The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest

by Capwell Wyckoff

  Hill 31 was twelve miles from Woodcrest and in wild country, where the danger of running across anyone was slight. The infantry marched first, the artillery rumbling back of them, and in the rear, the cavalry unit followed leisurely. The spirits of the cadets were raised by the clear and sparkling air and the bright sunshine, and they marched with a swing. Terry, who was riding a gun carriage, laughed at Don when they all halted for a brief rest.

  “Seems like Jim and I have the cream of the outfit,” he grinned. “I ride a gun carriage and Jim rides a fine horse. Little old Donny walks along on his feet.”

  “I don’t mind,” retorted Don. “You and Jim will grow old and fat, while I will still be in my prime, due to the fact that I used my feet. When you two are in your wheelchairs, I’ll come around and see you.”

  Terry laughed. “That’s how you talk, but wouldn’t you just jump at the chance to ride!”

  In the afternoon they reached a long, dusty plain, with Hill 31 before them. Here the cadets made camp. A small city of tents shot up like magic, all hands helping. Four rows of orderly tents stood erected before nightfall, and then there was a drill and review. After that the cadets were free to do as they wished, although no one was permitted to go far afield.

  In the evening there were races and wrestling and soon after supper taps sounded. The night was cold and clear, guards patrolled the camp, and the boys were glad to get a good night’s sleep. At six in the morning, they were roused from bed by the blare of the bugle and a busy day began.

  There was inspection and roll call, breakfast, drill, and a long march for all divisions. In the afternoon the cavalry drilled on horses, the artillery cadets went through a rigid examination in sighting and range finding, and the ever busy infantry once more drilled. Just before they went to bed that night Major Tireson summoned all officers into his tent and gave final instructions for the shelling and advance on the following morning.

  “But I have changed one phase of my plans,” he added, turning to the two cavalry lieutenants. “I have decided, Lieutenant Thompson, that you will not send a man over the hill at any time. We will use the telephone connection, and you are to call Lieutenant Mercer on the phone and tell him when to join the flank of the infantry in the advance. The reason for informing him is so that you will both form the junction with the infantry at precisely the same time. From your position you can see the infantry advance, which Lieutenant Mercer cannot do, and so it will be your duty to send him word to dismount and move up. Is that all clear?”

  Both lieutenants agreed that it was and went back to their tents. Taps sounded and the young soldiers literally fell into bed and slept the sleep of exhaustion. In the morning they got up without enthusiasm, but as soon as they had washed in cold water and become wide awake they snapped into action with vigor.

  Events moved rapidly after breakfast. The infantry swung into position, and with bayonets fixed as though for a charge, took up a position behind a low ridge in the field. The artillery rumbled into position and the cavalry left the camp.

  Just before the cavalry left Jim noted that Lieutenant Thompson was not at the head of the second division. While he was wondering what the trouble was the major came up and looked over the troops. He addressed a second lieutenant named Stillman.

  “Lieutenant Stillman,” asked the major, “where is Lieutenant Thompson?”

  “He was taken ill, sir,” reported Stillman. “It looks very much as though he will not be able to take the field today.”

  The major frowned. “Ill, eh?” He thought for a moment. “Lieutenant Stillman, do you understand the plans for the advance this morning?”

  “Why, I believe so, sir,” said the second lieutenant. “Lieutenant Thompson told me all of the plans the day before yesterday.”

  “Very well,” nodded the major, turning away. “You are in charge of the west wing, Lieutenant Stillman. Kindly carry out the plans to the best of your ability.”

  He turned away, leaving Stillman flushed with pleasure at the unexpected responsibility and the cavalry moved forward, Stillman’s division toward the west side of the hill and Jim’s toward the east side. There was a doubt in Jim’s mind that he could not shake off.

  “Oh, well,” he murmured, as they galloped off. “I suppose Stillman is capable enough. I feel a little more confidence in Thompson, though.”

  Jim thoroughly enjoyed the gallop across the fields, and when they had gained their position they stopped and waited, facing Hill 31. While they waited a unit of engineers, working in haste, strung a line from nearby trees to the place where Jim’s cavalry outfit was waiting. This telephone line was in some places hidden in the grass and under the dirt and in some places up in the air. It communicated with the infantry base, the artillery headquarters, and went around in a looping circle and connected Jim with Stillman on the other side of the hill. It was over this line that the order to form a junction with the infantry was to be given.

  Most of the waiting cavalrymen were looking at their watches, on the alert for the beginning of the artillery bombardment. It was scheduled to begin at exactly ten-thirty, and on the minute it began. The first gun roared out and a cloud of dust rose from Hill 31. The cavalry horses started and moved restlessly.

  A regular series of detonations now shook the ground and jets of dust flew about the old hill. After the first furious discharge the firing abruptly ceased, to prepare a brief breathing space for a second discharge. This was a change in Major Tireson’s original policy. He had given the original order to have one bombardment and then to cease firing, but the order had been changed and two distinct shellings had been ordered. After a minute of silence the second period of firing began, and this time it was more scattered and not so furious. The cavalry unit waited quietly.

