Read Ebook: Winning a Cause: World War Stories by Bigwood Inez Thompson John G John Gilbert

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Ebook has 310 lines and 29795 words, and 7 pages

Little by little I squirmed in under the branches. Voices came from half a dozen directions. Some were drawing toward me. About fifteen yards to my right front, shots came steadily from what I knew to be another funk hole. I thought of the shiny hobnails on the runners' boots, and drew my legs up closer. My watch gleamed like a group of flares, and I twisted its face to the under side of my wrist.

The voices were very close now. It seemed to be a little party, beating the bushes for me. I saw one fellow's head and shoulders against the sky line. My first thought was of my gun. I knew there was but a single cartridge left. Softly I opened the clips on my cartridge pouch and reloaded.

I didn't like lying face down. It was too inviting to a shot in the back. I wanted to roll over and be prepared when they came upon me, to sit up into some sort of firing position. But my white face might show up in the dark. So I clawed my fingers into the ground in the hope that I could apply some camouflage in the form of mud. But mud is perverse; it lies yards deep when you don't want it, and is miles away when you do. The ground was wet enough from the rains--so was I, for that matter!--but with spongy, dead leaves. I tried smearing some over the backs of my hands, but when I extended one to get the effect it was as lily-white as milady's; whereat I hastily tucked it back under my gas mask, worn at the "alert" upon my chest.

The searchers, meantime, were snaking around among the bushes. Their conversation was as audible as it was meaningless to me--now to my left, next close up, then withdrawing to my right.

All this time the "li'l .45" was ready if they got so near that discovery would be inevitable. I hadn't given up hope by any means, but I did let myself picture several boches taking my maps and message books into some dugout. Such odd little thoughts as how long it would take them to find a boche who could read English occurred to me. And from that I was whisked back to a Forty-second Street barber whose English was excellent and who had told me of his service in the German army. Many such reservists must have returned to the Fatherland. I wondered, too, if, in the anticipated exchange of shots, having wounded me, they would kill me outright in reprisal for my killing their two comrades.

The chap in the near-by funk hole began to amuse me now. He kept up his shots at fifteen-second intervals for half an hour. I'm inclined to believe those Jerries were more frightened than we. May have thought it was a surprise attack in force. This fellow, for instance, was firing, I knew, at nothing in the world but atmosphere. And in his own mind he may have been bumping off a lot of Yanks lying in wait for the word to charge at his front--wherever in blazes his front was!

I got to feeling rather snug about the nervousness of this outfit. And pride cometh also before a cough. After three days of intermittent rain, without overcoat, I had acquired a cold. And now my throat tickled and my nose itched, and I was headed straight for a healthy bark. I sunk my teeth around my forearm--the good one--and let go. It was pretty well smothered and attracted no attention, for the fellow with all the superfluous ammunition remained quiet.

Seemingly secure from discovery, I was in no great rush to decide on future plans. But some sort of campaign had to be laid out, for dawn was not many hours away. I think it was about two-thirty, and before light I had to be out of those environs, if ever I was to get out. But at the moment it would have been suicidal to move. The night had become so quiet that I hardly dared raise my head for fear the edge of the helmet would scrape against something. Once, when my head dropped from sleepiness, the helmet brought up against the muzzle of my gun. It sounded like the crack of Doomsday to me.

I studied my compass to prevent drowsing. I was satisfied that whatever way I crawled--farther away from or closer to more funk holes--it would be a matter of pure guesswork, so I determined to hit out south when move I did. The sky was sown with stars. As I looked at them I thought of all the untroubled people they were shining upon; saw the theatre crowds on Broadway. "Old stars," I thought, "I wonder if ever I'll see you again." And then smiled at myself for finding time to wax sentimental when practical matters should be engaging me! Next I deplored my luck that there should be stars at all on this night. Wind and rain were what I wanted. Under their cover I stood a fair chance at weaseling off.

A visual reconnoissance of the ground immediately in front of me to the south showed, within reach, the stump of a sapling. I couldn't see whether it had been cut by shell fire or for camouflage. Wriggling forward a few feet, I extended my arm outside the bush. It was too clean a cut for shell fire, my fingers told me. Nothing but a sharp ax had severed it so smoothly. Here was one spot I'd circuit before going south--if I would avoid "going west."

