TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
THE BRIGHTON BOYS SERIES
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE FLYING CORPS
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE TRENCHES
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE BATTLE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE RADIO SERVICE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE SUBMARINE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
WITH THE ENGINEERS AT CANTIGNY
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
AT CHATEAU-THIERRY
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
AT ST. MIHIEL
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE ARGONNE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT
THE BRIGHTON BOYS
IN THE SUBMARINE TREASURE SHIP
[Illustration: “KEEP COOL! THEY MUSTN’T REACH US--NEVER!”]
The BRIGHTON BOYS in the
ARGONNE FOREST
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
ILLUSTRATED
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
Copyright, 1920, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. GOING IN AGAIN 9
II. TO THE FRONT 16
III. STARTING A BIG JOB 23
IV. “INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH” 31
V. KILL OR BE KILLED 40
VI. SHIFTED 49
VII. A GOOD BEGINNING 60
VIII. MUCH TO DO AND MANY TO DO IT 70
IX. INDIAN FASHION 81
X. WITHOUT ORDERS 89
XI. A RISKY UNDERTAKING 97
XII. SURROUNDED 110
XIII. LYING LOW 120
XIV. GRIT 131
XV. STRATEGY 142
XVI. PLUCK 152
XVII. THE WORLD’S GREATEST BATTLE 161
XVIII. PLAYING THE GAME 167
XIX. RETALIATION 178
XX. GILL PERFORMS 187
XXI. ONCE MORE THE OFFENSIVE 197
XXII. PRESTO! CHANGE-O! 207
XXIII. THE AMERICAN BROOM 216
XXIV. FAST WORK 222
XXV. FORWARD 230
ILLUSTRATIONS
“KEEP COOL! THEY MUSTN’T REACH US--NEVER!” _Frontispiece_
PAGE
NOW THE WEAPON BARKED ITS PROTEST 44
THE TWO WENT DOWN TOGETHER 194
”I GUESS,” SAID THE BOY THICKLY, “I’LL JUST FINISH YOU NOW” 220
The Brighton Boys in the Argonne
CHAPTER I
GOING IN AGAIN
PLUCK and perseverance are American characteristics; in all the world
there are none superior. Perhaps more than to anything else the
physical advancements of our country have been due to the tremendous
desire and the will to go forward, to gain, to consummate. Almost
everything that we as a people have set our hearts upon we have
achieved beyond the expectations of ourselves and other peoples.
The building of the Panama Canal, the discovery of the North Pole, the
results attained at the modern Olympic games are but minor instances
of our determination; the accumulative values of inventions and their
commercialism, the acquiring of vast wealth and well being express this
more generally.
And the great World War has given additional evidence of the kind of
stuff that goes along with American brawn and bravery; there was shown
more than mere momentary force. The fighter _par excellence_ is he
who stays in the battle until every ounce of energy he possesses is
expended, if necessary, to beat his opponent and goes back for more and
more punishment, with the determination to give more than he gets. Such
a fighter and of such fighters the American Army proved itself to be,
collectively and with wondrously few exceptions individually; it was
this quality, as much as anything else, that caused the foe to respect
the prowess of the Yanks, to make way before them and to surrender
often when there was no immediate need for it.
Despite much luxury and pleasure, much easy living, much indolence of a
kind, the fighting stamina has been instilled into the American youth;
history, sports, teaching, habits of life, all have conspired to make
him the kind of man to want to smash the would-be bully and rough fully
as hard as he deserves. And then, when injustice looks like coming
back, to go in and smash some more.
Brighton Academy, in common with other high-grade schools, in the
classrooms and on the athletic field, wisely implanted qualities of
fairness and of determination into its boys. Imbued thus were the lads
who had, from the halls of Old Brighton, gone forth to do and to die
for their country against Germany, the thug nation.
Happy, then, was he who could go back after having been invalided
home--and there were many, indeed, who gloried in it. One such, wearing
the chevrons of a lieutenant of infantry, had come from Brighton
Academy and had served with bravery and distinction in the trenches. He
stood on the deck of the transport and gazed through moist eyes at the
receding coast of the land of the free, for the most part seeing but
one figure, that of a one-legged lad waving him a sad farewell.
