Produced by David Edwards, Larry B. Harrison, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) THE BOY VOLUNTEERS SERIES By KENNETH WARD _12mo. Cloth. Fully Illustrated_ _50c per Volume_ THE NEWEST BOYS' BOOKS ON THE EUROPEAN WAR, RELATING THE ADVENTURES OF TWO AMERICAN BOYS AND THEIR EXPERIENCES IN BATTLE AND ON AIR SCOUT DUTY. ALL PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED WITH AUTHENTIC DRAWINGS. =The Boy Volunteers on the Belgian Front= Describes the adventures of two American boys who were in Europe when the great war commenced. Their enlistment with Belgian troops and their remarkable experiences are based upon actual occurrences and the book is replete with line drawings of fighting machines, air planes and maps of places where the most important battles took place and of other matters of interest. =The Boy Volunteers with the French Airmen= This book relates the further adventures of the young Americans in France, where they viewed the fighting from above the firing lines. From this book the reader gains considerable knowledge of the different types of air planes and battle planes used by the warring nations, as all descriptions are illustrated with unusually clear line drawings. =The Boy Volunteers with the British Artillery= How many boys today know anything about the great guns now being used on so many European battle fronts? Our young friends had the rare opportunity of witnessing, at first hand, a number of these terrific duels, and the story which is most fascinatingly told is illustrated with numerous drawings of the British, French and German field pieces. =The Boy Volunteers with the Submarine Fleet= Our young heroes little expected to be favored with so rare an experience as a trip under the sea in one of the great submarines. In this book the author accurately describes the submarine in action, and the many interesting features of this remarkable fighting craft are made clear to the reader by a series of splendid line drawings. THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK [Illustration: _"At them, boys!" shrieked the Corporal._] THE BOY VOLUNTEERS WITH THE BRITISH ARTILLERY BY KENNETH WARD THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY NEW YORK Copyright, 1917, by AMERICAN AUTHORS PUBLISHING CO. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE DECISION 13 II. THE FIGHT IN DEVIL'S CUT 24 III. THE 75-MILLIMETRE GUNS 32 IV. A LESSON IN OBSERVATION 42 V. THE CURTAIN OF FIRE 50 VI. A SHELLED BATTLEFIELD 60 VII. A LIVELY CAMP BEHIND THE LINES 70 VIII. THE SPIES IN THE CAMP 82 IX. THE LAWS AGAINST SPIES 93 X. A DIFFICULT TRIP TO THE MAIN TRENCHES 104 XI. DISCOVERING A GERMAN RANGE-FINDER 116 XII. FINDING THE ENEMY'S BATTERY 128 XIII. THE MYSTERIOUS FIGURES ON THE RANGE-FINDER 140 XIV. CAUGHT IN A TERRIFIC DRIVE 152 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS _"At them, boys!" shrieked the Corporal_ _Frontispiece_ PAGE _Method of Signaling from Airplanes_ 53 _Peculiarities of Trajectories_ 56 _Peculiarities of Trajectories_ 57 _The Deadly Shrapnel Shell_ 68 _The Spy's Account Book_ 91 _Pontooning Heavy Guns Across a Stream_ 101 _A German Range-Finder_ 118 _Arrangement of Guns on Hill 203_ 138 THE BOY VOLUNTEERS WITH THE BRITISH ARTILLERY CHAPTER I THE DECISION "It seemed to me as though I should never have the courage to go back to the airplane service since Lieutenant Guyon was killed," remarked Ralph, as he and Alfred were convalescing in the American Hospital, in Paris. "That is the way I feel about it, too," replied Alfred. "To think that he should have escaped the terrific shower of bullets, while we were coming down, to be killed by having the machine hit the ground, the way it did, makes me feel so sad that I sometimes wonder whether it is really so." "I suppose the only thing we can do now is to go home; and, still, that doesn't seem to be the right thing, just now," replied Ralph. "No; I am not in favor of that; suppose we go to England,âanywhere, or anything except that which will remind us of poor Guyon," answered Alfred, as he sat in the huge chair and slowly nodded his head. * * * * * At the outbreak of the war Alfred and Ralph were on the way from southern Germany to Antwerp in an auto, accompanied by a Belgian chauffeur, where they were pursued by the Germans near the frontier. They escaped for a time, but were afterwards arrested by the Germans and finally liberated. On their way to Antwerp they took part with the Belgians in resisting the advances of the foe. Reaching Antwerp, they escaped with the Belgian army, at the time the city was besieged, and after some adventures, crossed the northern part of Belgium and reached Dunkirk on the Channel. From that point, in the endeavor to reach Paris, they had some stirring exploits, which tested their metal on many occasions. From the time they left Belgian territory it had been their wish to join the aviation corps, and this wish was gratified after they had left Paris and made their way to the eastern part of France. The corps to which they belonged was stationed at Verdun, the most vigorous outpost of the fighting line. There they were constantly engaged during a full year of most intrepid warfare. They owed their success in joining the corps as actual combatants to a peculiar incident. Before reaching the Verdun camp they had met Lieutenant Guyon, attached to the station at Bar-le-Duc, and with him they made numerous flights, especially in the work of testing machines. On one occasion the lieutenant, who was the victim of a weak heart, was attacked with the disease while aloft, and the boys piloted the machine to earth in safety, notwithstanding the excitement caused by the sudden pitching of