ZEALOUS BILLY
Major Little ordered the German airman turned over to an army
ambulance where he would be disposed of as a wounded man and
prisoner. To Don the surgeon said, after hearing the boy’s message:
“Yes, we have had the same over the wire, but could hardly get it.
Hurry back, then. I’ll send two others after you. Phoned for them
an hour ago. Look out for gas shells; they may be sending them over
soon. Listen for the warning gongs from our trenches and the gurgling
sound of the shells themselves--you’ll know it. Or you may see the
fumes drifting your way in certain lights; after the explosion,
sometimes, you can see them very plainly. You can generally smell the
fumes in the open before they come near enough to injure you--then on
with your masks! By the way,” the Major lowered his voice, “is that
helper of yours on the job?”
“Yes, sir; you may be sure he is! As cool and not afraid as they make
’em.” Don was glad of this chance to praise Billy. His regard for
the youth was hardly less than a strong love for his pal. The doctor
seemed surprised.
“I would hardly have thought that,” he admitted,--“a gentle kind of
a boy. But that kind often fools you. Even girls themselves--some of
our demurest nurses are the bravest under fire. Well, I’m glad you
like him. Now, you must make a quick get-away!”
Bon and Billy boarded their little car again, and just as they were
turning around, two other ambulances dashed up. The first one was a
light army truck, manned by members of the regular corps of the army
service. The other bore the Red Cross and it looked like a higher
grade of car than that commonly in use by that organization. Don was
swinging into the road and just caught sight of the driver and helper
in this last car. But as he glanced at the side face of the former
a rush of partial recognition mixed with an undefined feeling of
hostility swept over him. Where had he seen that face before? There
were not many persons he remembered unpleasantly. He had been in one
or two student rows with ruffians, who had fared badly as a rule and
the boys at Old Brighton had it in for a disagreeable fellow who was
even opposed to their speaking above a whisper when they passed his
place in the town. The face he had just seen was not one of these.
Well, there was more big work cut out ahead and he would think over
this question later. Yet the matter kept returning to his mind in
spite of the battle sounds and sights, among which they soon came at
close quarters.
“I can’t understand one thing:” Billy remarked, as they sped on.
“Why is the shooting so at random? Just look at the shells that have
landed all around us, in the fields, in the roads, almost everywhere,
doing no real damage, except to stir up the ground, hitting hardly
anyone. It looks like fool business to me.”
“And when you think how much one of these shells costs and how
much must be paid for a hundred rounds of cartridges fired by a
machine-gun, no wonder they say that it costs a good many thousands
of dollars for every man that gets hit,” Don offered.
“Well, if it costs so much I wish they’d save those that come
my way. I’d just as lief treat even the Huns more economically!”
declared Billy.
Don had to laugh, though at the moment they were approaching again
the old farm house, now torn to pieces, where the Hun airman had
dropped his bomb but an hour before. Billy also noticed it and asked
Don to stop.
“Couldn’t we go in and see, Don? It will be solemn enough, but we can
be sure they’re all--they’re not suffering.”
The boys alighted and rounded the house once more, stepping over
broken bits of stone and mortar and twisted framing. Billy was ahead
and he took but one glance and turned about.
“Beyond doubt. They had at least their wish not to suffer.” He
uttered the words like a funeral benediction, and followed Don back.
As they were about to emerge from the trellised gateway the other Red
Cross ambulance shot by, the occupants, no doubt, supposing those in
the boys’ car had stopped here for a drink. Again Don caught sight of
the driver of that car. Instantly it came to the boy who the fellow
must be. The recognition was quite complete--and startling.
Don stood in the road, looking after the speeding car. Billy’s
thoughts were upon other matters. The ambulance ran on until almost
out of sight. Then suddenly, instead of turning across toward the
dressing station at the western edge of the woods, it veered to the
east across fields and ran down a slope to a clump of bushes and low
trees where it stopped. The boy wondered if there could a dressing
station at that spot.
“Don, if you can go on just this once without me, I’d like to stay
and bury that poor old couple and the little girl. It seems horrible
to let them lie there, exposed, uncared for, as though they had no
friends. What do you say?”
“All right, Billy you stay. I can make the trip alone. They’ll help
me with the _blessés_ at the station and at the hospital too. If
anything does happen to me--should I get hit--you couldn’t help much
until you got the hang of running over such roads. And say, Billy,
you can do something else: when you hear a car going back take a peep
and if it’s those fellows that just went by, observe them, will you?
If you see them coming, go out and stop them and ask who they are,
you can let on you’re making a report. I’m just curious. Tell you
why later. G’bye! I’ll stop for you on the next trip down.”
Don dashed on, reached the dressing station without mishap, took on
two wounded _poilus_ and one Yank; they sped back.
Billy quickly found a garden spade an went to work with all his might
so as to complete his gruesome task. The ground was soft beneath
a wide-spreading apple tree just showing signs of blossoming; a
sweet-voiced bird sang the while in the branches above, and this was
the only requiem the old couple and the little child should know, as,
wrapped carefully in sheets rescued from the destroyed house, they
filled the one grave.
The tender-hearted youth’s eyes were wet while he labored for the
poor souls who deserved a better burial than this. When the grave
was filled he made a rude cross of boards and wrote on it a simple
inscription, a tribute from his own gentle heart.