The night was wearing on, and I caught myself half dozing several times. I kept looking at my watch and telling myself that I mustn't--mustn't sleep. The rawness of early morning did much to keep me awake in my muddy, soggy clothes.

I reached up and snapped off a few branches. No danger now of being heard. The wind was kicking up a delightful rustling. The twigs I inserted under my collar, their leaves thus giving some covering to my face and breaking the line of my helmet.

Machine guns were clattering away at their matins in several places in the woods, but I was leaving them farther and farther in my wake--the only wake of mine that I wanted them to attend. Once more it was the struggle with the forest; once more the difficulty of keeping my bearings, constantly watching the delicate compass. But breasting the wilderness didn't matter now. I was hungry and thirsty and so tired that it was a real effort to plow my feet through the undergrowth. But at least, I was done with boche voices.

Then I came to a path in the exact center of which was a shell crater nearly full of clay-colored water. I almost fell upon the hole reaching back for my canteen. But as I leaned toward it, a strong smell of mustard gas rose. And I went on!

I hadn't gone far along the path when somewhere a boche shouted something, but he was not very near and must have been calling to a comrade. I darted into the woods again, resolved to stay in them if I dropped some place for good. I was awfully tired, and to my surprise found myself staggering.

Over fallen trees I climbed, so high that at times I was well above the young saplings. Dawn was breaking now, and it was easier to preserve a sense of direction. I came to another crater. While I took the precaution to smell, I would have drunk, I believe, even had the water been gassed. My mouth was terribly parched. Already I had resorted to shaking the rain-wet young trees over my upturned face; I had even pressed their wet leaves against my tongue. Now I drank--drank till I could hold no more. The water was almost as filthy as Gunga Din's--but it was wonderful!

Broad day had come when I reached another such wide clearing as that of our dueling exploit. I was timid of taking it, but it ran south; indeed, it may have been the same. The firing was faint behind me, and I decided to follow it. I was vexed because I could not quite control my steps. My gun was swinging listlessly in my hand, and for the first time in twenty-four hours I pushed it back into its holster.

Half an hour's going disclosed a broad road ahead. I was passing untenanted trenches. I heard voices ahead presently and sprang into the bushes at the side. Then I went ahead slowly, with ears keen. The voices grew more distinct; I caught syllables and--it was English, good old English!

I tumbled out and approached several Americans standing near a funk hole. I went up to one of them. He looked at me with some concern in his eyes.

"My God, but I'm glad to see you!" I said. They were of the Third Battalion, and my exclamation must have startled them, for, of course, I did not know them. "Tell me something in American," I added. My nerves were frayed, I guess, and my voice sounded curiously far-off.

"Is anything the matter, sir?" one of them asked.

"Nothing at all. I'm on my way back to regiment at Karlsruhe. Will this path take me?"

Then I learned that I had reached the Tirpitz trench, the reserve battalion's new position.

"Let me go back to the next runner post with you," said one, and made to take my arm. Which annoyed me, naturally.

The colonel was about to eat breakfast when I arrived at the fancy dugouts we had taken so many eons ago. I indicated my battalion's position on his map and told him the situation briefly.

Lieutenant McKeogh adds, "Relief was sent with ammunition and food on September 30, and on the following day the refreshed command started forward again--again to be cut off, this time for five days." The men in the battalion crouched in the rain and the cold in their shallow and hastily constructed trenches. The Germans kept a constant fire upon them from machine guns and attempted to reach them with their artillery, but fortunately they did not get the exact range.

There were machine-gun nests all about them and if a man showed himself ever so little or made any loud noise, he brought upon all of them volleys from the guns and from the trench mortars. At regular intervals all the machine guns would sweep the place with a rain of bullets. Snipers were also constantly on the watch for the exposure of the smallest part of a man's body.

They had carried little food with them, for they expected it to follow them along their line of communication. There was water in the swampy little creek in the ravine, but to attempt to reach it by day meant certain death. At night the enemy covered it with machine gun fire, making it almost impossible for the Americans to crawl down and back again. Many did make the venture, and some returned with their canteens full, which they shared with their comrades. Others were found afterward by the stream where they had fallen under the enemy's fire.

At regimental headquarters it was known, even before Lieutenant McKeogh got through, that the battalion was surrounded in the forest, unless it had been exterminated or had surrendered. So daily, American aviators flew over the forest attempting to locate the men. They dropped carrier pigeons in boxes hoping some of them might fall into Major Whittlesey's hands and that by them he might send his location to the colonel. They also dropped boxes of food, but neither the pigeons nor the food reached the "lost battalion."