the machine. It was sufficient to show that the boys were made of the right stuff, and the officer appreciated their bravery. Thereafter, the boys were his constant companions, flying with him on many occasions and engaging with him in some of the most brilliant encounters in the air with German aviators. The time came, however, when, after fighting three of the swiftest and most notable German aeroplanes, both of the boys were wounded. In the effort of the lieutenant to bring the badly crippled machine to earth, it was impossible to prevent the catastrophe which followed. The lieutenant and one of the boys were thrown from the machine, and the officer died from the effect of internal injuries within a week. The wounds of the boys were severe, and they were held at the base hospital for weeks before their condition was such as to permit them to be sent to the Paris Hospital. At the time of the foregoing conversation they had been convalescing for a month. The death of their friend was a terrible blow to them, so severe that, as indicated by their conversation, they did not feel like participating in any more airship work. "I suppose we shall always have a feeling that there is nothing like flying," said Ralph, as he mused over their experiences that evening. "It is all right, and I hope to do a great deal of flying after the war is over, but I suppose we might as well make up our minds to give it up for good at this time," replied Alfred. It was really a relief that the final decision had come, for the feeling of reverence was so strong for their dead friend that it seemed as though something would be wrong to go up in an airship without him. "When shall we start?" said Ralph the next morning. "As soon as they give us the discharge," replied Alfred. "You know no one is permitted to leave the hospital until the doctor gives his certificate." A week thereafter they were informed by the nurse that the doctor had prepared a certificate to the effect that both were able to leave. In one way this was very gratifying, but they could not forget the tender care which had been bestowed on them from the moment they became patients there. The certificates were finally handed to them, and, going to their rooms, they sadly packed up the few things which had accumulated. As they passed out and marched down between the rows of cots, with the packages on their backs, every patient greeted them. The history of the boys had reached every one long before this time, so they were not permitted to go without the usual wishes. "Sorry to see you go, but glad you are good as ever!" "Give them fits this time;" "Send the Boches my compliments," said another. "Where are you bound for this time?" cried a voice, from across the room. Every remark, in fact, indicating that they were expected to return to the fighting line. The emotions awakened by the greetings and the good wishes were too deep to dispel the idea. They could not, in the presence of the enthusiastic men all about them, say that they had enough of the _fighting game_, as every one called it. It made them feel as though something was wrong, and as they neared the door they almost made a bound for it. As they walked down the steps, Ralph looked at Alfred with a peculiar expression on his face. Alfred turned away, but suddenly wheeled around. "Well, are we going back?" he asked with startling suddenness. "I felt awfully sheepish; didn't you?" asked Ralph. "No; I felt like a coward. Now when I think of it I don't remember of a single fellow who left the hospital since we have been here who ever suggested that he wasn't going back," replied Alfred. "That's a fact; well, I'm going back, but not, in the airship service," said Ralph. "No; I couldn't do that; anything but flying." "Hello!" cried a voice behind them. "Out for good, are you? Well, sorry to lose you; we have a very polite way of bidding our patients good-bye, and I suppose I shall have to spring it on you." "What is that?" asked Ralph. "Hope you won't come back again," replied the doctor, with a laugh. The boys were really unprepared for mirth just at this time, but they managed to assure the doctor that his wishes were reciprocated. "Which way now?" continued the doctor. "We don't know," replied Alfred. "We are debating what to do." "You see," interrupted Ralph, "since Lieutenant Guyon's death we are all broken up, and we have been debating whether or not we can go back into the service." "Go back?" queried the doctor. "You don't have to go back; you are still in the service. Were you discharged by any one?" he asked, glancing at them keenly. "Why, no; we never thought of that," said Alfred, looking at Ralph. "We were just talking about going to England," explained Ralph. "If you did you would be deserters," replied the doctor with a smile. "Well, I thought it was singular that when they gave us the certificates they should give us these slips," said Alfred, pulling out the document. "Of course, you are still in the service, and that is merely an order for the last month's pay." "I know that, but they didn't say anything about keeping on," said Ralph. "They don't have to. You are in and the only way to get out is to be invalided, or to get a discharge in a regular way, and then you are free. Of course, we know how you feel about the death of your friend, and no one blames you for your aversion to re-entering the aviation service; but if you really want to get out, the matter can be easily arranged by applying to the American Ambassador, on the ground that you are Americans, and are minors," said the doctor. The boys looked at each other in silence, and finally Ralph spoke: "I think it would be well to do that; would you mind taking