THE SCHOOL JANITOR
Just how it happened that the Salvation Army worker had ventured into
that place of death none knew, and none stopped to inquire. Probably
the man, in his eagerness to serve, did not realize where he was nor
how he got there. Naturally he would have been denied permission to go
forward during an engagement--that was no time nor place for a
noncombatant. But he probably had not asked. He had made his way
through a rain of lead and steel to a zone of comparative safety. And
there he stood, as if bewildered, with his baskets of cheer on his
arms.
And now a sudden change in the battle made the zone of comparative
safety one of danger. For the range of the German guns became shorter.
The muzzles were being depressed to seek out those intrepid Americans
who had rushed over the first Hun trenches and were waiting to rush
onward again. This must not be, thought the Huns, and so they sought
them out to kill them.
So it was that as Bob spied the "fried holes" the dispenser of them
gave a start as a bullet or a piece of shell flew close to his head.
He was in grave danger now, and realized it. But he did not falter. He
gave one backward glance, not with an idea of retreating, that is
sure, but to see if there were any near him in that direction whom he
might serve. Then he saw the prone lines ahead of him.
"Me for some of those!" yelled Bob, as he rose from his improvised
trench.
"Lie still, you chump!" shouted Ned. "Do you want to be killed?"
"No more than you did when you got the wood from the busted truck,"
was the answer. "But I've got to have some of those doughnuts!"
And Bob, never heeding the fact that he would be a shining target for
the guns of the Germans, started to run toward the Salvation Army
man.
Some of the officers, from where they were stationed among the troops,
saw him.
"Come back! Come back! Who is he? What's he doing? Is he going to
desert in the face of the enemy?" were some of the commands and
cries.
But it needed only a glance to show that Bob never had a notion of
deserting. He ran toward the man with the baskets of doughnuts on his
arms. Crisp, golden-brown doughnuts they were, fresh from one of the
traveling kitchens where, behind the lines, the Salvation Army lassies
made them--a devoted service that will never be forgotten, but will
rank with that of the Red Cross and be immortal.
And now, as might have been expected, the Germans saw the two
figures--the only upright ones in that particular neighborhood. And
the inevitable followed. They were fired at.
Both offered good marks, but Fate, Providence, or whatever you choose
to call it, favored them, or else the Germans were wretched shots,
which last, in a measure, is known to be true.
At any rate, Bob and the Salvation Army man met and Bob took charge of
one of the baskets of doughnuts. That, too, was to be expected.
"Come on--run for it!" yelled the stout lad. "This place is getting
hot!"
And indeed it was, for all about their feet were little spurts of
earth, showing where the bullets were striking. And together they ran
on toward the war-worn, weary figures of the men in the shallow
trenches. Straight to where he had left his comrades Bob led the brave
man, and they were received with a cheer.
Though it was desperately against all orders and discipline for Bob to
do what he had done, not an officer rebuked him. And then the "fried
holes" were quickly handed out to the fortunate ones in that section
of the line, the officers refusing any, so that the weary men might
have some little refreshment.
"Halves only--each man only take a half!" cried Ned, when he saw how
many men there were and how few--in spite of the two big baskets--the
doughnuts were.
Bob looked a trifle crestfallen, but he agreed with a smile, and to
his eternal credit be it said that when he broke the one doughnut he
saved for himself, and it came apart in two unequal pieces, he gave
the larger section to a comrade on his right.
"Bravo, Chunky!" said Jerry softly, as he observed.
And then, as if in horrible contrast to this peaceful scene, the
battle began again.
"Forward!" came the orders, and the three chums, with their comrades,
sprang from their shelter.
And as Bob left the shallow hole he had dug for himself to see what
became of the Salvation Army man, he saw him roll gently over on his
side, a little hole in his forehead showing where death had entered
from one of the hundreds of bullets that were now sweeping down among
the troops. But there was a smile on his lips.
And there died a very brave and gallant gentleman.
