LETTERS
For fully a minute after the tremendous explosion there was silence,
broken only by the falling rain. Then came two minor explosions, one
directly after the other.
The three young engineers had been hurled into a thick mass of
brushwood, backed up by several saplings. The brushwood had fortunately
acted as a sort of cushion for their bodies, otherwise one or more of
them must have been seriously injured. Even as it was, Dave had the
wind taken out of him and had his left ear scratched by a branch.
When our hero managed to scramble to his feet following the third
explosion, he saw that Phil was wedged in between two of the saplings.
Roger lay face downward, with both hands up to protect his head.
“How is it, boys, either of you hurt?” demanded the young sergeant, as
soon as he could speak.
“I--I--don’t exactly kn--know,” stammered Phil slowly. “Any m--more
explosions coming?” he continued apprehensively.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Dave gazed at Roger, who was now turning over
and sitting up. “How about you?”
“It didn’t do my hurt ankle much good,” responded the senator’s son.
“But I guess we can all be thankful we weren’t blown to bits.”
“Or struck by the lightning,” added Dave. “And either of those things
might have happened had we been where I think I dropped the watch.”
All three had by this time scrambled to their feet out of the
brushwood, and now they lost no time in hurrying from the scene, Roger
resting an arm over the shoulder of each of his chums and hopping along
on his good foot. And it was well that they did this, for presently
came another loud explosion, followed by several others.
“We got out just in time,” observed Phil, with a grave shake of his
head.
“I don’t understand what made those last shells go off,” remarked Dave.
“Certainly that lightning couldn’t have done it.”
“Maybe the dumps are connected with some mine,” put in Roger quickly.
“I wouldn’t put it past the Germans to play some trick like that. It’s
been done before.”
He referred to an incident which had come to light just about the time
the American Expeditionary Force had arrived in that neighborhood.
Some German shells had been found located in a spot near a roadway.
When the newly-arrived soldiers had started to pick some of the shells
up they had disturbed some wires connected with a mine and there had
been a loud explosion in the roadway. Fortunately, at that time no
artillery or motor-lorries were passing that particular spot, so that
comparatively small damage had been done.
“Maybe the mine was located on that old wood trail we saw,” said Phil.
“They might have figured out that the Americans would use that trail in
coming this way.”
“I guess it’s good-bye to that watch,” remarked Dave. “If it was
anywhere near the ammunition dump those explosions must have smashed it
completely.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” answered Phil. “It may have fallen down
in some hole or between some rocks and been well protected. Just the
same, I don’t think I would go near the place yet. There may be more
explosions to come.”
“I don’t intend to go near it,” answered Dave. “We’ll get back to the
cliff and see what the other fellows are doing. If they are still
there, these explosions will make them wonder what is happening.”
But even though he spoke thus lightly, the young sergeant felt the loss
of the fine wrist-watch keenly. As said before, it had been a present
from the folks at home, and was quite valuable.
“I should have been more careful about it,” he told himself rather
bitterly. “I certainly was careless.”
The lightning and thunder now seemed to shift to the westward, but the
rain continued to come down almost as heavily as before. Roger hopped
along for quite a distance, but then intimated that he would have to
rest.
“We’ll carry you as we did before, Roger,” said Dave. “It isn’t very
far to the cliff from here.”
“I don’t see why I had to have such rotten luck trying to cross the
gully,” remarked the injured one dolefully. “I suppose this will send
me to the hospital for a few days at least, and I don’t want to go. I
want to be in the thick of what is doing.”
“I think we’ll all have to rest up a bit, Roger, if this storm keeps
on,” announced Dave. “The fact is, I don’t think the plans for the next
advance are quite worked out yet,” he continued.
Presently the three came in sight of the cliff, and a few minutes later
were down in the hollow where Dave and Phil had left the others. A
shout went up from Ben and Shadow at their appearance.
“Hello! so you found him, did you?” cried Shadow. “That’s fine!”
“What’s the matter with your foot, Roger?” demanded Ben.
“Oh, I twisted my ankle a bit between the rocks.”
“Say, there have been some fearful explosions following some flashes
of lightning,” said one of the other engineers. “Do you know anything
about them?”
“We know all about them,” answered Dave. “We were close to them--in
fact, too close for comfort.” And in a few brief words those who had
come in told of what had occurred since Dave and Phil had gone on the
search for their missing comrade.
“Lost your watch, eh, Dave?” said Ben. “That’s too bad! But maybe
you’ll be able to find it after this storm clears away and when you are
sure there won’t be any more explosions at that dump.”
All those left in the shelter of the cliff had donned their gas masks
when told to do so by Phil. But Buster’s mask had not worked very well,
and now the stout lad lay on a pile of brushwood looking anything but
well.
“I guess I swallowed some of the gas, all right enough,” he said in
a somewhat choked voice, while his eyes ran with tears. “You see, I
couldn’t breathe very well, and so I tried to fix it. But I guess I
made it worse.”
“If you got it, Buster, I guess the best thing we can do is to get you
to the hospital as soon as possible,” said Dave quickly. And then he
detailed Ben and Shadow for that work.
In a quarter of an hour the heavy rain ceased, and the entire party set
off for camp through a misty drizzle, which was anything but cheering.
Those who had taken charge of Buster set off in advance, supporting the
heavy young engineer between them. They were followed by the others,
all taking turns in carrying Roger.
“I don’t think that ankle is sprained so very badly after all,”
announced the senator’s son. “And I am not going to the hospital unless
I have to. I can bathe it and wrap it up in liniment, and maybe it will
be all right in the morning.”
