Jeb dashed blindly ahead, indifferent to shells and death, not caring
where he went so that it was toward the thick of battle. He wanted to be
killed; he wanted to die as Hastings died, showing the world how real
men are capable of making the last big sacrifice. But his torturing
conscience laughed at the presumption, for Hastings had typified a
faultless courage; and his brain ceaselessly echoed the scorn which
Marian had hurled at him, spurring him as rowels of hot steel to greater
speed.
The smoke, as a heavy fog, shrouded the uncontested No Man's Land, being
quite impenetrable beyond a radius of fifty yards. It was as though he
were running constantly beneath a low, flattened dome which kept
accurate pace with him, through the sides of whose inverted rim new
objects sprang into view with almost magic suddenness. Yet he saw little
of anything beyond a girl's look of horror, heard nothing but her
outraged words. Scarcely knowing it he hurdled prostrate figures,
stumbled into craters, tripped on vagrant ends of wire entanglements,
till at last, through sheer exhaustion, he fell face down amidst a small
group of the dead.
His maddened race had taken him close to the scene of battle; indeed, he
had crossed the old first and second German trenches without observing
them, so completely demolished had they been by the French _barrage_.
The fighting was yet somewhere beyond, although not waged with anything
like the intensity of an hour ago. The artillery had almost entirely
ceased, and the lesser rattle of machine-guns was diminishing. Yet he
listened, trying to locate the thickest part of it, intending to push
there as soon as he regained his breath; but always just above the
noises came Marian's burning words, and for awhile he lay with tightly
closed eyes, letting them beat upon him as blows.
Gradually, as his breathing grew more normal, other words mingled with
hers in a kind of verbal potpourri--jumbled and unmeaning, yet soon
getting clear of the confusion and sounding in his ears like a clarion
voice:
"When man calls on the highest expression of his will, he becomes
indomitable; he succeeds in the highest terms of success--and thus will
you succeed, _mon pauvre enfant_!"
He thought this over with a sense of comfort. It _would_ feel good to
become indomitable, to succeed in the highest terms of success! Had he
ever stopped, and with solemn deliberation called upon the highest
expression of his will? He tried to remember. Surely he had given no
thought to will power when tossed into the ocean from the sinking
ship--nor at any time since coming to this battle front! Each day, from
the historic Sixth of April even unto the present minute, he unsparingly
admitted, had been spent by him amidst concocted fears and magnified
dangers; but never once had he buried his teeth in a single manly
purpose, as Tim might have expressed it. This brought Tim to mind, and
the many sane things he had said aboard ship. Then another voice,
enriched not alone by affection but by the pride of age as it had
spoken 'way back yonder in the Hillsdale _Eagle_ office:
"I want to be proud of you," it now said calmly. "You're going out to
play a mighty big game, boy, wherein Humanity is trumps, and Patriotism,
Righteousness and Service are the other three aces. Yet, even if you
hold all these, you may still lose unless you possess one more magic
card: Self-respect! We all owe to our soul a certain measure of
self-respect, Jeb. It is a gentleman's personal debt of honor to
himself, demanding payment before every other obligation, and is
satisfied only when we face each of life's crises with steel-tipped,
crystal courage!"
Jeb rolled despairingly over on his back, gripping his hands and
whispering:
"Oh, God, give me that steel-tipped, crystal courage!"
The sun had set, and with its decline the battlefield grew peculiarly
still. A barely perceptible current of air was stirring, and he watched
the low canopy of smoke slowly drifting; feeling very small amidst the
dead and desolation as he fancied that it might be a silent, winged
army of souls gliding eastward to a new dawn.
Suddenly he wondered about the battle--what had become of it! Except for
desultory cannonading far to the left, perfect quiet, almost peace,
reigned over the darkening ground. In the region where he lay, human
passions seemed to have burned into ashes as cold and lifeless as the
six or eight calm bodies near to him. He knew the Allies were silently
consolidating their gains while, beyond, the Germans strengthened
positions for another resistance; the armies of construction were
creating what armies of destruction would furiously undo. So uncannily
silent had the immediate world become that now, for the first time, he
noticed a singing in his ears, caused by twelve hours of hellish
concussions--and then, coming more completely to himself, he discovered
that for the first time in many days he was hungry.
