THE YANKS ARE COMING
=AT= daybreak of the morning following Lucy’s departure from
Château-Plessis Colonel Gordon awoke to the boom of cannon. He raised
his head, listening intently. In a moment he was aware that the fighting
had recommenced along the whole front. He guessed that the bombardment
extended from Argenton as far south as Cantigny, though as yet the lines
in front of Château-Plessis were quiet enough. He rose and dressed and
went out into the garden.
The sentry glanced at him with a look of surprise and annoyance, for he
was not the only one who had been roused by the guns. Several of the
convalescents were strolling about the garden, though in the faint light
of a foggy dawn Colonel Gordon could distinguish them but vaguely.
Neither could he see the sky beyond the town, but the fog could not
prevent his hearing, and his ears told him much. The bombardment was
steadily increasing. The German artillery in front of Château-Plessis
had gone into action now, and the vibrations of the powerful explosions
began to shake the air. From the distant boom of the guns before
Argenton to the crash of those but a mile away, the mighty volume of
sound rolled ever increasingly on the listeners’ ears.
As Colonel Gordon stood motionless by the garden wall, the figure of a
French officer advanced out of the fog and came to his side.
“Good-morning, Colonel,” said his fellow prisoner, and in the
Frenchman’s voice Colonel Gordon detected something of the longing hope
that was stirring his own heart. “What do you think of it? It sounds as
if they were in earnest.”
He spoke very low, and Colonel Gordon answered him as softly, “It is
evident that the Allies began the attack. I’m sure the firing commenced
from our own lines. The German batteries in front of the town have but
just come in.”
“The attack appears to be developing on our flanks—Château-Plessis is
not directly menaced yet. I fear it could not be held, even if taken,
while the enemy holds Argenton.” The Frenchman’s eager voice had grown
more anxious than hopeful as the situation grew clearer to his mind.
“That is probable enough,” Colonel Gordon muttered thoughtfully, “but,
Captain Remy, I think the Americans are opposite us, and they are not
likely to attempt an advance over this unknown terrain without good hope
of success.”
Colonel Gordon was not at heart quite as confident as he appeared, as
the Frenchman easily recognized, but both men knew the value of a little
optimism, and Captain Remy allowed himself to be somewhat encouraged. In
fact, notwithstanding the obstacle of Argenton’s formidable defenses,
the thought of that American army about to strike with all the ardor of
its growing strength and determination was cause for hope and even for
confidence.
An hour passed while the two officers stood there, listening in silence,
and occasionally exchanging a few words. When a German orderly came to
call them back to the hospital they left reluctantly. The crash of the
guns was the only sound they cared to hear just then, and the only sight
their eyes looked for the dark puffs of bursting shells in the sky
beyond the town, from which the fog had begun to clear away.
Inside the hospital Colonel Gordon caught sight of Elizabeth and stopped
the German woman on her hurried way across the ward. “Where is Lucy,
Elizabeth?” he asked. “She is usually here before this time.”
Elizabeth’s face was flushed and troubled, and her hands began clasping
each other nervously. Colonel Gordon thought he guessed the reason for
her uneasiness. Convinced as he was of his old servant’s loyalty to the
Allies’ cause he could not but suppose that her feelings would undergo
some conflict on the eve of another fight.
Elizabeth stammered a little as she answered, “Miss Lucy not yet is
here, Colonel. She told me I should say to you that she will before very
long see you.”
This vague reply satisfied Colonel Gordon for the moment, and he went in
to breakfast, still deeply thoughtful over the commencing battle. It was
easy to see that every one in the hospital shared his preoccupation. The
Americans and their allies listened to the roaring cannon with eager,
intent faces. Between patients and nurses many a hopeful word or meaning
glance was exchanged, in spite of German doctors and orderlies near by.
These seemed not to share in the keen interest the others showed. They
looked sullen, anxious and ill-tempered. Many a poor French or American
soldier was roughly handled that morning by a German orderly who saw a
chance to vent his smouldering resentment. By no stretch of imagination
could any German in Château-Plessis see a cheerful prospect ahead. When
the French and British had exacted from them such a fearful toll during
the progress of Germany’s victorious spring offensive, what would the
price be now that America had joined the ranks of the Allies?