“And if it isn’t, Roger, I’ll see to it that you get a day’s rest,”
answered Dave.
On arriving at the engineers’ camp, Dave made his report. Buster’s
condition was immediately investigated, and then an ambulance was
called, into which he was placed and carried to the nearest emergency
hospital.
“The poor fellow may be worse off than we imagine,” said Captain Obray
to Dave. “You remember the fate of poor Williamson?”
“Indeed I do,” answered our hero. Williamson was a somewhat elderly
engineer, hailing from the South. Only a few weeks before he had gone
to the front without his gas mask. As soon as a gas attack came,
Williamson had fled to the rear, hoping to escape the deadly fumes. For
several days he had acted as if nothing had harmed him. But then he had
suddenly been taken with cramps and a feeling of sickness all over, and
he was now in the hospital hovering between life and death.
Once back in camp, Roger lost no time in attending to his injured
ankle, being assisted in this by Ben and Shadow. In the meantime Dave
had to attend to his duties as a sergeant, while Phil went over to
perform his own duties as a corporal, and also those which had been
assigned to the senator’s son.
For three days it rained almost constantly--so much so that it was next
to impossible for the engineers to do any of the work which had been
assigned to them. A large part of that territory in France was rather
low, and the rain caused many pools and some lakes to form. One of
the main roadways was about a foot under water, and many of the lorry
drivers asked jokingly how soon they were going to run boats in that
vicinity. It was almost impossible to move anything, and one battery
which attempted to shift its position got completely stuck in the mud
and had to be left there until the storm let up.
In those days the young engineers had one place to visit which gave
them a great deal of comfort. This was a large Y. M. C. A. hut, which
had been established in that vicinity only a short while before. Here
the boys often gathered in their off time, to write letters, play
games, or listen to the music of a small but sweet-toned phonograph
which had been set up. Those who cared to do so could smoke, and also
obtain chocolate and other sweets, and likewise something hot to drink.
“It’s a mighty fine idea,” was Dave’s comment one evening, after he had
spent two hours at the hut, writing some letters and listening to some
familiar songs reproduced on the phonograph.
“Right you are! And the Y. M. C. A. people and those who are supporting
the movement deserve a great deal of credit for what they have done,”
replied Phil.
“I understand the Knights of Columbus are going to put up a hut some
miles farther down the line,” put in another of the engineers.
“Yes. And the Salvation Army are doing something of the same thing,”
came from still another. “A fellow was telling me the other day that
they were dealing out hot pies and doughnuts right close to the
firing-line. Some work for the lassies, eh?” and he smiled broadly.
During those days Roger’s ankle grew better rapidly. He still limped a
little when he walked, but he could get around, and declared that in a
few days more he would be as well as ever. Concerning Buster, however,
the report was not so encouraging. Evidently he had got more of a
dose of the poisonous gas than he had thought, and he was suffering
considerably.
“It ought to be a lesson to all of us to be very careful to keep our
masks in perfect order,” said Dave.
“It’s a lesson to me, all right enough,” answered Roger. “My mask is in
the best condition now, and you can bet I’m going to see to it that it
is kept that way. I’d rather have a good gas mask in this war than a
good suit of clothes or new shoes.”
“Letters! Letters! Letters!”
It was a welcome cry from the far end of the camp, and immediately
afterward came a rush from all sides, every engineer being more than
anxious to get tidings from the loved ones left behind. There was a
good-natured scramble as a whole sackful of epistles were distributed,
and then the men drifted off in one direction or another to read the
precious communications.
Dave was much disappointed. There was a letter from his Uncle Dunston,
but none from Jessie. He had heard from the girl two weeks before, but
he had hoped that she would send another communication soon. He saw
that Roger had a letter from his sister Laura, and knew that between
Laura’s letter and that from his uncle he would get a good idea of
what was taking place in Crumville. Phil had been made happy by two
letters; one, which evidently had been delayed, being from Belle
Endicott.
The letter from his Uncle Dunston contained several items which were
of considerable interest to our hero. One was to the effect that
the Wensell Munition Company, in which Dave’s father was greatly
interested, was doing more war work than ever before. And another was
that both his father and his uncle had been active in the new Liberty
Loan campaign, and had taken a large block of the bonds and had induced
Mr. Wadsworth to do likewise.
“I knew they would do it,” said Dave to himself. “They are true blue,
every one of them. My! from what Uncle Dunston writes, that Liberty
Loan campaign must have been a red-hot one.”
“Of course we are all very proud of the fact that you have become a
sergeant,” wrote Dunston Porter. “If you keep on the way you have
started some day you may become a lieutenant or a captain, or go even
higher. You certainly have our best wishes.
“And that puts me in mind, Dave. You, of course, remember Nat Poole,
old Aaron Poole’s son, with whom you had so many differences in the
past. Well, that slacker was finally drafted into the army in spite
of all old Poole could do to keep him out. They sent him off to Camp
Hickory; and now I understand he is on his way to France. I hope the
war will knock some of the conceit out of him.”
“Nat Poole coming to France after all!” Dave murmured to himself as
he read this portion of the letter. “I don’t see how they expect to
make a soldier of him.” He well remembered what a coward Nat Poole had
been and how even at Oak Hall he had often tried to shield himself by
getting behind his cronies.
And then for the time being Dave dismissed Nat Poole from his mind,
never for a moment dreaming of what trouble the coming of this fellow
to France portended.