MRS. GORDON AND BOB
=AN= hour after Mrs. Gordon received news that Bob was wounded she had
turned over her little flock of orphans to a fellow-worker’s charge and
was on her way to Cantigny. Her companion had almost more work of her
own than she could manage, in spite of her cheerful willingness to
accept the added responsibility. Mrs. Gordon felt conscience-stricken at
imposing the task upon her, but nothing at that moment could keep her
from her son, if she must walk every step of the way to reach him. The
telegram was scarcely a reassuring one. It said, “Wounded, degree
undetermined,” and it had taken twenty-four hours to come the short
distance.
At the moment that she set out, however, fortune favored her. A big
motor-lorry, loaded with stores, was crawling along the village street,
and a Q.M. officer, to whom she had already appealed for transportation,
crossed the street at sight of her, saying:
“Here’s your chance, Mrs. Gordon. I’m so glad we can manage. This lorry
is going to Cantigny and will be faster traveling than the railroad. I
can’t offer you anything but a seat with the driver.”
Mrs. Gordon thanked him from the depths of her heart in a few hurried
words, as he stopped the lorry and helped her to a place beside the
soldier at the wheel. “Make as good time as you can, Adams,” he said.
“No short cuts, though. Keep well out of range.”
It was only fifteen miles to Cantigny directly northeast, but the
necessary détours made the real distance nearer twenty-five. The road
was full of holes and cut up into ruts by the heavy traffic to and from
the front. On every side the ruin and desolation of blackened shell-torn
fields and woodland overpowered the beauty of the springtime, still
struggling to show itself in nooks and corners that had escaped the
cannon. The soldier at Mrs. Gordon’s side, a lanky, pleasant-faced New
Englander, withdrew his eyes from the road occasionally to look at his
passenger with pity and a kind of troubled helplessness in his glance.
Mrs. Gordon had begun preparing for her journey immediately after
reading the telegram. She had not yielded to a moment’s weakness or
inaction, but had gone methodically through the details of turning over
her charges and getting herself ready. It was a hot, sultry morning, and
in her preoccupation she did not realize how hard she worked in the hour
before leaving. Now, seated in the lorry, with two hours at least of
waiting before her, her courage seemed all at once to give way, and the
dreadful suspense she must endure became unbearable. Her vivid
imagination saw Bob seriously wounded, perhaps dying, and wondering why
she did not come. The sight tormented her so that she sank her face into
her hands, welcoming the hard jolting of the heavy vehicle as at least a
momentary distraction from her suffering. Her husband had been given
back to her, and could she hope that Bob would be spared too? Then,
remembering Lucy, she unreasonably hoped again. Surely Lucy’s captivity
was enough to bear, and nothing further would be asked of her just now.
“I got a little cold water here, Ma’am,” said the soldier, breaking the
sound of the laboring motor with an embarrassed cough. “This dust is
sure the limit.”
Mrs. Gordon looked up at him and read the sympathy in his eyes. He held
out to her a full canteen, and she took it gratefully, for the
dust-clouds had dried her throat in the first half hour of travel. The
dust stuck to her face and hands, too, and powdered her clothing, but
she hardly noticed it. She unscrewed the canteen and poured a little of
the water into her mouth. It was cool and refreshing and, as she
swallowed it, she tried hard to get back a little courage and calmness.
She had by nature plenty of both and, in a moment, handing back the
canteen to the soldier with a word of thanks, she clasped her hands in
her lap and looked about her. She could not tell how far they had come,
for the landscape was much the same, except that a church tower, with
its belfry shot away, rose now from the woody distance.
“When do you think we shall get to Cantigny?” she asked longingly.
“Well,” was the thoughtful answer, “sometimes I make it in two hours,
but that ain’t often. I’ll do the best I can, Ma’am. We’ll be there by
noon, sure. It’s not but ten now.” He glanced at the pale face beside
him, and at the delicate hands clasped so tightly together and added
diffidently, “Don’t feel so bad, Ma’am. The Lieutenant is a strong young
feller. He’ll come out right enough.”
“Do you know him?” asked Mrs. Gordon, surprised.
“Sure I do. I took over this bus full of stuff for the aero field only
last week. Lieutenant Gordon checked off my list, and when he got
through he nodded to me and says, ‘Good work, Adams. You really brought
everything you were supposed to. How did it happen?’ I had to laugh at
that, Ma’am, because the truth was I did forget a bundle of wire, and
the Sergeant called me back for it.”