the steps for us?" "I certainly shall be glad to do so; you have earned an honorable discharge, if any one has," said the doctor. It thus turned out that three days after leaving the hospital, they received a document at their hotel from the American Embassy. On opening it they found two documents, reciting that Alfred Elton and Ralph Cottrell, native Americans, in the aviation service, were entitled to honorable discharges. Somehow the news was not enthusiastically received. They glanced at each other for a few moments in silence. "Does that suit you?" asked Ralph. "Not in the least," said Alfred with a mournful shake of the head. "I don't think the doctor had any business to get us out of the service." "But we told him that is what we wanted." They walked down the rue Rivoli, passed through the place de la Concorde, and reached the Champs Elysees in a half daze. Soldiers were moving hither and thither, vehicles of every description, Red Cross vans, and even cavalry squads were in the procession, but none of them seemed to attract their attention, so completely were they absorbed in the last episode of their lives, and, besides, they had seen so many of the trappings of war that a few more or less did not seem to cause much of a ripple. But as they slowly moved along the street they stopped, as by a common impulse, to witness a procession of machine guns mounted on smart little autos, followed by two full batteries of field guns. The artillery pieces were mounted on specially made auto trucks, and trailing behind each truck was the caisson. "Now, that looks like business," said Ralph. "It would have taken from eight to twelve horses to pull the gun and ammunition around. Gee! how soon those fellows could get into action and pull out when the command is given!" "That would suit me about as well as the flyers, but I suppose we haven't an earthly chance to get in on that," said Alfred ruefully. "Why not? We can get there if we try hard enough," responded Ralph. Alfred, with his eyes intent on the fine display before him, did not respond. The discharge, honorable though it was, made a sore spot in the heart of each. The following morning they awoke earlier than usual. The usual topic was again taken up and discussed. "Suppose we take a trip to the Artillerie Ecole?" remarked Alfred. "Where is it?" asked Ralph. "I don't know, myself, but it is across the river, somewhere. It was founded by the first Napoleon; it was always his hobby," said Alfred. "Yes, I know. It was he who said that God was always on the side that had the heaviest artillery," responded Ralph. "I don't think he would say so if he lived in the present time," answered Alfred. "Why not?" asked Ralph. "Why, he would have said 'With the most airplanes,'" suggested Alfred. Ralph laughed at the new idea. "Well, you may be right. I think that if the Allies would put more money and energy into flying machines and less in big guns, there would be more likelihood of success; but I don't suppose we ought to know it all," said Ralph with a sarcastic grin. When they arrived at the artillery school they were still garbed in the uniforms indicating the service in which they had been engaged. A kindly professor, in the uniform of a colonel, received them with smiles, and he questioned them about their work, and to him they confided their wishes. "You have been granted honorable discharges, and it would not be prudent for me to make any recommendations, however meritorious your services might have been," he remarked. After some reflection he continued: "If you are really bent on going back and entering the artillery branch, it would be well to apply to the English officials. They are preparing a tremendous organization in that direction." "Thank you," said Ralph. "We shall, probably, act upon your suggestion." Returning to the hotel the question was again considered, and the decision formed to depart for the British sector at once. That afternoon they emerged from the hotel and wended their way to the Gard du Nord, as the great northwest station of Paris is known. There two tickets were purchased for Amiens, a town eighty miles north, by railway, as they considered they would be able, probably, to get into contact with the British forces at that point. It was late in the morning when the train rolled into the city, and seizing their haversacks, the boys were quickly out of the train and ranged up alongside the military restaurant, awaiting an opportunity to be served. They were informed that a movement of great importance was going on in the sector directly east of that point, as was indicated by the vast number of field pieces, which were constantly being transported by motor and lorry. It was, really, the beginning of the combined English and French drive in the Somme region, as it is now known. A dapper little French sergeant, who sat between them, volunteered much of the information, which they were eager to obtain, as to the localities and disposition of the forces. "My battery was detrained at Moreil yesterday, and they will come north and cross the canal about eight kilometers east of the city," he remarked, in response to their questionings. "That is the branch of the service we are anxious to join," said Alfred. "What? after having had a hand with the flyers?" he asked, as he looked at them quizzically. "Yes; our best friend was killed, and then the doctor at the hospital was so much interested in us as to get us discharged," responded Ralph. "But the artillery is a tough place; you've got to rough it and stand an awful lot of pounding. Why, in the Champagne region, where we came from at the time we made the five-mile sweep, we went ahead so fast that the commissary