the platoon assembled and joined the rest of the company along the road. they marched off in the darkness, melting in with the immeasurable stream of olive drab that grew at every cross-road.
up and down the hills they marched, evenly wearing away the distance that lay between themselves and their destination. in the night there were no directions, no cool and mysterious little cafés to draw their attention from placing one foot after the other. marching at night, hicks thought, was much easier than marching in the daytime, provided that it was not too dark and the roads were not too slippery. everything was serene. and it remained so until the man behind you stepped on your heel or until a small, carnivorous louse, a yellow one with a large black speck in the middle of its back, commenced to crawl under your arm or upon your chest. but after fifteen or twenty kilometres, marching even at night was oppressive.
at the bottom of the millionth valley they[61] passed through, lay the town. along the road, leading up the hill on the other side, horizon-blue motor-trucks stood and waited.
the platoon came to a halt in one of the streets, the butts of their rifles clattering on the cobblestones. it had been quite dark a moment ago, but dawn had come hurriedly, and now hicks could see the great number of troops that were preparing to embark.
he turned to lepere, a confessed virgin and the only person in the platoon who boasted of it. “it will be hours before our turn comes. let’s sneak off somewhere and lie down.”
“oh, no,” lepere decisively answered. “you can’t tell how soon we’ll be called. and then we may get into trouble.”
“you’ll probably get into trouble if you go up to the front, too. you’d better go up to the company commander and tell him you’re sick.”
lepere failed to reply, and hicks, glancing around, noticed that the officers were not in sight.
“oh, jack.... pugh. let’s go find a hay-mow.”
“oh-o, hicksy’s gittin’ to be a wildcat. he wants to leave his little platoon. all right, come on, hicksy.” every time pugh talked[62] his voice reminded hicks of a crippled professional beggar.
they slipped off their packs, dropped them at their feet, and dodged around a street corner.
no more than they had passed out of sight of the platoon when hicks exclaimed: “well, i’m damned. old fosbrook. have you got a drink?”
“hello, william.” fosbrook put out a hand that was like a dead fish. “i’ve got a little rum.”
“well, who wants anything better than rum? pugh, meet an old friend of mine, raymond fosbrook. fosbrook, this is jack pugh, the best gambler in the regiment.”
“how do you do?” fosbrook again produced the clammy, insensible hand.
“what kind of a job have you got that you can be traipsing around the streets like this with a bottle of rum on your hip?” demanded hicks.
“oh, i’m the colonel’s interpreter. i order the ham, eggs, drinks, and women for him.”
“that’s not a bad job,” hicks admitted. “now, how about that?”
a full quart bottle was brought into view. fosbrook uncorked it and passed it around. the bottle was passed around a number of[63] times. then it was thrown into the gutter, empty.
“i tell you, william, and you, too, mr. pugh, that we are going to see strange things before very long. what would you say if i told you that the germans had broken through the french lines and were headed for paris?”
“i’d say,” said pugh, “that i don’t wondah a damn bit. them damn frogs is always asleep. they’re too pretty to kill a mosquito.”
fosbrook, taking hold of hicks’s shoulder-strap and holding it grimly, set his mouth with firmness, and, with a full pause between each word, said: “william, i mean it. there’s going to be hell to pay in a few days.”
“well, why are you worrying?” hicks answered. “you won’t be in any of it.”
“come on, hicksy, we’d better go.” people were beginning to open the shutters of the houses on either side of the street, and both men began to wonder how long they had been away from the platoon.
they hurried back, arriving just as the platoon had started slowly to move forward.
no one seemed to have the least notion of the direction in which the camions were moving.[64] though some of the men who had been reading a recent copy of the paris edition of the chicago tribune, believed them to be headed for the somme, where, it was said, there was heavy fighting; others believed that they were on their way to relieve the first american division, which a few days earlier had attacked at cantigny. apparently the trip was to last for two or more days, for each squad had been apportioned two days’ extra rations before entraining. the drivers of the camions were japanese, which, as purveyors of information, made them as useful as do many “professional” silent men of the president’s cabinet. with twenty men in each camion the train bumped and thundered along the road all day. at night they stopped only a few minutes to allow the soldiers to prepare themselves for a still longer journey.
late the next afternoon they passed a city which they decided was meaux. the men in the camions did not know where they were going, but they did know that it was in the direction of the front. in the town the streets were crowded with wagons, carts, domestic animals, and people. comforters were thrown out over the hard pavement, and families were lying on[65] them, resting. it seemed as if the entire city was so filled with people that one other person could not get in.
the camions hurried through, while the men inside, leaning forward, shouted “couche” and other words of which they did not know the meaning whenever they saw any youngish women.
leaving meaux, the spirit of attack already seemed to be entering the men. outside the city they met an old man with a patriarchal beard, seated upon his household goods, which were piled upon a little cart driven by a mule. beside the cart walked a woman that might have been either his wife or his daughter. the old man looked as if he were crying. his mouth was drawn back into a querulous pucker and his hands rested limply in his lap.
