By C.C. Gaylord
“It would have to rain,” sighed Helen. “I did so want to go out today. It seems it always rains on a Saturday just because school is out.”
“There are lots of games to play indoors,” said Sarah cheerfully from the alcove where she was knitting in red worsted.
“Oh, I don’t want to go out to play,” said Helen, a trifle pettishly; “I wanted to begin my Christmas shopping.”
“Why, there are still three weeks left until Christmas!” said Sarah.
“Yes, but if I don’t hurry all the new, nice things will be gone.”
“And if I don’t begin soon I won’t have time to get presents for everyone,” put in Frances who had been reading up to that point.
“But you haven’t very many people to get presents for,” said Sarah, slightly puzzled; “Just your mother and father and Albert and each other.” Sarah was Frances and Helen’s cousin and was staying for the holidays. She could not imagine that it could take much time to shop for only four people. She had ten brothers and sisters to find presents for!
“Oh, I always give presents to all my friends and the girls at school—the ones who gave me presents last year, anyway,” said Frances.
“Do you only give them presents because they gave you some last year?” asked Sarah with a mischievous grin.
“Well,” said Frances a little uncomfortably, “It’s too much trouble to get a present for everybody, but I feel as if I had to give something to those who gave me presents. It doesn’t seem very nice not to.”
“Yes,” said Helen, “That’s just the way it is with me.”
“But why give them anything if you don’t want to?” asked Sarah. “Presents shouldn’t be a trouble.”
“Well I don’t know, but I do,” said Frances, who was always honest.
“Don’t you give presents to your friends at Christmas?” asked Helen.
“We give cakes and Christmas cookies to the neighbours,” said Sarah. “That’s all.”
“Things must be very different in the country,” said Helen.
“But how do you get presents for all your brothers and sisters?” asked Frances. “I should think that would be a large task.”
“I make their presents,” said Sarah.
“Doesn’t it take a long time?”
“Oh yes, but I work on them all year long and keep them in the bureau drawer that locks. I have only John and Hannah and Katie left to make presents for,” and Sarah held up the red mitten she was knitting.
“It is so dull, I wish there were something to do,” said Helen, turning listlessly to the window.
“Why shouldn’t we go out?” asked Sarah, hopping up. “Never mind the rain; we can take an umbrella.”
“I hate going out in the rain,” Helen objected. “And I just got new shoes and the wet will ruin them.”
“Nonsense,” said Frances, “we’re supposed to be amusing Sarah because she’s company. You can wear your galoshes over your shoes, you know that Mother says you should anyway.”
After some argument Helen was at last persuaded to don the unfashionable articles and the girls set out. They walked down North George Street and across the bridge onto Boling Avenue where the good department stores were located. Sarah had lived in the country all her life and had never been in a shop larger than the local general store. She was astonished by the great size of the places and the brilliant electric lights. One of the stores even had an escalator which frightened Sarah at first, but after she got used to it she delighted in riding it up and down.
It surprised Sarah as well, how easily Helen and Frances spent their pocket money. There was never much money at the country cousins’ house and nearly every present they had ever had was handmade. The city cousins thought handmade articles cheap and not at all good presents for they measured an item’s worth by the price label.
“What do you think of this for Mama?” asked Frances, holding up a silk piano scarf.
“Doesn’t she already have a scarf on her piano?” asked Sarah.
“Oh, that one is a year old; she got it last Christmas. Anyway, I can’t think of anything else to get her.”
“Oh, how pretty!” exclaimed Sarah, picking up a lacy breakfast cap. She was wondering how she might crochet one like it.
“You’d look like an old grandmother in that,” said Helen; “this is much better,” throwing a peacock blue sateen wrapper embellished with yellow and fuchsia flowers over Sarah’s shoulders. “It’s just the thing! It suits you so well, Sarah, don’t you think so?”
“It’s rather bright,” said Sarah uncertainly.
“I think it’s pretty. I’m going to buy it for your Christmas present.”
Sarah was shocked. “Isn’t it supposed to be a surprise?” she asked, for Christmas presents were carefully guarded secrets at her house.
“Oh yes, but I always like to know what I’m getting ahead of time,” said Helen. “Don’t you?”
“Oh no, the surprise is half the fun.”
“I suppose I would like to be surprised if I got a good present,” said Helen, “but I’m always disappointed on Christmas. I never get anything I really want.”
“What do you want?” asked Sarah.
“A fur cape. Seal or otter skin would be nice, just so it’s pretty and expensive-looking. I’ve never had a real fur—only the kind that lines coats—and Nancy Howe gets a new fur every year.”
“I’d like a fur muff with a chain,” said Frances. “I don’t think it’s fair that we never get what we want and some girls get everything they ask for.”
“But those things are awfully expensive, you know,” said Sarah, whose coats were of wool, generally second hand, and never bore any kind of lining at all, otterskin or otherwise.
“Well, Albert got a camera last Christmas, and that was expensive,” Frances defended. “I think it should be our turn this year.”
“Just what I think,” said Helen, “But I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell Papa so. Anyway, we’d better pay and go home: it’s nearly supper time.”
When it came time to pay, however, it was discovered that Helen’s pocket money was exhausted after the first three items, so the sateen wrapper was laid aside to Sarah’s secret relief.
At home the girls spread their acquisitions out on Helen’s bed. There was quite an array.
“There; I’ve presents for Mama and Papa, anyway,” said Helen. “I haven’t the least idea what to buy for Albert, though. He never wears the necktie I gave him for his birthday, so I suppose he doesn’t like it.”
“Get him something ridiculous,” said Frances. “He’s always getting us silly things. Last year he gave me a rubber pencil. It fooled Father, for I saw him pick it up later and try to write with it!”
Sarah laughed until the other two had to join her.
“That reminds me of the Christmas we all got laughs for our presents,” she said.
“How did you get laughs?” asked Helen.
“Well, you see, it was when I was small and Mother and Father were very poor. When Christmas came they told us that we mustn’t expect any presents because there was no money. Of course, we were very disappointed and I cried after I’d gone to bed, for it is hard not to have any Christmas when you look forward to it all year. Well, the next morning we went downstairs and to our surprise we found several brown paper parcels tied up with Mother’s yarn, and what do you think was inside them?”
“What was?” asked Frances.
“Only pieces of paper,” said Sarah. “John’s said ‘a sled with steel runners’. How we laughed! That was just what he had wanted, you see. Katie’s said ‘red button boots’, because she’d wanted a pair ever since she saw them in the general store. Tom was the baby then and his paper said ‘candy stick’. He didn’t understand, of course, but he liked to tear up the paper and he even put it in his mouth as if it was a candy stick! My paper said ‘china doll with curls’ and I laughed and laughed because that was what I had wanted more than anything.”
“How could you laugh?” asked Helen. “I would have cried.”
“Well, I wanted to,” said Sarah, “but I knew I must either laugh or cry and laughing is much cheerfuller.
Besides, Mother and Father had done their best to make our Christmas happy and we wanted to make them happy as well.”
The cousins were quiet after Sarah had finished her tale. It sounded like such a different Christmas from the ones they had. They could not imagine laughing over such presents.
An invitation delivered a moment later brought them back to themselves.
“The Howes have invited us to their Christmas Eve party!” Helen exclaimed. “And they’ve included you, Sarah; how nice of them! Just wait until you see their Christmas tree; it’s the biggest you ever saw!”
Oh, I can’t go!” said Sarah. “—Not if it’s on Christmas Eve! I’m going home before then.”
“But I wanted you to spend Christmas with us,” said Frances. “We planned on it. It won’t be half as nice without you.”
“And you must stay for the Howes’s party,” put in Helen. “You’ve never even been to a real party and the Howes have one of the nicest in town.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sarah, “I really should like to spend Christmas with you, but I couldn’t be away from home on Christmas Day.” Frances and Helen pleaded, but Sarah would not be persuaded. Not even their glowing descriptions of the Howes’s beautiful parties could move her to change her mind. They were expecting her at home, she said, and the family was always together on Christmas Day, no matter what. Even grown-up Katie, who was married and lived in the next county, came home on Christmas Day.
Frances and Helen were quite disappointed. They often stayed at friends’ houses for the Christmas holidays and did not understand why it was so important to Sarah that she spend Christmas with her family. As hard as they entreated, they could get no more from her than a promise that she would stay as long as she could.
The two weeks after this were full of busy preparation on the part of Helen and Frances. The rushing they did between shops would have made you dizzy. Sarah was generally taken along that her advice might be asked in the event of a disagreement and because (and this was the main reason) she was company and must be amused and it was far better to amuse her by making her do what they wanted to do anyway. Sarah still found time somehow to work on her handmade Christmas presents and one afternoon slipped out to buy her two cousins’ presents while they were out at a friend’s party to which, by some oversight, she had not been invited.
Helen and Frances came into their room later that afternoon so tired that they did not notice Sarah slipping sundry parcels into her travelling trunk.
“Albert just got in, and I wish he would stay at college another week,” said Frances disagreeably.
“Why?” asked Sarah in surprise, for she liked her grown-up cousin.
“You will know why in a few days. He is such a tease! He laughs at everything you do or say—especially if you are trying to be serious.” Frances was the youngest and so was teased the most.
“John used to tease me,” said Sarah. “I suppose all boys do it.”
“I wish they wouldn’t. I hate boys.”
“Oh, I don’t. They are lots of fun when they behave themselves.”
“But they never do,” said Helen. “At least Albert never does. He leaves his coat and hat about all the time. I should think he would be old enough to know better.”
“Oh, all men are like that,” said Sarah wisely. “You just have to get used to it. Someday you will marry one, you know, and then you’ll have to learn to get along with them.”
“I won’t marry one who doesn’t pick up after himself,” said Frances.
“That’s what women are for—to pick up after men. What would they do without us to look after them? There are ways to manage them, though. I make John something good to eat to put him in a good humour.”
“I don’t know how to cook,” said Frances.
“Don’t you?” asked Sarah in surprise. “Why, everybody ought to know how to cook.”
Just then a servant appeared and announced Miss Howe.
“Nancy Howe!” exclaimed Helen, “why weren’t you at the party today?”
“Mother and I went out shopping,” said Nancy, sitting down on the bed. “You ought to see the things we bought to decorate the house for the party.”
“You lucky thing,” said Helen enviously. “Won’t you have fun!”
“That’s why I ran over. Mother said I might invite some friends to help decorate on the day of the party and I want you and Frances and Sarah to come.”
Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Helen stopped her.
“You mustn’t say no, Sarah. It’s too good a chance to miss.”
“Oh yes, you simply must come,” said Nancy. “I am only inviting a few girls, so it’s very select, and we will have a tea in the afternoon so it will be almost like another party.”
“You can leave on the six o’clock train and still get home by eight,” said Frances.
Sarah was at first inclined to say no, but her friends’ entreaties eventually persuaded her.
“I will if Mother and Father don’t mind,” she said.
They being applied to by letter and replying in the affirmative (although declaring that everybody at home missed Sarah dreadfully), it was all settled and Sarah, who also missed those at home, resigned herself to another week at the city cousins’.
That week passed quickly and it was Christmas Eve. The Howe’s immense house seemed to the girls to be enchanted that afternoon, for Mrs. Howe had thoughtfully arranged for the bulk of the decorating to fall to them and Nancy consulted their taste on nearly everything. What a time they had! Sarah had never seen such riches or luxury. There seemed to be no end to the boxes of bright glass baubles, paste fruits, wooden figures, paper cornucopias full of candy and yards and yards of evergreen garlands for decorating the mansion and the enormous Christmas tree.
At half-past five Sarah tore herself away and returned home through the darkening streets. She had meant to wrap up her cousins’ presents earlier in the day but had not had time, so, going up to her room, she took them one by one out of the trunk and spread them out on the bed.
But something was not right. Somehow, grand as they had seemed in the shop, the articles had lost much of their splendour when compared to the Howe’s riches.
“The others at home would think them perfectly elegant, but I don’t think Helen and Frances would think much of them at all,” Sarah said to herself. “I wish I could give them something they really want.”
As she thought of her cousins’ extravagant wishes, suddenly an idea came to her. For several minutes she snipped and pasted in silence, and then quietly took up three parcels and put them beneath the cousins’ Christmas tree.
There was nobody to go with her to the station save Cousin Albert, but he cheerfully took the task upon himself, remembering certain baking excursions of Sarah’s carried out in the last week in which, besides teaching his sisters to cook, she had made delicious cookies and candies almost expressly for his consumption.
“Merry Christmas, Sal!” he called out as the train pulled away from the station.
It was nice, Sarah thought, to have one cheerful face nodding to her from the platform, for no one else had come to see her off.
In a few hours she was at her own familiar station and there was Pa with the wagon—no more cabs, thank goodness! He caught her right up off her feet and set her up on the seat. Then there was the long ride home while Sarah told him all about her visit, and when they reached the house, late though it was, everyone was still up to welcome her. The kitchen was full of wonderful smells, and the little ones caught hold of her and took her to see the Christmas tree. Then each one hung his stocking at the foot of his bed and fell asleep waiting for Saint Nicholas to come.
Frances and Helen got home at nearly midnight and went directly to bed without hanging their stockings, for Frances had outgrown Saint Nicholas three years ago when she was ten. They missed Sarah then, for they liked to tell stories under the covers and Sarah always told the best ones. But they were too tired to think much about it or to wonder if Sarah had got home all right.
The next morning was an exciting one for the country cousins. They were all out of bed by six o’clock and hurried through breakfast and chores so that they might begin the festivities.
Things were much more leisurely at the city cousin’s house. The girls were up at eight and Albert and Mother at half-past, but Father stayed in bed until they made him get up at nine. Then they had a very large breakfast which, since it was only once a year, made them all sick, and afterwards came the present opening. This was always rather a tedious affair as each Christmas there seemed to be too many presents for only five people.
In the middle of it all came a surprised whistle from Albert.
“What is it?” asked Frances, crawling through a sea of paper to look.
Albert tossed her a box. Inside was a grey knitted cap and pinned to it was a paper that read, “felt bowler”.
“Sarah!” cried Frances, as Helen read the tag over her shoulder. “She made it! But I thought she was going to give you that blotter. I saw her paying for it.”
“I wonder what she’s given us,” said Helen and she and Frances dove among the parcels for the ones marked in Sarah’s neat writing.
“Look here,” cried Helen after a minute. “It’s a muffler and it says ‘sealskin cape’!”
“And I’ve got my muff with a gold chain,” said Frances, holding up a pair of red mittens. “Isn’t she funny? And I was only joking about the muff too. I didn’t really want one so very much. I wonder what she’s given Katie and Hannah and John if she’s given us their presents.”
“I suppose she gave them ours,” said Helen. “Oh look!”
For Albert was trying on his new “bowler” in front of the mirror and examining himself from an angle.
“How do you do, madam?” he asked his mother, airily doffing his cap, while Helen and Frances rolled over in giggles.
“You ridiculous boy!” said his mother, “wherever did you get that?”
“Yes, I really do think my hatter the finest in the city; it’s so ‘posh’, don’t you think?”
“Oh dear!” laughed Helen; “I shall never be able to keep a straight face when I see that hat!”
“Wasn’t it clever of her?” asked Frances. “What jolly times the cousins must have at Christmas!”
“We could have jolly times too, I should think, if we only tried to make each other happy and didn’t think about ourselves so much,” said Helen, sobering. “We ought to have made it nicer for Sarah when she was here. How much fun she’s given us with just a few simple things. I’m not sure why, but they seem to mean more than our nice, expensive ones.”
“It’s because she meant them, that’s why,” said Frances. “She didn’t just give them because she felt as if she had to. Next year let’s coax Mother and Father to let us go to the country for Christmas.”
“Yes, and I’m going to ask Sarah to teach me how to knit. I’m so useless. Half my time seems to be spent doing nothing.”
“I’d like to learn too. I think I spend too much time reading and I would like to make pretty things instead of always buying them.”
So Sarah’s simple little gifts brought an even greater effect that Christmas than she had imagined: two idle girls were inspired to be more useful and selfless beings, shedding comfort and happiness around them, by the industrious, womanly example of their cousin.
