Shelled by an Unseen Foe Part 15

Velo gritted his teeth with exasperation as Zaidos strolled out and at once spoke to a soldier who sat by the door with a couple of letters and papers in his lap. It was so exactly like Zaidos to get acquainted without a moment's delay. He smiled at the soldier, and in reply the young fellow made a place for him on the bench.

"Sit down, won't you?" he said. "Mail has come, and I got more than my share."

"Glad you fared well," said Zaidos, taking the offered seat. "I see you have a paper. May I look at it?"

"Certainly!" said the soldier. "There is nothing in it. The war news is so censored over home now that you can't get anything much out of the papers. I like 'em because I can read the home advertis.e.m.e.nts, and see notices of people I know, and watch what's playing at the theatres.

Makes me forget this rotten hole for awhile."

"That's so," agreed Zaidos. "But just think how crazy all the people at home must be all the while to hear from you fellows at the front."

"I think they are," agreed the soldier. "I have a brother in France, too, and father has just sent me a letter from him. It's fun to compare experiences. Want to read it? You may if you care to."

"Of course I'd like to!" said Zaidos with his ready friendliness.

"There is no one to write to me anywhere except some schoolmates over in America, and I don't suppose I will hear from them for months." He took the closely written sheets of thin paper, and read the letter, appreciating the spirit in which it was offered him.

"My dear Father," it ran. "I received your letter and note last night, and Auntie's parcel the night before. Thank you both very much for same. It is good of you to us both, but do not spend too much money.

Hard times are coming on, I imagine. The kippers were grand. Six of us had a great tea on them in the wine cellar of a shattered farm-house where we are for four nights after four days in the trenches. Then we go back to the fighting line for another four days and nights. This place we are at, in the cellar, is a keep with emergency stores and loop holes, and is armored. Twenty-five of us have to keep it at all costs, should the enemy come over the line, which is perhaps four hundred yards away. The bally place is overrun with rats. They run all over your body and head at night, and I have to sleep with my overcoat tucked over my head to prevent them touching the bare skin.

"Up at the trenches, I was four days and nights stationed about sixty yards from the Huns doing sentry on and off day and night the whole time, waiting with bombs and bayonet in case they attempted to take it, and now on return here have done three more night-guards and then no more sleep again hardly for four more nights, when we return to the firing line.

"It is a hard life, isn't it? For in between, one is sent off on all sorts of fatigues, drawing rations, sand bags, trench boards, etc., etc.

"I must some time see that new Turkey carpet. The only one I see now is sand bags. If there is a big move shortly, which seems more than likely, it may delay our leave as I guess all the troopers would be wanted in that case, but I am looking forward tremendously to seeing you all again.

"Must conclude now, dear father.

"Much love to all from your son, d.i.c.k."

"P. S. We dug up some dead Prussian Guards the other day. There has been some great fighting here and may be again. I don't know what I should do without the candles and matches you send me. They keep me going nicely.

"I have just thought perhaps my letter does not seem very cheerful; so I must tell you we have lots of fun in between the serious parts of the game. Last rest, I had some great French feeds (for about one franc) in a town near by. Got pally with six French gendarmes and hope to see them again when I have another spell off.

"I guess they could take me around the town if I wanted to see the sights. Also at all villages where we stay, I make friends with some of the cottagers, and get lots of coffee and salads and was.h.i.+ng done for me. I am getting quite a reputation for finding places to obtain a little meal to vary the Army rations.

"Cigs are best in tins; in boxes they get very damp. Cheer on! Good luck to you.

d.i.c.k."

Zaidos handed back the letter with a smile.

"Thank you very much," he said. "That's certainly a fine letter. It was nice of you to share it with me."

"That's all right," said the boy. "Everyone is glad to read every other fellow's letter out here, whether he knows anything about the people or not. We get so few letters. The people at home send us candles and matches and kippers, as you see from the letter, and they send lots of cigarettes to my brother. I don't smoke. They send us paper and envelopes, too. You know all our letters are opened, don't you? I don't see that it makes much difference. I've always thought that I could see how I could write a pretty innocent looking letter if I was a spy.

"They have had a lot of trouble with spies at Verdun, where my brother is. Why, would you believe it, the Germans have come right inside the French and English lines in broad daylight to do their spying! One bold ruse they worked, just once was to rig up one of their automobiles to look like our ambulances. That car carried six Germans, all dressed as English soldiers, and once inside our lines they went das.h.i.+ng around as aids and orderlies.

"All went well with them, they had seen the whole layout and gone down to the very last trench, when one of them stumbled and out came a thoughtless 'Mein Gott!' for he thought he had broken his ankle. Now of course that would have been a catastrophe indeed, but so was that slip into the German tongue. A kindly Providence saw to it that an alert Tommy had heard, and in a trice those six make-believe English soldiers had been rounded up and were on their way to headquarters.

Next morning there was a sunrise party, for those Germans must be taught it isn't ever healthy for them inside our lines."

"Indeed they must!" agreed Zaidos heartily.

"We have got to beat them in the end," said the English soldier with the quiet sureness that has so often helped England to victory. "But they are sure as sure that they will beat us, so they keep hammering away and they will keep it up just as long as their men last."

As if in answer to his last statement a sh.e.l.l struck the earth twenty yards away, and exploded. Another followed, and fell in almost exactly the same place.

"See that?" said the Englishman. "Two days ago one of our best guns was there where those sh.e.l.ls have fallen. How did they know just where it was stationed? We had not fired it. And it was ambushed from the airs.h.i.+ps. Pretty rotten, work, eh?"

