A WEIRD NIGHT
One midnight after a certain engagement "somewhere in France" in which
many men fell, I learned of an experience which burned its way into my
soul, and I believe will stay there till the Judgment Day. I have read
in history of individuals such as the one I am telling of, but never in
my life have I had actual knowledge of any but this one, and I hope that
I shall hereafter forever be delivered from such.
This particular night the firing for some reason had suddenly ceased. A
man named Valke was an emergency watcher at a listening post, when the
most blood-curdling thing I have ever known occurred.
A listening post is a branch off from the main trench toward the enemy
or in his general direction, which is dug secretly as you go, the dirt
being carried back in bags so as not to disclose its location. These
posts must be changed often, as the enemy is apt to discover them, and
then look out!
Valke was standing in the darkness and seclusion of the post when a
shriek rent the air, the sound of which he said he would hear through
eternity. It came from a man who was prostrate on the ground. He had
noticed the body lying there before, a few yards away, and had assumed
that the man was dead. He was a Frenchman, and on account of the
darkness could be seen with difficulty. But he was not dead, only
unconscious, and something had suddenly revived him.
"O God," he cried, "my marriage ring!" and then he moaned and groaned
like a lost soul in agony. Immediately another form raised up to full
stature and looked quickly about. Valke had to strain his eyes to see
him and he trembled with nervousness. He did not know what to do for an
instant. The man's head jerked this way and that. He must have expected
someone to hear the cries and groans of the other man, and evidently was
looking around for watchers or listeners. The Frenchman kept on
groaning, and the man, seeming to fear that if any watchers were near,
they would immediately let loose upon him, started to run. Valke kept
very still in his dark post.
Suddenly the fugitive stopped. He turned and ran back to the prostrate
Frenchman. Valke saw the gleam of a knife drawn from a sheath. It was
in the hand of the apache. In an instant the horrid thing was done--a
swift movement of the arm, a flash, and the blade plunged into the body
of the helpless soldier! Then silence: silence more terrible than the
groans of agony that it stilled. Valke's fists clinched by instinct, the
nails cutting into the very flesh of his palms; and then his right hand
went to the holster on his hip. It was all too plain: the hideous
vulture of the battlefield knew that "dead men tell no tales," and that
the wounded sometimes recover and tell things that lead to fearful
reprisals on their enemies. More than that: wounded men cry out and
groan; but the dead are quiet. The knife had done its work: escape might
be surer for the assassin. That's the logic of ghouls.
Valke drew his service pistol, but hesitated to fire. To do so might
betray his listening post and draw the enemy's shrapnel; it might be
fatal to the section. In the second that Valke cast up the chances, he
heard whisperings from another listening post. The ghoul had risen and
was slinking for cover when the crack of a rifle tore a gap in the
stillness. A light flashed up fifty yards ahead. Instinctively, the
prowler sought the cover of a bush nearby and waited for the lapse of
attention which might let him dash to safety. A sentry on patrol came
up, passed, and vanished. That was the apache's chance! He came out of
hiding and skulked along the entanglements hoping to find an alleyway to
safety. The way led him right in front of Valke's listening post. A
flash lamp shot its beam of blinding light full on the assassin's face.
"Who goes there?" challenged Valke. No answer.
"Who goes there?" ... Silence; not a sound.
"_Qui Vive?_" ... No reply. "_Qui Vive?_" ...
Then Valke pressed the trigger and with a groan the apache crumpled up,
dead.
"For a minute," said Valke in telling me the story, "the thought of what
I had done made me shudder, though it was nothing but a plain matter of
army duty. The man had been challenged, well knowing the penalty of war
for silence. And yet--I had killed him! It made me feel faint. But when
we examined the body it was all right again inside of me. That German
held in his hand a bleeding human finger, still at blood heat, and
around that finger was a marriage ring! In his pocket he had an emblem
pin and a gold watch and chain; and on his own finger a diamond
ring--all snatched from the dead or dying bodies of men who had made the
supreme sacrifice for France! Who could pity such a vile ghoul as he?"
From that hour I believe my transformation began. I thought of my sacred
calling, the ministry. My church at home flashed into my mind. What
would people think? How would I stand in the eyes of God? I reflected on
my former teachings and beliefs. Could I face my friends, to whom I had
preached peace and gentleness, now that I had applauded violence and
war? Was it right or justifiable? My mind was very much perturbed and I
was extremely nervous. A process of moral regeneration of my ideas was
going on. This, I now believe, to be as important as a man's spiritual
conversion, and step by step this book unfolds the process in my life. I
stood at an hour of decision. I faced life. Its issues must be met. Here
in the presence of death I had my supreme struggle. Time divided! The
roads parted. Eternity was ahead. Where was I? I was in hell! Right then
it surrounded, enveloped, engulfed me. The hour was freighted with
destiny. Then came a sudden high resolve. "I must take the path of
right and duty, wherever it may lead, e'en 'though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me.' Duty may require
violence and war." My pacifism began to fade away, as I saw visions of
mutilated men. Then all went black.