  “In just about five minutes we’ll be on the march,” thought Jim, calming his restless black horse.

  At that moment the telephone box at his feet emitted a buzzing sound. Somebody was calling for him, and with a frown Jim swung down from the horse.

  “Now how in the world am I going to hear anything with that firing going on?” he grumbled. “And I wonder who can be calling me? I’m not supposed to receive any message now. Whoever it is certainly wants me in a hurry, judging by the way he is buzzing.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Under Fire

  Jim picked up the receiver of the telephone and spoke into it, holding the earpiece pressed close to his head. “Hello,” he shouted above the din of the artillery fire. “Cavalry unit, Lieutenant Mercer speaking.”

  Somewhat faintly the answer came to him over the wire. “Mercer, this is Stillman calling. What in the world is happening? Why did they resume their firing?”

  “That’s all right, Stillman,” returned Jim, thinking the new officer did not fully understand. “That was the major’s orders, two bombardments, and after that you are to call me and tell me when to join the infantry.”

  “But don’t you understand, man?” called Stillman, frantically. “I sent a man over the hill when the fire stopped!”

  “What!” roared Jim.

  “Certainly. Lieutenant Thompson told me the day before yesterday that a man was to be sent over the hill the minute the firing ceased. I sent Cadet Vench over the hill and he must be right in the thick of it now!”

  For a moment Jim’s mind reeled. In a flash the whole tragic situation came to him. Stillman had the old orders, and Thompson had not given him the changed orders, probably because he had not even seen the second Lieutenant. The major had made but a casual inquiry as to whether Stillman knew his orders correctly, and because of the carelessness a cadet had been sent over that hill, perhaps to his death. Jim found his mouth dry and everything seemed to fade from before his eyes. He snapped an order over the telephone line.

  “Get word to the artillery to cease firing!” he cried. And with that he jumped to his feet and clutched at the bridle of his horse, turning to his own second lieutenant.

  “Townley,” he ordered
, “you are in charge until I get back. Foster, ride back to the artillery base and tell them to cease firing at once! Ride like mad, for Cadet Vench is on that hill that they are bombarding!”

  Foster launched forward like a shot and thundered out onto the road. With a single leap Jim was in his saddle and had jerked his horse’s head around in the direction of Hill 31. Before anyone could stop him he was off in a mad gallop toward the shell-torn mound.

  The shells were still falling raggedly on the top of the hill when his horse began to climb, and he hoped fervently that the bombardment would cease any moment. He could not see why it should not, for Stillman was to call the artillery on the phone at once, and Jim had even taken the precaution to send a cavalryman back in the remote case that the telephone line would not work. He realized, as his horse flew with sure feet up the sloping sides of the heap of earth, that he was risking his life and that of his horse, but he meant to go through with it. The firing would cease any minute, and the cadet might be injured, in which case he would have to be rushed to the emergency sick bay just back of the infantry base. In the flurry of the last few moments he had forgotten that it was Vench who was out there, but now he remembered it perfectly.

  Jim felt the sweat break out on his forehead as they approached the territory in which the shells were falling. Hope suggested that Vench might have been on the edge of the hill when the firing began and that he might have rolled down and out of danger. He might even be back with the other wing of cavalry at the time, and under the circumstances it was not probable that Stillman would call a halt on the artillery fire. A new thought raced through Jim’s mind. If Vench had indeed returned uninjured and Stillman had withheld the order to cease firing, he was simply running his own head into grave danger which would do no one any good and which would bring down the major’s wrath upon him. But Jim felt that he had done the right thing and he kept on.

  A shell bursting a few yards before him threw dirt up in his face and caused his horse to snort and rear, and Jim realized then that he was actually under fire. It was with an instinctive roll that he threw himself from the animal and looked dazedly around. The hill, now pit-marked from the fire, was otherwise bare, except for one growth of dead trees and bushes toward the middle, and it was there that Jim sighted Vench. The cadet was lying face downward, with one hand held over his head, motionless, and Jim, forgetting his own peril, ran forward, calling his name. The terrified horse rushed madly down the other side of the hill.

  Vench did not answer Jim’s call and the cadet lieutenant ran toward him. Just as he reached the inert figure a shell exploded back of him, and a short thick piece of wood flew through the air, striking Jim on the head. He pitched to the ground, over Vench’s outstretched legs.

  Although Jim did not know it, that was the last shot. The artillery fire died away abruptly. The telephone message had not gotten through to the artillery, due to bad connections in the stringing of the wires, but Cadet Foster had plunged like lightning into the artillery base camp. He shouted an order to the captain and then explained matters swiftly. With a look of horror the artillery officer signalled frantically from gun to gun and the fire stopped with a final crash.

  The infantry, the unit that the major was with, prepared to move up, thinking that the artillery had ceased to fire according to schedule, although the major knew that the firing time was still two minutes short. Foster rode to him, saluted and explained that Cadet Vench had started over the hill and that Lieutenant Mercer had followed. Don started and his heart sank as he heard the report, which was made in the presence and hearing of all the foot soldiers. The major grew red in the face.