THE END
Friday, December 4, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Germany's Reply to In Flanders Fields
Dedicated to John McCrea and all who lie In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row
That mark your dead; and in the sky
We Germans, dominant, still fly
Our guns are still well heard below.
You are the Dead; long days ago
You lived, felt hunger, cold and snow
We hated you and now you lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your quarrel with us, foe
For from your failing hands we throw
The torch; `twas yours to hold it high
And yet we break your faith, you die
And shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In Flanders fields poppies blow
While we look on, we cannot know
Why it is thus; why to the world
From failing hands a torch is hurled
And lifted high: Are we to go
And die; in Flanders fields?
In Flanders fields poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row
That mark your dead; and in the sky
We Germans, dominant, still fly
Our guns are still well heard below.
You are the Dead; long days ago
You lived, felt hunger, cold and snow
We hated you and now you lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your quarrel with us, foe
For from your failing hands we throw
The torch; `twas yours to hold it high
And yet we break your faith, you die
And shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In Flanders fields poppies blow
While we look on, we cannot know
Why it is thus; why to the world
From failing hands a torch is hurled
And lifted high: Are we to go
And die; in Flanders fields?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Le Saboteur: VI.
Chapter VI.
La Bagarre
“Not eating supper, Allison?” asked Hayes one evening.
“No.”
“Is it your tooth bothering you again?” asked Kearns sympathetically.
Allison replied by giving him a sour look.
“I thought the major told you not to throw your cigarette stubs around,” said Garrett.
“I reckon I can throw them wherever I please,” said Allison hotly.
His tooth was bothering him, which made him crosser than usual.
“It’s a dangerous habit,” remarked Ross.
“So is smoking in bed,” said Kearns who, for all he wanted to stay on Allison’s good side, could not resist the temptation of sharing an anecdote. “I once heard of a man who burned the house down smoking in bed.”
“I only do it to keep warm since you insist on having the window open all night,” said Allison, although he knew quite well that he did not only smoke in bed at night.
“I only keep the window open because you smoke.”
“Dah,” said Allison, who could not think of anything else to say.
“I wouldn’t say smoking is so very bad as my brother Michael does it,” continued Kearns. “It’s just that it ought to be done in moderation, like everything else.”
“Pass the salt,” interjected Renhard.
Allison was sick of being sermonized on his smoking and said so.
“Then don’t throw your cigarette ends about,” said Garrett.
Supper being over, most of the men dispersed to different parts of the barracks. Besides Renhard and Allison, Kearns and Hayes remained, as did Woodward, who was still eating.
“Ruddy job, that balloon-strafing, isn’t it?” asked Renhard of nobody in particular. “Did you get yours down, Allison?”
“No.”
“Too bad. How many passes did you make?”
“How many was I supposed to make? I made one.”
“You should go back again if it doesn’t catch fire the first time,” Kearns interposed, forgetting for the moment his resolve to keep Allison in a good mood. “Make as many passes as you can, so that at least the balloon will be full of holes and they’ll have to repair it.”
“I couldn’t make another pass,” replied Allison defensively. “I was surrounded by Archie and ground fire.”
“So were all of us. It’s part of balloon-strafing. That’s why lots of men won’t go on that kind of job, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“Well I went on it, so you can’t say I’m afraid,” said Allison, bridling.
“I didn’t,” said Kearns. “You needn’t get all upset.”
“Well, you practically did.”
“No I didn’t.”
“He did, didn’t he, Renhard?”
“No I didn’t—did I, Hayes?”
“If you think I’m a coward why don’t you have it out with me?” asked Allison, starting up.
“Anytime you choose,” retorted Kearns, leaping to his feet.
“All right, gentlemen,” said Woodward sternly. “That’s enough.”
“If you think I’m going to accept an insult from a dirty Irishman—” began Allison.
“A what?” cried Kearns. “You’ll pay for that, all right!”
But he had no need to protect himself for Hayes popped up like a peppercorn in defense of his friend.
“You will watch your language, Allison,” he said, “and you will take back what you said about Kearns, here.”
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with a bloody nose and Allison was standing smugly observing him. Allison did not enjoy his victory for long, though.
“Bully!” cried Kearns, hitting Allison a solid right to the jaw, and Allison found himself, after a moment of confusion, at the opposite side of the room with his head spinning. Kearns leaped upon him and Allison, rallying, threw him off and sent him smashing into a table and upsetting several chairs.
At this the other men in the room came to life. Renhard leaped to his feet shouting “that’s the stuff!” Hayes made a move to rush at Allison but Woodward caught him by the back of his Sam Browne belt and hauled him into a chair.
“That’s enough! Break it up!” he shouted to the other two, but they paid no attention.
Kearns had recovered and leaped at Allison again and the two lay struggling on the floor in a confusion of arms and legs. The next minute they were on their feet again and objects went flying about as they fought from one side of the room to the other. Woodward bravely attempted to break up the fight several times but was thrown back each time with several bruises. Hayes and Renhard were no help at all for each cheered his respective favorite and it was all Woodward could do to keep them out of the fight itself.
At last Kearns hit Allison a good one and sent him reeling through the open door into the arms of Randolph who had opened it preparatory to coming in.
“Hullo? What’s all this?” he said.
The major was right behind him, for he had been out inspecting several malfunctioning engines.
“What’s going on?” he asked, although it was perfectly obvious.
He looked at Kearns and Allison. Kearns had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.
“Lts. Allison and Kearns, report to my office immediately,” said the major and went into it himself.
The two culprits reluctantly followed. The rest of the men looked at each other in dismay. They had been expecting something like this, but it made the incident no less dreadful when it actually happened.
There had been disagreements between the men before. Kearns, in fact, from a mixture of his lively tongue and Irish temper, had fallen out at least once with nearly everybody at the airdrome (save Woodward, who never said enough to argue with anyone). But then, Kearns was such a good-hearted fellow that he would never be angry with anybody for long and any quarrels were soon made up. But a fight—there had never been an all-out fight at the airdrome. There had been friendly tussles among the men, but Kearns and Allison had certainly not been friendly. The way that they had gone at each other you would have thought it was a hand-to-hand combat in the trenches.
Ten minutes passed and Allison and Kearns emerged from the major’s office looking slightly deflated. Pitt followed them out.
“Captain Woodward and Captain Randolph,” he said politely, “the major would like to see you for a moment if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, yes, you two,” the major said when they had entered. “I’d like a word with you. This is bad business, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, sir,” said the two captains.
The major sighed.
“Well, how did it start? I was unable to get a straight answer from those two. You were present, I think, Woodward?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well?”
“I don’t like to say for sure,” said Woodward, “but I believe Allison is to blame. He made a point out of an insignificant remark of Kearns’s.”
“Insignificant, eh? Is this their first disagreement?”
Randolph and Woodward looked at each other without saying anything.
“Randolph, you’re their flight leader. Have you had any trouble with them before?” asked the major.
“I have noticed Allison dislikes Kearns, sir.”
“Does he? Why?”
Randolph hesitated.
“I think it’s because he has a prejudice against the Irish, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“He as much as said so several times.”
“I see.”
The major knit his brows.
“This is a serious offense in light of the last order,” he said. “If I could only be sure Allison started it. Kearns apparently came out of the fight on top and that looks bad. I hate to lose two good men at once, but I’ve no choice but to report the matter to General Headquarters. I only hope they realize our desperate situation and adopt a lenient course of action.”
He took up his pen and cleaned it.
“Thank you, gentlemen, that is all; dismissed.”
They departed.
There was no living with Allison after that incident. Kearns, afraid of the punishment for fighting, stayed as far away from him as possible and the rest of the men, fed up with his sulks, tacitly ignored him. In fact, the only two who made any effort at being nice to him were Randolph and Renhard.
“I don’t see why you can’t play a game of cards or something instead of just sitting there looking mad,” said Renhard, addressing the reprobate behind one of the hangars the next afternoon.
“I hate bridge.”
“Who says you have to play bridge? Whist’s a good game, or rummy, or solitaire… all right, maybe not, but what’s the good in moping? Thinking over losing that fight won’t change anything.”
Allison threw his cigarette away viciously.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” he asked.
“Mind my own business? You’re the one who’s always following me about everywhere.”
Allison looked taken aback.
“I following you about?” he asked lamely.
“You’re not exactly a professional sneak, old boy.”
“Well, you’re a sneak anyway. What where you doing in the major’s office earlier?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I forgot something in there?” asked Renhard.
“No.”
“Ahh, I didn’t think you would.”
“You’re a spy aren’t you?” Allison demanded. “I suspected you from the first. What’s your real name?”
“Reinhardt.”
Allison nearly fell over backwards. He had expected Renhard to of course deny it, but there he sat, looking calmly at Allison as if he had just said any ordinary thing.
“Oh—really? Well, what’s your first name?” asked Allison, recovering himself.
“Berthold, you snoop, and yes, I used to have a moustache.”
Allison glanced around. There was nobody nearby and the few fellows working about the airdrome were too far away to hear the conversation.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “What’s your game?”
“Game?” asked Renhard innocently.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll rat on you?”
“Oh, no. I’m not worried about you.”
“Why not? What’s to keep me from blabbing?”
“Why should you blab? How would it profit you?”
“Profit me? Why, why should I let a dirty skunk like you get away? You’d probably turn us all in to the Huns.”
“So?”
Allison stared, too confused to argue further.
“What makes you think,” Renhard continued, “that the Germans are bad and the Americans good? What has America ever done for you?”
“Nothing, but—”
“So what do you owe it?”
Silence.
“Besides, I need your help. I meant to let you in the know sooner or later or, believe me, you wouldn’t be around now to spill the beans. I knew what you were up to, snooping in my rucksack.”
“You mean you would have murdered me?”
“One can’t be too scrupulous in my job. Yes, you would have met with an ‘accident’.”
“What made you think I would help you?”
“Let’s say I’m a good judge of human character. Besides, I happen to know a piece of information that will send you to the quarries for two weeks: Dupond—remember?”
“I’m in trouble for that fight yesterday too, you know.”
“Well, if you want me to spill my information that’s all very well but it knocks out any hope that HQ will be lenient with you. And you’ll owe a pretty penny for wrecking that bar, too.”
“Look,” said Allison, “I don’t care a hang for America—never did. But I still can’t go against the others.”
“So you’ll turn me in instead, eh? You owe me more than any of them.”
“That is true…”
Renhard could see him wavering.
“There’s money in it too—two thousand dollars, if you choose to be of assistance.”
“Look here,” said Allison, his color mounting, “friendship’s one thing, but if you think I’ll turn traitor for pay, you—”
But Renhard knew how to play a trump.
“No I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t even think you’d do it to save your own skin, but I know you’ll do what I want because it’s the chance you’ve been waiting for—to get even with a certain person.”
An evil look came into Allison’s eye.
“Can’t talk here,” he said.
He glanced over at the armory.
“Come on,” he said, getting up.
The two men entered the low building and shut and bolted the door.
“Now,” said Allison, “you were saying…”
La Bagarre
“Not eating supper, Allison?” asked Hayes one evening.
“No.”
“Is it your tooth bothering you again?” asked Kearns sympathetically.
Allison replied by giving him a sour look.
“I thought the major told you not to throw your cigarette stubs around,” said Garrett.
“I reckon I can throw them wherever I please,” said Allison hotly.
His tooth was bothering him, which made him crosser than usual.
“It’s a dangerous habit,” remarked Ross.
“So is smoking in bed,” said Kearns who, for all he wanted to stay on Allison’s good side, could not resist the temptation of sharing an anecdote. “I once heard of a man who burned the house down smoking in bed.”
“I only do it to keep warm since you insist on having the window open all night,” said Allison, although he knew quite well that he did not only smoke in bed at night.
“I only keep the window open because you smoke.”
“Dah,” said Allison, who could not think of anything else to say.
“I wouldn’t say smoking is so very bad as my brother Michael does it,” continued Kearns. “It’s just that it ought to be done in moderation, like everything else.”
“Pass the salt,” interjected Renhard.
Allison was sick of being sermonized on his smoking and said so.
“Then don’t throw your cigarette ends about,” said Garrett.
Supper being over, most of the men dispersed to different parts of the barracks. Besides Renhard and Allison, Kearns and Hayes remained, as did Woodward, who was still eating.
“Ruddy job, that balloon-strafing, isn’t it?” asked Renhard of nobody in particular. “Did you get yours down, Allison?”
“No.”
“Too bad. How many passes did you make?”
“How many was I supposed to make? I made one.”
“You should go back again if it doesn’t catch fire the first time,” Kearns interposed, forgetting for the moment his resolve to keep Allison in a good mood. “Make as many passes as you can, so that at least the balloon will be full of holes and they’ll have to repair it.”
“I couldn’t make another pass,” replied Allison defensively. “I was surrounded by Archie and ground fire.”
“So were all of us. It’s part of balloon-strafing. That’s why lots of men won’t go on that kind of job, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“Well I went on it, so you can’t say I’m afraid,” said Allison, bridling.
“I didn’t,” said Kearns. “You needn’t get all upset.”
“Well, you practically did.”
“No I didn’t.”
“He did, didn’t he, Renhard?”
“No I didn’t—did I, Hayes?”
“If you think I’m a coward why don’t you have it out with me?” asked Allison, starting up.
“Anytime you choose,” retorted Kearns, leaping to his feet.
“All right, gentlemen,” said Woodward sternly. “That’s enough.”
“If you think I’m going to accept an insult from a dirty Irishman—” began Allison.
“A what?” cried Kearns. “You’ll pay for that, all right!”
But he had no need to protect himself for Hayes popped up like a peppercorn in defense of his friend.
“You will watch your language, Allison,” he said, “and you will take back what you said about Kearns, here.”
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with a bloody nose and Allison was standing smugly observing him. Allison did not enjoy his victory for long, though.
“Bully!” cried Kearns, hitting Allison a solid right to the jaw, and Allison found himself, after a moment of confusion, at the opposite side of the room with his head spinning. Kearns leaped upon him and Allison, rallying, threw him off and sent him smashing into a table and upsetting several chairs.At this the other men in the room came to life. Renhard leaped to his feet shouting “that’s the stuff!” Hayes made a move to rush at Allison but Woodward caught him by the back of his Sam Browne belt and hauled him into a chair.
“That’s enough! Break it up!” he shouted to the other two, but they paid no attention.
Kearns had recovered and leaped at Allison again and the two lay struggling on the floor in a confusion of arms and legs. The next minute they were on their feet again and objects went flying about as they fought from one side of the room to the other. Woodward bravely attempted to break up the fight several times but was thrown back each time with several bruises. Hayes and Renhard were no help at all for each cheered his respective favorite and it was all Woodward could do to keep them out of the fight itself.
At last Kearns hit Allison a good one and sent him reeling through the open door into the arms of Randolph who had opened it preparatory to coming in.
“Hullo? What’s all this?” he said.The major was right behind him, for he had been out inspecting several malfunctioning engines.
“What’s going on?” he asked, although it was perfectly obvious.
He looked at Kearns and Allison. Kearns had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.
“Lts. Allison and Kearns, report to my office immediately,” said the major and went into it himself.
The two culprits reluctantly followed. The rest of the men looked at each other in dismay. They had been expecting something like this, but it made the incident no less dreadful when it actually happened.
There had been disagreements between the men before. Kearns, in fact, from a mixture of his lively tongue and Irish temper, had fallen out at least once with nearly everybody at the airdrome (save Woodward, who never said enough to argue with anyone). But then, Kearns was such a good-hearted fellow that he would never be angry with anybody for long and any quarrels were soon made up. But a fight—there had never been an all-out fight at the airdrome. There had been friendly tussles among the men, but Kearns and Allison had certainly not been friendly. The way that they had gone at each other you would have thought it was a hand-to-hand combat in the trenches.
Ten minutes passed and Allison and Kearns emerged from the major’s office looking slightly deflated. Pitt followed them out.
“Captain Woodward and Captain Randolph,” he said politely, “the major would like to see you for a moment if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, yes, you two,” the major said when they had entered. “I’d like a word with you. This is bad business, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, sir,” said the two captains.
