The BRIGHTON BOYS
in
THE TRENCHES
[Illustration]
THE BRIGHTON BOYS SERIES
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
AS FOLLOWS:
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE FLYING CORPS
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE TRENCHES
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE BATTLE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE RADIO SERVICE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE SUBMARINE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE ENGINEERING CORPS
[Illustration: THE RED STREAKS OF FLAME STABBED THE SEMI-DARKNESS.]
The BRIGHTON BOYS in
THE TRENCHES
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
ILLUSTRATED
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
Copyright, 1918, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE INCENTIVE 9
II. JOINING HANDS WITH UNCLE SAM 23
III. GETTING INTO HARNESS 32
IV. A FIGHT FOR THE RIGHT 42
V. A DELICATE MISSION 54
VI. HITTING THE MARK 65
VII. THE MATCH 76
VIII. GETTING OVER AND ON 87
IX. FACING THE ENEMY 97
X. WAR IS--WAR! 109
XI. A DOUBLE SURPRISE 116
XII. HUNTING BIG GAME IN NO MAN'S LAND 128
XIII. THE TRAITOR IN CAMP 138
XIV. LIFE AND DEATH 149
XV. WING SHOOTING WITH A RIFLE 163
XVI. "OVER THE TOP" 174
XVII. HERBERT'S LITTLE SCHEME 189
XVIII. THE BIG PUSH 199
XIX. LIEUTENANT WHITCOMB 214
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE RED STREAKS OF FLAME STABBED THE SEMI-DARKNESS _Frontispiece_
PAGE
SLENDER FINGERS THRUST HIS HAND ASIDE 64
HE FIRED TWICE IN QUICK SUCCESSION 168
"MAYBE I'LL HEAR THEM PRONOUNCE MY DOOM" 178
The Brighton Boys in the Trenches
CHAPTER I
THE INCENTIVE
With the days that the poet has termed the rarest, the longest, sunniest
days of the year, there had come to Brighton at once sad and happy days.
For it was that time in early June when to those who have been faithful
is given the credit they so richly deserve for hard study and
achievement; the time also of parting from loved classmates and
companions in glory on the field of sport, of leaving behind for a time,
or perhaps forever, the dear old school and the campus, the custodians
of so many delightful associations.
Golden moments are those, indeed, even though shadows mar the perfect
glow of youth and hope and aspirations. But shadows there must be, for
school is but a part of life's too brief journey taken through many
unlighted places, as well as in the sunshine.
Herbert Whitcomb, over-tall and manly-looking for his seventeen years,
strolled alone down the broad boardwalk that led from class-rooms to
dormitories, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed in earnest
thought. He turned off suddenly into one of the clusters of spruces that
dotted the spacious grounds and finding a bench sank down dejectedly,
his comely face, usually expressive of good humor, now showing only
sorrow.
It was just after final examinations, and other students, singly, in
pairs and in groups, were among the trees enjoying the restfulness of
the out-of-doors. Two standing within a few yards could be heard
talking.
"They have joined, but I don't know what regiment. Gosh! What a
difference the war is going to make right here in good old Brighton
Academy! There's Corwin and Joe Little and 'Fatty' Benson in the
American flying squadron; and Jed Harris and a bunch of the fellows are
in the navy."
"Jack Hammond and Ted Wainwright--they went underseas with the Yankee
submarine fleet, didn't they?"
"You bet! There's dare-devil action for you! Fighting the sea wolves in
their own element! Shouldn't wonder if those Brighton submarine boys
blow up the Kiel Canal before they're through! Got brains, those
fellows. Well, things are moving. As sure as shooting, we're going to
make the world safe for democracy! I guess I'll have to get into the
game myself. It isn't any fun sitting on the bleachers. I'm goin' to
enlist."
"Why not wait till you're of age and then let 'em draft you?"
"Not for me, kid. I want to have my choice of the branch of service I
join."
"You've made up your mind, then?"
"Yep. Me for the Engineers' Corps. Believe me, there's no more important
branch of the army----"
The young men had started off and now their voices died away among the
trees. Whitcomb suddenly sat up very straight, his hands on his knees,
and gazed fixedly before him, seeing nothing, but in his mind's eye
seeing much, for a thought, not altogether new, had come to him and he
was beginning to bite down on it hard. The boy's clenched hand went up
into the air and then smote the bench seat quite forcibly.
"Must've smashed that fly, or was it a knotty problem?" said a jovial
voice, the branches of the spruces parting to let the speaker through; a
red-headed, freckled, squint-eyed lad who was quite as homely as the one
whom he addressed was good looking.
Whitcomb greeted the newcomer sadly. "Well, old man, this is my last day
on earth. It was my hopes I was smashing."
Roy Flynn, classmate, loyal friend, all-round good fellow, with laughing
Irish eyes, threw back his head, opened a mouth that might almost have
made a barn door jealous and very unmistakably chuckled.
