From a hillside the boys looked upon and over the great battlefield
where the German army was then trying to break through the line of
barrier forts between Verdun and Toul and the opposing French forces.
In front lay the level valley of the Meuse, with the towns of St.
Mihiel and Bannoncour nestling upon the green landscape.
Beyond and behind the valley rose a tier of hills on which the French
were then striving with all their might to hold an intrenched position.
Bursting shells were throwing up columns of white or black fog, and
cloudlets of white smoke here and there showed where a position was
under shrapnel fire.
The sergeant had presented the boys with a high-powered field glass,
and to their delight they picked out an occasional aëroplane hovering
over the lines.
“Look at that little snapper,” cried Billy; “that’s a French wasp;
it’s smaller and lighter than our kind; they call it the ‘peasant’s
terror.’ Gee! Seventy-five miles an hour is nothing to that plane.”
“The aviator is giving signals!”
Henri had his eyes glued to the glass.
“Looks like a hawk circling around a chick.”
Billy was again taking his turn.
“He’d better climb quick.”
Henri noted that some of the big mortars were trying for the airman,
and he had learned that these mortars could throw a shell a mile or
more in the air.
The aviator evidently was aware of the fact, too, for he went higher
and higher, until the machine looked like a mere scratch in the sky.
The boys returned to the trenches with Rene Granger, a lad of eighteen,
who had enlisted, he said, at Lorraine, and who had already won the
rank of corporal in a French regiment.
The three were together when the colonel of Rene’s regiment called
for a volunteer to carry the orders of the staff to the different
companies. The colonel did not conceal the fact that the mission was
one of great danger. The young corporal stepped forward, and offered
his service. He listened attentively to the colonel’s instructions.
Then with a quiet _c’est bien_ (it is well), he started.
The boys saw him reach the first trench in safety and deliver his
message.
The next stage of his journey was a dangerous one, for he had to pass
over an open space of 300 yards, swept by the enemy’s fire. He went
down on his hands and knees and crawled, only lifting his head in order
to see his way.
Within a few yards of the trenches a bullet struck him in the thigh. He
crept behind a tree, hastily dressed the wound, then dragged himself to
the trench, where he delivered his message to the commander.
They tried to stop him there, but the boy refused.
“I have given my word,” he said.
There remained still two companies to visit. One of them was quite
near, but the other was 600 yards away, far advanced in the zone of
fire.
Rene began his terrible journey. At every few yards he was compelled to
stop, so fierce was the suffering caused by his wound. Bullets whistled
around him, and one pierced his kepi.
He was within twenty yards of safety when a shell burst in front of
him and fragments struck him, inflicting a terrible wound. He lay
unconscious, but he had been seen from the trenches and two ambulance
men ran out, placed him on a stretcher, and carried him to their
company.
Rene became conscious once more, called for the commanding officer, and
almost with his last breath whispered the orders he had been given.
“Oh, that he could have lived!”
Henri could scarcely realize that their new-found friend, their cheery
companion of the past few days, was cold in death. But they brought him
back to his regiment, in scarred body, for honor.
“He kept his word,” said the colonel, who turned away that none might
see what a soldier must hide.
“There’s a boy that was all gold; I am grateful for having known him,
and better for it, too; he knew how to live and how to die.”
This was Billy’s brief but heartfelt tribute to the memory of their
fallen comrade.
But our boys must push on to their goal, and though their story must be
seamed and crossed by these woes of war, yet it is their story.
“Château Chantillon still stands, and there is Château Chambley, and
there, yes, there, is Château Trouville--my home.”
Henri was drawing the distance close with the powerful field glass, and
talking over his shoulder to Billy.
“With a wall of steel around them,” commented Billy.
“But we are going to get through it,” was Henri’s determined reply.
“Speed the day!”
Billy was ready for the effort. Besides, he had been thinking a good
deal about Bangor in the last few days.
“If those old guns over there,” said Henri, “would only let us alone
until we found the mouth of that tunnel it’s a sure thing that we could
be under the roof of the Trouvilles in less than two hours.”
“Maybe the old map’s no good.”
Billy never had been much of a hand for ancient history.
“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll give it a test to-morrow night.”
Henri did not take kindly to Billy’s unbelief.
“If we can get away from the sergeant, I will be at your heels,”
announced Billy, and he meant every word of it.