WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT
It was nine o’clock when they reached the first post of observation
in their journey, an outpost on the top of a densely wooded hill
where they were to remain as long as the General wished to stay. It
was a splendid post of observation. A vast battle-torn valley
stretched below them for miles and miles. From their vantage point
they could see it brilliantly lighted at short intervals by the
flares of the enemy. The flares lit the trenches--black, ragged
gashes running along the earth--and beyond, where the awful
desolation of No-Man’s-Land stretched, peopled only with its dead.
Seen with field glasses, the plain drew near and they could see the
torn surface and the tumbled groups here and there. A great battle
had been fought and both sides were resting. Rest was absolutely
necessary. The Allies had advanced three miles, pushing back a foe
that stubbornly contested every step of the way. The Germans had
brought vast numbers of reserves into action but even then the
whirlwind tactics and savage rushes of their oversea foe had driven
them back rod by rod.
Porky and Beany looked on and trembled with excitement. There ahead,
hidden in the darkness, were the Huns. There were the barbarians who
had shown a civilized world how men can slip back into worse than
savagery. Wasted lands, ruined homes, orphaned and mutilated little
children, butchered old people. All the unspeakable horrors of war
trooped through the boys’ minds, a hideous train of ghosts, as they
looked across the valley. Ahead lay the heartless and ruthless
killers, wolves that had come to worry and tear the sheep, but
behind in the darkness, the boys knew with a thrill, every possible
mode of transportation was swiftly bringing up the reserve American
troops, thousands and thousands of them; men in their prime and
beardless boys grim, determined, yet light-hearted, ready to fight
as only Americans can fight. Men from the farms, farms in the east
where fifty well-tilled acres was a fine homestead; farmers from
that great and spacious west where a man called miles of land his
own. Professional men, clerks, divinity students, adventurers, all
welded by this great need into a common likeness. Eager for life,
yet fearlessly ready to die if need be, a mighty army was on its
way, was drawing nearer and nearer to the tired troops below.
Overhead an adventurous plane or two hummed in the darkness.
“And we can’t help!” said Porky mournfully. “Not a thing we can do,
not a thing!”
“Oh, well, we are doing all we can,” said Beany. “I don’t just see
what _more_ we can do. We can’t help our age.”
“No, but if we are not told just _where_ to stay, and _where_ to go,
I mean to take a little stroll around to-night,” said Porky.
The boys went over to the General, who stood looking across the
valley and saluted. He looked, and gravely returned the salute.
“Good-night, boys,” he said.
“Good-night, sir,” said the boys, and then as an afterthought, “May
we walk around a bit, sir?”
The General was busy studying the vast field below him as the
flashes of light revealed it.
“Yes, if you don’t get lost,” he said absently, “and be on hand at
eight to-morrow morning. I may be ready to go on then.”
“Yes, sir,” said both boys cheerfully. What luck! The General
certainly didn’t know what he was getting himself into.
“The whole night to ourselves, and no bounds, and only we mustn’t
get lost!” chuckled Porky.
“Peach pie!” murmured Beany. “Let’s be off! Where will we go first?”
“Down there,” said Porky, waving a hand widely over the valley.
“That’s where I thought. But we can’t get into any scrape on account
of the General. You know he wasn’t thinking about us at all when he
spoke, and, besides, there would be an _awful_ fuss if we got into
any trouble. It would be good-by to our little trip. We would be
sent back quicker than they sent Bill and Peggy.”
“Who wants to get into any scrape?” said Porky. “All I want to do is
to see--to see--well, to see just what I _can_ do.”
“Well, come on,” said Beany mournfully. “I bet we are in for some
fun, because when we look for things we generally find ’em.”
“What hurts me,” said Porky, “is not carrying weapons of any sort.
It’s a good safe rule for the Boy Scouts, but I’d be glad of some
little thing like a sling shot or a putty blower.”
“I don’t need anything,” said Beany, “I’ve got the neatest thing you
ever _did_ see.” Quite suddenly he drew something from his hip
pocket and shoved it under his brother’s nose. Porky sidestepped.
