Читать книгу Two American Boys with the Allied Armies - Sherman Crockett - Страница 3

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“Why not climb up into this battered old windmill, Amos, and take an observation?”

“Now, that’s a good idea, Jack, only we’d better be mighty careful about showing ourselves too recklessly, you know.”

“You mean that there might be German raiding parties skirmishing around this section of country, don’t you, Amos?”

“Well, we’ve had to hide twice today when we glimpsed suspicious squadrons galloping across the fields, or covering some far-off road. And you remember that one of them bore the stamp of Uhlans in their lances with the fluttering pennons, their dirt-colored uniforms, and the spiked helmets.”

“Oh! we’ll try and not show ourselves, Amos; but since we’re a little mixed up in our bearings this seems too good a chance to lose.”

“These Dutch-style windmills we’ve run across in this strip of Belgium do make mighty good lookouts and observation towers. I warrant you some of them have figured heavily in the ebb and flow of the war.”

“This one has for a fact, Amos,” remarked the young fellow called Jack, as he pointed at numerous jagged holes in the concrete foundation, where evidently a storm of bullets had struck. “You can see how it’s been bombarded on all sides; and that top corner on the left was torn off by a passing shell. Here inside is a pile of empty brass cartridge-cases that tells the story as plain as print.”

“Made in Germany they were as sure as you live, and used in a rapid-fire gun at that, Jack. Yes, it’s all written out before us. Here in this concrete base of the windmill tower, some daring gun squad of the Kaiser’s men took up their stand with their outfit, and held the Allies off as long as their ammunition lasted. I wonder what happened then, Jack?”

“I’ve got a hunch we’ll find out something after we get up where we can look around a bit. But come on, let’s climb this ladder to the upper part of the windmill. Have a care how you trust your whole weight on anything, because they’ve riddled the place for keeps.”

While the two boys climb upwards with the intention of taking a look around and getting their bearings, we might as well become better acquainted with them, and learn what sort of mission it was that brought two American lads over to the battle-scarred fields of Southwestern Belgium at such a perilous time.

Jack Maxfield and Amos Turner were first cousins, and the latter lived in one of the best-known suburbs of Chicago; while Jack, being an orphan, was in the habit of saying that “his home was wherever he happened to hang his hat.”

Both boys were passionately fond of outdoor life, but fortune had allowed Jack to spend several years on a Western ranch, where he accumulated a fund of knowledge through actual experience; while Amos had to be content with what he could pick up through reading, theorizing, and association with a Boy Scout troop.

Jack had been left with independent means, and chanced to be visiting at the home of Colonel Turner, his uncle, at the time a strange event took place which resulted in the dispatch of the two boys across the ocean, bent upon an errand of mercy. Just what that mission was the reader will learn by listening to the conversation between the two boys after they reached the top of the windmill tower. Day and night it bore heavily on the mind of Amos, so that he frequently found himself sighing, and seeking consolation in the reassuring words his cousin was so ready to pour out.

After some little effort they managed to pull themselves up and land on the top of the windmill base. Roughly treated under the bombardment to which, as a fortress, it had been subjected, the material was crumbling in numerous places. The boys, however, had no trouble in finding room on the top. Overhead arose one of the gaunt arms with its tattered sail; another had been shattered by the same shell that had torn the corner away, and lay in a heap close by.

Taking a hasty look all around, the two boys quickly discovered several things that held their interest.

“Amos,” said Jack, gravely, “you were wondering what had become of the Germans who defended this place against all opposition. If you will look down there where that willow tree grows alongside the brook you’ll understand.”

“Fresh-made graves, sure enough, Jack!” exclaimed the other, with a quick intake of his breath. “Like as not they held out till the last man went under. And some of their comrades passing this way stopped long enough to cover the brave fellows with two feet of earth. That’s about all a soldier can expect these days.”

“I can guess what’s in your mind when you sigh that way, Amos. You’re wondering whether your brother Tom is still alive, or has found a grave like hundreds of thousands of others in this terrible war.”

“We’ve reason to believe he changed his name and joined the British forces, not caring much whether he survived or perished,” said Amos, with a look of pain on his young face. “You know he always was a reckless fellow. He is nearly ten years older than I. Father was very strict, and couldn’t understand that high-spirited Tom was one of those who could be led, but never driven. Then came that awful accusation—oh! it makes me shiver to think of that time.”

“Your father accused Tom of taking his pocketbook from a drawer of his desk, and everything seemed to point to him as the thief. You say Tom denied being guilty but was too proud to say anything more. And so he was driven from home, and has never been seen since that time—is that it, Amos?”

