THE TRAIL OF THE HUN
“I hear we’re in for a new kind of a trip, fellows,” said Blake,
hurrying up to his friends one morning a few days later.
“Nothing that will take us away from the fighting line, I hope,”
returned Joe.
“Not very far away,” answered Blake, “and not for a long time. I
got the tip from C. C. It seems that the War Department cabled or
wirelessed to the authorities here that they want a special set of
films and they think that we’re the fellows to do the job. C. C. was
present when Mr. Hadley got the message and he said--But here comes Mr.
Hadley himself and it’s dollars to doughnuts that that’s what he wants
to talk to us about.”
Mr. Hadley came up to them in his brisk way and, as usual with him,
plunged right into the subject without beating around the bush.
“Got a different job for you, boys,” he said. “I want or rather Uncle
Sam wants a set of pictures of the devastated parts of Northern
France. You see, it’s this way; Germany is going to be licked good and
proper, and not very long from now either. She’s on her last legs,
although she keeps putting up a pretty stiff bluff. But we’ve got her
going and she may crumple up any time like a bit of paper----”
“Scrap of paper,” interjected Joe with a twinkle.
“Scrap of paper is right,” resumed Mr. Hadley with a smile at the
allusion. “Now when that breakdown comes and she throws up her hands,
the Allies will have to frame a treaty of peace, and the first thing
they’ll have to do is to figure up the damages that Germany will have
to pay for all the evil she has done.”
“I hope they soak her good and plenty,” said Joe, with a stern crease
in his brow.
“They’ll do that all right,” said Mr. Hadley confidently. “But they
want to have an actual record in pictures of what she’s really done to
the towns and villages her troops have occupied or passed through. Of
course, you can’t get it all, but you can get enough to shut the mouth
of the stupid and the pro-Germans who claim that these things have
been exaggerated, that Germany isn’t as black as she has been painted
and therefore ought to be let down easy and so get out of her just
punishment. Do you get me?”
“Sure thing,” replied Blake. “The only trouble is that we’re too
late to get the worst things she’s done. We can’t get the pictures
of the little boys and old men that she lined up against the wall in
Dinant and shot down in batches. We can’t get the women and babies
who have been stabbed and bayoneted and burned to death. We can’t
get the helpless passengers in small boats that have been shelled by
submarines, the men and women drowning in icy waters while the Huns
stood on their decks and laughed at their dying agonies. We can’t get
the thousands of young girls torn from their mothers’ arms in Lille and
other cities and sent into Germany to toil for their conquerors. And if
we did get them they’d be too horrible to show. The heart of the world
would break in looking at them.”
His voice trembled with the vehemence of his emotion and his fists were
clenched so that the nails bit into the palms.
“Yes,” said Mr. Hadley soberly, “you’re right, Blake. We can’t make
Germany give back the innocent lives she’s taken and the punishment
for that must be left to God. But we can make her pay for the material
damage she has done up to the limit of her ability, and it is for
that reason that we want this series of films. They’ll be part of the
evidence. What do you say? I laid the matter before your commander and
he said that, of course, if the Department wanted it, it would be all
right. You’ll have a big army automobile for yourselves and another one
will carry supplies and a couple of soldiers who will go with you as an
escort.”
“Sure we’ll go,” replied Blake.
“You bet we will,” echoed Joe.
“Count me in,” said Charlie.
Mr. Hadley looked his gratification at their readiness.
“I warn you it will be a depressing trip,” he said. “It will be
anything but a joy ride. It will be like riding through a cemetery. It
was Attila, wasn’t it, who said that the grass never grew where his
horse’s foot had trod? Well, Attila was a Hun. Do you get me?”
“We get you,” they answered in unison.
“When are we slated to start, Mr. Hadley?” asked Blake.
“To-morrow I guess, or next day at latest,” answered Mr. Hadley. “We’ll
get the autos tuned up to-day so that they’ll be in shape for the
trip, and we’ll see that there’s plenty of all kinds of grub, for you
probably won’t be able to get any on the way for love or money. Most
of the people in the sections you go through will be half starved and
the rest will be living on charity. The Allied armies are sending them
supplies as fast as possible, but it takes time. Get a hustle on now,
boys. I’ll see that you’re supplied with films enough to last you for
the trip.”