couldn't keep up with us, and we were in the fight at one stretch for more than seventy hours, and with little to eat at that." That was said not in a boastful way, but merely to impress on them the hard lot of an artilleryman. "I suppose that is so," remarked Alfred. "But that's what the infantry men say; and the air pilots think they have a particularly tough time of it, and even the Red Cross people are in danger all the time; but that's to be expected." "Oh, if you're bound to go, there will be plenty to do, but the chances of getting in are pretty slim unless by regular enlistment." CHAPTER II THE FIGHT IN DEVIL'S CUT One of the important canals in northern France starts from the English Channel, near Abbeville, and parallels the Somme river, passing through Amiens, extending thence to Peronne, within the German lines. It was an important artery for the transportation of munitions and heavy ordnance directly to the front. When, two hours after the conversation related in the last chapter, the sergeant hunted around for means of conveyance to the section where his battery was to reach the canal, the boys accompanied him. Accommodations were finally secured on one of the many vans which lined the highway, and before noon the sergeant informed them that, as they were approaching the great highway leading to Corbie, he would have to bid them good-bye, as that was the point designated for the battery to ship on the canal. The boys debated the question, whether to remain or proceed to the front, and finally decided to continue their journey. But before proceeding two miles further the procession of loaded trucks halted, and the work of unloading began. They had reached the last permanent depot near the fighting line, but what to do now was the question. They were no nearer the object of their desires than when they left Paris. "I wonder why they are loading up that truck?" asked Ralph, as they glanced at several power machines close by. "Those boxes are going to the front, I am sure." "Want any help!" asked Alfred. "That's always welcome," said one of the men. "All right, then," said Alfred, "here goes. Which boxes do you want first?" They had already learned that there is nothing so welcome in the busy front as willingness to lend a hand. It is the open sesame to friendship and advancement. "Where are you bound?" asked Ralph, as they marched to and fro. "Right up to the front. These things must reach the 14th battery before night," was the reply. Each of these trucks carried two tons of provisions, loads greatly in excess of the weights for which they were built, but that was of no consequence. The fighters must have something to eat, whatever happened. When the last boxes were piled up the boys remained on the truck, and the driver, nodding at them pleasantly, threw in the clutch and speeded out the road to the east. "How long have you been at this business?" asked Ralph. "Three months," was the reply. "How do you like the job?" asked Alfred. "I like anything that will help the boys at the front," was the reply. "Is this your regular business?" asked Ralph. "Well, no, not exactly," he replied. "I didn't have any regular business before the war, but when it came along I went back into the army, and I would be there now if the Boches hadn't permanently lamed me; you see I can't quite get my right leg to straighten out. But it's all right; we saved France at the Marne, and I'd give the other leg to give them another such a licking as they got there." "Let me relieve you," said Alfred after the second hour. "Why, yes; an offer like that would be acceptable," he replied, as he rose from his seat. In all their conversation the man had the aspect of a true gentleman, and he was certainly out of his element, in that menial position. Later the boys learned from the assistant on the truck that Loree was the son of a nobleman, and after having been invalided he insisted on taking his place in the capacity where he might be most useful. "Why, you would be surprised, just as I am and have been ever since this war began, to find how many of the young men of the noble families of France are doing this kind of work, after they have been rendered unfit for duty in the ranks," said their companion to Ralph, as they were seated on the rear of the van. "How often do you make these trips?" asked Ralph. "Twice a day, if we can get across the Devil's Cut without interruption," was the answer. "What do you mean by the Devil's Cut?" asked Ralph. "Well, we have a stretch of about two kilometers that's like going through hell fire. The Germans have had the range of that road for a month. When we get through that we are all right, and sometimes they let us pass without shelling; but not often," was the answer. An hour thereafter the driver moved along and notified Alfred that it would be necessary for him to take the wheel. "Now get on the left side of the truck low down," he said to the boy. Without asking why, he did so and was surprised to see the assistant and Ralph hanging to a narrow running board at the side. "What's up?" shouted Alfred. "We are near the Devil's Cut," said Ralph. "Well, we are in it now," said the assistant. "Everything seems fairly quiet,ââ" "Bang." Something exploded. The boys had heard that sound before. It startled but did not disconcert them. "What! are we going right into the German lines?" asked Alfred, as he glanced about. "No," responded Ralph, "but we have a mile or so of close work, and this is the way the Germans have of welcoming us, as well,ââ" "Crash,ââ" came the second shell, followed by another, completely drowning the voice of the assistant. "They mean to get us this time, sure," said he finally. "Some airship