Bob’s mother tried to smile at the soldier’s story, though the
remembrance of Bob’s health and cheerfulness was small comfort now. But
she had controlled herself, dreading to become ill and useless at the
end of her journey if she yielded longer to her fears. She straightened
up resolutely against the hard seat and in a moment answered the man’s
kindly encouragement by saying, “Oh, I have good hope that he is not
seriously wounded. What part of the United States are you from, Adams?
Where is your home?”
It was hard to interest herself in the account the Yankee willingly
poured forth, but nevertheless she managed it. In return, the time
passed more quickly for her, and her nerves grew steadier.
It was about a quarter past twelve when at last they entered Cantigny.
It seemed a whole day to Mrs. Gordon that she had sat enveloped in the
dust of that endless road, but on the whole the journey had been a quick
one. She turned to the soldier with brief thanks and farewell, as they
drew up at the steps of the house made into a hospital. An officer
appeared in the doorway and Mrs. Gordon, summoning all her reserves of
courage, in case she should have to hear the worst, asked hurriedly:
“Lieutenant Gordon, Captain? How is he? I am his mother.”
She never afterward forgot the smile with which the surgeon promptly
answered, “You may stop worrying right now, Mrs. Gordon. Your son had a
bullet through his shoulder muscle; but what’s that to a strong young
man?”
Not until that moment did Mrs. Gordon realize the dread she had endured.
Now that the fear was lifted from her heart, she leaned weakly against
the doorway, tears blinding her eyes, and hardly knew that the surgeon
had taken her arm and was urging her to follow him. But the next minute
she was herself again, strengthened by her longing to see with her own
eyes that Bob was safe. The surgeon led her into a good-sized room made
into a ward, which could accommodate about twenty wounded officers.
He had no need to point Bob out to his mother. In a second she was
beside him. He was leaning against his pillows with one arm and shoulder
closely bandaged, but his face was not pale nor his bright smile changed
as he cried out at sight of her:
“Mother! I knew you’d come! Oh, I’m afraid you’ve been dreadfully
anxious.”
Mrs. Gordon could hardly speak, but her eyes told her that Bob was safe
and the touch of his cool, strong fingers swept her last fears away.
Near by, on a cot half hidden by a screen, lay a young man tossing about
and muttering to himself. His face was flushed and a wide bandage was
wrapped about his head, from which the brown hair had been cut away.
Mrs. Gordon turned back to Bob with unspeakable thankfulness in her
heart.
“I knew you’d be worried,” he said, with a frown of anger at sight of
his mother’s pale face. “I was in such a hurry to get off the telegram,
for fear you would hear the news some other way, that I bungled things.
The obstinate old sergeant here copied the message right off the card
they pinned on me at the dressing-station, before they examined my
wound. I told him to say ‘slightly wounded,’ but nothing could make him
change it.”
“Never mind, Bob dear. I know now that you are all right,” smiled Mrs.
Gordon, sinking down on the little chair beside the cot with a sigh of
peaceful weariness. Her face and hands were grimy with dust, but she did
not think yet of her discomfort. “Tell me all about it, Bob—how it
happened,” she begged. “They let you talk, don’t they?”
“Yes, indeed. They let me do anything but shrug my shoulders, and I
don’t particularly want to do that.” Happy in his mother’s presence and
in the knowledge that she was freed from anxiety about him, Bob began
telling the story of the fight in which he was wounded. A quarter of an
hour passed quickly while Mrs. Gordon listened with fascinated interest,
too proud of Bob’s skill and daring to wish him more prudent, but sadly
fearful for the future in the midst of her satisfaction. His account was
cut short by the sound of a footstep at the door of the ward. Bob paused
to look up, then forgot his story as he called out with a welcoming
smile, “Come on in, Harding! Here she is at last.”
While he spoke a young Infantry Captain with a bandaged hand crossed the
room, holding out his sound left hand to Mrs. Gordon. A frank, merry
smile, that no hardships had yet robbed him of, lighted up his face at
the pleasure of the meeting.
“Mrs. Gordon!” he exclaimed, “I _am_ glad to see you.”
“Dick! You here too?” cried Mrs. Gordon, starting to her feet.