Jeb sat up and seriously took stock of himself. He had come here to die,
but was beginning to resent the very thought of it; he had run to get
away from--what? Disgrace and mortification? Why continue to suffer
these if a means were at hand to wipe them off the slate? For what
purpose should he be disgraced and mortified if, henceforth, he played a
man's part! Near his feet was a dead soldier whose face happened to be
turned directly toward him, and through the gathering twilight Jeb saw
that the eyes were open, steadily fixed upon him as if waiting to see
what he would decide. But this ghastly picture brought him no feeling of
revulsion as it might have, earlier; instead, he gazed back for quite a
minute, seeming to discover in the dead eyes an expression of reproach
so poignant that he finally whispered:
"I don't blame you, old fellow; I haven't done the right thing, at all."
From this he turned to the others about him, and with a new vision saw
them in the places they had occupied at home: father, husband, brother,
son! His mind leapt the span of miles and looked in upon the anxious
faces--hopeful, perhaps--of mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, who
waited; and a new kinship sprang up within him for those stricken
families of France!
"Oh, the crucifixion of waiting!" he murmured, his eyes again caressing
the prostrate forms. For he seemed to be living among men, not dead but
yet unborn; helpless, silent, sleeping things whose souls alone were
quick--alive somewhere in a wonderful twilight land of peace! Why pity
these deserted temples of spirit-heroes! "And to think," he whispered
softly, "that you fellows have learned to die! How did it feel? A little
gasp?--some dizziness?--surprise, perhaps?--and then God's great
entwining arms?"
But the dead eyes staring at him seemed to answer:
"Not until you face it like a soldier of Humanity! Not until you strike
a manly blow for the little nations which were ravaged; the women,
children, helpless men, ground in the mailed fist of a lying tyrant! God
entwines those within His arms who fight for right, not run from it!"
Jeb sprang up, alive to action. Death, then, was but an ephemeral part
of this big game; he was fighting not only for today, but for the
future; fighting for the peace and righteousness of years to come,
long, long after he, in any case, would have been dead! He turned
impulsively to the staring eyes, and whispered: "Thanks, old
fellow!"--then started toward the new French lines.
Night had fallen, and the world about him was dark except when bathed
with the light of star shells, intermittently fired from the opposing
armies. Yet he realized that these balls of blinding whiteness must be
quite a distance away, since their calcium glare but vaguely penetrated
the canopy of smoke, touching the wreckage and the dead with ghost-like
iridescence and making them appear almost as unreal as real. He could
not even tell from what point these shells were fired, as no spot-lights
showed--merely their effect which diffused the smoke alike on all sides.
Suddenly, somewhere behind him, came a sharp rattle of machine-gun fire.
He dropped to the ground, listening; wondering in a panic how this fight
could have started so far back when he had not even come in touch with
the rear French lines. In five minutes all was still again. Either the
scrimmage hinged on a false alarm, or a rush had been made for the
possession of some slight point, or--but why guess! Anyhow, it had been
short; but, as a barking dog when the night is still will awaken other
dogs far across the country-side, so did this brief fusillade draw
intermittent firing from many points in more distant places.
Instead of helping Jeb determine his position, these but added to his
confusion. Directions of the compass might be anywhere; he was
unquestionably lost, with the best of chances for walking into an enemy
outpost and being taken prisoner--and he had heard enough of Germany's
treatment of prisoners to prefer death rather than capture.
Several star shells must now have been fired from flare pistols
somewhere, because objects about him took shape, and he dropped flat,
simulating death, not knowing how many eyes were on the watch for
movements. When darkness came again his sense of location had not been
helped.
Crouching, sometimes crawling on his stomach, but going forward ever
more cautiously, he was driven cold with terror when, within thirty
feet of him, out of the very air about him, came low, guttural sounds of
talking. The words were German.
His first impulse was to dash wildly through the smoke and escape, but
even as his muscles grew taut to make the spring a voice commanded him
to halt. It was not an outside voice this time, but one within; and,
although trembling, he froze closer to the ground, obeying instantly.
Then the sound of a spade thrust into soil, raised and emptied, told of
digging. Digging what? Graves? No, the German army, that great Imperial
Machine, was being pounded too hard to bother with its dead! The German
God could look after them--or the Allies!
Not knowing how to cope with this new situation he began cautiously to
crawl away, feeling for a corpse to hide behind should another lot of
stars go up and expose him there; yet when his fingers touched a cold,
bearded face he nearly cried aloud. A sudden loathing for this inanimate
thing almost sent him running;--the next second, answering a silent
command, he stretched beside it as though he and it were bunkies in a
cantonment. But his heart was beating unmercifully, confusing his ears
which strained for every sound. Regularly the spades and picks continued
their work; minute dragged into minute, till another iridescence pierced
the smoke. He then peeped out. To his surprise there was but one man in
sight; a solitary sentinel standing above an excavation--Jeb could not
tell how deep.