  “What did Lieutenant Stillman mean by sending a man over the hill?” he roared. “He had strict orders not to do so! By George, I’ll hang him for this!” He turned to his infantry captain, Rhodes. “Captain, accompany me to the hill. Lieutenant, take charge of the men here and send one of them for the ambulance. Come, Captain Rhodes.”

  The major and the young captain rode off furiously and an orderly hastened to summon the ambulance, which jogged across the uneven fields a minute later. The artillery unit stood quietly beside their guns, and the infantry and cavalry did the same. Don was very pale but perfectly quiet. Lieutenant Sommers looked briefly at the men left in his charge and then stood at attention, looking straight ahead, satisfied that they would carry themselves as they should.

  The major and Rhodes had now arrived at the foot of the hill and they spurred rapidly up the incline. The cadets were all in plain sight, that is, all but the division which Jim had commanded, and the ones who could see were watching with painful interest. At the top of the hill the two officers jumped from their horses and hastened to the two cadets who lay so quietly under the stunted, twisted tree.

  “Only stunned, both of them,” said Major Tireson after a hasty examination. “Is the ambulance here?”

  “It is, sir,” reported Rhodes, pushing back his trench helmet.

  The major imperiously signalled the stretcher-bearers to come up and four men ran to them with stretchers. Both cadets, still unconscious, were loaded on them. They were both placed in the ambulance and run quickly back to the field hospital. Don, watching all this from a distance, felt his throat go dry and his eyes smarted, and although he had a terrible impulse to break ranks and find out how badly his brother had been hurt he controlled the impulse and waited until the major and Rhodes spurred up to them.

  “Just stunned, both of them,” said the major, loudly, and Don breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. The major, feeling that something was needed to break the tension, and wishing to teach them that nothing must halt military activities at any time, gave the order to advance, and Don felt a temporary relief in the action which followed.

  Although the cadets obeyed every order which was given and everything was carried out according to orders, the spirit with which the young soldiers had begun the day was lacking. The closeness with which they had come to tragedy had shaken them, and their minds were not on the words of command. After a mock storming of the hill they were marched back to the encampment, and no sooner were the ranks broken than Don made a rush for the hospital tent.

  Terry was there before him and was sitting at the bedside when Don entered. Jim grinned up at him weakly and thrust out his hand.

  “Hi, kid,” he said. “Did I have you worried?”

  “You sure did,” returned his brother with fervor. “How do you feel, Jim?”

  “Okay now,” nodded Jim. “I was just stunned, that is all. Terry was just a witness to a touching scene.”

  “What was that?” asked Don curiously.

  “Why,” explained the artillery cadet, grinning, “Mr. Vench swore eternal loyalty to Jim!”

  “Did Vench make friends with you?” asked Don eagerly.

  “Yes,” answered Jim. “They took him back to school, because he has a gash in his head, but before he went he apologized and told me that he could never be sufficiently grateful to me. I was glad that Terry was here to save me from total embarrassment.”

  “Just the same,” said Don. “You did a very brave thing, Jim, and I’m proud of you. You could easily have waited until the bombardment was over and then have gone up.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be the major, because he is the one to blame. If he is sensible he won’t say a word.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Rebellion

  When the cadets returned to school and routine life was resumed the young soldiers were loud in their praises of Don and Jim. They admired the fortitude with which Don had kept quiet and calm when he had learned of Jim’s plight, and they admired Jim’s plucky action. And most of them were surprised at the changed attitude of Cadet Vench.

  Up to that time the little cadet had been intensely disliked and he had few friends. A few of the students who knew him better than the others called to pay their respects to the injured man and they returned to tell strange tales of a completely changed Vench.
He had lost his air of superiority and his boastfulness and he led the way in praising his recent enemy. His injuries were not grave, but he had been badly shaken and at the advice of the doctor he remained in his room and did his studying there. The gash in his head healed rapidly.

  He told his story several times and the cadets were much interested in it. He had just reached the top of the hill when the second round of artillery fire had started and he was scared and bewildered. He had started to run for the shelter of the trees, hoping that the fire would cease long enough to give him a chance to roll backward down the hill. But as he lay there a stone had hit him and that was the last he had known until he found himself in the field hospital.

  The cadets discussed the carelessness of the major in low tones, and the general opinion was that he would say nothing concerning it all. But in this they were mistaken. On the evening following their return to Woodcrest a large group was standing on the campus in the light of Locke Hall when Second Lieutenant Stillman came out of the door and started toward Inslee Hall, where he roomed. Rhodes noted a look of dejection and anger on the face of the cadet officer and hailed him.

  “Hi there, Stillman,” he said. “What’s the matter with your face?”

  “You mean the expression of it?” asked Stillman ruefully.

  “Why, yes,” laughed Rhodes. “Now that I take notice of it, the face itself is all right. But the look that is on it at present doesn’t draw any favorable comment.”

  “I’ve had a mean time in there,” said Stillman, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the main hall. “Major Tireson called me down for that affair at the hill.”