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_ When Claude and David rejoined their Battalion on the 20th of
September, the end of the war looked as far away as ever. The
collapse of Bulgaria was unknown to the American army, and their
acquaintance with European affairs was so slight that this would
have meant very little to them had they heard of it. The German
army still held the north and east of France, and no one could
say how much vitality was left in that sprawling body.
The Battalion entrained at Arras. Lieutenant Colonel Scott had
orders to proceed to the railhead, and then advance on foot into
the Argonne.
The cars were crowded, and the railway journey was long and
fatiguing. They detrained at night, in the rain, at what the men
said seemed to be the jumping off place. There was no town, and
the railway station had been bombed the day before, by an air
fleet out to explode artillery ammunition. A mound of brick, and
holes full of water told where it had been. The Colonel sent
Claude out with a patrol to find some place for the men to sleep.
The patrol came upon a field of straw stacks, and at the end of it
found a black farmhouse.
Claude went up and hammered on the door. Silence. He kept
hammering and calling, "The Americans are here!" A shutter
opened. The farmer stuck his head out and demanded gruffly what
was wanted; "What now?"
Claude explained in his best French that an American battalion
had just come in; might they sleep in his field if they did not
destroy his stacks?
"Sure," replied the farmer, and shut the window.
That one word, coming out of the dark in such an unpromising
place, had a cheering effect upon the patrol, and upon the men,
when it was repeated to them. "Sure, eh?" They kept laughing over
it as they beat about the field and dug into the straw. Those who
couldn't burrow into a stack lay down in the muddy stubble. They
were asleep before they could feel sorry for themselves.
The farmer came out to offer his stable to the officers, and to
beg them not on any account to make a light. They had never been
bothered here by air raids until yesterday, and it must be
because the Americans were coming and were sending in ammunition.
Gerhardt, who was called to talk to him, told the farmer the
Colonel must study his map, and for that the man took them down
into the cellar, where the children were asleep. Before he lay
down on the straw bed his orderly had made for him, the Colonel
kept telling names and kilometers off on his fingers. For
officers like Colonel Scott the names of places constituted one
of the real hardships of the war. His mind worked slowly, but it
was always on his job, and he could go without sleep for more
hours together than any of his officers. Tonight he had scarcely
lain down, when a sentinel brought in a runner with a message.
The Colonel had to go into the cellar again to read it. He was to
meet Colonel Harvey at Prince Joachim farm, as early as possible
tomorrow morning. The runner would act as guide.
The Colonel sat with his eye on his watch, and interrogated the
messenger about the road and the time it would take to get over
the ground. "What's Fritz's temper up here, generally speaking?"
"That's as it happens, sir. Sometimes we nab a night patrol of a
dozen or fifteen and send them to the rear under a one-man guard.
Then, again, a little bunch of Heinies will fight like the devil.
They say it depends on what part of Germany they come from; the
Bavarians and Saxons are the bravest."
Colonel Scott waited for an hour, and then went about, shaking
his sleeping officers.
"Yes, sir." Captain Maxey sprang to his feet as if he had been
caught in a disgraceful act. He called his sergeants, and they
began to beat the men up out of the strawstacks and puddles. In
half an hour they were on the road.
This was the Battalion's first march over really bad roads, where
walking was a question of pulling and balancing. They were soon
warm, at any rate; it kept them sweating. The weight of their
equipment was continually thrown in the wrong place. Their wet
clothing dragged them back, their packs got twisted and cut into
their shoulders Claude and Hicks began wondering to each other
what it must have been like in the real mud, up about Ypres and
Passchendaele, two years ago. Hicks had been training at Arras
last week, where a lot of Tommies were "resting" in the same way,
and he had tales to tell.
The Battalion got to Joachim farm at nine o'clock. Colonel Harvey
had not yet come up, but old Julius Caesar was there with his
engineers, and he had a hot breakfast ready for them. At six
o'clock in the evening they took the road again, marching until
daybreak, with short rests. During the night they captured two
Hun patrols, a bunch of thirty men. At the halt for breakfast,
the prisoners wanted to make themselves useful, but the cook said
they were so filthy the smell of them would make a stew go bad.
They were herded off by themselves, a good distance from the grub
line.
It was Gerhardt, of course, who had to go over and question them.
Claude felt sorry for the prisoners; they were so willing to tell
all they knew, and so anxious to make themselves agreeable; began
talking about their relatives in America, and said brightly that
they themselves were going over at once, after the war--seemed to
have no doubt that everybody would be glad to see them!
They begged Gerhardt to be allowed to do something. Couldn't they
carry the officers' equipment on the march? No, they were too
buggy; they might relieve the sanitary squad. Oh, that they would
gladly do, Herr Offiizier!
The plan was to get to Rupprecht trench and take it before
nightfall. It was easy taking--empty of everything but vermin and
human discards; a dozen crippled and sick, left for the enemy to
dispose of, and several half-witted youths who ought to have been
locked up in some institution. Fritz had known what it meant when
his patrols did not come back. He had evacuated, leaving behind
his hopelessly diseased, and as much filth as possible. The
dugouts were fairly dry, but so crawling with vermin that the
Americans preferred to sleep in the mud, in the open.
After supper the men fell on their packs and began to lighten
them, throwing away all that was not necessary, and much that
was. Many of them abandoned the new overcoats that had been
served out at the railhead; others cut off the skirts and made
the coats into ragged jackets. Captain Maxey was horrified at
these depredations, but the Colonel advised him to shut his eyes.
"They've got hard going before them; let them travel light. If
they'd rather stand the cold, they've got a right to choose." _
Read next: Book Five: "Bidding the Eagles of the West Fly On": Chapter 16
Read previous: Book Five: "Bidding the Eagles of the West Fly On": Chapter 14
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