"AT HOME"
"This is certainly some ride," grumbled Corporal Bob Dalton to Sergeant
Jimmy Blaise. "I've had enough of old Eight Horses and goodness knows
how many men to last me for a while. There are supposedly forty-eight
Sammies in this band-box. I should say there were nearer ten thousand.
I'd have sure croaked standing up, if you hadn't been along to take the
curse off."
"I'm glad we got in the same car, shoe-box I mean."
Sergeant Jimmy's voice sounded decidedly weary. Luckily for himself and
Bob, they had been assigned to the same car, Bob being corporal of a
squad in Jimmy's platoon. Roger, Schnitzel and Ignace were scattered
somewhere through the train, though neither Bob nor Jimmy knew which
car their bunkies were in.
"Well, it'll soon be over." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. "We've
been two days and two nights on the road. It's now five o'clock, we
ought to be out of this dump soon. I never believed I could sleep
standing up, but I know it now."
"Here, too. I hope we get a night's rest stretched out before we hit
the trenches," was Bob's wistful reply.
"Oh, we won't go straight to the trenches in this train. We'll probably
be in rest billets several days before we're called to take our turn."
"Wonder how the fellows like it," mused Bob. "I'll bet Iggy's slept
most of the way. Nothing fazes him when he wants to sleep. He could
pound his ear standing on his head."
Both Khaki Boys snickered a little as they imagined Ignace turned
upside down and sleeping peacefully, nevertheless.
"It seems a long while since we left Sterling, doesn't it?"
Jimmy broke the silence that had fallen upon both, succeeding Bob's
humorous remark concerning his Polish Brother.
"It certainly does. I had a funny standing-up nightmare about old
Sterling last night." Bob grinned reminiscently. "I'd braced my back
against the wall of this box and was taking forty winks. I'd been
thinking about that Bixton affair and old Schnitz, and I dreamed that
good old Major Stearns was a Boche spy, and that he was trying to
finish me with a bayonet. He'd just given me an awful punch in the
chest and I was yelling: 'What's eating you, you rough neck!'
"The sound of my own voice woke me up, and I found that a man next to
me had hauled off and binged me one in his sleep. It was a joke, and we
both laughed after we got wise to ourselves. Wonder you didn't hear me
yowl."
"I've heard so many different kinds of yowls since I landed in this jug
that I'm used to 'em. Well, it's a great life if you don't weaken."
Jimmy yawned and, reaching for his water bottle, took a long drink.
"Hope we stop somewhere soon," he observed. "I've emptied this bottle,
and I'm still thirsty."
Shortly afterward his wish for a speedy detrainment was granted. A
series of jolts, which caused the imprisoned Sammies to behave like
nine-pins, except that they had not sufficient space to topple over,
and the famous "Eight Horses" came at last to a full stop.
Freed at last, the Khaki Boys gladly hustled from the ungracious
box-cars to the platform of a village station, dotted as usual with the
friendly French folk, whom the Khaki Boys had noticed were always in
evidence wherever they went.
The two detachments of Uncle Sam's boys had hardly left the train,
however, before they discovered that for once they were not the center
of attraction. Waiting on the platform to enter the train they had
just left was a company of slightly wounded French soldiers returning
from active service on the firing line.
Though these men were still able to walk, they presented a pitiful
sight. With arms or heads bound up in blood-stained bandages, their
faces wan and racked by pain, they brought home to the full the grim
horror of the trenches. Yet nearly every face wore an attempt at a
smile. Bandaged heads made gay attempts at nodding to the villagers who
were worshiping at their shrine in true French fashion.
One man whose arms were both bound up, blood trickling from his face,
bent painfully down to speak to a little boy who was shouting lustily,
"_Vive la France_," and waving a little French flag at the wrecked
heroes.
Watching the little scene in fascinated horror, it occurred briefly
to Jimmy that for fighters these men were a curious-looking lot.
Accustomed to the olive drab uniform and the usually clean-shaven face
of the Sammy, these whiskered _poilus_ with their red trousers and long
blue coats pinned back from the front seemed strangely unlike soldiers.
Their bandaged heads and arms, and scratched, bleeding faces told quite
a different story, however. They had known what it was to be under
fire. They had done their bit for France.
Ardent as was the admiration shown for these wounded soldiers, the
Khaki Boys were not slighted. As they formed into platoons and marched
away from the station, they were wildly applauded by the gathered
throng, part of which followed along after them.
As they tramped along through the narrow streets to headquarters, their
progress was accompanied by a new sound--a steady, heavy rumble that
went on ceaselessly. They had now come within the thunder of the big
guns. Off to the east of the village the fight against an unworthy foe
was raging. With every heavy detonation, war was taking its toll of
lives.
Under his breath, Jimmy found himself repeating:
"At the front brave men are falling,
Now's your time to do and dare!"
He wondered if the man who, far back in peaceful America, had composed
the words of the "Glory Road" song could possibly realize the meaning
of his own song.
A march of a little over a mile through the village, and the long
lines of soldier boys had reached headquarters. Here began the work of
assigning them to temporary quarters. With night approaching it was
necessary to put the men in lodgings with all possible despatch.
"Lodgings" for fighting men nearing the front consist of anything from
the odd, not over-clean French farmhouses to stables and barns. The
best horses naturally fall to the officers; with the enlisted men it is
a case of Hobson's choice.
Just as the first stars of evening began to appear in the clear, wintry
sky, Jimmy Blaise marched his command into a stable. Ten minutes later
he had begged the back cover of a note-book from Corporal Bob Dalton,
and printed on it in large black letters:
AT HOME
SERGEANT BLAISE
AND
THIRTY-TWO MEN
Sergeant Jimmy Blazes was "at home" to all comers.