Burst and roar and rumble and thunder and shriek and yell and cry and
sob succeeded, accompanied and overlapped one another. The battle was
on again in all its horrid fury.
Forward rushed the troops, freshened by their rest, with more
ammunition of death. Forward they rushed, driving the Germans back,
out of the trenches improvised by the Huns. Forward they rushed while
the American guns lifted the barrage to protect them, and the German
cannon crashed out their answer.
On they went, stumbling, falling, getting up again some of them, never
rising again many of them. Bloody and mud-stained, powder-grimed and
sweat-marked, torn and panting, cut and bruised, with dry tongues that
swelled in their blackened mouths. With eyes that saw nothing and
everything--the sight of comrades torn to pieces beside them, the
falling of beloved officers, the tearing of great holes in the ranks,
and the closing of those holes by a living wall of others who offered
themselves for the sacrifice.
Forward they rushed, shouting and firing, tossing hand grenades into
the midst of the dust-gray bodies of the Huns that opposed them.
Onward they leaped and ran and staggered and jumped, but always
onward.
A yell on their left caught the ears of Jerry and his chums.
"Are we giving way?" asked Ned, grimly despairing.
"No! It's the tanks! Look!" screamed Bob.
And the tanks it was. A score of them, great lumbering giants,
impervious to everything save heavy guns, on they crawled, smashing
concrete machine-gun nests as though they were but collections of
vipers' eggs in a field.
These tanks turned the tide of battle at that particular point. For
the Germans were putting up a stiff resistance, and were about to
launch a counter-attack, as was learned later.
But with the tanks to protect them, to splatter death from their
armored machine guns, to spread terror and fear among the Huns, the
day was saved.
On rushed the Americans, Ned, Bob, and Jerry among them, while all
about them thundered the big guns, rattled the rifles, adding their
din to the tat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns.
And then the Germans, unable to withstand this withering fire and
being inadequately supported by their artillery, broke in confusion
and ran--ran to escape the terrible death that awaited them from the
avengers of a world dishonored by the Boches.
Wave after wave of storming troops now surged over the positions
lately occupied in force by the Germans. Up the wooded slopes they
swept, taking possession of dominant heights so long desired. The
objective was more than won, and the American position much improved.
The fury of the fighting began to die away. But it was still terrific
in spots, for there were many machine-gun nests left behind when the
Huns retreated, and the holders of them were told to die at their
posts. Many did.
When Ned, Bob, Jerry, and some of their comrades, led by an officer,
approached one of the dugouts there was no sign of life. It had been
spouting death from a machine gun but a little while before, however.
"Look out!" some one shouted. "Maybe they're playing possum!"
And so it was, for as the group advanced there was a burst of fire,
and half a dozen men went down. Ned and Bob had a vision of Jerry
crumpling up at the very entrance of the dugout, and their hearts
seemed to stop beating.
"Drive 'em out! Kill the Boches! Wipe 'em up!" yelled the survivors.
With a fierce yell, Ned tossed into the open doorway a hand grenade.
It exploded with terrific force, partly wrecking the place, and then
in rushed he and his comrades, with gleaming bayonets.
"_Kamerad! Kamerad!_" came the cowardly appeal from the Germans.
And a moment later out of the dugout where the machine gun had been
concealed came four German soldiers, all that was left alive of a
company of twenty, and of these four two were badly wounded.
Ned and Bob, seeing that the place, the last of any opposition in that
section, was captured, were about to turn back to see if Jerry was
still alive, when a second look at one of the German prisoners caused
Ned to cry:
"Nick Schmouder!"
"_Ja!_" came the answer, and then, in German, he asked:
"Who speaks my name?"
"Nick Schmouder!" said Ned again.
"Do you know this man?" asked an officer sharply.
"Yes," answered Ned. "He used to be a janitor at Boxwood Hall, a
school I attended."
And the face of Nick Schmouder showed as much wonder as did that of
Ned Slade.