THE TRAITOR IN CAMP
Corporal Whitcomb could not sleep. There was no particular reason for
this, except mental worry and a too vivid imagination. Was the life in
trench and gun pit getting on his nerve? Was he, a mere boy, too much
over-wrought with his responsibility? Not so; the sort of happy
disposition that he possessed never balks at nerve strain nor breaks
with the effort of duty, no matter how urgent, or disappointing the
result.
Despite the trials upon his sense of justice and naturally gentle regard
for humanity he knew only duty and strove with an intense effort to
perform every task entrusted to him.
The squad had been but five days in the gun pit so far, and it seemed
like twice that many weeks. There had been the almost incessant
hammering of the big gun on the trenches and distant works of the enemy
and at the airplanes venturing overhead, four of which it had brought
down in this time, added to three others since the long-barreled wonder
had been set in place. It had been a surprise to the enemy and a
masterly bit of work to place these several weapons in such close
proximity to the enemy's lines and the duty had fallen upon well-picked
troops and expert riflemen to guard these guns.
There had been the constant sniping, night and day, by successive
numbers of the sharpshooters' squad. There had been fifty-seven men in
the pit when Herbert came, his own included; now there were but fifty.
Three lay in the graveyard beyond the hill; two were sick; two, badly
wounded, had been taken by the last patrol to the base hospital at
LaFleche. Besides these, nine altogether, mostly of the gun crew, had
so-called trench feet, from standing long in cold water and mud and not
caring immediately for the first consequences of frost bite.
But it was a very different matter from the impressive call to duty that
bothered Herb Whitcomb. It was simply that he could not help feeling
doubtful of one of his men.
When Martin Gaul had qualified for the snipers, with a very fair score
at the rifle ranges, Herbert had frankly requested that he be assigned
to another squad, but the officers making the drawings had refused this.
Before Gaul had been three days in the pit he had begun to grumble; once
he had shown the white feather by remaining behind a nearly perfect
shelter, instead of venturing out to hunt for enemy marksmen. And
yesterday he had developed his old-time grouch and ready excuses.
Returning to the dugout, Herbert had found Gaul much better and even
inclined to be facetious. Learning of McGuire's death, he had expressed
no sorrow, as the others had done, or would do when they got in.
There had been all along a warm fraternal spirit shown among the members
of the rifle squad, each one showing a generous sympathy for and an
interest in his comrades, but Gaul had been the exception; by his own
choice he had withdrawn from the human touch and brotherly affections
naturally springing up between men living the same strenuous existence.
Was it a sense of impending danger that troubled Herbert this early
night? Some materialistic philosophers tell us that there are no such
things as premonitions, while others, perhaps wiser, insist that,
logically, we possess a sort of sixth sense that is not always easy to
analyze. Therefore, we may receive an impression and only half guess its
meaning or hardly know that we have received it.
Herbert rose from his straw bed, pulled on his shoes and walked softly
into the adjoining earthen chamber separated from that of the snipers'
squad by a vertically cut mass of clay and a short partition of boards.
He knew that the lieutenant labored therein over his reports, the small
deal table lighted by a dim oil lantern.
The officer in command looked up quickly, but Herbert put his finger to
his lips, even before saluting. Then he spoke in a whisper. "Do you sort
of feel something in the air? I don't know what makes me feel that way,
but----"
"I reckon I've been feeling something of the kind; yes," answered the
lieutenant. "At any rate, I didn't seem to want to get sleepy at my
usual hour. This sort of thing bothers a fellow at times."
"I think we must hear things we don't know we hear, or get a notion of
them in some way," offered Herbert.
"Well, as a Southerner--and we are quite religious in our parts, my
boy--we give the Almighty credit for that sort of thing."
"Yes, of course." Herbert sat, deeply thinking for a moment.
"Lieutenant, I have wondered lately about the strategic wisdom of our
position here, to use the words of Brigadier-General Harding and of
Captain Leighton, of our company. They often gave us a talk about that.
It has struck me of late that a very few of us are defending a point of
great importance, one that the Boches would like to capture and destroy.
How about that, if I may ask?"
"A natural and a wise question, Corporal; very," Lieutenant Jackson made
answer. "But rest easy. You came through at night and could not see much
on the way. Right back of us, not a quarter of a mile and on the other
side of the ridge, one whole division is in barracks, not in billets, as
the French term them, but in good, old American log houses, shielded by
sand bags on this side and roofed the same way. And a mile beyond, on
each side, there are some more infantry regiments; I don't know just how
many, but enough. And there must be almost half a division in the
trenches, nearly two in all, guarding this one quiet sector and ready
to start toward Berlin when the order comes."
"I suppose putting these men in barracks is to save crowding the
trenches," offered Herbert.
