The European Conflict
Many and long were the discussions held by Jim and Bill and Larry now
that they had reached the neighbourhood of the vast European conflict
which had drawn America into its whirlpool. As they sat on their
captured trawler at Dover they could literally hear the sound of that
conflict in the distance; for across the Channel, but fifty miles
inland, beyond Ypres--the celebrated Ypres, which had long since been
shattered into fragments--British troops were fighting their way along
the ridge of Paschendaele. Messines, the German stronghold, had fallen.
British guns, made in British factories manned by British women, had
smashed the Hun defences.
Consider this achievement for a while. In 1914 Britain possessed guns
sufficient only for a small expeditionary force, and the supply none
too liberal. In 1915 her manufacturing resources were sufficient to
supply guns for an increasing host of volunteers--guns and every other
munition necessary for the conduct of warfare. But the business of
manufacturing weapons and all that appertains to fighting was not yet
by any means fully expanded. Indeed, the need for it was not apparent.
The call for shells, more shells, and still more shells, and for guns
by the hundred to project them, had not yet gone through the land, nor
had munition factories sprung up in every direction with the rapidity
of mushrooms.
Then came the Ministry of Munitions--a huge Government concern
inaugurated to control supplies for every kind of warfare. It commenced
its work perhaps hesitatingly, it forged ahead with determination, it
got fully into its stride; so that when 1916 arrived, and Britain and
France faced the German in Picardy across the Somme valley, British
guns, aye, and British men, were the masters of the situation.
And here was 1917 with still more men and with a still mightier array
of munitions, deluging the German, bruising him all along the line
through Flanders into France, smashing him and his defences, driving
him from the ridges which he had held since 1914, and from which he had
looked down upon the British troops floundering in the mud in Flanders.
To the Kaiser and his ruthless agents, to the German High Command as
it is termed, those days must have seemed portentous. Disaster hung in
the air, the fortune which had favoured them from the first instant
seemed to have departed from them altogether. The Central Powers were
in fact girt in by enemies. The world had declared war against these
land and sea marauders. America had joined the Allies, having suffered
indignities at the hands of the Kaiser; Portugal had joined the
ranks of Prussia's enemies; and states in South America were already
considering their position, or were now throwing in their lot with
those sworn to beat down the oppressors of mankind and to fight for the
freedom of nations.
The Dardanelles was an old tale. Britain had there left her mark, and
the graves of her sons, and had departed. In Egypt the tribes haunting
the Delta of the Nile, stirred up by German agents and supplied with
money and with weapons, had revolted and had been subjugated by
British columns. The Senussi, to take an example, were now conquered.
Across the Canal, and far to the east of it, Turkish hosts gathered
in Beersheba, Jerusalem, and other places were watching the steady
relentless advance of a British railway across the desert, and, as Bill
and his friends reached European waters, troops of the King-Emperor
were already on the fringe of Palestine, where very soon they were to
advance by Beersheba, Hebron, Bethlehem, and other places of Biblical
interest, and were to hoist their flag over the ancient and sacred
walls of Jerusalem, once the home of historical crusaders.
Farther east lay Mesopotamia, where the forced surrender of General
Townshend's gallant troops at Kut had long since been avenged by the
capture of that place and the taking of Bagdad. The noble-hearted
Sir Stanley Maude was already leading his forces up the Tigris and
Euphrates towards Mosul, and, though in later months that dread scourge
cholera seized him, there were others to step into his place and still
lead British and Indian troops onwards.
Glance to the eastern area of Europe. If matters wore a rosy aspect
on the French front, in Egypt, Salonica, and Mesopotamia, if along
those lengths of British trench-lines British guns and British troops
were causing the Prussian to reel, the Turks to surrender, and the
Bulgarians to wish perhaps that they had never joined hands with the
Kaiser and his soldiers, to the east of Europe Russian troops were
reeling from another reason altogether.
Revolution was in the air; the rights of man were being preached
and practised in preference to patriotism and unselfish devotion to
country; upstarts were springing into position; subtle agents of the
Kaiser, their pockets heavy with German gold, had seized upon the ear
of the ignorant people; soldiers turned against their officers; the
working and the peasant class were induced first to oppose and then to
throw off allegiance to those who had been their lords and masters.
Anarchy supervened, though for a time the revolutionists, holding
those who would carry matters to great lengths, attempted to form a
Government and control the country, even attempted to keep the soldiers
in the trenches and to stem the German invasion; until anarchy reared
its head still higher, the voices of Trotsky and Lenin overpowered the
voices of the moderates. The Tsar and his house had been removed,
and were, in fact, prisoners; the government of the people, on behalf
of the people, was destroyed. Trotsky and Lenin became, in fact, the
rulers of the country, and they, be it understood, were already more
than half given over to Germany. Trenches were abandoned, soldiers gave
themselves leave and went off to their distant homes, a few faithful
and patriotic divisions were left stranded; guns by the hundred
and munitions of every description--for the most part supplied by
Britain--lay at the mercy of any German battalion that cared to come
for them.
