THE FIGHT IN DEVIL'S CUT
One of the important canals in northern France starts from the English
Channel, near Abbeville, and parallels the Somme river, passing through
Amiens, extending thence to Peronne, within the German lines. It was an
important artery for the transportation of munitions and heavy ordnance
directly to the front.
When, two hours after the conversation related in the last chapter,
the sergeant hunted around for means of conveyance to the section
where his battery was to reach the canal, the boys accompanied him.
Accommodations were finally secured on one of the many vans which lined
the highway, and before noon the sergeant informed them that, as they
were approaching the great highway leading to Corbie, he would have to
bid them good-bye, as that was the point designated for the battery to
ship on the canal.
The boys debated the question, whether to remain or proceed to the
front, and finally decided to continue their journey. But before
proceeding two miles further the procession of loaded trucks halted,
and the work of unloading began. They had reached the last permanent
depot near the fighting line, but what to do now was the question. They
were no nearer the object of their desires than when they left Paris.
"I wonder why they are loading up that truck?" asked Ralph, as they
glanced at several power machines close by. "Those boxes are going to
the front, I am sure."
"Want any help!" asked Alfred.
"That's always welcome," said one of the men.
"All right, then," said Alfred, "here goes. Which boxes do you want
first?"
They had already learned that there is nothing so welcome in the
busy front as willingness to lend a hand. It is the open sesame to
friendship and advancement.
"Where are you bound?" asked Ralph, as they marched to and fro.
"Right up to the front. These things must reach the 14th battery before
night," was the reply.
Each of these trucks carried two tons of provisions, loads greatly
in excess of the weights for which they were built, but that was of
no consequence. The fighters must have something to eat, whatever
happened. When the last boxes were piled up the boys remained on the
truck, and the driver, nodding at them pleasantly, threw in the clutch
and speeded out the road to the east.
"How long have you been at this business?" asked Ralph.
"Three months," was the reply.
"How do you like the job?" asked Alfred.
"I like anything that will help the boys at the front," was the reply.
"Is this your regular business?" asked Ralph.
"Well, no, not exactly," he replied. "I didn't have any regular
business before the war, but when it came along I went back into the
army, and I would be there now if the Boches hadn't permanently lamed
me; you see I can't quite get my right leg to straighten out. But it's
all right; we saved France at the Marne, and I'd give the other leg to
give them another such a licking as they got there."
"Let me relieve you," said Alfred after the second hour.
"Why, yes; an offer like that would be acceptable," he replied, as he
rose from his seat.
In all their conversation the man had the aspect of a true gentleman,
and he was certainly out of his element, in that menial position. Later
the boys learned from the assistant on the truck that Loree was the son
of a nobleman, and after having been invalided he insisted on taking
his place in the capacity where he might be most useful.
"Why, you would be surprised, just as I am and have been ever since
this war began, to find how many of the young men of the noble families
of France are doing this kind of work, after they have been rendered
unfit for duty in the ranks," said their companion to Ralph, as they
were seated on the rear of the van.
"How often do you make these trips?" asked Ralph.
"Twice a day, if we can get across the Devil's Cut without
interruption," was the answer.
"What do you mean by the Devil's Cut?" asked Ralph.
"Well, we have a stretch of about two kilometers that's like going
through hell fire. The Germans have had the range of that road for a
month. When we get through that we are all right, and sometimes they
let us pass without shelling; but not often," was the answer.
An hour thereafter the driver moved along and notified Alfred that it
would be necessary for him to take the wheel. "Now get on the left side
of the truck low down," he said to the boy.
Without asking why, he did so and was surprised to see the assistant
and Ralph hanging to a narrow running board at the side.
"What's up?" shouted Alfred.
"We are near the Devil's Cut," said Ralph.
"Well, we are in it now," said the assistant. "Everything seems fairly
quiet,——"
"Bang." Something exploded. The boys had heard that sound before. It
startled but did not disconcert them.
"What! are we going right into the German lines?" asked Alfred, as he
glanced about.
"No," responded Ralph, "but we have a mile or so of close work, and
this is the way the Germans have of welcoming us, as well,——"
"Crash,——" came the second shell, followed by another, completely
drowning the voice of the assistant.
"They mean to get us this time, sure," said he finally. "Some airship
gave them the tip, as they usually do. We must now make a run for it, I
am sure of that."
