THE STORM
Naturally the story Don and Dunstan had to relate proved very
interesting to the members of the section. But it did not create a
sensation; in fact it would have required something very wonderful
indeed to create a sensation among those young but seasoned drivers
of the Red Cross. At any rate, however, it furnished a good topic of
conversation for the rest of the day.
"If you will pull chestnuts out of the fire you must expect to get
burnt," declared Chase on one occasion, as Don and Dunstan were busily
at work in the courtyard overhauling and cleaning Number Eight.
"I suppose so," said the aviator's son, smilingly.
After supper the crowd gathered outside the old hotel, and while
they were taking things easy on the roadside the rapid firing of
anti-aircraft guns came to their ears. Following this they heard the
whirring, musical sound of airplane propellers, and presently a fleet
of German planes on a reconnoitering expedition was seen approaching.
Pale and gossamer-like, and flying in groups of three, they presented a
very beautiful appearance. As the shells burst uncomfortably close the
machines began to separate, some veering directly toward the road on
which the Red Cross men had gathered.
Burst after burst of whitish smoke kept pace with them, and the boys
could not help admiring the courage of the airmen, as they maneuvered
their machines this way and that in order to escape the explosives.
"The planes are perfectly delightful to see," said "Peewee." "I'd
almost like to be an airman myself."
"It's too high a calling for you," grinned Chase.
Suddenly the anti-aircraft guns to the east ceased firing and others to
the west began to send forth reports.
And while the drivers stood there, craning their necks and regarding
the spectacle with the utmost interest, a curious sort of whistling
and pattering began to sound close at hand. "Peewee" was the first to
realize what it meant.
With a loud yell of alarm he made a dash for the hotel.
And the others immediately left that particular spot with the same
ludicrous haste.
The distance of a dozen yards or so to the entrance was covered just
in time. The spent anti-aircraft projectiles were dropping from the
sky; and the way they thudded and banged on the roof of the Hotel de la
Palette and upon the roadway just outside made the crowd feel devoutly
thankful that they were under shelter.
"A pretty narrow escape, I should say!" chirped "Peewee," pleasantly,
when the flurry had subsided.
"You bet! But for our record-breaking sprint we might have been
caught," said Chase.
"Ha, ha!" laughed "Peewee." "Oh, my! Oh, my! Won't things be dull when
we get away from here! It will seem so awfully odd not to have to
shake in one's shoes and tremble every little while."
"I'd like to see a motion picture of ourselves crossing the road,"
chuckled John Weymouth.
"I wouldn't," giggled "Peewee."
Having satisfied themselves that the danger was all over, the crowd
made a sortie. They saw the German airplanes sweeping around,
preparatory to returning to their own lines. And as several of the
machines reached a certain position in the sky the rays of the sun, now
low in the west, streaming through an opening in the clouds, caught
the wings, and for one brief instant they flashed and sparkled with a
golden reflection.
Now flying at a much higher altitude, shells failed to reach their
level, and very soon the airplanes became but faint purplish specks in
the distance.
"I guess the war-birds are skimming back home fast so as not to get
caught in the rain," laughed "Tiny" Mason.
Great masses of cumulus clouds were piling up in the west and the air
which blew in their faces came in hot, fitful gusts. As time went on
the whole aspect of the sky became more ominous and threatening, and at
last lightning glimmered faintly just above the horizon.
"It's going to be Heaven's artillery pitted against man's to-night,"
remarked the art student, thoughtfully.
"Which impels me to say that I hope to thunder we won't have to go
out," declared Chase.
The village street now presented quite a lively appearance; for little
groups of reserves here and there surrounded field kitchens, while
others were sitting about eating their evening meal. Occasionally a
military car, enveloped in a cloud of dust, whizzed by, and as the
twilight slowly deepened a couple of camions, one close behind the
other, appearing huge and impressive in the gloom, rumbled ponderously
over the cobbled road, the first of a long line which, under the
protection of darkness, would soon be going toward the front.
