Upon my return to the front I found that our forces had been reinforced
by new regiments. American troops, we were told, were arriving in
great numbers. This information was hailed with satisfaction by
French soldiers as well as by ourselves; for, while we did not doubt
our ability to meet any equal numbers of the enemy, we wanted the
backing given by superior numbers on our side; especially as the enemy
were attacking from interior lines with the advantage of quicker
concentration at the point of attack.
Reporting for duty, I was cordially received by my comrades.
“Now, I suppose that we shall lose you?” said Corporal Sutherland.
“I think not,” I said, “I have had my leave and had a good time, and it
is not likely that I will get another for a good while.”
“Haven’t you heard,” queried one of the sergeants, “that you have been
promoted?”
“Promoted!” I replied in surprise; “I hope that they have not made me a
top sergeant. I am not big enough for it; and it’s a hard job.”
Just then my captain came up with extended hand, saying, “I
congratulate you, as well as myself and our company.”
“For what, Captain?” I replied, saluting; “I don’t understand.”
“On your promotion to be second lieutenant of this company,” he
replied; “I thought you had received your commission.”
“Well,” I answered rather ungraciously, “I suppose that _is_ promotion.
But don’t a sergeant have a better chance at fighting?”
“The fighting will come along,” he laughed. “We are not likely to get
a scrimp measure of it this summer, I assure you. There will be enough
for everybody.”
When I called on my colonel, by his order, he in turn greeted me with
congratulations.
“Thank you, Colonel,” I said, “but I fear that I owe promotion to your
favor, rather than anything that I have done to deserve it.”
His cordial manner changed at once to severity, as he rebuked me
sternly. “All my promotions, everything I do here, is for the good of
the service. Had I not thought you fit for the place, I would not have
recommended you for it.”
“I beg to apologize,” I answered, “and again to thank you for your good
opinion. I value that more than the promotion.” And I did.
His manner changed to graciousness again, as he placed his hand on my
shoulder, and said while gripping it, “My boy, I have been watching
your conduct. You’ve made good. You have qualities I need in an
officer. I should have recommended your promotion before, had I not
feared that my liking for you might influence my judgment. I do not
believe in favoritism in military affairs.”
I was deeply affected, and said with tears of heartfelt affection
for him, “I will do all I can to deserve your good opinion and the
commission.”
I assumed the duties of my rank at once and was glad, as I thought how
it would gratify Aunt Joe and--some one else.
That evening while I was at the “Y” writing letters--one to my aunt
telling her of my promotion, and another to Emily Grant--and, I confess
my vanity--telling her of the colonel’s kind words, Jot, accompanied by
another officer whom I did not recognize, interrupted me.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant!” cried Jot, gripping my hand with one
of his, and the other arm around my shoulder in his old affectionate
manner. Then, turning to the officer, he introduced him as the one who
owned “Jack,” our colt, and said: “I thought you would like to know
that I have bought Jack from him.”
I was delighted. We went to Jack’s stable in a near-by, shell-shattered
barn--Jot, myself and Muddy--and held a reunion celebration--Jack
whinneying, Muddy yelping and jumping, and Jot and I seconding these
demonstrations with approving petting.
“But, Jot,” I said, for I had been thinking it over, “what are you
going to do with the colt now that you have got him?”
“I think I will get some officer who requires a horse to keep him until
I need him. Anyway I wanted him and have got him;” and added, “I may
have to ride him sooner than I expect.”
At the time of my return to duty, our regiment with other American and
French troops were on a line with a river which divided a historic
city. On our left was a broken bridge, cleft as though by a huge blunt
sword near its center. The fight for this bridge had, first and last,
cost many lives.
Far away in the distance was a wood, occupied by a large force of our
troops, that had been fighting for its possession. In the half-ruined
town was our division headquarters, the huts of the Y. M. C. A., and
hospitals, some of them occupying temporary buildings like those
elsewhere described.
“This looks as though we were going in for some real fighting,” I said
to a fellow officer.
“Yes,” replied Captain Cross, who had come up, “those are ‘the
symptoms,’ as our doctors say;” and then thoughtfully added, “A year
ago, most of us here were green as grass so far as fighting was
concerned. Some of us were recruits that scarcely knew one end of a
rifle from another. But now look at them! They have been trained down
to a fighting edge and have already shown great soldierly qualities;
and the Boche recognize it by being mighty cautious when they are
facing us. That’s why we are on the fighting line here. Our soldiers,
I learn, are on the front line in nearly a dozen different places from
the Picardy to the Alsace front.”
