven!”
She spoke in her ordinary tone of voice, and Lucy,
answering her, did not know how to pitch her own
voice and half shouted, uncertain if she could be
heard. “Is it all over?” she stammered, wanting
to cry, strangely enough, and swallowing hard to
keep from it.
“Oh, I don’t know,” was the doubtful reply.
“Be thankful, anyhow, that it has stopped for a
little while.”
Just the low sound of the voices around the table
was a pleasure, after the fragments shouted in each
other’s ears so long. It took some minutes to get
used to the sudden change—the long continued
noise left a great vacancy not at once filled up by
ordinary sounds. The nurses hurried through their
meal and rose one by one to go back to their duties.
Outside the door a nurse whom Lucy did not know
had come up and was speaking to Miss Pearse.
“They came down on that biggest hay-field—the
one right outside the town,” Lucy heard her saying.
“Just two of them. One of the airplanes had a
badly cut wing. I stopped to see them as I
was coming back from the farmhouse with the orderly,
// 073.png
.pn +1
after getting old Mère Breton’s eggs and
milk.”
“Who were the aviators? Do you know their
names?” interrupted Lucy, forgetting everything
but her eagerness.
“Yes,” said the nurse, turning toward her with a
pleasant nod and a look of curiosity on her own part
at sight of the little stranger. “One of them is
Captain Jourdin of the French Flying Corps.
The other is an American—Lieutenant Gordon.”
Lucy’s heart gave such a bound she could hardly
gasp out to Miss Pearse the wonderful truth.
“Your brother, Lucy?” the nurse exclaimed.
“Are you sure? Of course it must be!”
“Oh, I’m sure! There’s not another Gordon in
the Aviation Corps. How can I get to him? Who
will take me?” cried Lucy, each moment’s delay
beyond words unbearable.
“I’ll go with you myself—I can get off for an
hour. We’ll have to run all the way,” said Miss
Pearse in one hasty breath, Lucy’s wild eagerness
awaking instant sympathy in her kind heart.
“Wait here until I get permission.”
She was off as she spoke, leaving Lucy standing
at the doorway to the garden trying to calm her
whirling thoughts and to realize the truth of the
happy chance that had come to her. So it had
really been Bob all the time whom she had watched
// 074.png
.pn +1
with such desperate hope and fear as he fought for
his life in the clouds above her! At that moment it
seemed days and days since she had risen from
troubled dreams to the thunder of the guns that
morning.
Miss Pearse came up behind her saying, “All
right—come on!”
Together they ran through the garden and out
into the street. It was a mile to the big level
meadow just east of Château-Plessis, through
streets heaped with fallen stones and rubbish, the
houses scarred and battered by flying shrapnel, and
here and there collapsed in utter ruin.
As Lucy ran on tirelessly, looking only to the
goal ahead, thoughts raced tumultuously through
her excited brain until her father, mother, Bob and
William, the past and the uncertain present, were
jumbled together into a maze of doubt and wondering.
Only to see Bob—to talk to him—somehow
everything would then be straightened out. She
thought of Captain Jourdin. What ages since she
had bound up his injured hand on Governor’s
Island. For two months now he had been back in
the French Service and Bob’s letters had told her
of his new and brilliant exploits. How Bob had
dreamed of having a part in all this, that was now
coming true! With a rush of strange happiness
Lucy felt that she herself had now a part in it as
// 075.png
.pn +1
well. For a moment she had forgotten the leave-taking
so near at hand.
“Tired, Lucy?” asked Miss Pearse, slowing up
to catch her breath. “We’re almost there.”
The streets became lanes as they neared the outskirts
of Château-Plessis. The houses thinned to
scattered cottages set among neglected gardens—almost
all empty and forlorn, for this side of the
town had been most exposed during the bombardment
which ended in its capture. In another few
moments they passed the last house of the lane and,
beyond what was left of a grove of bright green poplars,
opened a wide grassy meadow. It stretched
with several others, in broad undulating lines as
far as the wood which lay between the fields and
the French trenches. The nearest meadow was a
favorite landing-place for aviators scouting above
the town.
A few hundred yards to the left a little crowd of
people had gathered around two airplanes resting
on the grass. At sight of them Miss Pearse and
Lucy both cried out with the little breath left them.
For a second they stood still, panting aloud, with
crimson cheeks and hair stuck in damp wisps to
their hot foreheads. Then they ran on to the edge
of the crowd which had collected close about the
aviators, eager to offer help and friendly greetings.
Bob Gordon was standing by one of the planes,
// 076.png
.pn +1
his hands full of tools. His gloves and helmet he
had flung upon the grass, but now his work was
done, and he stood idly by while his companion put
the finishing touches to the repair of his bullet-riddled
wing. Bob’s face was hot and streaked
with oil and dust to the roots of his brown hair.
His sunburned cheeks were thinner than when he
had left West Point less than a year ago. He
looked calm and self-reliant beyond his years, his
whole lean figure filled with energy and decision.
He was not yet twenty-one, but to Lucy he seemed
a boy no longer.
The crowd made way for her in astonishment as
she begged and pushed her panting way among
them. Then Bob turned at the disturbance and
caught sight of her. His face was a study of unbelieving
wonder and delight as he let fall the tools
and sprang to meet her. Lucy flung her arms
about his neck and he hugged her so close he could
feel her heart beating as she fought for breath.
For a moment neither of them spoke a word, Lucy
too breathless and Bob too overcome. Around
them the friendly little crowd broke into delighted
cries of sympathy and pleasure. Captain Jourdin
lifted astonished eyes from his forgotten work, and
Miss Pearse, with swimming head and parching
throat, dropped down upon the grass.
“Lucy! You!” said Bob at last, drawing back
// 077.png
.pn +1
from his little sister and holding both her hands to
look into her face. “You’re here at Château-Plessis!”
Still he seemed almost incredulous, and
his eyes wandered over Lucy, while he held her
hands, as though he thought his eyes had tricked
him.
“Oh, Bob, how are you?” Lucy faltered, getting
her breath at last, but struggling desperately with
the strangling emotion that caught her at sight
of her brother. September, 1917—how long ago
that seemed since she had said good-bye to him that
morning at Governor’s Island. And what dreadful
days they had been through since then!
Bob pulled her down beside him on the grass with
an eager, searching look into her face. “How is
Father? Tell me that first.”
“He’s better—truly, Bob—much better,” Lucy
answered quickly.
“He’s safe—he will get well?” Bob whispered,
and Lucy, seeing the lines of anxiety that had
chased away the smile about his lips and the look
of tired suffering in his eyes, almost choked before
she managed to say, “Oh, Bob dear, he’s safe! He
talks to me just like himself. He made me promise
to go back to England to-morrow.”
.if h
.il fn=i077.jpg w=488px id=i077
.ca
“THIS MEADOW IS THE BEST LANDING-PLACE”
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: “THIS MEADOW IS THE BEST LANDING-PLACE”]
.sp 2
.if-
“And Mother—where is she?” Bob asked, after
a moment’s silent thankfulness. Lucy’s words had
brought back a little of the old brightness to his
// 078.png
.pn +1
// 079.png
.pn +1
// 080.png
.pn +1
face. He spoke hurriedly in sudden realization of
the short time they had together. Then, as Lucy
shook her head, he added, “I had telegrams, you
know. One reached me at Cantigny from Cousin
Henry saying you had come to Father and that he
had improved a little. But of course the name of
the town was suppressed, so I didn’t know where
you were. If I could have come myself I should
have learned at General Headquarters where
Father was. But I never thought to drop down on
the lucky spot like this! I was here before, you
know, nearly a month ago—before the Germans
took the town. This meadow is the best landing-place
around here.”
The little crowd of people had dwindled, some
moving off to leave brother and sister alone together,
for Miss Pearse had been questioned until
every one there knew the story of Bob and Lucy’s
meeting. Others, too interested to go, still stood
watching with smiling faces, and neither Bob nor
Lucy minded them. But in another moment Lucy
sprang up from the grass and held out her hand to
Captain Jourdin. He took it with a quick bow, his
face lighting up as he returned her greeting, in a
voice deeply touched with friendly feeling.
“Welcome to France, Miss Lucie! I never
thought to see you here.”
There was no use trying to put into words the
// 081.png
.pn +1
strangeness of their meeting. Lucy tried to say a
little of what she felt, and could not. Looking into
the Frenchman’s fine grave face she saw again the
snow-covered land by the sea-wall on Governor’s
Island, herself and William standing beside a sled
and Captain Jourdin getting out of his stranded
airplane and limping toward them. She had told
him that day of Bob’s imprisonment, hoping against
hope that he could give her encouragement of some
sort for his safety. She glanced involuntarily at
his wrist, and he smiled and held it up, saying,
“You see, it is quite all right again, Captain Lucy!”
“You are back in the service—that’s better than
anything, isn’t it?” she said at last, and his eyes,
lighting up at her words, told her the depth of his
satisfaction.
“I shall not soon forget that American surgeon,”
he answered softly. “He gave me back to France.”
“Lucy,” said Bob suddenly from behind her,
“a fellow I just spoke with here says the American
hospital is not a mile away. I’m going to see
Father. I can run all the way. How about it,
Jourdin? Will you wait half an hour?”
“But certainly! the firing has almost ceased,”
was the willing answer. “We shall have a quiet
night, so it appears. I will stay here on guard
until you return.”
“Lucy, don’t try to run again—you’ll kill yourself,”
// 082.png
.pn +1
urged Bob, putting his arm about his little
sister’s shoulders and giving her an involuntary
hug. “Stay here, and I’ll be back as soon as possible.
This man who told me where the hospital
was will take me there.”
“I can run, Bob, but of course you can go faster
alone,” said Lucy reluctantly, hating to lose her
brother for any of these precious moments. “Go
on—Father will love so to see you,” she added
quickly. “And then you will know yourself that
he is really getting well.”
Her words were hardly spoken when the heavy
crashing boom of a cannon broke the quiet of the
German lines. Other shots followed before the
screaming shell had burst. At once from the wood
in front of the meadows the French and American
guns replied. The bursting German shells increased
in number, and now once more a thunderous
din reëchoed through the quivering air.
Speechless with despairing terror, Lucy threw
her arms about Bob’s neck, and he held her while
he shouted in her ear, “It’s on again—I can’t go
now! Buck up there, Captain!”
The old name roused Lucy’s sinking courage.
She stood erect and dazedly saw the little crowd
around them fast dispersing, Captain Jourdin
putting away the tools and picking up his helmet,
and Miss Pearse running quickly to her side. She
// 083.png
.pn +1
did not hear the words the nurse shouted, but she
heard Captain Jourdin speaking hastily to Bob.
“——to get back to the squadron before the fire
grows hotter—no time to lose—we shall be needed
if the German lines are stiffening before the
town——” These fragments caught her ear.
She understood, too, that Bob was in greater danger
if he delayed, and that was enough to make her
forget everything else. She put her arms about
his neck again and said a brief good-bye, hoping the
shake in her voice was drowned by the cannon.
The next moment Bob was seated in his plane,
leaning down to her for a final leave-taking. A
mechanic from the town stood ready by the propeller.
Captain Jourdin was in his own machine,
and now he turned to Lucy, raising his hand in a
farewell gesture that seemed to speak his own
dauntless courage. In another moment he was off
down the meadow like a skimming bird. Bob’s
last words were quickly spoken.
“Give lots of love to Father—and Cousin
Henry. You’ll go back to England to-morrow?”
he shouted. Lucy had not even had time to tell
him Mr. Leslie was not there. He nodded to the
man at the propeller, then turned to Lucy once
more. “Do you know whom I saw in Château-Plessis
a month ago—might—here—still!” The
roaring propeller drowned his words.
// 084.png
.pn +1
“Bob—what?” begged Lucy, straining her ears
as she leaped back from the machine, but Bob could
not hear her either. She saw his lips move, though
not a sound came from them. But he thought she
understood and with a last nod and smile which he
tried hard to make cheerful, for that lonely little
figure standing there brought an aching pang to his
heart, he pressed forward his control stick and sped
off down the field.
Side by side Miss Pearse and Lucy watched the
two Nieuports rise into the air over the wood, soaring
far above the bursting shells. Then they turned
and with one accord ran swiftly toward the town,
while the thundering guns shook the earth beneath
their feet.
// 085.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV||THE FORTUNE OF WAR
.sp 2
Dawn was hardly breaking on the morning of
May 21st, when Lucy woke from the heavy sleep
into which she had fallen early the night before.
Nothing—not the crash of the bombardment nor
the ceaseless anxiety of her own thoughts—could
have kept her awake for long after her head touched
the pillow the evening of Bob’s visit. Sleep had
been stronger than all fears, though now she wondered
that it had ever come, for the shock of the
battle seemed louder and more terrible as it struck
her protesting ears. Miss Pearse and her companion
were already up, and Lucy hastily dressed
herself, eager to learn what Major Greyson had
decided about her departure. Last night the plan
had still been unsettled, as it must be while trains
and motor trucks had three times their normal work
to do. It was a bitter disappointment to give up
all hope of seeing her mother, though Major Greyson
had told her that the renewed bombardment
might last for days and that Mr. Leslie would have
// 086.png
.pn +1
reached Château-Plessis before this, had any sort of
undelayed travel been possible.
She was swayed by alternate hopes and fears as
she brushed her hair in the half-darkness, and felt
about on the little table for her comb and ribbons.
It was so desperately hard to think at all with that
unearthly noise dazing her brain, but in spite of her
tormenting uncertainty she clung steadfastly to one
consoling thought. She had helped to bring her
father out of danger. Her journey had not been
in vain, however hopeless her longing to do more
than stand weakly by watching the struggle in
which Bob and the rest fought so gallantly. She
knew she could help—even here on the battle-front.
Last year it seemed impossible that she could do
anything toward winning Bob’s freedom, and yet
did she not have a hand in sending Mr. Leslie on
that long, hard journey? Lucy had not much conceit
in her nature, but she did have a good deal of
her brother’s confident energy, and, her courage
once firmly grasped, she could persevere in a cause
on which her heart was set, like a true soldier’s
daughter.
“I’m ready, Miss Pearse,” she called presently,
waking from her serious thoughts as the nurse came
to her door.
They went in silence down the stairs into the
street, for this morning Miss Pearse did not try any
// 087.png
.pn +1
of her usual kind and encouraging means of bolstering
up Lucy’s cheerfulness. She was strangely
silent and preoccupied. In the street a hurrying
throng of soldiers, women and children were passing
by, dim shadows in the first light of the dawn. Lucy
wondered at their numbers as she made her way
among them, her eyes turning with a fearful fascination
toward the east, where the light of bursting
shells outshone the pale streaks of day. The hospital
was the scene of a great though orderly confusion.
Almost a hundred wounded men had been
brought in during the night, and every spare foot of
space had been used to lay down a mattress or to unfold
a narrow army cot. Doctors, orderlies and
nurses were moving in every direction about the
crowded halls, and Lucy stole away with painfully
beating heart, and found refuge in her father’s little
room.
A nurse was sitting there, with her arms upon
the window-sill, staring out into the shadowy street.
She turned pale cheeks and troubled eyes toward
Lucy, and her faint smile had nothing cheerful in
it as she rose and offered her a chair by her father’s
side. Lucy felt a pang of fear at sight of that tired
face. The nurse looked as though she had kept an
anxious watch, and Lucy turned searching eyes
upon her father, fearing a change for the worse.
“He’s doing well,” the nurse said in her ear,
// 088.png
.pn +1
guessing her thoughts, and she accompanied the
words with a little encouraging nod, though the
color did not come back to her pale cheeks, nor the
apprehension leave her eyes.
Lucy sat down at her father’s side, wondering
greatly, and the nurse went out. Colonel Gordon
was just beginning to wake, but for a few moments
more he lingered in a doze. At last he opened his
eyes and looked at Lucy with a slow understanding
smile of recognition.
“You, little daughter?” he asked, reaching out
a hand. “What time is it, anyway? It’s not light
yet. What are you doing here?” Then as the
full force of the guns smote upon his ears and brain
he started up on his pillows, saying with quick
earnestness, “You’re going to-day, eh—Lucy?
They’ve arranged it? Greyson promised me.
Henry’s not back?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lucy answered, bending
over him to be heard. “I haven’t seen Major
Greyson, he’s so busy, but I think he’s going to
send me off some time to-day.” Just then it was
real happiness to hear her father’s voice so full of
energy and purpose—so nearly like his old confident
self. She smiled and forgot her worries for
a moment. In all Colonel Gordon’s eager interest
of the evening before at the news of Bob’s visit he
had seemed tired and restless, but this morning even
// 089.png
.pn +1
Lucy’s unskilled eyes could see a real improvement.
She began to tell him about Bob once more.
“If you could only have watched him yesterday
morning in the air, Father! You’ve seen him fly
though, of course. They were so wonderful, he
and Captain Jourdin, keeping after those big German
planes until they drove them home. He looks
well, I think.” She checked herself and added
truthfully, “But he’s thinner than he was.” She
did not tell her father of the anxiety Bob had undergone
in his behalf. She wanted to describe his surprise
at their meeting, but the effort needed to
talk was terrific. It was like speaking in a never-ending
peal of thunder.
Soon Colonel Gordon’s nurse came back and told
Lucy that breakfast was ready. It was daylight
now in the wards, where the workers still passed
from one patient to the next, along the rows of cots
and mattresses. Lucy glanced down the long room
with a little shuddering tremor of pity and horror,
not daring to look too closely at those silent bandaged
figures. But in the depths of her heart the
longing still persisted, first roused months ago at
that little nursing class on Governor’s Island, to do
something to help from the stores of her own health
and energy.
She went on into the nurses’ rest and dining-room
and, finding no one yet at the table, stood by one
// 090.png
.pn +1
of the quaint, narrow windows, from which the
glass had been shattered long ago, looking out
across the garden into the street. The crowd of
people had grown dense in the last hour. Now it
was entirely made up of townspeople; women, old
men and children, who seemed to-day to have forgotten
their orderly routine and to be hurrying
blindly through the streets with baskets on their
arms and bundles on their shoulders. The children
clung to their mothers’ skirts with looks of fear and
bewilderment. In the few minutes that Lucy stood
there not a person passed by going toward the
eastern side of Château-Plessis. They were fleeing
from the battle-front toward the other end of the
town, where already the transport lines were overloaded
until not a horse or mule was to be had for
miles around. As she watched a deadly fear crept
over Lucy’s heart. She tried to stifle it, but could
not. Her eyes did not deceive her, and had not
Miss Pearse’s face two hours ago first stirred her
to uneasiness? She went to the door of the room,
wondering why the nurses did not come, and caught
sight of Major Greyson and another medical officer
talking earnestly together. They were forced
to speak so loud that the words came plainly to her
ears, as uncertainly she started forward.
“It’s impossible, Major!” exclaimed the younger
man. “She can’t go now. She’s better off here
// 091.png
.pn +1
than lost in that raging torrent of humanity behind
the town. We may be——”
A shell that seemed to burst over the hospital
itself drowned his last words, and Lucy could not
hear Major Greyson’s reply as the two moved off
together. Her heart had begun to pound with
terror, and she longed desperately to follow Major
Greyson and find out the worst. But the wards
were a place of battle now, where the workers
strained every nerve to do what their small number
could for the growing hundreds of wounded men.
She could not enter it yet, and hastily deciding to
go back to her father, who was often alone in these
crowded hours, she dropped down on a chair for a
moment until she could calm her frightened breathing.
She buried her face in her hands, and while
she sat there, running steps came up behind her
and Miss Pearse fell on her knees beside the chair
and caught hold of Lucy’s hands. The young
nurse’s cheeks were deadly pale, but her brave,
honest blue eyes met Lucy’s frankly. She took
the terrified girl by the shoulders and spoke close
to her ear.
“They said for me to tell you, but you’ll need all
your courage, so don’t you let it go. Oh, Lucy,
Lucy! The French and Americans are far outnumbered!
They are retreating on both sides of
us, and Château-Plessis will soon be inside the German
// 092.png
.pn +1
lines.” In spite of all her self-control her
voice trembled and broke, and for a second she hid
her face on Lucy’s shoulder, while the two clung
together.
Too dazed to realize at that moment the extent
of the catastrophe, Lucy tried to put her whirling
thoughts together and make this awful thing seem
real. “The Germans will take Château-Plessis,”
she told herself, and still the words had little meaning
for her. She felt that somewhere she had
stopped living and begun to dream, but just where
was the question. Only Miss Pearse’s face recalled
her a little—that brave, young face with lips tight
closed to hide their trembling and undaunted purpose
in her clear eyes.
“It began with a new push against our lines at
Argenton,” Lucy heard her saying. “They’ve
given countless lives to take it, but now they are
there we have to fall back to straighten out our
line. It was all in an hour of the early morning,—the
turning-point of the battle. Our reserves were
held up somewhere, and the Germans brought two
divisions for every one of ours into the fight.” She
stopped, breathless, and Lucy, beginning to understand,
asked suddenly:
“All those people running by; can they get
away?”
“Not unless they walk for miles—there is no
// 093.png
.pn +1
other chance. Major Greyson is nearly wild because
you have not gone. Of course there was no
question of evacuating the hospital—we have to
stay.”
“And I have to stay,” said Lucy slowly, but Miss
Pearse did not hear the words.
“Your father does not know,” she continued.
“They have given him something to make him
sleep, and he is comfortable.” A sob rose unchecked
in Lucy’s throat, but in a moment Miss
Pearse had drawn her to her feet, saying earnestly,
“Whatever happens, we must look ahead and hope,
or we shall have no courage left. They will leave
us in the hospital, you know. We shall be safe
enough here.”
Safe sounded a strange word to use, Lucy
thought, as she walked dully toward the table.
She tried her best, in spite of that numbing
paralysis of fear, to capture something of Miss
Pearse’s calm and steadfast bravery, but that
hurried breakfast and the whole morning after it
seemed no more than a great waking nightmare.
The other nurses had joined them for a few hasty
mouthfuls, every one with that desperate struggle
between fear and courage written upon her tired
face. For it is harder to be brave when one is
spent with weariness, and none of the nurses
had slept more than three or four hours out of
// 094.png
.pn +1
the twenty-four since the opening of the second
attack.
When Lucy was left alone again she sat on the
window-ledge, staring at the ever-changing scene
outside. Big motor-lorries, loaded with stores and
equipment, were making their difficult way through
the streets now. Perched on top of the loads were
men hanging on somehow, for the convalescent
patients who were at all able to stand a journey had
begged or stolen transportation for a few miles
toward the rear, whence they could strike another
blow instead of falling into the enemy’s hands.
Along with these came the crowd of civilian
refugees, weighed down with the shabby household
furnishings that meant too much to them to leave
behind, just as their homes had meant so much
that they had clung there in desperate hope until
escape became all but impossible. The straggling
lines looked sadly unable to cover the long, hard
miles that lay between them and any refuge.
Lucy’s eyes grew blurred with tears of pity as, forgetting
her own overpowering fear and dread, she
watched a heavily-burdened woman shuffle past,
carrying her baby as well as bulky bundles of clothes
and bedding. After her toddled two other children,
one of them no more than able to walk,
stumbling helplessly among the heaps of stone.
“Oh, how dreadful—how terrible!” cried Lucy,
// 095.png
.pn +1
burying her face in her trembling hands with a
quick sob. Then she thought, “This is war. I
never knew what it was until now.”
In another hour fragments of the retreating
French and American regiments passed through
the town. Field artillery, too, whose wheels and
galloping horses were almost unheard in the fire
of the German guns. But the greater part of the
troops which had so stubbornly held the trenches
in front of the wood retreated around the edge of
the town to their prepared defenses in the rear, preferring
to abandon Château-Plessis at once than to
submit the two hospitals to a prolonged bombardment.
Toward noon the noise of the guns seemed to
Lucy’s aching ears to have grown intolerable. Too
restless to sit still, she visited her father’s room and
found him peacefully asleep. She was glad of it,
and yet she longed so desperately for the comfort of
his companionship. Where were her mother and
Cousin Henry? As for Bob, she dared not think
of him. She went toward the door leading out into
the little garden. The street was filled with dust,
but the lines of fleeing people had passed on out of
sight. She stepped onto the threshold and as she
did so an orderly, opening a box of Red Cross
dressings close by, let fall his tools and caught her
arm in an iron grip.
// 096.png
.pn +1
“No, Miss! Not another step!” he shouted.
Lucy stared at the American’s hot, tired face, as
he bent toward her to be heard in the uproar. He
was a Hospital Corps man whom she had spoken
with often in the past few days. Now, in excuse
for his rough handling, he beckoned her to look
quickly through the doorway. As she did so the
explosion of a German shell threw up a great heap
of stones and earth not two hundred feet away,
across the square.
“They’ve got our range,” he said, close to her
ear. “But this old building’s pretty solid. It will
stand some hammering.” His voice was steady as
ever and Lucy looked at him with respect and admiration
in her frightened eyes, longing for his
courage. But he had faced the enemy before. He
had told her of service on Filipino and Mexican
battle-fields.
Would there be fighting in the streets, in which
the Germans would be victorious? Lucy had seen
fighting once in the streets of a village in the island
of Jolo. But then the enemy had been Filipino
savages, quickly overpowered by the soldiers, and
she had been too little to do more than cling to her
mother’s skirts in wonder. As she turned back
toward the street another shell struck a house close
to the hospital, leaving a huge, gaping hole in the
brick wall when the smoke and dust cleared away.
// 097.png
.pn +1
Still she stood frozen to the spot, her heart beating
in great throbs, helplessly waiting for she knew not
what. Presently Major Greyson’s hand was laid
on her trembling arm and he was saying:
“Come away from here, Lucy. Come into your
father’s room.”
It was the only spot free from hurrying workers
making their difficult way among beds too close
together. Even here cots had been brought in and
made ready for two more wounded officers.
Colonel Gordon still slept on, unconscious of the
day’s calamity, and Lucy breathed a quivering sigh
of misery as her eyes rested on his peaceful face.
Major Greyson led her to the window and pointed
toward the sky above the square. “It’s almost
over,” he said. “These last shots are only for
bravado. Don’t you notice the slackening of the
fire?”
In the sky the clouds of dust and smoke were
clearing, and Lucy did distinguish a lessening in the
terrific wave of sound. Its quality had changed,
too. As the German infantry engaged the retreating
troops, rifle and machine-gun fire was mingled
with the bursting shells. In another few minutes
the bombardment had sunk to single explosions at
irregular intervals. Even at that awful moment
the relief to her ears seemed almost like peace.
“Our batteries in the wood have been withdrawn
// 098.png
.pn +1
to the new line, or silenced,” Major Greyson went
on. “The Germans will stop firing until their
airmen get the range again.” He took Lucy’s
hand in his and held it in a strong clasp. “We’ll
just have to bear up, Lucy, shan’t we? I have no
fear for your courage. You’ve got the good American
stuff in you—the sort that never fails. We’ll
show them their new enemy is worthy of their
steel.” His eyes flashed in his haggard and
anxious face as he searched the street with watchful
gaze. “We’ll do well enough here, you know.
They’ll want us to look after their own wounded.
With any luck in the counter-attack our troops will
recover the town.”
At these words a great flood of hope swept back
to Lucy’s heart The Germans could not hold
Château-Plessis! Then she would be brave. For
only a few days she could face it as Bob would do.
Suddenly she felt Major Greyson’s hand leave
hers to steal about her shoulders, as though warning
her to summon all her strength of will. She
looked through the broken window and that arm
about her shoulder tightened. Up the street were
advancing a squad of mounted officers, gray-clad
figures with helmets like no others in the world.
Behind them came a company of infantry. The
noise of the guns had died down almost to silence.
Lucy’s throat began to choke her until she pressed
// 099.png
.pn +1
one cold hand against it, struggling for breath.
Her eyes could not bear to look upon that hateful
sight, and still she could not force herself to turn
away. On they came, another company behind the
first and still another. She was looking at the
Kaiser’s soldiers, servants of the man who was the
author of all this horror—who had made the world
into a battle-field. These were a part of Germany’s
army, of the greedy power which had
roused even peaceful America at last in furious
self-defense. It had torn apart the Gordons’
happy home, sent Bob to prison and to hourly peril,
and brought her father close to death.
Lucy did not put these flying thoughts in words.
They passed through her mind in half-formed
images of trembling dread and bitter indignation.
From the hopeless conflict of her brain a despairing
sigh escaped her lips, and Major Greyson’s eyes
left the advancing troops to look at her.
“Come, Lucy, be a soldier,” he begged, pity
shining in his eyes at sight of her white face,
struggling for composure, beneath the childish mop
of fair hair. Then as she turned her wide hazel
eyes, filled with a desperate resolution, upon him,
he said with stubborn confidence, “This isn’t the
end of things, you know, Lucy. This is only the
dark hour before the dawn.”
// 100.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V||THE ENGLISH PRISONER
.sp 2
As Major Greyson spoke, both he and Lucy
turned again by a common impulse to the street,
where the German mounted officers had advanced
as far as the square in front of the hospital. Lucy
looked at them more calmly now and for the first
time saw ranks of stretcher-bearers and motor
ambulances following in the wake of the companies.
The men, too, who at her first terrified glance had
seemed only pitiless visitors, were not formed into
the full strength of companies. They marched in
column of fours, but the columns were short and
straggling ones. The men’s step was slow and
heavy, their gray uniforms thickly covered with
mud and dust and more than one bandaged arm or
head showed among them. They crossed the
broken pavement of the square with the springless
tread of utter weariness, no light of triumph in
their faces as they came to a halt in front of the old
town hall of the recaptured town.
“Huh! Pretty well done for!” ejaculated
// 101.png
.pn +1
Major Greyson, a kind of exultation in his voice
as he stepped back from his place by the window.
“Not much of the conquering hero left just now!
I must go to the officer in charge, Lucy. We are
likely to have a hundred or so of German wounded
quartered on us.”
With a last reassuring pat on her shoulder he left
the room, and Lucy stayed alone by the window.
In a moment the nurse stole in behind her and, after
a glance at Colonel Gordon, joined her in a silent,
fascinated watch for the next move of the invaders.
Two officers had dismounted and gone up the hospital
steps. The other four wheeled about and
rode across the square in the direction of the
Mayor’s office and the French hospital. Not a
human being except themselves was to be seen
about the place. The remaining townspeople did
not come out to act as audience to the German
entrance. Perhaps the conquerors were just as
well pleased that few eyes saw the second half of
the column. The soldiers of the depleted companies
at a second order now sprang forward and
began helping to unload the motor-lorries packed
with wounded, and to assist the stretcher-bearers
to carry their burdens into the hospital. Some of
the ambulances had turned across the square toward
the other hospital, but long before Lucy stopped
counting the wounded men the nurse beside her had
// 102.png
.pn +1
hurried away to hear her part in the tremendous
task.
For a few minutes more Lucy stood there, but
she was no longer watching without purpose. Her
fear and horror she had resolutely fought down, not
down for good, but under her control. She saw
now clearly the hard, inevitable facts that Château-Plessis
was in German hands, that the price of
safety for the people in the hospital—for her father
and the other wounded soldiers of the Allies—lay
in caring for the enemy’s wounded, and that the
task was very great. She was here in the midst
of it, and here she must stay. She was strong and
able to help, and in hard work she saw her only
chance for any peace of mind. With a determination
firmly taken she turned from the window and,
dropping down beside her father’s cot, laid her face
for a moment against his hand. He stirred a little,
as though about to wake, but she rose cautiously
from beside him and with a last look, as though for
courage, at that brave soldier’s quiet face, went out
into the wards.
The hospital was filled with German soldiers
carrying in their wounded, while the American
staff did all in their limited power to bring order
out of the confusion. Lucy took but one timid
glance among them. She caught sight of Miss
Pearse on one side of the hall kneeling by a mattress
// 103.png
.pn +1
to unfold a blanket. Her face was flushed and
weary, and her eyes bright with troubled emotion,
but at Lucy’s approach she looked up at her to say,
“What is it, Lucy? What can I do?”
Lucy chopped down beside her and spoke quickly,
knowing how little time could be spared to listen.
“That’s what I came to ask you. What can I do?
May I help in the wards? You must let me do
something. I’m strong and can stand a lot. Don’t
say you won’t. I can do more than you think.”
Miss Pearse smiled faintly at the eager rush of
words. “Of course I shan’t refuse,” she answered,
and her eyes met Lucy’s with a silent tribute to that
battle for courage she had fought and won. “You
can’t work in the wards—at least not now. But
there are, oh, so many things to do. Come with me
to the steward’s room.”
In after days, when Lucy had time to think it
over, she dated from that hour the change in herself
from a mere bewildered onlooker at the mighty
struggle to a real sharer instead in the work that
must be done. With that little part assigned to
her she began dimly to understand the secret of the
calm determined courage of those about her. They
had their task to do, and nothing must turn them
from it.
This work went on, uninterrupted, while the Germans
took possession of the town. Not a very
// 104.png
.pn +1
imposing possession with an almost decimated
battalion of which the survivors had been hammered
into exhaustion by the dogged French and American
resistance. But their presence, nevertheless,
meant everything of the bitter humiliation and helplessness
of surrender to Château-Plessis. The hospital
was now under German control, dependent on
whatever supplies the conquerors accorded them, in
fact, beneath the German heel. Just now, however,
the hospital was as much a German as an Allied
refuge. The major in command of the battalion
assigned three German surgeons and a dozen orderlies
to help in the enormous labor of caring for the
five hundred patients crowded into the old town
hall.
Early that afternoon Lucy started out under
German orders on her first duty. In company with
a French convalescent soldier, who carried two
empty baskets like the one slung across her own
shoulder, she left the hospital armed with permits
from the German senior surgeon. She had faced
the new chief, a big, gray-whiskered Boche with red
face and bristling eyebrows, and had obtained his
kind permission to walk two miles in the sun in
search of dairy supplies to feed the German
wounded. But if food for the enemy were not
forthcoming the Allies’ wounded would be the first
to suffer, so the two willing helpers, the little American
// 105.png
.pn +1
and the poilu, he still pale and limping as he
walked, did not linger on their errand. Beyond
the square their way led through the desolate and
deserted streets where the bombardment had been
heaviest. This was the part of Château-Plessis
from which the inhabitants had earliest fled, and not
a human being was in sight, not even a pilfering
German soldier, for the place had been in the German
hands before, and they well knew there was
little worth stealing left in it.
Lucy’s heart beat hard and painfully as she
neared once more the broad meadows beyond the
outskirts of the town. How short a time it was
since she had gone free and unmolested to that field
to give Bob joyful welcome. She had thought it
hard that day to bear the ceaseless roar of the
artillery in her ears, yet then she had been on Allied
ground, safe in the power of those she loved and
trusted, while now——She glanced up at the
wounded poilu beside her and suddenly felt ashamed.
He was breathing quickly as he limped along, for it
was not a week since he had left his bed. Yet he
had begged to do this little bit to help his comrades.
She was so well and strong, surely she ought to be
as brave as he. Just then he broke into her
thoughts.
“Look, Mademoiselle,” he said, stopping to take
breath as he pointed on ahead. “There is the
// 106.png
.pn +1
Boche patrol. They’ll want our papers when we
pass, so get ’em ready.”
At the corner of the last street before the lanes
began, a little house remained almost undamaged.
Before it paced a German sentry, and over the
gabled roof the red, white and black flag hung lifeless
in the warm, still air. Lucy hastily drew out
the papers from her blouse, for the sentry, at sight
of the pedestrians, stopped his march and stood in
the narrow street to bar the way. Inside the open
door of the house a half dozen gray-clad figures sat
or stood, and one of them strolled to the doorway
on hearing the sentry’s challenge. He was a short,
burly captain of infantry, with keen, bright eyes
and stiff, upstanding hair, his uniform, though
lately brushed, still dirty and mud-stained after the
desperate encounter of the past three days. He
glanced down at Lucy with a look of surprise as he
held out his hand for the papers which the sentry
ran to present him. She kept her eyes on the
ground, fearful lest some of her thoughts might
show in her too expressive face, while the officer
looked over the surgeon’s permits for Lucy Gordon,
American non-combatant, and Jean Brêlet, French
prisoner of war, to pass freely for the good of the
German Hospital Corps. After a moment he gave
a short nod and handed them back to the sentry.
But as Lucy, with a deep sigh of relief, snatched
// 107.png
.pn +1
the papers from the sentry’s hand and was starting
on again, she was stopped by an imperious gesture
from the doorway. A second officer had joined the
first and while speaking he nodded his head inquiringly
toward Lucy and her companion. The
infantry captain motioned the two to approach the
steps, and addressing the poilu, who had obeyed
the summons with obvious reluctance, asked him in
slow, labored French, “Do you speak any German?”
Brêlet shook his head with emphasis. “Not the
least bit in the world!” he said exultantly.
The German gave him a quick, contemptuous
look, and forbearing to continue his questions,
turned to Lucy. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?”
he asked, with a shade more of civility in his
masterful tone.
Lucy longed with all her heart to answer as the
poilu had done. At that moment she bitterly repented
of the once pleasant hours spent in the company
of Elizabeth, a German servant at Governor’s
Island, when she had learned something of the
language Bob refused to bother with. In her uncertainty
and confusion she stammered out the
truth, “A little.”
The German gave a nod of approval, the irritation
fading from his arrogant face. Without a
word or glance vouchsafed to Brêlet he motioned
// 108.png
.pn +1
Lucy to come into the house. Most unwillingly she
obeyed, with a backward imploring glance at her
companion, which had the effect of making the good
fellow start boldly forward to accompany her, only
to be thrust back into the street by the watchful
sentry. With beating heart and knees that shook
with apprehension, Lucy mounted the few steps that
led into the principal room of the old house. The
officers within made way for her with slight bows,
and from the rear a Feldwebel, or Sergeant, brought
a chair which he placed beside the table near the
centre of the room. The captain signed to Lucy
to sit down, and, taking a seat across the table from
her, said at once, “You are American, Fräulein.
What are you doing here?”
Lucy’s momentary fright and weakness had
swiftly given way to a great burst of hatred and
indignation at finding herself subject to the commands
of these triumphant enemies. She was too
angry to be afraid, and it was in a confident and
defiant voice that she returned, “If you wish
me to understand, you will have to speak more
slowly.”
The German glanced up at her with an air of
surprise, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth,
but he only said, “Very well. Did you understand
my question?”
“Yes,” Lucy answered, looking across at him
// 109.png
.pn +1
with steady eyes. “I came here to see my father,
who is badly wounded. I was going back to England
when the town was taken.”
The officer nodded without comment, then, turning
to the sergeant beside him, he ordered, “Bring
in the prisoner.”
The junior officers in the room had taken seats
about the table, with much clumping of boots and
rattling of swords. The sergeant opened a door at
the back of the room and, entering it, returned almost
at once, preceded by a tall young fellow in the
khaki of the British army. He was covered with
dirt and dust, even his face was stained with mud
and the grime of powder, through which his blue
eyes shone oddly out, above his lean, sunburned
cheeks. He looked desperately weary, almost done
for, but he squared his shoulders and crossed the
room with a firm step. Lucy bit her lip until it
bled to force back the tears of sympathy that rushed
to her eyes. The young officer was not more than
twenty years old; and how terribly like Bob he
seemed, with that close-cropped brown hair, and the
still boyish curve about his lips. Just as Bob must
have appeared when he too, tired and despairing,
faced his German captors without a friendly face
to look upon. She met the young Englishman’s
weary but undaunted gaze with such a look of eager
friendliness that he stopped short, and for a second
// 110.png
.pn +1
the cold defiance left his face, and astonishment,
confusion and a kind of welcoming light played
over it. But it was hardly a moment. Room was
made for him to stand before the table, and the
German captain once more addressed Lucy, only
this time with a frown of annoyance.
“As you know, few English or Americans speak
German.” He paused as though this fact was
strange enough to ponder over, then continued,
“As it happens, we do not any of us speak English.
For that reason, we have need of you.”
Lucy had already guessed that she was to act as
interpreter, and this knowledge had relieved her
vague fears of detention or imprisonment. But
now her thoughts began to whirl again. Did she
know enough German to fulfil her task to her
captor’s satisfaction? More troubling still, would
she be asked to put questions which the young Englishman
would not answer? At this her heart
leaped with a sudden confidence. If there was any
game of wits to be played, she thought that she and
this boy with the brave blue eyes and steady lips
would be more than a match for their pompous
questioner. To make sure of her powers she asked
the captain suddenly in English, “Shall I translate
for you?”
He stared frowningly at her, understanding not
a word, nor did any signs of intelligence appear on
// 111.png
.pn +1
the others’ faces. One little fair-haired lieutenant
exclaimed, “Ach! English,” as though making a
discovery, but could get no further, and the captain
with a mutter of annoyance said sharply:
“Speak German, Fräulein.”
With a faint excuse for her forgetfulness, Lucy
repeated the question, to which the captain nodded
agreement, adding still more sharply, “Do your
best, and keep your wits alert. The more he tells
us, the better for him—you understand?”
As Lucy nodded in silence he commenced at
once: “Ask him his name.”
The question being translated, the Englishman
answered, “Archibald Beattie, Captain, Royal Infantry.”
“Ask him what Army Corps he belongs to.”
After a second’s hesitation, the prisoner answered,
“The eighteenth.”
“What division?”
“The second.”
“Be careful!” said the German sharply. “Tell
him that division was moved toward Château-Thierry
day before yesterday, and he was taken
last night, before Argenton.”
The Englishman shrugged his shoulders. “That
is my division,” he said calmly. “They must have
gone down to Château-Thierry without me.”
The German gave his prisoner an ill-natured
// 112.png
.pn +1
glance when this was translated. “What regiment?”
he persisted.
“The fifth.”
This time Lucy repeated the number with something
like a cold chill down her back. The fifth
regiment of the second division had passed with
others through Château-Plessis three days ago, on
its way south. She knew now what she had really
never doubted, that the young Britisher was feeding
false information into the brain of his questioner,
and trusting to the Germans’ very imperfect knowledge
of the disposition of the Allied troops at this
point to make his bluff pass muster. And it had
evidently done so in the case of the distant division
he had joined on such short notice. The captain
was not well enough informed to contradict him
with much assurance. Bob had been right, Lucy
thought with triumph. The Allied airplanes had
kept the enemy from observing the troops’ movements.
With the same ascendancy in men, he had
said,—with something even approaching equality
in numbers, not a foot of ground would have been
captured.