The inevitable followed. German troops advanced and seized wide tracts
of country. They took, with only the trouble of taking it, vast masses
of military booty; they imposed peace terms on the Russians which
practically made slaves of them; and, with their accustomed cunning, so
handled matters that this huge country, once tenanted by a patriotic
people, became dissolved into separate provinces, each claiming its
own sovereignty, the one already engaged in warfare against the other,
careless of the fact that the conqueror was already knocking at their
doors.
That was the position which faced the line when Jim and Bill and Larry
came upon the scene. Our eastern ally, who had held masses of Germans
and Austrians, and bid fair with proper organization and generalship to
march into Austria, and perhaps into the Kaiser's territory, suddenly
went out of the conflict, leaving Germany and Austria free to withdraw
their troops and throw them upon the French and British in the west and
upon the Italians. The situation was more than serious. Already, in
fact, Italy had suffered a serious reverse, and had been driven from
the line along the River Izonso, which she had captured, right back to
the Piave.
There again German cunning and Austrian duplicity had had much to do
with this loss of territory and of soldiers. Lies had been spread,
gullible subjects of King Victor had listened to and had disseminated
tales which robbed some of their comrades of their patriotic valour.
Thus, when the ground was fully prepared, a secret massing of the
Austrians and Germans allowed strong forces to be flung upon our
Italian ally. The line reeled; where the poisonous lies of the Germans
had penetrated, it broke, it fell back, in places it surrendered. The
whole line then was forced to retire, but, thanks to the valour of the
majority of the Italians, to the patriotism of King Victor's army, a
rear-guard action was fought which saved the situation, though for a
time the position was precarious, so precarious, in fact, that British
and French troops were rushed to Italy to stem this invasion.
And now the end of 1917 was at hand. What had 1918 in prospect for
Britain and her allies? The line in France, stretching from Dunkerque
to Verdun and so to Belfort, bristled with men and weapons. Opposite
it lay the German line packed with an increasing throng of soldiers,
while guns and every implement of warfare, now no longer needed on the
Russian front, were being massed, preparatory to the biggest conflict
the world has ever witnessed.
But not yet had the blow fallen. A comparative calm existed along the
front--the calm before the storm which was undoubtedly brewing. It was
this period of the war which found Bill and his friends stepping from
the steamer at Boulogne, about to take their places in the ranks of the
Allies.
"Hello, boys!" someone greeted them as they halted on the quay and
looked about them. "Come over--eh?"
"Yep," Larry answered laconically, shaking hands with this undoubted
specimen of American citizenship, and then casting his eyes round once
more, for he could never tire of the hum and bustle which existed all
round him.
What with railway trucks being slowly shunted towards the water-side,
what with the vessel then busily unloading, the big station and its
restaurant, alive with officers and men, with blue-frocked porters,
hospital nurses, and every variety of human being; with the quay
farther along stacked high with boxes and bales and parcels of every
sort and description, more ships, motor-cars, motor-ambulances, a
shrieking locomotive, soldiers, sailors, and civilians, women and
children and babies, the place was a seething mass of movement, backed
by the hills beyond, and the picturesque town of Boulogne climbing
towards the summit. It was quite a little time, in fact, before either
Larry or Bill or Jim could give much attention to the person who
had accosted them. They found him a tall, raw-boned, thin, American
non-commissioned officer.
"Names!" he snapped, and they gave them.
"Ah! I've heard of you. They sent me a chit through from London. You've
come right here to get trained. How's that? Why not do your training in
the camps in America?"
They told him--Larry in his jerky, short, abrupt and smiling manner;
Jim, serious, rather monosyllabic, having to have the details dragged
out of him; Bill impulsively, as one might expect of such a youth, yet
modestly enough. Then the Sergeant stopped them and clapped a big,
brawny hand on Bill's shoulder.
"I've heard of you. Gee!" he cried, and pushed the young fellow away
from him so as to study him the better. "So you three are Larry and Jim
and Bill, and, say, what did you do with the trawler?"
"Trawler!" Larry gaped, Jim gaped, Bill looked astonished.
"Aye, trawler! D'you think we're such dunces over here that we don't
know what's going on? Just you wait! Look at this--a _communiqué_ which
was issued last night--see it?
"'Gallant affair in the North Sea. British prisoners on board a German
trawler overpower crew and conduct a fight with another trawler.
German torpedo-boat destroyer intervenes, but assistance arrives
at the critical moment in the shape of a British destroyer. The
escaped prisoners capture the other trawler and steam her in with
the help of their prisoners. The two trawlers reach the roads at
Dover quite safely. This feat is mainly the work of three men from
America--Larry----'"
"Here, hold hard!" cried Larry, pushing his head forward, "you're
romancing--eh? Gee! It's truth! Well I----!"