Slowly, the shades of night crept over the landscape; the distance
became blurred; only the objects that rose against the sky could be
seen with any distinctness, and these, too, finally became lost to view
in the gathering gloom.
There was nothing very inviting about out-of-doors, so the ambulanciers
at length gathered in the dining-room of the hotel, where Dunstan began
to amuse himself, as well as the others, by making sketches. Then came
the inevitable story-telling and the discussion of various topics,
prominent among the last being the mystery of the Château de Morancourt
and the strange incident which had occurred during Don, Dunstan and
Chase's visit.
"Still an unfinished story!" sighed "Peewee." "When will finis be
tacked on to the end, I wonder!"
"Let me ease your misery," grinned Bodkins, taking out his banjo. "I'll
play a variation on Shubert's unfinished symphony."
"A variation!" jeered "Peewee." "That's a good name for an
unrecognizable collection of tinkles and scraping sounds. Boys, what
do you say to tacking the finis sign on that old banjo--instrument of
torture, I should say--to-night? All in favor of----"
"Aye, aye, aye!"
A hearty chorus rang through the room.
[Illustration: A HEARTY CHORUS RANG THROUGH THE ROOM.]
"The ayes have it," chortled "Peewee." "An axe! An axe! My kingdom for
an axe!"
"And while the execution is taking place I'll seize the opportunity to
take an observation on the weather," laughed the aviator's son.
Then, as a good-natured scuffling began for the possession of Bodkins'
much discussed banjo, he left the cheerfully-lighted room and climbed
up a dark stairway to the second floor.
Very soon he was groping his way toward the room formerly occupied by
the "patron," or proprietor of the hotel. The window faced to the west,
and the boy, presently reaching it, threw up the sash and looked out.
Everything was intensely black; his eyes searched in vain for any of
the familiar details, but not even the faintest silhouette of a roof or
the outlines of a tree could be distinguished.
He had been at his post only a moment or two when there came a bluish
flash of lightning which cast a weird glare over the landscape.
For the briefest interval of time he had a view of the road and a
procession of slowly-moving vehicles. The sweeping outlines of the
hills, too, stood out grimly against the sky. Then came the blackness
and gloom again, only to be broken by other vivid flashes, one quickly
following another.
"It's going to be a wild night, all right," reflected the aviator's
son, as he heard the booming of thunder mingling in with the roar of
the distant cannon.
He was at an impressionable age, and these successive glares, which
revealed the rounded, piled-up masses of storm-clouds and continually
brought into view vistas of the surrounding country, impressed him
strangely. Occasionally the peals of thunder grew louder, but they
were not yet loud enough to drown the never-ending grind and rumble
of wheels, the faint rattle of harness and clinking of chains, or
the voices of drivers yelling commands to their skittish horses. He
wondered if he and Dunstan would be called out at such a time. Don did
not shrink from any task which he might be called upon to perform, but
nevertheless he could not help heartily wishing that the night might
pass without a summons.
"It will be a positive wonder, though, if there isn't something doing,"
he muttered. "The firing is growing heavier and heavier, and guns of
all calibers seem to be at it."
He heard the sound of a step and a cheery voice calling:
"Hello, Don! Where are you?"
"At the observation post," returned the aviator's son.
"And I'll be there in another moment."
Dunstan, after colliding with several pieces of furniture, at length
reached the window.
"Humph!--pitch black!" he exclaimed.
"Yes--except when it isn't," exclaimed Don, with a faint chuckle.
"Quite correct!" agreed the art student. "By George! How weird and
solemn it all seems! And what curious impressions and thoughts it
brings to one's mind!"
"And creepy sensations, too," said Don.
"Very true! To my mind, it is only the very stolid or the unemotional
who fail to be impressed by such manifestations of nature."
For a long time the ambulanciers remained at the window and watched
the lightning growing steadily brighter. The thunder rolled and
reverberated, sounding more and more ominous and menacing.