“How long was your regiment at Argenton?”
While Lucy translated the Englishman’s answers,
she could not reflect, for to translate the English
into German was all she could manage. She
spoke German far from well, though some terms
// 113.png
.pn +1
much alike in the two languages, such as “corps,”
“regiment,” “company,” helped her a little. But
when she put the English questions to the prisoner,
and in the pauses while the German captain pondered
frowningly over his next words, she thought
out and decided on her scheme.
Her chance came with a long question. “How
was it that the British and American troops south
of Argenton retired westward after their artillery?”
As Lucy translated this into rapid English, she
looked hard at the prisoner, and, without pausing,
added the words, “Where are they sending
you?”
The Englishman did not change countenance as
he answered, “The artillery had to move. Cannon
are valuable. We stayed where we were posted
until the guns were safe. No further than this.
The old prison outside the town.”
Trembling with joy at her success, Lucy translated
the first half of the reply.
The German received it with a sneering smile,
demanding promptly, “How many prisoners do
you claim were taken by your regiment?”
To this inquiry Lucy added, “Are you certain?”
The Englishman answered, “About five thousand
in three days’ fighting. Some French prisoners
told me so. What are you doing here?”
// 114.png
.pn +1
He was trying her own game, anxious, she could
see, to account for her presence in this place.
Burning with eagerness to offer a few words of
hope or comfort to the brave young officer, who
brought Bob’s face so vividly before her, as well as
to satisfy his own curiosity in her behalf, Lucy
turned expectantly for the next question. But the
German captain, with the gesture of a man who
feels that he is wasting his time, rose noisily from
his seat at the table. He gave a keen, unfriendly
look at his prisoner, as though he would like to have
compelled his confidence, but perhaps his keenness
told him that not all the German army could accomplish
that. The four juniors had sprung to
their feet beside him, and he waved a hand toward
Lucy, saying shortly:
“That will do, Fräulein.”
Lucy turned for one farewell glance at her ally,
left in the enemy’s hands. His face lighted up for
a second also, as though her sympathy had not been
wasted. With relief, too, she guessed that she was
quite free to leave. Then she was in the sunny
street again, and patient Brêlet, greeting her with
a look of thankful joy, limped forward eagerly,
saying:
“Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle! I don’t know what
I thought waiting here! I would have gone for
help, but where is help, when the Boches are on
// 115.png
.pn +1
top?” He wiped his hot face, shouldering the
baskets once more, while Lucy hurried him on, explaining
in her difficult French:
“It’s all right, Brêlet. They only wished me to
speak German.” She breathed a deep sigh of relief,
looking up toward the blue sky and the soft
green leaves of the poplar grove before them.
“I’ll tell you about it, Brêlet, but first let’s hurry
to get the eggs from old Mère Breton. That’s her
cottage, isn’t it, beyond the trees?”
The long afternoon was almost over when Lucy’s
tired feet once more climbed the steps of the hospital.
Her arms ached with the weight of her
basket of eggs and vegetables, and her head, too,
with the heat of the sun and the throb of anxious
thoughts. With a blank depression stealing over
her, she made her way among the crowd of never-resting
workers and found herself at last by her
father’s room. Miss Pearse was just coming out,
and at sight of Lucy her face wakened to a glad
relief as she exclaimed, “Oh, thank Heaven, you’re
back! I couldn’t think what had happened, you
were gone so long. Were you all right?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you about it later,” said Lucy
briefly. “How is Father?”
“He has been awake all the afternoon and asking
for you. He doesn’t know yet that the Germans
have the town. In another day it won’t hurt him
// 116.png
.pn +1
to hear it—he’s getting well so fast. Don’t let him
guess it to-night, though, Lucy. He thinks you are
going back to England to-morrow. He has fallen
asleep just now, but go in and sit by him. He’ll
wake again before long.”
Lucy nodded, looking at the young nurse’s tired
face. “What an awful day you’ve had, Miss
Pearse! Oh, I’m going to help more to-morrow.”
“We have a few women now, of those left in the
town, to help us, so we are better off than we expected,”
was the still cheerful answer. “And you
have helped, Lucy. Some one would have had to
take that long walk if you hadn’t been here.”
Lucy smiled faintly, not convinced that she had
done much, and went softly into her father’s room.
His cot was sheltered by a screen since morning, for
the beds of two other officers, British and American,
had been made room for in the little space. More
than anything in the world, Lucy longed now to
find her father awake and filled with all his old
strength of purpose. She wanted to tell him the
whole dreadful story of the town’s capture and to
ask what the chances really were that the Allies
would get it back again. She wanted to hear him
share her grief and anger, and lay down the law of
hope and courage with unshaken resolution. She
needed him to stand by her in spirit, that she might
lean on his strength of mind, in spite of his weakness
// 117.png
.pn +1
of body. But she could not have her wish.
He had fallen asleep, ignorant of her desperate
need. Overcome at last with the weight of a long
day’s crushing anxiety, the lonely little girl dropped
down beside the cot and buried her hot face in her
father’s pillow.
Presently she heard footsteps approaching, but
indifferent to everything she did not move. Then
some one knelt down on the floor behind her, and
two arms stole gently about her trembling shoulders.
For a moment Lucy could not believe she
really heard the familiar voice that, filled with the
tenderest affection, cried softly in her ear, “Miss
Lucy! Dear Miss Lucy! Is it so I see you again
at last?”
// 118.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI||A GERMAN ALLY
.sp 2
“Elizabeth!” Lucy’s lips could hardly frame
the word, as with bewildered gaze she stared into
the face so close to hers.
There were the same bright dark eyes, filled with
shrewd kindliness, and the smiling, patient mouth.
Lucy seized hold of the hands that held her shoulders
to make sure she was not dreaming, and the
touch of Elizabeth’s thin work-roughened fingers
made her presence real. The strangeness of their
meeting was for that moment quite forgotten.
Lucy felt nothing but an overwhelming relief and
joy as her kind old nurse’s arms once more went
around her. She was no longer alone with her sad
thoughts in the gloomy twilight. Elizabeth, who
had loved her and shared her worries for ten years
back, who had said good-bye to Bob with tears that
day on Governor’s Island, was here to help and
comfort her. Lucy forgot Karl’s treachery,[#] remembering
only that Elizabeth had saved Bob from
her husband’s hands. How often had both Lucy
// 119.png
.pn +1
and her mother longed to tell her of their gratitude!
She leaned against Elizabeth’s kind shoulder and
shed a few tears of weariness and joy, giving way
to her feelings for a brief comforting moment.
Then she sat up and wiped her eyes.
.pm fn-start // 1
See “Captain Lucy and Lieutenant Bob.”
.pm fn-end
“How did you get here, Elizabeth? Oh, if
things go on happening this way I won’t be surprised
at anything!”
“Many days have I been here, Miss Lucy,”
Elizabeth answered, as she too wiped away tears of
quiet rejoicing. “Since the Germans hold the
town before, was I here, but only to-day have I
come to ask if I may help in the hospital.”
“And, Karl—where is he?” Lucy stammered
over the question.
“He is with his regiment, not far off.” Lucy
thought that Elizabeth hesitated before she added,
“I could not follow him, so here I came from Petit-Bois,
working with the wounded, when the Germans
take Château-Plessis the first time. Already
I saw you once, Miss Lucy, the day of the battle—when
you watched the airplanes in the
square.”
In a flash Lucy remembered the face among the
crowd, and the eyes she had fancied were watching
her. “That was it! I saw you, too, Elizabeth.
At least I felt sure that some one was looking at
me. Why didn’t you let me see you?”
// 120.png
.pn +1
“I thought better not, Miss Lucy. The Germans
must keep very quiet while the French and
Americans were here.” Elizabeth’s voice shook a
little as she spoke, and in spite of herself, Lucy
felt an unreasoning pity for her as the little German
woman went on, “I thought maybe you learn
from Mr. Bob that I was here,—but you have not
seen him, no? I saw him once, about a month
back.”
The words were on Lucy’s lips to tell Elizabeth
of Bob’s visit to Château-Plessis the day before the
town’s capture, but before they were spoken she
checked herself. The trust and affection of nearly
ten years’ companionship were not ties lightly cast
aside, but now, her first childish delight at Elizabeth’s
presence over, a barrier rose between them—strong
and impassable. Elizabeth was a German,
and the wife of a German soldier. Summoning the
prudence she had so nearly forgotten, Lucy kept
silent, and pressed her lips close together. The
vision of the German officer questioning the young
Englishman came before her eyes. What might
her unconsidered words mean to Bob?
Elizabeth’s expressive face looked both hurt and
downcast at Lucy’s sudden silence, of which the
meaning was plain enough. But she made no complaint,
and, pointing toward Colonel Gordon’s cot,
beside which they sat on the floor, said softly,
// 121.png
.pn +1
“Your father wakes now, Miss Lucy. Already
have I talked with him to-day.”
“Did you stay with him this afternoon, Elizabeth?”
asked Lucy, reaching out to clasp her old
nurse’s hand in sudden remorse at her own suspicion.
For had not Elizabeth saved Bob’s life?
“Yes,” Elizabeth nodded. “I stay with him a
little while.” She rose to her feet, looking toward
the cot where the wounded officer had begun to stir
in waking. “I leave you with him now,” she said,
and with a lingering glance at Lucy from her brown
eyes, went quietly out of the room.
Lucy turned eagerly to her father, hardly waiting
for him to open his eyes before she exclaimed,
“Oh, Father, I’ve seen Elizabeth, and she said
she had talked to you! Isn’t it wonderful to find
her here?”
Colonel Gordon smiled, settling his big, lean
shoulders among the pillows as he gave an understanding
nod to his daughter’s quick words. But
Lucy had paused suddenly in her outburst of joy
over Elizabeth’s presence. She remembered Miss
Pearse’s warning, and with a pang of fear lest some
unconsidered word escape her, realized that her
father was still ignorant of the town’s capture.
Unless Elizabeth——But her father’s first words
put her mind at rest on that score.
“I saw her for only a minute after I woke up,”
// 122.png
.pn +1
he said, turning on his side with a slight painful
effort, to look into Lucy’s face. “But that was
long enough to thank her for what she did last year.
She told me that she had been allowed to help in
the hospital, and that she hoped to see you. How
she got here I can’t imagine, nor why they trust
her to work among the wounded—though we both
know there couldn’t be found a better nurse.”
Lucy was silent, afraid to answer, since she could
not tell the truth—that Elizabeth was trusted because
the hospital was in the hands of her compatriots.
Colonel Gordon did not notice her confusion
as he continued earnestly:
“I’m very glad she’s here—however she came—for
your sake, Lucy. She is devoted to you, beyond
all doubt, and I won’t be quite so uneasy with
her here to look after you. Greyson seems almighty
slow about getting you off to Calais. I
suppose he can’t help it. I can imagine what the
state of transportation is, but surely you won’t have
to stay much longer. Of course, if it were possible
to get right on, your mother and Henry would have
been here long ago.”
He paused, breathing a little hard, and frowning,
unreconciled, as he silently considered the obstacles
to Lucy’s departure.
Lucy sat wretchedly silent, knowing the truth to
be a hundred times worse than what already greatly
// 123.png
.pn +1
troubled him. In a moment he found breath to
speak again.
“Lucy,” he said thoughtfully, “I said I knew
Elizabeth was devoted to you, and so she is. But
don’t forget for a moment, however kindly we feel
toward her, that her country is our enemy. We
have good proof that she would not harm Bob, even
at Karl’s command, but that is a personal affection
with her. It does not mean she would not harm the
Allies’ cause. You must be on the watch lest you
speak a word that might be repeated to the enemy’s
advantage.”
Lucy murmured her agreement as her father, his
emphatic tone changing to one of wonder, said
again, “Why they allow her to work here I can’t
imagine. I must ask Greyson.”
“You’re tired, Father,” said Lucy, getting up
after a moment from the floor beside the cot, as
Colonel Gordon lay wearily back after his prolonged
talk. Her voice shook a little with threatening
tears, for it seemed dreadful to her that he
should not know the truth, and that she should help
to deceive him, though common sense told her it was
wise and necessary. He would certainly sleep
more peacefully that night thinking the Allies in
possession of the town. But it was a deception
which could not be kept up much longer.
She bade him good-night with a brave attempt at
// 124.png
.pn +1
cheerfulness, and went out into the big ward, which
was just dimmed by approaching twilight. Elizabeth
was carrying a heavy basket of Red Cross supplies
across the hall to the storeroom, and Lucy,
without asking permission, ran up to her and seized
one of the straw handles, taking half the weight on
her own arm. “Go on; I’m going to help,” she
said briefly. Elizabeth obeyed, glancing back with
troubled solicitude at the serious, determined face
of the little girl she knew so well, while Lucy, with
that familiar figure before her, bringing swift
memories of happy days at home, looked down the
rows of wounded men and wondered again if this
could all be real.
That night, in spite of the welcome silence of the
guns, Lucy’s natural fear and dread at the strange
fate that had befallen her brought wakefulness and
feverish dreams. But she was too worn out to lie
awake long, and Miss Pearse’s footsteps, moving
about in the gray dawn, roused her from deep sleep.
She struggled at that moment with desperate
drowsiness, intensified by the longing to fall back
where the bitter truth could be forgotten. But she
fought hard against her weakness and, fearful of
yielding, sprang out of bed and plunged her face
into cold water. Her sleepy eyes blinked stupidly
back at her from the shadowy mirror as she vigorously
rubbed away the drops, but her resolution was
// 125.png
.pn +1
triumphant. To-day she meant to work, that by
nightfall she might feel the satisfaction of having
done what she could to help—the only thing that
was worth doing here.
The guns had commenced again with intermittent
bursts of firing, but they were not so close now, and
the vibration of the air not so terrific. The Allied
guns were turned toward Château-Plessis since the
capture, and the German batteries had found new
emplacement outside the town’s western edge; the
edge nearest to the railways and the channel. Lucy
looked from the window toward the eastern sky,
where the clouds were gleaming with a soft, pearly
light. There were no bursting shells to mar the
sunrise to-day. All was quiet on this side now.
She glanced down at the street, along which a dozen
German soldiers were strolling. A few shouted
words reached her ears, and once more she wished
with all her heart she did not understand that language
of which every word had grown hateful.
Then suddenly she remembered Captain Beattie
and the possibility of help to him which that knowledge
had put into her hands. It would give her
glorious satisfaction to bring the enemy’s own
tongue to use against them. She had first, though,
to learn the whereabouts of the old prison to which
he had been taken.
She quickly finished dressing and joined the two
// 126.png
.pn +1
nurses, who saw her with surprise and a little protest
on Miss Pearse’s part against her early rising.
She did not scold much though, and seemed glad of
the promise of Lucy’s help. “I’ll give you work to
do the minute you are ready for it,” she said in answer
to Lucy’s eager demand, as they crossed the
street and climbed the hospital steps under the inspection
of the gray-uniformed sentry. “Go in
and speak to your father first, and then we’ll see.”
Lucy entered the little room softly, mindful of
the other wounded officers as well as of her father,
and found Colonel Gordon awake, with eyes turned
toward the door. He looked rested and stronger
with the improvement each day now brought, but
his lips were firmly set, as Lucy had often seen them
when he was thinking out a hard piece of work,
and his smile was but a faint one as he greeted
her.
“Did you sleep well, Father? Are you all
right?” she asked, stammering a little because she
hated to remember the unhappy secret between
them.
Colonel Gordon’s keen, far-seeing eyes studied
her flushed and anxious face as he answered
quietly, “Yes, I’m all right, little girl. You
may drop the camouflage now. I know we’ve lost
the town.”
“Oh, Father, who told you? I didn’t,” cried
// 127.png
.pn +1
Lucy, dropping down beside him, a great rush of
relief overpowering all her fears. He knew the
worst and they could share it together, and he had
borne the news with his old, unshakable courage.
Lucy thought of what Bob had said more than four
years ago at Fort Douglas, when the Mexican
rebels rose over night, threatening the border.
“Father may get excited if breakfast is late, but
when anything is really wrong, he’s all right.”
“Greyson told me,” said Colonel Gordon. “I
suppose he thought I should guess it anyhow, when
I began asking him about Elizabeth. Funny
idea—not letting me know.” He spoke with a
faint scorn for the ways of the Medical Corps, forgetting,
as a man on the road to recovery is apt to
do, how ill he had been only a few days before.
“I wondered what in thunder was the matter
that they couldn’t get you off,” he went on. “Poor
little daughter—it’s pretty tough luck.” His face
was drawn with anxiety as he reached out a hand
and caught hers in a strong clasp, but she broke in
eagerly:
“I’m all right, Father! Please don’t feel so
worried. I’m working in the hospital, and, honestly,
you don’t know how glad and proud I am—now
the scary part is getting better—that I can
be of use here.”
“It can’t be helped,” was her father’s slow and
// 128.png
.pn +1
almost unheeding answer. “Greyson tells me the
enemy has left the hospital pretty much in our own
hands. They are rather too tired to bother us,” he
said, a flash of satisfaction lighting his face. “I
know that much from the action in which I was hit.
Their advance is made with a desperately driven
force that leaves them limp and done for when it is
over. A couple of million Americans will turn
the great tide. Long before that time our counter-attack
should free the town—but meanwhile,
you poor little girl, you’re in the German
lines.”
“I’m quite used to it now!” Lucy insisted, not
realizing the absurdity of her words in her longing
to reassure her father’s keenly suffering mind.
“And Elizabeth is here, you know—she will take
care of me.”
“Yes—how thankful I am for that,” said Colonel
Gordon quickly.
“Here comes Major Greyson, so I’ll leave you,”
said Lucy, rising from her place as the surgeon
entered for his morning visit. “I’ll go and get my
breakfast.”
In the little dining-room she found Elizabeth
setting the table with plates and spoons. The sight
was such a reminder of breakfast-time on Governor’s
Island that, forgetting all her repugnance
to Elizabeth’s German sympathies, she threw her
// 129.png
.pn +1
arms around her old nurse’s thin, little shoulders,
and gave her a hug for a morning greeting. Elizabeth
turned a delighted face toward her, exclaiming:
“Good-morning, dear Miss Lucy! How early
you are up! Come, in this chair sit, and I will get
you the best I can.”
It seemed very pleasant to sit down and be waited
on by Elizabeth’s deft fingers, but the strangeness
of her being there had not yet passed from Lucy’s
mind and she said, wistfully, “Oh, Elizabeth, if we
were only back at home. Father and Mother and
Bob and William and you and I. Wouldn’t it be
great?”
“That will come again, Miss Lucy,” suggested
Elizabeth hopefully. But Lucy, unable to say
frankly, “Not while there are enough Germans left
alive to fight,” lifted a spoonful of weak cocoa to
her lips in silence.
“And William—how he is?” asked Elizabeth,
stopping her work to make the inquiry with eager
affection in her eyes.
“He is well, and, thank goodness, safe at home,”
sighed Lucy, seeing again before her the forlorn,
stumbling little children of the refugees from
Château-Plessis.
Miss Pearse came in presently and joined her,
famished after an hour’s hard work. “I have a
// 130.png
.pn +1
job all ready for you, Lucy,” she said, when she had
taken a sip of hot coffee and eaten a piece of black
bread. “It is a tiresome one, but very necessary.”
“I’ll do anything,” said Lucy quickly.
“Our hospital garments are falling into rags,
and no one has any time to mend them. Elizabeth
has been helping, but I am going to send her for
Mère Breton’s supplies this morning while you stay
here and sew in her stead.”
Miss Pearse had heard all about Lucy’s adventure
of the day before, and did not wish her sent
on the same errand again, until the Germans should
have their own interpreters, or officers who spoke
the barbarous English tongue. In any case, Elizabeth
could serve their purpose. Lucy had also told
Miss Pearse of the years the German woman had
spent with the Gordon family, and of the never-to-be-forgotten
service she had rendered them. Miss
Pearse had shown both interest and sympathy, wondering
much, like Lucy, at the strange chance of
war which had brought these two old friends together,
on such hard terms for friendship. Like
Colonel Gordon, she warned Lucy repeatedly
against speaking unguardedly before her old nurse.
“She is the most German person I ever saw,” she
said with conviction. “She has all their good
qualities, so I shouldn’t be surprised if she had some
// 131.png
.pn +1
of their bad ones. Anyway, you may be sure her
husband could make her try to worm out information
about the troops. You don’t know what
trifling little facts they can make use of. Don’t
answer any questions about what troops were in
the town, or anything like that.”
“She hasn’t asked me any,” said Lucy. “She
has been here herself since the last German occupation,
anyhow. But I’ll be careful.”
She was thinking over these warnings as she sat,
half an hour later, by the narrow windows of the
nurses’ room, mending long rips and tears in pillow-cases
and pajamas. Outside the window the German
sentry paced the little garden by the budding
rose-bushes and crumbling walls, and within the
hospital the workers continued their never-ending
task. While she meditated, Elizabeth came out
from the side door into the garden, carrying two
baskets on her arms, and with a nod to the sentry
passed quickly out through the ruined gate.
She could have obtained Brêlet’s company and
assistance, but she had started off alone with her
big baskets. Lucy, as she looked after her, thought
she guessed why. The little German woman suspected
that the poilu would have gone with her most
unwillingly.
Outside the gate Elizabeth turned east through
the same deserted streets which led toward the
// 132.png
.pn +1
cottages in the lanes and to the meadows beyond the
town. She walked quickly, for the supplies were
urgently needed. Besides, she had worked so hard
all her life that active occupation had become second
nature to her. Bob had once said, “Elizabeth
never sits down to rest—only to work more easily
that way.” She found a path among the broken
stone with patient care, for her shoes were old and
gave little protection to her feet. Once she stopped
to exchange a word with a German sentry during a
lull in the firing. When she neared the edge of the
town she was challenged by the guard in front of
the Headquarters building, but her German tongue
and written permission won her ready passage. At
the border of the meadow stood a little improvised
shack, put up to accommodate a guard and a field
telephone, in case of any alarm from this side of the
town. In front of it a corporal was idly walking
about, stopping to stare at Elizabeth as she hurried
by. She called out a good-morning to him, which
he answered with the inquiry:
“Where are you going, Frau, to fill those big
baskets?”
Elizabeth nodded over toward Mère Breton’s
cottage, hidden behind its little grove of apple and
plum trees, of which many were reduced to blackened
and leafless trunks. The cottage itself had
been twice struck, but the sturdy old Frenchwoman
// 133.png
.pn +1
refused to abandon it, and in the deadly rain and
thunder of bursting shells had gone on cultivating
her garden, and coaxing her frightened hens to eat
and fatten for the wounded poilus in the hospitals.
Now she feared they would nearly all go down
German throats, but Lucy had the day before tried
her best, in her halting French, to convince Mère
Breton that only by feeding the Boches could their
own people expect a share.
Elizabeth looked up at the blue, cloud-flecked
sky, away from the shattered trees of the wood in
front, as she crossed the meadow. Her eyes, always
anxious and watchful these days, felt a relief
in turning from the scarred earth to the untroubled
heavens. But this war is not only on the earth, as
she realized with a swift start, when out from behind
the clouds darted two flying specks which hung
poised above the meadow, the sun just touching
their tiny wings. She hurried on, reached Mère
Breton’s house, and found the old woman in the
garden among her cabbages. Elizabeth did not
know a word of French, but she held out the hospital
baskets with a pleasant nod and smile to cover
the deficiency of language. Mère Breton’s sharp
blue eyes, from beneath her white cap, gave the
German woman a look of bitter hostility, quite untouched
by the smile, which faded from Elizabeth’s
lips unanswered. Mère Breton took the baskets,
// 134.png
.pn +1
trudged off to fill them, and presently returned
them in silence. Her thoughts were as plain as
though she had spoken. She knew that not an egg
nor a fowl would go to her poilus with a Boche for
messenger. Elizabeth nodded good-bye without
attempting any further friendly advances, and
started on her hot walk back, this time weighed
down with a heavy load. She looked quickly up at
the sky again as she came out from beneath the
trees, for the noise of an airplane was now distinctly
heard as it circled not more than half a mile
above her head. As she stared up, squinting in the
sunlight, the machine dived suddenly and flew
around the meadow, hardly two hundred yards
above the earth.
Elizabeth stood paralyzed between an impulse to
drop down upon the grass and another to run for
shelter. At the observation post behind her the
corporal had rushed inside to the telephone. No
batteries were stationed at this point, for the Germans
counted on the Allies not caring to drop
bombs on Château-Plessis, but a telephone call
could bring anti-aircraft guns to bear on intruding
planes from the north of the town. While Elizabeth
stood frozen to the spot, the airplane above
her, as though scorning to recognize the fact that
Château-Plessis was in German hands, flew over
her so close that she could see the glistening paint
// 135.png
.pn +1
of the American emblems on its wings and tail, and
the pilot, sitting alone in his little monoplane,
leaned over the side and looked at her.
Elizabeth let fall her baskets, heedless, she who
was always so careful, of the fragile provisions
within. The face looking down with eager eyes
from a hundred feet above her was Bob Gordon’s.
He reached toward his feet, and, through the roaring
of the propeller, Elizabeth heard a wild shout of
warning directed to her from the observation post
behind. But no bomb was flung from the plane
which had her at its mercy. Instead she was suddenly
enveloped in a shower of papers fluttering
down toward the grass from the pilot’s hand. As
she brushed them dazedly from her shoulders, Bob
leaned out once more and threw a last paper, only
this one was crushed into a ball with a hasty pressure
of his fingers. Then the anti-aircraft guns crashed
out, and the Nieuport rose like a bird and winged
its way toward the sun, dropping another shower of
papers as it mounted, which scattered over the
green, daisy-starred surface of the field. The balls
whistled through the air, but before any accurate
shot was possible, the daring little scout had disappeared
behind a drifting cloud beyond the reach
of fire.
Elizabeth had picked up the ball of paper as soon
as it touched the grass. With trembling hands,
// 136.png
.pn +1
while she watched the Nieuport make its swift
escape, she smoothed out the wrinkled sheet and
held it against the sunlight.
“What’s that you have there, Donnerwetter!”
asked an angry voice behind her, and the corporal,
red-faced and panting, looked over her shoulder,
then stooped to pick up another of the leaflets.
“Some more of President Wilson’s talk,” said
Elizabeth, still looking with a critical air at the
printed sheet before her. “But Himmel!” she
added, turning to the corporal with an anxious
shake of the head. “For a moment I thought I
was done for. I did not know what to do!”
“It was no time to stand staring, like a dummy,”
was the corporal’s comment. “Come, Frau, help
me gather up this trash, and I’ll burn it and give the
impertinent Yankee that for his pains.”
Elizabeth nodded, leaning down to pick up the
papers thickly scattered over the grass. Her heart
was beating so hard she could hardly conceal her
hurried breathing, in spite of her calm and docile
exterior as she obeyed the corporal’s orders. She
gathered up the crumpled sheet together with the
others, crumpling them all into a wad before handing
them to her companion. She had seen all she
wanted in those two or three minutes while she held
the paper against the sunlight. The printed leaves
were copies in English and German of a part of
// 137.png
.pn +1
President Wilson’s speech made in New York on
the 18th of May. But the paragraph that Elizabeth
read had been pricked with pinholes[#] before it was
dropped at her feet. It was as follows:
.pm letter-start
There are two duties with which we are
face to face. The first duty is to win the
war. And the second duty, that goes hand
in hand with it, is to win it greatly and
worthily, showing the real quality of our
power not only, but the real quality of
our purpose and of ourselves. Of course,
the first duty, the duty that we must keep
in the foreground of our thought until it is
accomplished, is to win the war. I have
heard gentlemen recently say that we must
get five million men ready. Why limit
it to five million?
.pm fn-start
[TN] The letters that were marked with pinholes are marked here in bold.
.pm fn-end
.pm letter-end
Against the glowing sunlight Elizabeth read
Bob’s message: “I shall try to land to-night.”
Back in the hospital Lucy worked hard at the big
pile of garments with their long, ragged tears.
Her neck ached and her fingers, after two hours,
but she kept steadily at it, with the satisfying sense
of being one of the hospital workers; of doing, right
where the product of her hands was so urgently
needed, what she had often done from far away.
When the morning was half over Elizabeth came
back through the garden, walking slowly with her
// 138.png
.pn +1
loaded baskets, and presently she came empty-handed
into the room where Lucy was.
“Hello, Elizabeth!” exclaimed Lucy, tired of
her own thoughts and welcoming her old nurse
with a smile. “Are you coming to sew with me?
I’d love some one to talk to.”
“Yes, for a few minutes I help you,” said Elizabeth
in a quick, earnest voice that made Lucy look
up at her curiously as she continued. “Because I
something have to tell you that no one must hear,
so I sit by you and softly speak.”
Always when Elizabeth was excited her English
grew worse, and now Lucy, astonished at her words
and manner, stopped sewing and asked hurriedly,
“What is it, Elizabeth? Oh, tell me quickly—there’s
nobody to hear.”
Not convinced of this, Elizabeth gave a sharp
glance outside the open door and, taking a torn
garment on her lap, drew her chair close to Lucy’s
by the window before she answered. “I have Mr.
Bob seen, and he gave me a message.”
“Bob!” gasped Lucy, her terrified eyes devouring
Elizabeth’s face. “Oh, what is he doing here!”
“He is not here now,” said Elizabeth quickly.
“He has got safe away.” With her needle poised
between her fingers while she forgot all pretense
of sewing, she told Lucy in a voice just above a
whisper of her morning’s adventure.
// 139.png
.pn +1
Lucy heard her in stupefied silence, only her
glowing cheeks and shining eyes giving sign of her
overpowering excitement. Other feelings, too, beside
joy at this news of her brother, showed in her
face. A puzzled wonder was strongest, with the
realization of her old nurse’s German sympathies.
When Elizabeth came to the part of her story where
Bob contrived to drop his message and she to
decipher it, Lucy could contain herself no longer.
“But how did you know there was a message
hidden there? How could Bob know you would
find it?” she burst out, speaking but a part of her
confused thoughts aloud.
For answer Elizabeth first looked earnestly into
her face, as though she read clearly what Lucy
would not say—that she wondered greatly at Bob’s
trust in her—then putting down her needle clasped
her thin hands anxiously together. “Miss Lucy,”
she said a little shakily, “I hope you believe me,
because I nothing tell you but the truth. Did I
not tell you I saw Mr. Bob here a month ago, when
the Allies take the town? At that time we talk,
and Mr. Bob explain to me a way that he could a
message send, if he needs. He have the charge to
let fall those papers—you know—with speeches of
the president, over the German lines. He show
me how with a pin he could a message make that no
one would see, if they had no thought for it. When
// 140.png
.pn +1
he said this he spoke of war news only—of course
he not think then that you be left here if the Germans
take the town.”
“But, Elizabeth,” Lucy stammered, more at sea
than ever, “he arranged a cipher with you? He
spoke to you of war news?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth nodded. “I know what you
would say, Miss Lucy. You wonder that he tell
me, but it was first me who tell him something.”
Elizabeth’s dark eyes were filled with pain and sorrow
as she looked into Lucy’s face and whispered,
“No longer do I wish for Germany to win.”
Never in ten long years had Lucy doubted Elizabeth’s
word, but now a wretched fear shot through
her. Did she dare trust blindly to Karl’s wife?
But even while she hesitated, the kind, steady,
honest gaze of those dark eyes swept her last doubts
away. With impetuous remorse and thanksgiving
she reached out her hands and clasped Elizabeth’s
closely, while her tongue struggled for words to
express her new-born joy and confidence.
“Oh, Elizabeth, I’m glad! I’m so glad!” was
all she said, but her face spoke for her, and Elizabeth’s
anxious eyes shone with relief and friendliness.
“You believe me, dear Miss Lucy—you know I
speak truth?” she asked eagerly. Then at Lucy’s
swift assent she continued earnestly, “I tell you
// 141.png
.pn +1
all the truth, and then you see I do not deceive you.
Miss Lucy, I do not love France or England, or
even America better than my Fatherland. Germany
I love, and always will I love her. Only,
Miss Lucy, now is no longer with us the dear country
I before knew.”
A look of horror flashed into her kind face as
she said heavily:
“I have things seen that never could I tell you
of. At first I believe my countrymen who say the
English prisoners are guilty of crimes—for I never
any Englishmen knew. I think perhaps they deserve
the deadly punishment. But when America
send her soldiers against us——” Elizabeth’s
voice trembled. “When Mr. Bob so nearly was
given up to death; when they tell me lies of how the
Americans, they are worse than any—I believe
them not! Too long was I in America to be so
fooled, and now I know it is a cruel war that has
brought her against us. For those men who have
put the world on fire, who have made to die those
many innocent children—oh, Miss Lucy, better they
are beat and conquered by America, and so may
God let the old Germany live again!”
The little German woman’s low, cautious voice
shook with earnestness. Her clasped hands opened
and closed in quick, restless gestures so unlike quiet,
steady Elizabeth that Lucy’s heart beat with pity
// 142.png
.pn +1
and understanding. In Elizabeth’s simple nature
love of country was very strong, and her disillusionment,
at returning to war-time Germany, very
bitter. Yet she still found courage to hope for
better things. Lucy marveled at her patient faith,
but she could not at all put her thoughts into words,
nor indeed find thoughts that would not hurt more
than console, so after a look of warm affection she
sat silent. But in a moment curiosity prompted
her to ask:
“How about Karl, Elizabeth? Does he know
how you feel?”
A shadow settled once more on Elizabeth’s face,
but she answered quietly, “Karl is very angry with
me, Miss Lucy; but it is not that he knows I would
help the Allies now.”
“Then why is he angry?” But even as Lucy
asked the question she knew the answer. “Is it
because of Bob?” she faltered, and, seeing she had
guessed, Elizabeth nodded.
“Somehow, Karl find out that it is my fault Mr.
Bob was not taken as a spy. Not yet will he forgive
it, but I not think he feel so always; and still
if he need me I go to him.”
“Where is he now?” asked Lucy, thinking how
little Karl deserved such faithfulness and ashamed
that she had ever wondered at Bob’s trusting Elizabeth
so entirely.
// 143.png
.pn +1
“He is in Brussels—cook in a hospital. He is
safe, Miss Lucy. I not think I could work to help
America to win if Karl was in the trenches.”
Lucy had no sympathy for this feeling, but she
dimly understood it.
Another desire had grown stronger than all else
in her mind now; the wish to make sure of reaching
Bob’s rendezvous. The great meadows behind
the town were his only possible landing-place, but
they were more than a mile away, and sentries were
on guard all night in the town.
“Oh, Elizabeth, how shall we ever manage to get
there to-night?” she questioned, in a torment of
anxiety.
Elizabeth gave her a funny little smile—half-ashamed
and yet resolute. “You have forgot, Miss
Lucy, that I am a German. Almost where I like
can I go, since the town is taken.”
// 144.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII||BOB GORDON AND CAPTAIN BEATTIE
.sp 2
About nightfall of the same day Lucy left the
hospital and crossed the street to return to her bedroom.
Miss Pearse had urged her to go early to
bed, though the truth was she did not feel so tired
after a long afternoon spent in helping unpack
supplies, as she had done on the days when she sat
unoccupied, waiting for she knew not what. She
picked her way among the broken paving-stones
slowly, burdened with many thoughts. She had
not told Miss Pearse a word about Bob’s coming,
nor of her own and Elizabeth’s intention. It was
not that she was unwilling to confide in her kind
friend, but that she dreaded to face Miss Pearse’s
doubts and fears, weighed down as she was with
plenty of her own. It seemed much easier to go,
as Elizabeth had planned, without causing anxiety
or alarm to any one. For, however difficult the
way and severe the trial to her courage, Lucy knew
that the chance of seeing Bob, and of hearing news
of himself and of their mother, was enough to overcome
all her fears.
// 145.png
.pn +1
She lay down, dressed as she was, on her bed and
promptly fell asleep, for she had been up since five
o’clock that morning. She set Miss Pearse’s alarm
clock before lying down and put it beside her pillow
in case she should sleep too long, but after an hour
a prolonged burst of firing roused her. She sat up
and looked at the clock, but it was too dark to see
anything. She found some matches, and striking
a light, discovered that it was nine o’clock, just time
for the alarm. Miss Pearse did not come off duty
till eleven. With fast beating heart Lucy threw
around her shoulders a little cape which she often
wore on summer evenings, for the night had grown
damp and chilly. Breathing a fervent prayer for
the success of her expedition and for her brother’s
safety, she left the room, and closing her door, that
Miss Pearse might think her asleep when she came
in, stole softly to the stairs and down into the
street.
It was a starlit night, and the figure of the sentry,
patrolling the square in front of the hospital, showed
clearly, his bayonet touched with a faint gleam as
he shifted his gun on his shoulder. The handful
of French townspeople were all indoors, none of
them being allowed by the Germans on the streets
after eight o’clock, unless on hospital duty. But
an occasional soldier passed by, with clumping
boots or clinking spurs, while Lucy stood hidden
// 146.png
.pn +1
in the doorway. The lights of the hospital windows
twinkled now and then, as a hurrying figure
passed in front of them. A bat whizzed close by
Lucy’s ear. She felt so lonely at that moment that
she welcomed the sound of its blundering wings.
It was a nice French bat, she thought, bent on some
peaceful errand. But she had not much longer to
wait. In a moment quick, light footsteps sounded
near her, and Elizabeth’s little figure took shape
out of the darkness.
“Here I am, Elizabeth!” Lucy whispered.
Elizabeth stepped inside the door, reaching out
to touch Lucy’s arm, as she caught her breath after
her rapid walk.
“Then right away we start,” she said, panting a
little. “So soon as we get there, the better.”
“Do you think we can do it? Shan’t we be
stopped?” asked Lucy fearfully.
“The most they can do is to send us back,” Elizabeth
answered. “But I think we get by all right.
My room in the house of my friend is close to the
town’s edge. That far I go every night. And of
the soldiers who are here on guard I many know.
Last autumn was this regiment in Petit-Bois.
Often have I seen that big sergeant now working at
the hospital, when I help in my nephew’s shop.”
While Elizabeth talked in a quick, nervous undertone,
she had drawn Lucy from the doorway and
// 147.png
.pn +1
the two were making their way along the gloomy
street. Nothing more than an occasional lantern
lighted the captured town when the lights of the
few occupied houses were put out, and passers-by
were left to find their way by the starlight, or
by the occasional bursting of a star-shell in the
heavens.
“Oh, I wish the guns would not start again!”
sighed Lucy, when a new burst of explosions had
shaken the air.
“No, Miss Lucy, it is better so,” Elizabeth objected.
“With the guns firing no one hears Mr.
Bob’s machine.”
“Of course!” Lucy exclaimed, suddenly welcoming
the vibrations of the cannon against her
ears. “Why didn’t I think of that! Oh, Elizabeth,
I can’t bear to think of the risk he runs. I
wish he were not coming.”
“Be sure he comes not unless a good chance he
has,” Elizabeth reassured her. “He said only ‘I
shall try.’”
They had covered half a mile, through streets
leading to the town’s outskirts by a more southerly
direction than the way Lucy had taken the day before.
Now, at the corner of a street that remained
quite undamaged, a sentry stood out from the
shadow of the wall. Elizabeth gave a sharp glance
at his tall, thin figure, and, as they drew nearer and
// 148.png
.pn +1
// 149.png
.pn +1
// 150.png
.pn +1
the man brought his gun to the challenge, she called
out in German:
“Well, Hans Eberhardt, don’t you know me
yet? You’re younger than I am, and should have
better eyes.”
.if h
.il fn=i145.jpg w=484px id=i145
.ca
“WHO’S THAT WITH YOU?”
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: “WHO’S THAT WITH YOU?”]
.sp 2
.if-
The soldier lowered his piece and said with a
laugh, “It was your footsteps I was going to challenge,
Frau Müller. I couldn’t see you in this
murk.” Then, as the two approached him, he
added, “But who’s that with you?”
“Just a little girl who helps in the hospital.
I’m going to take her home to sleep.”
Lucy, trying to follow the rapid German speech,
felt her heart pound at these words. But the sentry
offered no objection, inquiring sleepily of Elizabeth
as she paused close by him, “Isn’t it eleven o’clock
yet, Frau? I must have been on guard here almost
a week.”
“It is nearly ten—you’ll soon get off,” said
Elizabeth encouragingly. “What sort of quarters
have you here?”
“Pretty good. Better than those at Petit-Bois,
though the French guns haven’t left us many whole
roofs to sleep under. And, Donnerwetter! We
need a little sleep.” He gave a weary sigh as
Elizabeth, starting on again at Lucy’s side, said
with a friendly nod:
“Well, good-night to you, Hans.”
// 151.png
.pn +1
“Good-night,” said the sentry, shouldering his
gun once more.
Lucy held fast to Elizabeth’s arm in an ecstasy of
relief as they walked quickly on through the starlit
darkness.
“No others shall we meet inside the town,” Elizabeth
said softly. “Once outside we must be careful,
and on the lookout keep.”
They were already near the border of Château-Plessis,
but not among the lanes, with which Lucy
was familiar. They had come further south, making
an abrupt turn, after passing the sentry, away
from the real route to Elizabeth’s lodgings. She
wished to give the German headquarters on this
side of the town a wide berth, as well as the field
observation post in the meadow. Bob’s probable
landing-place she and Lucy had discussed that
morning, for Lucy had faith in Elizabeth’s shrewd
judgment, sharpened by months of experience on
or near the battle line.
“Mr. Bob dares not to land now where three
days ago you saw him, Miss Lucy,” Elizabeth said
with certainty. “Nor yet near the place where he
let fall to me the message. But there is a further
meadow where sometimes aviators have the landing
made, and that is on the other side of the old
Frenchwoman’s house, and nearer to the wood. It
is there I look for him to come.”
// 152.png
.pn +1
Now, as they passed the scattered houses between
them and the open fields, Lucy guessed that they
would come out about a quarter of a mile south of
Mère Breton’s cottage. Already she saw the
safety of the way Elizabeth had chosen, for this
corner of Château-Plessis was the farthest removed
from the German front and the least frequented.
The fields it bordered on were too near the wood
where the French batteries had been hidden to have
been tilled or cultivated. They lay neglected, torn
up by shell holes and overgrown with weeds.
The stars gave light enough to show the outline
of Mère Breton’s cottage among the trees at their
left as they emerged at last from a poplar-bordered
lane into the grass of the nearest meadow. Lucy
stumbled a little as her feet met the rough clods of
earth, and Elizabeth, breathing fast after her
anxious walk, said softly in her ear, “We can sit
down and rest a while, Miss Lucy. Too early is
it yet for him to come.”