The words had hardly left his lips before it seemed as though a dozen
shells had burst simultaneously. One of the missiles had struck the
load, or some of the flying pieces went through. The truck stopped.
The assistant was lying on the ground motionless, and Ralph, although
unhurt, was beneath a heavy box, as Alfred picked himself up and looked
around.
He drew Ralph out and glanced at the assistant. "Too bad!" said the
driver, as he descended from the van, and stooped down to examine his
assistant. "That fragment finished him. But we haven't time to wait
here. They have our range, and we cannot help him now. Get in quickly;
there is another one coming, back there; two more,—oh! but they'll
make mince meat of those fellows."
Looking back the boys saw a half-dozen loaded vans, all speeding up,
and some of the men waving their hats in frenzy of excitement.
"Hiding doesn't do much good, but stay down at the side as long as you
can," he shouted back.
Another explosion, this time most deafening, and so near that it seemed
the truck was thrown to one side,—still on went the machine. Then
something peculiar happened. The van started across the field toward
the German lines.
"Something's wrong!" shouted Ralph. "I wonder what the driver is up to
now? We're off the road."
Alfred drew himself up and Ralph saw him disappear toward the front of
the van. The latter followed, and, as he gained the top of the load, he
noticed Alfred leaning over and grasping the steering wheel. The van
swerved around and reached the road, after two of the loaded vehicles
passed them. No sooner had they regained the road when they met a hail
of shrapnel, this time one of the shells striking full and fair beneath
the machine directly ahead.
Alfred had barely time to turn the machine to avoid the wreckage made
by the shot. It was not such a time as to enable the men on one machine
to aid those who were so unfortunate as to be hit by the missiles. The
last series of explosions, unfortunately, struck the driver of the
first van to pass them, as well as demolished the second. Ralph saw the
driver fall and the machine turn. It described a circle.
Alfred looked back and put on the brake hard. Ralph understood. He
leaped from the truck, and rushed across the intervening space, being
fortunate enough to seize a stanchion at the side of the wild van as it
dashed by. It was but a moment's work to reach the chauffeur's seat. He
waved his cap to Alfred, whose car was now again on the main road. They
had now gone more than half the distance across the Cut, and, looking
back, Ralph saw four machines intact and following them. One was
completely demolished and the load scattered; and another, evidently,
had the motive power out of commission.
But they were not yet out of the danger zone. Alfred was now in the
lead, and he had no idea where to go or what roads to take, as they
approached several divergent roads. With shrapnel flying all about, he
halted and as Ralph came up he drove alongside.
"What is the matter?" asked Ralph.
"Nothing," answered Alfred. "Wait until the other fellows come up. Some
one must take the lead."
The third machine drew alongside.
"Go on," said Ralph. "We don't know the way."
"Nor do I," replied the driver.
"Has your driver recovered?" asked Ralph.
"No, I am afraid he is done for; he has an awful cut across the head,"
answered Alfred. "But come on; we can't wait to get information here."
Another machine appeared as the vans driven by Alfred and Ralph were
getting under way.
"This way! this way!" shouted a voice on the fourth machine. "Down to
the left; and don't waste a minute if you don't want to be blown from
the face of the earth."
A cavalryman sped past, waving his carbine, and rounded up Alfred. "Go
back quickly; turn to the left."
Ralph was caught in time; they rounded the crest of a little hill, and
then, for the first time, the rear batteries came into view, and a
mile beyond, rows of sheds appeared in sight.
"That is your place," shouted the man on horseback. "Follow the row of
trees to the right, but don't cross the bridge."
The throttle was thrown on full speed, and, although the roads were
fearfully cut up, and great holes appeared at every turn, which had to
be avoided, they never stopped the maddening race until the first guard
line was reached.
As they turned into the compound where a division was quartered, a
speedy motor car dashed out, and, halting before Alfred's car, signaled
for him to stop.
"Did you all get through?" shouted an officer.
"We left two behind," said Alfred.
The officer sat down, gave a quick order, and speeded away to go back
into that scorching streak of road called the Devil's Cut, to rescue
those who had fallen. This was a mere incident repeated day by day,
until two batteries of 75-millimeter guns were placed in position, a
week thereafter, when that section of the road was made as safe as any
in France.