This was the best the boy could do. The little bird still sang its
cheery ditty overhead. He turned away with a sigh and said, half
aloud:
“I wonder what Father would think of me now. He wouldn’t believe it
possible of his youngest boy he used to call ‘a silly, girl-like
thing.’ I couldn’t blame him then, but now--well, he’ll change his
mind about me if I go back--that is, _if_ I get back.”
Then Billy heard a car approaching and slipped out front to take a
look, as Don had requested. It was the army ambulance returning. But
where was the other Red Cross ambulance?
Well, Don would not be here again for perhaps half an hour yet.
There would be time to slip along the road and get a glimpse of the
other car. Then he might give his pal even more information than he
expected.
The clump of bushes was not more than three hundred yards from the
farm road and if there was a dressing station there Billy would find
it out--the information might be of value. To keep out of sight of
Hun airmen, should they fly overhead, the youth followed close to
the line of low evergreen trees that skirted the road and when he
reached the end of these but stood still within their welcome shadow,
he gazed across at the clump. In all this section of land north of
the distant woods and between where the American regiment in reserve
on the cross-road was stationed, there were no troops. Evidently
it was not a spot where the Huns could break through because of the
strongly entrenched positions of the Allies facing them. There had
been some Hun raids and some Allied counter-attacks, platoons of
Americans fighting beside the French--hence the wounded. But the
Germans had not succeeded in pushing their line any farther than the
western outskirts of the small village of Cantigney, another half
mile east of this ground. Here had come to an end the German drive
around Montdidier, a part of the Amiens offensive during the early
spring, which is called the first great drive of 1918. The effort to
take Amiens, a few miles to the north, was to meet defeat about two
weeks later. And meanwhile the great armies intrenched themselves,
crouching like lions at bay. They almost ceaselessly growled with
their numerous artillery and every little while kept up the clawing
and biting through local raids and counter-attacks, adding constantly
to the wounded and the dead.
It was strange, Billy thought, if there should be a dressing station
here. He had been told that the stream, the south fork of the Avre,
bent here to the west and that the German positions followed the
river at this point. Therefore, while the Allied reinforcement was
stronger against attack, the Huns had made themselves stronger also,
to match their opponents and the local fights were all the fiercer,
therefore making the wide expanse of low land sloping toward the
stream subject to continual bombardment from higher and overplaced
shot and shell. It was across this area that the ambulances were
forced to travel from the dressing stations in the shelter of the
hillside woods beyond. That was dangerous enough without the further
exposure of a dressing station, even in a well covered _abri_, or
dugout, to this zone of flying shells.
But what could the men with this ambulance be about for such a length
of time, when they were probably sent to the other dressing station
to bring away the wounded? Surely they had met with some urgent call
here. Billy pondered. Might he not go over and aid them?
He started on a swift trot and had covered more than half the
distance in less than half a minute when a thing occurred that made
him drop to a walk, watching, wondering. Out of a thicket a tiny puff
of white smoke rose in jets, as though measured by time; two close
together, then four, then two, then six, then one, then six again and
2-6-6-3-2-6-4-4-2-6-3 and so on for another half minute. By that time
Billy had stopped. Was it mere instinct that made him dodge back of a
wide bush and peer through its budding branches?
Again the funny little jets of white smoke. Why were they doing
this--these Red Cross men? There was the ambulance itself, in plain
sight, by the edge of the thicket and, moreover, a Red Cross sign had
been raised on a pole above the low trees.
Billy’s eyes rapidly scanned the surroundings. A line of trees on
the slope toward the south shut off the thicket from the view of the
woods and the low ground here could not well be seen by the reserves
back on the cross-road. It seemed a place that might be well chosen
for isolation, if desired. And high in air, far over the enemy’s
trenches, a Hun observation balloon could be plainly seen against the
white, cumulus clouds.
Billy gazed at this object long and keenly. He could distinctly
discern the basket beneath it; he could detect a certain movement of
something white going up and down, up and down several times and then
a pause; then several times again. While this was going on the puffs
of white smoke from the thicket were not forthcoming. Then, when the
white thing at the balloon ceased to move, the puffs began again.
What did all this mean? Could there be any connection between the
thicket and the balloon--the little puffs of white smoke and the
movements of that white thing by the basket in the sky?
Well, he was going to find out, anyway. There seemed to be nothing
else he could do that would straighten out the mystery in his own
mind. And so he again trotted forward direct toward the thicket,
still watching the balloon. Suddenly he grasped the truth. There
were two upward sweeps of white in the sky and instantly the little
puffs ceased again. The two men, wheeling about, their heads above
the bushes, saw Billy and began to beckon him. Fearless, probably
without any misgivings regarding himself, he went on to join them.
One pointed to the balloon and said something about it and Billy
gazed at it again, entirely off his guard. Suddenly he ceased to
see anything; he only tossed his arms feebly in air and sunk to the
ground in a crumpled heap. In front of him the long, thin-faced,
narrow-eyed driver of the car seized again a queer looking instrument
and began quickly to shoot up more of the little smoke puffs. Back of
the fallen youth stood the helper, holding a heavy iron rod in his
hand. He made a quick, excited remark to the driver in German.