“Where shall we go?” asked Lucy uncertainly.
“Near to the cottage, I think. Then we shall be
safely hidden and can see around us.”
Elizabeth nodded, cautiously choosing her steps
in the darkness, fearful of the treacherous shell
holes here and there. At Mère Breton’s back gate
they paused, and Lucy held her breath, listening
with a shiver of fear for she knew not what. But
// 153.png
.pn +1
only the pounding of the cannon as the bombardment
fitfully continued broke the silence, while far
to the west on the battle line beyond the town, bursting
shells threw a glaring light against the sky.
Through the soft darkness near at hand a cricket
by the gate-post made a brave effort to chirp against
the guns. Lucy and Elizabeth sat down on the
worn stone steps outside the gate and peered across
the fields and up at the sky in anxious expectancy.
“He may not come, Elizabeth. I almost hope
he doesn’t!” Lucy said again, the old dreadful fear
for Bob clutching at her heart. Inside the gate
and drooping above it grew a big lilac bush, and as
they sat there, the night air shook the blossoms and
floated over them laden with fragrance. Lucy
leaned back against the post and drank in the sweet
air in deep refreshing breaths. Never again, she
thought, would she smell lilacs without remembering
this night.
After a long time of waiting she felt certain it
must be late enough for Bob to come. Out of
many thoughts an idea had occurred to her, as she
sat gazing up into the sky. The most dangerous
part of the descent would be when Bob drew near
enough to be seen against the stars. Once in the
black shadow of the wood he could land unseen, and
Bob knew these meadows well and would make use
of such protection. This meant that he would land
// 154.png
.pn +1
at some distance from where they were, and she
wanted to be as near as possible, to save every
precious minute. She waited a moment for a good
pause in the firing to tell her thoughts more easily
to Elizabeth, but before it came a sound made her
suddenly clutch at her companion’s arm. In the
distance, between the scattering shots, she heard the
whir of an airplane. Silently Elizabeth nodded,
pointing upward toward the sky above the wood.
A little dark speck showed for an instant against
the clear, starry blue, then before Lucy’s eager
eyes had more than caught it, sank swiftly down
among the shadowy tree tops.
Lucy sprang to her feet, not speaking a word, all
her energy and breath reserved for that mad dash
across the fields to Bob’s landing-place. But Elizabeth’s
hand caught hers and her voice entreated:
“Don’t run in the dark across there, Miss Lucy!
Surely you will in the holes fall. Mr. Bob will
come this way himself to look for us.”
Only a little deterred by this warning, Lucy began
running toward the wood, searching every yard
of ground ahead of her and narrowly avoiding more
than once a bad fall into a yawning shell hole close
at hand. Elizabeth was soon lost sight of but she
could not stop to wait. Before long her breath
began to come hard and fast, and her back to ache
unbearably from leaning forward as she ran to
// 155.png
.pn +1
watch for dangerous ground. On she went until
presently a wide field lay between her and Mère
Breton’s cottage. A hummock in the grass at one
side made her dodge a little to the left, uncertainly.
It looked like an animal asleep, but as she came
closer it moved and up beside her sprang a tall
figure. Two strong arms were around her trembling
shoulders, while a familiar voice said quickly
in her ear, “It’s Bob, Lucy dear—I’m not a
Boche! That’s what I took you for!”
“Oh, Bob—if I had been!” Lucy gasped as
she caught tight hold of him and glanced shivering
into the darkness.
“Don’t worry—he wouldn’t have got me. I
shan’t fall tamely into their hands a second time.”
Suddenly his fingers on Lucy’s arm stiffened.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s Elizabeth. I ran ahead of her. Where
shall we go, Bob? Won’t you be safer close by
your machine?”
“We’re near enough. I can see all around me
here. Elizabeth can tell me where the guards are
posted. I bet she knows them all. Oh, Lucy,”
and here Bob’s momentary cheerfulness collapsed
with a dismal groan, “I never thought this could
happen—that you should be left here! They beat
us back with six full divisions. Jerusalem!—how
many men they must have lost, for we gave them a
// 156.png
.pn +1
good fight, though we were outnumbered three to
one.”
“Don’t mind, Bob—we can’t help it, and I’m all
right. Before long we’ll surely get the town
again.”
“That’s what we hope for. Is Father doing
well? He must have been nearly wild when he
knew you couldn’t get away.”
“Yes, but you know how calm he is when things
are really wrong. He’s better, in spite of everything.”
“I’m thankful for that. Here’s Elizabeth.”
Bob took a few steps forward and caught hold of
the little German woman’s arm, as she came panting
up to them. “You’re a brick, Elizabeth,” he
said with eager earnestness. “I was so afraid you
wouldn’t get the message or understand it—but I
might have known you would. I’ve hung over
these meadows looking for you again and again
since the town was taken.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Bob, I understand the message all
right,” nodded Elizabeth, breathing fast. “It was
just like you showed me. And you are well—you
don’t get hurt?” she asked, the same affectionate
anxiety in her voice as when she watched over
Lucy’s welfare.
“I’m as fine as a fiddle. Look here, Elizabeth,
where’s the nearest outpost?”
// 157.png
.pn +1
“More than half a mile from here, Mr. Bob.
Pretty safe you are here, and I a good watch will
keep while you say all you want to the little sister.”
“Bob, I’m so frightened for you,” said Lucy,
trembling afresh when any pause in the firing made
the little night noises audible around them. “Why
did you come?”
“Because I had to see you and know that you
were safe. Father, too. You can imagine how
Mother and Cousin Henry have felt since Château-Plessis
was taken.”
“Oh, Bob, you’ve seen Mother? Where is she?”
Lucy cried, in a burst of relief and longing.
“She is near our line, about fifteen miles south-west
of here. That’s where the trains were
blocked—except those carrying troops—so that she
couldn’t get on. She tried every possible way—horse,
mule and ambulance—and she would have
made it on foot if the town had held out another
day. Come, let’s sit down on this bank. And stop
shaking like that! I’m all right.”
They dropped down beneath a ragged row of
poplars which separated the field from its neighbor
as Bob continued:
“I was so thankful to have the good news of
Father’s recovery for her at the same time that she
heard of the town’s capture. Now I can at least
tell her something of you. You’re in the hospital,
// 158.png
.pn +1
Lucy? Do the Germans let us run it as before?
I know something of what goes on in Château-Plessis—can’t
stop now to tell you how—but I
know that the town is held by only a company, and
that the enemy is too fagged out to do more than
care for their own wounded.”
“Make us care for them, you mean,” said Lucy.
“But where can you get news from? Never mind
now, tell me more of Mother. Oh, how often I’ve
thought of her, and longed to tell her I was safe!”
“It’s Elizabeth being here with you that has comforted
her most. Did you find Elizabeth that day
I told you she might still be here?”
“The day you landed over there on the meadow?
You never told me,” said Lucy, puzzled. Suddenly
a light broke through her mind. “Was that what
you tried to tell me as you started off? I couldn’t
hear a word with the propeller whirling.”
Bob put his arm suddenly about her in the darkness
and looked up into the starry sky. “If only
I could take you back with me,” he groaned. “It
seems too awful to leave you here! But I have to
cross the German lines, and their guns and scouts
are fiendishly watchful. My little one-man Nieuport
can skim over their heads and dodge them.
With a two-seater I need a fellow in front of me
pumping a machine gun for all he’s worth.” He
fell silent for a despairing moment, then said more
// 159.png
.pn +1
calmly, “Never mind, Lucy. Just be a plucky
sport. I won’t leave you here long, if I have to
bring a squadron after you. If only we could
force them out of Argenton! That’s the place
where they threaten to outflank us if we advance.”
At the name Argenton Lucy all at once forgot
the sickening fear and ache of her own heart in a
vivid recollection. That was the place where Captain
Beattie had been taken. “What makes it so
hard to get through there, Bob?” she asked eagerly.
“You mean the enemy is too strong?”
“Not that—they don’t need a large force.
There’s a long fortified ridge in front of the town
that keeps us from approaching. It’s a piece of
rolling ground about three miles long. Their
trenches run through it, and they have a collection
of anti-aircraft guns and battle-planes. We hang
over the place day in and out, but we can’t fly low
enough to get sight of their batteries.”
“Would any one who had been in their trenches
know what you want to learn?” asked Lucy, peering
into her brother’s face through the darkness.
“Of course—if he wasn’t blind. But people
who have reached their trenches from our side
haven’t come back to tell us. Look here, Lucy,
what I want more than anything to know is this:
Do you get enough to eat? If you don’t, I can
// 160.png
.pn +1
manage to bring over supplies on nights when
things look quiet, and leave them in the wood.”
“Oh, no, Bob; please!” Lucy entreated. “The
hospital has a garden and the place is so packed
with German wounded that we get all there is to
be had. I know the danger you run to come here,
and I don’t want you to try it again, much as I long
to see you.” As Bob sat in troubled, helpless
silence for the moment, she added quickly, “But
if I should learn anything that might help the Allies
to retake the town, how could I get news to you?”
“What could you learn, you foolish kid? There’s
nothing about this town we don’t know. And for
heaven’s sake don’t put your finger into such a
risky business. Keep out of anything like spying,
and be satisfied to help where it is safe. Elizabeth
might not get you out of trouble as she did me.”
“Do you know of a place called the Old Prison
somewhere in Château-Plessis?” asked Lucy irrelevantly.
“Yes; it’s about a mile from here. It’s nothing
but an old jail the French used as a sort of town
office, keeping one or two cells for an occasional
prisoner. We let out some French soldiers the
Germans had stuck there, when we took the town.
Why, have they any one in there now?”
“Yes, I heard of some one being put there,”
said Lucy briefly. “I think I remember the place
// 161.png
.pn +1
now. Bob,” she added anxiously, “don’t you think
you’d better go? It seems as though the firing
were much heavier. I’ll be so horribly worried
about your getting back.”
“Please don’t be. I’ll keep way over their heads
and play safe. How I wish I could leave you and
Father some good news; but I can’t, except to
promise you that Château-Plessis won’t stay in
German hands one second after we can take it.”
Lucy choked down a sob and, thankful that the
darkness hid her eyes brimming with tears of lonely
wretchedness, threw her arms about Bob’s neck in
a desperate embrace.
“Give Mother my dearest love,” she said huskily
in his ear. “Tell her I’m safe, and please go now.
Good-bye!”
“Good-bye, Elizabeth,” said Bob, having a hard
time with his own unsteady voice. “Take care of
her, won’t you? And whenever you cross that field
keep a lookout for me.”
“Yes, Mr. Bob,” assented Elizabeth, patting the
tall young aviator on the shoulder with a loving
hand. “Tell your mother she should not too much
worry over Miss Lucy. I do my best for her.”
“I know you will,” said Bob, with some relief in
his heavy anxiety. “Good-bye, Captain.”
Another moment and he was swallowed up in the
shadows, while Lucy and Elizabeth stood gazing
// 162.png
.pn +1
after him with straining eyes, their ears on the alert
for every sound, though nothing could be heard
around them just then in the noise of the cannon.
Still silent and motionless they stood there after
Bob had gone with eyes lifted now to the sky above
the wood. Within a quarter of an hour the little
Nieuport rose like a winged speck over the tree
tops. Lucy clutched Elizabeth’s arm, her heart
pounding intolerably. “There he is! There he
is!” she whispered, her mind hovering between relief
that Bob had got safely away from German
territory and dread of what he had still to face.
Another second and the little monoplane had disappeared
in the blue, and Elizabeth was tugging at
Lucy’s arm and saying earnestly in her ear:
“Come, Miss Lucy! We should go back quickly
now!”
Lucy turned away from the wide starry spaces
on which her eyes were still fixed, and, obedient to
Elizabeth’s urging began to retrace her steps across
the fields behind her old nurse’s cautious feet. She
walked mechanically, her eyes on possible shell
holes, but her mind far distant. Lucy’s moments
of fear and weakness had one redeeming feature.
They were usually followed by a great scorn of herself
in which her courage and endurance rose to a
high pitch. So it was with her now, after the
despairing terror which had made her hold fast to
// 163.png
.pn +1
Bob, and forget half she had to say to him at the
moment of parting. At sight of him flying back
through the night to make his perilous way among
the swarming German planes above the trenches,
all her courage returned to her. She could do
nothing toward Bob’s safety, but while he was in
danger she would do the one thing in her power
which might be of some distant help to the Allies.
“Elizabeth,” she said, as together they made a
difficult way through a tangle of bushes near Mère
Breton’s cottage, “I’m going back by way of the
Old Prison.”
“But why, Miss Lucy? For what?” Elizabeth
demanded in amazement, stopping short to catch
her breath.
As quickly as she could, Lucy told her of the encounter
of two days ago with the young Englishman,
and of her hopes that he might have some of
the information Bob so sorely needed. Elizabeth
listened with no answering enthusiasm for the risky
project, but the vigorous objections which she
launched when Lucy paused in her rapid explanation
fell on deaf ears.
“You needn’t come with me. I can find the
place, and there are so few sentries I know I can
keep out of their way,” was the only answer vouchsafed
her. In her impulsive resolution Lucy forgot
Elizabeth’s larger share in the dangers of the
// 164.png
.pn +1
expedition. She had only one thought just then;
to succeed in her undertaking. And this required
such a desperate keying up of her own courage as to
make her thoughtless for her kind and unselfish
companion.
“Oh, Miss Lucy, I beg you not to go!” implored
Elizabeth in a last attempt to dissuade the determined
girl from her purpose.
To this Lucy returned doggedly, “It’s all I can
do for Bob, and I must do it.”
Elizabeth sighed despondently, but her faithful
affection answered without hesitation on her own
account, “Very well; if you must, I go with you.”
“Oh, thank you, dear Elizabeth! I knew you’d
help me,” cried Lucy with genuine relief and gratitude.
“Now come into Mère Breton’s garden till
I show you what I’m going to do.”
Along with Lucy’s mad eagerness to learn from
Captain Beattie’s lips what he knew of the defenses
of Argenton—information which Bob himself had
told her might free Château-Plessis from German
hands—was another and more womanly motive for
her visit to the prison. The sight of her brother
had reminded her of the young prisoner who had so
aroused her admiration and pity. She could not
help Bob to safety, but could she not do something
for this other boy, now that chance had brought her
within possible reach of him? She thought to herself
// 165.png
.pn +1
how she would despise an English girl who
could have seen Bob taken off to prison, as she had
seen Captain Beattie, without lifting a finger to
ease his unhappy fate. Somewhere this young
officer’s family was waiting anxiously for news of
him, and hoping that one kind hand might be
stretched out to offer him help and comfort.
While she thought this Lucy had entered Mère
Breton’s garden and, feeling for Elizabeth in the
shadowy darkness, said softly, “Gather some of
whatever you can find. I know where the eggs are
put after they are collected in the evening. I’m
going for some.”
The little hen-house was not far off, where the
basket of eggs was nightly placed inside the door.
Lucy felt for the key upon the roof, unlocked the
door and putting in her hand, took out half a dozen
eggs and tied them in her handkerchief. She felt
no compunction about making off with the old
Frenchwoman’s property. She and Mère Breton
had talked together in confidence and Lucy knew
that this food was far better destined in her eyes
than if it had gone down the throats of the German
wounded. She hurried back across the garden and
found Elizabeth collecting a small supply of the
only ripe vegetables to be had just then.
“Got them?” she asked, breathing hard with uncontrollable
excitement. “All right, come on.”
// 166.png
.pn +1
They stole out of the gate into the meadow, and
now Elizabeth, trying to resign herself to the attempt
since she could not prevent it, asked anxiously:
“What shall we do there, Miss Lucy? Better we
think of that now, while there is time.”
“Well, first, how far from here is the prison?”
Lucy hoped it was no farther than Bob had said.
She knew her courage would not last forever.
“Only a little way after we reach the town. I
know the shortest way. But always a guard there
is, when in daylight I have passed the place. No
good it will do there that I am German, Miss Lucy,
for I have not any excuse to make him for us.”
Lucy thought for a minute. “I don’t believe
there are many guards, do you, Elizabeth?”
“No, only one, I think.”
“Because Bob said there were cells on just one
side. If I can only get to his window and talk with
him for five minutes it will be enough. It doesn’t
seem as though they would watch the prisoners all
the time.”
“No, more likely they very little watch; but, oh,
Miss Lucy, I am not sure how it will be, and I wish
you do not go!”
“I must try, Elizabeth. Be nice and just think
how to help the most instead of worrying. I know
we will be all right.”
// 167.png
.pn +1
“Very well. I help you all I can,” agreed
Elizabeth with quiet resignation. She spoke not
another word of protest as, entering the silent,
abandoned streets, they stole cautiously along the
town’s outskirts, toward the south.
After a few moments’ walk, Elizabeth pointed to
an open square ahead, at one corner of which a low
building gloomed against the sky. A church, with
the steeple shot away, rose opposite it. “There is
the prison,” Elizabeth said in Lucy’s ear. “The
cells are on the other side.” Now that they were
near to danger Elizabeth seemed once more to take
command of things. “Miss Lucy, you must here
in the shadow stay,” she continued quickly, “while
I go to see who is on guard. Better I some excuse
can make alone, if he should see me.”
Without waiting for an answer she was gone, and
Lucy shrank close against the brick wall of the
house behind her, and stood there with suddenly
quaking heart, and ears listening vainly for any
other sound than the occasional bursts of shell fire.
In five minutes Elizabeth was back again, and the
moment she spoke Lucy felt the joyful relief in her
voice.
“Oh, Miss Lucy,” she said, softly, “the best of
luck we have! The guard inside the house sits—where
was the office. They are a couple of sleepy
fellows, leaning on their guns. I watch the door
// 168.png
.pn +1
while you in back to the barred windows go. So
soon as the guard should move I come to warn you.
So in the dark we safely get away.”
“Elizabeth, you’re a brick!” Lucy whispered,
squeezing her companion’s hand in eager gratitude,
as she followed her toward the dark wall of the old
building.
A square of light showed on the side toward the
church, and here Elizabeth took up her watch from
the shadow of the corner, leaving Lucy, carrying
the little spoils of Mère Breton’s garden in her
cloak, to make her way to the right, or prison end
of the building. With a hard clutch at her already
waning courage, Lucy felt with her free hand for
the angle of the corner on the rough stone wall, and
stepping cautiously around it, reached the side of
the prison which opened on a narrow courtyard.
She stared up at the wall, seeing no break at first
in its dim outline, but, as she looked, three windows
detached themselves faintly from the shadows. In
another moment she could see that each was criss-crossed
with bars. Only one course of action suggested
itself to her excited mind, and whatever its
drawbacks she dared not delay. She went close
up to the first window and, dropping her cape, stood
on tiptoe and put her face against the bars. She
could see nothing inside the room but, making a
trumpet of her hands, she said, “Captain Beattie!”
// 169.png
.pn +1
She dared not call out, for as luck would have it,
in the last five minutes there had come a decided
pause in the firing, and a loud voice might very well
carry between the shots. The occupant of the cell
made no response, only Lucy fancied that she heard
some one sigh, and the rustle of a straw mattress
beneath a sleeper’s weight. With pounding heart
she stood a minute longer listening, then stepping
back, crept on to the next window. She reached
up on tiptoe to grasp the bars, and as she did so
her fingers touched something soft inside—somebody’s
clothing. At the same moment a voice,
speaking within a few inches of her face, asked
breathlessly in English, “Who’s that?”
Lucy’s heart gave a wild throb of triumph.
“Captain Beattie?” she stammered, clutching at
the bars.
“Yes—who on earth——?” The voice was
shaky with bewilderment. Lucy knew she had not
a second to lose. She said hastily:
“You remember the girl who translated the
German questions for you, the day the town was
taken? I’m an American; my father is an officer—wounded—and
I came to see him from England
and couldn’t get away in time.”
“But what are you doing here now?” asked the
amazed young Englishman. As he spoke, his hand
reached through the bars for Lucy’s, as though to
// 170.png
.pn +1
establish the comradeship of touch out of the darkness.
“I came to see you because I knew you’d be
lonely—I had a brother in a German prison—and
for another reason too. But first,” she reached
down for her cape and gathered up the meager
supplies it held, “do you get enough to eat?”
“I should say not. But quite as much as I expected.
How about yourself?”
“Oh, I’m all right. I’m in the hospital and
there is always enough there. Look here, I’ve
brought you a few things. I know raw eggs are
horrid, but they’re nourishing. It’s all I could
manage to-night. Do you want them?”
“Do I want them!” The rest of the prisoner’s
answer was to reach through the bars and take the
scanty provisions carefully from Lucy’s hands.
“You plucky little kid! I’m as hungry as a wolf.
Don’t tell me you came here all alone to-night?”
“Oh, no. A—a friend from the hospital came
with me. But, Captain Beattie, please listen now
while I tell you something.” She paused for a
second and a sudden thought prompted her to preface
her words by asking, “Are you quite sure I’m
all right and that you trust me? You can put out
your hand and feel my hair and face if you like, so
you’ll see I’m really who I said.”
“I believe you!” said the Englishman, and his
// 171.png
.pn +1
voice sounded as though he were smiling. “What’s
your name? You haven’t told me.”
“Lucy Gordon. My brother is Lieutenant
Robert Gordon of the American Aviation Corps.”
“No! Is he? I’ve seen him fly.” From inside
the barred window Lucy heard a deep sigh as
though the young prisoner had suddenly realized
again his hopeless captivity.
She went on quickly. “He came here to see me
to-night.”
“What? Here?”
“Yes. He got word to me that he was going to
try to land behind the town, and I came out to meet
him.” She plunged into the story of Bob’s coming,
repeating all he had told her of the difficulties
in the way of the Allied advance, and her own new-found
hope, at mention of Argenton, that the young
Englishman might have some of the information
so vital for the recovery of Château-Plessis and the
adjoining ground.
“Oh, if I could only have seen him for one
moment! What a chance in a thousand!” her
listener broke in with desperate eagerness.
“Then you do know about Argenton? You
could have told him?” Lucy panted.
“Didn’t I walk all through their trenches and
wait for hours in the broiling sun above their
beastly batteries? But I had no hope of getting
// 172.png
.pn +1
news of it to our lines. If I could have seen Gordon
for five minutes!”
“I never thought of it in time. I always do
things too late,” moaned Lucy, almost in despair.
“Couldn’t you tell me anyhow, Captain Beattie?
So that if he does come again—he’s going to try
to—I won’t fail a second time?” Her voice shook
with the sobs that rose uncontrollably in her throat.
To have been so near success and to have missed
it! A weight of disappointment settled on her
heart.
“I couldn’t explain the defenses to you now,”
said Captain Beattie doubtfully. “You wouldn’t
remember them accurately enough to do any good.
Anyhow, it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to make the
trip again.”
“Never mind—he might.”
“Well, I have paper and pencil, and I’ll draw
a sketch—a camouflaged one. You could tell him,
of course, what it is. But I don’t think you ought
to come here a second time.”
“I’m coming. I’ll bring you things to eat.
Didn’t I tell you Bob had been in a German prison?
Anyway, I’ve made such a mess of this I’m going
to try to succeed in the end.”
“Don’t feel bad,” said the young officer, concealing
his disappointment. “It would have been a
horrible risk to bring your brother here—though so
// 173.png
.pn +1
far as I can see the town is empty and deserted as
a tomb. I wish you’d go now yourself, though.
I’m awfully anxious about you. Where is your
friend?”
“She’s watching to see that your guard doesn’t
come out. All right, I’m going; but you’ll see me
soon again.”
“Good-night—God bless you.” The young
captain reached quickly through the bars and took
Lucy’s hands in a warm clasp. “You don’t know
what it’s meant to talk English again—and with a
friend.”
Lucy sprang down from her foothold in the wall,
and, with one swift glance about her through the
darkness, picked up her cape and stole around the
corner of the building. Elizabeth was still standing
by the shadow of the wall, but as Lucy came up
she reached out and caught her arm, leading the way
swiftly down the narrow street.
“Oh, Miss Lucy,” she exclaimed, “I thought
you never come! I have prayed for you every
moment you were gone! The soldiers stay there,
but I feel so afraid they change the guard, and I
have no time to get to you!”
“I’m sorry. I know I stayed too long—but I
found him!” Now that her disappointment was
not so sharp, Lucy was glad that at least she had
accomplished half her mission. “I’ll tell you all
// 174.png
.pn +1
about it, Elizabeth. Where are we going—to the
hospital?”
“No, indeed, Miss Lucy. I take you to my
room, and there we can sleep a little while. By four
o’clock we will back to the hospital go. So you will
get there as soon as the others.”
“All right,” said Lucy faintly. “I don’t know
whether I’m sleepy or not, but I think we started
out to find Bob about a week ago.”
// 175.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII||A LITTLE FRENCH HEROINE
.sp 2
“Lucy, will you do something for me?” asked
Miss Pearse, as they mounted the hospital steps
early in the morning, two days later. “Miss Willis
and Brêlet are going to the German supply depot
after some things we need. I wish you would go
with them and see if you can’t bring back more soap
and matches. We want them terribly, and we
always have to wait for them at a separate door
from the food depot. It’s impossible to spare any
one else from here,” she added, turning toward
Lucy a decidedly reproachful look, “or I’d keep
you working in the hospital. Goodness knows
what you’ll do, once I let you out.”
Lucy, not having any defense ready, said nothing.
But she did not look particularly repentant.
Miss Pearse had come face to face with her outside
the hospital when she returned the morning after
Bob’s visit. Astonished at catching sight of her
charge, whom she thought still in bed and asleep,
she had insisted on a complete explanation. Lucy
// 176.png
.pn +1
had received a scolding, but underneath all of her
severity, Miss Pearse could not hide the sympathetic
heart that beat in warm response to Lucy’s hope
and anxiety. Her lecture had weakly broken down
into a fire of questions about Bob’s daring flight,
which left Lucy feeling less remorseful than Miss
Pearse intended.
Now, after waiting a moment while their passes
were inspected by a deliberate German sentry, she
followed the nurse into the hospital, saying, “Of
course I’ll go, Miss Pearse. Right after breakfast?
Just let me tell Father good-morning
first.”
Colonel Gordon was sitting up in bed, for his convalescence
had now really begun, and his thin face,
from which the tan had almost faded, was tinged
with the first suggestion of returning health. His
eyes, though, held a sombre look in their gray
depths, and at sight of Lucy it did not leave them,
even when he smiled cheerfully and held out a welcoming
hand.
Lucy had told her father everything about Bob’s
visit and the news that he had brought, and in the
thrilling story Colonel Gordon’s fear for his son’s
safety had been almost outweighed by admiration
of his pluck and skill. His face had lighted up as
he listened, and Lucy had repeated the details of
Bob’s message and landing twice over. It meant
// 177.png
.pn +1
much to the wounded officer to feel that, if he himself
must remain a helpless prisoner of war, his son
at least was doing a brave part alone.
Lucy had not told him a word about her visit to
Captain Beattie’s prison. She had not accomplished
what she hoped, and she dreaded lest her
father’s fears for her safety might lead him to make
her promise not to go there again. Just now she
felt she could not give up the one chance that might
mean so much. And had she not given a promise,
too, that she would do what she could to make the
young Englishman’s lot more bearable?
This morning she told her father of her intended
trip across the town for the supplies doled out by
the German conquerors. Colonel Gordon lay
watching his daughter with anxious eyes as she sat
beside him, thankful to see that her cheeks had not
yet lost their color, in spite of all she had endured,
nor her hazel eyes their brightness.
“I’m all right, Father, so long as I have work
to do,” said Lucy, reading his troubled thoughts.
“It was sitting idle and worrying that I couldn’t
stand. Now that you are getting well, and we
know the worst about the town, I can grin and
bear it.”
“A weight is off my mind since I know Bob has
told your mother we are safe,” said Colonel Gordon.
“As for grinning and bearing it, our troops
// 178.png
.pn +1
won’t be satisfied to do that, thank heaven.
They’ll push through again somehow—they must!
I don’t know what I’d do if I thought I was a
prisoner for the rest of the war.”
Lucy was silent, but again she resolved to tell
her father nothing of the secret Captain Beattie
held, until she had revisited the prison and accomplished
at least a part of what she sought.
“I must go to breakfast now, Father,” she said,
after a moment. “I’ll come in to see you again
just as soon as I get back from my morning’s work.”
Lucy needed no urging to do all in her power to
help inside the hospital. To her natural eagerness
to be of service to the Allies’ cause was added a
keen desire to show the Germans in command that
she was useful. She had a secret dread that they
might think her in the way and forbid her to remain
where she longed to stay, close by her father’s
side.
The streets were glowing in hot sunshine when
she started out with Miss Willis and Brêlet, an
hour later. Since the night before, the guns had
been almost silent, and every soul among the Allies
in the town wondered how things were going on
the battle-front, but steadfastly refused to ask their
conquerors, certain they would hear of nothing else
than a German victory. But even the Germans
could not claim much of an advance, for the firing
// 179.png
.pn +1
of the past night showed their line to be still held at
about four miles west of Château-Plessis.
The German food supply depot was about a mile
north from the American hospital. It was inconveniently
placed for both hospitals and for the few
hundred inhabitants remaining in the town, but
naturally the Germans gave no thought to this.
Every one wishing to buy or beg food was obliged
to go in person, showing the registry card which
had been furnished each inhabitant soon after the
town’s capture. This systematic arrangement
promised well, but in reality many a tired and over-worked
French citizen had a long, hot walk to the
supply depot for nothing. The food was scanty,
and only the worst portions of it were reserved for
the townspeople. In addition to this, the long wait
necessary to secure anything kept those away who
had a few vegetables left growing in their little
gardens.
The old men and boys of Château-Plessis had
been put to work clearing the streets of broken
stone and rubbish, for there was no more than a
company of soldiers in the town, and these contented
themselves with mounting guard and exercising
a general supervision. But the civilian workers
received no more food than if they had been idle,
and, hungry and dejected, worked grudgingly at
their task, fearful lest they should be in some way
// 180.png
.pn +1
aiding the German advance. Lucy watched these
unwilling workers, as the three passed close to a
little group of them, on their way across the town.
Somehow they seemed even more pitiful to her than
soldier prisoners. The soldier has at least had a
chance to strike his enemy, and he is at a time of
life when blows are given and endured. But these
old men, weather-worn and bent with labor, had
earned a quiet home in the little town where most
of them were born. The boys, from twelve to about
sixteen years old, glanced up with shamefaced and
defiant looks. They had had no chance at self-defense,
and Lucy guessed with a quick throb of
sympathy how their young, loyal hearts must suffer
in obeying the conqueror’s commands.
“Suppose it were America, and the Germans
were ordering us to work for them,” she thought,
and her cheeks flushed with anger at the triumphant
foe who caused such misery. Then she shook her
head impatiently at herself, as the house used for
the food depot came into sight. “I’ll have to feel
a little more polite than this, if I’m to get any soap
and matches out of them,” she decided.
“There’s not much of a crowd to-day, thank
goodness,” remarked Miss Willis, looking at the
scattered handful of people standing about the
building. “But I suppose there are enough more
indoors to keep us waiting half the morning.”
// 181.png
.pn +1
“Well, I’ll go to the other side and try my luck,”
said Lucy, making for the left-hand door and taking
her place in line, with the written request from
the hospital in her hand. Presently her turn came
to step inside the door and hand her paper to the
sergeant at the desk. He read it, pursing his lips
doubtfully, glanced at a written list beside him,
and finally told Lucy to come back in half an hour.
He shouted it, under the odd impression that people
who could not understand German would get his
meaning somehow if he spoke loud enough. Lucy
nodded, wanting to laugh at his hot, bothered-looking
face, and went out in search of Miss Willis and
Brêlet.
The people of the hospital, owing in great part to
the German wounded sheltered there, were in a
much easier position than the rest of the population
in regard to food. The German authorities allowed
them hand-carts to convey the somewhat
variable supplies allotted to them. To-day the
chief part of the food had already been sent over,
but some necessary things were missing, and these
Miss Willis had volunteered to bring back. The
chances looked uncertain, however. The German
non-com in charge as a matter of course appeared
doubtful about granting her request. Perhaps—after
a while——When Lucy entered the room
things had advanced no further than this. Seeing
// 182.png
.pn +1
every prospect of a long wait she glanced about her
to see who else was in the same plight. Twenty-five
or thirty people were standing wearily waiting
on the sergeant’s pleasure. Some of them
had sat down on the floor and leaned against the
wall.
Among these last was a slight delicate-looking
woman whom Lucy noticed because she seemed so
sadly out of place seated on the dusty floor in the
midst of the noisy and perspiring crowd. She was
plainly dressed in black with a widow’s cap over her
soft, dark hair, but something about her face and
bearing set her apart from the peasants and townspeople
around her. Beside her stood an old woman
who was evidently a servant, with an empty basket
on her arm and an angry scowl on her forehead as
she watched the German soldiers leisurely dealing
out supplies to the waiting crowd. But it was the
third member of the little group to whom Lucy’s
attention quickly shifted. This was a girl about
her own age, who stood leaning against the wall by
her mother’s side, a kind of scornful patience on her
face. Her blue eyes, which looked as though not
long ago they had been full of childish gaiety, now
held a defiant resolution in their depths. Her hair
was so black it reminded Lucy of Julia Houston’s,
except that Julia’s hair was straight, and this girl’s
fell in soft waves over her thin shoulders.
// 183.png
.pn +1
Lucy could not take her eyes away from that
pretty, sensitive face, so pathetic in its look of having
been roughly wakened from the happy childhood
that French girls know until well into their
teens. In another moment the object of her gaze
looked around and caught sight of her. Lucy did
not hesitate. She had longed for the companionship
of a girl her own age since she had found time
to think in these last few days, and she had seen
this girl once before in crossing the town with
Brêlet and Elizabeth, and had heard from Brêlet
something of her history. She made a difficult way
across the crowded room to her side and, overcoming
a sudden shyness as the stranger’s eyes met
hers, she said in French with a friendly smile, “You
won’t mind if I speak to you? I’d like so much to
have another girl to talk to.”
For a second her listener looked puzzled, for
Lucy’s French was much worse than her German.
Then her face lighted comprehendingly, and a
bright smile chased away all the scornful sadness
from her look.
“I shall be glad!” she exclaimed, her pretty
voice sounding pleasantly on Lucy’s ears after the
shouts of the German soldiers calling off the names
upon their lists. Then, hesitating for a second, the
girl said in careful, foreign-sounding English, “If
you prefer, we can talk in English. I speak enough
// 184.png
.pn +1
that you can understand me, though I make some
mistakes at every moment.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Lucy, enormously relieved at
the loosening of her tongue. “I can understand
you perfectly, and you tell me if I talk too fast.”
“Then let us sit on the floor,” the French girl
suggested, dropping down as she spoke against the
wall.
Lucy quickly followed suit, and when they were
seated side by side on the rickety floor, which shook
and creaked under many footsteps, her companion
continued, “I know a little of you already. Clemence,
our servant, has told me how you came here
to see your father.” A look of such keen sympathy
shone in the blue eyes fixed on hers that Lucy for
a moment could not speak, and the French girl
added, “You are American, no? Tell me your
name.”
“Lucy Gordon. And I know part of yours.
You are Mademoiselle de la Tour, but what is your
first name?”
“Michelle. It was the poilu who was with you
when you saw me in the street who has told you
that. He knows well this town. He was—how
you call it? Jardinier of my uncle, very near here,
before the war.”
Brêlet had in fact told Lucy more of Michelle de
la Tour than her name. He had described the first
// 185.png
.pn +1
German advance early in the war, which had driven
the widow and her little daughter from their beautiful
country-place to find refuge in the town. Since
then things had gone from bad to worse with this
family, once so honored and fortunate. Madame
de la Tour’s only son was fighting for his country,
while his mother and sister were left, poor and
needy, in German hands.
Lucy wondered what stories of privation and
sacrifice Michelle’s lips could tell. But she also
guessed that she would hear little of them. Impelled
by an instinctive confidence and liking which
made her feel more warmly toward this girl than
five minutes’ acquaintance warranted, she began
telling her a little of her own history. Of her coming
from England, of her father’s recovery in the
midst of the German advance, of her mother’s vain
attempts to reach them, and lastly she spoke of
Bob. Not, of course, of his visit since the town’s
capture, for Lucy had learned prudence enough in
the last week. She did not say a word that could
have brought danger to any friend of the Allies,
however unlikely it was that her English would be
understood. Michelle heard her with an eager intentness,
and Lucy’s friendly interest seemed reflected
in her listener’s eyes, which in their changing
brightness expressed her thoughts far better
than her halting English. At last she turned to
// 186.png
.pn +1
where her mother sat, and reached out an eager
hand to her.
“Maman! I have a friend—a little Americaine.
Mees, here is my mother.”
Lucy crawled over and held out a dusty hand to
Madame de la Tour, who gave her in return a firm,
lingering clasp of her delicate fingers. Michelle’s
mother had her daughter’s radiant smile, and it hid
for an instant even the heavy lines of weariness and
anxiety in her pale face.
“I am very glad if you will be company to
my little girl,” she said, in better English than
Michelle’s. At the same time her dark eyes
searched Lucy’s face, as though the terrible years
of doubt, dread and suspicion had made her slow
to accept any friendship, even one so innocent as
this little American’s. But Lucy’s frank, honest
glance seemed to convince her. She patted her
hand and smiled again, as though the ever-lurking
dangers were forgotten for the moment in motherly
pity for the lonely child before her.
“Michelle,” she said quickly, “you must ask la
petite to come and visit us. Very sad it must be
for her always in the hospital.”
“Will you come, Mees?” asked Michelle, eagerly.
“Yes, but please call me Lucy,” was the prompt
reply, to which Michelle agreed with a nod and a
smile, saying:
// 187.png
.pn +1
“You, too, call me Michelle. So it is much
pleasanter.”
“Where do you live?” was on the tip of Lucy’s
tongue, but at that moment she saw Brêlet making
energetic signals to her across the room. With a
sudden conscience-stricken remembrance of her
supplies next door, she sprang up and bade her new
friends a hasty good-bye.
“I hope to see you very soon again,” she found
time to say, before she squeezed her way through
the increasing crowd.
“All right, Brêlet, just wait a minute until I get
my things. Is Miss Willis ready to go?” she asked
the poilu, who stood by the door, his full basket
slung over his shoulder.
“Yes, I will come with Mademoiselle,” he said,
following Lucy outside to the other door, where a
scanty supply of the articles she wanted were
handed from the desk after a further wait of a
quarter of an hour.
All during the hot walk home Lucy thought of
Michelle and wondered how soon she should be
able to see her again. That afternoon as soon as
she sat down to work on the torn linen with Elizabeth,
she asked her old nurse how she could manage
to visit her new friend. “You see, I suppose she
works in the French hospital with her mother, so I
don’t know how we can do any work together.
// 188.png
.pn +1
Will the Germans let me go to her house?” she
asked doubtfully.
“The Germans here not so many are that they
will bother to see what you do, unless you the town
try to leave,” was Elizabeth’s answer. “When I
in the morning to the cottage in the meadows go,
you may come with me and stop at the house of
your friend.”
“Oh, do you know where she lives?” cried Lucy,
overjoyed.
“Surely do I. Near by to where stood the
sentry when we passed him the other night.”
Lucy left off working toward sundown to go and
sit with her father, and in him she had an interested
listener to Elizabeth’s plan for visiting Michelle.
“I’m so glad you’ve found a friend, little daughter,”
he said, with sober satisfaction. “It must be
so almighty hard and lonesome for you here. But
remember, you’re never to cross the town even that
far without Elizabeth or some one else from the
hospital.”
Lucy nodded, thinking rather guiltily of her
determination to visit Captain Beattie on the first
night that Elizabeth was off duty.
Just now, though, she had only one thought in
her head. It is no small thing to find a companion
one’s own age after many days spent among grownups.
And this girl had appealed to Lucy from the
// 189.png
.pn +1
first glimpse she caught of her in the street a week
ago. Lucy was not given to rushing headlong into
friendships, but she did follow her impulses frankly,
and on the whole did not often have reason to regret
it.
By the following morning Elizabeth had forgotten
all about Lucy’s inquiries of the day before,
and looked up in surprise when she came early into
the dining-room greeting her with, “Well, Elizabeth,
when may we start?”
Lucy had risen at daybreak, obtained Miss
Pearse’s consent to her plan, and arranged breakfast
trays for the convalescents an hour under the
nurse’s direction. Then she had sat with her
father a while, for it was early in the day that he
felt most rested and ready for conversation. Now
she felt that it was time her wish was gratified, and
sighed regretfully when Elizabeth answered:
“So soon as I can I will go, Miss Lucy. But
first I have some work to do, and the Sergeant must
sign us the permissions for to-day.”
“Oh, all right,” agreed Lucy, somewhat pacified
at sight of the breakfast Elizabeth was placing on
the table.
It was a beautiful early summer morning, with
white clouds piled against the soft blue sky, and the
sun just warm enough to make the shade feel
pleasant. After the unusual heat of the past few
// 190.png
.pn +1
days it was exhilarating to both mind and body.
Lucy felt filled to the brim with life and energy.
In spite of herself her spirits soared with hope and
confidence in better things to come. Somehow she
believed to-day, when she and Elizabeth set out
from the hospital half an hour later, that Château-Plessis
must soon be restored to its rightful owners.
It seemed as though this nightmare of German conquest
were but a passing thing and could be bravely
borne with that assurance.
There was nothing whatever to suggest a change
for the better in reality as they crossed the town.
The guns were still silent, except for scattered
shots, the German sentries still kept guard over the
desolate streets, and the gangs of unhappy old men
and boys labored at the piles of débris in sullen submission.
Still Lucy’s spirits refused to be much
dampened. In her mind she debated schemes for
carrying food to Captain Beattie, resolving to tell
Michelle all about the prisoner at the first opportunity.
“Look, Miss Lucy,” said Elizabeth, presently,
as they neared the southeastern part of the town.
“There is the house of Madame de la Tour.” She
pointed down the street to a little brick house with
a gabled roof. “It is one that she owns before,
but now she goes there to live, because it is not much
by the shells hurt.”
