THE BLACK BOX
The three chums, standing in the wet and muddy trench, looked at one
another as this significant remark was made. Bob either did not catch
what was said, or did not understand, for he asked his companions:
"What did he say?"
"S. I. W.," repeated Jerry.
"Self-inflicted wound," translated Ned. "So Noddy Nixon did that to
himself to get out of the big battle! Well, it's just like the coward!
I'm glad he isn't in our company!"
"So am I," added Jerry.
"Self-inflicted wound," repeated Bob.
"Well, he's out of the fighting now," declared Ned, "though he'll have
the worst time he ever had in his life. He'd better be dead by a Hun
shell."
Silence fell upon the three in the trench while, not far from them,
they could hear the commotion caused as Noddy was taken away to a
hospital. And there, for some time, he remained safely if not
comfortably in bed, while his companions endured the mud and the
blood of the trenches, meeting death and wounds, or just escaping them
by a hair's breadth to drive back the hordes of the Boches.
But over Noddy's cot, and over that of several men on either side of
him was a placard with the significant letters:
_S. I. W._
"Self-inflicted wound." One of the most terrible tragedies of the
war--more tragic, even, than the death of the gallant boys on the day
the armistice was signed, yes, within an hour of it. For those letters
indicated a disgrace that seldom, if ever, could be wiped out.
Briefly it meant that a soldier afraid of going into action with his
comrades, went to some secluded place and, aiming his gun or pistol at
some extremity--a hand or a foot--where a wound was likely to be
slight and not very painful, pulled the trigger. Then followed the
story that a stray German bullet, coming over the top of the trench as
the man exposed himself, had done the deed.
But the nature of the wound, the character of the bullet, and, above
all, the appearance of the man himself, told the real story. Sometimes
the victims would say their weapon went off by accident as they were
cleaning it, and this was perhaps worst of all, for it put the canker
of doubt into genuine cases of this sort, and there are bound to be
some such in every army.
So Noddy was carried away to the hospital, and "S. I. W." was
inscribed over his cot.
As to the causes leading up to the self-inflicted wounds they are many
and varied. Sometimes a soldier may become fear-crazed, and
irresponsible for his act. Other men are just plain "yellow," clear
through, and ought never to have gone into the fighting. They should
have confessed cowardice at first, though, of course, that would be
hard.
Sometimes, though rarely, these "S. I. W." cases "came back." That is,
they were given a chance to redeem themselves and went to the fighting
front with a song on their lips and undaunted courage in their eyes.
And then, if they died doing their duty they were absolved. But it was
a desperate chance.
Every one recognized that there was an element of doubt in these
cases, but as for Noddy Nixon, when his significant question to the
surgeon as to the relative pain of a hand or foot wound was recalled,
he was condemned already. He had shot himself slightly in the left
foot. He was dishonorably discharged when he was cured, and sent home,
and, therefore, did not trouble the Motor Boys again, nor did Bob get
his revenge for the stolen articles.
Ned, Bob, and Jerry did not feel much like talking after they learned
what had happened. They had no love for Noddy Nixon, and he had
treated them exceedingly badly in the past, as well as tormenting them
since they had been associated in the army. But they knew that nothing
they could have done or said would have been half as effective
punishment as that which he had brought on himself. Henceforth, among
decent men, he was an outcast; a pariah.
The long night passed. Sentries were changed, a watch was kept to
forestall any attack on the part of the Germans, but none came. Save
for the occasional clash of a night patrol, or the false alarm of some
one on listening post, there was little action during the hours
preceding the great offensive.
Their tour of duty ended, Ned, Bob, and Jerry sought rest in the
dugout. There, with but few more comforts than in the trenches, they
waited until the time should come again for them to go out and take a
"mud bath," as Ned called it.
For it rained often, and the trenches never seemed to dry. Still at
this stage of the war there were more comforts for the men on the
firing line than when France and England first opposed the advance of
the gray hordes.
