CHAPTER XIII A THRILLING SPECTACLE
When Bumpus opened his eyes he saw a weird flickering light reflected onthe wall of the small cell-like room in which he had lain down to sleep.Of course for the moment he did not know where he was. Then therecollection rushed over him like a wave, and it was all plain.
But had he been passing through a horrible dream to cause that creepysensation which boys describe as “goose-flesh” to grip him? No, therecame that strange sound again, causing another spasm of shivering. Itmonotonously rose and fell in the queerest way imaginable, and somehowmade Bumpus remember a ghostly chant that he had once heard on thestage, when his folks visiting in New York City took him to the opera,and the grave-diggers were discovered at work throwing up the earth inpreparation for a funeral.
Bumpus slid off his cot. The awe-inspiring sounds certainly came in atthe narrow window, and although still trembling with excitement closelybordering on fear, he found himself creeping toward that opening.
When he reached it and looked out he saw a most amazing sight indeed,and one that riveted his attention. It seemed that the window opened ona garden that was enclosed on three sides by the walls of the longbuilding. There were trees and shrubs in this enclosure, also windingwalks that had been laid out for a purpose.
Half a dozen flickering lights could be seen trailing along, the glowrising and falling intermittently. These he immediately discovered weresome sort of torches held in the hands of strangely garbed men, whowalked slowly, and as they proceeded chanted that solemn requiem indeep, hoarse voices.
Bumpus rubbed his eyes. Was he indeed really awake, or could this onlybe a part of a most realistic dream? Still, as he continued to look hesaw the ghostly procession, for every figure was garbed in white,passing slowly along the serpentine path below.
Then the staring scout received another shock. His eyes, following backthe line, rested on a group that seemed to be bearing a muffled form ona stretcher. With war in the land it was only natural for Bumpus to jumpto the conclusion that this might be a wounded soldier, though hardlyhad he come to this conviction than he changed his mind.
These odd-appearing figures were not at all martial looking. Indeed,they were intoning some Latin hymn, he concluded, and the solemncharacter gave him his clue.
Yes, they must be monks, or members of some religious order that hadescaped the general eviction when the French Government ousted most oftheir kind from the monasteries and convents. One of their number haddied, perhaps sacrificing his life for France; and the Brothers were nowengaged in giving him a midnight burial, after some rule of the order.
Bumpus felt a whole lot better after coming to this conclusion, thoughhe still continued to keep his eyes glued on what was passing below, anddid not mean to miss the least portion of the ceremony.
That rising and falling chant thrilled him strangely. He would neverforget it as long as he lived. Still it was a relief to know that he waswatching real flesh and blood people, and not visitors from the otherworld; for to tell the truth Bumpus had in the beginning suspectedsomething of that sort. Indeed, considering the circumstancessurrounding him, who could blame the boy for giving way to a deep-seatedfear of the supernatural, half dormant in the hearts of every humanbeing?
Now they were all in view. He counted just seventeen of the figures inwhite slowly moving along at stated intervals and holding the burningtorches above their muffled heads.
The chant continued without a break, rising and falling again and againas they wound in and out among the bushes and the low-lying trees. ThenBumpus saw that they had evidently arrived at the spot where an opengrave yawned, for the solemn procession no longer progressed, thefigures gathering in a circle instead.
The torches formed a weird circle, and the deep-toned voices rose andfell with increased fervor. Though the watcher in the little window ofthe cell could not see all that was going on because of interveningbranches, he knew that the body of the dead monk must have been lowered,for while the singing continued he could see men busily at work withshovels.
Bumpus was feeling somewhat easier in his mind. He knew now what mannerof building he had come across. It was not a sanitarium, such as he hadimagined, but a retreat of some kind, where benevolent Brothers hadtheir home away from the cares and anxieties of the wicked world.
When war broke upon the land possibly some of their number hadvolunteered to work with the Red Cross units who looked after thewounded. While their vows would forbid that they take an active part inthe fighting, still they could labor to relieve human distress.
It might be the younger and more active members thus offered theirservices to the sanitary corps for this purpose, while the olderBrothers remained in the sanctuary. And perhaps one of those who hadgone forth had been cut down by some hostile shot, for when the air wasfilled with bursting shells the field hospitals did not always escapeserious damage, though they might be located far back of thefiring-line.
They had brought the dead hero home to be buried according to the quaintrules of the Order; and accident had allowed Bumpus to be a deeplyinterested spectator of the midnight funeral.
He considered the situation, and decided that he surely could not haveanything to fear from these good Brothers of the cowl and robe. Thenight air was chill, which was the only reason why he continued toshiver now, and not because he entertained anything like fear, for heindignantly spurned the idea.
So he had better go back to his cot and try to finish his sleep, for hewas in great need of further rest. A scout should not give way to such afeeling as timidity, Bumpus stoutly told himself several times. In themorning he could show himself to the monks and beg a breakfast, perhaps.Even then it can be seen that Bumpus had an eye to the future, andremembered how he was in the habit of expecting a hearty meal when hewoke up.
