WITHIN THE SOUND OF GUNS
"Here at last!" cried Frank in wild jubilation, as the transport was
made fast to the wharf. "Pinch me, fellows, to make sure I'm not
dreaming."
"It's real, sure enough!" exulted Bart.
"Now we'll see action!" exclaimed Billy.
"And get a chance at Fritz and Heinie!" added Tom. "I'm aching to get
a hack at them."
Frank did not answer to this. Now they had arrived in France his mind
had drifted back to his mother and what she had said about the property
she had inherited. Would they ever be able to claim his grandfather's
estate?
If the army boys could have had their way, they would have leaped
forthwith from the deck to the dock. They were wild to feel the soil
of the gallant country beneath their feet. But discipline had to be
observed and several hours elapsed before the troops were ready to
leave the ship.
Then at last they poured over the gangplank, line after line, wave
after wave, in what seemed to the delighted multitude of watchers an
almost endless procession.
They formed in line and after a formal exchange of greetings between
their commanders and the city authorities, the troops swung into the
streets with the bands playing alternately, the "Star Spangled Banner"
and the "Marseillaise."
Such cheers as greeted them, such tears, such pelting of flowers, such
waving of flags as the stalwart young Americans marched through streets
that were packed to the curb with joyous, shouting, frenzied natives!
It was a royal greeting that not one of the boys could ever forget.
They reached the great barracks that had been assigned to them by the
French Government for a temporary halting place before they should go
to a place in the interior right behind the fighting lines.
There was plenty of room, for the barracks were empty now, every son of
France of fighting age that could be spared, being at the front.
"They sure seemed glad to see us," grinned Frank, as, after the march,
the regiment broke ranks and the men went to their quarters.
"I don't wonder," replied Bart. "I suppose America felt the same way a
hundred years ago when Lafayette and his comrades went over there."
"Gee, it seems strange to speak of America as being over there," said
Tom, a little soberly.
"Not getting homesick, are you, Tom?" questioned Billy, with a smile.
"I have an idea I will," Tom answered with a grin, "when I have time to
think about it. But it would make me sicker still," he added stoutly,
"to go back before we'd licked the Huns."
"Right-o!" cried Billy. "When I go back I want to take a lot of German
helmets along to give to some girls I know."
"Some girls," chaffed Bart. "You talk like a Mormon, Billy."
The next few days were busy and delightful ones for the boys. The
townspeople opened their hearts and homes to them, and they were
feasted and entertained to their heart's content. Everything was so
new and strange to them that they were constantly stumbling upon
surprises.
The language, to be sure, offered some obstacles. The boys had been
taught some of the most necessary French phrases while in their
training camp, and these along with some language primers they carried,
sufficed for their more simple needs. But their vocabulary was limited
and their accent was a fearful and wonderful thing, though their hosts
were too polite to laugh at them.
Frank had some advantage over the others because his mother, being a
French woman, had taught him her native tongue, and it was a great
comfort to the rest of the Camport boys to have Frank along with them
as interpreter when they themselves were stumped--which, it must be
confessed, was often!
Tom especially, who had no gift for languages was usually in hot water.
His struggles with the language were frantic, not to say pathetic.
"You're game, old scout," chaffed Billy, after Tom had wrestled in vain
with the pronunciation of the French word for soup. "But why in
thunder did you make that waiter crazy by asking for bullion? Any one
would think you were trying to cop off the United States mint."
"Well, what should I say?" Tom defended himself stoutly, as he thumbed
over his phrase book. "There it is, plain as day," he added,
triumphantly--"b-o-u-i-l-l-o-n. If that isn't bullion, what is it?"
"You're all wrong, you're all wrong," said Bart condescendingly. "It's
_bwe-yone_, just like that."
Tom tried it once or twice desperately and then gave it up.
"I'd have to have a cold in my head to talk that way," he protested,
pocketing the book in disgust. "I'm not going to try any more. The
more I try the worse I get. The next time, I'm going to ask for soup,
plain, old fashioned American soup. S-o-u-p. Get that? Then the
waiter can do the guessing!"
"Yes, and then he'll serve you spaghetti," laughed Frank.
"So much the better," grinned Tom. "Let him go through the whole
shooting match. Sooner or later he'll come to soup and when he does
I'll be there."
"And you intend to eat right through the menu?" queried Billy
admiringly.
"The which?" asked Tom. "Oh, you mean the bill of fare. Sure thing.
I don't care whether it's soup to nuts or nuts to soup, I'll catch it
coming and going."
"And you're the fellow they wouldn't let enlist on account of his
teeth," moaned Billy, with a doleful shake of his head.
"They didn't know me," grinned Tom.
The army boys spent nearly a week in the barracks to get rid of their
"sea legs," and then the order came to go to the new camp, right behind
the lines that had been assigned to them.
It was too far for a hike and the railroads were taxed to their
capacity in taking supplies to the forces at the front. But the
problem was solved by a multitude of gigantic motor trucks, lorries, in
which two score of men could find accommodation.
They were high-powered machines capable of tremendous speed and they
rushed over the fine French highways like so many express trains.
"This is the thing that saved Paris," remarked Frank. "If Gallieni
hadn't packed all his troops and rushed them up as reinforcements,
France would have lost the battle of the Marne."
"They're great goers all right," commented Bart. "We're sure breaking
the speed laws. But I don't see any traffic cops stopping us."
"They'd only cheer us on," grinned Tom. "We can't get to the battle
lines too quick to suit the French."
Up hill and down dale they raced, through thriving cities, and quaint
villages, past peasant cottages and princely chateaux, lying beautiful
and serene in the bright sunshine.
They were in the garden spot of France, a place that had yet been
spared the horror and devastation of war, and the only thing that
seemed unnatural was the striking absence of young men.
Women everywhere were doing the work, in the fields, in the stores, at
the railroad stations, on the streets and country roads. Scarcely any
males were seen except old men and boys.
There was no need to ask where the young men were. At Verdun, on the
Somme, on the Aisne; everywhere on that long line of trenches that
stretched from the Vosges to the sea, they were fighting like heroes to
keep the Hun at bay.
And on the heart of each were written those immortal words spoken at
Verdun: "_They shall not pass!_"
Hour after hour went by. Suddenly Frank asked:
"What was that, fellows? Did you hear it?"
"Sounded to me like thunder," said Bart.
"With a sky like this?" replied Frank. "Never. Listen!"
Borne on the wind came a long, booming sound, growing longer and louder
as they sped toward it, falling fitfully at times, only to swell into a
mightier rumble like the roar of waves dashing against the coast.
They looked at each other with comprehension dawning in their eyes.
"It's thunder all right, Bart," said Frank, quietly. "It's the thunder
of the guns! We are getting near the fighting front at last!"