"I'm goin' t' die with ye, then! What's the crime for which we're bein'
executed?"
"Listen! Got a letter from the legal luminary this morning," began
Whitcomb. "Contents nothing but words and to the effect that the cash is
gone. It's now up to me right away to hustle round and get myself some
more, somehow. That's not so bad, but it means no more school, or of
Brighton, anyway. It means this, too: that I, Herb Whitcomb, have got to
get back there among the more lowly where I belong and travel the back
alleys awhile--it's only the lucky that can hit the highways. Much
pleasure in the thought that some of my old friends are saying: 'Huh!
Took a tumble, didn't he? Money ran out. Tried to fly too high in the
first place, I guess,' and all that sort of thing. But least pleasant
will be that you and I----"
Roy interrupted with a sudden roar.
"'Whurrah! Whurrah!' as me old granddad used to say. Tin-can the blue
stuff and the pessimistic rot! There's going to be nothing unpleasant
concerning you and I--I mean you and me. And why, me lad? Because do I
see meself letting the misfit circumstances of this changeable world
make a monkey of me? Yes, I do not! Life is too brief, and sorry the day
when one bids good-by to friends and fun; one's a fool who does and as
me old granddad in Ireland used to say: 'Bad cest to 'em!' Am I right?"
"No doubt, if I only knew what you were talking about. I can't help
being thick-headed."
"Listen, Herb. Ye won't go to work this summer and ye won't quit school!
I'm talkin' to ye. Me old dad has enough for the both of us and I'll
lend ye enough for to see ye through in grand shape, if ye will coach me
along to keep up with ye. Are ye on?"
"Roy, I couldn't do that. I couldn't, really. You know a fellow has some
pride, and I----"
"Oh, sure, but tin-can it this once. Ye've got no business to shove it
at me and ye know, me lad, I'm never goin' to say one word about this to
a single, solitary soul. It's between us only."
"I know that, old man; I would be sure of that, but even then I
couldn't--I--you see, I would know it myself, and I could never be quite
happy if I weren't paying my own way."
"But ye'll be coachin' me and I'll be payin' ye wages. Now, do ye mind
that? Are ye so blamed big-headed----?"
"'Fraid so. You see, I wouldn't be half earning what I'd need. And as
for the summer--well, there's another hundred and thirty dollars due and
ready for me, my guardian writes, so I might spend a week or so with you
in the mountains; then hunt a job. Come on in town with me now, will
you? I want to mail this letter to the legal luminary."
The two boys, arm in arm, made their way across the juniper and spruce
covered hillside, then into the broad walk and through the high stone
gateway to the street. The post office was half a mile away.
Stepping along briskly and discussing future plans, they were almost
past a little crowd, mostly of students and small boys, collected on the
sidewalk when quick-witted Roy, not at the moment speaking, caught a few
words that made him halt instantly and turn. Herb gazed at him in
surprise.
"--und vat I care for der law?" came a guttural voice. "Der American
beebles vas fools to go to war mit Chermany, for vat can dey do? Der
Chermans is fighters und drained up to der minute und you oxpect dese
American chumps vill haff any show mit dem? Uh?"
In a moment Herbert and Roy had joined the assemblage and had observed
the speaker to be a big, large-girthed German possessing a very red
nose, a glowering countenance and a manner contemptuous and
self-exalted. One could read upon him, at a glance, that he held the
unalterable opinion that there was no other country like Germany, no
people to compare with the Germans and for all the rest of the world, no
matter to what section he might owe his present prosperity, he had an
altogether poor opinion.
The audience seemed strangely silent before the German's denunciations
and Herb glanced about him. Two seniors of Brighton were there and two
others of the sophomore class, each one a youth of possibly doubtful
courage, more in love with the refinements of books than with the danger
of engaging in too strenuous argument with a bearish, bully-ragging,
irresponsible foreigner. The rest of the bunch were youngsters from the
public school.
One bright-faced, quick-witted boy among the latter there was who alone
evidently had the courage of his convictions:
"Aw, gwan! What ye tryin' t' give us? Our fellers'll make that big stiff
Hindenburg look like a chicken hit with a brick! Them Dutchmen ain't sa
much!"
"You vas only a leedle kid und you don'd know noddings," spouted the
German. "Chermans ain'd Dutchmens; dey vas ten times as goot. You
fellers can fight, heh? Vere do you keep dese fighters? I ain'd seen
noddings off dem; dey vas all crawled in a hole. Und der soldiers off
der Vaterlandt, dey make 'em crawl in a hole chust like dat!" and he
snapped his pudgy fingers.
Roy looked at Herb, who was gazing at the big man through narrowed
lids, his face turning red. The lad of pure Celtic stock felt his own
blood boil and his ready tongue found release.
"Now, ain't ye got the ignorant nerve to stand right out here in America
and talk like a fat tomat? De ye know that might not be quite safe
everywhere?"