The bombardment had grown heavy and continuous all along the line.
Colonel Gordon presently started back to the garden, but was prevented
by the sentry on the path outside, who shook his head scowlingly, with
upraised rifle. Surprised at this sudden change of front, Colonel Gordon
went back to his room and looked out of the main window toward the west.
The sky was filled with darting airplanes, and bursting shrapnel formed
countless dark spots among the white clouds beyond the town. As he
looked, the scream of a shell drowned for a moment every other sound.
The next instant, with a terrific explosion, a jet of earth and stone
rose into the air not five hundred yards distant, leaving a gaping hole
in the street leading westward from the hospital.
Colonel Gordon turned to the door of the room, and catching sight of
Miss Pearse, motioned quickly to her. The big ward had suddenly taken on
a look of excitement and confusion. A German doctor was loudly issuing
orders right and left. Miss Pearse ran to Colonel Gordon’s side, her
face reflecting the emotions that filled her heart almost to bursting at
that moment. Colonel Gordon gave her no time to speak before he asked
sharply:
“Where is Lucy? Why isn’t she here?”
Miss Pearse gave a quick sigh, as though she had nearly reached the
limit of endurance. She drew Colonel Gordon back into the room, and said
with what calmness she could muster:
“I will have to tell you, Colonel, and I can’t take long to do it. I
hope and believe that Lucy is safely inside the Allies’ lines.”
“Where? What?” gasped Colonel Gordon, stupefied.
Miss Pearse took Lucy’s note from her apron pocket and put it in his
hands. “That will tell you all I know,” she said.
With trembling fingers Colonel Gordon held the slip of paper to the
light and read the following, in a hurried, blotted likeness of Lucy’s
writing:
“DEAR MISS PEARSE: I am going to try to cross the German lines
to-night, to take Captain Beattie’s plan to the Allies. I cannot
stay here and see Father sent to Germany. I know a way—by the
château hill—where perhaps I can get through. If I succeed I will
beg the American commander to attack at once. Pray that he can. I
wrote Elizabeth not to let Father know sooner than can be helped.
You, too, please, don’t tell him before to-morrow. LUCY.”
Colonel Gordon could not find breath to speak. As he stood staring at
Miss Pearse in horror and amazement, the young nurse cried in an agony
of longing:
“Oh, Colonel Gordon, if only the Allies could take the town to-day! The
Germans have given orders to evacuate the hospitals. They are taking out
the German patients now, and in another hour the rest must follow.” Her
voice shook and her eyes filled with tears as they met his with a look
of almost hopeless misery, but in the same moment she wiped the tears
away and turned back to the ward to resume her share of the tremendous
task.
Colonel Gordon stood motionless where she had left him. Then, his
thoughts a little collected, he glanced sharply out into the hurry and
movement of the ward, where the work of evacuation had begun. He sprang
toward the window once more, trying to learn something of the battle’s
progress amidst the roar of the artillery. A German regiment was running
along the street toward the west, making its utmost speed among the
impeding stones and rubbish. The shells no longer fell near by. He could
hear them screaming over the town, but they fell short of the centre,
avoiding the hospitals and searching out the German main headquarters
and supply depot, behind the trenches. He thought the two airplanes
circling far overhead were accountable for this change. The sentry had
deserted the garden to help in the interior of the hospital.
Motor-lorries and ambulances were drawn up outside the doors, and the
German wounded had begun to be carried out.
Colonel Gordon entered the ward, and finding himself unobserved in the
general confusion, went out into the garden, and from there to the
street beyond. The regiment had passed, and the street was deserted. He
glanced back and saw that the angle of the hospital wall hid him from
the group about the ambulances. He drew a long breath and began to run
in the direction of the firing.