// 191.png
.pn +1
In a minute they stopped in front of the door
and Lucy asked eagerly, “May I go in and see
them now? Will you come back for me?” She
glanced along the street, which was deserted except
for a shuffling old woman making her weary way
toward the food depot, and looked back at Elizabeth,
who answered thoughtfully:
“I will be only an hour gone, but no longer can
I wait to take you back. I have plenty work to do
in the hospital to-day. Anyway, you will have
with your friend a little visit. But first I wait to
see if she is here.”
Lucy ran up the short flight of steps and was just
about to knock on the door when it opened and
Michelle herself stood on the threshold, smiling a
welcome.
“I have seen you by the window,” she explained,
“so I came to open.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you are at home,” said Lucy,
delighted. “All right, Elizabeth! Don’t forget
to come back for me.”
She followed Michelle into the house, which was
a bare, homely little place, oddly furnished with a
few splendid pieces brought from the old home,
eked out with simple stools and tables got from
near at hand. But it was neat and homelike, and
that meant much to Lucy, after her days spent in
the midst of the hospital’s terrible activity.
// 192.png
.pn +1
Madame de la Tour had already gone to the
French hospital, and Michelle was putting the
house in order while the old servant was busy in the
kitchen.
“Sit down upon this chair,” she said to Lucy,
bringing an old, carved armchair close to the open
window. The windows had been open ever since
the glass was shattered by the shell-fire, but now
that summer had come, the boards which helped
keep out the winter cold were put aside.
Michelle pulled up a second chair for herself, and
taking some knitting on her lap, exclaimed with a
look of pleasant anticipation, “Now we are comfortable,
no? It is so long since I have company.
I feel almost strange to see a friend.”
“There is so much I want to talk about, I can’t
think where to begin,” said Lucy frankly. But as
she spoke she remembered her need of making another
visit to the old prison, and realized also that
such chance of speaking in safe privacy with
Michelle might not come soon again. She did not
have very long, either, for Elizabeth walked fast.
“Michelle, I want first to tell you about my
brother’s coming here the other night,” she began
quickly.
“Your brother—he come here?” gasped Michelle,
her English failing her in her amazement.
“Yes,” Lucy nodded. She plunged into her
// 193.png
.pn +1
story and repeated the whole incident of Bob’s coming
and of her own visit to Captain Beattie’s prison.
By the time she finished Michelle’s eyes were shining,
her cheeks were flushed with pink, and the
knitting lay unheeded in her hands. When Lucy
stopped for breath she burst into such enthusiastic
praise and comment that Lucy was almost overcome.
“Goodness, I didn’t do anything,” she said
hastily, for she had not told the story with any idea
of winning applause for herself. “The reasons I
want you to know about it are, first, because I hope
you will let me bring things for Captain Beattie
here, and stop for them on my way to the prison.
Secondly, because we are friends, and I wanted to
tell you about Bob.”
Michelle’s face was a study; the strangest mixture
of warm sympathy and a kind of puzzled
doubt. Lucy looked at her wonderingly, for she
answered with evident sincerity, “Very gladly will
I help you to take things to the poor Englishman.
I will go with you if I may—I long so to help a
little bit! Oh, Lucy, only to make pass that news
of Argenton across the German lines!”
Lucy’s heart eagerly responded to this wish, but
a queer discomfort at the baffling look in Michelle’s
eyes kept her a moment silent. Suddenly she
realized that while she had told this almost stranger
// 194.png
.pn +1
her dearest secrets, Michelle, on the other hand,
had not opened her lips on the subject of her
brother, or of her hopes for the success of the Allies.
Lucy was too candid and impulsive to bear this
state of things unquestioningly. She looked into
Michelle’s troubled face and asked, “Why won’t
you tell me anything about yourself and your
family, Michelle? I’ve trusted you in speaking of
Bob’s coming. Don’t you trust me?”
The French girl started, hesitated, looked again
into Lucy’s wondering eyes, and burst into a flood
of speech.
“Oh, Lucy, I know you are with us—like all
America! But some Americans are not enough on
guard against our enemies. For what you are a
friend with that German woman, who has the husband
in the fight against us?”
“Of course! What a donkey I am!” exclaimed
Lucy, relieved beyond words as things were thus
made plain to her. “I forgot all about Elizabeth,
Michelle, or I should have guessed what you might
think from seeing me always with her. You see,
Elizabeth was our old nurse in America—and I’ve
known her since I was four years old. But that
would not be enough to make us real friends now.
She is just as pro-ally as we are. She does not wish
to see the Kaiser win.”
As Michelle still looked utterly unconvinced,
// 195.png
.pn +1
Lucy went back to tell of Elizabeth’s rescue of Bob
from German hands the year before. She did not
stop until Michelle knew of Bob’s confidence in the
German woman’s sincerity, of the message dropped
from the airplane, and of Elizabeth’s repudiation
of her country’s war aims and her promise to help
in all Lucy’s efforts.
Michelle sat silent and astonished, her blue eyes
fixed upon Lucy’s face.
“Does she hate Germany?” she asked at last.
“Oh, no, but she hates the Junkers ruling her.
It is for Germany’s own sake that she is pro-ally.
Do you see what I mean? Besides, she loves
America, where she lived so long. It was the lies
that they told her about America that first taught
her the truth.”
Michelle reflected for a long moment. Then she
said slowly, “Lucy, I know your brother would not
be deceived, and I believe what you tell me. But it
is hard to think the wife of a Boche soldier to be
pro-ally.”
“Karl isn’t a soldier—he’s too old. He’s only
a cook. He was our cook for nearly ten years at
home. Anyway, Michelle, you know that I’m all
right, and you will soon see that Elizabeth is too.
I know how you feel, for I wouldn’t have believed
her myself, though I’ve known and trusted her so
long, if she had not brought the message from Bob.”
// 196.png
.pn +1
Michelle nodded quickly. “Lucy, I go to tell
you now about my brother. But all the same,
though I believe you, promise me you will not tell
the old nurse a word of what I say.”
“I promise,” said Lucy, wondering.
An ever-present fear, the look that Madame de la
Tour’s glance had held when she first saw Lucy’s
face, lighted Michelle’s clear eyes as she bent forward
and whispered:
“My brother Armand is a spy for the French
army. Once already after the first German victory
he made his way into the town.”
“How could he!” breathed Lucy with fast beating
heart, sudden glorious possibilities awaking in
her thoughts.
“I tell you how,” said Michelle, her voice trembling
with pride and emotion at her brother’s
gallant exploit. Changed from Michelle’s slow
and halting English, the story of Armand de la
Tour’s entrance into the captured town was this:
During an attempted night-raid made by a dozen
Germans on the French trenches before Château-Plessis,
one of the Germans fell, mortally wounded,
in no-man’s-land, close to the French lines. Armand,
wearing the uniform of a German soldier,
leaped out and took the fallen man’s place in the
darkness. The German attacking party, with
Armand among them, regained their own trenches,
// 197.png
.pn +1
the Germans surprised at the sudden pause in the
rifle fire from the French side. Dawn found the
spy inside the town, having made a perilous way in
on pretense of special duty. Once under the shelter
of his mother’s roof, he obtained the information he
came for and at nightfall returned to the German
trenches. Having arranged with his friends on the
French side a preconcerted time and place, he went
over the top in a pretended attack and reached his
own lines in safety.
This feat had led directly to the capture of the
town by the French and American troops—the
action in which Lucy’s father had been wounded.
There was no chance, so far as the Allies knew,
of learning anything in Château-Plessis now, but
Michelle and her mother knew that anxiety on their
behalf would lead Armand to run great risks to
enter the town again, and they dreaded lest he
attempt it.
“If he should, Michelle,” cried Lucy, thrilled at
this story of unselfish heroism, “he could take back
word from Captain Beattie of what they long to
know.”
“That is why I make haste to tell you,” said
Michelle, nodding. “Better you get the English
Capitaine to write you what he knows, and you
bring it here; for though Armand wear the German
uniform, he dare not show himself about the streets.
// 198.png
.pn +1
Look,” she added, pointing through the window,
“there is the German woman come for you. Poor
thing, she has the heavy basket.”
Lucy was not sure whether Michelle really believed
in Elizabeth or not, but more than satisfied
in any case with her morning’s visit, she got
up, nodding to Elizabeth that she was coming.
Michelle, rising too, slipped an arm through Lucy’s
with shy friendliness as they went out toward the
door.
// 199.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX||THE FIGHT OVER ARGENTON
.sp 2
Bob Gordon was reading a letter from his mother
as he sat in the principal room of a little farmhouse
outside of Cantigny. The place had long been
abandoned by its owners, and now sheltered a dozen
American airmen and as many mechanics, in spite
of the serious damage it had suffered when the town
was taken. Bob was seated on a three-legged stool,
tilted dangerously as he propped his feet against
the chimneypiece—or what was left of it in a heap
of brick and mortar fragments. The morning sun
streamed in on the earthen floor and fell across his
face as he read the closely written lines. His thin,
brown cheeks were tinged with healthy color, and
his whole lean figure in its well-worn khaki looked
full of life and vigor. But just now his face was
serious and sad, and the eyes he raised from the
letter toward the sunny window were darkened with
painful anxiety.
He could see his mother’s pale face before him as
he read, her lips set with that brave firmness that
war-time women learned to keep in the midst of
// 200.png
.pn +1
fear and suffering. Even in her letter she tried to
hide her thoughts, and to write hopefully for Bob’s
sake, though she spoke frankly of the trouble they
shared together.
“I can think of nothing but Lucy, Bob, wondering
when the time will ever come that I shall see
her safe and beyond the power of the enemy. But
since that night you saw her with Elizabeth, I can
find courage to hope again. How strange things
are—the dreadful and the good all mixed together!
For I feel so sure that your father would not have
made his wonderful recovery if dear little Lucy had
not been there beside him.”
Bob looked up once more, pondering. His
reveries these days were one long rebellion against
his helplessness. All his courage and strength of
purpose were not enough to bring his little sister out
of Château-Plessis across the hotly contested battle
line. He and his comrades had all they could do
to hold back the German tide, without yet advancing
to retake the town. The success of the American
troops at Cantigny could be repeated at
Château-Plessis—must be—but not without adequate
plans of attack and further reinforcements—those
reinforcements that every one wanted at once.
“Thank heaven, our men are coming overseas now
at a good rate,” he thought with a sudden hope
illuminating his dejection. “And things seem just
// 201.png
.pn +1
endurable in Château-Plessis. The Boches are few
enough there, except those who are flat on their
backs.” For Bob had news from inside the captured
town of which Lucy never guessed.
His restless and unsatisfactory thoughts were
cut short by the sound of a footstep on the stone
threshold behind him. He swung around toward
the door, while the newcomer at sight of him exclaimed:
“Here you are, Bob! I’ve been looking for you
on the field. We’re to go up at once. The sergeant
is running around with orders just telephoned
from up the line.” The speaker was a
young aviator about Bob’s age, so wrapped up in
his leather helmet that little of his face could be
seen but a pair of twinkling blue eyes.
“What are the orders, Larry?” asked Bob,
getting up and cramming his letter into his pocket.
“The guns don’t seem to be firing very heavily.”
“No, it’s the same old business. The French
observers are trying to get a peep at Argenton.
The Boche scouts seemed to be asleep for a while
and the French made some bold swoops, but now
the enemy has waked up with a vengeance, and if
the observers are to see anything they must have
some guards to engage the Boche. Where are
your duds? I’ve got to go back to my plane.
You’re to go up with Jourdin, I think. He’s got
// 202.png
.pn +1
two fine new machine guns on his Spad—you ought
to bring down half the German air force with them.
Well, I’m going.”
Bob slipped into his flying coat, put on his helmet,
picked up half a dozen things he needed, and
went out just as the sergeant met him at the door
with the orders in his hand.
“All right, Sergeant; I’m off,” he said, returning
the salute. “Where is Major Kitteredge, do
you know?”
“He’s on the field, sir, or was a minute ago. I
think the Lieutenant will find him near the stables.”
The sergeant pointed across the farmyard to a
broad field behind it, and Bob nodded to him as he
started off. The sergeant was a friend of his, and
Bob never had a moment’s talk with him before
his thoughts turned with a pang at his heart to that
other friend, Sergeant Cameron, whom he had left
behind in a German prison. He had sent him many
packages of food and comforts since then, and had
even received a printed card of acknowledgment
from him, forwarded under Red Cross supervision.
But what were presents of food and tobacco—priceless
as they were to the prisoner—compared with
freedom and a chance to strike a blow in the good
cause on such a day as this?
Bob crossed the farmyard and vaulted the fence
into the hay-field. The old barn had been converted
// 203.png
.pn +1
into a workshop, and near it stood a dozen
men preparing for flight. Six biplanes were waiting
on the field, to some of which the mechanics
were giving a last careful inspection. Bob found
Major Kitteredge beside one of them.
“Good-morning, Major,” he said, saluting.
“Any further orders for me?”
“You are to go up as gunner to-day, Gordon,”
said the officer, looking up from the papers he held.
“We’re short one gunner, and Jourdin wants you.
He has received all the orders I have here, so he
will pass them on to you. Get off as soon as
possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Major Kitteredge had known Bob when Bob
was twelve years old and he, the Major, was a lieutenant
in his father’s company. In their most
formal intercourse there was an undercurrent of
friendliness never quite hidden. He watched Bob
keenly for a second now, as the young officer crossed
the field to Captain Jourdin’s side.
“You are here, eh, Gordon?” said the Frenchman,
throwing away his cigarette with a smile of
welcome. “Then we will lead the rest and be the
first off the field.” He drew on his gloves and
shouted orders to his French mechanics, who
shouted back “Oui, mon capitaine!” through the
whirling of a propeller close by.
// 204.png
.pn +1
The big biplane in which Bob now took the front,
or gunner’s seat, strapping himself in behind the
two machine guns, was a far different craft from
the little thirteen-metre monoplane in which he had
landed behind Château-Plessis. Foreseeing, that
night, that he might have to dodge and fly for his
life, he had chosen one of these swift, strong little
hornets, capable of performing the most breakneck
evolutions at incredible speed. But this morning
he and Jourdin were out to face and force back the
enemy, and the heavy-armed Spad was built for
combat.
Jourdin gave him the plan of operation in a few
quick sentences. The biplanes were to act each one
independently, attempting to drive off as many as
possible of the enemy planes from their own scouts.
At the same time they must keep a sharp lookout
for whatever information they might be in a position
to pick up.
“We will fly north to Château-Plessis, then on
to Argenton,” he finished. “Try the speaking-tube,
Gordon. All right? Eh, bien! Partons!”
he shouted to his mechanic, who responded by giving
a twirl to the propeller which sent it spinning.
Jourdin opened his throttle and pressed forward
on the control stick. They were off down the field
in a buoyant, bounding rush. Bob settled himself
comfortably, fastening the flap of his helmet.
// 205.png
.pn +1
Jourdin pulled back his stick, and the machine
steadied to a glide, swaying ever so little. The
rushing grass disappeared from alongside and in a
moment the earth had grown a distant scene below.
In ten minutes they were flying swiftly northward
at a height of four thousand feet. Two other
flyers had risen from the field after them and were
in close pursuit. No enemy planes as yet disturbed
the solitude, and Bob fell to looking over
his machine guns, the cold air of these high spaces
blowing pleasantly against his face. Jourdin led
the way confidently for the little squadron, and
where he led any airman was well content to follow.
In half an hour they were over Château-Plessis,
while below them the German trenches spouted fire
from long-range anti-aircraft guns. The bombardment
at this point was not heavy, the enemy’s persistent
attempt to push the French and American
line further west having met with dismal failure.
A few German airplanes darted up from their
guard over the trenches, but Jourdin had no desire
to engage in battle here. He pointed his machine
upward, and Bob had no more than a glimpse of
the little town that meant so much to him, before
they had mounted to five thousand feet, just below
the clouds which hung under the deep blue arch in
soft fluffy piles. Below them the enemy planes
had given up the chase. The town was only a little
// 206.png
.pn +1
square made up of dots and lines. Before it, where
the trenches ran, rose little smoky puffs that hung
in the still air. Even the bursting of the shells was
deadened to a dull roar. Captain Jourdin spoke
through the tube.
“We’ll go a little higher, Gordon, and hide behind
those clouds. We shall sight the enemy any
moment now, and shall have the advantage if we
take him unawares.”
While he spoke Château-Plessis was left behind.
Argenton was only fifteen minutes distant. Again
he pointed the big plane upward another thousand
feet, into the midst of a great enveloping, smothering
bank of cloudy vapor. The soft, cottony mass
gave way, dissolving into clinging wisps of fog that
trailed along with them like streamers. Then they
burst through a hole in the cloud roof into the upper
sunlight—a world of celestial loveliness. Often as
Bob had risen above the clouds, he could never do
it without marveling anew at the strange beauty
around him when the airplane pushed its way
through the last foggy barriers. No sky, however
beautiful, seen from the earth could compare with
the absolute clearness of the dazzling blue about
them. Below, the clouds were banked again into
close, white masses, tinged here and there with a
gold edge where the sun struck them. A mile behind
came following two growing dots—a part of
// 207.png
.pn +1
the squadron which, it seemed to Bob, had laid
aside for the moment all thought of battle and, like
themselves, were idly exploring this upper dreamland.
A rift in the clouds below put an end to these
thoughts, for through it he saw eight airplanes darting
back and forth, maneuvering for position. Beyond
and below them, near the narrow line of the
Avre River, lay the town of Argenton, and, another
mile to the west, the old medieval fort behind
the fortified ridge. Bob turned his binoculars
upon the moving planes, and as he focused the glass
he spoke to Jourdin. “Do you see them? Go
down a thousand feet.”
“All right,” returned the pilot promptly. He
pushed the stick and the machine dropped swiftly.
Bob could see the Allied emblems now on the tails of
three of the planes. They were French scouts, and
the other five were German Taubes, distinguished
by their shape as well as by the great black crosses
painted on their wings. At a little distance another
group was swaying in combat. He shifted his glass
to these and saw that here Allies and enemies were
equally matched. Two French scouts and one
American battle-plane were fighting three German
fliers.
Jourdin seemed to divine his thoughts, for, without
waiting for a signal, he bore swiftly down upon
// 208.png
.pn +1
the Taubes which had surrounded the three Frenchmen
just below and were pouring a deadly fire
upon them. The scouts were willing enough to
run away but, unable to do so, were fighting gamely
against impossible odds. Another moment and
Jourdin had brought his plane and its weapons into
range. Bob turned the trigger handle of his machine
gun and pumped a hail of bullets into the
wing of the Taube nearest him. He saw the German
aviator dart a glance upward as he tried to
get his plane out of range in a quick climbing turn.
But, before he could sheer off, his wing hung
warped and crippled, the silk out almost to ribbons.
The pilot pointed downward, making a try for a
landing on one wing, three thousand feet below.
Bob saw no more of him. He turned his gun on a
Taube which had abandoned the scouts and was
firing at him with furious and accurate aim. The
bullets whizzed about the big battle-plane, but
Jourdin did not remain an easy target. He took
a tail-spin, dropped in short circles for a thousand
feet, then came up again behind the enemy. Two
more Americans had now arrived to engage the
Taubes, and the scouts were out of danger. Jourdin
spoke into the tube at Bob’s ear. “We’ll go on
west. We’re not needed here. I should like to
follow our scouts, who are making for the defenses.”
// 209.png
.pn +1
As he spoke they mounted a little and flew off
toward the edge of the town marked by the German
trenches. A second plane of the squadron
followed them as they crossed the French lines and
flew over the enemy’s trenches, above the fortified
ridge. Below, the anti-aircraft gunners were
sending up a continuous fire of shells to hinder their
further descent. Around them hovered the French
scouts, vainly endeavoring to catch a glimpse of
the camouflaged defenses through the curtain of
fire and smoke spread out beneath them.
“It isn’t a bit of use,” Bob thought bitterly,
after half an hour of this useless watching. “What
can we see from here? We are keeping the Boches
from sending more planes after our scouts, but
What does that amount to?”
As he fumed in helpless impatience, scheming a
desperate attempt to penetrate that curtain of fire,
Jourdin’s calm voice, in its deliberate-sounding
English, came to him with a shock of reality.
“We’ll go down now, Gordon. I have orders
to report at noon through the field telephone station
near here, behind our lines. Our squadron
can be called together, and at least put some of
these Taubes out of the combat. The scouts can
accomplish nothing now.”
“All right,” Bob answered reluctantly. He was
roused to the point where it was hard to give up
// 210.png
.pn +1
without having done anything more than scare off
a few German fliers. “Well, the day’s not over,”
he consoled himself, casting a resentful glance down
at the German defenses along the ridge, where
smoke and flame were spouting from a dozen batteries.
The pilot’s feet were on the rudder and
already the plane was making westward again
across the French lines.
Though Captain Jourdin was flying only temporarily
with the Americans at Cantigny, he had been
given orders to report the morning’s events to
headquarters, because he could do so with the
greatest ease and dispatch. To most of the American
fliers the country along the battle line was still
a thing to be puzzled out with the aid of maps and
glasses by day, and stars and compass by night.
But to Jourdin it was old and familiar ground, for
this part of Picardy was his home, and these ruined
fields and villages he had known since boyhood.
Bob thought of Argenton only as a town half destroyed
by shell-fire, a place he could always find
easily from above, because of the still-standing
towers of the old fort behind the blazing line of
German batteries. But to the Frenchman it had a
different meaning. It was the little town whose
quaint, cobbled streets he had often passed through
on summer days in his childhood to visit his grandfather,
whose old home outside Argenton was now
// 211.png
.pn +1
a ruin. If it was late enough in the afternoon the
peaceful townsfolk had brought their babies out to
the old fort to hear the sunset bugle and see the
soldiers change guard. No one would have believed
in those days that the Germans would ever
hammer at its gates and take possession.
Behind the French lines the country stretched
in rolling fields to a burned wood. Jourdin steered
for a little clump of larches beside which was a telephone
shack, sheltered by a bit of rising ground.
Bob had the glasses at his eyes, and swiftly picked
out a landing-place.
“To the right, Jourdin—make it a hundred yards
before you dip. There’s a nice level bit before
those shell-holes begin.”
The pilot leisurely studied the ground, shut off
his gas, and glided beautifully downward until the
earth rose to meet them with a rush, and the wheels
of the big plane touched and ran along the grass
to a gradual standstill.
Bob unstrapped himself and got out, glad to
stretch his legs. But the next moment he caught
sight of a wire slightly out of adjustment on the
plane’s broad wing, and pointed it out to his companion.
“That can’t be left, Jourdin. Shall I
fix it while you go to report?”
“There’s a mechanic in the shack. I’ll bring him
out,” said Jourdin. “If we wait for the repair, let
// 212.png
.pn +1
us take this chance to eat our ration on the ground.
We shall have fifteen minutes.”
“Good idea,” said Bob with enthusiasm. As
Jourdin walked off toward the shack he brought out
the little packages of food and laid them on a convenient
rock. For a moment he forgot his disappointment
at the morning’s failure. Nothing
can rouse such an appetite as flying, and Bob had
not yet learned to enjoy a meal snatched on the
wing. He could read, write, think, in fact do many
things during a swift flight, but he liked to eat on
level ground.
When Jourdin returned and set the mechanic to
work, the two young aviators took off their gloves
and helmets and, sitting down, devoured their
rations of sandwiches and chocolate, along with a
canteen of cool water.
A gentle breeze was blowing from the west across
the blackened fields. It blew the drifting smoke
away from them, and except for the noise of the
shells, it seemed almost peaceful in the deserted
meadow. Above them the airplanes still floated,
but none very near. For the time being the French
scouts had given up their search. On a little rising
ground not far off stood a ruined windmill, its
burned stumps of arms stretching out dismally
above level shell-plowed earth that had once been
a green wheat-field. There was an old brick chimney
// 213.png
.pn +1
near it, too—all that was left of a little farmhouse.
“The Allies have got that much back, anyway,”
Bob thought. “The Boches were here last
winter.”
Captain Jourdin had risen to his feet and was
looking off across the fields in silence. More than
once in their familiar intercourse Bob had recognized
moments when the Frenchman’s devoted
heart was bitterly wrung, and his whole mind distracted
from his work at sight of some such hard
reminder of his country’s fate. The hands clasped
behind his back clenched themselves tightly together
as, turning, he said to Bob, “I remember the windmill
when that farm was a prosperous little place.
The farmer had lived there many years.”
Bob could not think of any answer. There was
no asking for pity or encouragement in Jourdin’s
calm, melancholy voice. It held more of resolute
defiance than any German’s burst of bravado. Bob
thought of the lines he had read in an English paper
a few days before. They were Spoken by a Frenchman,
looking over the ruined fields of France, almost
as though the writer had seen Jourdin’s shining,
dark eyes and written for him:
.pm verse-start
And we that remember the windmill spinning,
We may go under, but not in vain,
For our sons shall come in the new beginning
And see that the windmill spins again.
.pm verse-end
// 214.png
.pn +1
“C’est fini, mon capitaine,” said the soldier-mechanic,
coming up with a quick salute and a backward
gesture toward the airplane.
Bob picked up his helmet, while Jourdin followed
the man over to inspect his work. Bob
looked up into the blue sky, streaked with feathery
cloud streamers, devoutly hoping for better success
in the afternoon’s offensive. A desperate eagerness
took hold of him once more. He had learned
a part of the secret of the French soldier’s valor—what
it means to be fighting to rescue one’s family
and home—since his father and Lucy were prisoners
in Château-Plessis.
“It is all right now,” said Jourdin, turning, as
Bob came up, from a critical examination of the
wing’s supports. “Let us get off at once. Look
there!” He pointed upward to where three German
planes were deliberately crossing the French
lines, from which several aircraft quickly rose to
intercept them.
“Most of our little squadron stayed near
Château-Plessis to engage the enemy there,” said
Captain Jourdin. “I think we shall be needed to
help drive these fellows back.”
As he spoke so modestly of what might be expected
of him, the light of battle shone in the
Frenchman’s eyes. He hurriedly completed his
preparations for flight. Bob, no less eager, seconded
// 215.png
.pn +1
him in silence, with one more quick glance
at the planes now circling overhead. In five minutes
they were off down the meadow, and rising
swiftly toward the scene of the fight.
No sooner had the Germans seen the French
planes mounting to the attack than they sent reinforcements
from their own lines. Evidently the
persistent hovering of the Allies’ scouts over the
Argenton defenses was beginning to annoy them.
According to their usual tactics when suffering
from wounded dignity, they prepared to take the
offensive. As the battle-plane carrying Bob and
Jourdin approached a height of six thousand feet,
and came on a level with the combatants, the situation
had not as yet advanced beyond a skirmish.
There were eight enemy and seven Allied planes,
not counting the newcomer, which evened the numbers.
Of the French and American planes, three
were heavy machines from the Cantigny squadron,
the remaining five light, scouting craft. The Germans
were all armored planes, but three were of a
heavy, slow-going type, almost invincible by bullet
fire, but unable to quickly follow up an advantage.
Jourdin gave one keen look around him, as though
summing up the odds, then spoke through the tube
to Bob:
“We have a good chance of victory, Gordon, but
we’ll have to fight hard for it!”
// 216.png
.pn +1
Bob was already convinced of that. He caught
sight of Larry Eaton on his left, pouring a murderous
fire from his Lewis gun into the heavy German
craft maneuvering beside him. But he also saw
the man who skilfully guided the Boche machine
into position for a swift retaliation on Larry’s flank.
This pilot was Von Arnheim, the German for whom
Bob had been exchanged. One of his feet had been
rendered useless by shrapnel fragments, but that
had not prevented his returning to the air service.
His steel-blue eyes shone out from behind his helmet
with all his old reckless audacity, and Bob felt
his determination harden and his courage mount to
fearlessness at sight of him.
A big German plane swooped down upon him as
these thoughts took shape. He saw the gunner
jerking his weapon into range. A bare second
quicker than his enemy, Bob began pumping his
port machine gun. A jet of flame burst out, and
the next moment the German machine quivered, its
planes twisted to one side, and like a shot bird it
fell from sight.
Through the tube Bob faintly heard Jourdin
shout, “To the left—look out! I’ll put you in
range!” He had no time to take breath after his
recent victory, before two more of the enemy were
upon him. The privilege of flying with the famous
French ace had its perils, too. Every Boche who
// 217.png
.pn +1
could manage to do so made for Jourdin, hoping to
down the hero who, once already disposed of, had
returned by some miracle to active service. Jourdin
brought his machine around in a climbing turn to
avoid one aggressor, while Bob pressed the handle
of his starboard gun, hoping to rid himself of his
right-hand opponent. Instead of the burst of flame
which should have resulted, the gun remained
silent—jammed.
Bob frantically maneuvered his other gun into
position, but the Boche had opened a deadly fire
upon him. Bullets spattered through the wings
and whizzed around him. At the same instant a
third enemy descended from above. Suddenly a
machine gun began firing from the other side. Bob
saw Larry Eaton’s face behind it, and the next
moment his newest antagonist wavered, tilted, and
the wreck hurtled down six thousand feet to earth.
Bob could catch only a glimpse of this, for Jourdin
had grasped the need of a momentary retreat. He
made a tail-spin, fell a thousand feet, then, having
thrown off his enemy, rose in a climbing circle while
Bob remedied the jam in his gun and looked around
for further developments.
He had not long to wait. Close beside him a
German plane was getting into range, and now it
began a heavy fire in the midst of a series of plunging
dives which did not allow Bob to return the fire
// 218.png
.pn +1
with any effect. Jourdin made another tail-spin,
hoping to come up beneath the enemy, but the German
was too quick for him. He dived again and
came up in a swift turn beside the Frenchman,
pouring out a hail of bullets. Bob was at a white
heat of rage. “Once more, Jourdin!” he shouted.
The pilot dived again, simultaneously with the
German, and this time the enemy was caught at his
own game. Jourdin slowed up and let the other
plane sweep past. As the Boche shot upward he
followed close in his wake, and for the first time
Bob poured shot after shot from a range of a few
feet. The big German machine continued swiftly
upward, then it lost speed, fell tail foremost, recovered,
and finally nose-dived to the ground.
Bob drew a long hard breath and glanced below
him. The Allies were holding their own, but two
of them were missing. Of the German planes three
were gone. He saw no more than this before another
airman made for him in a climbing turn. The
two planes were in easy range and each gunner
began to pour a deadly fire on his opponent. The
bullets spattered around Bob over the big plane and
lost themselves in space, and still both machines
remained uninjured. Jourdin maneuvered with
all his skill for an advantage, but his antagonist
matched him at every turn. Bob had not even to
snatch a look at the enemy pilot to know whose
// 219.png
.pn +1
hand was on the throttle. Von Arnheim, pale and
shining-eyed, sat behind his gunner as though
calmly awaiting victory. But it would not be quite
so easy as that, Bob thought. His mind was wildly
excited, so that the sudden burning pain in his left
shoulder seemed to be only a part of his mad eagerness.
Jourdin dipped and rose with incredible skill.
The fire from the enemy was growing haphazard as
the target dodged in every direction, and Bob’s
steady hand on the trigger grew steadier as his
brain grew hot and throbbing. Suddenly Jourdin
gave a shout. The gunner of the enemy plane fell
forward across his starboard gun. Von Arnheim
snatched at the weapon beside him, but in that
second Bob had sent a burst of fire through his right
plane. The German gave one flashing glance at
the torn, bullet-riddled wing, and pushed upon his
stick. His big machine pointed swiftly downward.
The next instant Jourdin followed, but this time
Bob’s fire was less accurate in that dizzy descent.
At three thousand feet Jourdin stopped in his
downward flight and hovered, for Von Arnheim,
useless wing and all, had guided his plane to a safe
landing inside the German lines.
For a second Bob’s disappointment outweighed
all his victories, as his eyes followed his enemy’s
retreat. He had risked death to go down inside
his own lines, and Bob understood that feeling.
// 220.png
.pn +1
He thought Von Arnheim would have it in much
stronger measure if he had ever endured the German
sort of captivity. Bob knew that never again
could he let himself be taken prisoner. From the
French trenches over which they floated came a
faint sound of voices. He peered over the side of
the cockpit and saw hands and helmets waved in the
air. They were cheering! His heart leaped with
a sudden exultation. Then he glanced upward.
The Allies were four to two—victory there, at any
rate.
“Jourdin, do you hear them cheering?” he asked
through the tube, and as he spoke a strange and
painful weakness overpowered him until he clutched
at the hot barrel of the gun at his right. Cautiously
he felt of his aching shoulder and drew away a hand
wet with blood. “So that’s it,” he murmured.
“I’ll have to go back, Jourdin—I’m sorry,” he
said, unsteadily.
The pilot’s quick eyes had already seen the red
stain oozing through Bob’s torn leather sleeve.
With a swift touch he sent the plane speeding
through the air at ninety miles an hour, its nose
pointed, above the silver ribbon of the Avre, back
toward the safe shelter of Cantigny.
// 221.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X||THE PLAN OF THE DEFENSES
.sp 2
It was a dull, gloomy day, with rain clouds dissolving
into showers at intervals, and the half-ruined
streets of Château-Plessis looked sad and
sodden in their battered abandonment. Only an
occasional German soldier, wrapped in his poncho,
or a woman hurrying by with a shawl over her head
passed in front of the hospital. Within, things
looked dreary too, Lucy thought, as in her little
cap and apron she helped Brêlet wheel the last of
the convalescents into the hall off the old court of
justice. For the past three days she had undertaken
the task of finding amusement and occupation
for fifteen or twenty men on the road to recovery,
and she had found it the hardest kind of
work, since her own spirits were none too high or
hopeful. Some of the convalescents were Germans,
too, and Lucy had not quite mastered the
Red Cross motto of “Neutrality, Humanity.”
But to-day she was cheerful and felt equal to
doing her very best. The most trying work grows
easier if it is done in pleasant company, and Major
Greyson had obtained from the German senior
// 222.png
.pn +1
surgeon an indifferent consent for Michelle de la
Tour to help occasionally among the convalescents
at the American hospital. There Michelle sat
now, by one of the windows opening on the garden,
talking to a French soldier with bandaged eyes.
Lucy smiled across the room at her, and in her
gratitude for her friend’s presence on this dark and
depressing morning, she seated herself by the side
of a young German, who leaned languidly back in
his chair, still weak from fever.
“What would you like, Paul?” she asked, kindly.
“Some water? All right—in a moment.”
She rose to bring the water and, after satisfying
half a dozen other demands for it, helped Brêlet distribute
the few books and papers available among
those well enough to read. Some of the men who
felt too weak to make any effort were wheeled in
front of the windows, though the outlook of driving
rain on crumbling walls Lucy did not think particularly
cheering for the wounded poilus. It was
extraordinary, though, how little attention it took
to brighten up a soldier’s tired face. Often a few
words were enough to start them talking among
themselves. Of the twenty in the hall eight were
Americans, and the poilus always got some amusement
in practising their English on their new
allies.
Michelle, far more inventive and resourceful than
// 223.png
.pn +1
Lucy, made up her mind at once to help find occupation
for the convalescents.
“Maman and I have already done so in our hospital,”
she said eagerly. “It is not so hard—though
of course we can do little.”
“What, for instance?” asked Lucy, puzzling.
“We can’t possibly get any more papers—except
German ones, and the German patients have too
many of those already.”
“No, but there are other ways,” Michelle insisted.
“We have many willows over by Mère
Breton’s cottage. I have brought the young
branches for our poilus to cut with the knife and
weave paniers. Oh, they are glad to have work in
their fingers! Also, Clemence and I dug the clay
from the little brook near the old château. It is
far from here. They send a Boche soldier with us.
I know well the place, for Armand and I were
friends, in the peace, with the children of the
château. The poilus can make of the clay all
kinds of cups and bowls. I know that is pleasant
work, for Armand and I have made them, when I
was sick long ago and he played with me.”
“I never thought of those things, Michelle,”
said Lucy, but in the same breath she added, doubtfully,
“Who will show them how to make baskets?
Can you?”
“Oh, you will find more than one soldier here
// 224.png
.pn +1
who already knows. Only we have to bring the
willow twigs, and they will make of them baskets in
one afternoon.”
“I’ll get some to-morrow. I can go to the
meadows, if Elizabeth comes with me. I must stay
a while with Paul Schwartz now, Michelle. He is
not well to-day, and I said I would look after him.”
“I will come with you for a moment,” said
Michelle, making a wry face, but hiding her feelings
quickly. “They will never let me come here
to help if I do nothing for the Boches. He looks
not so vilain as the rest, I think—like a poor silly
boy.”
The German to whom Michelle gave this unusual
praise had certainly nothing bold nor ferocious
about him. As he lay weakly back in his chair, his
blue eyes wandered about the hall with a kind of
vague curiosity, his blond hair lying in uncut locks
against his pale face. For the little that Lucy had
seen of him, he had been quiet and melancholy,
making few demands on her attention or on that of
the nurses. So far, she had not felt interested
enough to ask him questions, but this morning as
she sat down beside him, with sewing in her hands,
she could think of no other way to amuse him.
“Where do you live, Paul?” she asked, wrinkling
her forehead a little over the effort of speaking
German. Michelle laughed at her labored accent,
// 225.png
.pn +1
but the soldier understood her, and his dull, blue
eyes lighted up a trifle at her words.
“I come from the Schwarzwald, Fräulein,” he
answered, nodding his head slowly as he spoke, as
though for him the simple fact was full of meaning.
“Oh, do you?” said Lucy, suddenly reduced to
silence. His words held a strange meaning for her,
too. The Black Forest, in which she had never set
foot, was familiar ground, nevertheless. All Elizabeth’s
stories in the old days had been about it. It
was full of gnomes and elves—that she knew. The
people you first met when you ventured into it were
Hansel and Gretel, going toward the house built
of cake and candy. She had never thought of German
soldiers living there.
“What did you do in the forest, Paul?” she
asked vaguely.
“I lived there,” said the soldier, his interest growing
with awakening recollection, “in my little house
with my family, just inside the forest’s border. I
am a wood-cutter and we had a fine herd of pigs.
The market town is not three miles away—I had a
donkey, too.” The light died out of his eyes as he
looked gloomily down at his injured leg. Lucy
thought she had never seen a man so unfitted to be
a soldier.
“How long have you been fighting?” asked
Michelle, her eyes lifted suddenly to his face.
// 226.png
.pn +1
“About—three years.” The German seemed
uncertain. “Yes,” he added, nodding thoughtfully,
“it must be all that time since the day I got
my papers and was told to join my regiment. At
the village I heard how the Russians were getting
ready to invade the Fatherland. Then how the
English would attack us on the other side. At first
my wife hoped they would not call me—there were
so many others. They said, too, that we could
quickly beat the enemy. But they did call me.”
He ended with a dull melancholy that took the
little life out of his face. “I had to leave everything
and go. I don’t know how things are with
Hedwig now.”
“But the Russians weren’t invading Germany,”
said Lucy indignantly, while Michelle flashed a
warning glance at her. She lowered her voice, but
finished obstinately, “Nor the English, either.”
“Yes, that is what we heard,” maintained Paul,
indifferently. “Our Kaiser called us to defend the
Fatherland. It was all strange to me, for we don’t
get much news there in the forest.”
Michelle smiled at Lucy’s flushed and angry face.
“It is no use to talk with him of that,” she said in
English, with a shake of the head. “He would not
understand you—not in many days. The Kaiser
told him. ‘Allons! Marchez!’—that’s all he
knows.”
// 227.png
.pn +1
Lucy was silent a moment. “Were you ever in
the Black Forest, Michelle?” she asked, giving up
her argument.
“Oh, yes, often. Two summers I have been
there. It is beautiful—so big and still.” Michelle’s
eyes shone with the words, as though at the remembrance
of happy summer days gone by.
“What are there in it besides Germans?” Lucy
asked, smiling to herself at the question.
“Bears,” said Michelle, laughing—“and many
animals. Herds of pigs, too, like this man’s.
Many wood-cutters live near the border. And,
further in, are lodges for huntsmen.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there,” said Lucy
rather sadly. “I don’t care so much about it now.”
“Oh, it is lovely still,” Michelle objected. “Perhaps
when the war is ended the Germans will not
be so many there.”
“I have a pretty little girl,” Paul interrupted
them. “She has hair like yours, Fräulein.” He
pointed to Lucy’s corn-colored head with one upraised
finger. “She must be four—five years old
now.”
Lucy smiled faintly. She tried to imagine this
man on the battle-field, engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand
fight for the Allies’ trenches. He was the
very opposite to Karl’s brutal and aggressive type,
yet he was driven forward by the same irresistible
// 228.png
.pn +1
force of blind obedience. Perhaps more than one
Allied soldier had met death by his hand.
The vision of the firing-line led her thoughts
back into another channel, with a quick pang at her
heart that was half fear and half eager anticipation.
The coming night Elizabeth would be off duty, and
the time had come for a second visit to Captain
Beattie’s prison. The evening promised to be dull
and rainy. Lucy was thankful at the prospect of
cloudy darkness in place of summer starlight.
Michelle had crossed the hall to visit another convalescent,
and Lucy rose, too, nodding good-bye to
Paul, who had relapsed once more into silent
apathy. Her mind was so filled with the evening’s
expedition, and with her desire to talk to Michelle
about it, that her thoughts wandered for a moment.
The American soldier, by whom she had sat down
to translate a French paper of a month back, remarked
shrewdly as he glanced at his little nurse:
“Got somethin’ on your mind, Miss?” He bent
down to her ear and spoke in a loud whisper.
“They haven’t pushed on again? Look here, you
don’t want to believe all these Fritzes tell you!”
“No, no,” said Lucy, smiling, “they haven’t got
on an inch. Major Greyson says he can tell by the
guns, when he goes to the depot at that end of the
town. Shall I read you this?” she asked, looking
over the old paper again. “You’ll have to be
// 229.png
.pn +1
patient, though, for I can’t translate French very
fast.”
At noon she got the moment with Michelle for
which she had been waiting. She caught her friend
by the arm as she was returning to the nurses’ room
to take off her cap and apron.
“Michelle, wait a minute! What about tonight?”
she asked eagerly.
Michelle darted a look of angry reproach from
her blue eyes. She drew Lucy after her in silence
into the room and over to a window opening on the
deserted garden.
“Oh, Lucy,” she faltered, “will you not be careful?”
She caught Lucy’s hands in hers and looked
entreatingly into her downcast face. “Do you
know it is my brother’s life—his life, that is in
danger if they should suspect me? There are Germans
all around us here, waiting to learn of any
help given to their enemies. If they suspect me
they will watch our house—they will catch Armand
if he come——” She spoke so low Lucy could
hardly hear her, but she understood and hung her
head in sharp remorse and shame.