As he spoke, a snapping, long-drawn snarl punctuated by deeper roars told that the rapid-fire guns and the howitzers were awake along the English lines. A stir of preparation pa.s.sed like a wave over the resting and lounging soldiers. Two great Zeppelins appeared overhead.

They wheeled closer and closer. Even at so great a distance, the roar of their engines was terrific.

Zaidos turned and shook hands warmly with the soldier whose letter he had shared.

"Good-bye, and good luck!" he said heartily. "Hope we will meet some day again."

"Good-bye to you!" cried his new friend.

Zaidos, calling Velo, jumped into the trench and ran along its uneven zigzags, on and on, the roar of battle sounding ever louder, until he reached the cook house, and turning into the arm leading to the First Aid Station, he raced into the room and reported to the doctor.

Velo was at his heels. Once more the evil in Velo's soul was crying to him, shouting to him, "This is your day--_this is your day_!"

"I won't forget," commented Velo aloud; and Zaidos said "What?"

They buckled on their aid kits, seeing that they were supplied with everything. They wore orderly kits now. They contained chloroform in a case, a roll of wire gauze, a long rubber bandage, and a tin which contained vials of hyperdermic solutions. These were only for the use of the field surgeons whom they chanced to meet and who frequently had to call on the Red Cross orderlies and stretcher bearers for supplies.

Then in the next compartment was the hypodermic syringe, and beside it a flask for aromatic spirits of ammonia. There was a knife and a pair of surgical scissors. After having dropped his scissors a dozen times or so, Zaidos had taken the precaution to tie them to his pouch with a long, fine string.

There was gauze, eight packets of it; four first aid packets complete, six bandages, and two diagnosis tags and pencils. When there was time, it was sometimes advisable to tag the wounded men. It made them get moved quicker when the patient finally reached the operating room.

A spool of adhesive plaster was perhaps one of the most useful things included, and there were pins and ligatures, and a small pocket lantern which Zaidos at least had never had occasion to use.

Velo looked carefully at his own kit. He did not intend to be caught in any carelessness or neglect of duty. He had cast aside as unsafe the idea of skipping away. It was more dangerous than the falling sh.e.l.ls. He, like many another, had become calloused. On battlefields men move with as much of a sense of security as though they were invisible. It is not so much that they are not afraid as that they grow into a feeling that the dreadful din, the rattle and bang and dirt and blood, the anguish of men and horses, the distorted and ghastly deaths, will pa.s.s them by. The whine of bullets, and the spiteful snarl of exploding sh.e.l.ls seems as much an incident as the tin rainfall and the wooden thunder on the stage.

Zaidos noticed this, and felt it himself. He saw men go singing along the trenches to their death, singing love songs and tender little ballads that had to do with flowers and larks and English lanes in May.

And most of all he noticed that the face of every wounded man held a look of surprise in greater or less degree; of amazement, as though the outraged body said, "Has this thing come to _me_? Impossible!" The look was on the dead lying sprawled and twisted in the last silent paralysis of humanity. And although the dead and dying and wounded lay like warnings of a coming fate, although men tossed and reared grotesquely, and shattered horses screamed shrilly in throes of blind agony, the unhurt thousands moved on or lay in their trenches giving fire for fire, death for death without a quiver of concern.

Out into the worst of it went the boys together, Zaidos filled with the high courage of one who does his duty whole-heartedly, and is too busy with the task to wonder at his own fate, Velo with the unconcern of the panther who creeps sure-footedly along the crumbling ledge after his prey. With the noise, the sights and confusion of battle, a kind of madness grew in Velo. The words "To-day, to-day, to-day!" made a sort of song within him. He had all the time in the world. He liked to see Zaidos working, working, tiring himself out. It didn't really matter when he put Zaidos out. He only knew that sooner or later he would do it. He had become a criminal. The evil had wrecked his soul.

The boys worked with furious zeal. When the final toll of this dreadful war is taken, high up on the lists of fame, supreme in the immortal and s.h.i.+ning roster of the saints, should stand the names of the men and women of the Red Cross. The zeal of fighting could not uphold them. The l.u.s.t of battle could not inflame their courage. It was theirs to walk unguarded in the red rain of death, to kneel where the sh.e.l.ls fell thickest, to pa.s.s through the line of deadly fire with their pitiful burdens.

Doing only good, bringing relief and rescue, they, too, have fallen, hundreds of them, victims of a struggle in which they had no active part.

Zaidos and that dark shadow, Velo, knelt beside a wounded soldier, and strove to save his life, while a black robed priest knelt beside the conscious man. He made the responses of his Church clearly and evenly.

He listened while the chaplain commended him to the mercy of G.o.d. With an even voice he gave his name and sent a last pa.s.sionately loving message to one he loved. Then while the boys still doggedly strove to stay his pa.s.sing, he began to speak. His voice changed to the shrill, clear tones of childhood. He forgot the sonorous Latin of a moment past. He looked up and folded his hands.

"Mary, Mother, meek and mild, Hear me, then a little child--"

He went on with the childish prayer. Velo stood up. Zaidos, kneeling, shook his head, waited until the voice trailed into silence, and folded his kit. They had come too late. The priest stood for a moment in prayer. The boys moved on, but Zaidos looked back. He was just in time to see the priest, with that strange look of wonder dawning on his face, sink slowly to his knees, and droop across the dead man's breast.

A bullet was in his heart.