The chant was dying down by degrees, and he supposed it would soon ceasealtogether, as the last shovel of earth was placed over the Brother whohad gone to his reward. So with his teeth firmly set and his mind madeup, Bumpus crept back to his cot, upon which he spread himself.
Long he lay there, his thoughts taking many curious twists and turns,due to the fact of his recent alarm and the remarkable sight he hadwitnessed. Well, for one thing, he would have a startling story to tellGiraffe and the others when he joined them again. Somehow this seemed toafford him a wonderful amount of satisfaction. But the droning chantoutside finally acted upon his mind as a sedative, and finally Bumpuslost all recollection of time, for he slept.
Not once did the tired boy awaken during the balance of that night. Whenhe finally opened his eyes it was because he heard some one utter a loudcry of amazement. Bumpus, staring upward, found himself looking into thefat face of one of the older Brothers, evidently astounded to discover astranger, and a boy at that, calmly sleeping on the cot, which, Bumpusafterward learned, actually belonged to the one whose midnight funeralhe had witnessed.
Bumpus smiled blandly. Somehow he seemed to grasp the essential factsthis time without any beating around the bush. And he meant to doeverything in his power to make friends of these recluse members of themonastery.
The man in the rough robe asked him something. Bumpus knew thatundoubtedly he must be inquiring as to his identity and how he camethere; but, alas! the questions being in French, he could not make asuitable reply.
“I am an American boy; can’t you talk English?” he asked.
Of course that last word gave the Brother the cue. He shook his head inthe negative, and then made gestures to indicate that Bumpus shouldremain where he was, after which he hobbled from the cell.
“Anyway, he _looked_ friendly,” Bumpus was telling himself, withconsiderable satisfaction; “and a man as big and round as he isgenerally does turn out kindly in his ways. I guess I’m in clover, andmebbe I’ll get that breakfast after all.”
Shortly afterward he heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Then hisformer interlocutor appeared once more, this time
accompanied by anotherBrother, a tall, thin man with a leathery face, upon which could be seenmore or less surprise, as though the news communicated by the fat monkmight be almost unbelievable.
“Can you speak English, sir?” Bumpus immediately asked, as this latterBrother came up to where he was standing.
“Yes,” came the reply; “but who are you, and how do you come here?”
Bumpus gave an audible sigh of relief. His troubles were probably at anend. It would be all right now, and he could explain the situation fromthe start. Yes, and surely they would understand how a growing boy hadto have his breakfast regularly. So he began by telling his name, andhow it happened that he and three chums were over in Europe at the timethe mad war so suddenly broke out. From that point Bumpus went on torelate in a brief way how they had struggled to reach Antwerp so as tojoin his invalid mother. Then came the discovery that Mrs. Hawtree hadgone on to the French capital when the Germans broke into Belgium.Bumpus described how the four scouts had decided to reach Paris, andthen found themselves cast adrift between the lines of the hostilearmies.
All this time the tall, thin monk listened intently. Whenever Bumpuswould pause for breath he turned to the big fat Brother and saidsomething in French.
At last Bumpus reached the point where, after becoming lost, he happenedupon a building he thought might be some abandoned sanitarium, and,tired almost to death, had sought a place to rest. He also told ofwitnessing the burial of the patriot Brother at midnight, and his firmbelief that he had nothing to fear from these benevolent monks whoserefuge he had invaded without meaning any harm.
“You are welcome, boy,” said the other, when Bumpus finished his story.“It is not often that we have a guest from the outside world; but inwar-times ordinary customs and habits are no longer possible. TheBrother whom you saw buried with all the honors of our Order did givehis life for his beloved country. He was killed while carrying thewounded to the field hospital. And we have a score of other members whothis day are serving France as best they may, under the sacred vows. Butyou must be hungry, I fear.”
Bumpus smiled broadly. It gave him a thrill to know that this grim monkunderstood the weakness of boys so well.
“Not so very, sir,” he hastened to say; “though I was just wonderingwhether I’d get any breakfast this morning. It’s awful kind of you tomention it, and I think I’ll accept the invitation, if you don’t mind.”
“Come with us,” said the tall Brother; “our fare is simple, but there isalways plenty for any wayfarer who may happen along. And afterwards, Imyself will set you on the right road that perhaps may take you oncemore to your comrades.”
Cheerfully did Bumpus trail along after the two monks to the“refrectory,” where the members of the Order gathered to partake oftheir simple repast. He mentally shook hands with himself because of thewonderful luck that seemed to have taken charge of his fortunes; forsurely things could hardly have come about more happily if he hadpersonally shaped his destiny.
The Boy Scouts Afoot in France; or, With the Red Cross Corps at the Marne Page 13