"When does the big show start?" asked Ned, as he and his chums came
out of the dugout for a few hours' stay farther behind the lines. "I
thought the bombardment was to begin this morning."
"Must be delayed for some reason," said Jerry with a yawn. "Come on,
let's go somewhere and sit down. We'll know when it's time for the
shindig to start."
"Let's see if we can find the professor," suggested Bob. "We may have
hard work to get word to him after the fighting begins."
This seemed a good plan, and it was followed. Professor Snodgrass was
billeted temporarily in a farmhouse on the edge of a little French
village near which the boys were on duty. Thither they went, and found
their friend poring over books and papers.
"Well, how goes it?" asked Jerry, after they had all shaken hands.
"Well, indeed," was the answer. "I have not yet found the young
ladies, but I expect to, soon. I have heard that Mr. Schmouder, the
father of the janitor, who was looking after them, and who knew
something of their plans, moved from his home town, outside of Metz,
lately, and started farther back into Germany."
"Then I should think it would be harder than ever for you to trace
them," suggested Ned.
"No, I think it will be easier," said the professor, but he did not
explain how.
"Getting the results you expected from the insect noise campaign,
Professor?" asked Jerry.
"Yes, my boy. It is a complete success. I even have some moving
pictures taken with my new machine that helped me capture the Germans.
Wait, and I will show you."
He seemed as cheerful as though no cloud of financial trouble hung
over his head and as though the World War were being fought to give
him opportunity to test the effect of noise on the crickets. He turned
to a table in his room, and began delving in a mass of things. To get
at something he wanted to exhibit to the boys, he set in the middle of
the floor a small, black box.
Just as he did that a soldier, evidently an officer of some kind in
the French army, stepped into the room, and in a mixture of French and
English asked if Professor Snodgrass was there.
"I am he," answered the scientist.
"Ah, zen you will please come with me," said the soldier. "You are
wanted at ze headquarters."
"Wanted at headquarters!" repeated the professor. "What for?"
"Zis will explain," and the officer handed a note to Professor
Snodgrass.
As the professor read it a smile came over his face.
"Ah, I understand," he said. "I will come at once. Boys, we will let
the insect pictures wait a minute. Perhaps you will be interested in
my latest discovery. Come, I am ready to go," and he picked up the
black box from the floor and stood in waiting.
The officer looked a little dubiously at the object in the professor's
hand, and then at the three boys.
"My orders did not include--_zem_!" he said, indicating Ned, Bob, and
Jerry, "nor--_zat_!" and he pointed to the box.
"This has to come," replied the professor. "It is part of what I
proposed. As for my friends, I will be responsible for them."
"Very well, sair!" and the Frenchman bowed and led the way.
Wonderingly the boys followed Professor Snodgrass, and presently found
themselves at field headquarters. A company of French soldiers were
standing about, and while waiting for the summons to the presence of
the headquarters officer who had sent for him, Professor Snodgrass set
down on the ground the black box he had brought.
Then he suddenly saw a curious insect crawling along and became intent
on its capture. The boys were watching him and paid no attention to
the black box until they heard some one yell:
"Look out, boys! It's an infernal machine in there--a bomb! He's a
spy and he's going to blow up the whole place. It's an infernal
machine--I can hear the buzzing of the battery inside."
An American soldier, who had approached the box and had leaned over to
inspect it, leaped away and began running as he cried out his warning.
There was consternation among the officers and men outside the
headquarters building, and Professor Snodgrass, pausing in his search
for the elusive insect, gazed up in surprise at the commotion.
"What has happened?" he asked.
"Some one says there's a bomb in that black box of yours," explained
Jerry.
"If there is, get it out of the way! Douse it in water. Throw it away.
Look out!" yelled several.
One or two soldiers started for the black box, and others with ready
bayonets for the professor, for there had been a number of spies
discovered of late in that sector.
"Don't touch that box!" cried the professor. "Don't open it! Keep away
from it!"
And, as he hurried toward it, the soldiers leaped back.