Not far from the street which Lucy had followed to the château hill the
night before he stopped, breathing a little hard after his enforced
idleness of the past weeks. The chief reason for his pause, however, was
the change in the noise of the attack which became distinguishable to
his ears as he drew nearer. The rat-tat-tat of machine guns and rifle
fire was plainly audible in the midst of the bombardment. It came from
his left, the direction of the hill. He ran forward again until between
the houses he could obtain a distant view of the hillside.
The fog had now lifted from all but the lowlands, and at the sight which
met his eyes he gave a shout of amazement and exultation. All over the
hill-tops behind the château khaki-clad men were advancing in skirmish
line. Now they ran on a few steps, now dropped to earth or fell back
before a sudden onset from the enemy concealed in the woods in front of
them, while the bursting flame from machine guns, the volleys of
musketry fire, and the gaps opening in the thinning ranks announced a
bitter and desperate struggle. It could mean but one thing. The German
line still held before Château-Plessis, but at this, the extreme
southern point of the town, it had been broken by a bold surprise.
Colonel Gordon stood staring toward the hill, convincing himself of the
truth of what he saw. While his heart throbbed with triumph, every nerve
in his body rebelled at remaining an idle spectator to that thrilling
and unequal conflict. Barely two companies of Americans had breasted the
hill from the swampy land below, and they had all they could do to hold
their own. At that moment he heard the thud of footsteps behind him and
glanced quickly back. A German infantry column, making double-time
toward the front, was debouching from a street on his right.
The foremost officer gave one look at the uniformed American and sent a
shot from his pistol at Colonel Gordon’s breast. The bullet whizzed by
his shoulder, and a second kicked up the dust behind him. For he did not
wait to furnish a target to the German captain. Those shots more than
anything else added to the strength and ardor of his purpose. The German
thought him a combatant, and a combatant he was from that instant.
He had slipped around the corner of the church at the head of the street
leading to the hill. Once out of sight of his enemy, who was leading his
men on too desperate an errand to turn aside in pursuit, he ran on until
the road sloped upward. The American shells had penetrated this far
before the infantry had advanced to climb the hillside under cover of
the fog. Right before him gaped a huge shell-hole, whose flying earth
had partly concealed a shattered German machine gun, with the crew lying
dead beside it. Colonel Gordon bent over one of the dead soldiers,
seized the pistol from his holster and unbuckled his cartridge-belt. In
another second he stood up, no longer unarmed and defenseless. With
every pulse on fire, though his brain remained keen and watchful, he ran
on toward the hill.
To skirt its northern side would be to run full into the German
trenches. Any way was perilous enough, but he was thoroughly familiar
with the ground. It was the same over which he had advanced six weeks
before to victory. He could not linger at the base of the hill either,
where bodies of troops might be met with at any moment. Just now he saw
only a straggling group of women and children fleeing from a near-by
cottage toward the town. He plunged into the wood and began mounting the
hill among the thick growth of pines, while above him increased the
hammer of machine-gun fire, the rattle of musketry and the shouts of
furious men. The hillside up which he climbed was deserted. The Germans
had gone to the defense of the position by way of the trenches, and,
though already driven back to seek cover in the woods, they had not yet
retreated down the slope.
As he neared the crest, Colonel Gordon crept cautiously up behind a rock
which overhung the hillside, and, breathing fast, crouched low to peer
out from its concealing shelter. Directly in front of him, about twenty
yards away, gray-clad soldiers were falling back in disorder, though
firing as they retired. In a moment they were almost at the rock’s
level, and now the Americans burst out from the lingering fog wreaths
among the pines, pursuing the demoralized foe at the point of the
bayonet. Colonel Gordon started up from the ground, victory the one
thought in his exultant heart. At that instant a sharp command rang out
from the trees on his right. Before it died away a heavy rifle-fire was
discharged on the flank of the advancing Americans, a dozen of whom fell
forward in the midst of their triumphant charge. He knew in a second
what had happened. German reinforcements had crept up by the road which
wound about the hillside. The swift retreat of the Germans defending the
hill was playing into the very hands of these newcomers, who had the
surprised Americans for the moment at their mercy.
