BARRAGE FIRE
Don Hale certainly had a very unpleasant prospect before him.
Responsibility shared is that much lessened; but, bravely holding his
feelings in check, he guided Number Eight with a firm hand.
"I hope to goodness no more adventures are in store for me to-night,"
he thought, grimly.
Reaching the scene of the catastrophe, the car bumped and floundered
heavily over places where the explosion had torn up the road-bed.
The "empties" were still stalled, but the transports in advance had
gone on their way; and for this Don felt very thankful, as it enabled
him to make better speed.
Around another bend--then Number Eight began mounting the rather narrow
road which led over the hill just beyond. The roar of the big guns
hidden in the forest was now almost incessant, and between the trees
in the distance, through the clearing atmosphere, the ambulancier
caught glimpses of flares and signal bombs rising above the German
trenches.
Along this portion of the way he again encountered "arrivés," which
were coming in pretty fast and still further devastating the forest,
but so long as none of them landed within a few hundred yards or so the
young Red Cross driver's mind was easy.
Finally the ambulance climbed over the summit and presently went
slipping and sliding down the opposite slope. The lightning now cast
only an occasional glimmer among the trees and the task of piloting the
car down that wet and treacherous incline required all the skill Don
Hale possessed. Not the faintest glimpse of horses, wagons or trucks
could he see. It was taking chances with a vengeance. Nevertheless the
young ambulancier, ever mindful of the serious nature of his mission,
kept steadily on, while the forest all about him rang and reverberated
with the thunderous reports of the big guns. A succession of rolling
hills was passed in safety, and now the dreaded crossroad was being
approached.
"The Germans are peppering it, all right!" exclaimed Don, aloud.
A marmite had just dropped on the heights above.
There are some things to which the nerves can never become accustomed.
Don Hale felt his heart throbbing faster; he clutched the steering
wheel with a stronger grip, and anxiously peered upward.
Bang!
Another shell, he felt sure, had come close to its objective point.
Still Number Eight kept plugging steadily along, and while the boy's
thoughts were fixed intently on the crossroad a series of bright
flashes accompanied by crashing reports from the top of a high bank
almost overhead nearly startled the life out of him.
A battery of soixante-quinze, or seventy-fives, had suddenly gone into
action. The force of the concussions was so frightful as to cause the
ambulance to shake and tremble in the most violent fashion. The young
ambulancier's head seemed to be fairly bursting.
Guns on the other side of the road now began blazing away, and to the
rolling, volleying, crashing reports was joined the echoes hurled back
by the surrounding hills.
A tir de barrage[12] was on.
[Footnote 12: Tir de barrage: a barrage fire, or bombardment by which
shells are placed close together along a certain line, so as to form
there a barrier against advancing troops.]
Fearful that his ear-drums might be permanently injured, Don strove to
get away with all possible speed, but the road was slippery, the hill
rather steep, and under the circumstances Number Eight could only crawl
along.
He found the strain almost unendurable.
The roar gradually became louder, at last culminating in one mighty,
reverberating crescendo, like the rolling and booming of continuous
thunder, which jarred the earth with its appalling intensity.
As the car neared the top of a slope Don Hale, scarcely able to control
his jumping nerves, became a witness to one of the most marvelous and
stupendous spectacles which man has ever given to the world.
From the heights both to the north and south as far as his vision
could reach, guns of many calibers were belching forth their messengers
of death so fast that in places the spurts of livid fire piercing the
blackness appeared almost to join together and form a flickering line
of flame. All the elements of the sublime, the terrible and the unreal
were there; and so awestruck and thrilled was the boy that, actually
forgetting the danger which threatened him, he brought the ambulance to
a halt and gazed with wonderment on the scene.
Streaming high into the sky was a great pyrotechnic display. Balls
of brilliant white fire sent a ghastly light over the surrounding
landscape; red and green signal rockets were continually ascending,
while powerful searchlights flashed this way and that, until the night
was fairly driven away and a strange, almost supernatural illumination
held sway.
