Army Boys in France; or, From Training Camp to Trenches

by Albert Bigelow Paine

  CHAPTER II

  A REMORSELESS ENEMY

  There was a murmur of excited expectation and the crowd gathered closer.

  For a full minute Frank's eyes looked full into Rabig's. And in thesilent duel Rabig's eyes were the first to waver. Then Frank spoke.

  "No," he said, quietly. "Brawling isn't in my line. I won'tfight--not here or now."

  There was a sigh of disappointment from the onlookers who had beenkeyed up in delighted anticipation, and Rabig, though his eyes hadfallen before the glint in Frank's, resumed his swaggering air.

  "Afraid to fight, eh?" he sneered.

  Before a reply could be made, Mr. Thomas, the junior member of thefirm, came out from his private office and the gathering dispersed.

  "Why didn't you trim him, Frank?" asked Bart curiously, as they walkeddown the street together. "I wanted to see you wipe up the ground withhim. You could have done it too. You've got as much muscle as he hasand ten times the grit. I fairly ached to see you sail into him."

  "Well," said Frank, thoughtfully, "there were two reasons. In thefirst place, I didn't care to soil my hands with the fellow and putmyself on his level. Then again, you know how sensitive my mother is,and she'd have hated to see me get mixed up in a shop brawl. But Rabighas his coming to him, and he'll get it sooner or later."

  "Sooner, I hope," returned Bart. "If you don't, I'll do it myself.That "_Deutschland Uber Alles_" stuff of his is getting on my nerves.Just now it's the ambition of my life to lick a Hun."

  "You may have the chance sooner than you think," laughed Frank."Germany's just about got to the end of her rope with us. Let her sinkjust one more ship and she'll find out what she's up against."

  "It can't come too soon for me," responded Bart, and as just then theyreached the junction of the streets where their ways parted Bart wenton and Frank turned into the quiet street on which his home was located.

  It was a modest little structure, set some distance back from thestreet, surrounded by flowers and shrubbery which in summer were a riotof color and perfume.

  Before his hand touched the door knob, his mother, who had beenwatching for his coming, swung the door wide open and stood ready togive him a loving greeting.

  Frank's eyes brightened as they dwelt upon her. She was a prettylittle woman with a piquancy of expression, a brightness of eye and analertness of carriage that at first glance betrayed her French origin.Her pretty color and a certain appealing helplessness in her mannertoward her son had always made her seem to Frank more like a charmingsister than a mother.

  And now as he put his arm protectingly about her and stooped to kissher he was alarmed at the traces of recent tears which she had not beenable entirely to obliterate.

  "Mother!" he cried, holding her away from him and searching her faceanxiously. "You've been crying! You just tell me who's made you, andI'll--" he doubled up his fist in a threatening gesture; but with alittle laugh his mother inserted her own small fingers within his andled him into the dining-room.

  "Look!" she cried, pointing to a great steaming tureen of soup thatstood in the center of the table. "You said last night you were hungryfor soup, and so I made it especially for you, dear, to surprise you.You must tell me how you like it before you ask any more questions.See, how steaming hot it is."

  "Say, and I stopped to argue when this was waiting for me!" criedFrank, literally flinging himself upon the tempting dish. "Run aroundto your side, Mother, and hold your plate. Say, if this tastes as goodas it smells--"

  Like two children they tasted the soup, then with expressions ofcontentment laughed into each other's eyes. Then Frank launched intoan account of the morning's events, for he was accustomed to discusseverything with his mother, who was his comrade in all things small orgreat.

  "My fingers itched to be at that bully," he said, "but I held myselfin, and I guess you know one of the reasons."

  "Yes, dear," responded his mother, lovingly. "You're always thinkingof me. I'm glad you didn't get into a fight. I have always hatedthem. A time may come," she added, a shadow crossing her face, "whenyou will be forced to fight, not for yourself, but for the honor ofyour dear country."

  "For two countries, maybe," said Frank with a smile. "For every strokethat America deals to the Kaiser will help France as well."

  "Ah, _la belle_ France," said his mother with a sigh. "How my heartbleeds for my beloved country! I had a letter to-day from CousinLucie. And, oh, she had such terrible news!"

  "Nothing has happened to her, I hope," said Frank, quickly.

