Читать книгу Two American Boys with the Allied Armies - Sherman Crockett - Страница 6

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Jack noticed that the other two aeroplanes had withdrawn as though the pilots felt satisfied with having hurled the Taube to the ground. That particular section of country was so rough that they evidently had no intention of trying to effect a landing. Amos even suggested that possibly they had not come out of the encounter unscathed, and that the aviators were glad of a chance to retire from the battle in the air.

“We must see how badly he is hurt, Amos,” said the Western boy, as he started toward the spot where the venturesome birdman had plunged from his falling machine into the scrub bushes.

“Yes, I wouldn’t feel right unless we did that,” agreed Amos, who possessed a tender heart, and had once upon a time subscribed to the rules governing the conduct of the Boy Scouts of America.

They were quickly on the spot, and looking to the right and the left in the endeavor to locate the stricken aviator.

“There he is, Jack!” said Amos, suddenly, gripping the arm of his chum as he spoke. “Down on his hands and knees, too, as if he might be searching for something he had lost. Shall we go closer and see if he’s badly hurt? I think we ought to do what little we can for the plucky chap.”

Evidently this was what Jack had in mind, for he immediately started forward. The Taube pilot heard them coming and looked up. His face was streaked with blood and dirt, and altogether he presented a sad picture.

At sight of two boys approaching him instead of grown men garbed in the khaki of British soldiers, he seemed astonished. If he had intended to draw a weapon and sell his life dearly he changed his mind, for now he was holding up both hands. To the ranch boy that was an old and familiar sign of surrender. He had seen it used on many occasions during his experience in the West.

“Do you understand English?” was the first thing Jack asked as he and Amos drew near the wounded airman, still kneeling there.

The other nodded his head in the affirmative. He was eying them suspiciously, as though he could not understand who and what they were, for English boys were not supposed to form a part of the army sent across the Channel.

“I haf knowledge of the language if I cannot speak same much,” he told them.

“Well, first of all, we’re American boys, not English, you understand. We’re wanting to look after your wounds, if you care to let us,” Jack went on to say, at the same time smiling pleasantly.

“Is it to be a prisoner you mean?” demanded the birdman, suspiciously.

“Not as far as we’re concerned,” Jack hastened to assure him. “After we’ve fixed you up you can go your way for all of us; though you would do well to hide until night comes along, before trying to make your own lines. Now, we’re in something of a hurry, so let’s look you over.”

He went about doing so with a business-like air that was convincing. The wrecked air-pilot may have been loth at first to let mere boys try to attend to his hurts, but he soon realized his mistake, and submitted willingly.

There were numerous scratches and small contusions, but these amounted to little, and, after being washed with some water Jack carried in a canteen, could be left to time to heal. The worst thing was a fractured left arm, which must have been very painful, though the man never uttered a groan when Jack dexterously set the bones and bound it up as best he could.

“That’s all we can do for you just now,” he told the aviator, after completing the job. “As one of those other machines might sail over this way at any minute to see what has become of you, if you’re wise, you’ll hurry and hide somewhere so they won’t see you.”

“I thank you very much,” said the man, evidently impressed with the kindness shown by the two American boys.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” remarked Amos, lightly. “We’re supposed to be friends of all parties to this scrap. I’ve got a German chum at home I think heaps of, and his name is Herman Lange. Good-bye, and I want to say you put up a rattling good fight as long as it lasted.”

Perhaps the other did not wholly understand all of Amos’ remarks, but he knew the boy was saying nice things about his recent performance, so he smiled, and insisted on shaking hands with them both.

The last they saw of him he was making for a heavy growth of brush as though intending to profit by the advice given by the long-headed Western boy, by lying low until the day was spent, when it would be safe for him to be abroad.

“For one I’m not sorry I helped ease up that pain a bit,” remarked Amos, as he and Jack walked away, once more heading toward the quarter where they knew the British column would be found.

“Same here,” echoed the other. “He was a nervy chap, all right. You noticed that he never let out a single peep when I shoved those broken bones together, though I warrant you it must have hurt like fun.”

“I saw you pick up something and ram it in your pocket when we were coming away—must have been worth your trouble, Jack.”

“It was what the poor chap was hunting for, I reckon,” replied the second boy, as he thrust a hand inside his coat, and brought out a roughly folded paper.

“Why, would you believe it, he’s been making a regular chart from away up there in the clouds!” exclaimed Amos, the instant this paper was unfolded.

“And besides being a bold air-pilot that German must be a regular topographical engineer if there is such a thing. I never saw a map made hurriedly but showing everything so plainly. Here’s marks to show the positions of the British trenches around Ypres, every big gun marked with a cross, and even the supply stations and the hangars of the aeroplanes plainly located. Why, with a chart like this, distances plotted out and all that, German gunners could shell any position they chose from a distance of eight or ten miles.”