He took her hand and, looking earnestly into her tired face, the smile
faded from his lips and he said remorsefully, “If I’d only known in time
I’d have gone to you myself with the news of Bob’s wound, and saved you
all this worry. I’m convalescent and could have got off.”
Mrs. Gordon patted the young officer’s shoulder, looking at him with
friendly affection. “I know you would have, Dick. Thank you for thinking
of it. But tell me what you’re doing here. You’ve been wounded again?”
Her eyes shrank a little from the sight of his bandaged hand, for Dick
Harding’s first wound had been a serious affair, and well remembered by
the Gordons, for it was coincident with Bob’s capture and imprisonment.
He held up his hand to show her, saying reassuringly, “It’s nothing this
time—just a bullet wound. Fingers are all right. Sit down and tell me
about yourself.” A shadow stole over his face and his eyes saddened as
he added, “Don’t talk about Lucy if you don’t feel like it, but I’ve
thought of her so much. I can’t think of anything else.”
Mrs. Gordon’s eyes filled with sudden tears at his words. His grief and
sympathy were so sincere and real that the little he said meant much to
her. He had suffered with them during Lucy’s captivity, and she and Bob
had no secrets from him.
“I have nothing to tell you, dear Dick,” she said unsteadily. “The news
Bob brought is the last we have.” As she spoke her thoughts went back a
year to Governor’s Island, to Lucy’s and this young officer’s pleasant
friendship. How long it seemed since the July morning that Lucy had
waked her to tell her that Dick’s regiment had gone.
“I can’t help hoping for the best,” Captain Harding was saying when she
listened to him again. “It seems so wonderful that the Colonel has
recovered and that Lucy has found that precious old Elizabeth to watch
over her. With such good luck I keep looking for more, and, do you know,
I’m almost sure it will come.”
It was faint enough consolation, but somehow it cheered Mrs. Gordon a
little. She smiled at the young officer, thanking him in her heart for
his determined optimism. At the same moment a nurse came up to offer her
a cup of tea and a chance to wash her dusty face and hands. Beginning to
realize her travel-stained appearance she gladly accepted, leaving
Captain Harding at Bob’s side for a few minutes.
“Dick,” said Bob thoughtfully, after his mother had left the two alone,
“I’m going to tell her my scheme. It’s only fair.”
“Your plan to bring Lucy out?” asked Captain Harding, ruffling his hair
with a nervous hand, while the troubled anxious look returned to his
face. “It seems—almost impossible. No, I won’t be a wet-blanket,” he
added quickly, as Bob frowned at him. “I don’t blame you for attempting
the impossible. It’s beyond endurance to leave her there, and we don’t
seem much nearer to recapturing the town.”
“It’s a question of getting some of the information we need or of
waiting for reinforcements for a mass attack along this front. I _can’t_
wait any longer without trying something. Mother is worrying herself
sick. If I landed once behind Château-Plessis why can’t I do it again,
and even recross the German lines in safety, with help from you fellows
on this side?”
“May I join you, comrades?” asked Captain Jourdin’s voice from a few
steps away. The Frenchman had paused on his way across the ward for
Bob’s invitation, which was not slow in coming.
“You’re just the person we wish to see!” Bob exclaimed, reaching out a
hand to his friend in warm welcome. “It was bully of you to come over.
No flights this morning? There’s another chair for you, Dick,” he added
to Captain Harding, who had yielded his own seat to the aviator.
“Yes, but I came down again early. Things are quiet along the line since
last night. What is your discussion, if I may know?”
“It’s about trying to bring Lucy out of Château-Plessis. Now don’t shake
your head and say it’s a difficult undertaking. I know that well enough,
but I’m going to try it.”
“Then it is not my advice you wish, but my assistance,” remarked the
Frenchman. “Tell me your plan and I promise you all the help in my
power. I will lead a guarding squadron to keep off enemy fire—is that
what you wish?”
“Just exactly,” said Bob with enthusiasm. “I don’t see why it can’t be
done. Anyway, once over their lines, I’ll know if I can bring her safely
back. Lucy could crouch down in the observer’s seat so as to be almost
entirely sheltered.”
“And you, Harding?” asked Captain Jourdin. “You will direct your
anti-aircraft battery? That will be ticklish work at night, but you can
keep the Boches wary and unwilling to fly. Once they are up you cannot
do much.”
“I can scare them off a part of the line—enough for Bob to make a safe
crossing. Our trenches are very near theirs at that point. I’ll need
search-lights, of course. With luck we might even find a night when they
did not fly. They seem decidedly short of scouts around Château-Plessis.