“I’m sorry, Michelle. I’m an idiot,” she said
humbly.
Lucy had not Michelle’s long and bitter experience
to develop her powers of caution and concealment.
She was not made for a conspirator, and
// 230.png
.pn +1
her frank and candid nature did not easily get used
to a life in which walls had ears as truly and as
perilously as in any old story of intrigue and adventure.
“Can we talk safely here, do you think?” she
asked timidly.
“Yes, but speak softly,” said Michelle, flashing a
forgiving smile. “You wish to tell me the hour
when I should look for you?” she asked, once more
growing grave and earnest.
“Yes. We will be there as near to nine o’clock
as possible. Of course we can’t be sure.”
“Come to the door by the garden path—you
know? I will have ready all that we can spare.
It is little.”
“Oh, he’ll be glad to get it. I can’t bring much
from here,” said Lucy. She had nothing to give
but a part of her own scanty food, but remembering
the young Englishman, half-starved in his dismal
captivity, how trifling her sacrifice seemed.
“I will watch for you. Oh, Lucy, I hope all
goes well!” Michelle’s eyes were troubled as she
spoke, but Lucy, feeling courageous at that moment,
smiled back at her, saying:
“Don’t worry. The night will be too dark for
any one to see us. Look, there’s Clemence.”
The old Frenchwoman, returning from the food-depot
with her basket, was standing outside the
// 231.png
.pn +1
garden gate, glancing doubtfully past the sentry
toward the hospital window. Michelle bade Lucy
a hasty good-bye and, drawing her pass from the
pocket of her dress, made for the door into the
garden.
Elizabeth had taken on herself the task of setting
the nurses’ table and bringing in their food, so as
to watch over Lucy and see that she had enough to
eat. It was lunch-time now, and Lucy left the
window to help in carrying in the meagre supplies.
A platter of baked potatoes, a pot of coffee and two
slices apiece of coarse black bread, was what the
nurses sat down to after a hard morning’s work;
but they were hungry enough to find it good.
Lucy was, too, but curbing her appetite, she managed
in the course of the meal to slip her two
potatoes and a slice of bread into her apron pocket
unnoticed. It was little enough, she felt, to take
a hungry man, but the dairy supplies were strictly
reserved for the wounded, and she saw no chance
of getting to Mère Breton’s cottage that day. She
could only hope, with Michelle’s help, to eke out a
tolerable meal.
She felt the injustice of not confiding in her faithful
companion the real need for their visit to the
prison. But she had promised Michelle not to reveal
a word of her brother’s possible coming to any
one but Captain Beattie.
// 232.png
.pn +1
As on the night of their first visit, Lucy made a
pretense of going early to bed. She had no difficulty
in leaving the empty house unobserved, and
ten o’clock found her and Elizabeth on their way
to the eastern edge of the town. The rain still fell
and the wind blew in gusts around the street corners,
and, sweeping through the shell-holes in the
walls, brought down loose bricks which fell with a
sodden crash. Lucy and Elizabeth had coats
wrapped closely about them, but in a few moments
they were drenched by the warm pelting downpour.
Their feet stumbled among loose stones and
splashed into puddles. Lucy stared helplessly
ahead into the darkness, trusting entirely to Elizabeth
for guidance.
In half an hour, not having met even a sentry,
they stole up the garden path to the side door of the
de la Tours’ house, and Michelle instantly admitted
them.
“Oh, poor things! But you are wet like from
the river! Sit down, Lucy, ma pauvre amie. Stay
one moment by the kitchen fire,” she exclaimed at
sight of the soaked and bedraggled visitors.
“Oh, no, we can’t wait,” said Lucy, pushing her
wet hair from her face, eager to get on and accomplish
her purpose before her courage failed. “It’s
only a warm rain, anyhow—I rather like it.”
“Let me go with you?” begged Michelle, bringing
// 233.png
.pn +1
out a little basket she had got ready and looking
entreatingly at Lucy. “Maman has gone to bed.
She will not know to be afraid for me. I do not
want that you should have all the danger.”
“No, no, Mademoiselle!” Elizabeth hastily interposed.
“Enough it is that I fear for Miss Lucy.
You can nothing do to help, and much better you
do not go.”
“She’s right, Michelle. There’s nothing you
could do. I’m going to bring the paper he gives
me here to-morrow so that if—so it will be safe.”
She had almost blurted out Captain de la Tour’s
name. When Elizabeth was risking so much to
help them, it seemed absurd to Lucy that Michelle
should still suspect her. A startled look sprang
into the French girl’s eyes, but Lucy gave her a
reassuring smile to show that she had not forgotten
her promise, and cautiously opened the door.
“Good-bye, Michelle,” she whispered.
In another moment they were out in the rain
again, with the little basket of food carefully protected
beneath Elizabeth’s shawl. It was but half
a mile further to the prison and after fifteen minutes’
walk through the empty streets, Lucy stood
once more before the barred windows in the wall.
The drip, drip of the rain against the stone was the
only sound except the occasional boom of a cannon
from the watchful German lines. Elizabeth had
// 234.png
.pn +1
taken up her post commanding the window of the
guard-room, but to-night a curtain was drawn to
shut out the rain, and all was silent inside. Even
German guards relax their vigilance with so little
to fear as in deserted and ruined Château-Plessis.
They knew their prisoners were securely barred and
bolted in.
Lucy grasped the wet iron and pulled herself up
a step to the window’s level, softly calling the young
officer’s name. No sound came back but the steady
drip of the rain which fell upon her upturned face.
“Captain Beattie!” she said again, imploringly.
Some one stirred on a rustling straw bed and
footsteps sounded on the stone floor. Then the
Englishman’s voice from just inside the bars asked
uncertainly, “Is that you, Lucy Gordon?”
Then with a little more of its natural energy the
voice out of the darkness added, “But you poor
child, what a night to be out! Why did you come
again?”
“I told you I would,” said Lucy, peering through
the bars in a vain attempt to see beyond them.
“This sort of night is the safest to come. The rain
doesn’t hurt me. I have something for you, Captain
Beattie. I can’t get the basket through the
bars. Will you hold out your hands?”
“You’ve brought me some grub, you little friend
in need!” exclaimed the prisoner with a sudden
// 235.png
.pn +1
shake in his low voice. “Can you honestly spare
it? I bet you can’t.”
“Oh, yes indeed; I have plenty. Here, I’ll put
the things into your hands. They are only two
baked potatoes, some bread and eggs and a little
chocolate. Be careful—all right, I see now where
your hand is.”
“I hate to be a funker, but I’m horribly hungry,”
admitted the young officer, as his careful hands
drew in the contents of the little basket. “They
give us the most beastly food. I’m all right,
though—I get along. But it’s jolly to have a
friend like you.”
The attempt at cheerfulness in his sad voice
struck at Lucy’s heart. “I’ll come often, Captain
Beattie. I’ll bring you all I can,” she promised
eagerly.
“No you won’t, Lucy. You mustn’t. You
don’t mind if I call you Lucy? I’ll tell you why
I like to. I have a little sister named Lucy—at
least she was a kid like you before the war, when
we used to be together. Now she’s eighteen, and
learning to be a nurse; but I always think of her as
a little girl.”
“Of course you may call me that. I’m so glad
if I can cheer you up the least bit. Didn’t I tell
you that my brother Bob was in a German prison?”
“Yes. See here,” said Captain Beattie suddenly,
// 236.png
.pn +1
“how about that brother of yours? I don’t suppose
he’s been able to pull off that stunt again?”
“No, but I want the plan of the defenses. Bob
may not come again, nor I get word to him, but I’ve
found another way.” She stopped for a second,
looking fearfully back into the rainy darkness, then
turned once more to the window and told him of the
chance of Armand de la Tour’s coming.
When she had finished her listener was silent for
a moment, then he said slowly, “It’s pretty doubtful
that he will get into the town again. Still,
those French spies have incredible skill and daring.
Anyway, it’s a chance, and I’ll give you the paper.
I have it all ready and hidden in the straw of my
bed.”
He went further back into the room and after a
minute returned to the window. “Can you put it
where it will keep dry, Lucy? It’s only drawn on
a scrap of the paper they gave me to write home
with.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll keep it dry,” Lucy promised, her
heart beating high with hope as she took the folded
slip from the young officer’s hand.
“I don’t like to give it to you,” he said doubtfully.
“It’s beastly bringing you into danger.
I’ve camouflaged it pretty well. You’ll see that it
looks like a little sketch of German soldiers changing
guard, here in the road. The crooked road I’ve
// 237.png
.pn +1
shaped like the ridge at Argenton, and each group
of men stands for a battery. That’s all you need
tell the Frenchman. Of course it isn’t complete,
for I couldn’t learn everything, but it’s enough to
give our airmen and gunners the exact range. Oh,
what luck, if you could really contrive to get it
over! I can’t help hoping, though it may be silly.
You’ve managed to do so much already under the
Boches’ very noses.”
“I can’t make Captain de la Tour come,” said
Lucy wistfully. “But if he does I’ll surely get
this to him.”
“Now go, Lucy. I can’t bear to have you out
there in the rain, and I don’t feel so sure of their
not seeing you. It’s so jolly to have you to talk
to, I’m selfish and hate to let you go.”
“I’m coming again,” said Lucy, smiling with
pleasure at his words and at the happy knowledge
of success in this much of her plan as, dripping wet,
she clung with aching fingers to the rusty bars.
“What do you do all day, Captain Beattie? How
I wish I could make things better for you.”
“I don’t do anything. I sit, and walk up and
down and then sit again, and wonder by the hour
when we’ll begin to push the Germans back. Then
I look at these bars and convince myself I can’t
get out, and end by longing for the next meal—if
you could call it a meal. I’ve tried tapping on the
// 238.png
.pn +1
wall to the soldiers next to me, but either they have
gone or the stone is too thick. They don’t answer.”
At this dismal picture Lucy sighed. She knew
how such confinement had tried Bob’s active spirit
and overcome his power to resist sickness when it
came. She was about to offer some words of feeble
encouragement when a muffled step around the
corner of the building made her hold her breath in
terror. The next moment she dropped to the
ground and crouched on the wet earth in the shadow
of the wall. A German soldier came sauntering
by, looking up at the barred windows from under
his rubber hood. He seemed to have no particular
duty here, for he walked along humming to himself,
as though on his way to bed. Before he passed
the window beneath which Lucy crouched trembling,
another figure came up behind him, splashing
with heavy boots through the muddy pools.
“Is that you, Franz?” asked a guttural German
voice.
“Yes,” responded the man in front, stopping to
wait. “You off guard, too?”
“For three hours—not time enough to sleep,”
grumbled the first speaker. “Why don’t they send
enough men to garrison the place, if these empty
streets must be watched like treasure-chests?”
“Because the front line needs more watching
still,” said the first man, pausing to cover his rifle
// 239.png
.pn +1
carefully with his rubber cape. “Those American
devil-dogs are getting nasty. You know the
little hill with the old Schloss on it? There’s our
weak point, if you ask me. How could we hold the
pond and swamp below when they won’t spare us
artillery for the hill? I’ve been on guard there to-night,
and I tell you we couldn’t. I know that
much without wearing shoulder straps.”
“You seem to know a lot,” remarked the other
man, still bad-humoredly. “Suppose you tell me
where we are to get supper to-night.”
They passed on out of hearing, and Lucy,
breathing fast with terror, sprang up from the
ground. “Good-bye!” she whispered to the darkness
of the window, and fled swiftly but with infinite
caution through the mud and water of the road,
toward the place where Elizabeth waited.
The talk she had just heard meant little at first,
when her mind was filled with the wild thought of
flight. But the gruff words, spoken in that language
she had learned to hate, stuck in her memory
as vividly as did the two disconsolate figures standing
in the rain before her hiding-place.
// 240.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI||A CHANCE IN A THOUSAND
.sp 2
“It looks like a regular workshop. Oh, Michelle,
I’m so glad you thought of it!” exclaimed Lucy,
looking around the hall with admiring eyes. Almost
every convalescent soldier had a lump of clay
or some willow splits in his fingers, of which he was
trying to fashion something pretty or useful, generally
without much success. A few of the poilus
and Germans were expert basket weavers, and one
potter was among them. The rest knew enough to
get along with help. As for the Americans, they
caused more amusement than had been heard among
the men in a long time. Not one of them could
weave the willow splits into a symmetrical shape,
and only one succeeded in making of the clay anything
more than a dumpy jug. This was a little
red-headed westerner, who formed his lump into a
dozen animals in as many minutes, to the great interest
of the Frenchmen about him, ending the exhibition
with a figure of a cowboy on horseback,
waving a lasso made of a willow sliver.
It was not the quality of the work that made the
// 241.png
.pn +1
two girls proud and delighted at the result of their
hard labor. It was the atmosphere of interested
occupation and rivalry, so different from the listless
melancholy that takes possession of a roomful of
idle men. The work was trifling and almost useless,
but it was far better than nothing, and Lucy
felt well repaid for her hot walks and the heavy
loads carried in her aching arms.
It was two days since her visit to the prison, and
she had spent the intervals from work in vain attempts
to scheme out a means of getting her
precious paper to the Allied lines. One idea she
communicated to Michelle, rather expecting to be
laughed at.
“Do you think we could tame one of the pigeons
that fly around the hospital roof, Michelle? It
could take the message so easily.”
“But this is their home,” Michelle objected.
“You must have a bird who longs to return across
the lines—who is a stranger here. There were
many like that guarded here last month by the
French état-major. I do not know where they are
now.”
“What an easy way that would be, and what a
safe one,” Lucy thought this morning as she went
back and forth among the convalescents, giving
encouragement since she could not give advice, and
seeing that each man had material to work with.
// 242.png
.pn +1
“Oh, how too bad we must give so much to the
Boches!” whispered Michelle, as Lucy picked up
a handful of splits for Paul Schwartz to finish his
neat basket.
“But we have to,” said Lucy, resignedly. It
was the sight of the German soldiers working away
at the materials furnished by the hard efforts of the
two little aides which had caused the German surgeon
in charge to give Lucy a brisk nod of approval
in passing. She felt more angry than gratified
at this condescending reward for her trouble, but
she knew his good will was necessary if they were
to continue helping the French and Americans.
“I cannot stay long with you this afternoon,”
said Michelle a few minutes later, when all the
patients were again supplied with occupation.
“Poor Maman does not get up to-day. She has a
bad cold from coming in the rain from the hospital.”
“I’m so sorry, Michelle. Could I do anything
to help? I suppose the French doctors can give
you what she needs?”
“Yes. But one thing I would like to ask of
you. I am not sure if you can do it.” The French
girl gave her friend an appealing look as she said,
with a more natural childishness than she had
shown Lucy before, “I am very lonely while
Maman is ill. If you could come and pass the
night with me—I would be grateful.”
// 243.png
.pn +1
“To-night, Michelle? Of course I will! I
know how I can manage it. I’ll go home with
Elizabeth—no one objects to that—and she can
leave me at your house. It will be late, though.
She can’t leave here before ten.”
“Oh, how glad I shall be of your company!”
Michelle exclaimed, her face instantly brightening.
Then her lip curved to a mocking smile as she
added, “What could we do without that chère
Boche, Elizabeth?”
“Laugh at her all you like,” said Lucy, unruffled.
“I know her better than you.”
“I do not laugh at her,” Michelle protested.
“But to be friend with her seems strange. Never
I thought to trust in one of that country again.”
“Oh, Michelle, that’s not quite fair,” Lucy began,
but her arguments died away on her lips. She
had no right to lecture Michelle, who had seen the
worst and would be more than human if the name of
German were not hateful to her. “You’ll know
before long that Elizabeth can be trusted,” she contented
herself with saying.
“Oh, yes, sans doute,” answered Michelle, unconvinced,
but anxious to make amends for her
frankness. “You will come to-night then, Lucy?
I will wait for you.”
The eagerness in her eyes made Lucy respond
quickly, “I certainly will. I may be late, but that
// 244.png
.pn +1
can’t be helped. I’m never sure when Elizabeth
can get off.”
“Then au revoir, and thank you,” smiled
Michelle, stopping on her way down the hall to
carry a handful of wet clay to the American cowboy
artist. He in turn presented her with a clay
buffalo, quite lifelike with its lowered head and
threatening horns. “Only mind you don’t break
off the horns,” he cautioned.
“I’d ’a’ given that little Mamzel a fair treat if
I hadn’t been skeered to try it,” he confided to
Lucy, after Michelle’s departure. “I wanted to
make her a little Boche soldier—square head, pig
eyes and all—with one of our boys getting a
good swipe at him with a bayonet. I’ll do it
yet.”
“Hush!” said Lucy, laughing, but glancing apprehensively
around. “You mustn’t talk about
Boches so loud, Tyler.”
At the end of another hour she went off duty in
the hall to help Elizabeth bring in the nurses’
supper. At the first opportunity she explained the
promise made Michelle.
“You’ll take me with you, won’t you, Elizabeth?”
she asked anxiously.
“Oh, yes, Miss Lucy, I think so. In the morning
I stop to bring you back after I get the basket
full from the little farm. Only,” Elizabeth added,
// 245.png
.pn +1
looking earnestly into Lucy’s face, “promise me
you don’t by yourself to the old prison go.”
“I promise—if you’ll take me there soon again,”
said Lucy, thinking sadly that the little stock of
provisions she had left Captain Beattie must be already
gone. “I hope you can leave early, Elizabeth,”
she said, returning to the evening’s plan.
“If you can’t Miss Pearse will make such a
fuss.”
She was happy at the chance of doing Michelle a
service, as well as at the prospect of seeing her
friend for longer than a hurried hour. Elizabeth
was more sympathetic this time, too, than when
Lucy had proposed the other expedition. Elizabeth
did not encourage patriotism or daring on
Lucy’s part, and, if she had had her way, would
have kept her in safe seclusion.
She did her best to get through her long day’s
work early, and it was not yet ten o’clock when she
left Lucy at the side door of Michelle’s house.
Lucy was instantly admitted, and her hostess gave
her a warm welcome.
“I thought perhaps you do not come, and I feel
so sorry,” said Michelle, smiling with pleasure as
she took Lucy’s cape from her shoulders. “Maman
is asleep, and Clemence working in the kitchen, because
she stayed with Maman to-day while I was at
the hospital. You know we give the breakfast
// 246.png
.pn +1
every morning to the German sentinel on this
street.”
“You do!” cried Lucy, indignantly.
“Yes, we must. Come and sit here by the
candle,” said Michelle, leading the way into the
little parlor, “and show me what gave you the
English capitaine. You said that I should see it.”
“Of course. I’m going to leave it here with
you, anyway. It’s the first chance I’ve had.”
Michelle glanced keenly toward the windows,
across which calico curtains were drawn, as Lucy
raised the hem of her dress and, ripping a few
stitches, drew out a folded slip of paper. The two
girls sat down at the table on which the flickering
candle burned, and Lucy spread the paper out
before them.
“I’ve hardly done more than peek at it myself,”
she remarked. “You’ve made me so cautious,
Michelle, I don’t do anything without stopping to
think if it is safe.”
“I am glad of that,” said Michelle, soberly. “It
is better you should be too careful than to forget
once that the Boches are always listening. Oh, see;
he has drawn it like a picture, that the danger may
not be so great for you.”
Lucy remembered the Englishman’s brief explanation
as she bent over the little sketch, and
repeated it to Michelle. The drawing was cleverly
// 247.png
.pn +1
but roughly made with quick strokes of the pen,
and, to her eye at least, would have suggested nothing
suspicious. Beneath it were scrawled the
words, “Changing the Guard.” The six groups of
German soldiers, leaning lazily on their guns as
they awaited their orders to relieve the various out-posts,
might have been seen any day from Captain
Beattie’s prison window. As for the curving line
of the road as he had drawn it, only an observing
eye would notice that the road behind the prison
had really far less width and fewer windings. The
flower-beds sketched in beyond completed the zigzag
outline. Lucy saw it all now, with a rush of
comprehension. The carefully measured lines behind
the lounging figures of the guard were the
bastions of the great fortified ridge at Argenton.
The soldiers were the hidden batteries whose locations
had been the object of such deadly and ineffectual
search.
“Oh, Michelle,” she sighed, filled with eager and
helpless longing, “I’d do anything—anything—to
get this over to our lines.”
“And I, too,” exclaimed the French girl with
flashing eyes. “But what can we do? We can
only wait.”
Lucy frowned in bitter rebellion as she folded
the paper once more and slipped it carefully into
her pocket.
// 248.png
.pn +1
“I must return to Maman,” said Michelle, picking
up the candle. “Perhaps she is awake again.”
Lucy followed her friend up the narrow, dingy
stairs, and, as she did so, her exasperation began to
give place to a pleasanter and more helpful feeling.
She looked forward to spending the night in the
de la Tours’ little house. Though they were in
enemy hands this house still kept some of the elements
of home. Its neat, simple interior, and the
united affection of the three who made up the
family—for Clemence was one of them by virtue
of hardships long shared in common—meant much
to Lucy after her days in the crowded hospital and
nights in the half-furnished house across the street.
Madame de la Tour was lying awake, but she declared
that her sleep had made her feel much
better. “There is no need to remain up for me,
mes enfants,” she said decidedly. “But I am glad
you came, ma petite,” she added, taking Lucy affectionately
by the hand. “My Michelle is very
happy to have your company.”
“I wanted to come. It’s lovely to be in a real
house—in somebody’s home again,” said Lucy
warmly, her eyes filled with sympathy and pity as
she looked at the fragile little figure in the bed—an
old French peasant bed, with clumsy wooden side
boards.
“Then try to have a good night’s sleep,” urged
// 249.png
.pn +1
Madame de la Tour, fixing her bright eyes on
Lucy’s face. “Your checks are grown thinner
than I like to see them.”
Lucy was glad to go to bed in these surroundings
and made no objection when Michelle led the way
with a candle to the little chamber next her own.
Old Clemence slept just now on a sofa by her mistress’s
side. Already, down below, they could hear
her noisily bolting doors and doing her best to secure
the broken windows by fastening the shutters. The
two girls talked a while together, for their sleepiness
was not quite proof against the many things
each wanted to hear about the other. But presently
Michelle stole out to see that her mother wanted
nothing, and coming back took up Lucy’s candle
and wished her good-night.
“I must wake you very early in the morning,
you know. How good it will be to have you here
for breakfast,” she said with friendly satisfaction
as she went away.
For the first time in many nights Lucy slept
deep and dreamlessly as though she were safe at
home again. She could not believe the night was
over when, at the first peep of dawn, she woke to
find Michelle standing at her bedside, her pretty
black hair tumbled about her shoulders and her
eyes still heavy with sleep.
“I am very sorry I must call you from the bed
// 250.png
.pn +1
so early,” she apologized. “But I must help
Clemence to-day, before I go to the hospital. It is
for that we take the breakfast as soon as it grows
light.”
“All right,” said Lucy, yawning and stretching
herself awake before she added, “I have to be ready
early, anyway, for Elizabeth will stop for me at
seven o’clock. I’ll help you, too, Michelle. What
do you have to do?”
“Not so much,” Michelle responded, sitting
down for a moment at the foot of Lucy’s bed to
comb her hair free from its curling tangles. “I
make a little coffee for Maman, while Clemence is
preparing breakfast for the sentinel. He eats well,
ma foi!”
“Oh, to think of having to feed him!” exclaimed
Lucy, tossing about in her indignation. “Sometimes
when I first wake in the morning I can’t believe
we really are in the German lines. It seems
too awful to be true.”
“It is much better now than when the Boches
make their first capture of the town,” said Michelle,
the brightness dying out of her face with the words.
“Then there were many more here—a regiment.
They were proud with victory and cared for no one’s
prayers. They went into the houses, stealing all
they found. Maman and I for two days hid in the
hospital. When the officers made again a little
// 251.png
.pn +1
order in the town we returned to poor Clemence—for
she would not leave the house, rather, she tell us,
she will stay and fight the Boches who enter. But
for all her scolding they take away the little food
we have, and Maman and I must go and beg for
bread from the sergeant at the Commissariat. For
wood, also, we must beg, for the soldiers take all we
have, and it was February—very cold—with snow
upon the ground.”
As Michelle spoke her quiet voice became filled
with trembling indignation. She let fall her hair
upon her shoulders and pressed her hands together,
while her blue eyes shone with the bitter resentment
reawakened. She had told Lucy but a tenth part
of the suffering and humiliation of those days
which, far from being safely past, might be repeated
at any moment. Lucy’s indignant sympathy was
for an instant too strong for words, and the next
Michelle had regained her self-control. Rising
from the bed she exclaimed with a kind of scornful
impatience at herself:
“It is no good to think of those bad times!
Enough that is bad we have still with us.” She
turned to smile faintly back at Lucy as she said
more cheerfully, “We must have a pleasant breakfast
together, so you will like to come and give me
your company again.”
Lucy dressed very thoughtfully, her mind filled
// 252.png
.pn +1
with the glimpse Michelle had given her of that terrible
past which had been even harder to endure
than the uncertain present. Now Lucy better understood
the look that had arrested her attention at
first sight of Michelle’s face. Lucy had thought
that she herself was bearing much, and with passable
courage. But how much smaller her trials
seemed when compared with Michelle’s long years
of suffering and anxiety, borne with no other companion
than her frail little mother.
When she finished dressing and ran down-stairs
Michelle was already in the dining-room, engaged
in setting the table with a breakfast of hot pea soup
and two slices of coarse black bread. Lucy knew
it was the best the house afforded, and she felt
reluctant to eat of the precious little store. But
evidently her company was worth far more to
Michelle than a few mouthfuls of food. The
French girl had cheered up from her melancholy,
and greeting Lucy with a bright smile, made place
for her at the bare wooden table.
“Oh, Lucy,” she exclaimed, “if only you had
come to see me four years ago, what a nice breakfast
I should have given you!” This was the first
reference Michelle had ever made to her beautiful
old home which was now a ruin. “But perhaps,”
she added thoughtfully, “you never would have
come to France without this war.”
// 253.png
.pn +1
“But after the war I’ll come again, Michelle,”
said Lucy eagerly. “I don’t think a friendship
begun like ours can ever be forgotten. France and
America will never seem so far apart as they did.
We won’t think of France any more as a foreign
country.”
She looked across the table at her friend for
response to her sincere enthusiasm, for Michelle
had fallen suddenly silent. Lucy followed her eyes
in astonishment, to where they were fixed on the
little door which led from the back of the room
down to the cellar. As she looked closely at it,
trying to discover the cause of Michelle’s motionless
attention, she saw that it was not quite shut.
Before she had time to think further, she saw the
door pushed open, and a German soldier entered the
room.
The spoon in Lucy’s hand dropped on the table.
A bewildered fear took possession of her. The
soldier was a tall, stalwart blond, with dusty and
mud-stained uniform, as though fresh from active
duty. As he stood there against the door he
had closed behind him he panted a little, and his
face, seen in the shadowy light, though young,
looked haggard and lined with weariness. This
picture formed itself in an instant on her mind.
The next she heard a trembling cry from
Michelle’s lips. The soldier pushed off his little
// 254.png
.pn +1
round cap and held out his arms. “Michelle!” he
said.
“Armand!” Michelle answered, in a voice that
was half a sob. With one bound she had crossed
the floor and thrown her arms about the soldier’s
neck, while over his tired face broke a smile as sweet
and radiant as her own. “Oh, Armand, cheri, why
did you come? Mon Dieu, why did you come!”
was all she could say in the first moment of her joy
and terror.
“I had to come, to learn that you were safe,” he
said unsteadily.
Lucy’s heart had given one leap, and now it began
racing furiously, as her paralyzing fright
changed to different emotions. Fear for Michelle’s
brother, in the deadly peril in which he had placed
himself, and a thrill of admiration at his daring exploit,
were mingled with the wild delight of knowing
that Captain Beattie’s paper was safely in her
pocket ready to be confided to the Frenchman’s
keeping.
While these thoughts chased each other through
her mind, Michelle turned from her brother, with
blue eyes shining in her white, frightened face,
to say tremblingly in English, “Oh, Lucy, it is
Armand! My friend, cher Armand, Mademoiselle
Lucy Gordon, who knows all we hope and fear. A
brother she has, too, with the Americans.”
// 255.png
.pn +1
Captain de la Tour stretched a friendly hand to
Lucy, with a courteous bow which seemed strange
to her from a man in German uniform. He spoke
English without Michelle’s difficulty.
“Gordon? Is your brother Lieutenant Gordon,
the aviator? Then, Mademoiselle, we are not
strangers. I have brought him news of how things
are in Château-Plessis. For once since the capture
I crossed the lines, but could not manage to reach
this house.”
“We have something to give you—something
that will help the Allies,” stammered Lucy, almost
choking over the words in her realization of success
at last in sight.
“Truly? But first of all I must see Maman.
She is up-stairs, Michelle? Ill, you say? In bed?”
He ran to the stairs, while Michelle, half mad with
anxiety, called Clemence from the kitchen and in a
few hasty words bade her watch the street and the
entrance to the garden.
“I’ll watch from the other side,” Lucy offered,
but Michelle objected:
“You can see better from above. All should be
well, and if not, we have no way to forbid that they
come in. He will stay only a few minutes. The
guard is not changed before two hours more, so
not till then will the sentinel come for breakfast.
If only it did not grow light so soon!”
// 256.png
.pn +1
Up-stairs, Armand was kneeling by his mother’s
bed, questioning her about her welfare with feverish
eagerness.
“I had no peace not knowing that you were
safe,” he said in answer to his mother’s reproaches,
made in an agony of fear. “How could you think
I would not come?”
Lucy stood by the front window breathing fast,
her face flushed and burning in the cool morning
air. Outside, the sentry was lazily pacing. He
passed the house perhaps once in fifteen minutes,
but this time he had turned toward it with a curious
glance that set Lucy in a frenzy of uncertainty.
He had not the look of suspecting that an enemy
spy was in the neighborhood, but the house seemed
to interest him. Perhaps, Lucy thought, with a
rush of hope as he passed on, he was only longing
for the hour of relief and the sausages and potatoes
awaiting him.
She turned back to the room, where Armand was
telling of his entrance into the town, interrupted by
a hundred questions from his mother and Michelle.
There were such endless things to be asked and
answered on both sides, and Lucy herself would
have given much for a few words with him. She
was listening to his rapid talk, following the French
with an effort, when a loud knock sounding on the
front door echoed through the house.
// 257.png
.pn +1
Captain de la Tour sprang to his feet, his body
alert and his blue eyes flashing. Michelle, seizing
his hand, with ashy cheeks and quivering lips, entreated
him, “Hide, Armand! Come quickly—in
my room!”
The young Frenchman gave a quick shake of the
head. “If they suspect me all concealment is useless.
You forget I am well disguised. Do as I
say and nothing more. Go down, Michelle, and do
not deny a German soldier is here.”
He listened intently as Michelle silently obeyed
him. His mother, white and motionless, waited
likewise for signs of what was taking place below.
Clemence had admitted some one, and now they
heard her voice protesting, and a man’s voice, short
and surly, in reply. Then Michelle interposed,
calm and conciliating. Steps crossed the floor of
the hall toward the stairway. There was no time
for any plan, Lucy thought wildly. But in the
moment that Clemence preceded the intruder up
the stairs, Captain de la Tour had drawn from his
gray tunic a note-book and pencil, and, standing by
his mother’s bedside, began jotting down notes
with a steady hand. Clemence, red-faced and terrified,
ran into the room, her hands wound frenziedly
about her apron. After her came the German
sentry, a frown on his heavy face and curiosity
lighting up his eyes. At sight of the occupants of
// 258.png
.pn +1
// 259.png
.pn +1
// 260.png
.pn +1
the room he made the suggestion of a bow, but he
offered no apology for his intrusion as, fingering
his gun, he stared at Armand’s tall, commanding
figure.
.if h
.il fn=i253.jpg w=483px id=i253
.ca
“WHAT’S YOUR BUSINESS HERE?”
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: “WHAT’S YOUR BUSINESS HERE?”]
.sp 2
.if-
“Hello, mate,” said Armand in German, looking
quietly up from his note-book, as Michelle followed
the soldier into the room.
Lucy could not restrain a gasp of amazement at
the scene before her. She knew Michelle’s wonderful
self-control, and did not so much marvel at
her hastily assumed look of angry annoyance, unmixed
with the least sign of her mortal anxiety.
But to see delicate little Madame de la Tour lying
back on her pillows with an expression of cold exasperation,
her eyes, glancing from Armand to the
sentry, saying plainly that one German soldier had
been quite enough without another forcing himself
upon her, was such a wonderful change from her
helpless terror of a moment past that Lucy could
hardly believe her eyes. Even the German sentry
looked uncomfortable before the little French lady’s
calm and silent dignity. He shuffled his feet awkwardly
as he answered, with a nod at Armand:
“Hello! You a stranger? What’s your business
here?”
“Because I’m a stranger to you doesn’t mean
I’m one to the whole town,” returned Armand, with
a twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though hiding
// 261.png
.pn +1
a smile at his own wit. Then, in a more friendly
tone, he added, “However, I’ve no objection to
telling you my business. I’m detailed from the
third regiment up the line to help here in the supply
depot. They’re making a new list of the population.
The food’s not holding out.”
“I know that well enough,” grumbled the sentry,
his inquisitive look changing to one of gloomy dissatisfaction.
“Much good you can do about it.”
“Now suppose you tell me what you are doing
here?” suggested Armand, with a return of his
faintly mocking tone.
The sentry leaned on his gun a little sheepishly
as he answered, “I’m supposed to keep an eye on
who goes in and out along this street.” He did not
care to confess the real motive for his precipitate
entrance. Seeing a fellow soldier enter the garden
path and disappear in the shrubbery, he had been
seized with a greedy suspicion that the newcomer
had designs on his breakfast. A chance shortening
of his usual beat had given him this glimpse of
Armand, and he had shortened it once more to enter
the house after Lucy had watched him pass.
To change the subject he inquired amicably,
“The third, did you say you belonged to? That’s
in the trenches now, isn’t it? How did you get
off?”
“Two days only,” said Armand, without enthusiasm.
// 262.png
.pn +1
“I’m on sick leave. Light work, they call
this.” He closed his note-book and slipped it back
inside his tunic.
“Well, are you ready to go?” asked the sentry,
restored to good humor. “I’d like some company
as far as the end of my beat. I suppose you’re not
going nearer the meadows than this? There’s no
one living there.”
“No, I’m starting back now,” said Armand.
He turned toward the bed where Madame de la
Tour lay, and giving a slight, stiff bow murmured,
“Good-morning, ladies.”
The sentry, moved by force of example, made a
faint bow likewise, and followed his companion to
the stairs. Motionless and silent, Armand’s mother
and sister watched him go. They heard him engaged
in friendly conversation with the German in
the hall below, where Armand paused to get his cap
from the dining-room. The next minute the door
slammed behind the sentry’s heavy hand and their
footsteps sounded on the stone flags outside.
Lucy and Michelle with one accord rushed to the
window. Armand and the sentry were walking
slowly down the street. With another few steps
a projecting wall hid them from sight. Michelle
was shaking from head to foot, and the hand that
touched Lucy’s was icy cold. But she overcame
herself enough to return with Clemence to her
// 263.png
.pn +1
mother’s side and give poor Madame de la Tour
the comfort of her presence at that moment. Lucy
had not their awful anguish of fear to endure. It
was not her brother who walked the streets of
Château-Plessis in imminent danger of recognition
and certain death. But she was almost as wretched
as they in the bitterness of her disappointment.
She felt an unreasoning confidence that Captain
de la Tour would manage to reach the Allied lines
in safety. His nerve and coolness were powerful
weapons among the dull-witted German soldiery.
But he would return without the slip of paper which
she had dared so much to obtain, and which might
have brought safety and freedom to them all.
“Twice I’ve failed,” she thought, as with choking
throat and eyes blurred with tears she sank miserably
down on the little window-seat. “Oh, it
seems as though any one could have done better
than I!”
Before the occupants of the room had collected
their stunned and bewildered thoughts, a second
knock sounded on the front door, this time a
gentler one.
“That’s Elizabeth,” exclaimed Lucy, starting to
her feet, and winking the tears from her eyes. At
the same moment an idea occurred to her at sight
of Michelle’s white face, and Madame de la Tour’s
pitiful struggle for hope and courage. “Michelle,
// 264.png
.pn +1
I’ll ask Elizabeth to find out about your brother.
To learn where he goes and if he gets safely away.
She can go among the soldiers and ask them any
questions without being suspected.”
“No, no! I beg you!” cried Michelle, suddenly
restored to speech and movement. “Never could
I trust her with Armand’s secret!” Her blue eyes
had lighted up with that never-forgotten dread and
terror of every German.
Lucy opened her lips to say frankly that her
doubts were absurd, and that now, if ever, was a
time when Elizabeth could be of service and could
relieve the agony of Madame de la Tour’s mind.
But unwilling to argue the subject before Michelle’s
mother, she drew her friend toward the stairway
instead, saying, “Come down with me while I let
Elizabeth in. I want to speak to you.”
Michelle agreed, but as they descended the stairs
she forestalled Lucy by repeating earnestly, “You
must not tell the German woman of my brother!
Enough enemies he has already.” Her voice broke
as she ended, the deadly fear at her heart overwhelming
her once more.
Lucy had reached the lower floor and stood staring
into the dining-room, uncertain what to say or
do. For Elizabeth, receiving no answer to her
knocks, had become anxious for Lucy and had
entered the house, left unlocked since Armand’s departure.
// 265.png
.pn +1
She stood there within a few feet of them,
and the day was bright enough for Lucy to see by
her face that she had heard Michelle’s words.
Michelle gave a gasp herself, but Elizabeth did
not wait for either one to speak.
“You need not fear me, Mademoiselle,” she said
quietly, and Lucy thought she had never seen in
that little figure so much proud dignity. “I am
not among the enemies of your brudder, since for
France I suppose he fights. When I tell Miss
Lucy I am pro-ally, it is that I am changed in
heart and soul—not only in my tongue. Better
you trust me and that we together work, for else it
is little good that I can do.”
For a moment Michelle was silent, for the
struggle in her mind was too intense for words.
But at the end of that short pause she spoke, and
the hatred and suspicion had left her voice. Grief
and anxiety alone remained as she said falteringly,
“I will trust you, Elizabeth. You must forgive
me that I could not before. I think I do so truly
now.”
“Only time will show you that I am true,” replied
Elizabeth, still with a little hurt accent in her
voice, as though she felt Michelle’s conversation
was not yet complete. “It is not for love of France
that I have turned against my country. It is for
love of Germany.”
// 266.png
.pn +1
“Michelle,” said Lucy, breaking in, fearful the
new alliance would not withstand an argument, and
wildly anxious to make use of Elizabeth’s help,
“I’m going now, and—I’ll do all I can. You trust
me, too.” She put her arms around Michelle’s
neck, with all the warmth of her sympathy and understanding,
and looked into her face. In her eyes
she read unwilling consent, and no further objection
came from her lips. “I’m going to tell her,”
Lucy whispered, absolving herself from her promise.
“I’ll come again as soon as I possibly can.”
The next moment she and Elizabeth were outside
in the street, walking silently back in the direction
of the hospital. Lucy gave a keen glance
about her, and seeing only ruined desolation on both
sides, quickly began telling Elizabeth the story of
Armand’s coming, and of the miserable ill-luck that
had prevented the delivery of Captain Beattie’s
message. “Elizabeth, what Michelle didn’t want
to tell you was that her brother is making his way
out of the town now. Can’t you discover for us
whether he gets safely out? They are in such
awful uncertainty.”
“I will try, Miss Lucy,” Elizabeth promised.
“Tell me how he looks, and to what regiment he
pretends that he belongs.”
Lucy gave all the details she was able, and, as
she spoke, the realization of her failure came over
// 267.png
.pn +1
her again in a bitter flood of disappointment.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” she groaned, feeling a desperate
need of her old nurse’s comforting affection, “to
think I should have such a chance and miss it! A
chance we can never hope will come again.”
Elizabeth could not see Lucy unhappy and remain
unmoved. Her dark eyes tenderly softened
as she said, with a vain attempt at the consolation
beyond her power to give, “Ach, dear Miss Lucy,
be not so sad! Long ago when I was a child, there
comes to our house a so kind old man, the friend
of my father. When any of us children wished
long for something he would say: ‘Remember the
proverb: Many times your cake may to coal turn,
but the last time come fair from the oven.’”
“I don’t want to hear your old German proverbs!”
were the words that rose angrily to Lucy’s
tongue. But she kept them back. Instead, after
a little silence, she said very thoughtfully, a resolution,
as yet vague and uncertain, waking to life behind
her words, “I think the best proverb is one
that an American made up: If you want a thing
done, do it yourself.”
// 268.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII||MRS. GORDON AND BOB
.sp 2
An hour after Mrs. Gordon received news that
Bob was wounded she had turned over her little
flock of orphans to a fellow-worker’s charge and
was on her way to Cantigny. Her companion had
almost more work of her own than she could manage,
in spite of her cheerful willingness to accept
the added responsibility. Mrs. Gordon felt conscience-stricken
at imposing the task upon her, but
nothing at that moment could keep her from her
son, if she must walk every step of the way to reach
him. The telegram was scarcely a reassuring one.
It said, “Wounded, degree undetermined,” and it
had taken twenty-four hours to come the short
distance.
At the moment that she set out, however, fortune
favored her. A big motor-lorry, loaded with stores,
was crawling along the village street, and a Q.M.
officer, to whom she had already appealed for transportation,
crossed the street at sight of her, saying:
“Here’s your chance, Mrs. Gordon. I’m so glad
we can manage. This lorry is going to Cantigny
// 269.png
.pn +1
and will be faster traveling than the railroad. I
can’t offer you anything but a seat with the driver.”
Mrs. Gordon thanked him from the depths of her
heart in a few hurried words, as he stopped the
lorry and helped her to a place beside the soldier
at the wheel. “Make as good time as you can,
Adams,” he said. “No short cuts, though. Keep
well out of range.”
It was only fifteen miles to Cantigny directly
northeast, but the necessary détours made the real
distance nearer twenty-five. The road was full of
holes and cut up into ruts by the heavy traffic to
and from the front. On every side the ruin and
desolation of blackened shell-torn fields and woodland
overpowered the beauty of the springtime, still
struggling to show itself in nooks and corners that
had escaped the cannon. The soldier at Mrs. Gordon’s
side, a lanky, pleasant-faced New Englander,
withdrew his eyes from the road occasionally to
look at his passenger with pity and a kind of
troubled helplessness in his glance.