The major sighed.
“Well, how did it start? I was unable to get a straight answer from those two. You were present, I think, Woodward?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well?”
“I don’t like to say for sure,” said Woodward, “but I believe Allison is to blame. He made a point out of an insignificant remark of Kearns’s.”
“Insignificant, eh? Is this their first disagreement?”
Randolph and Woodward looked at each other without saying anything.
“Randolph, you’re their flight leader. Have you had any trouble with them before?” asked the major.
“I have noticed Allison dislikes Kearns, sir.”
“Does he? Why?”
Randolph hesitated.
“I think it’s because he has a prejudice against the Irish, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“He as much as said so several times.”
“I see.”
The major knit his brows.
“This is a serious offense in light of the last order,” he said. “If I could only be sure Allison started it. Kearns apparently came out of the fight on top and that looks bad. I hate to lose two good men at once, but I’ve no choice but to report the matter to General Headquarters. I only hope they realize our desperate situation and adopt a lenient course of action.”
He took up his pen and cleaned it.
“Thank you, gentlemen, that is all; dismissed.”
They departed.
There was no living with Allison after that incident. Kearns, afraid of the punishment for fighting, stayed as far away from him as possible and the rest of the men, fed up with his sulks, tacitly ignored him. In fact, the only two who made any effort at being nice to him were Randolph and Renhard.
“I don’t see why you can’t play a game of cards or something instead of just sitting there looking mad,” said Renhard, addressing the reprobate behind one of the hangars the next afternoon.
“I hate bridge.”
“Who says you have to play bridge? Whist’s a good game, or rummy, or solitaire… all right, maybe not, but what’s the good in moping? Thinking over losing that fight won’t change anything.”
Allison threw his cigarette away viciously.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” he asked.
“Mind my own business? You’re the one who’s always following me about everywhere.”
Allison looked taken aback.
“I following you about?” he asked lamely.
“You’re not exactly a professional sneak, old boy.”
“Well, you’re a sneak anyway. What where you doing in the major’s office earlier?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I forgot something in there?” asked Renhard.
“No.”
“Ahh, I didn’t think you would.”
“You’re a spy aren’t you?” Allison demanded. “I suspected you from the first. What’s your real name?”
“Reinhardt.”
Allison nearly fell over backwards. He had expected Renhard to of course deny it, but there he sat, looking calmly at Allison as if he had just said any ordinary thing.
“Oh—really? Well, what’s your first name?” asked Allison, recovering himself.
“Berthold, you snoop, and yes, I used to have a moustache.”
Allison glanced around. There was nobody nearby and the few fellows working about the airdrome were too far away to hear the conversation.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “What’s your game?”
“Game?” asked Renhard innocently.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll rat on you?”
“Oh, no. I’m not worried about you.”
“Why not? What’s to keep me from blabbing?”
“Why should you blab? How would it profit you?”
“Profit me? Why, why should I let a dirty skunk like you get away? You’d probably turn us all in to the Huns.”
“So?”
Allison stared, too confused to argue further.
“What makes you think,” Renhard continued, “that the Germans are bad and the Americans good? What has America ever done for you?”
“Nothing, but—”
“So what do you owe it?”
Silence.
“Besides, I need your help. I meant to let you in the know sooner or later or, believe me, you wouldn’t be around now to spill the beans. I knew what you were up to, snooping in my rucksack.”
“You mean you would have murdered me?”
“One can’t be too scrupulous in my job. Yes, you would have met with an ‘accident’.”
“What made you think I would help you?”
“Let’s say I’m a good judge of human character. Besides, I happen to know a piece of information that will send you to the quarries for two weeks: Dupond—remember?”
“I’m in trouble for that fight yesterday too, you know.”
“Well, if you want me to spill my information that’s all very well but it knocks out any hope that HQ will be lenient with you. And you’ll owe a pretty penny for wrecking that bar, too.”
“Look,” said Allison, “I don’t care a hang for America—never did. But I still can’t go against the others.”
“So you’ll turn me in instead, eh? You owe me more than any of them.”
“That is true…”
Renhard could see him wavering.
“There’s money in it too—two thousand dollars, if you choose to be of assistance.”
“Look here,” said Allison, his color mounting, “friendship’s one thing, but if you think I’ll turn traitor for pay, you—”
But Renhard knew how to play a trump.
“No I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t even think you’d do it to save your own skin, but I know you’ll do what I want because it’s the chance you’ve been waiting for—to get even with a certain person.”
An evil look came into Allison’s eye.
“Can’t talk here,” he said.
He glanced over at the armory.
“Come on,” he said, getting up.
The two men entered the low building and shut and bolted the door.
“Now,” said Allison, “you were saying…”
Monday, November 2, 2009
Le Saboteur: V.
Chapter V.
Voir Clair
The men all turned around when Allison came downstairs the next morning. This was because of the odd noise his feet made. He had his boot on one foot but on the other only a blue army sock. Everybody was rather surprised, for it wasn’t like Allison to play practical jokes.
“I say, Allison,” said Garrett, “what’s this? One shoe on and one shoe off, diddle diddle dumpling, my son—well anyway, what happened to your other boot?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Allison disagreeably.
Kearns’s face grew suddenly red.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. I picked it up by accident last night. It’s under my bed.”
They all expected Allison to go and get it like a sensible fellow, but instead he stood there, his face working in dreadful contortions.
“Well, if that isn’t just like a thieving Irishman!” he exclaimed.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Kearns, leaping up; “I’d like to know what you mean by that, sir?”
Randolph caught him by the shoulder and forced him back into his chair.
“None of that, now,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”
We will do him the justice of supposing that he, at least, believed this—otherwise I am sure he would not have said it. Certainly nobody who could see Allison’s face at that moment would have believed it.
But Randolph wasn’t looking at Allison just then; he was looking at Kearns and his look said, “I’m counting on you, now.”
Kearns turned away and began to fiddle with the pieces on the chess board, and Allison, seeing nothing would come of further argument, turned and stormed back upstairs for his boot. “C” flight had a patrol that morning so the two combatants did not have another chance to renew the quarrel and the rest of the squadron supposed it had blown over.
“That’s fourteen holes in the fuselage alone. I call it scandalous,” said Renhard as he and Allison looked over their airplanes after returning from the mission.
“Bosches can shoot all right, I guess,” said Allison.
“Not that, I mean it’s scandalous that headquarters sends 11 squadron on all the dangerous missions. Why, we’ve had three balloon jobs this week!”
“I should think you’d be glad,” remarked Allison. “You haven’t gotten a single kill to your score yet.”
“I’ll get one,” said Renhard significantly.
“By the way, I found something of yours the other night,” said Allison, pulling the wax can from his pocket. “Couldn’t find you before supper and then I forgot about it.”
“That’s mine, all right. Thanks.”
“What do you use it for, since you don’t have a moustache?”
“Actually, it was a good-bye present.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Come to think of it, maybe I will grow a moustache sometime. It might look nice. Distinguished, you know,” said Renhard, surveying himself in his pocket mirror.
Allison thought that he certainly couldn’t look any worse.
“Did you ever work with telephones, Renhard?”
“What? Telephones? No, I can’t say that I have; why?”
“I just wondered. I guess you wouldn’t know how one worked, then?”
“I might be able to figure out. Do you want to make a telephone call? Long distance to New York, maybe?”
“No. Just curious.”
A few yards away Randolph stood, watching Blundy, one of the mechanics, work on the engine of his SPAD which was having problems again. Kearns was nearby keeping him company and Randolph hoped he would stay in sight, as he did not want him getting into trouble again with Allison.
“I think it’s the carburetor,” said Randolph. “That’s what it was last time, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Blundy wearily. “The carburetor and the magneto and the oil pump—and this pipe is leaking, too. These new engines are nothing but junk.”
“That’s the trouble with these SPADS,” said Kearns. “I rather liked the old Nieuports, if it weren’t for the bad wings. You can’t have everything, I suppose.”
“No, nothing’s ever perfect,” agreed Randolph. “At least we’ve had good flying weather lately. One can’t complain of that.”
“Yes, my togs have finally dried out,” said Kearns. “What kind of bird would you say that is, Randolph?”
“What bird?”
“Why that one on the armory. Right there.”
“I can’t see it,” said Randolph.
He wondered why Kearns and Blundy looked at him so strangely.
“Carry on, Blundy, I’ve a letter to write,” he said hastily and hurried toward the barracks.
He was rather disappointed, when he got to the bedroom to find Allison there. To be sure, Allison spent most of his spare time in that room, seeming to consider it his private club.
“Why don’t you go down and watch the chess game, Allison?” Randolph suggested.
“Chess?” said Allison. “Can you think of anything duller?”
“Well, lying in bed smoking seems a very dull pursuit in my opinion.”
Allison made no reply to this except to blow a smoke ring. Randolph resolved to ignore him and fished out his letter writing things. He wrote for several minutes, but soon enough he laid aside his pencil and looked over at Allison who still lay in the same attitude.
Poor fellow, he thought. There must be something wrong with him to make him shun other people’s company so much. Funny that he doesn’t seem to mind mine. Perhaps I’d better be civil and talk to him a bit.
“I say,—Allison,” he said. He had made an effort to say “Roger” but could not quite manage that degree of familiarity.
“What?”
“What is it between you and Kearns?”
Allison raised one eyebrow.
“I mean, why don’t you like him?”
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
“But it’s quite obvious.”
“Then perhaps the cause is obvious as well.”
Randolph ruminated over this for a minute and decided to change the subject.
“You said you were from Arkansas, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Well, it’s dry, sort of. Gets rather hot in summer, too.”
“Is it pretty?”
“I don’t know, I guess so.”
“What did you use to do before the war began? Occupation, I mean.”
“Oh, all sorts of things. I never stayed at the same job very long. I used to help out on farms when I was a kid. I worked on the railroad a little and for a dry-goods store for a few months. I was working for the telephone company before I joined up. That was a good job. I hope they’ll take me back after the war.”
“I worked on a farm too. My uncle’s. We were going to go into it shares when the war started. We raise beef cattle.”
“Oh?” asked Allison.
“Yes, Herefords. Of course my uncle doesn’t make much money, but it’s a fine job all the same. He lives in Pennsylvania, you know, in the foothills. It’s a beautiful place. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Pennsylvania?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, I think I’d like to spend all my life there—after the war, you know. I used to get up early in the morning and climb one of the mountains nearby. Not really very big for a mountain, I suppose, but it gave you a fine view of the valley for miles. I’m not boring you, am I?”
“No, go on.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful place, as I said. I and my brothers used to stay at the farm every summer when we were little fellows. Do you have any brothers?”
“Yes. Two.”
“Are they enlisted as well?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?” asked Randolph in surprise.
Allison tossed away his cigarette stub impatiently.
“Look, my mother died when I was seven,” he said. “Me and my brothers were all farmed out to different relatives. I haven’t seen them since.”
“Oh.”
Randolph sat staring at his letter without really seeing it.
“You were raised by relatives?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“An aunt and uncle?”
“I was passed around from relation to relation. I got sick of it after a while and ran away.”
Randolph was quiet for a minute. He wrote a sentence in his letter and then erased it.
“You know Allison,” he said. “If you can’t get that telephone job again after the war, you can come work the farm with my uncle and me.”
For the first time Allison looked touched.
“It’s kind of you, but I was never much for farming,” he said.
“Well, you’ll stop by if you’re ever up that way, won’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Here; let me write the address out for you.” (silence for a moment) “Here you are—you know, just in case you’re ever in Pennsylvania.”
“Thanks,” said Allison hoarsely, and taking the paper, he went out.
Woodward seemed to have been waiting outside the door for him to leave, for he entered immediately afterwards and looked around the room to make sure that nobody else was about.
“I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Quentin, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“Of course, Frank, what is it?”
Woodward sat down on one of the beds and tried to begin. He wasn’t much good at speaking his mind.
“Are you sure you’ve been feeling all right lately? Not too tired, or anything?”
“I feel fine.”
“Yes well, but you don’t feel as if you needed a rest? Leave, or something like that?”
Randolph was surprised at Woodward’s unwonted verbosity.
“Why, I’ve been a little more tired than usual, but not more than any of the rest of us. Why?”
It took Woodward so long to speak again that Randolph went back to his letter writing and finished three more sentences.
“Well,” Woodward said after awhile, “—well, I worry about you, Quent. You take too many chances.”
“Do I?” asked Randolph in surprise. “I suppose I do, a little. The fact is, in a dogfight I forget about everything but getting the other fellow down.”
“But you might be just a bit more cautious,” said Woodward. “Hold back, you know.”
“I just can’t seem to, Frank.”
“Well, why not? You don’t care about your record, so what do you do it for?”
“Didn’t you ever want to make your father proud of you?” asked Randolph.
Woodward looked surprised.
“Your father doesn’t think so much of you because you’re the youngest?” he said.
“Oh no, Father’s not like that at all, he loves us all the same; it’s just that I’d do anything for him and—and—he counts on us. He expects us all to do our best and I can’t let him down.”
Randolph got and strode up and down the room. How could he explain to Woodward how he felt? Woodward had never met his father.
“You wouldn’t understand, I suppose, Frank, but—Father’s not like anyone else. The boys at school used to say we worshiped him. We didn’t really. We only thought him the grandest man in the world—which he is. When I think of him I just feel as if I’d got to go out and give it all I’ve got.”
“Well, you never go things halves,” said Woodward. “I don’t think I’d like you so much if you did. It was Kearns and Hayes who talked me into speaking to you about it.”
“What? Did they talk to you about it?” asked Randolph, sitting down again.
“Yes. I think it was that time you went off after that German jasta that worried them, and really, I don’t see what you did it for.”
He ended on a period, but there was a question in his voice. Randolph fidgeted.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Randolph cleared his throat and glanced guiltily at Woodward. Seeing that he was not going to say anything, Randolph was forced to continue.
“You see, it’s my eyes. I’m near-sighted. I thought those were our ‘planes.”
Woodward stared at him.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” said Randolph when he could stand the silence no longer.
“How are your eyes?”
“Not so good. And I think they’ve been getting worse lately. I have a pain in them sometimes.”
“How did you pass the eye examination?” asked Woodward.
“Memorized the chart.”
Randolph looked up at Woodward.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you? I might lose my wings.”
Woodward sat staring at his hands. At last he got up and strode over to Randolph.
“Don’t worry,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. You’ll kill yourself one of these days, Quentin, but I won’t tell anyone.”
Voir Clair
The men all turned around when Allison came downstairs the next morning. This was because of the odd noise his feet made. He had his boot on one foot but on the other only a blue army sock. Everybody was rather surprised, for it wasn’t like Allison to play practical jokes.
“I say, Allison,” said Garrett, “what’s this? One shoe on and one shoe off, diddle diddle dumpling, my son—well anyway, what happened to your other boot?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Allison disagreeably.
Kearns’s face grew suddenly red.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. I picked it up by accident last night. It’s under my bed.”
They all expected Allison to go and get it like a sensible fellow, but instead he stood there, his face working in dreadful contortions.
“Well, if that isn’t just like a thieving Irishman!” he exclaimed.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Kearns, leaping up; “I’d like to know what you mean by that, sir?”
Randolph caught him by the shoulder and forced him back into his chair.
“None of that, now,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”
We will do him the justice of supposing that he, at least, believed this—otherwise I am sure he would not have said it. Certainly nobody who could see Allison’s face at that moment would have believed it.
But Randolph wasn’t looking at Allison just then; he was looking at Kearns and his look said, “I’m counting on you, now.”
Kearns turned away and began to fiddle with the pieces on the chess board, and Allison, seeing nothing would come of further argument, turned and stormed back upstairs for his boot. “C” flight had a patrol that morning so the two combatants did not have another chance to renew the quarrel and the rest of the squadron supposed it had blown over.
“That’s fourteen holes in the fuselage alone. I call it scandalous,” said Renhard as he and Allison looked over their airplanes after returning from the mission.
“Bosches can shoot all right, I guess,” said Allison.
