THE CELLAR’S SECRET
Porky and Beany were too tired to care what happened next and,
taking quick advantage of a brief smile and nod of dismissal from
the General, they made their way to their quarters and soon were as
sound asleep as though they were lying on the softest down. They
slept and slept, losing all track of time, and by the General’s
orders were undisturbed. When they finally woke, really wide awake,
they found that a whole day and a night had passed since the early
dawn when they had staggered off to bed.
They woke at the same instant, as was their habit, and sitting bolt
upright, stared unblinkingly at the young officer sitting at the
window writing.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” said Porky, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s the time, sir?” said Beany, looking curiously at his wrist
watch.
“Yours stopped too?” asked Porky. “Mine has. Funny!”
“Not so very funny,” said Lieutenant Parker, closing his writing
tablet. “You have been asleep since yesterday morning, and I imagine
the watches ran down.”
“Yesterday morning!” gasped Porky. “Why didn’t some one call us?”
“General’s orders,” said the Lieutenant. He laughed, “Gee, I wish he
would order _me_ to bed for a week. You can bet I would go!”
“Well, it makes me mad to sleep like this,” said Porky in
irritation. “What all have we missed, anyhow?”
“Nothing much,” said the Lieutenant. “The biggest drive of the war
is on and to-morrow General Pershing with his staff will make the
trip along the front line trenches. I hope he counts me in on that.”
“You liked to be in the trenches, didn’t you?” asked Porky, stooping
to lace his puttees.
“You are right I did,” said Lieutenant Parker, wrinkling his smooth
young forehead. “I came over to fight, and it was just my luck to
get this measly scratch on my head, and blamed if they didn’t put me
here in this office doing paper work!”
“Well, you got to give your skull time to get well, haven’t you?”
asked Beany. “It was cracked, wasn’t it?”
“No, just a piece scooped out of it,” said the Lieutenant in a bored
tone.
The boys grinned. Lieutenant Parker was one of the best friends they
had, and they had learned that nothing teased him like being quizzed
about the deep, palpitating scar that creased his dark head, the
truth being that he had received the wound in an encounter that had
won him the coveted French war cross with the palms. Porky and Beany
considered modesty in others little less than a sin. They were
always so thirsty for tales of blood and glory that they could not
see why _any one_ should hesitate to tell every possible detail of
any adventure. It happened, strangely enough, that they did not
apply the same rule to their own conduct. To get details out of the
Potter twins was, as their own father said, like drawing nails out
of a green oak board, accompanied by screeches of protest. The boys
had had the Lieutenant’s story, however, and they harked back to the
news of the day.
“I am going on that hike,” said Porky, standing up and stamping
himself comfortably into his clothes.
“So’m I,” said his brother, likewise stamping.
“Try for something else, kid,” said the Lieutenant. “You can’t get
in on this. It is strictly staff.”
“Watch me!” said young Porky, the cocksure. He hurried to the door
and disappeared, while Beany, a trifle slower in his dressing,
roared, “Wait for me!”
A muttered response of some sort was the only satisfaction given.
Beany grinned. “He is always so sudden!” he complained, addressing
the Lieutenant.
“Might as well stay here until he comes back. I never like to butt
in on Porky’s talky-talks. He most generally knows what he wants to
say, and he don’t need any help in getting it out of his system. I
certainly hope we can go with the General. You are always yelling
about that old silver plate you have on your topknot. Look at us:
seems like we just can’t get into a trench. Honest Injun, I’m so
sick of this old chateau--”
“I never did see such a pair!” said Lieutenant Parker. “Didn’t you
have enough of an adventure the other night to last you two or three
days?”
He was going on, when Porky burst into the room. He threw up his
hat.
“Better, much better than I ever hoped,” he crowed.
“Hand it out!” demanded Beany anxiously.
“Why, I was going to give the General a great line of talk, and I
didn’t have a chance to do a thing but salute. He was talking to a
French officer and the minute he went out, the General just said,
‘All right to-day, young man?’ I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and he said, ‘No
time to talk! Report in the courtyard to-morrow morning five-thirty,
field equipment, for special duty with my staff.’