An American soldier, pitching forward as he fell, rolled down to the
rock close by Colonel Gordon’s side. He was already dead. Colonel Gordon
saw the gaping wound in his temple, and in the same glance he read the
number on his insignia. These men were from his own regiment! In that
breath of time that he had remained inactive his mind had been
desperately planning how to make the most of the help he could offer.
Now he hesitated no longer.
A captain, frantically trying to rally his men to withstand the flank
attack of twice their own number, fell dead in the act of urging on his
company. Their leader shot down, a murderous fire cutting their ranks to
pieces, for an instant the men wavered. At that moment there appeared in
front of them the tall figure of an officer, bareheaded, a pistol in his
upraised hand. There was no time to express any of the emotions which
seized the soldiers’ bewildered minds at sight of their lost commander.
A bullet struck Colonel Gordon in the arm, but he did not feel it. His
voice, ringing out clear, strong and confident, in the midst of death
and confusion, cried:
“Forward, men of the 39th! Follow me!”
It was all they needed. What were overwhelming odds with that familiar
figure leading them to victory? A cheer that shook the enemy’s sense of
easy triumph burst from their panting throats. Colonel Gordon was no
longer alone, for the whole company had sprung to his side. A solid
volley met the German attack, and then in the face of a rain of bullets,
the Americans charged.
The Germans saw that hedge of bayonets rushing down upon them, and
commenced to give way a little. Trained fighters as they were they could
not stand before that onslaught. Leaping down the slope, between the
trees and over rocks and brushwood, the Americans came irresistibly on.
The Germans, retiring faster now, scowled in sullen rage at this enemy
who advanced shouting, against such withering fire, their eyes aflame
with the eager light of victory.
As they neared the foot of the hill the German fire had almost ceased.
Hand to hand the men of the 39th and their enemy continued the bitter
struggle. Now more Americans had reached the hill-crest from the château
and, while some remained to lend aid to those men of the 39th who had
fought as rear-guard, others came bounding down the hill. Their help was
welcome, but the fight was already won. A hundred survivors of the two
hundred men who had followed Colonel Gordon down the hill faced the
shattered remnant of the German reinforcing column. Those of the enemy
who managed to escape alive or uncaptured fled into the town, through
which, at news of the broken line, the German troops from the trenches
in front of Château-Plessis could be seen retreating in disorder. Two
officers, reaching Colonel Gordon’s side, seized hold of him and cried
inaudible words of astonishment and joy through the rattle of musketry
and the shouts around them. But their faces spoke plainly enough. One
thing Colonel Gordon knew in that glorious moment, even before the
silencing of the artillery fire confirmed it. Château-Plessis was in the
hands of the Allies.
The American regiments now poured unimpeded down the hillside road,
hoping to take the fleeing Germans on the flank or rear. A thought
struck Colonel Gordon in the midst of his joy. To a signal officer
pausing beside him, the vanguard of the new communication lines, he
asked hurriedly:
“Can we hold the town, Major? It’s a regular pocket. How far does our
advance extend?”
“Can we hold it?” repeated the officer with triumph in his voice.
“Colonel, we entered Argenton an hour ago!”
Before passing on he pointed to Colonel Gordon’s left sleeve. It was
stained with blood, and the elder officer, noticing for the first time
his wounded arm, found that it hung powerless by his side.
* * * * *
Lucy and her mother were in the little hospital at Cantigny when the
news reached them. Lucy had been sent there by General Clinton to rest
after her fatigue of the night before, and it was Captain Harding who
had instantly sent word to Mrs. Gordon. At half-past nine the morning of
the advance Mrs. Gordon reached Cantigny, and ten minutes later Lucy’s
arms were around her mother’s neck, and all the suffering and anxiety of
the past two months seemed to slip like a heavy burden from her
shoulders. She was free and her mother was with her—no longer to be
tormented with fears for her safety. After the first happy moments all
their thoughts turned to Bob and Colonel Gordon and to the battle now
raging, which would decide Château-Plessis’ fate.