“Not that, I mean it’s scandalous that headquarters sends 11 squadron on all the dangerous missions. Why, we’ve had three balloon jobs this week!”
“I should think you’d be glad,” remarked Allison. “You haven’t gotten a single kill to your score yet.”
“I’ll get one,” said Renhard significantly.
“By the way, I found something of yours the other night,” said Allison, pulling the wax can from his pocket. “Couldn’t find you before supper and then I forgot about it.”
“That’s mine, all right. Thanks.”
“What do you use it for, since you don’t have a moustache?”
“Actually, it was a good-bye present.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Come to think of it, maybe I will grow a moustache sometime. It might look nice. Distinguished, you know,” said Renhard, surveying himself in his pocket mirror.
Allison thought that he certainly couldn’t look any worse.
“Did you ever work with telephones, Renhard?”
“What? Telephones? No, I can’t say that I have; why?”
“I just wondered. I guess you wouldn’t know how one worked, then?”
“I might be able to figure out. Do you want to make a telephone call? Long distance to New York, maybe?”
“No. Just curious.”
A few yards away Randolph stood, watching Blundy, one of the mechanics, work on the engine of his SPAD which was having problems again. Kearns was nearby keeping him company and Randolph hoped he would stay in sight, as he did not want him getting into trouble again with Allison.
“I think it’s the carburetor,” said Randolph. “That’s what it was last time, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Blundy wearily. “The carburetor and the magneto and the oil pump—and this pipe is leaking, too. These new engines are nothing but junk.”
“That’s the trouble with these SPADS,” said Kearns. “I rather liked the old Nieuports, if it weren’t for the bad wings. You can’t have everything, I suppose.”
“No, nothing’s ever perfect,” agreed Randolph. “At least we’ve had good flying weather lately. One can’t complain of that.”
“Yes, my togs have finally dried out,” said Kearns. “What kind of bird would you say that is, Randolph?”
“What bird?”
“Why that one on the armory. Right there.”
“I can’t see it,” said Randolph.
He wondered why Kearns and Blundy looked at him so strangely.
“Carry on, Blundy, I’ve a letter to write,” he said hastily and hurried toward the barracks.
He was rather disappointed, when he got to the bedroom to find Allison there. To be sure, Allison spent most of his spare time in that room, seeming to consider it his private club.
“Why don’t you go down and watch the chess game, Allison?” Randolph suggested.
“Chess?” said Allison. “Can you think of anything duller?”
“Well, lying in bed smoking seems a very dull pursuit in my opinion.”
Allison made no reply to this except to blow a smoke ring. Randolph resolved to ignore him and fished out his letter writing things. He wrote for several minutes, but soon enough he laid aside his pencil and looked over at Allison who still lay in the same attitude.
Poor fellow, he thought. There must be something wrong with him to make him shun other people’s company so much. Funny that he doesn’t seem to mind mine. Perhaps I’d better be civil and talk to him a bit.
“I say,—Allison,” he said. He had made an effort to say “Roger” but could not quite manage that degree of familiarity.
“What?”
“What is it between you and Kearns?”
Allison raised one eyebrow.
“I mean, why don’t you like him?”
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
“But it’s quite obvious.”
“Then perhaps the cause is obvious as well.”
Randolph ruminated over this for a minute and decided to change the subject.
“You said you were from Arkansas, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Well, it’s dry, sort of. Gets rather hot in summer, too.”
“Is it pretty?”
“I don’t know, I guess so.”
“What did you use to do before the war began? Occupation, I mean.”
“Oh, all sorts of things. I never stayed at the same job very long. I used to help out on farms when I was a kid. I worked on the railroad a little and for a dry-goods store for a few months. I was working for the telephone company before I joined up. That was a good job. I hope they’ll take me back after the war.”
“I worked on a farm too. My uncle’s. We were going to go into it shares when the war started. We raise beef cattle.”
“Oh?” asked Allison.
“Yes, Herefords. Of course my uncle doesn’t make much money, but it’s a fine job all the same. He lives in Pennsylvania, you know, in the foothills. It’s a beautiful place. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Pennsylvania?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, I think I’d like to spend all my life there—after the war, you know. I used to get up early in the morning and climb one of the mountains nearby. Not really very big for a mountain, I suppose, but it gave you a fine view of the valley for miles. I’m not boring you, am I?”
“No, go on.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful place, as I said. I and my brothers used to stay at the farm every summer when we were little fellows. Do you have any brothers?”
“Yes. Two.”
“Are they enlisted as well?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?” asked Randolph in surprise.
Allison tossed away his cigarette stub impatiently.
“Look, my mother died when I was seven,” he said. “Me and my brothers were all farmed out to different relatives. I haven’t seen them since.”
“Oh.”
Randolph sat staring at his letter without really seeing it.
“You were raised by relatives?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“An aunt and uncle?”
“I was passed around from relation to relation. I got sick of it after a while and ran away.”
Randolph was quiet for a minute. He wrote a sentence in his letter and then erased it.
“You know Allison,” he said. “If you can’t get that telephone job again after the war, you can come work the farm with my uncle and me.”
For the first time Allison looked touched.
“It’s kind of you, but I was never much for farming,” he said.
“Well, you’ll stop by if you’re ever up that way, won’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Here; let me write the address out for you.” (silence for a moment) “Here you are—you know, just in case you’re ever in Pennsylvania.”
“Thanks,” said Allison hoarsely, and taking the paper, he went out.
Woodward seemed to have been waiting outside the door for him to leave, for he entered immediately afterwards and looked around the room to make sure that nobody else was about.
“I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Quentin, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“Of course, Frank, what is it?”
Woodward sat down on one of the beds and tried to begin. He wasn’t much good at speaking his mind.
“Are you sure you’ve been feeling all right lately? Not too tired, or anything?”
“I feel fine.”
“Yes well, but you don’t feel as if you needed a rest? Leave, or something like that?”
Randolph was surprised at Woodward’s unwonted verbosity.
“Why, I’ve been a little more tired than usual, but not more than any of the rest of us. Why?”
It took Woodward so long to speak again that Randolph went back to his letter writing and finished three more sentences.
“Well,” Woodward said after awhile, “—well, I worry about you, Quent. You take too many chances.”
“Do I?” asked Randolph in surprise. “I suppose I do, a little. The fact is, in a dogfight I forget about everything but getting the other fellow down.”
“But you might be just a bit more cautious,” said Woodward. “Hold back, you know.”
“I just can’t seem to, Frank.”
“Well, why not? You don’t care about your record, so what do you do it for?”
“Didn’t you ever want to make your father proud of you?” asked Randolph.
Woodward looked surprised.
“Your father doesn’t think so much of you because you’re the youngest?” he said.
“Oh no, Father’s not like that at all, he loves us all the same; it’s just that I’d do anything for him and—and—he counts on us. He expects us all to do our best and I can’t let him down.”
Randolph got and strode up and down the room. How could he explain to Woodward how he felt? Woodward had never met his father.
“You wouldn’t understand, I suppose, Frank, but—Father’s not like anyone else. The boys at school used to say we worshiped him. We didn’t really. We only thought him the grandest man in the world—which he is. When I think of him I just feel as if I’d got to go out and give it all I’ve got.”
“Well, you never go things halves,” said Woodward. “I don’t think I’d like you so much if you did. It was Kearns and Hayes who talked me into speaking to you about it.”
“What? Did they talk to you about it?” asked Randolph, sitting down again.
“Yes. I think it was that time you went off after that German jasta that worried them, and really, I don’t see what you did it for.”
He ended on a period, but there was a question in his voice. Randolph fidgeted.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Randolph cleared his throat and glanced guiltily at Woodward. Seeing that he was not going to say anything, Randolph was forced to continue.
“You see, it’s my eyes. I’m near-sighted. I thought those were our ‘planes.”
Woodward stared at him.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” said Randolph when he could stand the silence no longer.
“How are your eyes?”
“Not so good. And I think they’ve been getting worse lately. I have a pain in them sometimes.”
“How did you pass the eye examination?” asked Woodward.
“Memorized the chart.”
Randolph looked up at Woodward.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you? I might lose my wings.”
Woodward sat staring at his hands. At last he got up and strode over to Randolph.
“Don’t worry,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. You’ll kill yourself one of these days, Quentin, but I won’t tell anyone.”
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Le Saboteur: IV.
By O.R. Kirkpatrick and C.C. Gaylord
Chapter IV.
C’est la Guerre
Randolph glanced at the barrack room clock a trifle anxiously. There were only ten minutes left before “C” flight had to go out on the next job and Allison was still in bed. Everybody knew why: Allison and Renhard had stayed up late the night before in the bar. Renhard had gotten up on time (although he had been obliged to take some headache powder and drink several cups of coffee with his breakfast) but Allison was still snoring away.
Randolph did not like to call Allison, for he felt it was a man’s own responsibility to get himself out of bed, but today he had no choice. He went to the foot of the stairs and shouted Allison’s name. The major came to the door of his office.
“What’s all the ruckus?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get Allison up, sir.”
“Well, get him up some other way. Let’s not have all this noise so early in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.”
Randolph rubbed the back of his head in perplexity. He did not like the thought of going into somebody’s room and waking him up. Especially if he were as grumpy in the morning as Allison generally was.
“Would you like me and Hayes to get him up?” volunteered Kearns.
“All right, carry on,” said Randolph, relieved.
Kearns and Hayes went into the bar to get something and Randolph went out to the airstrip to check that the ‘planes were ready. As he returned, he saw Allison coming out of the barracks. His face and the front of his shirt were soaking wet.
“What happened?” asked Randolph.
Allison didn’t reply, but headed straight for the pump. There were no taps in the barracks, so in the mornings the men washed at the pump in the barracks yard. They did not like the inconvenience, but what could they expect with a war on? Randolph followed Allison to work the pump for him, not daring to ask further questions. Allison was in a dreadful humor, and besides, Randolph had his own suspicions.
He pumped furiously while Allison put his head under the spout. The latter said a great many things in the intervals in which he was obliged to come up for air, but Randolph couldn’t make out what they were.
“Just wait,” was the first articulate thing he said. “I’ll teach them!”
“Who?”
“That Kearns and that other fellow who always hangs about with him.”
“Hayes?”
“Yes.”
Randolph offered Allison his comb, which he accepted ungraciously and proceeded to put his spiky blond hair in order. Randolph said nothing.
“They said you told them to get me up,” said Allison after a minute.
“I did, but I didn’t mean that way.”
“Ah, just let them wait: I’ll get even!”
“You’d better hurry and get into your togs,” said Randolph. “We’ve only a few minutes left, but I guess there’s time for you to get some breakfast if you hurry.”
“No thanks. I don’t want any.”
“You’d better have some coffee at least—good for headaches,” said Randolph slapping him on the shoulder.
Allison went off without another word.
“Kearns,” said Randolph as Kearns climbed into his airplane, “how did you wake Allison up?”
“Soused him with the siphon bottle.”
“Thought it was something like that. Let’s not have any more of that sort of thing, all right?”
“All right, but it was Hayes’s idea.”
“Well tell Hayes when you get the chance. No practical jokes, see? We don’t want any trouble.”
“Very well,” said Kearns strapping himself into the cockpit. Randolph climbed into his own machine and as soon as Allison appeared they took off.
It was late morning by the time they returned. They had had a hot time of it and everybody had at least one bullet hole in his plane. Randolph climbed down from the cockpit and leaned against his fuselage with his eyes closed. Renhard strode up.
“Quite a battle, wasn’t it?” asked Randolph, straightening up quickly.
“Anderson’s had some trouble, I think,” said Renhard.
Randolph glanced over in Anderson’s direction. His ‘plane had pulled up all right, but he hadn’t gotten out yet.
“Get a couple of men,” said Randolph and hurried over to Anderson’s machine.
It required the efforts of three of them to lift Anderson out and carry him into the barracks. They set him in a chair and cut away his sleeve. It was the first time Allison had seen anything of the kind and he turned away quickly.
“Incendiary bullet,” said Randolph, inspecting the wound. “One of you see if you can locate some morphine tablets.
“When were you hit?” he asked Anderson.
“Just near the end,” said Anderson. “I was going after you to see if I couldn’t help you out a bit and somehow I picked up a stray bullet.”
The color mounted in Randolph’s face.
“Don’t follow me again if I go off like that,” he said.
“Why not?” asked Anderson. “It’s only what you’d do for one of us.”
“Yes, well—don’t do it again, that’s all,” he said confusedly. “Now I’ve got to report to the major, now. See if you can’t get his arm tied up somehow.”
And he left in a hurry.
“Woodward,” said Hayes when he’d gone, “there’s something we’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“What?”
“Well, you know Randolph. We don’t think he ought to take so many chances. He’s bound to be killed some day, you know.”
“Yes,” put in Kearns, “and being he’s the best flyer in the squadron and all that, we can’t very well do without him.”
“Well, why do you tell me?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem quite right for us to put it to him,” said Hayes, “to be more careful and all, as we’re only lieutenants, you know. We thought it would be better for you to, since you’re a fellow captain and what not, and his best pal, too.”
“I’ll mention it, but I don’t think he’ll listen,” said Woodward.
Randolph emerged from the major’s office.
“What’s the billet?” asked Hayes.
“Pitt’s bringing ‘round the major’s staff car,” said Randolph.
The men picked Anderson up (he was too weak to walk) and carried him out and deposited him in the back seat of the car with his arm swathed in bandages to the shoulder. Everyone was very quiet as Pitt drove away. They knew they would never see that arm again.
“Hayes,” said Kearns, after the rest of the men had split up.
“What?”
“Captain told me this morning not to play any more tricks on Allison.”
“All right. I wasn’t going to, anyway. He was too mad about the last one.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about that. He keeps saying he’s going to get even.”
“It’s a good thing we both pulled that trick off; now he has to split up his revenge between the two of us. So all we have to do is, I’ll watch your back—so to speak—and you watch mine.”
“All right,” said Kearns. “But I think he’s madder at me for some reason. Anyway, I wish he would split the dirty looks fifty-fifty.”
The men of 11 squadron were surprised to find a notice posted on the bulletin board one morning which stated in official terms that fewer leaves were in future going to be issued. No reasons were given, but several of the men suspected that it had something to do with Renhard and Allison’s late-night drinking bouts, and were rather annoyed with the two culprits for spoiling things for the whole squadron. But of course they had no proof.
After a week or two the men began to get rather tired of being confined to the airdrome all day. The only thing they ever did in town was go to the small French restaurants, but when one has to live on army fare the food at those restaurants was a great temptation. Of course for some, food was not the only temptation. Allison had run out of whisky again and walked around muttering about how he would get some more, orders or no orders. Renhard missed whiskey too, but seemed to mind the new order less than the other men, strangely enough. So when the major was obliged to send Randolph into Dupond on official business, several people thought it wasn’t quite fair that Renhard was the one chosen to go with him.
It happened to be a splendid afternoon that they set out. The major’s car sped along the road, bouncing over the ruts and leaving a coating of yellow dust on the poppies by the roadside.
“I hope this dry weather keeps up,” said Randolph for the sake of conversation. “Good for the fellows in the trenches.”
“Yes, poor devils,” said Renhard.
“They’re certainly that,” said Randolph absently, and then realizing what he’d said, added quickly, “that is, I don’t mean they’re devils, but—”
“Yes, I didn’t mean that, either. It’s just an expression.”
“I was just thinking about my brothers. There’s two of ‘em in the trenches and one in Arabia. Worry about them sometimes.”
“Oh, well, for the matter of that, we’re no safer than they are,” said Renhard. “It’s just as likely we’ll get killed ourselves—maybe more likely.”
“What made you switch, then?”
“I was fed up with being shelled all day long. I thought I would rather fall and be killed than have something dropped on top of me.”
Randolph looked troubled.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it’s a better death, but I’ve always been afraid of burning alive before I hit the ground. It happens sometimes, you know, and it must be awful for the poor fellows who die that way.”
“Occupational hazard,” said Renhard.
“I suppose so. Does it bother you much?”
“Not really. One gets used to it.”
Randolph was silent for several minutes and Renhard took the opportunity to count the trucks in a convoy passing in the opposite direction.
