TRENCH LIFE
Blake was the first to scramble to his feet, rolling out from beneath a
pile of dirt and stones that had been tossed on him as the shell heaved
up a miniature geyser and covered him with the débris. Then, after a
shake, such as a dog gives himself when he emerges from the water, and
finding himself, as far as he could tell, uninjured, he looked to his
companions.
Private Drew was staggering about, holding his right hand to his head,
and on his face was a look of grim pain. But it passed in an instant as
he cried to Blake:
"Hurt Buddy?"
"I don't seem to be," was the answer, given during a lull in the
bombardment and firing. "But I'm afraid----"
He did not finish the sentence, but looked apprehensively at his
prostrate chums. Both Joe and Charlie lay motionless, half covered with
dirt. One camera had been upset and the tripod was broken. The other,
which Blake had been operating, seemed intact.
"Maybe they're only knocked out. That happens lots of times," said Drew.
"We'll have a look."
"But you're hurt yourself!" exclaimed Blake, looking at a bloody hand
the soldier removed from his head.
"Only a scratch, Buddy! A piece of the shell grazed me. First I thought
it had taken me for fair, but it's only a scratch. If I don't get any
worse than that I'm lucky. Now to have a look at your bunkies."
Charles Anderson seemed to need little looking after, for he arose to
his feet, appearing somewhat dazed, but not hurt, as far as was
evidenced.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Just a little bit of a compliment from our friend Fritz," answered
Drew. "That was a real shell--no dud--but it exploded far enough away
from us not to do an awful lot of damage. That is, unless your other
bunkie is worse hurt."
"I'm afraid he is," observed Blake, for Joe had not yet moved, and dirt
covered him thickly.
The center of the fighting seemed to have passed beyond the group of
moving picture boys by this time. Blake, Charlie and Drew turned to
where Joe lay and began scraping the dirt from him.
He stirred uneasily while they were doing this, and murmured:
"It's all right. Put in another reel."
"Touched on the head," said the soldier. "We'd better get him back of
the lines where he can see a doctor. Your machine got a touch of it,
too."
Anderson hurried over to the overturned camera. A quick examination
showed him that it had suffered no more damage than the broken support.
"It's all right," he announced. "Not even light-struck, I guess. I'll
take this and the boxes of film," and he shouldered his burden.
"Well, I'll take your bunkie--guess I can manage to carry him better
than you, for we've had practice in that--and you can shoulder the other
picture machine," said Drew, as he moved over to Joe. "We won't wait for
the stretcher-men. They won't be along for some time if this keeps up.
Come on now."
"But can you manage, hurt as you are?" asked Blake.
"Oh, sure! Mine's only a scratch. Wait, I'll give myself a little first
aid and then I'll be all right."
With the help of Blake the soldier disinfected his wound with a liquid
he took from his field kit, and then, having bound a bandage around his
head, he picked up the still unconscious Joe and started back with him
to the rear trenches.
They had to make a détour to avoid some of the German fire, which was
still hot in sections, but finally managed to get to a place of
comparative safety. Here they were met by a party of ambulance men, and
Joe was placed on a stretcher and taken to a first dressing station.
Meanwhile, Anderson put the cameras with their valuable reels of film in
a bomb-proof structure.
"Is he badly hurt?" asked Blake anxiously of the surgeon.
"I hope not. In fact, I think not," was the reassuring answer of the
American army surgeon. "He has been shocked, and there is a bad bruise
on one side, where he seems to have been struck by a stone thrown by the
exploding shell. But a few days' rest will bring him around all right.
Pretty close call, was it?"
"Oh, it might have been worse," answered Drew, whose wound had also been
attended to. "It was just a chance shot."
"Well, I don't know that it makes an awful lot of difference whether
it's a chance shot or one that is aimed at you, as long as it hits,"
said the surgeon. "However, you are luckily out of it. How does it seem,
to be under fire?" he asked Blake.
"Well, I can't say I fancy it as a steady diet, and yet it wasn't quite
as bad as I expected. And we got the pictures all right."