He hurried away and the boys set to work at once to make ready. They
reported to their commander and got his formal permission for the
journey. Two men were assigned to them as an escort, clean cut, likely
looking fellows, and to their surprise and pleasure they noted that one
of them was Tom Wentworth.
“Why, how are you, Tom?” Blake greeted him heartily. “So you pulled
through all right, did you? It’s good to see you around again with two
good legs.”
“The sawbones didn’t take your leg off, eh?” queried Joe with a grin.
“No,” replied Tom with a smile. “I saved the old peg, thanks to you
fellows. The doctor said that if you hadn’t made such a good job of
that first aid I might have had to lose it. I can never thank you boys
enough for the way you risked your lives to save mine that day.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” said Blake. “Both Joe and I are only too glad
that we happened to be Johnnies-on-the-spot.”
“I hear you got a dose of trouble of your own that same day,” remarked
Tom.
“Yes,” laughed Blake, “I got buried in the mine explosion and came
near passing in my checks. But a miss is as good as a mile and I got
through all right.”
The next morning bright and early, they started off. In the first car
were Blake, Joe and Macaroni, with an army chauffeur, while Tom and his
comrade followed in the second car, or rather a combination of car and
motor truck, that carried all the supplies they were likely to need on
the journey.
All the members of the moving picture company were on hand to see them
off, although it was an unusually early hour.
C. C. was there with the rest, and his face was, if possible, even more
lugubrious than usual.
“Remember that there’s a whole lot of mines and shells there that
haven’t been exploded yet,” he cautioned. “I shouldn’t be surprised if
one of them would get the whole lot of you.”
“They haven’t got us yet, and we’ve been in a good many more risky
places,” laughed Joe.
“That’s just it,” persisted C. C. “You’re just about due for it. The
pitcher that goes to the well too often gets broken at last.”
“For goodness’ sake,” put in Nellie Shay. “Any one would think, C. C.,
that we’d gathered to attend the boys’ funeral. You’re as cheerful as a
crutch.”
“I move that C. C. be sent to talk to the German prisoners,” said
Birdie Lee mischievously. “After they’ve listened to him for a while
they’ll all commit suicide, and then the government won’t be at the
expense of feeding them.”
They all laughed, while C. C. looked at her reproachfully.
“Cheer up, C. C.,” chaffed Blake, “the worst is yet to come. Something
real good will happen some time and the shock will be too much for
you. In the meantime just feed upon gloom and that will make you feel
natural.”
“A truce to this merry jesting,” said Joe. “Here comes Mr. Hadley, and,
as usual, he’s in a tearing hurry.”
Their employer came bustling up and shook hands with them.
“All ready, I see, boys,” he said. “Well, good luck to you and bring
us back a bang-up series of films. And mind,” he cautioned them, “what
you are to get are just the unnecessary destruction and ruin that
were caused, the results merely of spite and rage, the things that
are wholly unjustified by the laws of war. If villages and churches
were destroyed in actual fighting, don’t pay any attention to them.
That’s part of the game of war and the nations have simply got to
grin and bear it. But where the destruction was wicked and needless,
cold-blooded and deliberate, get it down in the films exactly as you
find it.”
“All right,” said Blake. “I guess we’ve got your idea. And if all
we’ve heard is true, we won’t run short of subjects.”
There was a chorus of farewells and a waving of hands, as the chauffeur
threw in the clutch and the machine started off, followed by the
heavier one containing their escort and supplies.
The general plan that had been laid out for them was that they should
start from Chateau-Thierry on the Marne and follow the line of the main
German retreat since that time. So they made straight for that famous
town at a rapid rate of speed.
“Well,” remarked Blake, as he settled back in the car, “here we are at
last on the trail of the Hun.”
“Yes,” rejoined Joe, “and, believe me, it’s some trail!”