“Do you ever think about what you’ll do after the war’s over, Renhard?”
“Sometimes. (24, 25,) What about you?”
“Oh, every once in a while. I think the first thing I’ll do is get a hot bath. How much longer do you suppose this war will last, anyway?”
“Oh, a year or so, I’d say.”
“I hope not. It’s lasted far longer than it ought to have already.”
Renhard neither granted nor contradicted this statement.
“Here we are: Dupond,” said Randolph, slowing down for a man and his cow who were also entering the village.
Dupond was a sleepy French country town. The villagers were quite used to seeing les Americaines by now and the two pilots did not attract much attention. They dispatched the errand the major had sent them on and were pulling onto a side avenue when they saw a disheveled individual up ahead.
“Why, it’s Allison!” exclaimed Randolph.
“What’s he doing here without leave?” said Renhard.
They leaped out of the car and caught hold of Allison on either side of his collar.
“Allison! What’s happened, old boy?” asked Randolph.
“Who did it?” —this from Renhard.
“Frenchies,” Allison mumbled. “A whole platoon of ‘em. Didn’t like something I said about Foch so the beastly chaps jumped me all at once. I settled the score on several of ‘em, though.”
“By the looks of you you did,” said Randolph. “Where was this?”
“Some rum shop. I couldn’t read the name on the sign. There were a lot of Frog soldiers sitting about drinking and I had a couple of drinks too, and then the fight started. We wrecked the place up pretty bad.”
“I suppose you didn’t hear the new order,” said Renhard.
“You mean about leaves?”
“No, about fighting.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, some general got fed up with all the fighting among the troops—mostly American, I’m sorry to say—and made an order that anyone caught fighting gets two weeks hard labor. And you’ve got AWOL* on your record too.”
“Come on,” said Randolph. “No good talking here. Get into the back seat, Allison, and duck down in case anyone comes by.”
“Duck down? There’s absolutely no room back here.”
“Well, do the best you can. It’s only until we get out of town.”
Randolph turned the car onto the main street and sped up.
“Of course we won’t rat on you to the major, Allison,” said Randolph, steering adroitly around a villager, “but the trouble is, anybody who sees you will know at once that you’ve been in a fight.”
“Well, the other fellows started it.”
“You know, don’t you,” said Renhard addressing Allison, “that Randolph and I will get in trouble too, if we’re seen with you.”
“What are friends for?” smirked Allison.
“I may be your friend, but I see no reason why I should have to get you out of every scrape you happen to be stupid enough to get yourself into.”
“We can’t leave him in the lurch,” said Randolph.
“No,” said Renhard, considering, “I suppose not.”
“I’ll fix you up as best I can,” said Randolph to Allison, “but you’re dreadfully messed up.”
“You ain’t seen nothing,” said Allison. “Why, I’ve been in fights where men lost fingers and ears. The Frogs can’t fight worth a plug nickel.”
“All the same, the fellow whose bar you smashed up might press charges against you.”
“Ah, let him. See if he gets a dime out of me.”
“You’ll feel a bit differently once you’ve gotten some of the liquor out of your head,” said Randolph.
Allison had reached that clearer state of mind by the time they pulled into the airdrome. Randolph had discreetly chosen the back entrance and pulled up behind one of the hangars.
“Here you are, hop out,” he said. “Meet me upstairs. Try not to run into any of the others.”
Allison climbed out and sneaked off. Randolph parked the car, reported to the major and then went to dig up a first-aid kit. Allison was waiting in the bedroom when he got there and so was Renhard.
“I’ve got just the thing for you, Allison,” said Randolph. “See here” (reading from the label) “’Bruise Paste. Apply liberally to injured area. Reduces swelling and conceals discoloration caused by bruises, swollen blood vessels, etc.’ Sounds good, eh?”
“Anything sounds good, so long as the major doesn’t see me like this,” said Allison.
“A good layer of that round your eye and nobody will be the wiser,” said Randolph. “That lump on your jaw could probably use some too and your nose has stopped bleeding—that’s good. But I don’t know what to do about the cut on your chin.”
“You could always say you cut yourself while shaving,” suggested Renhard.
“Well,” said Randolph dubiously, “that wouldn’t be true, you know.”
“Who cares if it isn’t?” asked Allison wickedly.
“You’ve given me an idea, though,” said Randolph. “We can fix it up with a stiptic pencil, maybe.
“There, that’s the best I can do,” he said, laying aside the first-aid kit and taking up his housewife. “Let’s see to your coat, now.”
The coat was in even worse condition than Allison had been. One of the sleeves was torn halfway off, a pocket was ripped and several buttons were missing. Randolph was not fond of sewing, but he plugged away cheerfully for he hated to see anyone get into trouble.
“Oh, there’s my thumb!” he cried, putting the injured member in his mouth. “I’m always doing that.”
“Why do you squint so much?” asked Allison.
“Why don’t you mend your own uniform for yourself?” asked Renhard in turn. “I don’t see why the captain should have to do it for you.”
“I don’t know how to mend. Never cared to learn.”
“What ho!” cried Kearns, coming in just then. “Tore your jacket, Cap? Always hate it when that happens. Why don’t you send it to the tailor?”
“No leaves, remember?” said Randolph.
“But you were just in town today.”
“Yes, well,” mumbled Randolph, bending over his work.
“Who won the bridge tournament?” asked Renhard, hoping to distract him.
“I wasn’t really paying attention. I think Ross did. Maxwell used to win all the time until he got killed. Went west, as they say; it sounds better. I suppose you new fellows weren’t here when Maxwell was. He was good. Knew just about every card trick there is.”
“You’re sitting on my bed,” remarked Allison.
“Oh, sorry. You’re sitting on mine, you know.”
Allison got up quickly.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Kearns.
Hayes and several others entered the room just then. It was a strange thing about Kearns that wherever he went he collected a crowd of people.
“Oh, hullo,” said Kearns. “I was just telling them about Maxwell. You remember Maxwell, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes, Maxwell,” said Hayes.
“Speaking of which, Randolph,” said Farnsworth, “which one of those French aces was it that was killed recently?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Ask Paddy,” said Allison. “He never stops talking anyway.”
“Who’s he?” asked Kearns.
“He means you,” said Farnsworth.
“Oh. Actually my name is Finbar.”
“It smells like supper’s ready,” said Renhard. “I’m going down to see.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” said Randolph, surreptitiously tucking Allison’s coat under his bed.
“I wonder why they call it ‘going west’, anyhow,” mused Kearns.
Crump! Thump!
Everyone turned around in surprise. Randolph sat on the floor nursing his shin.
“Bally rucksack! Who left it there, anyhow?”
“It’s been there all afternoon,” said Farnsworth. “Couldn’t you see it?”
“Oh,” said Randolph in embarrassment. “It’s so dark in here. Why doesn’t someone turn up the lamp?”
He left quickly.
“I say, Woodward, do you think it’s dark in here?” asked Hayes.
“It seems bright enough to me.”
“Me too. Poor ‘Dolphy. Somebody ought to talk the major into giving him a month’s leave. He’s been working too hard.”
Allison picked up a little can that had rolled into his foot.
“Moustache wax,” he read aloud from the label. “Who’s is this?”
“Renhard’s,” said Garrett.
“But Renhard doesn’t have a moustache.”
“Well, I don’t know; it rolled out of his rucksack just now when Randolph fell over it.”
Allison turned the can over in his hands.
“Why don’t you go ask him if it’s his?” suggested Hayes.
“Maybe I will,” said Allison, getting up.
“And tell us if supper is ready,” said Kearns.
Randolph did not like to call Allison, for he felt it was a man’s own responsibility to get himself out of bed, but today he had no choice. He went to the foot of the stairs and shouted Allison’s name. The major came to the door of his office.
“What’s all the ruckus?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get Allison up, sir.”
“Well, get him up some other way. Let’s not have all this noise so early in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.”
Randolph rubbed the back of his head in perplexity. He did not like the thought of going into somebody’s room and waking him up. Especially if he were as grumpy in the morning as Allison generally was.
“Would you like me and Hayes to get him up?” volunteered Kearns.
“All right, carry on,” said Randolph, relieved.
Kearns and Hayes went into the bar to get something and Randolph went out to the airstrip to check that the ‘planes were ready. As he returned, he saw Allison coming out of the barracks. His face and the front of his shirt were soaking wet.
“What happened?” asked Randolph.
Allison didn’t reply, but headed straight for the pump. There were no taps in the barracks, so in the mornings the men washed at the pump in the barracks yard. They did not like the inconvenience, but what could they expect with a war on? Randolph followed Allison to work the pump for him, not daring to ask further questions. Allison was in a dreadful humor, and besides, Randolph had his own suspicions.
He pumped furiously while Allison put his head under the spout. The latter said a great many things in the intervals in which he was obliged to come up for air, but Randolph couldn’t make out what they were.
“Just wait,” was the first articulate thing he said. “I’ll teach them!”
“Who?”
“That Kearns and that other fellow who always hangs about with him.”
“Hayes?”
“Yes.”
Randolph offered Allison his comb, which he accepted ungraciously and proceeded to put his spiky blond hair in order. Randolph said nothing.
“They said you told them to get me up,” said Allison after a minute.
“I did, but I didn’t mean that way.”
“Ah, just let them wait: I’ll get even!”
“You’d better hurry and get into your togs,” said Randolph. “We’ve only a few minutes left, but I guess there’s time for you to get some breakfast if you hurry.”
“No thanks. I don’t want any.”
“You’d better have some coffee at least—good for headaches,” said Randolph slapping him on the shoulder.
Allison went off without another word.
“Kearns,” said Randolph as Kearns climbed into his airplane, “how did you wake Allison up?”
“Soused him with the siphon bottle.”
“Thought it was something like that. Let’s not have any more of that sort of thing, all right?”
“All right, but it was Hayes’s idea.”
“Well tell Hayes when you get the chance. No practical jokes, see? We don’t want any trouble.”
“Very well,” said Kearns strapping himself into the cockpit. Randolph climbed into his own machine and as soon as Allison appeared they took off.
It was late morning by the time they returned. They had had a hot time of it and everybody had at least one bullet hole in his plane. Randolph climbed down from the cockpit and leaned against his fuselage with his eyes closed. Renhard strode up.
“Quite a battle, wasn’t it?” asked Randolph, straightening up quickly.
“Anderson’s had some trouble, I think,” said Renhard.
Randolph glanced over in Anderson’s direction. His ‘plane had pulled up all right, but he hadn’t gotten out yet.
“Get a couple of men,” said Randolph and hurried over to Anderson’s machine.
It required the efforts of three of them to lift Anderson out and carry him into the barracks. They set him in a chair and cut away his sleeve. It was the first time Allison had seen anything of the kind and he turned away quickly.
“Incendiary bullet,” said Randolph, inspecting the wound. “One of you see if you can locate some morphine tablets.
“When were you hit?” he asked Anderson.
“Just near the end,” said Anderson. “I was going after you to see if I couldn’t help you out a bit and somehow I picked up a stray bullet.”
The color mounted in Randolph’s face.
“Don’t follow me again if I go off like that,” he said.
“Why not?” asked Anderson. “It’s only what you’d do for one of us.”
“Yes, well—don’t do it again, that’s all,” he said confusedly. “Now I’ve got to report to the major, now. See if you can’t get his arm tied up somehow.”
And he left in a hurry.
“Woodward,” said Hayes when he’d gone, “there’s something we’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“What?”
“Well, you know Randolph. We don’t think he ought to take so many chances. He’s bound to be killed some day, you know.”
“Yes,” put in Kearns, “and being he’s the best flyer in the squadron and all that, we can’t very well do without him.”
“Well, why do you tell me?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem quite right for us to put it to him,” said Hayes, “to be more careful and all, as we’re only lieutenants, you know. We thought it would be better for you to, since you’re a fellow captain and what not, and his best pal, too.”
“I’ll mention it, but I don’t think he’ll listen,” said Woodward.
Randolph emerged from the major’s office.
“What’s the billet?” asked Hayes.
“Pitt’s bringing ‘round the major’s staff car,” said Randolph.
The men picked Anderson up (he was too weak to walk) and carried him out and deposited him in the back seat of the car with his arm swathed in bandages to the shoulder. Everyone was very quiet as Pitt drove away. They knew they would never see that arm again.
“Hayes,” said Kearns, after the rest of the men had split up.
“What?”
“Captain told me this morning not to play any more tricks on Allison.”
“All right. I wasn’t going to, anyway. He was too mad about the last one.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about that. He keeps saying he’s going to get even.”
“It’s a good thing we both pulled that trick off; now he has to split up his revenge between the two of us. So all we have to do is, I’ll watch your back—so to speak—and you watch mine.”
“All right,” said Kearns. “But I think he’s madder at me for some reason. Anyway, I wish he would split the dirty looks fifty-fifty.”
The men of 11 squadron were surprised to find a notice posted on the bulletin board one morning which stated in official terms that fewer leaves were in future going to be issued. No reasons were given, but several of the men suspected that it had something to do with Renhard and Allison’s late-night drinking bouts, and were rather annoyed with the two culprits for spoiling things for the whole squadron. But of course they had no proof.
After a week or two the men began to get rather tired of being confined to the airdrome all day. The only thing they ever did in town was go to the small French restaurants, but when one has to live on army fare the food at those restaurants was a great temptation. Of course for some, food was not the only temptation. Allison had run out of whisky again and walked around muttering about how he would get some more, orders or no orders. Renhard missed whiskey too, but seemed to mind the new order less than the other men, strangely enough. So when the major was obliged to send Randolph into Dupond on official business, several people thought it wasn’t quite fair that Renhard was the one chosen to go with him.
It happened to be a splendid afternoon that they set out. The major’s car sped along the road, bouncing over the ruts and leaving a coating of yellow dust on the poppies by the roadside.
“I hope this dry weather keeps up,” said Randolph for the sake of conversation. “Good for the fellows in the trenches.”
“Yes, poor devils,” said Renhard.
“They’re certainly that,” said Randolph absently, and then realizing what he’d said, added quickly, “that is, I don’t mean they’re devils, but—”
“Yes, I didn’t mean that, either. It’s just an expression.”
“I was just thinking about my brothers. There’s two of ‘em in the trenches and one in Arabia. Worry about them sometimes.”
“Oh, well, for the matter of that, we’re no safer than they are,” said Renhard. “It’s just as likely we’ll get killed ourselves—maybe more likely.”
“What made you switch, then?”
“I was fed up with being shelled all day long. I thought I would rather fall and be killed than have something dropped on top of me.”
Randolph looked troubled.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it’s a better death, but I’ve always been afraid of burning alive before I hit the ground. It happens sometimes, you know, and it must be awful for the poor fellows who die that way.”
“Occupational hazard,” said Renhard.
“I suppose so. Does it bother you much?”
“Not really. One gets used to it.”
Randolph was silent for several minutes and Renhard took the opportunity to count the trucks in a convoy passing in the opposite direction.
“Do you ever think about what you’ll do after the war’s over, Renhard?”
“Sometimes. (24, 25,) What about you?”
“Oh, every once in a while. I think the first thing I’ll do is get a hot bath. How much longer do you suppose this war will last, anyway?”
“Oh, a year or so, I’d say.”
“I hope not. It’s lasted far longer than it ought to have already.”
Renhard neither granted nor contradicted this statement.
“Here we are: Dupond,” said Randolph, slowing down for a man and his cow who were also entering the village.
Dupond was a sleepy French country town. The villagers were quite used to seeing les Americaines by now and the two pilots did not attract much attention. They dispatched the errand the major had sent them on and were pulling onto a side avenue when they saw a disheveled individual up ahead.
“Why, it’s Allison!” exclaimed Randolph.
“What’s he doing here without leave?” said Renhard.
They leaped out of the car and caught hold of Allison on either side of his collar.
“Allison! What’s happened, old boy?” asked Randolph.
“Who did it?” —this from Renhard.
“Frenchies,” Allison mumbled. “A whole platoon of ‘em. Didn’t like something I said about Foch so the beastly chaps jumped me all at once. I settled the score on several of ‘em, though.”