"Exactly; and it's a great scheme. But even without them I have a large
idea that the Huns couldn't get enough men on this ground to push us
back an inch, much less get our trenches. And heaven help them if they
try it!"
"We don't want them to get this gun pit."
"They'll have to go some to do it! We're always ready for them."
"Might they not want to attack now, especially; to recapture their
general?"
"Let them come. Two of your men and two of mine are out on the slope
against surprises. Three quick shots near will put us wise and the
'phone will bring as many as we want to help us in ten minutes."
"Thanks for your information, Lieutenant. I'm going to try to nap a bit.
Good night."
"Good night, my boy. Some sleep we've all got to have."
But as Herbert passed into the outer corridor, he turned softly and in
the darkness walked noiselessly away from his quarters into the next
hollow dug in the hill, this being more enclosed and better roofed than
the others, as it was the store-room for ammunition.
The boy paused and stood for a long time silently; why he did so he
could not then nor afterward have told. Surely there seemed to be
something in the air, though he could hear nothing except the audible
breathing of sleepers on every side, the scratching of the lieutenant's
pen, the occasional rustle of paper as one of the prisoners' guards
turned the pages of a magazine he was reading and once the yawn of the
other guard as it drew near the time when he was to be relieved.
These two guards, Herbert knew, were in the center and at the far end of
the section where the Germans were confined; his own man, Gaul, was
nearest the partition of the supply chamber.
The corporal settled back upon a stack of hand-grenade boxes and leaned
his shoulder and head against the wall. He was as wide awake and alert
as a cat at night, but physically tired, nevertheless. For he had been
through much the night before and since and without a moment of rest.
Breaking in almost imperceptibly on the night sounds the low mumbling of
an indistinct word or two came to his ears; the prisoners talking among
themselves, probably; what else? Leaning forward, Herbert put his eye to
a very narrow opening between the partition boards. The reading guard
had the back of his head turned that way; the other man was nodding,
half asleep, a punishable offense. Squinting sidewise, he saw a hand and
arm reach out from the other side of the partition and a hand reach up
from a man sitting on the ground at the edge of the bunch of Germans. He
had a glimpse also of something white that passed from one to the other.
Herbert almost stopped breathing; his ears caught every fraction of
sound that disturbed the still air. Seconds, perhaps half a minute,
passed. Then suddenly a whispered word:
"More!"
Again the hands met; again the white thing passed.
"Right! I'll do that!" was again whispered. Then the figure on the
ground collapsed and all was silent for a time. Herbert slipped away
into the corridor, waited a moment, then walked noisily back to the
prison section and going straight to Gaul, standing by the partition,
said:
"I've been thinking you're not fit for duty. I'll stand guard here
awhile and you go back to bed. Give me your gun and revolver."
"But I feel all right, Corporal," Gaul protested.
"I mean this as an order, Gaul."
The fellow handed over his weapons. Placing them aside, Herbert covered
him with his own pistol. "Now, hand over that paper you just received
from the general here, and be quick about it!"
Gaul went white and stammered:
"I--I didn't get----"
"Don't lie! Hand it over, or I'll bore a hole through you! You hear me!"
"But, honest, I--you are wrong, I----"
"Oh, well, then, blast your ugly carcass, I'll just fill you full of
holes and take it, anyway."
Gaul, scared, visibly trembling even in the dim light, with shaking
fingers fished into an upper blouse pocket and brought forth a bit of
scrap paper with torn edges and thrust it at Herb. The corporal glanced
at it, then ordered his man to march down the corridor, following to the
lieutenant's quarters.
"Please read that; it came from the captured German general to this
fellow. He first asked for more, then agreed to do something."
The officer held the paper near the lantern.
"It's a scrap torn from some book, I guess. German print on it. Oh, on
the other side. What is it? Pretty poor writing, by jingo! Wait; it
says:
"'Set loose if men come. See as I shall get loose of hand bands. Then
see in fight I escape free. Then come to trenches by night and inquire
by me, General von Lutz, and I pay 5,000 marks quick and you mak safe.'
And down farther are more words: '10,000 marks I will mak it; hav no
dowts.'"
A broad, solemn-looking grin covered the lieutenant's face and he nodded
his head several times.
"Might have expected this, really. Always had my suspicions, but hoped
otherwise. Well," turning to Gaul, "did you really think----"
"If you suppose, Lieutenant, that that Dutchman could buy me, you
fellows get another think. I was only strafing him a little. He wanted
me to do this, but you don't think I would? Why, Corporal, you know me
better'n that. Haven't I always----?"
"Corporal, it would have been better to have got up a pretended alarm
and observed what this man would really have done. But I guess we have
it on him all right, after what you heard. Anyway, we'll send him back
when the patrol comes for the Huns. Take him and put him under guard
now."