They have massed them at Argenton.”
“But it seems to me you are two wounded men. How are you to accomplish
all this?” inquired Captain Jourdin, in the puzzled tone of a man who
thought the adventure more gallant than feasible. Before his mind’s eye
came some of the many airmen—Allied and enemy—he had seen fall to death.
Bob’s chance of safety was no more than theirs, and Lucy must helplessly
share his danger.
“I’ll be up in a week—the surgeon said so,” Bob insisted. “And Harding
is all right now. He expects they will let him out in three days.”
Captain Jourdin rose quickly at sight of Mrs. Gordon, who was just
reëntering the ward. “Your mother has come, Gordon!” he said, with keen
surprise and pleasure. “She knows of your plan—we may talk of it?”
“No, but I will tell her right now,” said Bob. “I certainly can’t try it
without her consent.”
Jourdin had met Bob’s mother in Governor’s Island days, and now, in the
midst of common fears and perils, they seemed rather friends than
acquaintances. Mrs. Gordon greeted him warmly as she joined the little
group, looking herself again with the dust quite got rid of.
“What were you saying, Bob?” she asked, smiling at her son, from whom
she could hardly take her eyes.
Bob told his plan without delay, and Mrs. Gordon, paling a little,
listened in silence until he had finished. She no longer felt as she
would have a few months ago at hearing such a proposal. She had endured
so much, and had seen such terrific obstacles overcome by skill and
daring, that she hesitated to call any feat impossible. It was dreadful
to her to think of Lucy’s share in such a desperate venture, but no more
dreadful than what she was bearing every day in the knowledge of her
captivity.
“What can I say?” she asked, her voice shaking a little. “It seems a mad
attempt, but if there _is_ a good chance——” She turned to the Frenchman,
fancying that his willingness to help Bob outran his confidence of
success. “Would you have proposed this yourself, Captain Jourdin?” she
said earnestly. “You have had more experience than Bob—does it seem too
foolhardy to you?”
Jourdin considered a moment, his fine, candid face grave and thoughtful.
“We have first of all to make known our coming to Mademoiselle,” he said
at last. “Successful in that I shall be eager to go on. If the firing is
heavy we must come back without her, that is all.”
Captain Harding stirred in his chair, frowning as he inquired
doubtfully, “How about the old man? I can’t see him allowing his
squadron to go off like that on private business.”
Major Kitteredge, thus referred to, did seem a stumbling-block, and for
a moment Bob could find no reply. “Oh, well, he can only refuse,” he
said finally. “I’ll ask him. He’s coming to see me to-morrow.”
“Anyway, Mrs. Gordon, it is a very indefinite plan yet,” said Captain
Harding, thinking Bob’s mother had endured enough anxiety for one day.
“Nothing can be settled until Bob is well, and you know how many things
may happen before then. Château-Plessis may even be retaken.”
Here the conversation ended, for so many uncertainties entered into the
project it was hard to talk it over. Mrs. Gordon had only that day to
remain with Bob, and the other two officers rose to leave her alone with
him.
* * * * *
Early on the following day Mrs. Gordon returned to her duty, and, soon
afterward, Bob had his conversation with Major Kitteredge.
His superior officer had been very kind about paying him short visits,
and the old friendship between them would ordinarily have made Bob speak
boldly. But this time caution urged him to be wary. He had narrowly
escaped disaster the night he returned from Château-Plessis, and he
doubted much that his chief would sanction a second visit there, or
would believe in its possible success. He broached the subject nearest
his heart by idly remarking:
“Funny, isn’t it, Major, how different the discipline of the Aviation
Corps is from that of the other arms of the Service. I mean, every man
is more or less on his own—he can carry out his plan, once he is in the
air, without consulting anybody.”
“You mean he can obey orders in whatever way he thinks best,” Major
Kitteredge corrected. “He is always following out a plan from
Headquarters, though it may be a vague one. He can’t, for instance, sail
off and drop bombs on Frankfort, if he has been told to harass the enemy
troops at Montdidier—though both are praiseworthy objects.”
Bob was silent a moment. “Yes, of course,” he assented. “But if an
aviator asked permission to make a certain flight over enemy territory
his superior would probably consent, wouldn’t he?”
“For instance?” asked Major Kitteredge, looking keenly at him.