At length the noise made by several of the boys tramping up to their
rooms made them realize that the hour was growing rather late. Making
their way to the stairway, they descended to the first floor, and were
glad to get back to a region of light and good cheer.
"Ah, how beautiful nature must have looked!" piped "Peewee." "I
suppose, mon cher Dunstan, you could see a whole lot of wonderful
colors and tones denied to us poor, ordinary mortals?"
"I hope so," laughed Dunstan.
"And I can hear a wonderful lot of beauty in my banjo playing, even if
no one else does," giggled Bodkins, who still had the instrument in his
possession. "Just let me illustrate what I mean."
"If you do any illustrating by means of sound I will give a very good
illustration of the fact that there are limits to even the most amiable
of dispositions," said "Peewee." "I hope if the Germans ever capture
this town they'll capture that banjo with it."
"Tut, tut, my boy!--another feeble attempt!" chirped the musician.
"Let me tell you, gently but firmly, that clever remarks and bright,
scintillating touches of wit and humor which lift conversation from the
dull and commonplace are not in your line."
"I'll bet you wrote that out and committed it to memory," jeered
"Peewee," "and----"
At this instant "Tiny," leaning over the table, blew out the lamp,
while John Weymouth, taking Mason's action as his cue, extinguished the
other; and with the sudden and unexpected advent of total darkness the
colloquy between the two came to an abrupt termination.
"The fact has now been satisfactorily demonstrated that there is a
limit even to the most amiable disposition of all," laughed Mason.
Then, with much chuckling and good-natured pushing and jostling, the
ambulanciers made a break for the door, and in another moment or two
emerged into the "Bureau."[10] There they found the sous chef, Gideon
Watts, seated behind the long counter where, in the days long past, the
former patron of La Palette had been accustomed to extend a greeting to
his guests.
[Footnote 10: Bureau; office.]
"Sounds like the sortie of a kindergarten," grinned the sous chef.
"Nothing doing as yet, mes camarades."
"I guess you do well to emphasize the 'as yet,'" commented Chase,
seating himself on a bench.
"We might as well hit the planks, fellows," put in Dunstan. "I
declare--whenever I'm on call I feel more sleepy than at any other
time."
"The same with me," confessed Weymouth. "But by the sound of things a
fellow wouldn't be able to get much sleep no matter how hard he tried.
Whew! That real, bona-fide thunder is going to be a winner over the
imitation kind."
A deep, booming reverberation, winding up with a succession of crashes,
was the occasion of Weymouth's remark.
Of course the drivers who were on call always remained fully dressed,
and in order that there might not be an instant's delay in starting,
as a rule they got what rest they could on the benches with which the
bureau was supplied.
Perceiving that Watts was hard at work on a report, and no doubt being
unconsciously affected by the solemnity and grandeur of the warring
sounds of nature, the spirit of levity soon left the boys, and, one
after another, they spread their blankets and lay down.
Conversation, carried on in subdued tones for some time, at length
ceased altogether, though no one had yielded to the inclination to
sleep. There seemed to be a curious feeling of unrest, of tense
anticipation, which affected all of the Red Cross men and prevented
their eyes from closing for more than a few moments at a time.
Don Hale found himself mechanically studying the scene about him. The
glow of light from the lamp which stood by the side of the sous chef
spread far enough out to reveal the businesslike appearance of the
bureau. Numerous bulletins hung on the walls. Some included a list
of the members of the section, the squads to which they belonged and
the order of the driver's turns. Then, giving a certain military
atmosphere to the place, rules and regulations to be observed by "La
Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine" were posted up, as well as
documents from the "Médicin divisionnaire" and other officers. But,
somehow, the wandering glances of the aviator's son nearly always
returned to the bent-over figure of Watts and the telephone close
beside him. A spot of light on the instrument that gleamed and sparkled
like a star of the first magnitude seemed to have a peculiar, almost
annoying fascination for him. Whichever way he moved his head its
assertive sparkle caught him in the eye.
"I was almost sure we'd get a call before this," he exclaimed at length.