They had not long to spend in uncertainty, for that morning events moved
quickly. Mrs. Gordon saw from the window a soldier running up the
hospital steps.
“I wonder what news he has, Lucy,” she said, her voice shaking with
mingled hope and fear.
The next moment the door of the little room opened and a nurse, whose
shining eyes and radiant face spoke plainer than words, ran in and
handed Mrs. Gordon a folded paper. “A soldier brought it,” she
explained, darting out again. “I haven’t time to stop.”
Mrs. Gordon unfolded the paper and together she and Lucy devoured the
few pencil-scribbled lines:
“We have won! Argenton has fallen. Château-Plessis follows. R. H.”
The guns were still thundering a few miles away, and at that distance
neither Lucy nor her mother distinguished the slackening of the fire.
They could not sit quietly any longer, and, going into the wards, they
joined in the general rejoicing.
“Oh, Lucy, it’s too good to be true!” Mrs. Gordon exclaimed a dozen
times over. “Now if only I can see Bob and Father safe.”
They went out into the streets of Cantigny, and it was in front of the
brick house which was the Staff Headquarters in the town that Lucy
caught sight of General Clinton. He was standing by a big military
automobile, the door of which his aide, Lieutenant Wheeler, was holding
open. At thought of what the General had done for her in trusting to
Captain Beattie’s plan and ordering the advance Lucy’s eyes, as they
were raised to his, filled up with quick, grateful tears. At that moment
he turned and saw the young girl watching him. He gave her one sharp
glance and leaving the car came forward to her side. With a bow to Mrs.
Gordon he held out his hand.
“Shake hands, Lucy Gordon,” he said, his grave face lighting with keen
satisfaction. “We’ve won, and your brave act made victory possible. Our
troops occupy Argenton and Château-Plessis.”
As Lucy, too overcome to speak, put her hand in his with burning cheeks
and wildly beating heart, he turned quickly to his aide.
“Any empty seats in that other car, Wheeler? I know this girl and her
mother are anxious to get to Château-Plessis.”
“Yes, sir, there is plenty of room,” responded the young officer with
alacrity. He led the way to a second machine while the General stepped
into his own before Lucy could find words to thank him.
It was almost noon when Lucy and her mother entered Château-Plessis. The
automobiles of General Clinton’s staff made a slow way among the
soldiers and civilians crowding the once desolate streets in cheering
throngs. The poor townspeople had robbed their little gardens to shower
the victorious troops with lilacs and roses. Cries of friendly greeting
filled the air on every side, and General Clinton advanced to joyful
shouts of “_Vive l’Amérique! Vive nos libérateurs!_”
A shower of rose petals fell in Lucy’s lap, and, gazing about her with
wide, unbelieving eyes, she caught her breath in a quick sob. Too many
feelings struggled in her heart for any connected thought. Most of all
she longed to see her father and know that he was safe.
They neared the old town hall, no longer a hospital since the German
evacuation, and bearing signs of their rage for destruction in the heaps
of torn mattresses and broken furniture flung outside the doors into the
street. American soldiers were hurriedly restoring things to order, for
the Allies’ wounded had been removed to the French hospital and here
were to be General Clinton’s headquarters for the time being.
Even before they drew up in front of the old building Lucy recognized
some familiar faces among the group of officers gathered in the doorway.
They had preceded the General from Cantigny to establish his
headquarters, and now came forward to receive him. A few doctors and
nurses, too, were among them. Lucy scanned each face with eager eyes,
for Bob had flown into Château-Plessis immediately after the German
retreat, in search of his father, and she and her mother waited to hear
from him of Colonel Gordon’s safety. Major Arthur Leslie was standing in
the road, talking with a young British officer. Lucy’s throbbing heart
gave a bound as she saw Captain Beattie’s face. The look of cold
defiance with which he had faced his captors—the bitter melancholy of
his days in prison, had utterly vanished, and he looked like a happy boy
as Arthur Leslie clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hands in
joyful greeting. At that instant Lucy caught sight of Bob from behind a
little group of men. The next, she sprang from the automobile and ran
across the street. For Colonel Gordon, his left arm closely bandaged,
was standing at Bob’s side.