Major Whittlesey had no rockets to send up to give his location, and his men could not yell loud enough to make the aviators hear them and locate them, but their yells did help the Germans to get better range for their trench mortars and machine guns.

As the days passed the Americans grew more and more exhausted, but their courage and hope continued strong. All would rather die than surrender. Their ammunition was getting so low that the Germans were able to come closer to them, for Major Whittlesey ordered his men only to fire when the Hun was near enough so that they were sure not to miss him.

After five days of this terrible exposure and strain, the battalion was rescued by a relief party. Of more than six hundred men at the beginning, three hundred and ninety-four survived at the end of the five days' fighting and suffering. All were completely exhausted, and many wounded. Many were so weak they had to be carried to the rear where warm blankets, warm food, and drink awaited them.

But more than this awaited them. Their comrades were waiting for them with happy smiles and proud cheers. A place in history among the valiant deeds of brave and daring men also awaited them. They taught a lesson in pluck and endurance that the world will not allow to be forgotten.

The most striking memory of one who returns from abroad is the memory of the enlisted men, who bore the real hardship of the war and did their work in a simple, cheerful way.

Charles W. Whittlesey.

America's greatest contribution to the World War was--the enlisted man. His calm valor, his smiling self-sacrifice can never be told.

Arthur McKeogh 1st Lieut., Inf., U.S.A.

UNITED STATES DAY

United States Day was celebrated in Paris on April 20, 1918.

On that day, exercises were held in the great hall of the Sorbonne; on April 21, a reception was given the American ambassador, and a great procession marched to the statue of Lafayette. The Stars and Stripes flew from the Eiffel Tower and from the municipal buildings on both days.

At the exercises in the Sorbonne on April 20, M. Millerand, president of the French Maritime League, ranked Wilson with Washington and Lincoln.

"Washington, Lincoln, Wilson--these are immortal types of the presidency of a democracy--men who, conscious of their responsibilities, assume the duty of guiding the people at whose head they have the honor to be placed, thus realizing the necessary harmony in human affairs between the principle of authority and the principle of liberty. Yes, history will assign to President Wilson a place among the great statesmen of all time, for he has been able to make clear the reasons why honor condemned neutrality and commanded war in order to assure to humanity the blessing of peace."

Following the speech, the American and French flags were held aloft, touching each other. Then a French poet, Jean Richepin, recited with great emotion and telling effect, a poem he had composed for the occasion, entitled, "The Kiss of the Flags." Ambassador Sharp saluted the great republic of France and her Allies.

In London, the American flag flew on April 20, 1918, where no flag except the British flag had flown in all history, at the top of the Victoria Tower over the Houses of Parliament at Westminster. A solemn and beautiful service was held at St. Paul's Cathedral. The King and Queen and England's greatest men and women attended.

These celebrations in Paris and London and elsewhere are of importance to America, because they proved that the world was beginning to realize that the people of the United States were more than money seekers looking only for selfish gain, and therefore weak and unreliable. When America entered the war, a leading German paper said,

"We do not think that America's intervention will have an essential effect on the results of the war. The Allies are going to have a momentary advantage, but they will soon be aware that America is like a stick that breaks when one wants to lean on it."

Another great German daily gave the following as America's reasons for joining the Allies:--

"First, the desire to have a place at the peace conference; second, the wish to weaken or destroy the love of different peoples for their native lands; third, the hope thereby to be able to increase her military and naval equipment; and fourth, the desire to build up a great American merchant fleet."

Because Germany saw in the United States only the love of power and of the Almighty Dollar, she made the terrible mistake that brought about her downfall. With the declaration of war with Germany on April 6, 1917, at least England and France saw the people of America more nearly as they are, lovers and defenders of the highest ideals man has yet felt and spoken. The American soldiers showed a little later at Belleau Wood and in the Argonne forest, that they loved these ideals enough to die for them.

The English writer, Hall Caine, described the celebration in London in beautiful and graphic language:--

American Day in London was a great and memorable event. It was another sentinel on the hilltop of time, another beacon fire in the history of humanity. The two nations of Great Britain and America can never be divided again. There has been a national marriage between them, which only one judge can dissolve, and the name of that judge is Death. . . .

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