“I hope that we may be able to give a good account of ourselves before
long,” I asserted.
“Never doubt it,” rejoined our adjutant, who was in the group. “Our men
have got the right stuff in them, and association with French soldiers
has strengthened their confidence in themselves.”
“Yes,” said another confidently, though in a jocular vein, “we will
wipe the Prussian monarchy from the map, and hang the Kaiser to a sour
apple tree!”
“What we lack now--so I understand,” said Captain Cross, “is better
means of getting information of the plans of the enemy; a better spy
system.”
“Well,” said my friend Jot, “gentlemen, we must do everything necessary
to win the war, or the world won’t be a safe place for Christian men
and women to live in. There can be no peace until it is done.”
The captain as he turned to go to his duties said, “A million of our
men will soon be here, and other millions are coming, that will put
victory beyond doubt.”
Several days passed and I was becoming accustomed to the duties of
my new station and office. I enjoyed it, for it brought me in closer
intercourse with men of a higher social grade than I had hitherto been
with; and it was especially gratifying to be in closer social touch
with Jot and Chaplain John Fuller.
At every opportunity, when off duty, Jot had been riding and teaching
Jack. “He is the most intelligent creature I ever saw,” he said to me
one evening.
“You remember we used to call him by a peculiar whistle? He remembers
it, and answers it; no matter where I am, he will come when he hears
me. I was at the colonel’s this afternoon about keeping him, and had an
understanding about other matters, not so pleasant.” And then his face
darkened, as a cloud dispels sun-light, and I saw that something deep
like an undercurrent of reflection was worrying him.
That night as we parted, he said, “If anything should ever occur to
make you doubt me, always remember that I love you and love my country.”
“What in heaven’s name,” I said, “_can_ occur to make me doubt it!
Don’t I know you?” I little thought then how terribly this confidence
was to be shaken.
“Strange things happen sometimes in army life,” he said, “and we don’t
know.” And then, with the shadow still on his face, we parted for the
night.
Before daybreak, the next morning, our regiment was moved to relieve
troops that held an advanced post along the very verge of the river,
when as we silently marched through the moon-lit, half-ruined city
streets to take our places, I again exchanged silent salutations with
Jot. He seemed, as I thought, more like himself--cheerful and smiling.
We held a line on the river near the bridge which I have mentioned,
where a street ran down near the water’s edge from the bridge road just
above us. Everything was silent. Not a German soldier could be seen, as
moonlight gave place to daylight.
As the sun came up there was heard an occasional crack of rifle, as
though to let us know they were “alive and watching us,” as I heard
one of the men say in an undertone. Then came the steady purr of our
airplanes and occasionally the more irregular sound of German air
craft, which, like great buzzards seeking prey, soared far above us.
It was high noon and we were eating our dinners, when I heard a sharp,
twice-repeated whistle. I could scarcely believe my senses; for it was
the signal by which Jack was called.
While I was wondering, Jack trotted up whinneying. Jot caught his
bridle and, fully equipped with arms and uniform, mounted bare back,
walked him to the river, and, horse and man were seen swimming for
the opposite shore. Before we had fully recovered from our surprise
they were on the opposite side moving at a swift gallop. Then shots
were fired; there were calls, confusing and uncertain before we
fully comprehended that it was a case of desertion! Then rifle and
machine-guns opened fire; but it was too late. Jot had deserted to
the enemy, there was, apparently, no doubt about that. The deserting
horseman had paused for a moment for a defiant salutation, before
riding away with awaiting German soldiers.
I was paralyzed with astonishment! I would not have believed it,
had I not seen this disgraceful act with my own eyes. There it was,
notwithstanding: Jonathan Nickerson, a trusted officer, had deserted in
the face of his comrades, and gone over to the hated enemy!
When I thought it over, it seemed to me that it had been planned from
the first of his entrance into the service of the United States.
His known conferences with his half-brother of German name, and
his assuming another name than his real one, his interviews with
another stranger, probably German, his buying Jack, all pointed to a
deeply-laid, dangerous act of treason.
Was he a German spy? How long had it been going on, and what damage
had he already done to our cause? His desertion was bold, aye brave,
but that was no atonement for the deep damnation of it! Could I ever
believe in any man’s profession again?