“Poor old Roy! It’s the first time I’ve really seen him so sick at
heart as to show it keenly. But who can blame him? He’d rather fight
than eat and now he’s got to sit by and see us go without him.” So
thought the youth on the upper deck, as he long held up his fluttering
handkerchief.
And then, after not many days of glorious, semi-savage anticipation,
there followed disembarkation at an obscure port of France and our
returning hero, with many others, sauntered to the billets, laughing,
some singing: “Where do We Go from Here?” and “There’ll be a Hot Time
in the Old Town Tonight.” Suddenly the young officer’s arm was seized,
he was whirled about and found himself face to face with another lad,
evidently a little younger, but quite as tall, with the accustomed
military bearing, but upon his khaki sleeve reposed the familiar and
much loved insignia of the Red Cross.
“Herb Whitcomb, or I’m a shad! You old dear, you! But ain’t it good to
run smack into a son-of-a-gun from Old Brighton? And what now and where
are you----?”
“You’ve got me, comrade--” the Lieutenant began, eyeing the speaker
narrowly for a moment, his brows set in a puzzled wrinkle as the other
grinned at the very idea of not being recognized by an old friend and
classmate. Herbert, in turn, suddenly grabbed him, seizing him by the
shoulders and chuckling with real delight.
“Don--Don Richards, by the wild, whistling wizard! You boy! Glory, but
I’m glad to see you! But say, man----”
“Say it--that I’ve changed a bit. Must have for you not to have known
me.” Don fell into step with Herbert.
“Yes, you have indeed! Sun-dyed like a pirate and older, somehow. But
I knew that grin. The great thing about it is that you’re alive and
looking fit as a fiddle. Why, man, we heard you’d been wounded past
recovery--hit with a shrapnel.”
“Shrapnel all right, but it was uncommonly kind to me. Piece just went
through my left shoulder and now it’s only a little stiff at times.
Clem Stapley and I were together out there beyond Bouresches; the
Belleau Wood scrap. He was hurt badly and I was trying to bring him
in.” Don spoke mere facts; not with boastfulness.
“Red Cross work; we heard that, too. Clem pulled through; didn’t he?”
the lieutenant questioned.
“Yes, just, but he won’t be good enough to join in again. Went back
home last ship, three days ago. I didn’t go because Major Little came
after me to serve again.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Well, I guess I ought to. It’s got under my skin, but I’d like to get
a glimpse of the good old U. S. Came off this boat; didn’t you? Don
asked.”
“Just landed. Going back to my company; can’t help it; it’s permeated
my carcass, too, with the gas I got near Montdidier. Poor Roy Flynn,
you know, lost a leg, but he wanted to come back, nevertheless. I’m
billeting with this bunch of fellows. Where are you stopping?”
“Down here at a sort of little inn; jolly fine place, but expensive.
Major Little sent Clem and me there. How about your bunking with me
now? Then we’ll go back together. If I go on again I guess it will be
in an auto and there’ll be room for you. They want me to report at the
base somewhere southeast of Rheims. Where is your old command?”
The boys had turned aside from the khaki-clad procession, Donald
conducting Herbert toward a side street that led to his inn. Several of
the “Yanks” shouted words of friendly banter at the lieutenant, whom
they had come to know and respect aboard ship.
“Hey, you scrapper! Don’t let the Red Cross get you this soon!” “Where
you goin’, boy? Stay with the bon tons!” “Sure, we need your cheerful
reminders of what the Heinies will do to us!”
It was long past the noon hour and the hungry boys ordered a meal; then
began a long and minutely explanatory chat during which the affairs
at Brighton, the pro-war sentiment in the United States, the retreat
of the Germans and the American influence thereon were discussed with
the vast interest that only those who had taken and expected again to
take part in the conflict could so keenly feel. Presently a Red Cross
messenger on a motorcycle came to seek young Richards.
“How about conveyance?” Don asked. “Major Little said not to bother
with the roundabout on the crazy railroad; a car would make the direct
run across in less time.”
“There are two new ambulances stored here that came in on the last
freighter across. I have orders to turn one of the ambulances over to
you if you wish,” the messenger said.
“Then I can deliver my reply to the Major in person, after I have
dropped my friend here at general Army Headquarters. Let’s have your
order. I’ll be on the road early in the morning and likely make the run
by night.”