BACK TO THE FIRING LINE
Gathered in a long, low-ceilinged room Bumpus found the other monks
assembled. Upon a long deal table, destitute of cloth and other
garnishings such as he was accustomed to seeing in his own well-ordered
home of plenty, the American lad discovered a number of bowls of
steaming gruel. There was bread in plenty, besides, and his friend who
could speak English bade him take a vacant seat, where he could partake
of the humble fare to his heart’s content.
It was simple enough, but, to a hungry boy, quite appetizing; and Bumpus
showed no hesitation about “pitching in.” Meanwhile, as the other
Brothers were fairly consumed with curiosity concerning the appearance
of a strange lad in their midst, the tall monk commenced to repeat the
story told by Bumpus.
Evidently all of the Brothers were intensely interested. The devotion
which the boy had shown with regard to his invalid mother made them cast
many benevolent glances toward Bumpus as the story proceeded. And a
little later, when the edge had been taken off the guest’s appetite, he
was asked further questions.
To the surprise and delight of Bumpus these touched upon the meaning of
the uniform he wore; and presently he found that considerable interest
was taken in the calling of the Boy Scouts of America.
It was true they had scouts in France, as in England and Germany, but
always in these European countries the organization hinged upon military
necessities. And when these men of peace learned how such is not the
case over in America, and that scouts there only strive to be of use to
their fellows, as well as build up their own moral characters, they were
wonderfully pleased.
They talked among themselves when all this was explained through the
medium of the interpreter, and it was evident from the smiles upon their
faces that the idea appealed powerfully to their belief in universal
service to mankind. It was a startling fact for them to learn that in
this newer country across the sea even boys were uniting to raise the
standard of living, to help those in need of assistance, and to build
up, rather than tear down.
Bumpus told lots of interesting things. He did not bother relating how
he and some of his intimate chums had passed through certain amazing
adventures, but rather confined himself to explaining how scouts in
general went about their work; how every member of the organization had
to keep his badge turned upside down of a morning until he had done some
kind act for another; how they were taught to succor those in peril of
their lives; to forgive enemies when the chance came; to play the part
of amateur surgeons in cases of necessity, and in innumerable other ways
prove themselves useful members of society.
Evidently those retired men of the monastery learned many things that
pleased them during that hour Bumpus sat at their board and talked from
the fulness of his heart, for the subject was very dear to him, and it
is to most genuine scouts.
Finally he bethought himself of the fact that unless he got started soon
he was likely to have a difficult time finding his three comrades. They
might leave some sort of communication for him at the place where they
spent the night, should it happen that they felt called upon to move
their quarters. Bumpus knew that Giraffe, as well as Allan, had
considerable knowledge concerning Indian methods of sign writing, and he
rather anticipated that if any message was found it would be along those
lines.
Another thing caused him to consider it wise that he hasten his
departure. Even as he sat there in that peaceful dining room of the
monastery, with those earnest Brothers gathered about the long table,
leaning on their elbows and listening to the answers he made to the many
questions, Bumpus could hear an increasing uproar outside.
The heavy reverberation of great guns shook the massive walls of the
building; those insistent sounds of cruel warfare invaded the peaceful
dwelling, where strife was not supposed to ever come. Half a million men
in uniform were about inaugurating another day of buffeting and killing
in the struggle for the mastery. And it behooved him to get started on
his way.
So he arose from the table, his appetite thoroughly satisfied with the
humble but abundant fare of the monks.
“If you feel that you must go, my son,” said the tall Brother, once
again at his side, “allow me to set you on your way. In the name of
myself and the rest of those assembled here, I wish to thank you for
giving us such pleasing news concerning your noble order across the sea.
With such sentiments governing your actions we can see a glorious future
opening up before you. Take, then, our blessing with you, my son. And we
hope and pray that some time, when peace shall have fallen on our own
beloved France; when swords shall be beaten into pruning hooks, then,
too, our loyal Boy Scouts may forget all aspirations for military glory
and live only to be a helping force in the world.”
So Bumpus gravely went around and shook hands with each of the monks in
turn. He never felt prouder in all his life than just then, as they
beamed on him; and more than one placed a trembling hand on his head as
though invoking a blessing for the comforting message this boy from
America had brought them.
Once outside and Bumpus became deeply interested in what was going on.
He could hardly have been otherwise, for already it was plainly evident
from the terrific pounding of cannon that the battle had broken out more
furiously than on the preceding day.
As he walked along by the side of the tall monk in his coarse gray gown
Bumpus talked of the war and its possible end in a general limitation of
armies and navies all over the world.
“It is the one great result we hope and pray for,” said the other,
soberly; “and toward that end we are ready to devote everything that we
possess, property and life, too, if need be. ‘Whom the gods would
destroy they first make mad,’ and certainly that is what is happening in
these dark days. But we have faith to believe great good will surely
come out of all this terrible destruction.”