Mrs. Gordon had begun preparing for her journey
immediately after reading the telegram. She
had not yielded to a moment’s weakness or inaction,
but had gone methodically through the details of
turning over her charges and getting herself ready.
It was a hot, sultry morning, and in her preoccupation
she did not realize how hard she worked in the
// 270.png
.pn +1
hour before leaving. Now, seated in the lorry,
with two hours at least of waiting before her, her
courage seemed all at once to give way, and the
dreadful suspense she must endure became unbearable.
Her vivid imagination saw Bob seriously
wounded, perhaps dying, and wondering why she
did not come. The sight tormented her so that she
sank her face into her hands, welcoming the hard
jolting of the heavy vehicle as at least a momentary
distraction from her suffering. Her husband had
been given back to her, and could she hope that Bob
would be spared too? Then, remembering Lucy,
she unreasonably hoped again. Surely Lucy’s
captivity was enough to bear, and nothing further
would be asked of her just now.
“I got a little cold water here, Ma’am,” said the
soldier, breaking the sound of the laboring motor
with an embarrassed cough. “This dust is sure
the limit.”
Mrs. Gordon looked up at him and read the sympathy
in his eyes. He held out to her a full canteen,
and she took it gratefully, for the dust-clouds
had dried her throat in the first half hour of travel.
The dust stuck to her face and hands, too, and
powdered her clothing, but she hardly noticed it.
She unscrewed the canteen and poured a little of the
water into her mouth. It was cool and refreshing
and, as she swallowed it, she tried hard to get back
// 271.png
.pn +1
a little courage and calmness. She had by nature
plenty of both and, in a moment, handing back the
canteen to the soldier with a word of thanks, she
clasped her hands in her lap and looked about her.
She could not tell how far they had come, for the
landscape was much the same, except that a church
tower, with its belfry shot away, rose now from the
woody distance.
“When do you think we shall get to Cantigny?”
she asked longingly.
“Well,” was the thoughtful answer, “sometimes
I make it in two hours, but that ain’t often. I’ll
do the best I can, Ma’am. We’ll be there by noon,
sure. It’s not but ten now.” He glanced at the
pale face beside him, and at the delicate hands
clasped so tightly together and added diffidently,
“Don’t feel so bad, Ma’am. The Lieutenant is a
strong young feller. He’ll come out right enough.”
“Do you know him?” asked Mrs. Gordon, surprised.
“Sure I do. I took over this bus full of stuff
for the aero field only last week. Lieutenant Gordon
checked off my list, and when he got through
he nodded to me and says, ‘Good work, Adams.
You really brought everything you were supposed
to. How did it happen?’ I had to laugh at that,
Ma’am, because the truth was I did forget a bundle
of wire, and the Sergeant called me back for it.”
// 272.png
.pn +1
Bob’s mother tried to smile at the soldier’s story,
though the remembrance of Bob’s health and cheerfulness
was small comfort now. But she had controlled
herself, dreading to become ill and useless
at the end of her journey if she yielded longer to
her fears. She straightened up resolutely against
the hard seat and in a moment answered the man’s
kindly encouragement by saying, “Oh, I have good
hope that he is not seriously wounded. What part
of the United States are you from, Adams? Where
is your home?”
It was hard to interest herself in the account the
Yankee willingly poured forth, but nevertheless
she managed it. In return, the time passed more
quickly for her, and her nerves grew steadier.
It was about a quarter past twelve when at last
they entered Cantigny. It seemed a whole day to
Mrs. Gordon that she had sat enveloped in the dust
of that endless road, but on the whole the journey
had been a quick one. She turned to the soldier
with brief thanks and farewell, as they drew up at
the steps of the house made into a hospital. An
officer appeared in the doorway and Mrs. Gordon,
summoning all her reserves of courage, in case she
should have to hear the worst, asked hurriedly:
“Lieutenant Gordon, Captain? How is he? I
am his mother.”
She never afterward forgot the smile with which
// 273.png
.pn +1
the surgeon promptly answered, “You may stop
worrying right now, Mrs. Gordon. Your son had
a bullet through his shoulder muscle; but what’s
that to a strong young man?”
Not until that moment did Mrs. Gordon realize
the dread she had endured. Now that the fear was
lifted from her heart, she leaned weakly against the
doorway, tears blinding her eyes, and hardly knew
that the surgeon had taken her arm and was urging
her to follow him. But the next minute she was
herself again, strengthened by her longing to see
with her own eyes that Bob was safe. The surgeon
led her into a good-sized room made into a ward,
which could accommodate about twenty wounded
officers.
He had no need to point Bob out to his mother.
In a second she was beside him. He was leaning
against his pillows with one arm and shoulder
closely bandaged, but his face was not pale nor his
bright smile changed as he cried out at sight of her:
“Mother! I knew you’d come! Oh, I’m afraid
you’ve been dreadfully anxious.”
Mrs. Gordon could hardly speak, but her eyes
told her that Bob was safe and the touch of his
cool, strong fingers swept her last fears away.
Near by, on a cot half hidden by a screen, lay a
young man tossing about and muttering to himself.
His face was flushed and a wide bandage was
// 274.png
.pn +1
wrapped about his head, from which the brown hair
had been cut away. Mrs. Gordon turned back to
Bob with unspeakable thankfulness in her heart.
“I knew you’d be worried,” he said, with a frown
of anger at sight of his mother’s pale face. “I was
in such a hurry to get off the telegram, for fear you
would hear the news some other way, that I bungled
things. The obstinate old sergeant here copied the
message right off the card they pinned on me at the
dressing-station, before they examined my wound.
I told him to say ‘slightly wounded,’ but nothing
could make him change it.”
“Never mind, Bob dear. I know now that you
are all right,” smiled Mrs. Gordon, sinking down
on the little chair beside the cot with a sigh of
peaceful weariness. Her face and hands were
grimy with dust, but she did not think yet of her
discomfort. “Tell me all about it, Bob—how it
happened,” she begged. “They let you talk, don’t
they?”
“Yes, indeed. They let me do anything but
shrug my shoulders, and I don’t particularly want
to do that.” Happy in his mother’s presence and
in the knowledge that she was freed from anxiety
about him, Bob began telling the story of the fight
in which he was wounded. A quarter of an hour
passed quickly while Mrs. Gordon listened with
fascinated interest, too proud of Bob’s skill and
// 275.png
.pn +1
daring to wish him more prudent, but sadly fearful
for the future in the midst of her satisfaction. His
account was cut short by the sound of a footstep at
the door of the ward. Bob paused to look up, then
forgot his story as he called out with a welcoming
smile, “Come on in, Harding! Here she is at
last.”
While he spoke a young Infantry Captain with
a bandaged hand crossed the room, holding out his
sound left hand to Mrs. Gordon. A frank, merry
smile, that no hardships had yet robbed him of,
lighted up his face at the pleasure of the meeting.
“Mrs. Gordon!” he exclaimed, “I am glad to
see you.”
“Dick! You here too?” cried Mrs. Gordon,
starting to her feet.
He took her hand and, looking earnestly into her
tired face, the smile faded from his lips and he said
remorsefully, “If I’d only known in time I’d have
gone to you myself with the news of Bob’s wound,
and saved you all this worry. I’m convalescent and
could have got off.”
Mrs. Gordon patted the young officer’s shoulder,
looking at him with friendly affection. “I know
you would have, Dick. Thank you for thinking of
it. But tell me what you’re doing here. You’ve
been wounded again?” Her eyes shrank a little
// 276.png
.pn +1
from the sight of his bandaged hand, for Dick Harding’s
first wound had been a serious affair, and well
remembered by the Gordons, for it was coincident
with Bob’s capture and imprisonment.
He held up his hand to show her, saying reassuringly,
“It’s nothing this time—just a bullet wound.
Fingers are all right. Sit down and tell me about
yourself.” A shadow stole over his face and his
eyes saddened as he added, “Don’t talk about
Lucy if you don’t feel like it, but I’ve thought of
her so much. I can’t think of anything else.”
Mrs. Gordon’s eyes filled with sudden tears at
his words. His grief and sympathy were so sincere
and real that the little he said meant much to her.
He had suffered with them during Lucy’s captivity,
and she and Bob had no secrets from him.
“I have nothing to tell you, dear Dick,” she said
unsteadily. “The news Bob brought is the last
we have.” As she spoke her thoughts went back a
year to Governor’s Island, to Lucy’s and this young
officer’s pleasant friendship. How long it seemed
since the July morning that Lucy had waked her
to tell her that Dick’s regiment had gone.
“I can’t help hoping for the best,” Captain
Harding was saying when she listened to him again.
“It seems so wonderful that the Colonel has recovered
and that Lucy has found that precious old
Elizabeth to watch over her. With such good luck
// 277.png
.pn +1
I keep looking for more, and, do you know, I’m
almost sure it will come.”
It was faint enough consolation, but somehow it
cheered Mrs. Gordon a little. She smiled at the
young officer, thanking him in her heart for his
determined optimism. At the same moment a
nurse came up to offer her a cup of tea and a chance
to wash her dusty face and hands. Beginning to
realize her travel-stained appearance she gladly
accepted, leaving Captain Harding at Bob’s side
for a few minutes.
“Dick,” said Bob thoughtfully, after his mother
had left the two alone, “I’m going to tell her my
scheme. It’s only fair.”
“Your plan to bring Lucy out?” asked Captain
Harding, ruffling his hair with a nervous hand,
while the troubled anxious look returned to his face.
“It seems—almost impossible. No, I won’t be a
wet-blanket,” he added quickly, as Bob frowned at
him. “I don’t blame you for attempting the impossible.
It’s beyond endurance to leave her there,
and we don’t seem much nearer to recapturing the
town.”
“It’s a question of getting some of the information
we need or of waiting for reinforcements for
a mass attack along this front. I can’t wait any
longer without trying something. Mother is worrying
herself sick. If I landed once behind Château-Plessis
// 278.png
.pn +1
why can’t I do it again, and even recross the
German lines in safety, with help from you fellows
on this side?”
“May I join you, comrades?” asked Captain
Jourdin’s voice from a few steps away. The
Frenchman had paused on his way across the ward
for Bob’s invitation, which was not slow in coming.
“You’re just the person we wish to see!” Bob
exclaimed, reaching out a hand to his friend in
warm welcome. “It was bully of you to come
over. No flights this morning? There’s another
chair for you, Dick,” he added to Captain Harding,
who had yielded his own seat to the aviator.
“Yes, but I came down again early. Things are
quiet along the line since last night. What is your
discussion, if I may know?”
“It’s about trying to bring Lucy out of Château-Plessis.
Now don’t shake your head and say it’s
a difficult undertaking. I know that well enough,
but I’m going to try it.”
“Then it is not my advice you wish, but my assistance,”
remarked the Frenchman. “Tell me
your plan and I promise you all the help in my
power. I will lead a guarding squadron to keep
off enemy fire—is that what you wish?”
“Just exactly,” said Bob with enthusiasm. “I
don’t see why it can’t be done. Anyway, once over
their lines, I’ll know if I can bring her safely back.
// 279.png
.pn +1
Lucy could crouch down in the observer’s seat so
as to be almost entirely sheltered.”
“And you, Harding?” asked Captain Jourdin.
“You will direct your anti-aircraft battery? That
will be ticklish work at night, but you can keep the
Boches wary and unwilling to fly. Once they are
up you cannot do much.”
“I can scare them off a part of the line—enough
for Bob to make a safe crossing. Our trenches are
very near theirs at that point. I’ll need search-lights,
of course. With luck we might even find a
night when they did not fly. They seem decidedly
short of scouts around Château-Plessis. They have
massed them at Argenton.”
“But it seems to me you are two wounded men.
How are you to accomplish all this?” inquired Captain
Jourdin, in the puzzled tone of a man who
thought the adventure more gallant than feasible.
Before his mind’s eye came some of the many airmen—Allied
and enemy—he had seen fall to death.
Bob’s chance of safety was no more than theirs, and
Lucy must helplessly share his danger.
“I’ll be up in a week—the surgeon said so,” Bob
insisted. “And Harding is all right now. He expects
they will let him out in three days.”
Captain Jourdin rose quickly at sight of Mrs.
Gordon, who was just reëntering the ward. “Your
mother has come, Gordon!” he said, with keen surprise
// 280.png
.pn +1
and pleasure. “She knows of your plan—we
may talk of it?”
“No, but I will tell her right now,” said Bob.
“I certainly can’t try it without her consent.”
Jourdin had met Bob’s mother in Governor’s
Island days, and now, in the midst of common fears
and perils, they seemed rather friends than acquaintances.
Mrs. Gordon greeted him warmly as
she joined the little group, looking herself again
with the dust quite got rid of.
“What were you saying, Bob?” she asked, smiling
at her son, from whom she could hardly take her
eyes.
Bob told his plan without delay, and Mrs. Gordon,
paling a little, listened in silence until he had
finished. She no longer felt as she would have a
few months ago at hearing such a proposal. She
had endured so much, and had seen such terrific
obstacles overcome by skill and daring, that she
hesitated to call any feat impossible. It was dreadful
to her to think of Lucy’s share in such a desperate
venture, but no more dreadful than what she
was bearing every day in the knowledge of her
captivity.
“What can I say?” she asked, her voice shaking
a little. “It seems a mad attempt, but if there is
a good chance——” She turned to the Frenchman,
fancying that his willingness to help Bob outran
// 281.png
.pn +1
his confidence of success. “Would you have
proposed this yourself, Captain Jourdin?” she said
earnestly. “You have had more experience than
Bob—does it seem too foolhardy to you?”
Jourdin considered a moment, his fine, candid
face grave and thoughtful. “We have first of all
to make known our coming to Mademoiselle,” he
said at last. “Successful in that I shall be eager to
go on. If the firing is heavy we must come back
without her, that is all.”
Captain Harding stirred in his chair, frowning
as he inquired doubtfully, “How about the old
man? I can’t see him allowing his squadron to
go off like that on private business.”
Major Kitteredge, thus referred to, did seem a
stumbling-block, and for a moment Bob could find
no reply. “Oh, well, he can only refuse,” he said
finally. “I’ll ask him. He’s coming to see me
to-morrow.”
“Anyway, Mrs. Gordon, it is a very indefinite
plan yet,” said Captain Harding, thinking Bob’s
mother had endured enough anxiety for one day.
“Nothing can be settled until Bob is well, and you
know how many things may happen before then.
Château-Plessis may even be retaken.”
Here the conversation ended, for so many uncertainties
entered into the project it was hard to
talk it over. Mrs. Gordon had only that day to
// 282.png
.pn +1
remain with Bob, and the other two officers rose
to leave her alone with him.
.tb
Early on the following day Mrs. Gordon returned
to her duty, and, soon afterward, Bob had
his conversation with Major Kitteredge.
His superior officer had been very kind about
paying him short visits, and the old friendship between
them would ordinarily have made Bob speak
boldly. But this time caution urged him to be
wary. He had narrowly escaped disaster the night
he returned from Château-Plessis, and he doubted
much that his chief would sanction a second visit
there, or would believe in its possible success. He
broached the subject nearest his heart by idly remarking:
“Funny, isn’t it, Major, how different the discipline
of the Aviation Corps is from that of the
other arms of the Service. I mean, every man is
more or less on his own—he can carry out his plan,
once he is in the air, without consulting anybody.”
“You mean he can obey orders in whatever way
he thinks best,” Major Kitteredge corrected. “He
is always following out a plan from Headquarters,
though it may be a vague one. He can’t, for instance,
sail off and drop bombs on Frankfort, if
he has been told to harass the enemy troops at
// 283.png
.pn +1
Montdidier—though both are praiseworthy objects.”
Bob was silent a moment. “Yes, of course,” he
assented. “But if an aviator asked permission
to make a certain flight over enemy territory
his superior would probably consent, wouldn’t
he?”
“For instance?” asked Major Kitteredge, looking
keenly at him.
“Well, I know a fellow who is anxious to cross
the Boche lines near here for reasons of his own.
A risky flight, as it happens, but worth it to him.
I wonder if he can get leave.”
“Reasons of his own? You mean he chooses to
take great risks on a flight of no military value?
No, his commander ought to refuse him leave,” said
Major Kitteredge frankly.
“But if he—took the flight, and—let the cat out
of the bag later?” Bob persisted.
The elder officer still kept his eyes on his companion.
It was fairly plain that he guessed who
the fellow was of whom Bob spoke. Watching his
chief’s face, Bob oddly remembered an incident of
long ago in the West, at Fort Leavenworth, when
he had watched that same face with equal anxiety.
Bob had coaxed the driver of the Q.M. ambulance
which took the post children to school to let him
drive the four frisky mules. Neither he nor the
// 284.png
.pn +1
soldier had counted on passing Lieutenant Kitteredge
on the lonely road just outside the reservation.
How Bob had hoped that morning that the young
officer would not raise his eyes to the driver’s seat
and notice this serious breach of orders. Bob had
already been punished once for it. It seemed impossible
that the Lieutenant should not see him, and
he scorned to hand over the reins at the last second,
even if it could have been done in safety. The
officer slightly turned his head and cast a glance
in their direction, then he looked straight up the
road again, as the ambulance rolled swiftly by.
Bob’s boyish heart had warmed with gratitude for
that friendly blindness. He pulled up the mules,
handed the reins back to the driver without a word,
and climbed over to his own place.
It was his eager study of Major Kitteredge’s
face now that brought this little scene so vividly
back. Would he be generous once more, in this
new favor that Bob sought, and ignore what he
could not approve?
“So you want to go into Château-Plessis again,
and bring Lucy out?” was the surprising answer
he received after a long moment. To Bob’s “How
did you guess it?” look Major Kitteredge added,
smiling, “You’re a great conspirator, Bob.” Then,
grown serious again, he said slowly, “It’s a hard
question to answer. I hesitate as much on Lucy’s
// 285.png
.pn +1
account as for other reasons. She must share all
the danger.”
“But if Mother consents——” Bob put in
eagerly.
“At any rate, you can do nothing until you are
fit for duty,” declared Major Kitteredge. “You
know how useless it is to plan a week ahead. Wait
until you are well, and then we’ll talk about it.”
Bob was willing to change the subject for a
while. He stretched his injured shoulder carefully,
to try its strength. “Another week and I’ll
be back on duty, Major. It’s tough, waiting all
this time. I’m so afraid we’ll commence a push
and I shan’t be there, after hoping so long for it.”
Bob believed that a week would see him back at
work, but the surgeon thought differently, and it
was ten days after Mrs. Gordon’s departure when
he returned to duty. His desire to get on with the
plan for Lucy’s rescue had only increased with the
delay, and now he was determined to make at least
a beginning. Major Kitteredge could not object
to his communicating with his sister and arranging
some signal which should announce their coming
when the attempt was made. It was a beautiful
morning, with a cloud-flecked sky ideal for his
flight over Château-Plessis. The firing along the
line was light and scattered. He could surely hang
over the meadows, in and out of the veiling clouds,
// 286.png
.pn +1
with a fair chance of discovering Elizabeth on her
daily round. It was still early enough to meet her
on her morning trip across the fields.
He had a bundle of papers, containing Lloyd-George’s
latest speech, beside him on the farmhouse
floor. One copy he had spread against a book on
his knee, and was carefully pricking it full of holes.
“That you, Jourdin?” he called out, hearing a
footfall outside the door.
“Yes,” was the answer, as the Frenchman
entered the room with his quick, light step.
“Good. Come and help me with this message,
will you? I want to say as much as possible in a
few words, so Elizabeth can read it quickly. See
what you think of this.”
He held the sheet of paper to the light, and was
about to decipher it when Jourdin, laying a hand
upon his shoulder, interrupted him.
“I am very sorry, Bob,” he said. “We cannot
think of this now. I came to tell you that we must
go up at once. The Boches are out in force over
Montdidier, and half our little squadron has engaged
them. They need help quickly.”
Before he finished speaking Bob had sprung to
his feet. The German airplanes were always thick
around Montdidier. He knew what straits the
Americans must be in if they had encountered a
full squadron of their heavy-armed Fokkers.
// 287.png
.pn +1
“I’ll be with you in two minutes,” he said. “I’ve
been feeling ever since I got up that something was
going to happen to-day, but I couldn’t tell what.
Blessings on my shoulder for getting well just in
time.”
// 288.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII||THE PRICE OF VICTORY
.sp 2
Eight members of the squadron had remained
in Cantigny, and these now took to the air—two
biplanes and four light monoplanes. Both Bob
and Jourdin were in single-seaters this time; little
craft in which the pilot must trust to speed and
dexterity of handling for his defense. Bob’s heart
beat high with hope and confidence as he rose from
the field into the bright morning air. They were
pointed south for Montdidier, and in ten minutes’
flight the monoplanes had outstripped their heavier
comrades. Bob carefully examined his guns and
everything within reach in the cockpit. His little
plane was flying beautifully; the rhythmic pulse of
the engine told him all was in perfect order, and a
world of glorious opportunity opened again before
him. The last days in the hospital had filled him
with restless longing. His efforts in Lucy’s behalf
were for the time being thwarted, and for that very
reason he must put in good work to-day against the
Boches.
Jourdin flew right ahead of him and Larry Eaton
was in a third monoplane at his side. In twenty
// 289.png
.pn +1
minutes they had neared Montdidier and, above the
hot fire from the German trenches, there came
swiftly into view the battle in the air. Bob had
taken part in several fierce engagements and had
grown familiar with the wild thrill that comes with
plunging into conflict at thousands of feet above the
earth. But, as the little reinforcing squadron drew
nearer to the city, he realized that this fight was the
greatest he had ever seen.
The air was so filled with planes whirling hither
and thither, in furious attack or swift retreat, and
the noise of the nearest propellers made such a
volume of sound that he could make but a vague
guess at the numbers engaged. Gathered together
into squadrons, or pursuing each one his enemy independently,
the airplanes were fighting in and out
among the clouds above the whole of Montdidier
and far beyond the city. Bob’s thoughts got no
further than this in his momentary confusion, when,
from a group a few hundred yards in front, a German
Albatross scout darted toward him.
He needed no more than this to restore his coolness
and determination. He saw the black crosses
on the little plane’s silvery wings, and the wide
muzzle of the machine gun, into which the German
was fitting a belt of ammunition. His own gun
was already loaded. The two weapons crashed out
together, the bullets spattering over both moving
// 290.png
.pn +1
targets; then each swooped lightly out of range to
maneuver again for the advantage. Bob’s tactics
were different now when no heavy metal body protected
him. His Nieuport could not withstand the
hail of bullets that Jourdin’s battle-plane had received
in the fight above Argenton, and to use his
guns he must swing his whole machine into range.
He glanced quickly over the cockpit and saw that
the fire from the trenches was too distant to be
dangerous. He was flying at just nine thousand
feet. The next instant his enemy came up from
below him, trying for a shot at the tail of his
machine. Bob dropped in a spin, then paused to
discharge a stream of bullets on the German’s flank.
His enemy dodged, but failed to return the fire.
Bob guessed why. His gun was jammed. The
German ran away northward, Bob following. The
two machines were fairly matched in speed. Another
German, scenting danger for his comrade in
the escaping plane, made northward too. A third
plane followed, and as Bob turned his head to see
if this last were friend or foe, the pilot’s hand was
raised in greeting, and Larry Eaton signaled with
a quick gesture that the second German was his
quarry.
Bob nodded agreement and, putting on speed,
flew after his retreating foe. He was soon making
a hundred miles an hour and the summer air, thin
// 291.png
.pn +1
and cold at this height, cut sharply against his
face and made welcome the protection of his
leather coat and helmet. The German was speeding
too, in spite of having to clean and reload his
guns. In another moment he dived so suddenly
that Bob flashed right over the spot where he had
been, as his enemy mounted in a climbing turn
directly underneath. Bob passed too swiftly to
receive a close hit, but the German managed to
deliver a broadside which cut holes in Bob’s left
plane and sent bullets whizzing against the cockpit
and about his head. Now Bob was in front,
his enemy following. Not liking this new arrangement,
Bob himself dived, circled up at terrific speed,
and fired a burst at his pursuer as the latter was
grasping his stick for a plunge. For a second Bob
thought he had downed his foe, for the German
plane wavered and one wing tilted as though the
shots had fatally injured it. But the next moment
the plane righted itself. The sudden turn the pilot
made in seeking to escape the broadside had caused
his machine to veer to one side. The wing was
cut by bullets, but not more than Bob’s own. Before
Bob could bring his gun to bear again upon
his shaken enemy, the German darted upward at
lightning speed and vanished in a soft white
cloud.
Bob hovered, reloaded his guns and, picking up
// 292.png
.pn +1
his binoculars, looked around for Larry and the
antagonist he had pursued. How had Jourdin
ever managed, he wondered, to send down the forty-eight
enemy planes the famous ace had to his credit.
It seemed to Bob sometimes as though the winged
fighters were almost invincible. His best efforts,
when he flew alone, were usually rewarded by seeing
his enemy elude him uninjured.
A cloud lay right beneath him, but as he peered
down, searching for the other planes, it floated by,
leaving a clear view of the distant earth below. To
Bob’s astonishment he discovered that he was over
Château-Plessis. There, off to his right, were the
wide meadows so familiar to his eyes. Directly beneath
was the town itself, looking half-ruined on
the side nearest the meadows, but growing less
damaged toward the centre. His surprise once
over at the distance he had covered from Montdidier,
his feeling was one of keen regret. His
father and Lucy would see the fight above their
heads and suffer all the pain of suspense and uncertainty.
Their conquerors would give them no
news of the battle unless they could announce a
German victory. For as these thoughts flashed
through Bob’s mind he saw that this minor fight
was growing into a battle.
From the cloud beneath him darted up two German
planes, after one of which Larry Eaton’s Nieuport,
// 293.png
.pn +1
with its red, white and blue emblems, closely
followed. The other German was engaged in a
duel with a second American plane, which now appeared
behind it, and their loops and spirals left
Bob at a loss for the moment to see which had the
advantage. His hand was on his control to fly to
Larry’s aid, for the foe at that instant had turned
upon his pursuer. But some good fortune prompting
him to glance upward, Bob saw his old enemy
descending on him from the shelter of the cloud-bank.
The German opened fire, and Bob made a
climbing turn to elude him before attempting any
offensive. From his height of some fifty feet above
his antagonist he saw the German copying his tactics
and rising swiftly to get into range. Bob
planned a little stratagem. He wanted above all
things to get rid of this pursuer, for with the tail
of his eye he saw that the fighters below were engaged
in deadly struggle.
As the German rose above him, Bob hovered uncertainly,
firing at his enemy from an ineffectual
distance, while the latter, contemptuous of these
scattering bullets, flew nearer on a higher level, and
prepared to pounce. Bob left off firing, gave a
swift touch to his responsive motor, and rose like
lightning to the other side of his adversary. The
German snatched at his port machine gun, but in
that second Bob’s deadly broadside had riddled his
// 294.png
.pn +1
left wing and torn the fabric to rags. The wire
supports cut loose left the wing sagging and powerless.
Bob was so close he saw the pilot’s look of
furious despair. He saw, too, that even at this moment
when his machine wavered to fall, the German’s
hand was on his trigger. Bob dropped in a
tail-spin as the gun crashed out. A hundred feet
down he paused, hovering, and glanced over the
cockpit. His enemy’s descent had been quicker
than his. He saw the helpless German machine
fall to earth among the streets of Château-Plessis.
The next moment he had darted to the aid of the
three Allied planes who were now engaged by six
Germans. Three of these last had risen from the
trenches in front of Château-Plessis. Bob saw
with joy that Jourdin was fighting near Larry
Eaton’s side. The second American was a veteran
of the Lafayette squadron. “We have a good
chance,” Bob thought with rising confidence. At
the same time he saw the face of the German pilot,
who was gracefully maneuvering his monoplane for
a shot on Jourdin’s flank. Von Arnheim! Bob
sent his plane speeding forward, his determination
roused as never before, his eyes on the German’s
every movement as Von Arnheim sought with incredible
nimbleness to throw Jourdin off his
guard.
Meanwhile, in Château-Plessis, the friends of the
// 295.png
.pn +1
Allies were watching the fight with desperate interest.
The planes were too high to be clearly seen
without glasses, and every pair of French or American
binoculars had been confiscated. Colonel Gordon’s
eagerness had led him out into the garden, his
longest walk since his illness, and Lucy glanced
anxiously at his pale face from time to time, as side
by side they watched the distant planes dart back
and forth against the bright blue sky. It was torment
to see the fighters’ swift movements without
being able to distinguish friend from enemy or even
to guess at the progress of the battle. When Bob’s
antagonist fell Lucy hid her eyes in horror and dismay.
She clung to her father’s arm in panting
silence, for words were useless. He knew no more
than she whether it was Ally or German, or even
Bob himself, who had fallen. The little group
gathered around them shifted back and forth in
hopeless efforts to get a better sight of the combatants.
Only the German officers at Headquarters
knew who was winning, and they were not likely to
send any news of a reassuring sort to the American
hospital.
At Lucy’s entreaty, Elizabeth had gone on a vain
search for information. Vain at least so far as getting
any accurate news was concerned, for Elizabeth
dared not question any one higher in rank than
a non-commissioned officer, and these were not supplied
// 296.png
.pn +1
with glasses and knew scarcely more than she.
The little crowd in the square, among which she
paused, was alive with excited speculation, animated
or cast down each moment by alternate hopes and
fears. Pro-German hopes and fears this time, for
most of the crowd, at least the noisiest part of it,
was made up of German soldiers. All those off
duty or convalescent at the hospitals were there,
and Elizabeth soon found an acquaintance.
“Good-day, Sergeant Vogel,” she said politely
to a burly, broad-shouldered German who stood
staring upward at her side. “We are winning,
likely enough, I suppose. I can’t tell though, from
here.”
The Sergeant looked down from the sky with a
short laugh. “To be sure you can’t, Frau. No
more can I. All I know is that one of the birds
fell just now. I hope with all my heart it brought
a Yankee down.”
“Where did it fall?” asked Elizabeth, cold with
apprehension. Bob’s smiling young face flashed
before her eyes, and it was hard for her to listen
calmly to the Sergeant’s reply.
“Off toward the eastern part of the town. It
was some enemy, be sure of that. I can guess at
the shape of our planes well enough to see that we
far outnumber them.”
Elizabeth dared not show her agitation, nor continue
// 297.png
.pn +1
her inquiries. Only a few days past she had
questioned this same man about the German soldier
who was Armand de la Tour, until he wondered at
her idle curiosity. She had learned that Michelle’s
brother succeeded in getting away undiscovered, but
her unusual inquisitiveness had excited some surprise.
While she hesitated now whether to go off
by herself and try to stumble on some news, or to
return to console Lucy as best she could, a soldier
came up and murmured something in Sergeant
Vogel’s ear. The message was not a welcome one.
The German’s eyebrows and mustaches bristled in
an angry frown. His face flushed red and his jaw
closed sharply. All the good-humor had left his
face, but Elizabeth hazarded a timid question:
“What is it, Sergeant? May I hear the news?”
“No!” snapped the German. “Can’t you
bottle up your curiosity for a moment? Am I to
answer your questions all day?”
Elizabeth guessed that he was only venting his
ill-humor on the nearest object, and waited unresentfully
in silence. The Sergeant raised his eyes
again to the sky, where the airplanes still swooped
and circled, and the frown and flush gradually left
his face. In a moment Elizabeth spoke gently once
more.
“I should be so much obliged to you, Sergeant,
for a little news. One good turn deserves another.
// 298.png
.pn +1
Don’t you remember how often I supplied you the
best bread and sausage from my nephew’s shop?
You and Karl were pretty good cronies then.”
The German laughed his short laugh again.
The recollections Elizabeth called up were pleasant
ones. “Well, well, Frau, I see there’s no peace
until I tell you.” He stooped close to her ear and
spoke in a gruff whisper. “It was a German plane
that fell. The pilot was killed. Keep your mouth
shut, now!” he added sharply. “I tell you a bit of
news for friendship’s sake, but it’s not the sort to
spread about. Our men are none too cheerful
lately as it is. A lot of grumbling dogs!”
Elizabeth sadly shook her head, with a look of
silent grief and disappointment. It was not all
affected, either, for beneath her genuine joy that the
unfortunate pilot was not Bob, and that she could
bring relief to Lucy’s anxiety, her heart ached at
the death of her young countryman. With all her
honest soul Elizabeth longed for the Kaiser’s bloody
tyranny to be overthrown, but sometimes she wondered
despairingly if there would be any Germans
left to enjoy the blessings of peace.
Eager to return to Lucy, she made her way
quickly through the crowd, and across the square
to the hospital garden. Lucy and her father were
still standing there, gazing up at the sky. Colonel
Gordon rested his arm against the broken gatepost,
// 299.png
.pn +1
but, weary as he was, neither Lucy nor Major
Greyson could persuade him to go in. Elizabeth
went up to them and as Lucy’s anxious eyes met
hers, she said in her soft, quick voice:
“It was not Mr. Bob who fell, dear Miss Lucy—nor
any American.” Her voice sank still lower as
she added, “A German it was, but nothing say of
it to any one.”
The two faces before her lighted as though a
cloud were lifted from them. “Oh, Elizabeth,
thank you!” breathed Lucy from the depths of her
grateful heart. “I knew you’d——” Her words
broke off in a quick gasp. Roused by the stir about
her she had again glanced upward. Another airplane
was falling to the earth, whirling down
through the clear air on one helpless broken wing.
The battle had begun to shift south again, toward
Cantigny, but, in the hot fighting of the past
few minutes, Bob failed to notice that they were no
longer directly above Château-Plessis. Jourdin
had sent down one of his antagonists, and Bob tried
hard to do as much for Von Arnheim, but without
success. Jourdin still eluding him, the German
turned all his attention to the young American.
Never until that moment had Bob fully realized
Von Arnheim’s skill and coolness. His own movements,
lightning-like as they had seemed before,
became suddenly slow and clumsy, while a swift and
// 300.png
.pn +1
deadly fire enveloped him from the enemy swooping
and dodging alongside.
He himself dodged, fell in a tail-spin, then rose
again, vainly seeking to throw Von Arnheim off or
get him within range. The stream of bullets from
his own machine gun scarcely touched the little
plane that circled like a gnat around him, never an
instant still. Bob’s heart began to pound in his
ears, and his cool brain grew furious and desperate.
Unable to endure the galling fire which was cutting
his wings and beating against the body of his plane,
he determined to risk a rush at his pursuer. Suddenly
the nose of a monoplane shot up in front of
him. As Bob’s tense fingers felt for the trigger of
his second gun the stranger pilot gave a shout, and
Larry Eaton’s eyes looked into his. Never was
help more welcome. Bob’s courage soared again,
and while Larry pumped bullets on Von Arnheim’s
flank, Bob climbed swiftly, and, once above his
enemy, at last turned an effective fire upon him.
Von Arnheim dodged in a graceful circle, turning
this time upon Larry with undiminished vigor.
Bob saw that his friend was no more able than himself
to withstand these tactics. He shot downward
to Larry’s help, and, diving between the two planes,
delivered a heavy burst of fire on Von Arnheim’s
right, just as the German had got into range to
make an end of his new adversary.
// 301.png
.pn +1
Larry’s blue eyes flashed acknowledgment to
Bob, as Von Arnheim, staggered for the moment,
sank in a tail-spin, seeking a chance to reload. Bob
did not follow him. With frantic haste he reloaded
both his guns, feeling cautiously of his left wrist,
where a bullet had grazed it. A German Fokker
had swooped down upon Larry, and Bob, after one
quick glance about him at the airplanes darting in
and out among the light clouds, made for the new
enemy’s left. A German Albatross scout was flying
toward Larry on the other side, and Bob
thought to engage the Fokker himself, and give
Larry a chance for a fair fight with the newcomer.
At that instant he heard the familiar crackling of
machine-gun fire directly above, and, looking up,
saw Von Arnheim coming down upon him.
He dropped, his spin becoming a spiral dive that
sent him down a thousand feet, but still the German
followed. Bob darted to one side and rose at top
speed, looking for the friendly shelter of a cloud.
There was none near enough to give him a moment’s
respite. As he maneuvered his starboard gun into
range, resolved to retreat no longer, Von Arnheim,
rushing upon him from a slightly higher level, drew
his pistol and leveled it at Bob’s head. In that
breath of time a monoplane, swooping like a hawk
from above, came between Von Arnheim and his
prey with a mastery equal to the German’s own.
// 302.png
.pn +1
Jourdin’s fire struck Von Arnheim full on the
flank—impossible to withstand. He dropped like
a plummet, avoiding new attack by a zigzag fall,
as Bob and Jourdin closely followed. The three
were almost on a level. Jourdin glanced keenly in
Bob’s direction, for Bob’s left wing was badly riddled.
At that instant Von Arnheim, quick as a
flash of light, leaned forward and discharged his
pistol at the Frenchman’s breast.
Bob did not know that he cried out. Overcome
with grief and horror, he saw Jourdin fall helplessly
against his gun. The little monoplane, abandoned
by its pilot, reeled and tilted. Bob flung his
arm up to shut out the sight, but at the sound of a
propeller near at hand he raised his head and looked
dizzily about him. With one hand he felt blindly
for his trigger. Jourdin had fallen, and close to
Bob Von Arnheim was circling into range, the light
of triumph in his eyes. Bob’s troubled glance had
hardly rested on his enemy when Larry Eaton,
stealing up from below, opened a burst of fire upon
Von Arnheim’s rear. In that instant, without
Larry’s interference, Bob would have unresistingly
met Jourdin’s fate. But as the German turned on
his new aggressor, the despair that had held Bob
paralyzed gave way before a new emotion. Never
in his life had he felt anything like the spirit of indomitable
purpose that surged now within him.
// 303.png
.pn +1
His face grew hard and pale, his eyes flashed like
Von Arnheim’s own, and with a swift, light touch
on his control stick, he flew after Larry in the German’s
wake.
One thing Bob was sure of. He would send Von
Arnheim down or fall himself. Both of them could
not survive this battle. He thought coolly and
quickly now, every sense on guard as he stole up
behind his enemy. The German was beating off
Larry’s pursuit with steady firing. Larry would
try to rush closer in another moment, Bob thought,
planning how to take his friend’s place in the duel.
For Larry’s plane was not flying well. It veered
too much at a turn of the rudder, and Bob looked
at the wings to see if they were badly torn. As he
looked, Larry’s plane began to sway and the propeller’s
speed slackened. Engine trouble, Bob
guessed now, and gave a shout of warning. The
next moment the engine stopped dead, and Larry,
abandoning his attack, was forced to volplane down
as best he could for a landing.
Von Arnheim followed, firing at the helpless
plane in its swift descent, but before he had dived
a hundred feet Bob was beside him. All sense of
his own danger had vanished as completely as
though he were invulnerable to Von Arnheim’s skill.
With careful aim he fired full at the body of the
German plane. It quivered and tilted while Von
// 304.png
.pn +1
Arnheim, oblivious to his damaged left wing, returned
the attack by a withering blast of fire. The
bullets sprayed Bob’s little monoplane. His riddled
right wing began to bend and sag. The instruments
on the board in front of him were
smashed to atoms. Von Arnheim had dodged
again and was behind him. Bob flashed a glance
at his own wings and thought he could risk one loop.
Without lessening his speed he turned completely
over, and darting up behind Von Arnheim in a
swift and skilful maneuver discharged his port
gun, from a distance of a few yards, on the right
wing and rudder.
With a throb of glorious triumph he saw the German
plane pitch forward. Unable to recover, it
fluttered a moment, vainly struggling for life, then
plunged down toward the green fields below. Bob
leaned out and watched it crash against the earth.
Then, panting a little, he rubbed one hand across
his forehead and looked about him. He had left
the other fighters behind. No new enemy threatened
him, and fortunately, for his plane would
hardly answer the rudder. The right wing was a
mass of flying ribbons, and the cockpit was dented
and hammered in by countless bullets. Even protected
by its metal sides, he could not think how he
had escaped unhurt. One hand was bleeding, but
the wound was only a trifle. He began cautiously
// 305.png
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flying down, fearing to put his damaged wings to
the pressure of high speed. His one thought now
was to reach Jourdin’s side. He might have fallen
in some lonely spot where no one would come to
him. By the look of the country beneath him, Bob
guessed that he was somewhere near Cantigny. He
picked out a level bit of ground and glided safely
to the grass.
As he landed he caught sight of a fallen airplane
in an adjoining field. A little group of four or
five men were gathered about it. Von Arnheim,
Bob thought, not realizing that his course had been
confined to a small circle in the past few moments.
He climbed out and began running toward the
group in search of information. Passing through
a line of shell-torn poplars he came upon Larry
Eaton’s plane resting at the edge of the field. The
next minute Larry himself left the others and came
toward him. Bob looked again at the wrecked
monoplane beyond, and saw that it was Jourdin’s.
Larry slowly nodded in answer to Bob’s sad,
questioning glance. “He’s dead, Bob. He was
dead before he fell. He had no other injury when
they lifted him out.”
In silence Bob drew near and stood by the body
of his friend where it lay upon the grass. They
had taken off his helmet, and Jourdin’s fine face
looked calm and peaceful in its utter repose. The
// 306.png
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officers and mechanicians gathered about him gave
tribute of their grief in downcast looks and gloomy
silence. At Bob’s approach a flash of satisfaction
lighted their eyes for the swift retribution he had
meted to Von Arnheim. The officer beside him
murmured some words of congratulation and sympathy,
but Bob could only nod in answer. He was
not ashamed of the tears that rushed to his eyes as
he knelt bareheaded at Jourdin’s side. He thought
of the fight above Argenton, and of the words that
had come to his mind that day, as Jourdin stood
looking at the ruined countryside:
“We may go under, but not in vain——”
Not in vain, while America was free and had
men left to fight. At that moment, as never before,
Bob felt his consecration to the cause that he upheld.
Jourdin’s faith and deathless courage became
part of him.
As he rose unsteadily to his feet, Larry Eaton
flung an arm about his shoulders and drew him a
little to one side.
“You’re wounded, Bob,” he said anxiously.
“Let me look.”
“It’s nothing,” said Bob, showing the hand he
had concealed in his flying-coat. “I don’t even
feel it.”