gave them the tip, as they usually do. We must now make a run for it, I am sure of that." The words had hardly left his lips before it seemed as though a dozen shells had burst simultaneously. One of the missiles had struck the load, or some of the flying pieces went through. The truck stopped. The assistant was lying on the ground motionless, and Ralph, although unhurt, was beneath a heavy box, as Alfred picked himself up and looked around. He drew Ralph out and glanced at the assistant. "Too bad!" said the driver, as he descended from the van, and stooped down to examine his assistant. "That fragment finished him. But we haven't time to wait here. They have our range, and we cannot help him now. Get in quickly; there is another one coming, back there; two more,âoh! but they'll make mince meat of those fellows." Looking back the boys saw a half-dozen loaded vans, all speeding up, and some of the men waving their hats in frenzy of excitement. "Hiding doesn't do much good, but stay down at the side as long as you can," he shouted back. Another explosion, this time most deafening, and so near that it seemed the truck was thrown to one side,âstill on went the machine. Then something peculiar happened. The van started across the field toward the German lines. "Something's wrong!" shouted Ralph. "I wonder what the driver is up to now? We're off the road." Alfred drew himself up and Ralph saw him disappear toward the front of the van. The latter followed, and, as he gained the top of the load, he noticed Alfred leaning over and grasping the steering wheel. The van swerved around and reached the road, after two of the loaded vehicles passed them. No sooner had they regained the road when they met a hail of shrapnel, this time one of the shells striking full and fair beneath the machine directly ahead. Alfred had barely time to turn the machine to avoid the wreckage made by the shot. It was not such a time as to enable the men on one machine to aid those who were so unfortunate as to be hit by the missiles. The last series of explosions, unfortunately, struck the driver of the first van to pass them, as well as demolished the second. Ralph saw the driver fall and the machine turn. It described a circle. Alfred looked back and put on the brake hard. Ralph understood. He leaped from the truck, and rushed across the intervening space, being fortunate enough to seize a stanchion at the side of the wild van as it dashed by. It was but a moment's work to reach the chauffeur's seat. He waved his cap to Alfred, whose car was now again on the main road. They had now gone more than half the distance across the Cut, and, looking back, Ralph saw four machines intact and following them. One was completely demolished and the load scattered; and another, evidently, had the motive power out of commission. But they were not yet out of the danger zone. Alfred was now in the lead, and he had no idea where to go or what roads to take, as they approached several divergent roads. With shrapnel flying all about, he halted and as Ralph came up he drove alongside. "What is the matter?" asked Ralph. "Nothing," answered Alfred. "Wait until the other fellows come up. Some one must take the lead." The third machine drew alongside. "Go on," said Ralph. "We don't know the way." "Nor do I," replied the driver. "Has your driver recovered?" asked Ralph. "No, I am afraid he is done for; he has an awful cut across the head," answered Alfred. "But come on; we can't wait to get information here." Another machine appeared as the vans driven by Alfred and Ralph were getting under way. "This way! this way!" shouted a voice on the fourth machine. "Down to the left; and don't waste a minute if you don't want to be blown from the face of the earth." A cavalryman sped past, waving his carbine, and rounded up Alfred. "Go back quickly; turn to the left." Ralph was caught in time; they rounded the crest of a little hill, and then, for the first time, the rear batteries came into view, and a mile beyond, rows of sheds appeared in sight. "That is your place," shouted the man on horseback. "Follow the row of trees to the right, but don't cross the bridge." The throttle was thrown on full speed, and, although the roads were fearfully cut up, and great holes appeared at every turn, which had to be avoided, they never stopped the maddening race until the first guard line was reached. As they turned into the compound where a division was quartered, a speedy motor car dashed out, and, halting before Alfred's car, signaled for him to stop. "Did you all get through?" shouted an officer. "We left two behind," said Alfred. The officer sat down, gave a quick order, and speeded away to go back into that scorching streak of road called the Devil's Cut, to rescue those who had fallen. This was a mere incident repeated day by day, until two batteries of 75-millimeter guns were placed in position, a week thereafter, when that section of the road was made as safe as any in France. CHAPTER III THE 75-MILLIMETER GUNS The Director of the Commissary Department, with his staff, was on hand to inspect the six van loads, which drove into the space between the store sheds. He stopped in front of the van occupied by Ralph. The latter stood up and saluted. "We had a hot time of it," said Ralph. Without replying for a moment the officer quickly glanced at Alfred in the following car, in astonishment. "How does it happen that you are in charge of these vans?" he asked. "We were aboard on the trip, and when the drivers were hit we took their places," said Alfred. "Did you know what chances you were taking?" he asked. "Well, no," replied Ralph, "but that didn't make any difference. We are used to taking chances." "You