“By the looks of you you did,” said Randolph. “Where was this?”
“Some rum shop. I couldn’t read the name on the sign. There were a lot of Frog soldiers sitting about drinking and I had a couple of drinks too, and then the fight started. We wrecked the place up pretty bad.”
“I suppose you didn’t hear the new order,” said Renhard.
“You mean about leaves?”
“No, about fighting.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, some general got fed up with all the fighting among the troops—mostly American, I’m sorry to say—and made an order that anyone caught fighting gets two weeks hard labor. And you’ve got AWOL* on your record too.”
“Come on,” said Randolph. “No good talking here. Get into the back seat, Allison, and duck down in case anyone comes by.”
“Duck down? There’s absolutely no room back here.”
“Well, do the best you can. It’s only until we get out of town.”
Randolph turned the car onto the main street and sped up.
“Of course we won’t rat on you to the major, Allison,” said Randolph, steering adroitly around a villager, “but the trouble is, anybody who sees you will know at once that you’ve been in a fight.”
“Well, the other fellows started it.”
“You know, don’t you,” said Renhard addressing Allison, “that Randolph and I will get in trouble too, if we’re seen with you.”
“What are friends for?” smirked Allison.
“I may be your friend, but I see no reason why I should have to get you out of every scrape you happen to be stupid enough to get yourself into.”
“We can’t leave him in the lurch,” said Randolph.
“No,” said Renhard, considering, “I suppose not.”
“I’ll fix you up as best I can,” said Randolph to Allison, “but you’re dreadfully messed up.”
“You ain’t seen nothing,” said Allison. “Why, I’ve been in fights where men lost fingers and ears. The Frogs can’t fight worth a plug nickel.”
“All the same, the fellow whose bar you smashed up might press charges against you.”
“Ah, let him. See if he gets a dime out of me.”
“You’ll feel a bit differently once you’ve gotten some of the liquor out of your head,” said Randolph.
Allison had reached that clearer state of mind by the time they pulled into the airdrome. Randolph had discreetly chosen the back entrance and pulled up behind one of the hangars.
“Here you are, hop out,” he said. “Meet me upstairs. Try not to run into any of the others.”
Allison climbed out and sneaked off. Randolph parked the car, reported to the major and then went to dig up a first-aid kit. Allison was waiting in the bedroom when he got there and so was Renhard.
“I’ve got just the thing for you, Allison,” said Randolph. “See here” (reading from the label) “’Bruise Paste. Apply liberally to injured area. Reduces swelling and conceals discoloration caused by bruises, swollen blood vessels, etc.’ Sounds good, eh?”
“Anything sounds good, so long as the major doesn’t see me like this,” said Allison.
“A good layer of that round your eye and nobody will be the wiser,” said Randolph. “That lump on your jaw could probably use some too and your nose has stopped bleeding—that’s good. But I don’t know what to do about the cut on your chin.”
“You could always say you cut yourself while shaving,” suggested Renhard.
“Well,” said Randolph dubiously, “that wouldn’t be true, you know.”
“Who cares if it isn’t?” asked Allison wickedly.
“You’ve given me an idea, though,” said Randolph. “We can fix it up with a stiptic pencil, maybe.
“There, that’s the best I can do,” he said, laying aside the first-aid kit and taking up his housewife. “Let’s see to your coat, now.”
The coat was in even worse condition than Allison had been. One of the sleeves was torn halfway off, a pocket was ripped and several buttons were missing. Randolph was not fond of sewing, but he plugged away cheerfully for he hated to see anyone get into trouble.
“Oh, there’s my thumb!” he cried, putting the injured member in his mouth. “I’m always doing that.”
“Why do you squint so much?” asked Allison.
“Why don’t you mend your own uniform for yourself?” asked Renhard in turn. “I don’t see why the captain should have to do it for you.”
“I don’t know how to mend. Never cared to learn.”
“What ho!” cried Kearns, coming in just then. “Tore your jacket, Cap? Always hate it when that happens. Why don’t you send it to the tailor?”
“No leaves, remember?” said Randolph.
“But you were just in town today.”
“Yes, well,” mumbled Randolph, bending over his work.
“Who won the bridge tournament?” asked Renhard, hoping to distract him.
“I wasn’t really paying attention. I think Ross did. Maxwell used to win all the time until he got killed. Went west, as they say; it sounds better. I suppose you new fellows weren’t here when Maxwell was. He was good. Knew just about every card trick there is.”
“You’re sitting on my bed,” remarked Allison.
“Oh, sorry. You’re sitting on mine, you know.”
Allison got up quickly.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Kearns.
Hayes and several others entered the room just then. It was a strange thing about Kearns that wherever he went he collected a crowd of people.
“Oh, hullo,” said Kearns. “I was just telling them about Maxwell. You remember Maxwell, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes, Maxwell,” said Hayes.
“Speaking of which, Randolph,” said Farnsworth, “which one of those French aces was it that was killed recently?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Ask Paddy,” said Allison. “He never stops talking anyway.”
“Who’s he?” asked Kearns.
“He means you,” said Farnsworth.
“Oh. Actually my name is Finbar.”
“It smells like supper’s ready,” said Renhard. “I’m going down to see.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” said Randolph, surreptitiously tucking Allison’s coat under his bed.
“I wonder why they call it ‘going west’, anyhow,” mused Kearns.
Crump! Thump!
Everyone turned around in surprise. Randolph sat on the floor nursing his shin.
“Bally rucksack! Who left it there, anyhow?”
“It’s been there all afternoon,” said Farnsworth. “Couldn’t you see it?”
“Oh,” said Randolph in embarrassment. “It’s so dark in here. Why doesn’t someone turn up the lamp?”
He left quickly.
“I say, Woodward, do you think it’s dark in here?” asked Hayes.
“It seems bright enough to me.”
“Me too. Poor ‘Dolphy. Somebody ought to talk the major into giving him a month’s leave. He’s been working too hard.”
Allison picked up a little can that had rolled into his foot.
“Moustache wax,” he read aloud from the label. “Who’s is this?”
“Renhard’s,” said Garrett.
“But Renhard doesn’t have a moustache.”
“Well, I don’t know; it rolled out of his rucksack just now when Randolph fell over it.”
Allison turned the can over in his hands.
“Why don’t you go ask him if it’s his?” suggested Hayes.
“Maybe I will,” said Allison, getting up.
“And tell us if supper is ready,” said Kearns.
* absent without leave
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Le Saboteur: III.
By C.C. Gaylord and O.R. Kirkpatrick
Chapter III.
C’est du Véritable Sabotage!
The next day was Sunday. It was the major’s habit to read some verses of scripture aloud to the men in the main barracks room before the day’s work commenced. No one was required to attend but most everybody did anyway. Even Allison lent his presence to the proceedings, sitting near the door with his chair tipped back and a cigarette in his mouth. Randolph could not fathom why Allison had come, for the fellow had often evinced his dislike of anything “religious”.
The major was reading from the first chapter of Romans.
“Now I would not have you ignorant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to come unto you, (but was not let hitherto,) that I might have some fruit among you also, even as among other Gentiles.
I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians; both to the wise, and to the unwise.
So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at Rome also.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first and also to the Greek.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Randolph saw Allison fidgeting. He needn’t have come if he didn’t want to, he thought.
“For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith: as it is written, THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH.”
The major had chosen this particular passage with the vague thought that it might be some good to men who were in danger of being killed several times per diem. Unfortunately, it did not seem to affect Allison at all. He looked out the window and began to absently rock his chair on two legs. “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who—”
BANG!
Everybody jumped. It was not an air raid; it was just Allison’s chair falling over. He got up in embarrassment and went out.
The airdrome was quite deserted. Allison wandered across the barrack yard feeling unpleasantly silly. Why ever had he jumped like that and knocked his chair over? Well, it served him right. He couldn’t understand why he had gone to the service anyhow. He didn’t believe in all that.
He came across Renhard behind one of the hangars.
“What, you here?” said Renhard. “Didn’t you go to hear the sermon either?”
“I didn’t want to be put to sleep,” said Allison.
He was glad he’d met Renhard. It made him feel better to not be the only one who wasn’t in church. He offered Renhard a cigarette.
“Thanks. By the way, the major gave me leave to go into Dupond this morning. Shall I pick up anything for you?”
“A bottle of whisky would be appreciated.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Allison took out his wallet.
“Oh, never mind that,” said Renhard amiably. “I’ll foot the bill.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t bother. Well, so long.”
Renhard got on his bicycle and pedaled off.
Allison wandered about for a while longer with his hands in his pockets.
They really ought to be finished by now, he thought, looking at his watch.
He strolled over in the direction of the barracks, but on coming closer he could tell that the others were not finished after all. They were singing a hymn and the sound drifted out of the building. It is true that none of the men were particularly good singers, but their singing had this in its favor—they sang as if they meant it. It had a queer effect on Allison. He wanted to walk away from it—he felt that they were making fools of themselves—but he felt himself held there, looking idly at the birds flying over the distant trenches and listening to the music.
“A—men,” sang the men.
“Well that’s that,” said Allison, for the service was over.
Suddenly, he felt rather silly just standing there. He hurried behind the barracks lest somebody should come out and see him. The wall against which he leaned presently was the back of the major’s office. Allison saw the major’s telephone cord where it came through the wall and down to the ground. He got down on one knee and had a closer look at it, turning it slowly from side to side. It had evidently been tampered with. It may have been just an accidental thing, but it looked just as if someone had tapped it.
Allison considered. So there was a spy about, was there? A local, sympathetic to the Germans, perhaps? He would have to keep his eyes open.
The major was tacking the orders for the day on the bulletin board when Allison entered the barracks. Nobody seemed to have missed him.
“Has Renhard come back yet?” asked the major of Randolph, pausing on his way into his office.
“No sir, I didn’t know he’d gone out.”
“I gave him leave to go into Dupond earlier this morning, but I expected him back by now.”
Randolph noticed Allison was eavesdropping. Allison mumbled something to himself.
“What’s that you said?” asked Randolph after the major was gone.
“I was thinking out loud, that’s all,” said Allison. “Renhard only left about half an hour ago, you know. He hasn’t had enough time to get back yet.”
“I wonder what the major meant, then.”
“A” flight was assigned to go out on the morning mission, so its pilots began to get ready, but the rest of the men had some time to pass before their services would be required and so sat about in little groups, reading or playing cards.
“Bird-watching, Allison?” asked Randolph, for Allison had been staring out of the window for nearly five minutes.
“I’m watching the back of the major’s office,” Allison replied.
“Why?”
“I—” said Allison and then changed his mind. “Oh, nothing.
“Hey fellows,” he said after a moment, “what sort of attractions do they have in Dupond?”
“What do you mean?” asked Randolph.
“I mean, what is there to do there?”
“I don’t know. It’s rather a quiet town, I think.”
“Well it’s dull as spoons here,” said Allison, yawning. “And cards are no fun as long as there’s a silly rule that you can’t gamble with ‘em.”
“Hearts are trumps, Morgan; take that back,” said Kearns, who wasn’t paying attention.“Here, Woodward, what do you do when you go into town?” asked Allison.
Woodward looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
“I’ve never been there,” he said.
“Play the queen,” said Hayes, looking over Morgan’s shoulder.
“Look after your own hand, will you?” said Morgan.
“I can’t believe you fellows!” said Allison. “Don’t you ever do anything besides fly airplanes and bum about the barracks?”
“What would you have us do?” asked Hayes.
“Well, this is France. Everybody in the world wants to go to France and here you are right in the middle of it and all you can do is play Bridge. Why, there’s Paris only twenty miles from here.”
“So?” said somebody.
“Who wants to go to Paris?” asked Randolph.
“Well, there’s the Eiffel Tower. You could go see that.”
“Anybody could see it on a picture postcard,” said Kearns. “Who played the trick? Was that Garrett?”
“No, I played the jack.”
“It’s my trick,” said Hayes.
“Well I don’t know, why does everybody want to go to Paris?” asked Allison, considering. “It’s supposed to be the finest place on earth. The best of everything, you know—the finest foods, the oldest wines, the prettiest women…”
Everyone looked at him as if they didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Oh, forget it,” said Allison.
They all did, except for him. He sat observing the card game but really his mind was miles away.
“Care for a game of Rummy, Allison?” asked Randolph.
“I wonder what Renhard means to do there,” he said, not hearing him.
“Do where?”
“In Dupond.”
“Oh. Perhaps he just wanted the exercise.”
“I doubt it. Maybe he has a girl-friend.”
Everyone was surprised into silence at this unexpected thought.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Kearns. “Renhard’s a sensible fellow. Besides,” he said after a moment’s thought, “he’s too ugly to get a girl-friend.”
Whatever support there had been for Allison’s theory dissipated at this remark.
“I remember in New York,” said Kearns, “there was a show where you paid two cents to see the ugliest man in the world.”
“Did you ever see him?” asked Hayes.
“No. I never had two cents. I was just thinking, I wonder if we could make any money off of Renhard.”
“What time is it?” asked Randolph.
“The clock is right behind you,” Hayes remarked.
“Oh, so it is,” said Randolph, blushing, “but—that is, isn’t it slow?”
Farnsworth looked at his watch.
“Only by a minute,” he said. “It’s 9:02. Don’t you have a watch, Randolph?”
“I left it upstairs. I suppose I might as well go get it.”
He left, more to conceal his embarrassment than for any other reason.
Everyone was quiet for a few minutes after he’d gone.
“Is he—well, sort of, you know?” asked Allison.
“The captain? Oh, no,” said Kearns. “He’s got heaps of brains; not a bit funny at all. And he’s a splendid flyer too.”
All the men agreed, although if Randolph had just been committed to Bedlam they would have defended his sanity just as strongly. No one was going to admit to Allison that there was anything wrong with the captain.
The time passed slowly until 10:00 when “A” flight returned. The men came in silently with troubled faces.
“Have any trouble?” asked Lt. Hadley.
“More than trouble,” one replied. “We lost two men.”
“Who?”
“Harris and Gardiner.”
“Sorry about it. Hope they came down on our side of the lines.”
“The fight was uneven from the start,” said a fellow by the name of Ross. “We ran into a whole nest of Bosche ‘planes—outnumbered us five to one. Jerries were making some sort of advance and that was their air cover. Thing was, somebody knew we were coming. Our guns had been tampered with.”
“Tampered with?”
“Jammed up,” said another fellow. “All of ‘em. That’s what put paid to Harris and Gardiner. I could see them signaling something was wrong and the next second my own gun quit and I couldn’t get it going again. There was nothing to do but bolt; we had hardly a working gun in the whole flight.”
“Who did it?”
“Who knows? Some German sympathizer, most likely.”
The men discussed this piece of news excitedly.
“Don’t you suppose it could have been an inside job?” asked Allison.
“Oh, no,” replied Morgan. “Most everyone here is above suspicion.”
He was too polite to say that the only ones who weren’t above suspicion were the two new men, as they hadn’t been there long enough for the others to be sure of them.
The major called the men together a short time later.
“I’ve just had a telephone call from the hospital in Crécy,” he said. “Harris was picked up in no-man’s-land injured, but likely to recover. No word yet of Gardiner. There seems to be some suspicion of sabotage, so we will have to take extra precautions. Security will be tightened and if anyone sees any suspicious activity he is to report it immediately.”
The door opened just then and Renhard came in. Seeing everybody standing about, he quietly shut the door and slipped to the back of the room.
“I’ve notified headquarters,” the major continued. “They promised to send somebody to look into it. That’s all, men. Dismissed.”
Randolph saw Renhard disappear into the bar and wondered why his rucksack clanked so oddly.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Blazer’s Scouts at Kabletown
A tribute to the brave
By C.C. Gaylord
The following is an account of a battle fought between Capt. Richard Blazer’s Independent Union Scouts and a detachment of Col. J. S. Mosby’s Partisan Rangers.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league through,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode Sixty-two.
“Forward, my noble scouts!
Charge for the Rebs!” he shouts.
Into the Valley of Death
Rode Sixty-two.
“Forward, my noble scouts!”
Is there a man who doubts?