Bumpus was sorry to say good-bye to the friendly monk when the latter
had placed him on another road, which, he said, was the thoroughfare
leading to Paris in one direction and the field of battle in the other.
“I’ll never forget all I’ve seen and heard while your guest, sir,” he
told the other, whom he now knew as Brother Ambrose; “and perhaps some
time or other I may write to you from my home over the sea.”
“We seldom receive letters from the outside world,” the grave man
replied, “but under the unusual conditions I can promise to reply should
you think to send me word. I would like to learn if you found your
mother safe, and that with your brave comrades you had again reached
that wonderful land of promise, America.”
So they shook hands earnestly and parted. It must have been a wonderful
experience to this recluse, who had for so many years kept away from the
bustling world to meet a lively American boy and learn so many
surprising facts concerning the new spirit of usefulness that had taken
hold of the rising generation across the sea.
Bumpus strode on, with his mind filled with the things he had just
passed through. As he progressed he could notice that the dreadful roar
was constantly increasing as new batteries took up the refrain and
belched out their noisy defiance. Von Kluck evidently could not give up
all idea of keeping on in the direction of the coveted prize in the
shape of the French capital, now only ten miles more or less distant.
Visions of that other successful occasion, when Paris was taken by
siege, doubtless spurred him on to further strenuous efforts; and if the
French eventually prevented a breach in their lines, wonderful
generalship would be necessary.
The road was far from deserted now. With the break of day fresh streams
of vehicles of every description had commenced moving, generally toward
the front, as new supplies of ammunition and food were being constantly
required to keep the army up to top-notch fighting pitch.
And those motor trucks and other moving vans that came _from_ the front
were never empty, Bumpus saw. Every one carried wounded Frenchmen, brave
fellows, who doubtless had already received first aid at the field
hospitals, and were now being taken to other institutions around Paris,
where they could in time possibly recover from their grievous injuries
and once more join their regiments.
Bumpus heard few groans as these vehicles, with their ghastly freight,
passed him on the road. How his heart beat in sympathy with the gallant
occupants. Many times did he snatch his old campaign hat off to wave it
around his head in vigorous salute as he let out a lusty cheer. This was
in answer to some waving hand that even pain and weakness could not
wholly subdue.
Naturally, these things affected a fellow built along the lines of
sensitive Bumpus. He wished he had a chance to be of some use while
there so close to the battle front; and as he trudged along a resolution
began to form in his mind.
At first the boy had stopped several times on the road and looked long
and wistfully back of him. To tell the truth, he was sorely tempted to
turn “right about face” and go the other way. Paris lay in that quarter,
and there he was likely to find his invalid mother. Bumpus hardly knew
what his proper course should be. He did not believe she really needed
him, because at last accounts she had been feeling very much better. Of
course, like all mothers, she would be greatly worried concerning his
safety. On that account he wished he might communicate with her; but
since his three chums had decided to remain there and see the end of the
great battle he really had no other choice.
So in spite of these pullings at his heart-strings the boy each time
kept on as he had started. His resolution to be of some use to those in
need grew stronger all the while. The procession of ambulances and vans
filled with stricken humanity kept that determination fresh in his mind.
While Bumpus of course did not pretend to know a quarter of the things
connected with surgery that Thad, for instance, was able to practice, at
the same time he had been drilled in the rudiments of the art, and could
act as an assistant when called upon, bind up ordinary cuts, stop the
flow of blood, fetch cool water to parched throats, and in many similar
ways prove of service about a field hospital.
Well, he was getting along toward the spot where that low hill stood
from which he and his three chums had lately watched the progress of the
terrible fight on that never-to-be-forgotten afternoon in early
September. Bumpus recognized it in the near distance by certain
formations of trees at its base, which he, as a true scout, had
impressed upon his memory at the time he stood there.
Then a new inspiration came to him. Why not stop one of these drivers
and find out if the man knew anything about Thad and the rest—always
providing he, Bumpus, could manage to make him understand English.
The idea impressed itself upon his mind as worth trying. Supposing the
other fellows had been upon the road, their presence would be noticed by
an observing driver, who could easily tell the boys in khaki were not
natives.
With this scheme in view Bumpus waited for another van or ambulance to
approach, when he meant to throw up his hand and signal for a stop. His
opportunity was not long in coming; indeed, somewhat to his surprise,
the motor ambulance marked with the significant Red Cross began to pull
up even before he made motions.
Imagine the amazement of Bumpus when in the khaki-clad driver at the
wheel he recognized a familiar form—no other, in fact, than his own
chum, Giraffe, grinning at him as though greatly pleased over the
unexpected meeting.