“Ha!” said Beany. “It works!” He showed Porky his weapon. It was a
monkey wrench from the auto tool chest. In his hand it looked like a
revolver.
“Pretty neat,” said Porky. “Is there another one in the box?”
“Yes, I saw another,” said Beany. “I don’t see any harm in this. Any
one might carry a monkey wrench,” and replaced it carefully in his
pocket.
“Sure thing,” said Porky, making for the car, followed by his
brother. “Didn’t the Reverend Hannibal Butts get up to preach one
Sunday, and dig for a clean handky to wipe his face with and come up
with a bunch of waste and use it before he saw what he was doing?”
“I remember that,” said Beany. “I thought I’d die! And so did
everybody else. It ’most broke up the meeting.”
“Well, when you flashed that monkey wrench I thought it was a
revolver sure enough. But it was only an innocent little wrench, and
here is the mate to it!” He pocketed the tool, and slipping
cautiously out of sight of the group of officers, they went
scrambling noiselessly down the steep trail into the valley.
Reaching the foot of the hill, they struck cautiously out toward the
entanglements, dropping on their faces whenever a flare went up.
Presently Beany, a little in the rear, pulled his brother’s leg.
Porky stopped, and waited for Beany to wriggle up. He muttered,
“What?” but did not turn his face. He knew too well that a face
turned upwards in the darkness can be seen by an observant watcher
overhead in some prowling plane.
“Men whispering over toward the right,” said Beany of the marvelous
ears.
“No business for any one to be there,” said Porky, listening
intently. “We are well on our side yet.”
“It’s over there on that little hillock,” said Beany positively,
“and I think they are whispering in German.”
“Why, they _can’t_ be, Bean,” said Porky. “We are away inside our
lines, and we wouldn’t have men out there and, besides, they
wouldn’t be whispering German or anything else. When our men are
supposed to keep still, they _keep still_!”
“I can’t help it,” said Beany. “They are whispering in German.”
“All right,” said Porky, reluctantly turning toward the spot
indicated by Beany. “We’ll go over and see what it is, and if there
are any Germans holed up around here, we’ll sick on a few troops.”
They did not stand up again, but slowly and with the greatest
caution approached a small hillock that stood slightly away from the
steeper hills. It was not wooded enough to afford any shelter, nor
was it high enough to be a good spot for a gun. For that or for some
other reason, the enemy had failed to shell it.
On the side toward the Allies a pile of high boulders was tumbled.
The rest was grass grown. Beany, whispering softly in his brother’s
ear, insisted that the voices came from this place.
“Then they are underground,” whispered Porky in his turn.
Slowly, ever so slowly they crept up to the little hill and lay in
the darkness, listening. Certainly through the grass and stones of
the mound came the muffled sound of cautious voices. If they had
been speaking English, it is probable that even Beany’s wizard ears
would not have caught the sound. But the harsh guttural German, even
when whispered, seemed to carry far.
“I don’t see how you heard ’em,” breathed Porky. “It’s hard enough
to believe now. What do you suppose it all means?”
“Search me!” Beany breathed in return.
“What they doing over on our side?” wondered Porky.
“It’s a good place all right,” said Beany against his brother’s ear
as they lay close to the grass.
They were silent for a while, when the unbelievable happened. It was
so amazing, so stunning, that both boys at first could not believe
that they heard aright. They heard a sound like a windlass or crank
turning, a few clods tumbled down on them, and a voice once more
whispered hoarsely three words:
“Gee, it’s hot!”
“_Gee, it’s hot!_” said the German voice and the simple words seemed
to the astounded boys to ring across the valley! On the contrary,
they were spoken in a low whisper.
Another voice replied. “He won’t like it if you speak English, you
know.”
“I can’t help it,” said the first speaker. “We are two to one
anyhow, and I am tired of talking that lingo. I’m a good German all
right, but I wasn’t brought up to _speak_ German and it comes hard.
And this is the hottest place I ever did get in. I don’t like it. Do
you know what will happen about to-morrow? I’ll tell you. We will
find ourselves miles behind the Allies’ lines, and then what do you
propose to do, Peter?”