The big Sergeant shouted his laughter and pointed a finger at the
diminutive Larry.
"True? I should say it was! So you are the three! Come right along.
I've quarters for you, and you can get some food and then sit down and
give me the whole yarn. To-morrow you'll go up country and then start
in at the business of training."
Three days later the three had reached a spot some fifteen miles from
the front line, where they were at once posted to a Franco-American
transport unit.
"You'll have to learn the work with horses first of all," they were
told, "after that there is the motor traction part of it. Yes, you'll
see some of the front. In a day or two you'd be sent with one of the
convoys taking ammunition up. It's exciting work sometimes, boys," the
Sergeant continued. "When shelling's severe, the chaps that take up
food and such like, see things, or rather feel 'em. But you've been
under gun-fire--eh! Don't tell me! Ain't I seen the news about the
trawler?"
So he had seen it too, others also, for the advent of the three to
this Franco-American unit was the signal for quite an outpouring of
questions. The very first night indeed, as Larry puffed tranquilly at
his cigar, a big American finger was pointed at him, while there sat
round the circle with their American brothers a number of blue-coated
_poilus_, likewise attached to the unit.
"Oui! Bien!" one of them said, shrugging his shoulders expressively;
"Larry, Jim, Beill! A-ha! Ve knows sem! Ve 'ave 'eard seir names many
time. You come out wis see story now--hey! Dat is bien!"
Larry blew a cloud of smoke at him, Jim fidgeted, Bill felt really like
bolting; to stand upon the bridge of the trawler under gun-fire had
been one thing, to sit there under this battery of eyes with questions
being flung at them, bursting all round them as it were, was quite a
different experience and a greater ordeal to our heroes.
"See here," drawled Larry at length, turning an expressive and somewhat
dirty thumb in Jim's direction, "he's the scholar of our crew, he'll
spout. Jim, you get in at it. 'Sides, you speak French a little, you
told us so on our way over; give it 'em in French and English together."
It was true enough that Jim, in a moment of enthusiasm, and when
feeling confidential, had informed his chums that he was quite a
considerable French speaker; but now he seemed to have forgotten the
occurrence. He shook his head quite angrily, shook a fist at the
grinning Larry, and mopped a streaming forehead. So it devolved on Bill
to tell of their experiences, which he did quite modestly, interjecting
a word or two of French now and again; for, if Jim were dumb, he at
least had heard something in his schooldays and was, as a matter of
fact, quite a fair linguist.
"Then you ain't got no call to feel scared about going up to the line,"
said their Sergeant when the tale was finished. "You three did mighty
well. There's Americans as reached France in advance of our fighting
units in queer ways. Some of 'em come over as stowaways, some sneaked
across in perhaps more open fashion. I know a chap what got took on as
a German nootral in Noo York. What, don't know what a German nootral
is? Well that is some! A German nootral, chaps, is a man what's
absolutely nootral; he don't care nothing for one side nor t'other. But
he happens to have been born of German parents. They've likely as not
settled in America this many years back, and have made pots of money
under the old stars and stripes. They're grateful, they are! they've
brought up their son to feel grateful too! He speaks German, of course,
and equally of course he's nootral, that is when he's speakin' open and
above-board; but behind the scenes he's as German as the Kaiser. He'd
down America and the very boys that he went to school with. He's out
for planting 'Kultur' round the whole world. He looks for a Germany
that'll spread across England and away over the Atlantic to Noo York,
Washington, and Philadelphia. Shucks! He's about as nootral as I am!
He's just a born traitor! This here pal of mine was all that I've said,
only he wasn't a traitor, he was just artful and burning keen to get
over. So he takes on as I said as a German nootral on a nootral boat
that wasn't any more nootral than a German. He hoodwinked the crowd,
got across, and slipped ashore in England; in twenty-four hours he was
over here. He's laid back o' the churchyard over yonder, he is. Harvey
Pringle was his name--you'll see it chalked up on the cross on his
grave. He was a man, was Harvey Pringle."
The big Sergeant blew his nose violently, stared at Larry in quite
a pugnacious way, lit a pipe with considerable display of energy,
and spat a little aggressively. It was American feeling; it was the
only way in which this sturdy fellow would allow his feelings to vent
themselves. Larry knew what he meant; Jim and Bill realized that he had
lost a friend almost before he mentioned the churchyard; their French
comrades, quick in feeling and understanding, glanced at one another,
exclaimed, and lit their pipes as if in sympathy with the Sergeant.
"Well, boys," the latter went on when he had smoked for a little while
in silence, "you've come over in fine style, and you'll do fine. We
can't have too many boys of your sort. Anyways, we're glad to see you."
It was three nights later when the three chums joined a convoy which
moved out of the camp with its laden wagons for the trench line, where,
for the first time, they were to experience warfare as it was just then
in France.