“Yes, though I’ve had a few lines from him about once in six months,” replied the other boy, slowly. “First he went to California; then I heard from him in Japan; and the last time it was in England, where he said he had enlisted under another name, and meant to fight for the Allies, not caring much what happened.”

“Did your father ever know you had heard from him?” asked Jack, as he continued to use his eyes to advantage, and examine the surrounding country from the elevated lookout.

“I didn’t dare show him the postcards that came to me,” replied Amos. “He is such a stern martinet, you know, or rather was up to a month ago, when that queer thing happened. Father made a name for himself as a soldier during the Spanish war. He had told me to consider that my brother was dead, and so I was afraid to tell him about those cards. If our mother had only lived all this terrible trouble would never have happened, for she knew how to handle high-spirited Tom.”

“Tell me again about that day the discovery was made, Amos; of course I’ve heard the story, but I’d like to get it all fresh in my mind.”

“It happened in this way,” replied the other, who had come to lean on his cousin more or less since they had grown to be chums, “one of the drawers of father’s desk seemed to stick with the pile of papers in it, and he asked me to get it out. I can see him now, sitting there and watching me work at it, with that set look on his face that has been there ever since he sent poor Tom away.”

“One of the papers was missing, you told me, and you thrust your hand in where the drawer had come from so as to get hold of it?” remarked Jack, eagerly, as though in imagination he could picture the intensely thrilling scene.

“Yes, and when I hastily drew my hand out and held up what I had found there in the cavity where the drawer had been I thought my father would fall back dead in his chair, he was so stunned. His face turned as white as chalk, and he held his breath ever so long.”

“It was the lost pocketbook, of course?” continued Jack.

“Nothing less,” said Amos, tragically; “you see, it must have been lying on top of all those papers and was dragged off when the drawer was opened long ago. Every cent was in it untouched. Father swooned away with the shock, and has never been himself since. He can’t sleep nights, and keeps muttering all the while about his cruel injustice to poor Tom.”

“Of course you showed him the cards from your brother, Amos?”

“Yes, as soon as he was in a condition to understand,” replied the other. “From that hour he has had only one thing in his mind, which was that some one must find Tom and fetch him home. Father says he can’t live much longer, and that he is praying every day that he might ask his boy to forgive him before he goes.”

“And so we’ve come across to try and find Tom,” Jack went on to say, “though since he’s changed his name it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack; but we’ve managed to pick up a clue, and there’s a faint chance of our running across him before a great while.”

“Oh! I hope so, I hope so, Jack,” said the other, fervently. “Every time I shut my eyes I seem to see poor father’s face before me. The look of pain on it haunts me. I would give almost anything if only I could find Tom and take him back home with me. I believe it would give father new life. But what a small chance we’ve got to run across my brother in an army of half a million men, when we’re not even sure of the name he’s known by. He may have fallen long ago in one of those fierce drives the Germans made on the British lines.”

“Keep hoping for the best, Amos,” the Western boy told him, cheerily, for Jack was always seeing the silver lining in the cloud. “Something whispers to me that sooner or later we’re bound to succeed, and that when we start back across the Atlantic we’ll have your brother Tom in tow. But there’s one thing we’ve got to make sure of, and that is to keep clear of the Germans. Once we fall into their hands they’d send us into Germany as prisoners of war, no matter how we proved we were American boys. And that would ruin our game.”

“So far we’ve been helped in a lot of ways by the Allied officers,” remarked Amos, trying to pluck up fresh courage and hope. “My father happened to have good friends among the military people over in England, and they gave me a paper that has been worth a heap to us here. Only for that we’d never have been allowed to get as far as we have toward the firing line. But what are you staring so hard at, Jack?”

The other for answer drew his companion still further down as though he had made an unpleasant discovery that promised them fresh trouble. Accustomed to the great distances of the Western prairies, Jack’s eyes were like those of the eagle, and he could see objects that might have passed unheeded by others.

“There’s something moving over yonder where that low hill rises,” he hastened to inform Amos. “If you look close you can see a whole string of objects bobbing up and down as if on galloping horses. I think, Amos, they are the little pennons at the tip-end of Uhlan lances; and that a detachment of the rough-riding corps must be coming this way!”

“Then they’ll be pretty sure to head for this windmill as soon as they round the base of the hill,” exclaimed Amos, hurriedly, looking much concerned.

“It’s apt to draw them as the needle is attracted to the pole,” ventured the second boy. “In this country every place that affords a lookout is taken advantage of by friend and foe alike. Which means that since it’s too late now for us to skip out without being seen and chased, we’ll have to hide ourselves here and wait for the coast to clear. Come, there’s no time to lose, Amos!”