“I saluted again and turned to come out, and the General said,
‘Potter, this is in the way of a reward for that little affair in
the dungeons,’ and I said, ‘Thank you, sir, but the pleasure was all
ours, sir,’ and he said, ‘No, not quite all; because some of the
papers you unearthed _WILL HELP TO TURN THE TIDE_.’ How’s that, old
Beans, _will help to turn the tide_. Gosh! you did it with your
little penknife, didn’t you?”
“Well, never mind that,” said Beany, wriggling. “Don’t you know
anything about this trip to-morrow?”
“Nary word,” said Porky, “but why should _we_ worry? Main fact is
clear, we are going to be among those present.”
The boys spent a restless day getting their traveling equipment in
order and taking it apart again to put it together in some way they
fancied would make an eighth of an inch difference in some of its
dimensions. They strutted a little perhaps. It was truly a wonderful
thing to go with General Pershing on a trip of that sort. They
marveled at their good luck.
That good luck had hinged entirely on their ability to keep their
own counsel. That desire some have to tell all they know, a lot that
they guess, and a few things that they fear, did not exist in the
Potter twins. They could keep a secret without being told to, and
that’s some test. Whatever they overheard was safe. When they saw
things that were not intended for their eyes, they ignored them, or
made an effort to forget all about them. This high sense of what was
honorable and right was noticed immediately by the General as well
as by others whom they met daily.
So they spent the long day patting each other on the back, and
wondering at their great good fortune.
They kept closely to the rooms frequented by the officers. As Porky
pointed out to his brother, there was one old lady at least who was
not wasting any love on them, and they didn’t want to give her a
chance to turn a key on them and spoil all their fun. They had at
least gained a little caution, but how very little the trip was
going to show.
It was barely five next morning when Porky and Beany, like two
shadows, slipped from their quarters and went silently down to the
courtyard. Several automobiles stood ready, heavily guarded, and a
couple of mechanics were busily tightening nuts and testing various
parts of the machinery. No one spoke. The boys crossed the open
space, and in accordance with an agreement made previously, sat down
back to back on a ledge of the broken fountain. They were taking no
risks of surprise or attack from the rear. Silently the minutes
passed. The steady tramp of the sentries and the grating of metal on
metal as the mechanics worked quietly on the cars made so little
sound that distant noises were loud and acute.
The guns of the enemy had been silent for twelve hours. Even Porky
and Beany sensed something big and terrible in the air.
“Want to bet something?” asked Porky, poking his brother with a
backhand jab in the ribs.
He never found out whether Beany was game to bet or not for the door
of the chateau opened and a group of officers came out. General
Pershing led the group. The boys leaped to salute, the sentries
stopped and presented arms. Even the mechanics straightened to their
feet. There was perfect quiet, however, and five minutes later they
started away full speed in the darkness. On and on they went,
passing first through a country which showed very little of the
effects of war. It was a sort of spur that had escaped the enemy’s
assaults in the beginning of the struggle, and which, since the
arrival of millions of Americans, had been lying too far behind the
lines to suffer.
The sun rose: it was day. They stopped in the shelter of a dense
grove and breakfasted on the provisions put up for them by the cooks
back at headquarters. While they ate the drivers of the cars watched
the clear morning skies for airplanes. The sandwiches and coffee,
boiling hot in big thermos bottles, tasted good to the hungry boys,
although they were eaten in silence, and in silence the journey was
continued. Now they commenced to see signs of the frightful
struggle. First great shell craters, then trees uprooted or hacked
down, and village after village lying a mere mass of wreckage. There
were worse things too; sad reminders that made the boys turn pale
with horror.
The stop for dinner was made the occasion of a careful examination
of all the parts of the cars, as any accident in the next few miles
might be most dangerous and disastrous. One of the aides announced
to the several groups of officers that a start would not be made
under two hours so the boys wandered about, looking at the ruined
landscape and picking up here and there sad little mementoes of
friend and foe. Buttons, scraps of jewelry, mostly cheap rings that
girls might have worn and given to their departing sweethearts.
There were dozens of crushed and stained pictures too, so many that
the boys did not bother to pick them up after the first dozen or so.
Pinned to one picture of a chubby child was a little sock. Across
the back of the picture was written, “A year old to-day. My son.
Wish I could see him.”
“Gosh,” said Beany, “I sure do hope he didn’t get his! Perhaps this
just fell out of his pocket.”