"That's good!" the surgeon said. "Well, your friend will be all right.
He's coming around nicely now," for Joe was coming out of the stupor
caused by the blow on the head from a clod of earth.
At first he was a bit confused--"groggy," Private Drew called it--but he
soon came around, and though he could not walk because of the injury to
his side, he was soon made comparatively comfortable and taken to a
hospital just behind the lines.
As this was near the house where Charlie and Blake were quartered, they
could easily visit their chum each day, which they did for the week that
he was kept in bed.
As Charles had surmised, the films in the cameras were not damaged, and
were removed to be sent back for development. The broken tripod was
repaired sufficiently to be usable again, and then the boys began to
prepare for their next experience.
The engagement in which Joe had been hurt was a comparatively small one,
but it netted a slight advance for the French and American troops, and
enabled a little straightening of their trench line to be made, a number
of German dug-outs having been demolished and their machine guns
captured. This, for a time at least, removed a serious annoyance to
those who had to occupy the front line trenches.
Though Joe improved rapidly in the hospital, for some time his side was
very sore. He had to turn his camera over to Charlie, and it was
fortunate the lanky helper had been brought along, for the work would
have proved too much for Blake alone.
Following that memorable, because it was the first, going "over the
top," there was a period of comparative quiet. Of course there was
sniping day and night, and not a few casualties from this form of
warfare, but it was to be expected and "all in the day's work," as
Private Drew called it.
Blake, Joe and Charlie were complimented by Captain Black for their
bravery in going so close to the front line in getting the pictures;
then he added:
"You can have it a little easier for a while. What we want now are some
scenes of trench life as it exists before an engagement. So get ready
for that."
This Blake and Charlie did, while Joe sat in the sun and tried to learn
French from a little boy, the son of the couple in whose house the
moving picture boys were quartered.
Though the American and French soldiers, with here and there a Canadian
or English regiment, lived so near the deadly front line, there were
periods, some lengthy, of quiet and even amusement. Of course, the
deaths lay heavy on all the soldiers when they allowed themselves to
think of their comrades who had perished. And more than one gazed with
wet eyes at the simple wooden crosses marking the graves "somewhere in
France."
But officers and men alike knew how fatal to spirit it was to dwell on
the sad side of war. So, as much as possible, there was in evidence a
sense of lightness and a feeling that all was for the best--that it must
be for the best.
Now and then there were night raids, and occasionally parties of German
prisoners were brought in. Blake and Charlie made moving pictures of
these as they were taken back to the cages. Most of the Germans seemed
glad to be captured, which meant that they were now definitely out of
the terrible scenes of the war. They would be held in safety until after
the conflict, and they seemed to know this, for they laughed and joked
as they were filmed. They appeared to like it, and shouted various words
of joking import in their guttural voices to the boys.
A week after coming out of the hospital Joe was able to take up light
work, and did his share of making pictures of trench life. He had a big
bruise on one side, a discolored patch that had an unpleasant look, but
which soon ceased to give much pain except after a period of exertion.
"Well, you're a veteran now--been wounded," said Blake to his chum.
"Yes, I suppose you can call it that. I don't care for any more,
though."
The plan in operation at this particular section of the front where the
moving picture boys were quartered and on duty was for the soldiers to
spend five or six days in the trenches, taking turns of duty near No
Man's Land, and then going back to rest in the dug-outs. After that they
would have a day or so of real rest back of the lines, out of reach of
the big guns.
And there the real fun of soldiering, if fun it can be called amid the
grim business of war, was to be had. The officers and men vied with one
another in trying to forget the terrible scenes through which they had
gone, and little entertainments were gotten up, the moving picture boys
doing their share.
Thus they obtained views of trench life both grave and gay, though it
must be admitted that the more serious predominated. There were many
wounded, many killed, and, occasionally, one of the parties going out on
patrol or listening-duty at night would never come back, or, at most,
one or two wounded men would come in to tell of a terrific struggle with
a party of Huns.
Sometimes, though, the tale would be the other way around, and the
Americans would come in with a number of captives who showed the effects
of severe fighting.