“Bosh!” said the man called Peter. “You think because a handful of
Americans are here that the tide has turned. Be careful what you
think. I tell you _no_. What can a few hundred of these fellows do
against the perfect, trained millions of the Fatherland?”
“You don’t know them,” said Fritz.
“Yes, I do,” said the man Peter. “Now let me tell you. For years I
was in England; sent there to study those foolish bull-headed people
and to create all the unrest I could. It was _so_ easy. I saw these
Americans there, crazy, loud-mouthed, boasting, always boasting.
They talked fight, they told wild tales about the bad men of their
west, always boasting. So I tried them. I am a big man, Fritz, and
strong; I was not afraid of a little fight, me, myself. I tried
them. I slurred their government, sneered at their president,
laughed at their institutions. What think you? They laughed. They
_laughed_! Quite as if I said the most kindly things. I said, ‘What
I say is true, is it not?’ and they said, ‘Perhaps, but it is so
funny!’ That is what they said, ‘_so funny_!’ They should have slain
me where I stood.”
“They don’t care what you say or what the rest of the world says,”
whispered Fritz. “They are too big. Their country is too big. When
they fight.... Wait until you have seen them fight! They fight with
grunts and gasps and bared teeth. They do not need trenches, they
will go over the top with a shout. You will see, friend Peter. They
are back there in the darkness now. I feel them!”
“A few of them, only a few,” said Peter. “This little castle of sod
and stone is getting on your nerves, my friend. Look you! Do you
think the Highest would deceive us? Never, never! There is nothing
to this talk of the Americans coming over here. To be sure, they
have declared war, but what of it? They are no good. They have no
army. All their boasted possessions, all their harbors, all their
wealth, yet they have no army. No army! That shows how inefficient
they are. Never fear, my Fritz. Not a hundred thousand will reach
this soil. I have it from our commanding officer himself.”
“Then here’s hoping for a quick release from this hole,” said Fritz
bitterly.
“To-morrow,” said Peter; “to-morrow our hosts will sweep across this
valley, and we will be with our own again.”
“Oh, I hope for some release. It’s the hardest duty I have ever been
given.”
“But think how we have been able to guide our guns, talking as we
can to the airplanes through the clever arrangement of our three
little trees on top of our delightful little hill.” He laughed. “How
clever it all is! And no one will ever suspect!” He paused again to
chuckle, and Porky quite suddenly shoved a sharp elbow into Beany’s
ribs.
“Well, I’m sick of it,” said Fritz still in his low, hoarse whisper,
and seemed to move away from the side of the hill where he had been
standing.
The boys with the greatest caution wriggled away.
“Now what do you think of _that_?” said Porky when they were in a
position where they could talk in safety. “_What do you think of
that?_”
“Anyhow,” said Beany, “they aren’t spies. I’m sort of fed up on
spies. I can stand for most anything else.”
“No, they are not spies. I can’t make out just what their little
game is. It’s important, though; you can see that. And we have got
to stop it somehow.”
“That ought to be easy enough. Just go back and get the bunch and a
few soldiers, and take ’em.”
“What’s the time, anyhow?” asked Porky. He answered his own question
by fishing his wrist watch out of his pocket. He had put it there
for fear the luminous dial might be seen.
“Only eleven,” he said. “Plenty of time.” He sat staring into the
darkness. There were very few flares now, although the night was
usually kept bright with them.
“Wonder why that is,” Porky said.
“Something to do with our little mud house, don’t you think so?”
said Beany.
“Yes, I do,” answered his brother. “I wish I could make it out. Give
us time, give us time!”
“Well, come on! I want to get some one on the job,” said Beany. “I
feel fidgety.”
“Sit still,” said Porky. “I want to think.”
“What you got in your head now?” said Beany. His voice sounded
anxious.
“We are going to take those men prisoners with our own little
wrenches and just by our two selves.”
“Three of them?” gasped Beany.
“Three of them!” said Porky. “Come on!”