deserve great credit for the work. Orderly, take the names of these young men, and assign them quarters. Be at my office in an hour," he said. "Thank you; we will be there," said Alfred. "Where shall we take these vans?" "The officer in charge of transportation will direct you," was the reply. After the loads had been disposed of and they were walking toward the commandant's quarters, Ralph said: "We seem to get into the service by the back-door route right along." "Why, do you think they will give us a job running those vans?" asked Alfred. "Possibly so; but I don't want any of it in mine. I'd like to join the artillery and smash the life out of those fellows who are shelling Devil's Cut," replied Ralph. At the appointed time the boys entered the commandant's office. The drivers of the different vans were present, and all greeted the two boys with considerable show of appreciation. "How did it happen that you were on the goods vans?" asked the officer. "We were trying to get to the front, so we took the opportunity to help them load up, and just came along after we got through," said Alfred. "Where did you get your uniforms?" he asked. "We wore these while we were in the service," replied Ralph, and, as the latter said this, he drew out the discharge paper, and Alfred took pleasure in doing likewise. The officer glanced at the papers, nodded his head approvingly, and said: "Those credentials are certainly creditable to you. We admire Americans, and assure you we have the utmost respect for the American boy. Do you wish to enter the service? We can use brave fellows like yourselves." "We are trying to join the artillery," said Ralph, "but we haven't succeeded so far in getting a position." "I am sorry I cannot be of any service to you in that direction," responded the officer, "but I can commend you to the commanding general, in submitting my report." On leaving the building they passed a group of men, who, evidently, were discussing the incidents of the afternoon, for, as they approached, some of the men saluted them, and one of them held up his hand to stop them. "I am requested to say that Count Le Clery wishes to see you," he said. They looked at him in a bewildered way. "Count Le Clery, who is he?" asked Alfred. "You will find him in the hospital, ward 8," was the reply. "Does he want to see us now?" asked Ralph. "Yes; he is able to see you now," was the answer. Entering the hospital they were directed to a row of cots, patient C, 28. Before them was a man with a bandaged head, and an arm stretched across the bed, held straight with a splint. "I don't suppose you recognize me?" said the man. Alfred looked closer and slowly shook his head. "I am told that you and your friend piloted my car and another through that storm in Devil's Cut," he said. "Oh, I know you now," said Ralph. "Well, we couldn't do anything else, could we?" "Well, I want to thank you, and tell you that you have made a friend who will never forget you. I remember the conversation with you before we had our little accident," he continued, addressing Alfred. "We need young men of your stamp, and I will keep you in mind and act as soon as I am able to move about." Incidents of this kind are always the subjects of conversation among hospital internes. They seem to crave excitement, and like to talk about exceptional exploits. That the boys were volunteers and Americans at that, lately in the aviation corps, bearing honorable discharges for valuable services rendered, was certainly worthy of comment. It was with some surprise that they were directed by the orderly to take possession of a tent, and assigned to a mess made up of the clerks of the warehouse. There they found several other young men, and during the two weeks they remained, were general favorites with every one in the government employ. Late in the evening, hearing an unusual bustle outside, and the tooting of horns, they peered out, and saw a dozen goods vans coming across the compound. On investigation they learned that the last supply vans had not been molested in the least, but the first convoy to reach the field base the next morning was literally shot to pieces, two of the chauffeurs having been killed, several of the assistants severely wounded, and three of the vans completely demolished. The supply station was less than a mile behind the lines, but it was well concealed behind a bluff on the western side of the little stream, and only occasionally would a shell find its way to that section. The precaution was taken by the commanding officer, to keep a score of airplanes above and near the camp and thus prevent the enemy from locating the spot. During the following day they visited the trenches, not on account of the novelty, but more a matter of curiosity. On returning they crossed the stream and ascended an elevation, designated as Hill 207, where they inspected the battery and conversed with some of the gunners. "The big Bobs are on the way," said the sergeant, in speaking of the preparations that were going on for the great drive. "What do you mean by that?" asked Alfred. "Oh, that's the term we use for the 75's," he replied. "They are the fellows we must see," said Ralph, as they walked down the hill. "When did that fellow say the 75's would come up?" asked Alfred the following morning. "He said they were on the way now," answered Ralph. "Suppose we ask the boys." Every one had heard of the famous 14th, which had done such terrible execution east of Marmelon. It was understood that they were to take up position along the ridge west of Hill 209. "Let's go over there at once," said Ralph. It was a long tramp to the top, made doubly tedious and difficult owing to the torn-up