“Well, I know a fellow who is anxious to cross the Boche lines near here
for reasons of his own. A risky flight, as it happens, but worth it to
him. I wonder if he can get leave.”
“Reasons of his own? You mean he chooses to take great risks on a flight
of no military value? No, his commander ought to refuse him leave,” said
Major Kitteredge frankly.
“But if he—took the flight, and—let the cat out of the bag later?” Bob
persisted.
The elder officer still kept his eyes on his companion. It was fairly
plain that he guessed who the fellow was of whom Bob spoke. Watching his
chief’s face, Bob oddly remembered an incident of long ago in the West,
at Fort Leavenworth, when he had watched that same face with equal
anxiety. Bob had coaxed the driver of the Q.M. ambulance which took the
post children to school to let him drive the four frisky mules. Neither
he nor the soldier had counted on passing Lieutenant Kitteredge on the
lonely road just outside the reservation. How Bob had hoped that morning
that the young officer would not raise his eyes to the driver’s seat and
notice this serious breach of orders. Bob had already been punished once
for it. It seemed impossible that the Lieutenant should not see him, and
he scorned to hand over the reins at the last second, even if it could
have been done in safety. The officer slightly turned his head and cast
a glance in their direction, then he looked straight up the road again,
as the ambulance rolled swiftly by. Bob’s boyish heart had warmed with
gratitude for that friendly blindness. He pulled up the mules, handed
the reins back to the driver without a word, and climbed over to his own
place.
It was his eager study of Major Kitteredge’s face now that brought this
little scene so vividly back. Would he be generous once more, in this
new favor that Bob sought, and ignore what he could not approve?
“So you want to go into Château-Plessis again, and bring Lucy out?” was
the surprising answer he received after a long moment. To Bob’s “How did
you guess it?” look Major Kitteredge added, smiling, “You’re a great
conspirator, Bob.” Then, grown serious again, he said slowly, “It’s a
hard question to answer. I hesitate as much on Lucy’s account as for
other reasons. She must share all the danger.”
“But if Mother consents——” Bob put in eagerly.
“At any rate, you can do nothing until you are fit for duty,” declared
Major Kitteredge. “You know how useless it is to plan a week ahead. Wait
until you are well, and then we’ll talk about it.”
Bob was willing to change the subject for a while. He stretched his
injured shoulder carefully, to try its strength. “Another week and I’ll
be back on duty, Major. It’s tough, waiting all this time. I’m so afraid
we’ll commence a push and I shan’t be there, after hoping so long for
it.”
Bob believed that a week would see him back at work, but the surgeon
thought differently, and it was ten days after Mrs. Gordon’s departure
when he returned to duty. His desire to get on with the plan for Lucy’s
rescue had only increased with the delay, and now he was determined to
make at least a beginning. Major Kitteredge could not object to his
communicating with his sister and arranging some signal which should
announce their coming when the attempt was made. It was a beautiful
morning, with a cloud-flecked sky ideal for his flight over
Château-Plessis. The firing along the line was light and scattered. He
could surely hang over the meadows, in and out of the veiling clouds,
with a fair chance of discovering Elizabeth on her daily round. It was
still early enough to meet her on her morning trip across the fields.
He had a bundle of papers, containing Lloyd-George’s latest speech,
beside him on the farmhouse floor. One copy he had spread against a book
on his knee, and was carefully pricking it full of holes.
“That you, Jourdin?” he called out, hearing a footfall outside the door.
“Yes,” was the answer, as the Frenchman entered the room with his quick,
light step.
“Good. Come and help me with this message, will you? I want to say as
much as possible in a few words, so Elizabeth can read it quickly. See
what you think of this.”
He held the sheet of paper to the light, and was about to decipher it
when Jourdin, laying a hand upon his shoulder, interrupted him.
“I am very sorry, Bob,” he said. “We cannot think of this now. I came to
tell you that we must go up at once. The Boches are out in force over
Montdidier, and half our little squadron has engaged them. They need
help quickly.”
Before he finished speaking Bob had sprung to his feet. The German
airplanes were always thick around Montdidier. He knew what straits the
Americans must be in if they had encountered a full squadron of their
heavy-armed Fokkers.
“I’ll be with you in two minutes,” he said. “I’ve been feeling ever
since I got up that something was going to happen to-day, but I couldn’t
tell what. Blessings on my shoulder for getting well just in time.”
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