Not though the soldier knew
They were out-numbered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Boldly rode Sixty-two
Against three hundred.
Rebel to right of them,
Rebel to left of them,
Rebel in front of them
Their pistols drew;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode, and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode Sixty-two.
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the Rebels there,
Charging an army
With such a few.
Plunged in the rifle smoke
Right through the Rebs they broke;
Confed and Ranger
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Battered and blue.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not Sixty-two.
Rebel to right of them,
Rebel to left of them,
Rebel behind them
Volleyed and slew;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came back through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Of Sixty-two.
When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour that noble crew!
Honour the Sixty-two
Against three hundred.
By C.C. Gaylord
The following is an account of a battle fought between Capt. Richard Blazer’s Independent Union Scouts and a detachment of Col. J. S. Mosby’s Partisan Rangers.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league through,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode Sixty-two.
“Forward, my noble scouts!
Charge for the Rebs!” he shouts.
Into the Valley of Death
Rode Sixty-two.
“Forward, my noble scouts!”
Is there a man who doubts?
Not though the soldier knew
They were out-numbered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Boldly rode Sixty-two
Against three hundred.
Rebel to right of them,
Rebel to left of them,
Rebel in front of them
Their pistols drew;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode, and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode Sixty-two.
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the Rebels there,
Charging an army
With such a few.
Plunged in the rifle smoke
Right through the Rebs they broke;
Confed and Ranger
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Battered and blue.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not Sixty-two.
Rebel to right of them,
Rebel to left of them,
Rebel behind them
Volleyed and slew;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came back through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Of Sixty-two.
When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour that noble crew!
Honour the Sixty-two
Against three hundred.
The Destruction of Von Richthofen
By C.C. Gaylord
Baron Manfred Von Richthofen, otherwise known as the Red Baron, was killed April 21st, 1918 in a dogfight over Sailly-le-Sec, near Corbie. He was attempting to shoot down an Australian pilot, Lieutenant May, when Canadian pilot Roy Brown attacked him from the rear. He was killed instantly from a bullet in the chest and came down in no-man’s-land in front of the trenches of the 33rd Australian Field Battery of the 5th Division. This poem commemorates his last flight.
Richthofen came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his triplane was gleaming in scarlet and gold,
And the sheen of his shells was like burning debris
Where the U-boat lurks nightly beneath the North Sea.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer appears,
So thick fell his shots `round Lieutenant May’s ears;
Like the leaves when before the mad tempest they fly,
So the son of Australia was swept from the sky.
For the Angel of Death seemed to be on his tail
And the Maxim guns pelted his biplane like hail;
And the heart of the victim waxed deadly and chill,
And Richthofen prepared for his 81st kill.
Then upon him falls Brown, to the aid of his friend,
And upon the Red Baron his bullets descend,
And the red Fokker falters, and slowly glides down
To land, unopposed, on the shell-battered ground.
And there sat the pilot, distorted and dead,
With the dew on his brow and his chest full of lead,
And the engine was silent, the Spandaus were still,
And the hand on the joystick bereft of its skill.
And the Huns from their lines are forced back like a tide,
And the Kaiser has run into Holland to hide,
And the long-boasted might of the Teutonic horde
Has melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.
Baron Manfred Von Richthofen, otherwise known as the Red Baron, was killed April 21st, 1918 in a dogfight over Sailly-le-Sec, near Corbie. He was attempting to shoot down an Australian pilot, Lieutenant May, when Canadian pilot Roy Brown attacked him from the rear. He was killed instantly from a bullet in the chest and came down in no-man’s-land in front of the trenches of the 33rd Australian Field Battery of the 5th Division. This poem commemorates his last flight.
Richthofen came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his triplane was gleaming in scarlet and gold,
And the sheen of his shells was like burning debris
Where the U-boat lurks nightly beneath the North Sea.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer appears,
So thick fell his shots `round Lieutenant May’s ears;
Like the leaves when before the mad tempest they fly,
So the son of Australia was swept from the sky.
For the Angel of Death seemed to be on his tail
And the Maxim guns pelted his biplane like hail;
And the heart of the victim waxed deadly and chill,
And Richthofen prepared for his 81st kill.
Then upon him falls Brown, to the aid of his friend,
And upon the Red Baron his bullets descend,
And the red Fokker falters, and slowly glides down
To land, unopposed, on the shell-battered ground.
And there sat the pilot, distorted and dead,
With the dew on his brow and his chest full of lead,
And the engine was silent, the Spandaus were still,
And the hand on the joystick bereft of its skill.
And the Huns from their lines are forced back like a tide,
And the Kaiser has run into Holland to hide,
And the long-boasted might of the Teutonic horde
Has melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Lusitania: I.
Lusitania
By C.C. Gaylord
A True Story
Chapter I.
The Beginning of the Voyage
NOTICE!
TRAVELLERS intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that, in accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain, or any of her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters and that travellers sailing in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk.
IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBASSY,
WASHINGTON, D.C., APRIL 22, 1915
“What do you think of that notice in the New York Times this morning?”
Colonel House was spending a pleasant morning with his friend Sir Edward Grey, Foreign Secretary in the botanical gardens.
“I don’t know exactly what to think of it,” replied Sir Edward. “I wonder why the Germans should post it now and not at the start of the war.”
“Well, you know that they have been sinking a great many of our merchant ships. Do you suppose they intend to sink a passenger liner?”
“Oh no, I think not. You must remember, Colonel, that this is not the Zulu War; Germany is a civilised nation like ourselves. Most likely it is intended for a friendly warning.”
“But supposing they should sink a passenger ship?”
“It is possible, but I do not think the Germans are foolish enough to attempt any such thing. They know they would never profit from such an act of inhumanity. The whole world would be up in arms against them.”
“You mean, I presume, that the United States would enter the war on the side of the Allies?”
“Perhaps I give the Americans too much credit, but I think that they would.”
“Well, I hope we shall not have cause to find out. I must take leave of you now. I lunch at Buckingham Palace today.”
“Good day, then. Give my respects to his Majesty.”
Avis watched the lines of people going down the gangplanks. It was a foggy and chilly morning in New York City, for spring had not quite come in earnest yet. A light rain had just begun to drizzle down and black umbrellas popped up here and there like mushrooms. The porters on the dock hurried to put the last pieces of luggage onto the elevator for loading onto the ship, for in a few more minutes the great steamer would set out on its trans-Atlantic voyage to Liverpool.
And Avis was sailing aboard it. She had been on a steamer before when she had come with her family to Canada, but now she was making the return voyage to go to school in England and this time she was going alone. It seemed a very great ways to one who was only twelve years old. She felt like a piece of driftwood afloat on the wide sea with no idea where she would end up.
At last the gangplanks were pulled up, the whistle shrieked and the ship began slowly to steam out of the bay. Sailing was fun at first, but Avis soon grew tired of it and began to watch the other passengers. Two little girls were skipping rope on the shelter deck. They were far younger than Avis, but she wondered if they might want to be friends anyhow.
“Hello,” she said. “Would you like me to turn the rope for you?”
“Go ‘long!” said the older of the two. “We don’t want you!”
Avis turned and walked away trying to look as if it made no difference to her what such a little girl thought or said.
“Look here,” cried the sailor who had been turning the rope for the little miscreant, “didn’t you never learn any manners?” And muttering “Catch me turning rope for you again!” he climbed the stairs to the top deck.
Avis walked the length of the long deck, feeling more lost than ever.
“There you are, at last! I’ve had your things put in our stateroom,” said Hilda, bustling up. Avis’s mother had hired Hilda to look after Avis on the journey. “You’d better come with me so you can see which room is ours. They’re easy to get confused, they all look so alike.”
Avis followed her into a corridor lined with doors with numbers pasted on them. She liked her cabin at once. The beds were soft and there were taps for washing right in their room. Her bunk was just above Hilda’s and had a heavy curtain that could be pulled across the front. Exploring the neat little room cheered her up a good deal. After all, it may have been only second-class, but it was as good as first-class on any other ship. Avis found her lifebelt with the ship’s name, LUSITANIA printed on it above her bunk. Although she didn’t expect to use it she was glad to know it was handy anyway.
“Would you like to come for a walk on the deck, Avis?” asked Hilda after they had arranged their luggage.
“No, thank you,” said Avis. She did not much care to go back out on the crowded deck.
“Well, amuse yourself in here, then. Sarah and I are going.” Sarah was the other girl who was supposed to help Hilda look after her.
“I shall be all right,” said Avis.
The two girls went out, but Avis could here them talking as they went down the hall.
“It’s just as well,” said Hilda. “I don’t want to waste the whole voyage looking after her. There’s lots of more interesting things to do.”
Avis sat in her bunk and read a book. She could still hear as from far away the bustle of people moving about the ship. Someone in the stateroom next to her’s was arranging things noisily. Down near the rear of the ship she could hear the great engines throbbing and a low washing sound which she thought might be the sea. It was all very exciting but rather frightening at the same time. She thought of all the stairs between her and the first open deck of the liner and wondered how she would ever get out if the ship caught fire or were sunk. It was no use trying to read anymore so Avis laid her book aside and went out again. She had no idea where Sarah and Hilda were, but it didn’t matter. She rather hoped she wouldn’t meet them, for they would only think her a hindrance anyway.
She climbed up to the very top deck of the ship where there were less people. It was called the boat deck and it was so high up that it made her dizzy to see the water so far below.
A young sailor was at work lashing a lifeboat to the deck. He was the same sailor who had been turning the rope for the little girls. He saw Avis and nodded in a friendly manner.
“Like it, eh?” he asked after a minute. “You should see the swells what come aboard here. Think it’s a jolly cruise ship. They’ll stand about and gawk at the knots I tie like I was a ‘jolly tar’ and what not. I do a bit of fancy knots just to please ‘em. I didn’t get such a green lot when I shipped on merchants.”
Avis sneezed.
“Wet, isn’t it? Looks as though it might clear up when we get out to sea. It’ll be a nice trip, I’d say. Just as well, as it’ll be my last. I’m enlisting as soon as we touch Liverpool. Don’t mean to miss the whole war. Been to England before?”
Avis was surprised by the sudden question.
“Oh—yes,” she said as soon as she had collected her wits. “I was born there.”
“Oh, I thought you were a Yankee.”
“Oh no. I’m Canadian.”
“Are you? Well I was born in Lyme myself. This your second voyage, then, is it?”
“Yes.”
“This is my first on a liner. Me and my brother John work aboard merchant ships mostly. The problem with them is that they can be a long time away from home port. I haven’t seen my father for more than a year.”
He was silent for a minute, working over a difficult knot.
“Neither have I,” said Avis, so quietly that the sailor did not hear her.
The rain began to fall more steadily and Avis realised that she was wet and cold. She found the staircase and went down to the promenade deck.Suddenly the gongs began sounding for tea and with one accord, passengers began flocking to the dining rooms. Avis squeezed up against the wall so she would not be swept along with the crowd. Suddenly she heard her name called and turning, she saw Hilda and Sarah fighting their way towards her. “Do hurry, Avis!” cried Sarah. “We must be some of the first people to the dining room or else we’ll have to wait for the second seating!” And catching hold of Avis’s hand she pulled her along through the press.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Le Saboteur: II.
By C.C. Gaylord and O.R. Kirkpatrick
Chapter II.
L'Aviation Militaire
The next day Randolph found Allison standing outside the barracks, watching the pilots who were going “out on a job”.
Wishing he were going up too, thought Randolph.
“Hullo, old boy,” he said, coming up behind Allison suddenly. “Get into your togs; I’m taking you up.”
“Up? What for?”
“For practice. Renhard’s going up too. It’s mainly to see what you know and, more crucially, what you don’t. No one’s allowed to go over the lines until he’s had 60 hours or more in the air, you know, so you’ve several more to go.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Hurry up; I’ll see that your ‘plane is ready.”
Randolph walked over to the hangar and inspected the three trim SPADs that the mechanics had just wheeled out onto the runway. Two of them had arrived only the day before and, their canvas sides resplendent in new paint, had just had their respective numbers put on. Randolph was frowning over one of the engines when Allison and Renhard appeared in their flying togs.
“Is something wrong?” asked Renhard.
“It’s these new engines,” said Randolph. “They give us no end of bother. There’s scarcely a flight that a pilot isn’t forced to go back because of engine trouble. These look as if they’ll run, though.
“Right,” he said, straightening up and getting down to business. “There are a few things to know before you go up.” (Here he began to rattle off information at an alarming rate.) “The S.XIII is a single-seat fighter bi-plane and scout aircraft. It is equipped with twin Vickers 7.7mm, .303 caliber machine guns and a 220 horsepower Hispano-Suiza 8Be V-8 engine.”
Renhard and Allison looked at each other apprehensively.
“Its dimensions are as follows,” Randolph continued. “It stands 7’8” tall, is 20’8” long, has a 26’7” wingspan and a wing area of 199 sq. ft. It has a maximum takeoff weight of 1,859 lbs, a service ceiling of 21,800 ft, a maximum speed of 140 mph, an estimated combat radius of 250 miles and can stay in the air for up to 2 hours. The design was produced by the SPAD aircraft company last spring, and the S.XIII model is far more powerful than the S.VII in use in 1916. What is it?” he asked, as Allison coughed.
“Will we be obliged to remember all this, sir?”
“No. I’m just telling you so you’ll know. You will be obliged to look over your craft before each flight to see that everything is in order, though.”
He then made them go over the airplane from propeller to rudder to see that they knew how everything worked. This was not too difficult for them, for they had spent hours poring over diagrams during flight training. Renhard, however, seemed surprisingly to know the machine better even than Randolph.
“Why, I daresay you could build one!” Randolph exclaimed. “Have you worked on airplanes before?”
“No, not really. I’ve had a little mechanical experience, though.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“When do we go up?” asked Allison.
“Now, if you like. Get into your ‘planes.”
“Not much different from a 504, eh?” he asked Allison as soon as he was inside the cockpit.
“Not too much.”
“Right. Taxi around the field a little until you get used to it.”
He repeated his instructions to Renhard.
The men figured out the SPADs soon enough and they took to the air. First they practiced combat maneuvers—rolling out of a spin, making sharp turns, circling, pulling out of a dive. They practiced marksmanship by shooting tin cans which Randolph tossed from his cockpit. This last was harder on Randolph than the other men, for the bullets whistled past him pretty closely sometimes.
As Randolph had said, the new men were ready for combat after two days of this training, and Woodward, who was the best artist, painted the squadron insignia on the sides of their ‘planes. The insignia was an apple with an arrow through it—Farnsworth’s idea. One could see that the men of 11 squadron prided themselves on their marksmanship.
Renhard and Allison went up on their first patrol on Thursday. Randolph was the commander of “C” flight, which was made up of Hayes, Kearns, Renhard, Allison and a sixth man, Anderson. They had been up for about an hour when Randolph’s engine started to mis-fire. Fearing trouble, he signaled for Hayes to take over and headed back towards the airdrome.
“Pity,” said Randolph, who had a habit of talking to himself. “I’d better give the old girl a go-over when I get back. These new Hispano-Suizas are always making a nuisance of themselves. Hullo, it’s righted itself. Well, no good wasting a flight. Might as well go back and see if I can’t locate the others.”
He turned about and headed back in the direction of No-man’s-land. The little patrol was nowhere in sight and, although it had only been a few minutes since Randolph had parted company with them, were probably miles away, since they had been traveling in opposite directions at the speed of 120 miles per hour.
Randolph scanned the sky, hoping to meet up at least with an Allied patrol. Several specks materialized to the south-east and, as they were flying into enemy territory, Randolph hoped they were friendly. As he got closer and they didn’t fire on him he fell into formation.
Suddenly Randolph saw the black crosses on their ‘planes. For some reason they had not seen him. Never one to sit about and let the other chap shoot first, Randolph slipped up under the tail of the last one and let him have it with both Vickers. The fellow was down in a moment, but the other pilots were at last aware of Randolph’s presence and came down on him like angry hornets. Randolph knew when he was out-numbered and high-tailed it for his own lines before the fuel ran out.