condition of the earth. This entire section had been shelled by the French for more than two weeks, and now, in turn, the Germans were bombarding the same region. It would be impossible to give an adequate idea of the nature of the fields over which they traveled. At every convenient spot the light field batteries were stationed, and after numerous inquiries the place selected for the famous battery was located. Before noon the great field pieces were being transported in a long train through the narrow valley south of the river, while airplanes were circling around continually, a sure indication that something unusual was happening in that particular part of the front. Below the hill to the west, and entirely out of sight of the German observation posts, was a deep ravine through which an emergency railroad had been operated, and a great tractor was drawing the guns headed for the depression. "That's where they are going to land those guns," said Ralph in excitement. "Look at the men filing up along the ditch." "Come on," shouted Alfred. They rushed down the hill, and impatiently awaited the arrival of the first section. The great tractor paid no attention to the soft earth and the shell holes in its path. It rolled along serenely like a thing of life. "Just in time, boys!" called out a voice from the ammunition van behind the gun. "It's the sergeant," said Alfred. "So it is," replied Ralph. "Do you want any help!" he asked, as he rushed over and walked alongside the heavy truck. "Oh, there'll be plenty to do as soon as we unlimber," replied the sergeant. "One, two, three, four, five, six. I suppose they'll put them all along this hollow'?" "What are they bringing that brush for?" asked Ralph. "Look at those trucks filled with trees." "We're going to plant a grove here," said the sergeant. "That will take some work." The boys looked at each other. There would be plenty to do. An officer, the commander of the battery, rushed up in a motor car, and, in a business-like manner ordered the spacing of the guns, and the disposition of the racks which held the ammunition. The racks are really pigeon holes in a heavily built frame, each frame holding a hundred of these shells. They are located about ten feet from the gun so as to be within convenient distance for supplying the ordnance after each discharge. The boys admired the wonderful mechanism, and the sergeant was quick to notice their great interest in the arrangement for rapidly manoeuvering the piece. "That is the most remarkable weapon that the war has produced," explained the sergeant, as he dismounted. "The Germans have tried to imitate it, but we are always just a little ahead of them, and can fire three shots to every two that they will get out of their best. Wait until tomorrow and you will see some business with the fellows on the other side." "Good!" said Alfred. "We owe them a thing or two for what they tried to do to us yesterday." "What's that?" he asked. "They shelled us all the way through Devil's Cut, but we managed to bring out several of the trucks," said Ralph. "Why, we heard of that down at the village this morning," said the sergeant. "And you are really the fellows that helped out our men? That was fine! I must tell the captain about it." He beckoned to the boys. They followed. After the usual salute, the sergeant, addressing an officer, said: "Do you remember the story we heard at the village this morning about a couple of young fellows who were brave enough to rescue several vans at Devil's Cut yesterday? Here are the boys who did the work." "I am glad to know you. What! in the aviation service?" he remarked, looking at their uniforms. "But not now," said Ralph. "We are looking for a chance to help out with the artillery." The captain looked pleased at this quick introduction of the subject on the part of the boys. Then, turning to the sergeant, he said: "The chapparal, officer; they can help out in that direction." Then, turning to the boys, he continued: "I am afraid you will not have a very easy time of it, for those vans will have to be unloaded and the guns concealed before we commence business." Then the boys understood. They saluted and accompanied by the sergeant, mounted the first vehicle, which had stopped in the rear of one of the guns. Out came the brush and the poles. Meanwhile, the gun in charge of the sergeant was pushed back, while a squad of men began to level the ground in the deep depression. The gun was wheeled into position, and the wheels underpinned with timbers curiously laid together and tamped, making a solid foundation. Then began the work of concealment, so that those prized pieces of the French artillery would be safe from the prying eyes of the German air fleet. "Now, boys," said the sergeant, addressing the special squad delegated for the building of the chapparal, "plant several of the heavy poles with the brushy tops on each side of the gun; then stretch wires across and hang the small brush to them. Be sure to distribute them irregularly, so as to make it as natural as possible." Shovels and picks were now employed feverishly to dig the holes and plant the poles. The wires were strung and the decorations added, not only along and around the location of each gun, but in the spaces between the pieces. The vans came up continually with new burdens of boughs, until the boys thought there would be no end to this new species of arbor culture. "Ralph, do you think we could spot this place at a distance of five thousand feet in a swift Morane?" asked Alfred. "I should say not," replied Ralph, "but there is one thing I should do if I had anything to say about it." "And what is that?" asked the captain, who overheard the remark. "I'd