“don’t you worry, pappy. we’ll get your home back for you,” called a voice from one of the camions. the sentiment was taken up and voiced by a great number. through the warm glow of the spirit of the crusader that it gave them, all other emotions were submerged.
mirrors in ornate frames apparently had a special significance for the refugees. not one of them but had carefully salvaged his mirror[66] and was displaying it, safely bound to the bedclothing with which the cart was loaded down. every one of the refugees seemed also to have a large feather bed, and among the property that they were carrying away from their deserted homes was often to be noticed a round glass cover under which was a wedding-cake or a carved miniature of an old-fashioned man and maid dancing a minuet.
it was night, and many of the men had gone to sleep. the camions stopped abruptly, and the awakened men, trying vainly to unlimber their stiffened muscles, laboriously made their way to the ground.
hicks had been one of the first men to leave the camion. now he walked around in front of it. funny, there were no other camions before him! he ran to the rear and down the road a few paces. no camions there either.
“hey, fellows! we’re lost.”
“lost? and up here? what the hell are we going to do?”
“i don’t give a damn if we are lost. i need a vacation, anyway.”
“pipe down, damn it. you can’t tell how near we are to the german lines.”
“yeh, and that jap might be a german spy. we better watch out.”
they were still talking when sergeant ryan arrived. he had left the truck when it stopped. walking ahead, he had found a deserted village.
“well, fellahs. you better get down out of there and come with me. there are plenty of places to sleep right up ahead, and as it looks like we’re lost, that’s what we’d better do.”
sergeant ryan always talked as if he were about to chuckle. ever since the platoon had been formed sergeant ryan had been held up to the entire company, and often to the battalion, as the best-looking soldier readily to be found. even in the trenches his nails were manicured, the nails of his long, sensitive fingers. his small, pointed mustache looked as if it had been freshly waxed. his puttees were rolled neatly about his smart-looking legs. and he could drink all night, and, to the eye, not be affected by it.
“we’ll foller ryan any place, won’t we, guys?”
“you’re damned right.”
they gathered together their equipment and started after him down the road. it was a very small town and had been evacuated two[68] days before. no matter if the feather beds had been taken away, there was plenty of dry hay to sleep on.
morning came and sergeant ryan was awake and engaged in rousing the men. after they had all been found, he assembled them on the street and issued orders:
“now you men can do what you please. only don’t break anything. we are going to stay here until somebody comes for us. there ought to be plenty of food around, and you ought to know what to do.”
there was plenty of food. young pullets stalked temptingly before them, and young higgins, who heretofore had never distinguished himself in any way, developed an uncanny aptitude of snaring them with a swoop of his left arm, clutching them neatly by the leg. nearly all of the cellars were stored with potatoes, and wine was not uncommon.
into a chateau which presumably belonged to the overlord of the village the party carried their food. the pullets had been prepared for frying, potatoes were sizzling in a large kettle of grease, a table had been laid with a crisp linen cloth.
the party was seated around a large table.[69] upon the linen cloth were china plates and silver knives and forks. in the centre were dishes piled high with fried chicken and potatoes. a salad brightened the menu. wine-glasses and tumblers were filled and dust-covered bottles stood near at hand, ready to replenish them.
“this is what you might call the life of riley.” sergeant ryan spoke with his soft voice that almost broke into a chuckle.
“i’ll tell the world. jist like new york.”
“gittin’ lost ain’t hard to take. jist think of the rest of the outfit, snappin’ into it whenever harriman opens his yap.”
the glasses were emptied and refilled. it was a religious ceremony.
“now if some of them dames we seen at meaux was up here.”
suddenly hicks started to laugh, long and loudly.
“what you laughin’ at? is there anything funny in my wantin’ a little company? ’course these frog gals ain’t as nice as....”
“no, no. it wasn’t that at all. but we were going to save these people’s homes—and now we’re killing their chickens.”
“you can’t be so damned finicky. this is war.”
“he’s right, hicks.” bullis nodded sagely. “if we didn’t get it the squareheads would.”
the party, all but ryan, tilted back in their chairs, their tunics unbuttoned and their belts unfastened. their eyes having proved larger than their appetites, much of the food remained on the table untouched. but there was room in their bellies for wine, and bottle after bottle was opened and emptied.
“there,” said bullis, pointing to an empty bottle, “is a good soldier. he has done his duty and he is willing to do it again.”
foolishly, the men raised their hands to their forehead in a gesture of homage.