“It’s bleeding, all the same. I’ll tie it up for
you.”
// 307.png
.pn +1
Under Larry’s commonplace words Bob felt such
genuine friendly sympathy that he was dumbly
grateful. Larry was just a boy like himself who
had left Yale to join the army when Bob had left
West Point. Their thoughts and feelings had
much in common. He held out his hand and let
his companion dress the slight wound that caused
the bleeding.
“Von Arnheim—is he dead, too?” he asked
presently. “Where did he come down?”
“On the other side of that little slope. He
was killed by the fall. Bob, you did a wonderful
day’s work! Think what Von Arnheim’s loss
means!”
“We paid dearly enough for it,” said Bob
sombrely.
On the day following the battle Captain Jourdin
was buried behind Cantigny, in a part of his well-loved
Picardy that the Boches had never reached.
Officers, men and townspeople followed the body
covered with the Tricolor; his brother aviators flew
overhead along his path, and every honor that love
and homage could devise was paid him.
At almost the same hour the body of Von Arnheim
received honorable burial within the Allied
lines. Above his grave were fired the three volleys
which are the privilege of every soldier. Under
Major Kitteredge’s directions Larry Eaton flew
// 308.png
.pn +1
over the German lines and dropped a message announcing
their ace’s death.
It was the 21st of June, one month after the
capture of Château-Plessis.
// 309.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV||A DESPERATE RESOLVE
.sp 2
When the air battle shifted south again toward
Cantigny Lucy and her father were left in a state
of dreadful uncertainty. Neither on that day nor
the next did they learn the result of the fight, except
for the vague rumors that went constantly
from mouth to mouth among the friends of the
Allies. These felt some hope that the Germans
had met defeat, because of the complete silence
their conquerors kept on the subject. German
Victories were usually loudly proclaimed before
them. But there was talk of heavy French and
American losses, and this depressing news was all
that Elizabeth could learn for Lucy.
Unable longer to bear the continual sight of the
German officers and men in authority at the hospital,
Lucy sought out Michelle the afternoon of
the day after the battle.
“Michelle, I can’t stand it any longer,” she told
her friend, in the privacy of the de la Tours’ little
house. Her calmness and patience had all at once
// 310.png
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fallen from her. Michelle looked at her flushed
cheeks and trouble-haunted eyes, and exclaimed,
frightened at the change in her:
“But, Lucy—what can you do? No good comes
from fear and anger. I know that well. We can
do nothing but wait and hope.”
“I can’t wait and I can’t hope any longer! I’m
not like you, Michelle—brave all the time. My
courage comes in spurts, and when it goes I am a
coward. The one thing I cannot stand is waiting!”
Michelle was silent, but her expressive face said
as plainly as words that Lucy might have to bear
longer than a month what she herself had borne
four years.
“Yes, I know what you think, Michelle,” cried
Lucy, reading her mind. “It’s you who should be
desperate, not I. But it was watching the fight
yesterday that finished me. Before that I still had
a little courage left.”
“You mean—your brother?” Michelle asked
softly.
“Yes, not knowing anything—if he is safe, or
who won the battle. Like Father, I’m getting so
I can’t sleep or eat or do anything but wonder why
on earth the Americans haven’t tried to push on.”
“I know—I know,” Michelle agreed with instant
sympathy. “But they will, Lucy. It seems bright
// 311.png
.pn +1
to us now, who remember the black days before
America was with us.”
“But, Michelle, Major Greyson and the others
who can get near the German lines think the Allies
are going to attack. You know how the firing has
recommenced toward Montdidier, the last two
days? Last night a regiment marched through
Château-Plessis on its way south. I’m sure the
Germans expect something.”
“I hope they will wait for it at the wrong place,”
said Michelle, sighing, “but they are very hard to
surprise.”
“I know Captain Beattie’s plan of the batteries
isn’t everything,” Lucy went on earnestly, “but he
and Bob are so sure that Argenton is the key to an
advance along this line. If the Allies can take
Argenton they think Château-Plessis and the towns
north toward Amiens will fall too. I don’t know
about Montdidier.”
“Yes, so thinks Armand as well,” said Michelle,
a trifle wearily. “But we cannot reach the other
side to tell them what we know.”
Lucy fell into gloomy silence. Presently, with
an effort at self-control, she raised her hands to
smooth her loosened hair, and tried to recover some
of her calmness. “You have enough to stand,
without bearing my tantrums,” she said, looking at
Michelle remorsefully. “I’ll behave now. Shall
// 312.png
.pn +1
we go to the hospital? The convalescents are waiting
for their work.”
“Yes,” Michelle nodded, “Clemence goes to the
Commissariat now. I can stay at the hospital with
you until she returns.”
Neither of the two felt much like talking as they
crossed the town a few minutes later. Their spirits
were heavily clouded, and the occasional sighs and
ejaculations of the patient old Frenchwoman trudging
beside them found an echo in their own hearts.
On entering the hospital Lucy noticed an unusual
stir and activity about the wards. That some of
the faces turned toward her were sadder than an
hour before did not at first strike her, because she
was sad herself. But the next moment she met
Miss Pearse, and, seeing the young nurse’s troubled
face, asked anxiously:
“Is anything wrong, Miss Pearse? Anything
more, I mean?”
“Only that they are sending some of our convalescents
to prison camps to-day. The order came
just after you left. Oh, Lucy, I hated so to tell
them!” Her voice shook and tears started to her
eyes, but she swallowed hastily to overcome her
weakness. “I must go and help them get off.
Come into the hall and try to cheer them up a bit.”
“Easier said than done!” Lucy thought wretchedly.
She wanted to do nothing so much as to cry,
// 313.png
.pn +1
but she had begun to learn the uselessness of that.
Michelle caught her hand with a hard squeeze of
angry understanding as they went on into the convalescents’
hall, where the men to be sent away
were assembled.
One of the first that Lucy saw was the little
Westerner, Tyler, whose cheerful spirit and jolly
little clay images had done so much for the others
in the past few days. She longed overwhelmingly
to give all she had of help and sympathy to her unfortunate
countrymen, for the ten or twelve soldiers,
French and American, gathered there were
the picture of despondency. The strength which
might have upheld them was wanting, for they were
scarcely recovered or able to be about. Their
cheeks were pale and their bodies thin from suffering
and fever. All the courage they could summon
was only enough to give their set faces a look of
grim endurance.
Of them all Tyler seemed to Lucy the most
pitiful. His hopeful cockiness was almost gone,
and the strain of getting ready and standing about,
after the days spent in bed or in a chair, had nearly
exhausted his wiry little frame. Major Greyson
went here and there among them, giving what help
or advice he could, cast down like them by the
knowledge that another hour would see them beyond
his power to aid.
// 314.png
.pn +1
Tyler nodded to Lucy with a last attempt at his
persistent cheerfulness.
“Well, Miss,” he remarked, in such a sad ghost
of his old chaffing tone that Lucy could hardly bear
to listen, “I guess it’s a case of ‘Where do we go
from here?’ all right, for us. On to Berlin’s the
idea, I suppose. Hope the Kaiser don’t take a
fancy to adopt me. Say,” he added, with a look of
utter misery in his eyes, “who’d ’a’ thought, after
twenty-five years I’ve spent in Arizona, that I’d
end up in Germany?”
Lucy stammered out words of hope and encouragement
which deceived him no more than they did
herself. As she went on down the line, repeating
the same useless efforts, Michelle ran up behind her
and caught her sharply by the arm.
The French girl’s eyes were gleaming and two
crimson spots burned in her pale cheeks. “Come
with me, Lucy!” she commanded rather than
asked. “The hard time will come when they leave
Château-Plessis! There we must be to say farewell,
for they go almost at once! I heard speak the
German guard this moment.”
Only half understanding, Lucy allowed herself
to be led out of the hall into the big ward. In the
bustle and confusion no one noticed their departure.
They went out by the side door into the garden
and from here Michelle led the way across the
// 315.png
.pn +1
square and eastward toward the edge of the
town.
As they hurried along, half-running through the
almost deserted streets, Michelle explained again
her purpose.
“They must pass on the road that goes across the
meadows, on their way from Château-Plessis,” she
said, breathing fast. “It is there when they say
adieu to the town that they will be triste! It is the
last French town where they can set foot, for but
two miles from here the train will take them into
Germany.”
“Oh, Michelle, it’s too dreadful to bear!” cried
Lucy, bitterly rebelling once more against the
inevitable.
“It is not the first time that I have seen it,” said
Michelle, her voice suddenly trembling. “Never
before, though, have Americans gone, too.”
As they neared the meadows, making for the road
that ran across them, north of the German observation
post, the empty streets became filled with a
steady line of people, hurrying eastward like themselves.
Women, their faces half concealed by
shawls, with children running beside them, shared
the road with bent old men who found a cautious
way among the débris of broken stone. Michelle’s
was not the only loyal French heart to foresee the
desolation of the prisoners on reaching the outskirts
// 316.png
.pn +1
of Château-Plessis. One and all had learned the
news somehow and had come out at any cost for a
last farewell.
At the edge of the field where Lucy and Michelle
paused among the little crowd, stood old Mère
Breton with a covered basket on the ground at her
feet. The bright eyes beneath her white cap were
sparkling with defiance, as with hands on her hips
she stared across the grass at the German post,
where a sentry walked, looking curiously toward
the little throng. Lucy went up to her with a faint
smile of greeting, guessing at the contents of the
basket and thinking how hopeless any kindness was
which could not follow the prisoners beyond the
German border.
“I have something here,” nodded the Frenchwoman,
pointing to her basket in answer to
Lucy’s glance. “They will get a taste of it on
their way, if I should be beaten for befriending
them.”
Before Lucy could reply, Michelle drew her attention
by pointing silently down the street they
had left behind. The little column of prisoners
was coming along it, preceded by two German soldiers.
The faded blue and khaki of the French and
American uniforms showed beyond the armed gray
figures leading the way. The pace had not been
slackened for these men just from the hospital, in
// 317.png
.pn +1
spite of the hot sun and the difficulty of walking
among the broken stone.
As they neared the field some of the men glanced
back into the desolate streets of Château-Plessis.
Lucy knew how dear and greatly to be desired the
little town must seem. Here they had cherished a
never-dying hope of freedom, and here, too, were
friendly hands to tend them, and friendly faces to
look upon. Ahead lay Germany, where how many
of their comrades had gone to misery and death;
where at best only wretchedness awaited them.
In a moment they had come out on to the meadow
road, and with one accord every voice in the little
crowd was raised in greeting and farewell. Kind
faces, eyes brimming with tears, and hands out-stretched
with trifling presents of fruit and flowers
met the prisoners on their way. The children ran
to clasp the soldiers’ hands, and Mère Breton, her
basket on her arm, gave out her little store of provisions
as fast as her quick fingers could move.
All this took so short a time that the guards at
the front and rear of the column had scarcely time
to interfere. But now, as the cries on every side
grew louder and the crowd closed in almost on the
prisoners’ path, one of the rear guards sprang
threateningly forward with upraised rifle. Astonishment
and fury were written on his face, that these
townspeople, so docile and downtrodden, should
// 318.png
.pn +1
have dared thus to show their unquenchable love
and loyalty. The prisoners passed, and the little
crowd, gazing after the retreating column with eyes
blurred with tears, hardly noticed the brutal figure
advancing upon them. Mère Breton had emptied
her basket and was standing now in the road with
one hand shading her wrinkled forehead. She was
hoping that a little present had found its way to
each man’s hands. Her thoughts were all with the
prisoners on their hard way, but the German guard
took her preoccupation for defiance. He had
charged down upon the people remaining in the
road, and, as these scattered, the butt of his heavy
rifle was raised directly above Mère Breton’s head.
Whether he really meant to strike the old woman
down, or only to terrify her, Lucy never knew. In
common with half a dozen others she sprang to
Mère Breton’s side and dragged her back as the
German’s rifle cut through the air. Lucy’s horror
almost robbed her of power to think at that moment,
but she had to think quickly, nevertheless.
Michelle had rushed in front of the old Frenchwoman,
in furious defense. She stood facing the
guard with hands clenched at her sides, her blazing
eyes confronting the man’s angry face, as his rifle
struck the earth in its harmless descent. His
fingers clutched it as though for another blow and,
still seeing Mère Breton as the intended victim, the
// 319.png
.pn +1
enraged girl was actually going to offer battle to
the burly man before her. But Mère Breton had
slipped safely among the crowd, and Lucy, with
Madame de la Tour’s face before her eyes, seized
her friend’s arm and dragged her back with all her
young strength. The guard, indulging in more
brandishings of his rifle and a burst of abusive
words, turned to rejoin his prisoners.
The little group of people were now fast dispersing,
their courage shaken and only fear remaining
at the thought of possible punishment. Lucy
led Michelle quickly across the meadow toward the
town. She did not try to speak at first, for
Michelle was still deadly pale and shaking with
anger. But she struggled to recover her self-control,
and in five minutes more had calmed herself
enough to say unsteadily:
“I did not think what I did, Lucy. Only to save
that poor old woman I would fight the Boche. I
could not help it.”
“I know, but think of your mother, Michelle—she
comes first,” said Lucy, this time the wiser of
the two.
“Yes, you are right,” responded Michelle, sighing.
She walked on with downcast eyes, depressed
and miserable after her useless outburst of indignation.
Lucy could not find words to express the pity
// 320.png
.pn +1
she felt for her. Instead, she changed the subject
by saying, “I’m coming to spend the night with
you, Michelle. Had you forgotten?”
“No, not at all. I am too glad that you will
come to forget,” said Michelle sincerely. She
looked up at Lucy as she spoke, the blazing light
quenched in her eyes. “What time will you come?
Perhaps a little more early?”
“I’m not sure. I—Elizabeth may not be able
to go when she promised,” said Lucy, floundering
a little.
“But she said she could bring you early to-night—soon
after the dark,” Michelle persisted.
“Yes—she said so, but you never know. Don’t
expect me very early,” was Lucy’s rather evasive
answer. At any other time Michelle would have
remarked her friend’s lack of candor, but just now
she was too unhappy to be observant.
“I’d better leave you here,” said Lucy, as they
approached the middle of the town. “You are
near home, and I shall go straight to the hospital.
I’m breaking my word to Father and Miss Pearse
every minute—though I suppose our being together
isn’t quite like running off alone. Anyway, I was
so excited I never thought.”
“Yes, poor Maman would be sadly anxious if
she knew,” Michelle agreed soberly. “Good-bye
then, mon amie. I will wait for you to-night.”
// 321.png
.pn +1
Lucy reëntered the hospital with slow and heavy
steps, a quarter of an hour later. She had grown
deeply thankful that her father’s convalescence was
slow and uncertain. Suppose he had been one of
those to whom she had just said good-bye? But
he was gaining strength daily. Could the time be
deferred much longer when he would be sent away?
As she pondered these things Major Greyson, who
had known her well in the old days, glanced at her,
startled by the change in her face. Her hazel eyes
had become sombre and watchful, her lips were
pressed together, and her cheeks at that moment
had lost their healthy color. The surgeon looked
after her frowning and troubled. He was thin
and worn himself, but he did not think of that.
Lucy was crossing the convalescents’ hall, now
so sparsely occupied, toward the nurses’ dining-room,
when a voice called eagerly, “Fräulein!
Fräulein!”
Rebelling at the sound of the hateful German
tongue, she would have gone on unheeding, but a
German doctor was right in her path, and she dared
not risk his ill-will. She turned toward the voice
and saw Paul Schwartz leaning from his chair with
a bright smile on his face. Half Lucy’s anger left
her at sight of him. She could not cherish it against
this simple peasant with the mild eyes and childish
flaxen hair.
// 322.png
.pn +1
“What is it, Paul?” she asked, going up to
him.
“I am discharged!” he cried, his voice trembling
with joy and his blue eyes shining. “To-morrow
I start for home—for the Schwarzwald! I will be
lame,” he added, his smile fading a little, “but I
can get about, and it is much to be at home again.”
Lucy had not the heart to say less than, “Oh,
that’s fine, Paul. I’m so glad. You will see your
wife then, and the little girl?”
“Yes, yes, all! And I have my pension, too—quite
a sum.”
“I will come and say good-bye before you go,”
Lucy promised, stumbling with the German words,
as pity and anger struggled together in her heart.
Paul was going back to his peaceful home, thankful
to get out of the war. But her father and brother
and countrymen were but just entering it. A long,
hard fight was ahead of them.
In a minute, however, her natural good sense
began to overcome the brooding dread that was
tormenting her. “It may not happen,” she told
herself, trying to be hopeful again. “Anyhow, I
won’t be any good, this way, for what I have to do.”
And at thought of one task that lay before her she
felt the need of calmness and courage as never before.
She nodded to Paul, and went on with a
quicker step into the nurses’ dining-room.
// 323.png
.pn +1
That evening, a little after eight o’clock, Lucy
drew near to Michelle’s house, and at the garden
gate Elizabeth turned to leave her. The German
woman had snatched this time to bring Lucy across
the town, but her work was by no means done and
she was returning at once to the hospital. Lucy
bade her good-bye with strange reluctance. She
was about to deceive her faithful friend, and she
hated the necessity for doing so. But Elizabeth
could not spare her any more time to-night, and
Lucy well knew she could never win her old nurse’s
consent to her project.
When Elizabeth had turned her back Lucy went
a few steps into the garden and waited behind the
shelter of a bush. She must deceive Michelle, too,
for on Madame de la Tour’s account she did not
want her company, glad as she would otherwise
have been of it. But, frightened or not, her increasing
horror at the German captivity now far
outweighed her timidity at venturing alone to the
prison. For it was Captain Beattie she was determined
to see again, and without another night’s
delay.
After a moment she went back to the gate and
looked cautiously down the street. Elizabeth had
disappeared. It was clear moonlight and the deserted
street was sharply outlined in light and
shadow. There was little chance of moving unobserved
// 324.png
.pn +1
in the moon’s path, but by contrast with
its soft radiance the shadows looked black and deep
along the walls. Lucy left the garden and made
her way as quickly as constant watchfulness would
permit along the now familiar streets leading toward
the prison. She was in a miserable state of
mind, but the fear that hurried her footsteps was
not caused by her own solitary errand. It was all
for her father at thought of the irrevocable fate
hanging over him. Irrevocable unless she could
do something to prevent it, for, however feeble her
efforts must be, she saw no other help in sight.
Remembering the chances she had missed of communicating
with the Allied lines she came near to
thorough dejection. How differently Bob would
have managed things in her place! She could not
know how close to despair her brother was at that
moment, and how his cherished plan for her release
had died with Jourdin’s death. Since the battle of
yesterday Lucy hardly dared think of Bob.
She reached the prison square, and slackening
her pace, began creeping along in the shadow of
the walls. The prison guard-room was lighted and
the door open. As she paused uncertainly, flattening
herself against the stones of the house opposite,
the old guard came noisily out and, shouldering
their guns, marched off across the square. The
relief proceeded to make a round of the prison.
// 325.png
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Finding all secure, both men retired into the guard-room
again and shut the door.
Lucy breathed a thankful sigh and moved
cautiously on to where a shadow falling on the
street gave her a chance to cross unseen. The next
moment she was behind the prison and lifting herself
up to Captain Beattie’s window.
He was there close by it, as though expecting
her, and the warmth of his welcome did something
toward cheering her depression.
“You got off safely that night, Lucy?” was his
first eager question. “Those prowling soldiers
didn’t see you? How that’s worried me!”
“Oh, they didn’t catch a glimpse of me. I’m
sorry you’ve been anxious. Here’s all I could
bring you, Captain Beattie,” she said smiling.
“It’s better than nothing.”
For two days Lucy had saved a part of her
bread and potatoes, and these she held out in her
handkerchief, close to the bars. The young prisoner’s
gratitude made her almost happy for a
moment. The prison wall cast a deep shade on the
moonlight-flooded courtyard, but in spite of it a
little light penetrated the bars and, for the first
time since she had visited the prison, Lucy could
see the young officer’s face. It was thin and sad,
though a brave smile touched his lips now in answer
to her searching glance.
// 326.png
.pn +1
“What should I do without you, Lucy?” he
asked, giving her hand a warm, friendly grasp, as
she clung to the bars.
“Goodness, I don’t do much,” said Lucy, sighing.
As she spoke she remembered that time was
precious, and her voice grew alert and earnest.
“You can’t possibly get out of here—that’s sure,
isn’t it?”
The Englishman laughed rather bitterly. “Quite
sure. The surest thing I know. Some famous
prisoners I’ve read of contrived to saw their bars
with a fish-bone or a pair of scissors, but I don’t
seem to have the knack of it.”
“Don’t you ever wonder, though, what you’d do
if you could manage to get out—how you would
escape to our lines?”
“Of course I do! There never was a prisoner, I
expect, who didn’t dream of escape. More than
that, I have planned it all out—getting across the
German lines, I mean. It’s a beastly waste of time,
but Heavens, I have to think of something. However,
I’ll be out soon enough,” he added grimly.
“They’ve kept me here to be questioned by the
divisional commander. He came yesterday, and
our talk was so dull I dare say I’ll be on my way
to Germany within the week.”
“Oh, perhaps not—don’t think of it,” stammered
Lucy wretchedly. Then she drew a quick breath.
// 327.png
.pn +1
“I wish you’d tell me, anyway, about your plan to
cross the lines, Captain Beattie. You must be so
tired of thinking here, all alone. I want to talk to
you a little while. The guard has just been around,
so they won’t come again.”
“You know, I heard what those two fellows said
the other night when they stopped in front here.
Poor kid, how scared you must have been.”
“I was! You mean what one said about the
château hill being a weak point in their defenses?”
“Yes—and he was right, too. I’ve been all
over that part of the town—last month when the
Germans were pushed back. I’m so sure of the
ground that my plan for breaking through was
made for that spot, even before I heard those soldiers
talking.”
“How would you go about it? They must have
some defenses there.”
“Oh, yes. There’s a trench line running right
through the château park—an old one. But,
poorly garrisoned as they are here, they don’t hold
it in any force. They simply mount guard on the
hill, as that fellow told us. They count on being
able to reinforce the trenches long before an infantry
column could advance across that pond and
marsh.”
“But the big guns—aren’t there any up there?”
“There were last winter, but, from what he said,
// 328.png
.pn +1
there are none now. They must plan to rush them
from the rear, in case of an attack. It looks like a
real shortage of artillery.”
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me your scheme?”
“If you really want to hear it. I’ve spent hours
devising it, but I’ll cut the telling short. First,
you’ll have to pretend that I’m outside the bars—for
getting out is beyond me.”
“All right. You are here where I am.”
“And it’s about ten at night; but no moon, or at
least a clouded one. Starlight would be much
better. I creep along the streets to the eastern
edge of the town—for I don’t dare cross it straight
west—until I reach the meadows. These I skirt,
gradually getting westward and nearer their lines,
until I come out behind the château hill, the south-western
point of the town. This far I’m pretty
confident of success. The place is too deserted for
me to be discovered, short of villainous ill-luck.”
“Now you’re behind the château hill,” Lucy
prompted.
“Getting up the hill through the wood is not very
dangerous—past the stream, you know the place?
I’m not likely to meet a soul there, for the guards
probably go up by the trenches. Now I’m at the
top, with the château in front of me, also the trench
line and the sentries. But we can take it that the
trench isn’t held, or they wouldn’t have sentries.
// 329.png
.pn +1
“To right and left stretches the German line.
This part is ticklish. Some nights I make it easily
enough; others I’m challenged at the second step.
I turn left, around the park, avoiding the open
lawns, where the artificial lake and the fountains
are, and, keeping well under the trees, cross the
trenches at an unguarded point. But by the time
I’m on the left of the château the cover ends, and, to
avoid coming out on to the grass in full sight of a
sentry, I have to climb down the side of the hill—a
regular precipice just here, if I remember right, but
it can’t be helped. It’s dark, mossy rock—no one
from the trenches below could see a moving figure
against it—and with care I get down to the foot
safely and find myself at the edge of the swamp.
The trenches are behind me, on the left of the hill,
and they are strongly occupied here. The Allies’
lines are a mile away, beyond the swamp and pond
and a stretch of level ground. My back aches at
thought of covering it, though my khaki is good
protection—nearly earth color in the dark.”
“But the swamp—can you get through that?”
“Oh, it’s not a real bog. You don’t go in above
your ankles, but every step is likely to make a
squelching sound. This is the place where the
chances are I would be seen or heard. I have to
walk bent almost double among the long grass and
reeds. My only hope is that the big night-birds in
// 330.png
.pn +1
the marsh have accustomed the soldiers’ ears to
strange noises—for the trenches are only a hundred
yards behind me on this side of the hill. Once
safely through the marsh, I drop down at the edge
of the pond to get my breath and reconnoitre. The
pond extends so far that to avoid it would mean a
long détour in the open. It’s not wide, though,
scarcely two hundred feet. The castle hill is a
quarter of a mile behind me. I’m well on my way,
if a stray bullet from one side or the other doesn’t
find me about this time. If not, I guarantee to
slip into that pond without a sound and swim across
undiscovered, provided the moon doesn’t shine upon
it to show me climbing out on the far bank. Star-shells,
too, would be my finish. I can only trust
there won’t any fall my way. Once I’ve slipped
out of the pond and started crawling forward again,
barring bullets—and I have faced a lot and missed
them—I’m pretty near success.”
“But when you get to our trenches—won’t they
shoot? How will you prove who you are?” Lucy
asked with breathless eagerness.
“I’ll call out, and show that I’m alone. I’d
convince them, right enough. Wish I had the
chance! They won’t shoot without a look at me.
Too many of their own men are likely to be out on
listening post.”
There was a moment’s silence, then the young
// 331.png
.pn +1
officer said quickly, a keen self-reproach in his low
voice, “What am I thinking of, keeping you here
to listen to all this nonsense! Go back now, Lucy,
at once. You’ve been here long enough.”
“All right,” she agreed, after a minute’s preoccupation.
She began to speak again, stopped
short, and finally stretched her hand through the
bars and gave her friend’s a warm, lingering clasp.
“Good-bye, Captain Beattie,” she said, and the
Englishman fancied her voice shook a little.
“Good-bye, Lucy! Wish better luck for us
both. And come soon again, or you’ll find me
gone,” he answered, forcing what cheerfulness he
could into the cheerless words, his pity for Lucy
just then stronger than any for himself.
“Good-bye,” she repeated, as earnestly as before.
Then dropping down from the bars she began
her cautious progress back around the prison.
“I will get to the de la Tours’ by ten o’clock,”
she thought, wondering if Michelle had been long
expecting her. Then, all Captain Beattie had said
crowding into her mind, she glanced up at the moon
with troubled eyes. As though it felt that appealing
and reproachful look, its bright face vanished
from her sight behind a fleecy little cloud.
Early the next morning, when Lucy returned to
the hospital, she met Major Greyson in the ward.
The surgeon’s face was so sad and filled with dismay
// 332.png
.pn +1
that Lucy stared dumbly at him. He did not
wait for her to speak.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, drawing her
aside to a window, his usually brave and hopeful
voice dull and heavy. “I’ve done everything possible.
I pretended to the last moment. But the
German doctor himself examined all the patients
to-day. He saw that the Colonel had no fever.”
As Lucy, with swiftly mounting fear, struggled
to understand these incoherent phrases, Major
Greyson reached out and took her hand in his.
“It’s no use, Lucy. I’ve got to tell you. Your
father is considered well enough to travel. He will
be sent to Germany day after to-morrow.”
// 333.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV||ACROSS THE LINES
.sp 2
About half-past nine that night Lucy entered
Miss Pearse’s bedroom and left a note on the little
dressing-table. Miss Pearse did not come off duty
till eleven, so there was time enough, Lucy thought.
Then she returned to the hospital and stole into the
dining-room. Elizabeth had finished her work
there, and against the wall hung the apron the German
woman would put on again at daybreak to begin
her hard day’s labor. Lucy slipped another
note into the pocket and turned back to the door
with a heavy sigh. She had not the courage for
farewells made without betraying her purpose, and
to betray it meant to put an end to her plan. Her
father’s answer would be instant prohibition; Elizabeth
would certainly tell Colonel Gordon if Lucy
confided in her, and even Michelle’s terrified persuasions
she could not face just now. The hospital
was filled with its usual stream of tireless
workers. Lucy made her way unnoticed into the
garden and out into the street.
She looked up at the sky with deep gratitude,
// 334.png
.pn +1
for the moon was completely hidden behind dull,
heavy clouds. A warm wind was blowing, with
rain in its wake. It tossed Lucy’s hair about her
face, and every gust brought down loose fragments
of brick and stone from some crumbling wall near
by. She longed for another talk with Captain
Beattie, but she knew well enough that the young
Englishman would never have told her what he did
if he had for a moment guessed her purpose. She
was puzzled to discover at that moment that all fear
had left her. She did not realize that it was only
submerged beneath a far greater fear—the dread
of standing at that meadow road and watching her
father go by into German captivity.
Her mind was but little excited as she walked
quickly along the dark streets toward the west—the
road to the supply depot. Her thoughts just
then were all with her mother, that mother she had
trusted in so entirely for guidance until these last
few months, and to whom she could not turn now
for help in her necessity. But even this thought of
her was some comfort. Lucy felt dimly that her
mother, did she know, would understand, in spite
of fearing for her safety, that she could not stay
helplessly in Château-Plessis, and leave her father
to his fate. “If Captain Beattie’s knowledge can
help the Allies, I must try to reach them,” she
thought, without any further doubt or hesitation.
// 335.png
.pn +1
At the end of half a mile she came to a narrow
street leading south, up a gentle slope. It was the
one that she and Michelle had followed when they
went to the stream below the château hill in search
of clay for the convalescents. Lucy recognized it by
the little church that stood at the corner, its pointed
spire, still undamaged, showing faintly against the
cloudy sky. She turned to the left up the street
and stole cautiously along it. This was the part
of town nearest the firing-line, and soldiers were
likely to be met with. In the south, toward Montdidier,
she could hear the guns faintly booming, but
in front of Château-Plessis all was quiet enough.
The street gradually rose higher, becoming a lane
that opened out into woodland part way up the
château hill.
It was nearly half a mile from the little church
to where the lane ended, and Lucy’s cautious feet
took some time to cover it. The moon was still
hidden, for the storm-clouds had grown heavier.
The wind, too, had increased, and when she came
out on to the hill the pine branches were tossing
furiously about, with a noise like dashing water.
She paused for breath, after her quick climb up the
slope, and peered ahead through the trees, and then
back toward the town. The scattered houses along
the street she had left were in darkness, for no unnecessary
lights were permitted after eight o’clock.
// 336.png
.pn +1
All around her was darkness, too, through which she
could distinguish the black tree-trunks, the outline
of the wooded hill in front of her, and the clouds
scudding overhead. Her heart had begun to pound
with exertion and excitement, and her mind wavered
in its calm confidence. But her determination was
as strong as ever. If she could not go on cool and
fearless, she would do so trembling and afraid, but
go on she must.
She drew a long breath and began climbing the
hill, through the dense growth of pines. In a few
minutes she came to the stream whose course she
and Michelle had followed down to the clay bed at
the foot of the slope. She could hear the water
flowing swiftly over the stones close beside her, and
shaping her course by it, she kept near the middle
of the hill and before many moments reached the
level ground above. Here she stopped, resting her
hand on a swaying pine trunk and listening intently.
No sound but the wind in the trees came
to her ears. Thinking of Captain Beattie’s words,
“Some nights I make it easily enough—others, I’m
challenged at the second step,” she crept out of the
wood to the edge of the wide open lawns behind the
château.
The towers of the beautiful old building rose
dimly against the sky about five hundred yards
ahead, at the end of a broad avenue of pines. One
// 337.png
.pn +1
tower had been destroyed by shell-fire, leaving only
a crumbling ruin. Across the lawns she saw the
broad, dark line that marked the trenches. Further
on, the pine groves closed in again, covering the
slopes of the hillside. To the right of the château
Lucy caught sight of the little artificial lake, by the
dull gleam reflected on its surface. Near the edge
stood a summer-house, with slender marble columns.
Her eyes lingered on it, trying to detach a dark
shadow from the climbing roses that fell in a shower
over the white columns. In a minute the shadow
moved and became the figure of a German sentry.
He strolled out to the border of the lake and raised
his head toward the stormy sky. Lucy glanced
quickly around her, suddenly cold in spite of the
sultry heat before the storm. She felt surrounded,
trapped, before she had even left the cover of the
woods. That solitary sentry became a company of
men searching for her with keen, merciless eyes.
Furious at her own weakness, she looked around
once more for reassurance. There were no other
guards in sight. Anyway, she must go on. She
crept back into the shadow of the pines and began
circling the crest of the hill to the left, watching and
listening with infinite caution. Of the trenches
running across the lawns she had seen nothing but
a dark line of sand-bag defenses. If there were
men behind them they were invisible. She was following
// 338.png
.pn +1
one of the pretty paths that wound through
the wooded park of the château. In another
moment she came upon felled pine trunks and
heaped-up earth, over which she stumbled. Breathless
with terror, she waited tensely for a challenge,
but none came. Not a voice was heard, though before
her she could now see the trench-line, a deep
cut in the ground, with piled-up earth in front of
it. She stole up to the very edge and looked down.
A fallen pine trunk had been laid across as a foot-bridge.
The complete lack of human voices or
movement below told her that the trench was
deserted.
But no answering hope or confidence sprang up
within her. That lazy figure by the lake had not
looked as if he had the entire hill to guard. If the
trenches were empty the line was watched some
other way. In her wary and suspicious advance
Lucy put one foot on the slab of pine trunk that
served as bridge, testing her foothold and staring
across into the shadows. Just as she started forward
a twig cracked beneath a heavy foot and a
sentry came into view on the other side of the
trench. Lucy had flung herself on the ground
among the fallen boughs before the German had
even time to turn his head. The wind sighing
through the branches effectively drowned whatever
slight noise she made. The sentry shifted his gun
// 339.png
.pn +1
without a glance in her direction and passed up the
line among the trees.
For five minutes Lucy lay there motionless, and
at the end of that time the sentry returned along
his beat. At his reappearance despair almost conquered
Lucy’s terror. She knew she dared not
venture across that “abandoned” line. In the
darkness, on unknown ground, she stood little
chance of passing undiscovered. To judge by the
length of the soldier’s beat, at least a dozen sentries
must be patrolling the woods about the castle.
The lawns were easily watched from the summer-houses
or from the château. For one desperate
minute retreat suggested itself to Lucy’s mind.
But self-reproach and anger mounted swifter than
the thought took shape, and she knew that her purpose
remained undaunted. All courage aside, she
was as afraid to turn back as to go on; to make her
way to the town again, confessing failure and facing
the certainty of her father’s departure. As that
realization swept over her, she crept up to a pine
tree, and leaning against its base, searched feverishly
for some way to go on.
The château! That was a part of the line of
defense, and to pass through it would be to pass
the trenches. However full of unknown perils it
might be, she thought she could face them better
there than in this gloomy and terrifying wood.
// 340.png
.pn +1
But here difficulties again confronted her. Was
the château inhabited? She had seen no lights, but
surely the sentries would be likely to take refuge
in it from the storm. Could she possibly get
through that great building unseen, since not a
step of the way would be familiar? But think as
she would no other solution came to her. Even in
her dark dress she dared not try to cross the open
lawns. The wind was bending the pliant pine
boughs in every direction, and some of them struck
against her as she rose to her feet and started back
the way she had come. In a few minutes she
paused uncertainly, for she no longer felt the path
beneath her feet. Fearful of completely losing her
way, she turned directly toward the château and
presently came out at the edge of the lawn not far
from the avenue. The château was approached by
a drive winding up the gentler slope on the side of
the hill toward the town. This road became the
pine-bordered avenue that ran over the lawns,
offering Lucy shelter from near where she stood to
the terrace at the rear of the building.
A flash of lightning cut through the dark clouds
as she reached the avenue. By that flash she saw
the road stretching empty before her. She began
running, oblivious to prowling sentries, the only
sounds in her ears the sigh of the swaying branches
on each side and the distant rumbling thunder. In
// 341.png
.pn +1
five minutes she stopped, panting, a few yards from
the terrace at the back of the château. Long
French windows opened on to it, but their glass had
long ago been shattered, and in the wind the
neglected shutters were banging to and fro. Lucy
stole up the steps of the terrace, and, approaching
one of the windows, flattened herself against the
wall and glanced back about the lawns and gardens.
By the lake the sentry was still pacing. She could
see the faint gleam of his bayonet as he moved.
But he had not discovered her. No other sentry
was in sight, so far as she could pierce the shadows.
She turned to the window and peeped cautiously
through. Darkness reigned within, and the wind,
whistling through the rooms, made the heavy hangings
against the walls flap like sails in a storm.
With a quick sigh that was something like a gasp
at thought of the unknown dangers before her,
Lucy stepped through the window, shrinking from
the jagged edges of the broken glass that caught
at her hands and clothing.
Inside, she stopped for a second, making sure of
her direction, then moved on through the room,
feeling every step of the way and more than once
narrowly avoiding a collision with some piece of
furniture in her path. She reached the opposite
side and saw an open doorway leading onward.
Beyond it was a large hall or drawing-room, for at
// 342.png
.pn +1
the far end were windows, and the lightning playing
against them showed the vast interior, filled with
the débris of broken furniture, but quite deserted.
Enormously relieved, Lucy started quickly forward,
urged by a rising hope of success. In her
impulsive haste she ran full against a stool or small
table. Startled, she sprang back, and the object,
flung aside by her sudden movement, fell to the
floor with a noise that echoed through the building.
Almost with the sound a door was thrown open
somewhat on her right. As she stood frozen to the
spot with horror, a candle shone out of the darkness
and a loud, commanding voice shouted, “Wilhelm!
Wilhelm!”
Scarcely were the words spoken when Lucy, recovering
her power of motion, fled across the room,
glancing wildly about her for some way out. The
windows in front were raised from the floor, and
she dared not try to climb through one and risk
showing herself against a glare of lightning. On
her left she dimly saw an open doorway. With
pounding heart she darted to it, and, arms outstretched
before her, passed through the opening,
down a corridor, and found herself before an arched
entrance lighted by a faint red glow.
The room beyond, into which she ran, mortal
fear of what lay behind driving her on, was huge
and lofty, with narrow, pointed windows whose
// 343.png
.pn +1
leaded panes were imitated in the glass doors of the
countless bookcases which lined the walls. The fire
which gave light to see burned faintly in a massive
marble chimney-place and was mostly fed by some
of the priceless books torn from these very shelves.
Before the chimney were several pots and kettles,
and other evidences that the fire was used by the
sentries to cook their food, since an abundance of
fuel lay close at hand in the thousands of volumes
the library contained. They were strewn all over
the polished floor, and Lucy stumbled over them as
she stopped in the middle of the room, looking
desperately around her for some place of concealment
or escape.
There were no hangings on the walls and the
bookcases seemed to offer no safe hiding-place.
She approached the chimney, with a vague idea of
crouching behind its shadowy columns. By the
flickering firelight the motto cut into the marble
caught her eyes: En avant pour le droit.
.if h
.il fn=i336.jpg w=485px id=i336
.ca
SHE APPROACHED THE CHIMNEY
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: SHE APPROACHED THE CHIMNEY]
.sp 2
.if-
But now, hearing no sound of pursuit, her terrified
mind regained a little power of thought. She
stole over toward the windows on the right, one of
which was entirely shattered. Fearful of listening
ears she moved with infinite caution, and reaching
the window, stood aside from it to peer out on to
the terrace and lawns in front of the château. A
clearing had been cut in the trees that crowned the
// 344.png
.pn +1
// 345.png
.pn +1
// 346.png
.pn +1
hilltop, to open a view of the valley below. Just
now the trees were only dark blotches framing a
stormy sky. Lucy drew back after one swift
glance. A sentry was walking across the lawn
beyond the terrace. Struggling with the confusion
that began to take possession of her, she looked
toward the windows at the far end of the room. At
that moment heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor,
with the gruff murmur of conversation between
two advancing men. Then the voice from
which she had fled, raised more angrily than before
against the increasing noise of the wind, shouted:
“Wilhelm! Wilhelm! Sehen sie!”
There were no two ways open. As the Germans
entered the library Lucy slipped through the broken
window, and dropping on her hands and knees,
crawled along the stone terrace, over a broad parapet
of sand-bags rising in her way, until she reached
the lawn. That voice had been heard beyond the
château walls, for as, shaking with fear, she looked
back to where the sentry paced, she saw the man
running up the steps of the terrace toward the
library windows. Without waiting for more she
rose to her feet and ran like a deer to the crest of
the hill, where it sloped down to the valley. She
was well ahead of the precipitous rocks down which
Captain Beattie had planned his descent. She made
for the gentler declivity in front, dodging about a big
// 347.png
.pn +1
raised platform that was a German gun-emplacement.
As she crossed the clearing, which opened
like a little amphitheatre in the woody hillside, a
marble summer-house set in the centre, big raindrops
began to fall. Lightning glared from the
heavy storm-clouds and the rumbling thunder was
succeeded by a tremendous peal. Then the pine
trees swallowed her up, and she began to feel her
way among the trunks, which bent and groaned
about her in the fierce gusts of wind.
Whether the front of the hill was guarded below
the crest Lucy had no idea. Even had she known
there were sentries about her she could have done
nothing else than press on, panting, in the windy
darkness, the growing downpour of rain penetrating
the branches and striking on her head and
shoulders. Now and again the lightning shone on
her path, revealing the rough, wet trunks and
writhing green boughs around her, and the thunder,
crashing overhead, drowned the incessant noise of
the wind and rain. The storm had become the only
enemy against which she struggled as, step by step,
she fought her way down the slope. At last, when
a strong blast of wind showed her she was nearing
the open, a flash of lightning disclosed the gleaming
wet swamp and the level ground around it at
the base of the hill.
Beneath the last pine tree Lucy flung herself
// 348.png
.pn +1
on the ground to catch her breath. She was
drenched from head to foot. With wet fingers she
felt inside her dress to see that Captain Beattie’s
precious paper was safely held in its scrap of
canvas and protecting handkerchief. Reassured,
she pushed her dripping hair from her face and
stared out over the swamp. She knew that great
obstacles were still before her. But she had burned
her bridges. To retreat through the château was
unthinkable.