completely cover the breech of the gun and the ammunition case," he answered. "And why?" asked the captain, with a smile. "Because the merest glimpse of shiny metal is likely to be noticed when flying. I have seen that many times when flying, and Lieutenant Guyon always told us to watch for it," replied Ralph. "You are right," answered the captain. "That will be your work. Here, men, follow the instruction of these boys as to the placing of the boughs." The sergeant showed his pleasure at the order, for he somehow felt himself to be sponsor for the boys. "You've got the old man going," he whispered to the boys. "Shall I go to the next gun?" inquired Alfred, addressing the captain. "By all means; orderly, instruct the workers to follow the direction of the young men," said the captain. CHAPTER IV A LESSON IN OBSERVATION The strenuous work was completed before night covered the scene. The flying machines had acted as a screen, and the guns, now in position, were effectually covered from the eyes of a prying foe. As they were about to leave the captain said: "For the present you may find room in the vans, but tomorrow the regular quarters will be prepared near the guns." The steaming hot supper, which was brought up in the kitchen vans, was relished as never before. After the meal they sat around and talked over the incidents of the day, and learned each other's histories, for there is a comradeship in the field that obtains nowhere else in any other occupation. "And so you have been flying?" said the sergeant. "That has always had a fascination for me, but, strange as it may seem, I have never yet been up in the air, although I have had many opportunities. I have often wondered how things look from a height of two kilometers." "Well, the first time I went up I couldn't distinguish a thing," said Ralph. "I could tell what trees were, and could make out rivers, and houses, of course, but outside of that everything else looked like a blurred picture." "Couldn't you make out people walking, or troops marching, and the like?" asked one of the men. "No, indeed," said Alfred. "Why, how big do you suppose a man would look at a distance of five thousand feet, when you are directly overhead?" "I don't know," replied the sergeant, with an inquiring look. "I don't suppose he could be seen at all, unless he happened to be moving." "Why, at that distance it would be impossible to see the man, moving or not, for he would not appear bigger to the eye than the end of the finest wire," Ralph informed him. "I remember when we made our first flights at Bar-le-Duc, that the lieutenant asked us to give him our impression as to the sizes of objects we saw and to tell him what they were. When a fellow is flying about the first thing he will notice is a river, if there is one anywhere in the neighborhood, and, of course, I saw a bridge. I couldn't wait until we landed before I marked it down on a piece of paper: 'A bridge; 200 feet long.' I thought I'd get it long enough. We were then flying about 5,000 feet above the earth. I saw the lieutenant smile. At that height the bridge looked about like a lead pencil held ten feet from the eye. Well, when we landed, the lieutenant said: 'It was a bridge, sure enough, but it happens to be seven hundred feet long.'" "That reminds me," observed Alfred, "that we talked about several other things on that trip, and it will show how poor the judgment is unless the eye is well trained. Do you remember the drill ground east of Fleury? Well, we were asked to put down the number of men we could estimate in each group, and I was particularly anxious to tell the lieutenant how many men were in each of the squares which were formed. Each block of men, as they appeared to me, were about the size of a domino. I felt sure there couldn't be more than 50 men, but the lieutenant said there were at least two hundred." "But that isn't the worst of it," rejoined Ralph. "We knew they were soldiers, because they were on the drill ground, but if that same number of men had been in the open country, it would have taken an expert to see them. I was fooled in that way not long after the experience I was just telling about, and, although the lieutenant pointed out the marching men, I couldn't spot them until he told me to watch for the glint of steel that would occasionally flash out. Then I understood." "I have heard it said that if every moving object, it mattered not how big it might be, were painted the same color as the earth and other surrounding objects, aviators would not be able to discover them; is that really so?" inquired the sergeant. "Yes," answered Ralph. "I think it's pretty near the truth. Sometimes even the upturned face of a man will attract attention, although the face makes a mighty small speck, but I believe that fellows who think they can see a man's face at a distance of 5,000 feet, either use a field glass, or the man below happened to be wearing eye glasses, for they make fine reflectors for the airmen." "But those who are flying get birds' eyes, after a time," said Alfred. "What is that?" asked the captain, who appeared at the door. "Do you think a man's eyesight grows keener by flying, after he is at it for a time?" "It seems so to me," answered Ralph. The captain shook his head. "I think that is a misapprehension. The eyesight does not become sharper or more acute." "Then how is it that I can now see things that I could not notice when we first began to fly?" asked Alfred. "Observation! observation, my boy! You can't see one whit better today than you could the first time you went
{'title': 'The Boy Volunteers with the British Artillery by Kenneth Ward', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}