“Why didn’t he sign it?” demanded the practical Porky.
“Well, I suppose he didn’t have a hunch we would want his address,”
said Beany. “I’m going to keep this and send it back home to one of
the papers. They will be glad to copy the picture of the fat little
geezer, and p’raps it will get back to his folks.”
The boys wandered on. Coming from a country rich in magnificent old
maples and elms, the ruin, so cowardly and so ruthless, of the great
trees seemed one of the most terrible aspects of the war. Not only
were they torn by shells, but mile after mile stood dead and dying
from the effects of the gas attacks of the enemy. The gas seemed to
be as fatal to the trees as it was to human beings. Not only had the
leaves curled up and fallen, but the trunks themselves were
blackened and dead looking. It was like a country in a nightmare,
everything in the way of buildings flat on the ground, literally not
one stone left on another. The dead and dying trees, leafless and
twisted, let the sunshine down upon it all with scarce a shadow.
The boys reached the site of what had evidently once been a fine
farm. It was a total ruin. They went clambering over the loose
heaped-up stones of what had once been a fine old dwelling, and sat
down for a moment on a flat block that had made the broad and
generous doorstep.
“Gee, this must have been an old place,” said Porky. “See the way
the edge of this stone is worn--and it is granite at that.”
“Look at the size of it, too,” said Beany.
They sat studying the stone when a faint feeble wail was heard. They
looked at each other, startled.
“Aw, gee, there’s a kitten shut up some place,” said Beany, jumping
up. “Let’s find it.”
“Sure we will,” said Porky, “but we can’t take it along. I don’t
suppose General Pershing would want to add a cat to his traveling
party.”
“It sounded most dead,” said Porky. “Kitty, kitty! Here, kitty,” he
called in his most persuasive voice.
Another little cry answered him and gave them the direction. “It’s
the cellar,” said both boys together, and with one accord they
seized a couple of stout timbers and commenced to pry away part of
the wreckage in what seemed the likeliest entrance to the pitch
black hollow under the bent and broken floor timbers, on which still
rested masses of stone.
Suddenly, in response to their efforts, a huge stone, mate to the
one they had been sitting on, tipped sidewise and slowly slid down
into the darkness, followed by a shaft of light.
There was a sharp cry from below, and the boys looked at each other,
a sort of horror on each face.
“That’s no kitten!” gasped Beany.
For answer Porky slid feet first in the wake of the big stone,
landed on it, and stepped off into a gloomy chamber now feebly
lighted from above. In a moment his eyes were accustomed to the dim
light, and he stepped aside, making way for Beany, who came
helter-skeltering down behind him.
What they saw was a room that had been used as a store-room for the
farmhouse. By some trick of fate the falling walls, while they had
made a tight prison of it, had spared the most of the shelves of
provisions, and rows of preserves and tins of fruit still stood
safely in their places.
A thin, emaciated figure lay in the corner on a pile of dirt over
which a cloak had been spread. The sunken eyes fixed themselves on
the two boys, but there was no recognition in their glassy depths.
What looked like two little piles of rags were huddled close, and as
the boys came nearer, the dying woman, for it was a woman and she
was close to death, clutched them convulsively. The bundles stirred,
and a couple of small heads were raised. Two children, tousled and
covered with dirt, lifted frightened eyes and clung frantically to
the prostrate figure.
Porky crossed swiftly and dropped on his knees by the dying woman.
Very gently he slipped an arm under her heavy head and lifted her a
little on his strong young arm.
“Get a move on!” he flung at Beany, and that young man scrambled up
the pile of debris where the big stone had fallen and instantly
disappeared. Porky, left alone with the woman and the two terrified
children, who tried frantically to burrow out of sight under the
mother’s nerveless arm, could think of nothing better to do than
clasp the woman closely to him in an effort to give her some of his
own heat and vitality. She seemed already stone cold.
Almost at once Beany returned with some of the officers. They came
down and with tender hands lifted the sufferer out of the chilly
dampness of the cellar, and laid her on a pile of coats and
cushions. Some one carefully fed her a few drops of the hot coffee
still left in the thermos bottles. It was very evident, however,
that her moments were numbered.
One of the French officers in the party knelt beside her. Softly,
tenderly, pityingly, he spoke to her in her native tongue.
The weary eyes opened, and rested on his face.