In a few minutes the rain and wind began to
diminish, and the clouds overhead parted, turning
from black to gray. The lightning became less
frequent and the thunder sank to a sullen muttering.
Lucy studied the sky with deep anxiety.
She was eager to have the lightning cease, but
knowing the uncertainty of summer storms, she
dreaded lest the clouds should drift entirely by and
the moon appear, while she was still before the
enemy’s eyes. There was no time to lose, and she
had begun to fear that Wilhelm’s master might put
the men in the trenches on guard against the unknown
intruder. She sprang up and stepped out
on level ground, and into the spongy, yielding earth
at the border of the marsh.
She knew that the trenches were close behind on
her left, and a shiver ran through her as her foot
withdrew from the soaked ground with a loud
// 349.png
.pn +1
squelching noise. On a quiet night any sound
might have reached her from where the soldiers
watched behind their defenses, but in the rumbling
thunder and the gusts of wind blowing away the
last of the rain she heard no sign of their presence.
The reedy grass came above her waist as she stooped
forward, feeling her way along the precarious footing,
every nerve and muscle on the alert to receive
the warning of danger. An occasional backward
glance at the château towers rising above the gloom
of the hill was her only guide, for the plain
stretched dimly in front until it was lost in obscurity.
Suddenly, with a frightened squawk, a
big marsh-bird rose with flapping wings from under
her very feet. With loud cries at such unexpected
disturbance it fluttered over her head, and only
settled down once more when she had been reduced
to abject terror. Whether the keen ears behind
her became suspicious at the bird’s alarm, or
whether the quieting of the storm made sounds
more clearly audible, Lucy at that moment heard
a voice.
It came from the trenches, but what it said or
ordered she had no idea. It gave strength and
speed to her tired and trembling limbs, so that she
fled on across the marsh nearly as fast as though
she were on dry and level ground. Her ankles
ached unbearably, and her beating heart hammered
// 350.png
.pn +1
against her ribs when she stumbled on to a little
ridge of grassy ground just beyond the swampy
bottom. With stooping shoulders and head bent
down she had no chance to see ahead. Now she
looked up and saw the dull gleam of water only a
few yards in front. With a sigh of utter weariness
she dropped to the wet earth and lay motionless.
A bright glow reflected in the waters of the pond
made her start up. She thought of lightning, but
one glance showed her the graceful, rocket-like
form of a star-shell falling across the sky. It came
from the Allies’ lines. The French and Americans
were on the watch for any surprise attempted under
cover of the cloudy darkness. Lucy sank back to
earth, a bitter reproach in her heart for this friendly
weapon discharged against her. The light sputtered
out, and with the return of darkness she sat up and
struggled for courage to go on. She drew Captain
Beattie’s message from inside her dress and
tied the handkerchief around her forehead like a
close-fitting bandage. She felt doubtfully of her
rubber soled sneakers, and deciding they were too
light to impede her progress, crept forward to the
edge of the pond.
At that moment a sound which she had heard a
second before and wondered at was unmistakably
repeated. The Germans in the trenches were replying
// 351.png
.pn +1
to the star-shell with a scattering fire. The
shots were few and far apart, but Lucy heard one
bullet sing over her head, and that was enough.
There is a courage that comes with desperation, and
it was this which caused her to crawl instantly forward
into the lake and strike out across it.
The cool water brought a welcome sense of
refreshment and cleared her whirling mind a little.
She swam on strongly, trying hard to make no
sound and to keep her arms beneath the surface,
and searching the sky with frightened eyes, dreading
to see another star-shell flaring up. She heard
no more shots behind her, and this brought back a
little hope. She struggled to keep the stroke even,
and not to hurry it, for the pond was at least one
hundred feet across, and she was burdened by her
clothing. But to swim slowly and calmly was too
much for her. She could not resist bursts of speed
as, from the darkness behind, her straining ears
imagined every sort of approaching peril. When
at last she neared the opposite bank, her breath was
coming in painful gasps and she was dangerously
near exhaustion. With a few more frenzied strokes
she managed to get within her depth, and in another
moment crawled weakly out on to the grassy field
beyond.
She lay there on her back, a prayer of thankfulness
on her lips, though, as she untied the handkerchief
// 352.png
.pn +1
from about her head, she watched the sky with
fresh anxiety. The clouds were rapidly dispersing
and a faint silvery gleam announced the moon’s
coming. She thought that in another quarter of
an hour these level fields would be flooded with
moonlight, and she, too far from either line to be
closely distinguished, would be a target for both
sides. But she had to have breath to move, and for
five minutes longer she lay panting before she rose
from the ground and began plodding wearily on,
her body bent forward and her feet stumbling over
the little grassy hummocks in her way. A line of
dark objects, coming suddenly into view, gave her
a sickening pang of fear. But as she crept up to
them they proved to be only the stumps of what
had been a row of trees bordering a field. It
seemed to Lucy that she had struggled on for long
miles through the darkness when all at once the
moon shone out in cloudy radiance. With a gasp
she stopped short, staring wildly before her. Not
three hundred yards in front a tangle of posts and
barbed wire extended before the Allies’ trenches.
She was in plain sight, but at that moment even
a bullet from her own countrymen seemed better
than what she had fled from so long. She raised
both arms above her head and walked straight on
toward the edge of the barbed wire, behind which
showed the sand-bagged parapet of the trenches.
// 353.png
.pn +1
Rifle barrels glinted over the top and a helmeted
head popped into sight.
“F-friend!” stammered Lucy, her scared little
voice sounding strangely out of the night. “Don’t
shoot! I’m an American!”
“It’s a woman—it’s a girl!” cried an astonished
voice.
A dozen heads were raised above the trench, a
murmur of voices filled the air, and the next instant
two soldiers had sprung over the top and were
running toward her. The first caught her by the
arm and drew her swiftly toward the trenches,
saying:
“Through this way—here’s a lane in the wire!”
“But where on earth do you come from?” demanded
the second, slipping between her and the
distant German lines.
“Just follow on now, as quick as you can!”
urged her guide.
Lucy hardly heard them. She knew that she
was led safely through the wire, and that strong
arms lifted her down inside the American lines.
For a minute she was near to fainting, but the
triumph filling her heart cleared her brain and
overcame her exhaustion. A light flashed in front
of her, and some one held a cup of water to her lips
as she sat on the fire-step of the trench and leaned
panting against the parapet. A dozen soldiers had
// 354.png
.pn +1
crowded around her, expressing every degree of
pity, wonder and admiration. The next moment
the light revealed a sergeant hurrying along the
trench, with an officer following.
“Here she is, Lieutenant,” said the sergeant as
they stopped at Lucy’s side.
The lantern raised above Lucy’s head illumined
her figure, as, disheveled and drenching wet, she sat
on the muddy fire-step. The young officer’s
astonished face was on a level with hers as he sank
down beside her, asking hurriedly:
“You’re an American? What on earth were
you doing out there in front of our lines?”
“In front of——?” Lucy repeated faintly.
“Why, I came from behind the German lines—I
came from Château-Plessis.”
“From Château ——” The lieutenant’s words
were lost in a cheer that rang out deafeningly between
the trench’s narrow walls. Helmets were
frantically waved in the air, and a dozen hands were
held out for Lucy’s grasp by the eager listeners
about her. She felt her face flush hot and her
heart bound with happiness. It was true—she had
succeeded! It was hard to realize.
“She crossed the German lines!”
“That girl—all alone!”
“Be still—the Lieutenant wants to talk to her.”
The murmur died away as the officer, no less
// 355.png
.pn +1
enthusiastic than his men at that moment, inquired
once more:
“You got over here from inside the town without
being seen? You deserve a war medal! What
were you doing in Château-Plessis?”
“My father is there a prisoner. He’s Colonel
Gordon. I had to come,” Lucy answered, still
breathless and somewhat incoherent. Then she
started forward from where she had leaned wearily
against the supporting timbers of the trench, saying
earnestly, “I can’t tell you the rest now. Where
is the divisional commander? Will you take me to
him? I have news for him that mustn’t wait any
longer, and I am afraid he is a long way from here.”
“No—General Clinton is at a farm only five
miles behind us—between here and Cantigny. He
has been inspecting along the line. Of course you
may see him,” the lieutenant added, rather puzzled,
“but must it be at once? You look used up, and
the trip will be pretty uncomfortable after all this
rain. The roads are a sea of mud—not to mention
a walk through the trenches.”
Mud—discomfort—Lucy almost laughed aloud
at his words. She had seen a good deal of both
that night, and what were they compared to the
anguish of mind she had borne in the past weeks?
She could endure any hardships now with this
glorious hope flooding her heart.
// 356.png
.pn +1
“I don’t mind how bad it is,” she said quickly.
“I only want to see the General as soon as I can.”
The young officer read the clear, eager purpose
in her eyes and gave a nod of consent. At his
order a soldier led the way with alacrity, lantern in
hand, along the trench. Lucy rose and followed,
and the lieutenant came behind her, after stopping
for a word with the sergeant.
“We have half a mile to walk,” he told Lucy,
pointing ahead along the mud and water of the
trench bottom.
She nodded, undismayed. The line of men
standing behind their rifles at the parapet, of whom
many turned to her with looks of astonishment and
eager friendliness, were but dim figures that seemed
a half-waking dream. “They’re Americans. I’m
with Americans,” she repeated to herself, and the
joy welling up at the thought made her almost
dizzy as she trudged along the wet, slippery
path.
It is at such moments that physical discomfort is
hardly felt and, weary though she was, Lucy did
not suffer greatly during the long hour’s journey.
The tramp through the trenches was followed by a
ride in the bottom of a motor-truck, along a dark
road that the rain had transformed into a bog.
The three passengers were flung from side to side
as the heavy wheels struggled through the ruts, or
// 357.png
.pn +1
careened into the deep gullies. The laboring motor
stalled and missed fire, and the moon, hidden again
behind a cloud, gave no light now when it was so
sorely needed.
At last the truck reached drier ground, and
stopped before a lighted house in the middle of a
grassy meadow. Mud-splashed and bruised from
the terrific jolting, Lucy was helped down, and the
young officer took hold of her arm and led her
inside the door. In the little hallway he left her to
speak with an orderly, who preceded him to an
adjoining room. Lucy heard murmurs of conversation
and, beyond the doorway, saw a second
officer standing, with papers in his hand. She took
out the handkerchief from inside her dress, making
also a futile effort to smooth her hair, which, drying
during the long ride, had begun to curl in a tangled
mass about her head. In another moment the
young lieutenant who had brought her returned,
saying:
“Come right in, the General will see you.”
Lucy followed him into the anteroom, whose
farther door the other officer was holding open.
Beyond it a broad-shouldered man with iron-gray
hair was seated at a big desk under the electric
light. His face was turned toward the door, and
as Lucy entered he rose sharply to his feet, saying
with quick earnestness, “You are Colonel James
// 358.png
.pn +1
Gordon’s daughter? You came from Château-Plessis?”
He put his hands on Lucy’s shoulders, fixing his
eyes on hers.
“Yes, General,” Lucy answered with trembling
eagerness. “I am Lucy Gordon. I have been in
Château-Plessis since before the Germans took it.
My father is there still.”
“You got through the enemy lines—you crossed
over to us alone?” the General insisted, his glance
softening with pity and wonder as he surveyed
Lucy’s mud-stained and bedraggled figure, and the
shining, eager eyes in her tired face.
“Yes, I did; I had to. They are going to send
Father into Germany, and I couldn’t stay there and
do nothing, when I thought I had a chance to save
him.”
“You have courage enough for anything! What
can we do, though, poor child—unless they will
delay your father’s going for some days longer?
But tell me how on earth you got over
here!”
“I brought you something that I know will
help,” Lucy persisted, and with shaking fingers she
unfolded her handkerchief and laid the precious
slip of paper in General Clinton’s hands. “A
British officer who is a prisoner in Château-Plessis
gave me this. He was captured at Argenton, and
// 359.png
.pn +1
that drawing shows what he learned of the
defenses.”
“The defenses of Argenton?” As the General
spoke he sat down at his desk with the paper quickly
spread before him, and the two young officers with
one accord sprang to his side.
“The road is the fortified ridge. The soldiers
are the batteries. He explained it to me,” said
Lucy, breathing fast.
The General wheeled about in his chair and
looked at her with a new light in his eyes. “You’ve
done us a good turn, my little girl!” he exclaimed,
and reaching for Lucy’s hand he took it in a strong
clasp. “You are of the sort that will bring victory
to America, and I’m proud of you!”
Lucy’s heart was too full for words and her eyes
filled up with sudden, smarting tears. The two
junior officers, seeing her emotion, checked and cut
short the burst of generous praise that rushed to
their lips.
Almost at once the General continued, “I must
question you in detail before any use can be made
of this plan. Also, I must hear how you got out
of the town. But first I will let you dry your
clothes and rest a little. You have done enough
for one night.”
Lucy raised her head, dashing the tears from her
eyes. “I can answer any questions now, General
// 360.png
.pn +1
Clinton,” she said quickly. “Do you think I have
come all this hard way, and almost died of fear, to
go and rest before telling you all I can? Don’t
think of me, or anything but learning what you
want to know.”
Her firm, earnest voice, and the steady light in
her eyes carried reassurance and conviction. General
Clinton gave a nod of satisfaction, and his
voice, as he ordered Lucy to take a seat beside him,
told her that her answers would hold a new weight
and value in his mind.
“My only fear,” he began, “in trusting to this
plan you have brought is that you may have been
deceived by some sharp-witted German knave.
Who was this officer who gave you the information?”
“Captain Archibald Beattie of the Royal Infantry.
He is a prisoner in Château-Plessis.”
“Wheeler,” said the General, turning to his aide,
“where is that British liaison officer who was with
us to-day? Could you get hold of him?”
“Yes, sir, he is right in the other farm building,”
said the aide, saluting.
“Find one of our machine-gun officers, too,” the
General added as the lieutenant turned to leave.
“Where did you see this Englishman?” he continued,
facing Lucy once more.
“The first time was when a German officer made
// 361.png
.pn +1
me interpret for him what Captain Beattie said,
because I speak a little German. After he was in
the old town prison I used to see him through the
bars of his window. He gave me this plan in case
I should ever be able to send it to our lines. I
missed two chances in succession, so there was no
way but to come myself.”
“What chances could you have had?”
“My brother Bob landed in Château-Plessis
once, but that was before I knew about the hidden
guns at Argenton. Then a French spy got into
the town, but I failed that time, too.”
“Here they are, sir,” said the other lieutenant,
going toward the door.
Steps sounded outside and crossed the outer
room. The aide reappeared, with two officers behind
him. One was a tall, handsome Britisher
about thirty years old, whose face was so strangely
familiar to Lucy that she stared at him wonderingly
as his hand rose to the salute. But the impression
passed, for he bowed to her without recognition.
Before the General had more than spoken a word of
greeting, the second officer entered the room and
stood at attention. Then at sight of Lucy he gave
a gasp of such surprise as almost caused him to
forget the General’s presence.
“Lucy! Lucy Gordon! You are free!” he
cried.
// 362.png
.pn +1
The General looked up sharply. “You know
her then? And you, Miss Gordon?”
For Lucy had leaped to her feet to hold out both
hands to the young officer, her face all lighted up
with joyful recognition.
“Oh, yes, General,” she stammered, struggling
for words in her happiness at sight of this long-lost
friend, “it’s Captain Harding!”
“Well, Captain Harding, I congratulate you on
your friend,” said the General with a kindly smile.
“This young lady crossed the German lines to
bring us this plan of the Argenton defenses. I will
ask you two gentlemen to give me your opinion
on it.”
Making a respectful effort to hide his astonishment,
and to silence his unbounded admiration,
Captain Harding bent, together with the British
officer, over the little paper on the General’s desk.
“Now, Miss Gordon, please tell us again about
that British officer who gave you this plan,” the
General commanded.
“He is Captain Archibald Beattie, Royal Infantry,
captured at Argenton on May 17th,” Lucy
repeated.
“Beattie—Archibald Beattie!” exclaimed the
British liaison officer. “I know him, General; he is
a prisoner now.”
“Yes, in Château-Plessis,” Lucy nodded. “He
// 363.png
.pn +1
is young—about twenty-one—with light brown
hair and blue eyes, and a little scar on his forehead.”
“Just so! He got that scar from a grazing
bullet at Ypres. If this plan is from him, sir, it’s
trustworthy. Why, that’s his writing at the bottom,
‘Changing the guard’!” The Britisher’s calm
face had grown flushed with excitement. “Then
the group of men must represent batteries?”
“Yes, so he told this young lady. What part of
the ridge would that be, Harding?”
“The west front, sir, where the concealed
batteries are. The main front!” Captain Harding
exclaimed, overcome with joy. “Oh, sir, we should
be able to silence those guns now!”
His hand, behind the General’s back, came down
on Lucy’s shoulder with a pressure that would have
been painful if its friendly and delightful meaning
had not increased her happiness. “Oh, but you’ve
done a good piece of work, Captain Lucy! I always
knew you had it in you,” he whispered.
“Next week—the attack we had planned——”
the General was saying.
Forgetting herself, Lucy interrupted him. “Oh,
not next week, General! Right away! My father
will be sent into Germany day after to-morrow.”
The General swung around in his chair and looked
at her with keen, thoughtful eyes. “I can’t make
// 364.png
.pn +1
promises,” he said at last. “But if any one has deserved
to have her father saved it is you. And the
army cannot afford to lose Colonel Gordon if
there’s a chance of reaching him. Tell us what else
you know.”
“I can tell you the weakest point in the line before
Château-Plessis. Captain Beattie and I heard
two German soldiers talking about it outside his
prison window. But he knew it before anyway.
It was there that I got through.”
“Wheeler, bring that scale map and put it on
the desk,” ordered the General. “Gentlemen, draw
up, and Miss Gordon will show us just exactly
where she crossed the lines.”
The British officer, rising to obey this invitation,
held out his hand to Lucy as he neared the desk.
His face had in it something more than a friendly
admiration for her brave exploit.
“I want to congratulate you myself, Lucy Gordon,”
he said. “I’m your cousin. I’m Janet’s
brother, Arthur Leslie.”
// 365.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI||THE YANKS ARE COMING
.sp 2
At daybreak of the morning following Lucy’s
departure from Château-Plessis Colonel Gordon
awoke to the boom of cannon. He raised his head,
listening intently. In a moment he was aware that
the fighting had recommenced along the whole
front. He guessed that the bombardment extended
from Argenton as far south as Cantigny,
though as yet the lines in front of Château-Plessis
were quiet enough. He rose and dressed and went
out into the garden.
The sentry glanced at him with a look of surprise
and annoyance, for he was not the only one
who had been roused by the guns. Several of the
convalescents were strolling about the garden,
though in the faint light of a foggy dawn Colonel
Gordon could distinguish them but vaguely.
Neither could he see the sky beyond the town, but
the fog could not prevent his hearing, and his ears
told him much. The bombardment was steadily
increasing. The German artillery in front of
// 366.png
.pn +1
Château-Plessis had gone into action now, and the
vibrations of the powerful explosions began to
shake the air. From the distant boom of the guns
before Argenton to the crash of those but a mile
away, the mighty volume of sound rolled ever increasingly
on the listeners’ ears.
As Colonel Gordon stood motionless by the
garden wall, the figure of a French officer advanced
out of the fog and came to his side.
“Good-morning, Colonel,” said his fellow prisoner,
and in the Frenchman’s voice Colonel Gordon
detected something of the longing hope that was
stirring his own heart. “What do you think of it?
It sounds as if they were in earnest.”
He spoke very low, and Colonel Gordon answered
him as softly, “It is evident that the Allies
began the attack. I’m sure the firing commenced
from our own lines. The German batteries in
front of the town have but just come in.”
“The attack appears to be developing on our
flanks—Château-Plessis is not directly menaced
yet. I fear it could not be held, even if taken,
while the enemy holds Argenton.” The Frenchman’s
eager voice had grown more anxious than
hopeful as the situation grew clearer to his
mind.
“That is probable enough,” Colonel Gordon
muttered thoughtfully, “but, Captain Remy, I
// 367.png
.pn +1
think the Americans are opposite us, and they are
not likely to attempt an advance over this unknown
terrain without good hope of success.”
Colonel Gordon was not at heart quite as confident
as he appeared, as the Frenchman easily
recognized, but both men knew the value of a little
optimism, and Captain Remy allowed himself to be
somewhat encouraged. In fact, notwithstanding
the obstacle of Argenton’s formidable defenses, the
thought of that American army about to strike with
all the ardor of its growing strength and determination
was cause for hope and even for confidence.
An hour passed while the two officers stood there,
listening in silence, and occasionally exchanging a
few words. When a German orderly came to call
them back to the hospital they left reluctantly.
The crash of the guns was the only sound they cared
to hear just then, and the only sight their eyes
looked for the dark puffs of bursting shells in the
sky beyond the town, from which the fog had begun
to clear away.
Inside the hospital Colonel Gordon caught sight
of Elizabeth and stopped the German woman on
her hurried way across the ward. “Where is Lucy,
Elizabeth?” he asked. “She is usually here before
this time.”
Elizabeth’s face was flushed and troubled, and
her hands began clasping each other nervously.
// 368.png
.pn +1
Colonel Gordon thought he guessed the reason for
her uneasiness. Convinced as he was of his old
servant’s loyalty to the Allies’ cause he could not
but suppose that her feelings would undergo some
conflict on the eve of another fight.
Elizabeth stammered a little as she answered,
“Miss Lucy not yet is here, Colonel. She told me
I should say to you that she will before very long
see you.”
This vague reply satisfied Colonel Gordon for
the moment, and he went in to breakfast, still deeply
thoughtful over the commencing battle. It was
easy to see that every one in the hospital shared his
preoccupation. The Americans and their allies
listened to the roaring cannon with eager, intent
faces. Between patients and nurses many a hopeful
word or meaning glance was exchanged, in spite
of German doctors and orderlies near by. These
seemed not to share in the keen interest the others
showed. They looked sullen, anxious and ill-tempered.
Many a poor French or American soldier
was roughly handled that morning by a German
orderly who saw a chance to vent his smouldering
resentment. By no stretch of imagination could
any German in Château-Plessis see a cheerful prospect
ahead. When the French and British had
exacted from them such a fearful toll during the
progress of Germany’s victorious spring offensive,
// 369.png
.pn +1
what would the price be now that America had
joined the ranks of the Allies?
The bombardment had grown heavy and continuous
all along the line. Colonel Gordon presently
started back to the garden, but was prevented
by the sentry on the path outside, who shook his
head scowlingly, with upraised rifle. Surprised at
this sudden change of front, Colonel Gordon went
back to his room and looked out of the main window
toward the west. The sky was filled with darting
airplanes, and bursting shrapnel formed countless
dark spots among the white clouds beyond the town.
As he looked, the scream of a shell drowned for
a moment every other sound. The next instant,
with a terrific explosion, a jet of earth and stone
rose into the air not five hundred yards distant,
leaving a gaping hole in the street leading westward
from the hospital.
Colonel Gordon turned to the door of the room,
and catching sight of Miss Pearse, motioned quickly
to her. The big ward had suddenly taken on a
look of excitement and confusion. A German
doctor was loudly issuing orders right and left.
Miss Pearse ran to Colonel Gordon’s side, her face
reflecting the emotions that filled her heart almost
to bursting at that moment. Colonel Gordon gave
her no time to speak before he asked sharply:
“Where is Lucy? Why isn’t she here?”
// 370.png
.pn +1
Miss Pearse gave a quick sigh, as though she had
nearly reached the limit of endurance. She drew
Colonel Gordon back into the room, and said with
what calmness she could muster:
“I will have to tell you, Colonel, and I can’t take
long to do it. I hope and believe that Lucy is
safely inside the Allies’ lines.”
“Where? What?” gasped Colonel Gordon,
stupefied.
Miss Pearse took Lucy’s note from her apron
pocket and put it in his hands. “That will tell
you all I know,” she said.
With trembling fingers Colonel Gordon held the
slip of paper to the light and read the following, in
a hurried, blotted likeness of Lucy’s writing:
.pm letter-start
“Dear Miss Pearse: I am going to try to cross
the German lines to-night, to take Captain Beattie’s
plan to the Allies. I cannot stay here and see
Father sent to Germany. I know a way—by the
château hill—where perhaps I can get through.
If I succeed I will beg the American commander
to attack at once. Pray that he can. I wrote
Elizabeth not to let Father know sooner than can
be helped. You, too, please, don’t tell him before
to-morrow. Lucy.”
.pm letter-end
Colonel Gordon could not find breath to speak.
As he stood staring at Miss Pearse in horror and
// 371.png
.pn +1
amazement, the young nurse cried in an agony of
longing:
“Oh, Colonel Gordon, if only the Allies could
take the town to-day! The Germans have given
orders to evacuate the hospitals. They are taking
out the German patients now, and in another hour
the rest must follow.” Her voice shook and her
eyes filled with tears as they met his with a look of
almost hopeless misery, but in the same moment
she wiped the tears away and turned back to the
ward to resume her share of the tremendous task.
Colonel Gordon stood motionless where she had
left him. Then, his thoughts a little collected, he
glanced sharply out into the hurry and movement
of the ward, where the work of evacuation had begun.
He sprang toward the window once more,
trying to learn something of the battle’s progress
amidst the roar of the artillery. A German regiment
was running along the street toward the west,
making its utmost speed among the impeding stones
and rubbish. The shells no longer fell near by.
He could hear them screaming over the town, but
they fell short of the centre, avoiding the hospitals
and searching out the German main headquarters
and supply depot, behind the trenches. He thought
the two airplanes circling far overhead were accountable
for this change. The sentry had deserted
the garden to help in the interior of the hospital.
// 372.png
.pn +1
Motor-lorries and ambulances were drawn up outside
the doors, and the German wounded had begun
to be carried out.
Colonel Gordon entered the ward, and finding
himself unobserved in the general confusion, went
out into the garden, and from there to the street
beyond. The regiment had passed, and the street
was deserted. He glanced back and saw that the
angle of the hospital wall hid him from the group
about the ambulances. He drew a long breath and
began to run in the direction of the firing.
Not far from the street which Lucy had followed
to the château hill the night before he stopped,
breathing a little hard after his enforced idleness
of the past weeks. The chief reason for his pause,
however, was the change in the noise of the attack
which became distinguishable to his ears as he drew
nearer. The rat-tat-tat of machine guns and rifle
fire was plainly audible in the midst of the bombardment.
It came from his left, the direction of
the hill. He ran forward again until between the
houses he could obtain a distant view of the hillside.
The fog had now lifted from all but the lowlands,
and at the sight which met his eyes he gave a shout
of amazement and exultation. All over the hill-tops
behind the château khaki-clad men were advancing
in skirmish line. Now they ran on a few
// 373.png
.pn +1
steps, now dropped to earth or fell back before a
sudden onset from the enemy concealed in the
woods in front of them, while the bursting flame
from machine guns, the volleys of musketry fire,
and the gaps opening in the thinning ranks announced
a bitter and desperate struggle. It could
mean but one thing. The German line still held
before Château-Plessis, but at this, the extreme
southern point of the town, it had been broken by a
bold surprise. Colonel Gordon stood staring toward
the hill, convincing himself of the truth of
what he saw. While his heart throbbed with
triumph, every nerve in his body rebelled at remaining
an idle spectator to that thrilling and unequal
conflict. Barely two companies of Americans had
breasted the hill from the swampy land below, and
they had all they could do to hold their own. At
that moment he heard the thud of footsteps behind
him and glanced quickly back. A German infantry
column, making double-time toward the
front, was debouching from a street on his right.
The foremost officer gave one look at the uniformed
American and sent a shot from his pistol at
Colonel Gordon’s breast. The bullet whizzed by
his shoulder, and a second kicked up the dust behind
him. For he did not wait to furnish a target to the
German captain. Those shots more than anything
else added to the strength and ardor of his purpose.
// 374.png
.pn +1
The German thought him a combatant, and a combatant
he was from that instant.
He had slipped around the corner of the church
at the head of the street leading to the hill. Once
out of sight of his enemy, who was leading his men
on too desperate an errand to turn aside in pursuit,
he ran on until the road sloped upward. The
American shells had penetrated this far before the
infantry had advanced to climb the hillside under
cover of the fog. Right before him gaped a huge
shell-hole, whose flying earth had partly concealed
a shattered German machine gun, with the crew
lying dead beside it. Colonel Gordon bent over
one of the dead soldiers, seized the pistol from his
holster and unbuckled his cartridge-belt. In another
second he stood up, no longer unarmed and
defenseless. With every pulse on fire, though his
brain remained keen and watchful, he ran on toward
the hill.
To skirt its northern side would be to run full
into the German trenches. Any way was perilous
enough, but he was thoroughly familiar with the
ground. It was the same over which he had advanced
six weeks before to victory. He could not
linger at the base of the hill either, where bodies of
troops might be met with at any moment. Just
now he saw only a straggling group of women and
children fleeing from a near-by cottage toward the
// 375.png
.pn +1
town. He plunged into the wood and began
mounting the hill among the thick growth of pines,
while above him increased the hammer of machine-gun
fire, the rattle of musketry and the shouts of
furious men. The hillside up which he climbed
was deserted. The Germans had gone to the defense
of the position by way of the trenches, and,
though already driven back to seek cover in the
woods, they had not yet retreated down the slope.
As he neared the crest, Colonel Gordon crept
cautiously up behind a rock which overhung the
hillside, and, breathing fast, crouched low to peer
out from its concealing shelter. Directly in front
of him, about twenty yards away, gray-clad soldiers
were falling back in disorder, though firing as they
retired. In a moment they were almost at the
rock’s level, and now the Americans burst out from
the lingering fog wreaths among the pines, pursuing
the demoralized foe at the point of the bayonet.
Colonel Gordon started up from the ground,
victory the one thought in his exultant heart. At
that instant a sharp command rang out from the
trees on his right. Before it died away a heavy
rifle-fire was discharged on the flank of the advancing
Americans, a dozen of whom fell forward in the
midst of their triumphant charge. He knew in a
second what had happened. German reinforcements
had crept up by the road which wound about
// 376.png
.pn +1
the hillside. The swift retreat of the Germans defending
the hill was playing into the very hands
of these newcomers, who had the surprised Americans
for the moment at their mercy.
An American soldier, pitching forward as he fell,
rolled down to the rock close by Colonel Gordon’s
side. He was already dead. Colonel Gordon saw
the gaping wound in his temple, and in the same
glance he read the number on his insignia. These
men were from his own regiment! In that breath
of time that he had remained inactive his mind had
been desperately planning how to make the most of
the help he could offer. Now he hesitated no
longer.
A captain, frantically trying to rally his men to
withstand the flank attack of twice their own number,
fell dead in the act of urging on his company.
Their leader shot down, a murderous fire cutting
their ranks to pieces, for an instant the men
wavered. At that moment there appeared in front
of them the tall figure of an officer, bareheaded, a
pistol in his upraised hand. There was no time to
express any of the emotions which seized the soldiers’
bewildered minds at sight of their lost commander.
A bullet struck Colonel Gordon in the
arm, but he did not feel it. His voice, ringing out
clear, strong and confident, in the midst of death
and confusion, cried:
// 377.png
.pn +1
“Forward, men of the 39th! Follow me!”
It was all they needed. What were overwhelming
odds with that familiar figure leading them to
victory? A cheer that shook the enemy’s sense of
easy triumph burst from their panting throats.
Colonel Gordon was no longer alone, for the whole
company had sprung to his side. A solid volley
met the German attack, and then in the face of a
rain of bullets, the Americans charged.
The Germans saw that hedge of bayonets rushing
down upon them, and commenced to give way
a little. Trained fighters as they were they could
not stand before that onslaught. Leaping down
the slope, between the trees and over rocks and
brushwood, the Americans came irresistibly on.
The Germans, retiring faster now, scowled in sullen
rage at this enemy who advanced shouting, against
such withering fire, their eyes aflame with the eager
light of victory.
As they neared the foot of the hill the German
fire had almost ceased. Hand to hand the men of
the 39th and their enemy continued the bitter
struggle. Now more Americans had reached the
hill-crest from the château and, while some remained
to lend aid to those men of the 39th who
had fought as rear-guard, others came bounding
down the hill. Their help was welcome, but the
fight was already won. A hundred survivors of
// 378.png
.pn +1
the two hundred men who had followed Colonel
Gordon down the hill faced the shattered remnant
of the German reinforcing column. Those of the
enemy who managed to escape alive or uncaptured
fled into the town, through which, at news of the
broken line, the German troops from the trenches
in front of Château-Plessis could be seen retreating
in disorder. Two officers, reaching Colonel
Gordon’s side, seized hold of him and cried inaudible
words of astonishment and joy through
the rattle of musketry and the shouts around them.
But their faces spoke plainly enough. One thing
Colonel Gordon knew in that glorious moment,
even before the silencing of the artillery fire confirmed
it. Château-Plessis was in the hands of the
Allies.
The American regiments now poured unimpeded
down the hillside road, hoping to take the fleeing
Germans on the flank or rear. A thought struck
Colonel Gordon in the midst of his joy. To a
signal officer pausing beside him, the vanguard of
the new communication lines, he asked hurriedly:
“Can we hold the town, Major? It’s a regular
pocket. How far does our advance extend?”
“Can we hold it?” repeated the officer with
triumph in his voice. “Colonel, we entered Argenton
an hour ago!”
Before passing on he pointed to Colonel Gordon’s
// 379.png
.pn +1
left sleeve. It was stained with blood, and the
elder officer, noticing for the first time his wounded
arm, found that it hung powerless by his side.
.tb
Lucy and her mother were in the little hospital
at Cantigny when the news reached them. Lucy
had been sent there by General Clinton to rest
after her fatigue of the night before, and it was
Captain Harding who had instantly sent word to
Mrs. Gordon. At half-past nine the morning of
the advance Mrs. Gordon reached Cantigny, and
ten minutes later Lucy’s arms were around her
mother’s neck, and all the suffering and anxiety of
the past two months seemed to slip like a heavy
burden from her shoulders. She was free and her
mother was with her—no longer to be tormented
with fears for her safety. After the first happy
moments all their thoughts turned to Bob and
Colonel Gordon and to the battle now raging, which
would decide Château-Plessis’ fate.
They had not long to spend in uncertainty, for
that morning events moved quickly. Mrs. Gordon
saw from the window a soldier running up the hospital
steps.
“I wonder what news he has, Lucy,” she said,
her voice shaking with mingled hope and fear.
The next moment the door of the little room
opened and a nurse, whose shining eyes and radiant
// 380.png
.pn +1
face spoke plainer than words, ran in and handed
Mrs. Gordon a folded paper. “A soldier brought
it,” she explained, darting out again. “I haven’t
time to stop.”
Mrs. Gordon unfolded the paper and together
she and Lucy devoured the few pencil-scribbled
lines:
“We have won! Argenton has fallen. Château-Plessis
follows. R. H.”
The guns were still thundering a few miles away,
and at that distance neither Lucy nor her mother
distinguished the slackening of the fire. They
could not sit quietly any longer, and, going into the
wards, they joined in the general rejoicing.
“Oh, Lucy, it’s too good to be true!” Mrs. Gordon
exclaimed a dozen times over. “Now if only
I can see Bob and Father safe.”
They went out into the streets of Cantigny, and
it was in front of the brick house which was the
Staff Headquarters in the town that Lucy caught
sight of General Clinton. He was standing by a
big military automobile, the door of which his aide,
Lieutenant Wheeler, was holding open. At
thought of what the General had done for her in
trusting to Captain Beattie’s plan and ordering the
advance Lucy’s eyes, as they were raised to his,
filled up with quick, grateful tears. At that moment
he turned and saw the young girl watching
// 381.png
.pn +1
him. He gave her one sharp glance and leaving
the car came forward to her side. With a bow to
Mrs. Gordon he held out his hand.
“Shake hands, Lucy Gordon,” he said, his grave
face lighting with keen satisfaction. “We’ve won,
and your brave act made victory possible. Our
troops occupy Argenton and Château-Plessis.”
As Lucy, too overcome to speak, put her hand
in his with burning cheeks and wildly beating heart,
he turned quickly to his aide.
“Any empty seats in that other car, Wheeler?
I know this girl and her mother are anxious to
get to Château-Plessis.”
“Yes, sir, there is plenty of room,” responded
the young officer with alacrity. He led the way to
a second machine while the General stepped into
his own before Lucy could find words to thank
him.
It was almost noon when Lucy and her mother
entered Château-Plessis. The automobiles of General
Clinton’s staff made a slow way among the
soldiers and civilians crowding the once desolate
streets in cheering throngs. The poor townspeople
had robbed their little gardens to shower the victorious
troops with lilacs and roses. Cries of
friendly greeting filled the air on every side, and
General Clinton advanced to joyful shouts of “Vive
l’Amérique! Vive nos libérateurs!”
// 382.png
.pn +1
A shower of rose petals fell in Lucy’s lap, and,
gazing about her with wide, unbelieving eyes, she
caught her breath in a quick sob. Too many feelings
struggled in her heart for any connected
thought. Most of all she longed to see her father
and know that he was safe.
They neared the old town hall, no longer a hospital
since the German evacuation, and bearing
signs of their rage for destruction in the heaps of
torn mattresses and broken furniture flung outside
the doors into the street. American soldiers were
hurriedly restoring things to order, for the Allies’
wounded had been removed to the French hospital
and here were to be General Clinton’s headquarters
for the time being.
Even before they drew up in front of the old
building Lucy recognized some familiar faces
among the group of officers gathered in the doorway.
They had preceded the General from Cantigny
to establish his headquarters, and now came
forward to receive him. A few doctors and nurses,
too, were among them. Lucy scanned each face
with eager eyes, for Bob had flown into Château-Plessis
immediately after the German retreat, in
search of his father, and she and her mother waited
to hear from him of Colonel Gordon’s safety.
Major Arthur Leslie was standing in the road,
talking with a young British officer. Lucy’s
// 383.png
.pn +1
throbbing heart gave a bound as she saw Captain
Beattie’s face. The look of cold defiance with
which he had faced his captors—the bitter melancholy
of his days in prison, had utterly vanished,
and he looked like a happy boy as Arthur Leslie
clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hands in
joyful greeting. At that instant Lucy caught
sight of Bob from behind a little group of men.
The next, she sprang from the automobile and
ran across the street. For Colonel Gordon, his
left arm closely bandaged, was standing at Bob’s
side.
Five minutes later, when the Gordons had begun
to realize the wonderful and happy truth that they
were reunited, General Clinton made his way from
among his aides to Colonel Gordon’s side. He
held out his hand to the wounded officer, glancing
from one to the other of the faces before him
with real sympathy in his shrewd, understanding
eyes.
“I congratulate you on your gallant service,”
he said with simple directness. “It shall not be
forgotten, Colonel—or rather General Gordon,” he
corrected. “Your son has no doubt told you that
you were awarded that rank a month ago.” In the
same breath he turned to Bob with hand out-stretched
again. “You, too, deserve congratulation—more
than I can offer you.”
// 384.png
.pn +1
“What does he mean, Bob?” Lucy whispered,
when General Clinton had turned to speak to Mrs.
Gordon.
Bob had lost for a moment his dignity, and was
looking flushed and boyish with so many eyes fixed
upon him. “My promotion, I suppose,” he explained,
a little huskily. “I’m a captain—or will
be to-morrow.”
“But that’s not all,” interrupted Arthur Leslie,
smiling at Bob’s confusion. “He hasn’t told you
that he is recommended for decoration by both
French and American commanders.”
Lucy thought her heart was too full for any
more emotion, but the next minute she heard General
Clinton saying:
“We expected your devoted service, General
Gordon, and your son’s as well. But we had no
claim on your daughter’s, yet she has given all she
had of resourcefulness and bravery to the common
cause. She deserves a reward as much as any
soldier!”
Lucy could not have spoken a word in the midst
of her happiness without bursting into childish
tears. She wanted to explain Captain Beattie’s
part in her success. More than anything she hoped
the General understood how complete her reward
was in seeing honors heaped upon those she loved
so dearly.
// 385.png
.pn +1
“He’s right. It’s you who deserve it all,” Bob
whispered in her ear.
Unable to stay quietly where she was, with such
hot cheeks and pounding heart, she edged her way
toward the door, when an officer had drawn General
Clinton to one side.
Out in the street the cool air touched her face
gratefully. At that moment she thought of Elizabeth,
longing to see her again in this triumphant
hour. To-day was Lucy’s fifteenth birthday,
and Elizabeth, in the midst of their fears
of the past weeks, had promised Lucy a present,
in one of her kind efforts to cheer the anxious
girl from her growing depression. Lucy eagerly
questioned the people around her, but without
avail.
“There’s not a German left in Château-Plessis,”
Captain Harding told her, when she explained to
him the object of her search. “Elizabeth must
have gone on with the German wounded from the
hospital. We advanced before they could force our
own people to go.”
For a moment a cloud dimmed Lucy’s happiness.
Was she not to see that faithful friend again after
those dreadful weeks of captivity? Did Elizabeth
mean to vanish from Château-Plessis, now that her
work there was ended? Before she could answer
her own doubts she caught sight of old Clemence,
// 386.png
.pn +1
standing with Michelle at the edge of the little
crowd.
Michelle’s eyes were raised to meet her own, and
Lucy saw that the French girl’s lovely face was
transfigured, as Captain Beattie’s had been, with
the glad light of freedom. The look of scornful
rebellion had left her eyes and the sad curve of her
lips had changed to a serene smile of happiness.
Lucy seized both her hands in a clasp that said more
than the few halting words in which she tried to express
their rejoicing.
Michelle had not managed to respond much,
either, except with her shining eyes, when a wild
cheer, rising on every side, caused the two girls to
look quickly around. Caps were snatched off and
flung in the air; the remaining flowers were pelted
at the officers in the doorway by children shouting
themselves hoarse in jubilation.
All eyes were turned toward the roof of the old
town hall of Château-Plessis. Willing hands had
raised two poles between the pointed towers, and
now, from the roof, side by side with the heroic
Tricolor, there floated the Star-Spangled Banner.
.sp 4
.nf b
The Stories in this Series are:
CAPTAIN LUCY AND LIEUTENANT BOB
CAPTAIN LUCY IN FRANCE
CAPTAIN LUCY’S FLYING ACE (in press)
.nf-
.sp 2
.pb
\_ // this gets the sp 4 recognized.
.sp 2
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.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text that was\
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-
.dv- // TN box end