Army Boys in France Part 12

"Not much nourishment in that," muttered Billy under his breath.

"Suppose the mask's defective, got a hole in it or something like that."

"If it is, it's better to find it out now than when we're actually in the trenches," answered Frank. "I suppose that's the real reason for this test. Here's hoping that no shoddy contractor had put one over on the government."

They filed into the grim little room after having adjusted their masks with especial care and stood crowded closely together looking in their ghostly attire like so many spectres.

It was a grisly five minutes that seemed more like an hour to each one of them. The dead silence added to the discomfort of the occasion.

Death seemed to be all around them, reaching out to them with its skeleton fingers. They were in the "valley of the shadow," and it sobered them.

It was an immense relief when the knock of the sergeant on the door summoned them forth and the test was over. And there was great satisfaction when it was learned that all the masks had held and shown that they could be relied on.

Once out in the clean, sweet air and under the blue sky that never before had seemed so beautiful, the boys tore off their masks in a hurry.

"Now I feel like a respectable member of society and not like one of the Ku Klux Klan!" exclaimed Bart, as he looked around on the flushed bronzed faces of his comrades. "My, but it's good to be out of this hideous rig. I'd like to throw it into the river," he added digging his fingers viciously into the unoffending mask.

"You'll be glad enough to have it some day before long," prophesied Frank. "Then you'll count it the best friend you have."

"Isn't it pretty nearly time for mess?" asked Fatty Bates wistfully.

"Not yet, little one," remarked Billy. "The sergeant's got something else up his sleeve, or I miss my guess."

A groan went up from Fatty, which was quickly suppressed when the sergeant looked sternly at him.

"Form in single file, men," commanded the sergeant, "and make your way through the trench. Bend over as you go, for you're supposed to be on the enemy front, and not a head must show to be a mark for snipers."

They did as they were told, and after they had reached a designated portion of the shallow trench they were halted by their leader.

"You're going to be ga.s.sed right and proper now," he said. "Some gas sh.e.l.ls are going to be thrown over toward you and it's up to you when you see them coming to get those masks on mighty quick."

Crouching low and on the alert, the men waited until a gas sh.e.l.l with a hiss and a scream came hurtling in their direction and broke a hundred feet in front of the trench. A cloud of gas came rolling toward them.

On went their masks in the twinkling of an eye, and the vapor pa.s.sed over them harmlessly.

Several times this was repeated until the keen eye of the sergeant was satisfied with the dexterity shown by the squad. And there was a general sigh of relief when he summoned them out of the trench and announced that drill was over for the morning.

"Phew, but that was some strenuous work," remarked Frank, as holding their masks in their hands the men strolled back in groups of twos and threes toward their quarters.

"I feel as though I had been drawn through a knothole," said Fatty Bates.

The thought of Fatty being drawn through a knothole was so ludicrous that it provoked a general roar.

"I guess we all feel pretty well used up," said Bart when the merriment had subsided, "but all the same it's things like this that are going to help us lick the Huns."

And so the days pa.s.sed in learning the grim lessons of war, and the shadows, lengthening into evening, brought supper, perhaps some special musical entertainment, a vaudeville show, or moving pictures, sometimes only bonfires with smoking, laughing, joking crowds about them. The boys enjoyed these latter evenings most when the funny events of the day could be pa.s.sed in review and enjoyed by them all.

Then, promptly at nine the bugle called for "all lights out," and the young soldiers, early as was the hour, obeyed it willingly. The strenuous days in the open air made the narrow cots in the long barracks particularly appealing.

"Did you hear that joke Jameson was telling about the Yankee soldier?"

Bart asked one night, when all the rest were either asleep or on the way.

"No," said Frank, sleepily. "What was it?"

"It seems a guard challenged him," chuckled Bart, "with the regular, 'Who goes there?' and he answered, 'Aw, you wouldn't know if I told you. I've only been here a couple o' days'."

"That's all very well here," yawned Frank. "But it wouldn't go in 'No Man's Land'!"

CHAPTER XI

NICK RABIG TURNS UP

"What is that? Shrapnel?" asked Bart, one morning, as he opened his eyes after the reveille and heard the rain beating a tremendous tattoo on the roof.

"Hardly as bad as that," laughed Frank. "If it were, I bet you'd be out of that cot more quickly than you're doing it now. But it sure is coming down."

"So much the better," said Bart, as he jumped out and hastily began to dress. "That'll cut out the drill to-day and I'll have time to answer some of my letters and darn my socks."

But such roseate dreams were quickly dispelled. The storm increased in violence after breakfast and the wind blew great guns.

The Y.M.C.A. building was being erected for the use of that organization but was not yet completed. In the meantime, the a.s.sociation had put up for temporary use a canvas tent, and as the storm increased in fury the flimsy structure gave every evidence of taking to itself wings and flying away.

The captain ordered a detail of men to go out and surround the tent and hold the tent pins down by main force if necessary.

There was nothing alluring about the prospect, for it meant a thorough drenching for the entire detail.

But the boys had already learned the first great rule of military life--to obey instantly any command given by a superior officer.

So Frank and Bart, who happened to be among those chosen for the work, jumped at the word. But they also had the soldiers' immemorial privilege of grumbling among themselves, and Bart chose to exercise it as they made their way in the teeth of the storm to the threatened tent.

"Just our luck to catch the captain's eye," he muttered.

"Stop your grumbling," adjured Frank. "Think how much worse it would be if we were plowing through the mud in No Man's Land. Let's make a lark of it."

"We'll be up among the larks all right," returned Bart, "if this thing ever gets away from the tent pins." They laid hold of the straining ropes and hung on for dear life. "An aviator would have nothing on us."

It was hard work while it lasted and their st.u.r.dy muscles were put to the test, but they had the satisfaction of keeping the tent in its place and after a while the storm subsided and the danger was over.

"Isn't it about time for those drafted men to get down here?" asked Frank, as they were on their way back to the barracks.

"I heard yesterday from Billy Waldon," returned Bart, "that two or three regiments were expected to-day. Up to now all the fellows here have been volunteers. I'm curious to see how the drafted men will take to the life."

"I suppose some of them will be sore at having had to come whether they wanted to or not," replied Frank. "Still there will be lots of good fighting material in them. I've heard Peterson say that the drafted men in the Union Army fought as well as the volunteers. They'll all be good Americans when they face the Huns."

Even as they spoke they heard the far-off music of a band and saw the men who were off duty hurrying toward the great gate of the camp.

"I shouldn't wonder if some of them were coming now," remarked Frank.

"Let's leg it to the gate and see them come in."