  "No, not to her," replied his mother. "One of those poor refugees fromBelgium has got through the German lines and is staying at her house.This woman was at Dinant when the town was captured by the Germans inthe early part of the war, and the stories she tells of what happenedthere are too dreadful for words. And yet she saw those thingsherself, and Lucie tells me she is sure the woman is honest and tellsthe absolute truth."

  "I am ready to believe almost anything of German brutality," saidFrank, bitterly. "And I suppose for every awful thing that's toldthere are a hundred more that haven't come to light. Tell me whatCousin Lucie said."

  "This Mrs. Pentlivre," replied his mother, "told Lucie that the Germansattacked the town early on an August morning. They outnumbered thedefenders, who were forced to retreat and take up new positions. Thenthose Huns entered the town.

  "It was about half past six in the morning. The cathedral was full ofworshippers, as it was Sunday and services were being held. TheGermans burst into the church, drove out the people and separated themen from the women with the butts of their rifles. Then the troopsdeliberately shot into the mass of unarmed men, killing twenty or moreof them. They made prisoners of the rest, and then went through streetafter street, setting all the houses on fire until the beautiful townwas completely destroyed.

  "All day long they kept the wretched people prisoners, threatening andreviling them--you couldn't imagine the names they called them, soCousin Lucie said--and after that they took all the people whom theyhad not already put to death to a garden wall at the end of the town.Then they took those poor men and even the little boys and stood themup against the wall. Oh, Frank, what do you suppose those murderersdid then? Shot them down in cold blood, while their wives and mothersfell shrieking on their knees, begging passionately for mercy for theirloved ones."

  "The brutes!" cried Frank, pushing back his chair and beginning to pacethe room while his mother watched him with tears in her eyes. "There'sGerman Kultur for you! And what they did there, they've done in fiftyother places in Belgium and Northern France. I tell you, Mother, theworld won't be a fit place to live in until such things are punished asthey ought to be."

  "I'm afraid not," sighed his mother. "But such a task as it is goingto be!"

  "America will do it!" cried Frank, confidently. "It's up to her totame the beasts. France and England are holding them in check, butthey won't be able to drive them back until Uncle Sam's army boys getover there."

  "But think of what it means if we get into the war," said his mothersadly. "It's bad enough to read and hear about such terrible things,but what will it be when our own men are killed and wounded and blindedby the thousands. Ah, I cannot bear to think of it!" and she looked atFrank with apprehension in her eyes.

  "Americans have always known how to die," said Frank, proudly."They've shown that at Bunker Hill, at Monterey and Gettysburg andother battlefields. And the man who doesn't know how to die, doesn'tknow how to live and isn't fit to live."

  "Spoken like my own brave boy," cried his mother. "And yet my heartstands still when I think of you in those awful trenches. You are allI have, Frank!" and tears welled again to her eyes.

  "I know, little Mother," said Frank, coming around to her chair andpatting her cheek fondly. "But you wouldn't want your son to be aslacker, would you? How could I look you in the face if I held back,while the sons of other mothers went forward to fight for theircountry."
r />   "You're right, dear, of course," said his mother. "And hard as itwould be, I'd let you go if your country needed you. But, oh, the daysand nights of waiting while you were gone! I would not have one happymoment, one care-free hour."

  "Yours would be the harder part, Mother," said the son gently. "I'dhave at least the excitement and fury of the fight, while you would beeating out your heart here--alone. But cheer up," he continued in alighter tone, "it hasn't come to that yet, and perhaps it never will.A hundred things may happen. Russia may come up to the scratch again.Hindenburg has already begun to retreat, Germany may cave in at anytime. Austria may make a separate peace. The Germans may call offtheir U-boat campaign rather than bring the United States into the war.We'll hope for the best while we're getting ready for the worst. Atany rate, we won't grizzle about it till we have to--will we, Mother?"this last in a coaxing tone that brought a swift response from hismother, whose French vivacity and sparkle returned in a measure.

  "No, we won't, dear," she answered, smilingly brushing away the tears."We're going to be just as happy and bright as ever and await withcourage whatever the future may bring to us. But, dear boy, look atthat clock! You'll be late if you don't hurry. Hurry, now, I must notbe the one to blame."

  She kissed him good-bye with a smile on her lips and waved to himmerrily from the doorway. But there was a world of foreboding in hermother eyes as she watched him swinging briskly down the street.