When darkness again fell he was more than ever confused. Whether these
men were inside their own lines laying mines for an expected advance, or
by some cunning had got behind the Allies for a devilish purpose, taxed
his ingenuity to decide. At any rate, this was no place for him; no
ingenuity was required to determine that. He felt that somewhere to the
right the French must be, but it was a guess based largely upon hope.
Right or wrong, an effort must be made at once to report this digging
party, and slowly he crept off; prone at first, then arising to his
hands and knees.
In this way he must have gone a thousand yards when the terrain began
sharply to ascend, and more than ever puzzled he stopped again,
listening. Only the far off, spasmodic growling of the "heavies" told
that fifteen miles away someone was being unmercifully plastered; but
the nearer artillery slept. With eyes and ears straining to their
utmost, with muscles held ready to relax and let him flatten out at the
first sign of enemies, he continued up this new and very dangerous
slope, possessing no idea where it would lead, knowing only that he must
reach his own lines before dawn. And now he realized that the air was
becoming more pure.
Frequently after sundown in this part of France a light mist rises in
the lowlands. To-night there had been no mist, but the terrain had lent
itself to cup the hovering battle smoke, holding it in depressions as
lakes of vapor, while the higher points stood clear. Jeb was now
creeping up one of these higher points; and within half an hour his eyes
looked at the stars, his grateful nostrils breathed a pure, untainted
atmosphere. Like a snake he slid head-first into the nearest shell hole,
climbed warily back to its edge, and watched.
The sky was so bejewelled, the Milky Way so white, that a luminosity
bathed the earth about him which, in contrast to the smoky lowland,
seemed almost bright. Before him lay what had once been the little
hamlet on the scarp--he recognized it, remembering how the French
_barrage_ had in mercy been lifted over it. But it had not escaped a
severe pounding. A few sections of torn walls, a few chimneys, here and
there a gable still supporting one end of a caved-in roof, made a
skyline that was saggy, unreal and awe-inspiring. No life was anywhere
apparent. Crumbled on its solitary hill, overlooking a white-and-brown
streaked sea of smoke that lapped its feet, it typified the most acute
expression of desolation.
Having taken his bearings on the North Star and become assured of which
way lay the French and British rear, he was leaving the crater when a
sound made him draw back again in haste, a muffled sound of iron
striking stone.
The old fear bit into him with all its terrors. He was getting weak from
hunger, anyway, and his nerves had been through more than ordinary
nerves could stand; yet, since the sounds came from somewhere in the
ruins they might well mean a villager trying to dig himself out. 'Twas
a heartening thought, and Jeb was on the point of creeping forward when
a sentry appeared around a pyramid of fallen stones--a tremendous
fellow, wearing the Boche uniform. A moment later eight Germans came
toward him, picking their way over piles of rubble and carrying spidery
things he recognized as machine-guns. Crouching low beneath the crater's
side he waited breathlessly, while they passed so near that he could
smell their sweaty clothing. After several minutes he peeped out; the
sentry and they had disappeared. Without doubt this was a night party
fortifying the ruined hamlet on the scarp; but, if that were so, where
in the name of God, he asked himself, could the Allied army be!
Objects were now growing more distinct, and for an instant he was driven
cold with terror believing this to be the sign of dawn; but a silvery
glow in the eastern sky proclaimed a rising moon. In imminent danger of
discovery when this should become still brighter he dared not remain in
the shell hole. On the other hand, fear had him pinioned with such long
claws that he hardly dared to move at all; and had one German, wounded
and defenseless, come upon him then demanding his surrender he could not
have raised a finger in defense. He merely wanted safety now; a place to
hide--he cared not for how long. His ears had closed to the stern
demands of will power; the words of Mr. Strong, and Bonsecours, and even
Marian, had lost their potency. An appeal more powerful than all of
these was needed to raise him to the place of man!
Ahead, almost at his hands, were scattered bricks and clay chunks of
blasted buildings; but twenty feet beyond stood a section of upright
wall, supported beneath by twisted doorway timbers and propped by the
wreckage of a roof which, at one side, reached the ground. It was a
forbidding place, seeming on the point of tottering over, although this
very danger might grant it immunity from German searchers.
Making himself as flat as possible he wriggled forward, listened a
moment at the threshold, then crept inside and crawled to the farthest,
darkest corner. The next instant his blood was congealed by a piercing
scream not three feet from his face.