He was greeted on the landing strip by his worried comrades, who had returned before him.
“What happened?”
“Did you run into any Bosches?”
“What was wrong with the engine?”
“The engine’s all right, I think,” said Randolph. “Low on fuel, though. It’s sort of a long story.”
“Well, come inside and get something to eat,” said Anderson. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Oh good. I hope it’s something edible. I’m starved.”
“It’s not,” said Kearns.
The men were delighted with Randolph’s escapade once they had been filled in on the details. It made the 19th victory for their squadron.
"Those Germans must have been rather nearsighted, don't you think?" said Kearns. "Not to have seen you all that time, I mean."
"I can't figure that out either," said Randolph. "Must have been the sun was in their eyes."
“How many ‘planes were there?” asked Anderson.
“Five. Fokkers, I think.”
The men all admired Randolph’s pluck, but they thought at the same time that it was a rather foolish thing to do.
“What took you so long to see their insignias?” asked Renhard.
“Well, sometimes it’s difficult to see a ‘plane’s wing markings unless you’re above it.”
The men seemed satisfied with this explanation and Randolph was relieved.
“Where’s Allison?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Took his dinner in his room. Won’t associate with us,” said Hayes.
“I wonder what’s the matter with that fellow, anyhow,” said Kearns. “If I so much as whistle he glares at me.”
“Speaking of music,” said Hayes, “when’s the major going to get us that gramophone?”
“Yes,” said Kearns. “I miss that song we used to always listen to. You remember, Hayes, don’t you? The one that went, ‘though your lads are far away'—” he broke forth in his golden tenor.
“What happened to the gramophone?” interrupted Renhard.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” said Kearns. “It broke. We were all sitting about enjoying ourselves when all of a sudden we heard—”
“Let me have a look at it. I might be able to mend it.”
“Oh yes, he’s a dab at that sort of thing,” said Randolph.
Renhard began to examine the object in question.
“Elementary,” he declared promptly. “I’ll have it mended in a jiffy. Really, I don’t see why you fellows couldn’t have mended it before.”
“Oh, none of us are much good at mending things,” said Kearns. “We aren’t that sort. My uncle could mend anything. He was a telegraph officer. He’s in Arabia now. They couldn’t keep him out of the war, although he’s 45.”
“Is he indeed?” asked Renhard curiously. “What does he do?”
“He’s a colonel. Always had an adventurous mind. Why once—”
“Come along, Fin,” said Hayes, and led him away, Kearns still talking.
“Letter for you, Captain,” said Pitt the adjutant, coming in with the mail.
Randolph took the letter eagerly and retired to his room to read it. There he found Allison, stretched out on one of the beds. His inseparable cigarette was in his mouth, but he wasn’t smoking it and his eyes were closed so Randolph supposed he was asleep. He sat down on his bed and put on his reading glasses.
The letter was from his mother. Dear Quentin, it read. I hope you have had news from Tom and Arthur, as it has been nearly three weeks since I last heard from either of them. Karl wrote last week from Kut telling me that he was well and wanting to know if you were all right. I’m afraid we all worry very much about you, dear. Every week it seems we hear another story of a dreadful smash-up. I am glad to hear that the wristlets suit, for I was so afraid they wouldn’t be needed now that the warm weather has begun. I started a sweater for you as well after you told me how cold it gets up in an airplane. Tom and Arthur always write for socks as it is so wet in the trenches and Karl for chocolate or anything edible, as he says rations are uncertain. I am so glad he was not in Kut when it was being besieged. I am proud that he is fighting in the British army, but I hope he will be able to get his citizenship back when the war is over. Father is quite well and sends his regards. He has been kept rather busy of late, looking after little Grace so Esther is freed to help Harold at the hospital.
“Good for him!” said Quentin here.
Allison looked at him out of one eye, but Quentin was so absorbed in his letter that he didn’t see.
Father is so good with children, the letter continued, and Esther is so anxious to be of help, as they need so many nurses for the poor boys being brought back. It seems as if everybody were busy helping the war along in some way, except for me. But I have my task as well, though it is a small one. It is to pray for my dear boys at the front, that they may honor Him above, and that, if it His will, He will bring them home safe to me.
At this juncture Randolph was obliged to take out his handkerchief and blow his nose hard.
“Got a cold?” asked Allison.
Randolph started and hurriedly pulled his glasses off of his nose.
“Thought you were asleep,” he said.
“Go on and read it; I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“No, that’s all right,” said Randolph, slipping the letter under his pillow. “It will keep.”
He waited, hoping Allison might leave, but Allison lit up his cigarette and lay there puffing leisurely. Randolph at last grew tired of waiting and went out.
Allison lay in bed staring up at the ceiling for several minutes. He wondered why Randolph had thought that letter so special. The obvious answer, that it was none of Allison's business, did not occur to him. Instead he arrived at his favorite conclusion that Randolph had a girl-friend and the letter was from her. He got up with a smirk on his face and pulled the letter from under the pillow. He read until he got to your loving mother, when he jumped as if something had stung him and hurriedly replaced the letter under Randolph’s pillow. He stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets, staring at the bed. Then he turned on his heel and went out.
When Allison came down to the main room later he was greeted with strains of “Tipperary.”
“Somebody fixed the gramophone,” he observed.
“Oh yes, Renhard did that; genius, isn’t he?” said Kearns.
“Somebody break it again.”
“What? Why?”
“I hate that song.”
“What!” cried several voices at once, for the song was a general favorite.
“Here I go to all that trouble just because I knew you were sick of the boys’ singing!” said Renhard, acting hurt.
“Yes,” said Kearns, “you owe Renhard an apology. Come on, let’s hear it.”
“Shut up,” said Allison, going out the door.
“Bad tempered chap!” said Kearns.
Chapter II.
L'Aviation Militaire
The next day Randolph found Allison standing outside the barracks, watching the pilots who were going “out on a job”.
Wishing he were going up too, thought Randolph.
“Hullo, old boy,” he said, coming up behind Allison suddenly. “Get into your togs; I’m taking you up.”
“Up? What for?”
“For practice. Renhard’s going up too. It’s mainly to see what you know and, more crucially, what you don’t. No one’s allowed to go over the lines until he’s had 60 hours or more in the air, you know, so you’ve several more to go.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Hurry up; I’ll see that your ‘plane is ready.”
Randolph walked over to the hangar and inspected the three trim SPADs that the mechanics had just wheeled out onto the runway. Two of them had arrived only the day before and, their canvas sides resplendent in new paint, had just had their respective numbers put on. Randolph was frowning over one of the engines when Allison and Renhard appeared in their flying togs.
“Is something wrong?” asked Renhard.
“It’s these new engines,” said Randolph. “They give us no end of bother. There’s scarcely a flight that a pilot isn’t forced to go back because of engine trouble. These look as if they’ll run, though.
“Right,” he said, straightening up and getting down to business. “There are a few things to know before you go up.” (Here he began to rattle off information at an alarming rate.) “The S.XIII is a single-seat fighter bi-plane and scout aircraft. It is equipped with twin Vickers 7.7mm, .303 caliber machine guns and a 220 horsepower Hispano-Suiza 8Be V-8 engine.”
Renhard and Allison looked at each other apprehensively.
“Its dimensions are as follows,” Randolph continued. “It stands 7’8” tall, is 20’8” long, has a 26’7” wingspan and a wing area of 199 sq. ft. It has a maximum takeoff weight of 1,859 lbs, a service ceiling of 21,800 ft, a maximum speed of 140 mph, an estimated combat radius of 250 miles and can stay in the air for up to 2 hours. The design was produced by the SPAD aircraft company last spring, and the S.XIII model is far more powerful than the S.VII in use in 1916. What is it?” he asked, as Allison coughed.
“Will we be obliged to remember all this, sir?”
“No. I’m just telling you so you’ll know. You will be obliged to look over your craft before each flight to see that everything is in order, though.”
He then made them go over the airplane from propeller to rudder to see that they knew how everything worked. This was not too difficult for them, for they had spent hours poring over diagrams during flight training. Renhard, however, seemed surprisingly to know the machine better even than Randolph.
“Why, I daresay you could build one!” Randolph exclaimed. “Have you worked on airplanes before?”
“No, not really. I’ve had a little mechanical experience, though.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“When do we go up?” asked Allison.
“Now, if you like. Get into your ‘planes.”
“Not much different from a 504, eh?” he asked Allison as soon as he was inside the cockpit.
“Not too much.”
“Right. Taxi around the field a little until you get used to it.”
He repeated his instructions to Renhard.
The men figured out the SPADs soon enough and they took to the air. First they practiced combat maneuvers—rolling out of a spin, making sharp turns, circling, pulling out of a dive. They practiced marksmanship by shooting tin cans which Randolph tossed from his cockpit. This last was harder on Randolph than the other men, for the bullets whistled past him pretty closely sometimes.
As Randolph had said, the new men were ready for combat after two days of this training, and Woodward, who was the best artist, painted the squadron insignia on the sides of their ‘planes. The insignia was an apple with an arrow through it—Farnsworth’s idea. One could see that the men of 11 squadron prided themselves on their marksmanship.Renhard and Allison went up on their first patrol on Thursday. Randolph was the commander of “C” flight, which was made up of Hayes, Kearns, Renhard, Allison and a sixth man, Anderson. They had been up for about an hour when Randolph’s engine started to mis-fire. Fearing trouble, he signaled for Hayes to take over and headed back towards the airdrome.
“Pity,” said Randolph, who had a habit of talking to himself. “I’d better give the old girl a go-over when I get back. These new Hispano-Suizas are always making a nuisance of themselves. Hullo, it’s righted itself. Well, no good wasting a flight. Might as well go back and see if I can’t locate the others.”
He turned about and headed back in the direction of No-man’s-land. The little patrol was nowhere in sight and, although it had only been a few minutes since Randolph had parted company with them, were probably miles away, since they had been traveling in opposite directions at the speed of 120 miles per hour.
Randolph scanned the sky, hoping to meet up at least with an Allied patrol. Several specks materialized to the south-east and, as they were flying into enemy territory, Randolph hoped they were friendly. As he got closer and they didn’t fire on him he fell into formation.
Suddenly Randolph saw the black crosses on their ‘planes. For some reason they had not seen him. Never one to sit about and let the other chap shoot first, Randolph slipped up under the tail of the last one and let him have it with both Vickers. The fellow was down in a moment, but the other pilots were at last aware of Randolph’s presence and came down on him like angry hornets. Randolph knew when he was out-numbered and high-tailed it for his own lines before the fuel ran out.
He was greeted on the landing strip by his worried comrades, who had returned before him.
“What happened?”
“Did you run into any Bosches?”
“What was wrong with the engine?”
“The engine’s all right, I think,” said Randolph. “Low on fuel, though. It’s sort of a long story.”
“Well, come inside and get something to eat,” said Anderson. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Oh good. I hope it’s something edible. I’m starved.”
“It’s not,” said Kearns.
The men were delighted with Randolph’s escapade once they had been filled in on the details. It made the 19th victory for their squadron.
"Those Germans must have been rather nearsighted, don't you think?" said Kearns. "Not to have seen you all that time, I mean."
"I can't figure that out either," said Randolph. "Must have been the sun was in their eyes."
“How many ‘planes were there?” asked Anderson.
“Five. Fokkers, I think.”
The men all admired Randolph’s pluck, but they thought at the same time that it was a rather foolish thing to do.
“What took you so long to see their insignias?” asked Renhard.
“Well, sometimes it’s difficult to see a ‘plane’s wing markings unless you’re above it.”
The men seemed satisfied with this explanation and Randolph was relieved.
“Where’s Allison?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Took his dinner in his room. Won’t associate with us,” said Hayes.
“I wonder what’s the matter with that fellow, anyhow,” said Kearns. “If I so much as whistle he glares at me.”
“Speaking of music,” said Hayes, “when’s the major going to get us that gramophone?”
“Yes,” said Kearns. “I miss that song we used to always listen to. You remember, Hayes, don’t you? The one that went, ‘though your lads are far away'—” he broke forth in his golden tenor.
“What happened to the gramophone?” interrupted Renhard.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” said Kearns. “It broke. We were all sitting about enjoying ourselves when all of a sudden we heard—”
“Let me have a look at it. I might be able to mend it.”
“Oh yes, he’s a dab at that sort of thing,” said Randolph.
Renhard began to examine the object in question.
“Elementary,” he declared promptly. “I’ll have it mended in a jiffy. Really, I don’t see why you fellows couldn’t have mended it before.”
“Oh, none of us are much good at mending things,” said Kearns. “We aren’t that sort. My uncle could mend anything. He was a telegraph officer. He’s in Arabia now. They couldn’t keep him out of the war, although he’s 45.”
“Is he indeed?” asked Renhard curiously. “What does he do?”
“He’s a colonel. Always had an adventurous mind. Why once—”
“Come along, Fin,” said Hayes, and led him away, Kearns still talking.
“Letter for you, Captain,” said Pitt the adjutant, coming in with the mail.
Randolph took the letter eagerly and retired to his room to read it. There he found Allison, stretched out on one of the beds. His inseparable cigarette was in his mouth, but he wasn’t smoking it and his eyes were closed so Randolph supposed he was asleep. He sat down on his bed and put on his reading glasses.
The letter was from his mother. Dear Quentin, it read. I hope you have had news from Tom and Arthur, as it has been nearly three weeks since I last heard from either of them. Karl wrote last week from Kut telling me that he was well and wanting to know if you were all right. I’m afraid we all worry very much about you, dear. Every week it seems we hear another story of a dreadful smash-up. I am glad to hear that the wristlets suit, for I was so afraid they wouldn’t be needed now that the warm weather has begun. I started a sweater for you as well after you told me how cold it gets up in an airplane. Tom and Arthur always write for socks as it is so wet in the trenches and Karl for chocolate or anything edible, as he says rations are uncertain. I am so glad he was not in Kut when it was being besieged. I am proud that he is fighting in the British army, but I hope he will be able to get his citizenship back when the war is over. Father is quite well and sends his regards. He has been kept rather busy of late, looking after little Grace so Esther is freed to help Harold at the hospital.
“Good for him!” said Quentin here.
Allison looked at him out of one eye, but Quentin was so absorbed in his letter that he didn’t see.
Father is so good with children, the letter continued, and Esther is so anxious to be of help, as they need so many nurses for the poor boys being brought back. It seems as if everybody were busy helping the war along in some way, except for me. But I have my task as well, though it is a small one. It is to pray for my dear boys at the front, that they may honor Him above, and that, if it His will, He will bring them home safe to me.
At this juncture Randolph was obliged to take out his handkerchief and blow his nose hard.
“Got a cold?” asked Allison.
Randolph started and hurriedly pulled his glasses off of his nose.
“Thought you were asleep,” he said.
“Go on and read it; I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“No, that’s all right,” said Randolph, slipping the letter under his pillow. “It will keep.”
He waited, hoping Allison might leave, but Allison lit up his cigarette and lay there puffing leisurely. Randolph at last grew tired of waiting and went out.
Allison lay in bed staring up at the ceiling for several minutes. He wondered why Randolph had thought that letter so special. The obvious answer, that it was none of Allison's business, did not occur to him. Instead he arrived at his favorite conclusion that Randolph had a girl-friend and the letter was from her. He got up with a smirk on his face and pulled the letter from under the pillow. He read until he got to your loving mother, when he jumped as if something had stung him and hurriedly replaced the letter under Randolph’s pillow. He stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets, staring at the bed. Then he turned on his heel and went out.
When Allison came down to the main room later he was greeted with strains of “Tipperary.”
“Somebody fixed the gramophone,” he observed.
“Oh yes, Renhard did that; genius, isn’t he?” said Kearns.
“Somebody break it again.”“What? Why?”
“I hate that song.”
“What!” cried several voices at once, for the song was a general favorite.
“Here I go to all that trouble just because I knew you were sick of the boys’ singing!” said Renhard, acting hurt.
“Yes,” said Kearns, “you owe Renhard an apology. Come on, let’s hear it.”
“Shut up,” said Allison, going out the door.
“Bad tempered chap!” said Kearns.
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