“A valuable map to fall into the hands of the Kaiser’s men, eh, Jack?”

“I should say yes, Amos; and that was why he hated to lose the same after going to all the trouble he had to make it.”

“Still, it wouldn’t have been just fair for you to have turned it over to him, because we went as far as we ought in looking after his wounds,” suggested Amos.

“Well, we’re supposed to be neutral, though favoring the Allies, because their aims correspond with what Americans believe in—as little military government as possible. I’m only wondering whether I had better tear the chart up, or keep it so as to gain favor with the commander of the forces over yonder.”

“Keep it, Jack; it may open their hearts to us; you never can tell,” was the way Amos looked at the matter. So, acting on this advice, the other boy concluded not to destroy the work of the chart-maker of the skies.

“There’s one of those other monoplanes starting up again,” said Amos, pointing.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the pilot has been given orders to drop down and take a look around where the Taube fell,” Jack continued.

“Little we care,” chuckled Amos, “so long as he lets us alone. I wouldn’t like to have a shower of bombs dropped down on me from overhead. Then didn’t we hear that the Allies were using some sort of steel arrow with a sharp point that would go through a German helmet, and do terrible work? Excuse me from making the acquaintance of any such contraption at close quarters.”

They pushed along, now and then casting a curious glance upward to note what the man in the aeroplane might be doing. He had not landed, but made several swoops downward, evidently trying to see what had happened to the Taube pilot when his machine had smashed to the ground.

Presently Amos sang out that he could hear horses neighing, and there were also other signs of their being close upon a body of troops resting while on the way to the front. Evidently there was some sort of fairly decent road near by, which the artillery and foot soldiers were utilizing in order to get closer to the trenches where the British, flanked by the little Belgian army, held their own against the furious drives of the desperate Germans.

As they came out from the undergrowth they discovered before them for a distance of half a mile or more numerous clumps of men in khaki. They had started fires and were evidently trying to heat up something so as to take away their hunger, as well as warm themselves up, for the day was a raw and chilly one.

Jack quickly picked out the officers’ mess. There was no display of swords, no gaudy trimmings as in the old days when men fought hand to hand. Bitter experience had shown the British leaders that in these days of Maxims and sharpshooters the object of the enemy was always to mark down those in command, so as to leave the brigades without officers, and render them less dangerous in a charge.

“That’s where we want to head,” he told Amos, as he changed his course slightly. “Unless I’m away off my base these must be what they call territorials over in England. They are trained all right, but have yet to smell their first burnt powder. If you find your brother at all, it’s going to be among this class of recruits.”

“They see us and are pointing this way,” remarked Amos. “I guess they wonder who and what we are. I’ve fastened that little American flag to my hat, Jack; it ought to do the business for us, I should think.”

“Yes, actions speak louder than words they say, and Old Glory generally carries the respect of all nations. But between you and me, Amos, I don’t seem to fancy that commanding officer any too well. He looks too puffed up with a sense of his own importance. Before he’s been in the trenches three days he’s apt to get a lot of that conceit knocked out of him, or perhaps be punctured by a German bullet.”

“I hope he’ll wear better than he looks,” muttered Amos, who was feeling very much the same as his companion did about the appearance of the stout commanding officer. “There are a whole lot of questions I’d like to get answered; a man of so much consequence wouldn’t condescend to accommodate me, I’m afraid.”

They soon arrived at a point where they were met by a detail of khaki-clad soldiers. To the non-commissioned officer in charge of these, Jack addressed himself.

“We want to speak with the colonel in charge of the column,” he said, simply.

“I have orders to bring you before him, so keep going right along,” the sergeant told him in reply, being apparently a brusque man, and, as Amos said, “without any frills.”

There were fully a dozen officers about the fire where a hot luncheon was being prepared. Amos secretly admitted to himself that closer inspection did not seem to impress him any more favorably with the colonel. He looked as though he suspected them from the start of being clever German spies.

“Well, who are you, and what have you been doing here so close to the trenches?” he asked in a disagreeable and harsh voice, frowning at Jack and Amos, who, however, succeeded in giving him back look for look, although trying not to show any signs of impudence, for they knew it would not profit them any to try and “twist the lion’s tail.”

“We are both American boys, Colonel,” said Jack. “If you can spare a few minutes of your valuable time we will be only too glad to explain why we are here.”

Those suspicious eyes looked them both over. Apparently the colonel was not yet convinced that they were harmless.

“Search them!” he ordered, and the sergeant who had led them to the spot immediately started to obey.

Of course, as luck would have it, almost the first article he drew forth and handed over to the waiting colonel was the wonderfully accurate chart made by the German Taube man; and loud exclamations told how the British officers appreciated the gravity of the find.