"Safe? Safe? Ach, I see noddings onsafe! I don't see no metals on
nobotty roundt here vat iss going to make id onsafe for me. Und vat I
tinks I says, heh? Und nobotty can stop me, needer!"
"Better not think too much, then, Dutchy," advised Roy.
"Say, young feller, you vas oldt enough to know bedder den to call me
Dutch. I vas Cherman. Und chust you remember dot; see?"
"That's so, Germany. I guess it's an insult to the honest Dutch to call
you that. By the way you fellows have been carrying on over there in
Belgium, burning, looting, murdering women and children----"
"Dot vas a lie! All a lie! Newspapers, newspapers! Der American
newspapers iss chust like der beeble, all liars! Und you belief 'em, py
gollies, effrybotties. Efen Vilson, he ain'dt got no better----"
"Hold on, there! You're going much too far! Speak with respect of the
President of the United States, or don't speak of him at all!" This
came, like a shot, from Herb, and the boy's eyes flashed into the little
pig's peepers of the big foreigner. A cheer went up from the crowd and
Roy slapped his chum on the back.
"That's the stuff! Give him some more of that!"
The German took a few steps forward facing Herb, the crowd giving way.
The man's arm was raised.
"Vat you got to say aboudt it, heh? I say chust vat I bleese. Who vas
you? Purdy soon I ketch you py der neck und twist id like a chicken gets
der axe, heh?"
"You really couldn't mean to be so unkind, could you? Now, honest." Herb
was sarcastic. "Now, I'll tell you what we'll do to fix you. You come
along down town and we'll just turn you over to the cops. They'll want
to investigate you. How about it, fellows? Hadn't we better take him
right now?"
One senior, scenting trouble, began to edge away, but the others
responded by general acclamation. It might mean a serious scrimmage,
but they were ready for it; all that had been needed to call them into
action was a leader.
But the big German proved to be the actual aggressor. Permitting his
anger to get the better of his judgment and quicker on his feet than his
girth would indicate, he made a rush straight at Herbert. No doubt he
meant to end matters by a sudden defeat of the leader and thus
intimidate the others. But like many German plans this one did not fully
work out.
Herb merely side-stepped. As a most promising pupil he had long received
special training in boxing from the capable athletic instructor. He was
instantly out of the man's reach as the big arms and fat hands reached
to seize him; he was just a mite too far away also when the ponderous
fist, swung round in the air, aimed at his head. But the German was not
out of Roy's reach.
The foreigner's artillery may have been heavier, but that of the
American youth was handier and reached farther. The man's blow, that
surely would have done damage had it landed, by its momentum had carried
him half off his feet when Herb just stepped forward, shot out his arm
and stepped back again.
The German got it precisely in the right place on the jaw and he
collapsed like a clothes-horse with the props knocked from under it.
It was a good deal like a fat pig doing the wallow act, for the man did
not remain long quiescent. He rolled over to his hands and knees, then
got to his feet and letting out a roar like a mad bull, commenced
swinging his arms windmill fashion. Then there was another rush at Herb.
The incident was repeated, precisely and accurately, except that the
blow on the jaw was this time harder and that the German lay prone
somewhat longer. He arose this time to a sitting posture and through his
little eyes regarded Herb with something akin to wonder. The boy, never
hard-hearted, turned away. But Roy stood before the undignified foe.
"Now, you see, Dutchy, what is bound to happen to you if you get gay.
Pretty much the same thing is going to happen to the German Army before
long. If you don't stop shooting off your big mouth this'll happen to
you." And the lad drew his fingers around his neck to indicate a
strangling rope.
The growing crowd, many others having now joined it, set up a laugh and
then a decided cheer at this; the German blinked at his opponents, felt
his jaw, made a horrible grimace and finally, getting to his feet, made
off slowly across the street. The crowd jeered after him, then turned
with appreciation toward Herbert. But that worthy, hating laudation,
beckoned to Roy, and the two walked quickly on their way.
"One battle won, b'gorry!" Roy could not refrain from some comment.
"Say, Herb, they were sure nice ones that you handed him and right where
he needed them most, too--in his talker. Reckon that was about the first
victory over the Germans, but guess it won't be the last."
"I'm going to try to help that it isn't, Roy."
"What you mean, lad?"
"That chump's words set me to thinking," Herb said. "It's up to just
such as I am to take a hand; a bigger hand. I'm going right now to the
recruiting office and enlist."
"You are? By cracky! Enlist, is it? That's the stuff! Well, you know
what I told you about you and me. I'm going to enlist, too, if you do!
I'll have to write for me old man's consent, of course, but he'll give
it. Come on! Let's go see what we gotta do." And the youth raised his
voice in impromptu song:
"Boom a laddie! Boom a laddie!
Let's go get a gun,
Or a brick-bat and a shillalah
Till I soak some son of a Hun!"