"Oh, I don't know," returned Watts. "Wendell anticipated that there
might be some big doings to-night, and he has six cars stationed at
Montaurennes. I hope they will be able to handle all the work."
Chase seemed to give a sigh of relief.
"The storm will soon be here," he declared. "The thunder is steadily
growing louder."
"And the artillery, as though to rival its efforts, is pounding away
more vigorously than ever," came from a partly-recumbent and shadowy
figure in a far corner of the room.
The voice belonged to Dunstan.
"Well, we can't help it," grunted Weymouth.
He eased himself off the bench and after yawning several times began
pacing forth and back. The others, weary, with blinking eyes, yet
unable to sleep, evidently coming to the conclusion that any sort of
action was preferable to remaining still, got up and joined him.
Now the booming of the thunder was giving them an idea of the fury of
the storm. When midnight came the almost continuous roar was jarring
and shaking the old Hotel de la Palette to its foundation. Window panes
and doors rattled noisily, and the ambulanciers, about as wide awake as
they had ever been in their lives, listened with feelings of awe as the
rushing wind howled and whistled past and drenching torrents of rain
beat and splashed against the ancient structure.
"Some poor chaps are getting a mighty good soaking to-night," remarked
Don.
"I should think both sides would call off the war while the storm
lasts," declared "Tiny." "Now is the time I suppose we ought to hear
that 'phone bell ringing."
"Don't mention such a thing," said Dunstan.
Then, as the tumult of the raging storm made conversation difficult,
the ambulanciers relapsed into silence. Some again lolled on the
benches, while others continued to exercise their limbs.
The crashing of the thunder soon became almost deafening, and through
every crack of the windows and door the bluish flashes of lightning
gleamed brilliantly. And for hour after hour, with scarcely a lull, the
storm kept up its violence.
Glad indeed were the Red Cross men when at length the force of the
downpour began to lessen, the wind to quiet down and the lightning to
come at longer intervals.
About two A. M. the last volley of nature's artillery boomed
majestically overhead, the last heavy patter of rain-drops was heard,
and the tempest, passing on, left the village serene and peaceful,
except for the sound of the distant guns.
"Ah, mes amis, I breathe freely again," cried Dunstan. He laughed. "To
tell the truth, I had dreadful visions of taking Number Three along
that water-soaked road. It shows the folly of borrowing trouble. Be a
philosopher. Being a philosopher prevents wrinkles from creasing the
brow. It holds the gray hair at bay. It----"
Ting-a-ling! Ting!
With startling clearness, with startling suddenness, the 'phone bell
began to ring.
No one uttered an exclamation; no one spoke. But every head was turned
on the instant toward Gideon Watts, whose loud "Hello!" sounded
simultaneously with the ending of the ringing of the bell.
Every one stepped nearer the counter; every one waited with the utmost
eagerness--the utmost interest--to hear the words which would presently
fall from the sous chef's lips.
And only an instant elapsed before they came.
"All right, Monsieur le Médecin," he cried. "We'll attend to it right
away." Then facing the aviator's son, he added: "A hurry call from
Montaurennes, Don--'tres pressé,' too, says the Médecin Savoye. Sorry,
old chap. I guess you'll find it isn't any joke, either, getting to the
post."
But Don Hale did not wait even to make a reply. Rushing to the bench,
he picked up his gas mask and steel helmet, suspended one over his
shoulders and slapped the other upon his head.
"Quick, Chase!" he called. "So-long, fellows!"
Then the boy dashed out of the room and in another moment reached the
courtyard.
By the aid of his pocket flash-light he cranked the car. The explosive
roar and hum of the motor suddenly started up, and, as it began to
subside into a series of soft rhythmic notes, Don sprang to his seat.
He heard the sound of a door slamming shut and the patter of rapid
footsteps--Chase was hurrying over.
Without a word the young chap from Maine climbed up beside him.
"We're off!" exclaimed Don, in a low voice, as he threw in the clutch.
A loud warning blast of the horn went over the air, and ambulance
Number Eight began to move slowly forward.