Breathless, almost spellbound, Don Hale sat in the seat of the
ambulance. Then, suddenly, recalled to his senses by the words "tres
pressé" flashing through his mind, he put the car in motion again.
Truth to tell, the boy had never been more frightened--more unnerved in
his life. While such a fearful commotion was under way it seemed as if
nowhere could any safety possibly exist. All things impressive at other
times now dwindled into insignificance.
Occasionally the vari-colored lights in the sky shone faintly on the
now moving line of "empties." Amid the immensity of the conflict even
the great camions appeared like mere atoms. However, it gave Don Hale a
sense of vast relief to know that he was not alone.
The ambulance descended a slope and mounted a hill beyond.
The danger point was right before him. The vehicle lurched heavily.
The rear wheels had narrowly missed sliding into a shell-hole. Yes,
there had been some work going on at the crossroads that night. Now the
driver increased his speed, and Number Eight presently shot over the
brow of the hill.
And from the heights Don caught a glimpse of another extraordinary
scene--the bright flashes of the French shells, a literal stream of
fire, bursting over the German lines--withering, scorching blasts,
which must have been fairly annihilating to the enemy's trenches. And
in the heavens above was another magnificent display of star-shells and
signal rockets. But this time Don did not halt a second.
The thunder of the guns showed no signs of abating, and as blow invites
blow, so the artillery on the eastern hills was stirred into frenzied
action, and the terrible din of the French batteries was answered
by the terrible din of the foe's. Countless projectiles whistled
and screamed overhead in both directions. Every instant terrific
detonations came from shell-bursts in the forest, and frequently the
frightened driver of the Red Cross ambulance caught glimpses of their
lurid gleams.
"It seems almost like the end of the world!" he reflected, with a
shiver.
About this time the boy began to vaguely wonder if dawn was not
breaking. At first quite uncertain, he soon realized that the blackness
actually was being dispelled.
"Ah, what a relief!" he cried.
Imperceptibly but steadily, the light spread throughout the sky, and
finally a cold, cheerless glimmer was descending into the valleys,
bringing the surroundings very plainly into view. Once more the
serpent-like line of camions had come to a halt. Not a driver could
be seen, all evidently having sought safety in the abris along the
roadside. Don Hale felt an almost irresistible impulse to do the same,
but, manfully setting such thoughts aside, he stuck to his post.
At last the car was chugging its way up the slope of the final hill.
Now the tops of the gaunt, scarred trees above stood out clearly
against the rapidly-lightening sky. Gleams of somber gray were
penetrating into the forest and formless shadows began to assume
definite shapes. All nature appeared in its most sad and melancholy
aspect. The dripping, water-soaked vegetation reflected the dull
leaden gray of the clouds overhead; rivulets were still trickling down
the hill and huge puddles and pools lay on all sides, as reminders
of the recent storm. There is always a certain solemnity about the
awakening of day, and this particular dawn seemed to be one of the most
impressive the young ambulancier had ever known. He could not help
picturing in his mind the awful scenes which must be taking place along
the battle-front, yet, wrought up as were his nerves, thoughts of Chase
Manning almost constantly came to his mind. Had anything happened to
him? Where was he? What wouldn't he have given to know!
The last stretch was probably the most terrible of all. Shells were
actually landing all about the road. Like avalanches, the upheaved
earth and stones and trees came crashing downward, though, amid the
terrible roar, no sounds of their falling could be heard.
Now that the light was stronger, Don Hale, his face bathed in
perspiration, drove recklessly; and Number Eight, like a marathon
sprinter on the final lap, wobbled, staggered and shook as it bowled
over the last few yards of the main road and turned into the spur which
led to the abri.
"Great Julius Cæsar! I am actually here!" cried Don.
The car stopped with a jerk, and in another second he was on the
ground, running with all speed toward the shelter.
With every ounce of his strength he pounded on the door.
It was almost immediately opened, and Don Hale, the youngest
ambulancier in the Red Cross service, almost fell inside.