Five minutes later, when the Gordons had begun to realize the wonderful
and happy truth that they were reunited, General Clinton made his way
from among his aides to Colonel Gordon’s side. He held out his hand to
the wounded officer, glancing from one to the other of the faces before
him with real sympathy in his shrewd, understanding eyes.
“I congratulate you on your gallant service,” he said with simple
directness. “It shall not be forgotten, Colonel—or rather General
Gordon,” he corrected. “Your son has no doubt told you that you were
awarded that rank a month ago.” In the same breath he turned to Bob with
hand out-stretched again. “You, too, deserve congratulation—more than I
can offer you.”
“What does he mean, Bob?” Lucy whispered, when General Clinton had
turned to speak to Mrs. Gordon.
Bob had lost for a moment his dignity, and was looking flushed and
boyish with so many eyes fixed upon him. “My promotion, I suppose,” he
explained, a little huskily. “I’m a captain—or will be to-morrow.”
“But that’s not all,” interrupted Arthur Leslie, smiling at Bob’s
confusion. “He hasn’t told you that he is recommended for decoration by
both French and American commanders.”
Lucy thought her heart was too full for any more emotion, but the next
minute she heard General Clinton saying:
“We expected your devoted service, General Gordon, and your son’s as
well. But we had no claim on your daughter’s, yet she has given all she
had of resourcefulness and bravery to the common cause. She deserves a
reward as much as any soldier!”
Lucy could not have spoken a word in the midst of her happiness without
bursting into childish tears. She wanted to explain Captain Beattie’s
part in her success. More than anything she hoped the General understood
how complete her reward was in seeing honors heaped upon those she loved
so dearly.
“He’s right. It’s you who deserve it all,” Bob whispered in her ear.
Unable to stay quietly where she was, with such hot cheeks and pounding
heart, she edged her way toward the door, when an officer had drawn
General Clinton to one side.
Out in the street the cool air touched her face gratefully. At that
moment she thought of Elizabeth, longing to see her again in this
triumphant hour. To-day was Lucy’s fifteenth birthday, and Elizabeth, in
the midst of their fears of the past weeks, had promised Lucy a present,
in one of her kind efforts to cheer the anxious girl from her growing
depression. Lucy eagerly questioned the people around her, but without
avail.
“There’s not a German left in Château-Plessis,” Captain Harding told
her, when she explained to him the object of her search. “Elizabeth must
have gone on with the German wounded from the hospital. We advanced
before they could force our own people to go.”
For a moment a cloud dimmed Lucy’s happiness. Was she not to see that
faithful friend again after those dreadful weeks of captivity? Did
Elizabeth mean to vanish from Château-Plessis, now that her work there
was ended? Before she could answer her own doubts she caught sight of
old Clemence, standing with Michelle at the edge of the little crowd.
Michelle’s eyes were raised to meet her own, and Lucy saw that the
French girl’s lovely face was transfigured, as Captain Beattie’s had
been, with the glad light of freedom. The look of scornful rebellion had
left her eyes and the sad curve of her lips had changed to a serene
smile of happiness. Lucy seized both her hands in a clasp that said more
than the few halting words in which she tried to express their
rejoicing.
Michelle had not managed to respond much, either, except with her
shining eyes, when a wild cheer, rising on every side, caused the two
girls to look quickly around. Caps were snatched off and flung in the
air; the remaining flowers were pelted at the officers in the doorway by
children shouting themselves hoarse in jubilation.
All eyes were turned toward the roof of the old town hall of
Château-Plessis. Willing hands had raised two poles between the pointed
towers, and now, from the roof, side by side with the heroic Tricolor,
there floated the Star-Spangled Banner.
The Stories in this Series are:
CAPTAIN LUCY AND LIEUTENANT BOB
CAPTAIN LUCY IN FRANCE
CAPTAIN LUCY’S FLYING ACE (in press)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);
text that was bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).