The Brighton Boys in the Argonne Forest

by James R. Driscoll

  CHAPTER I

  GOING IN AGAIN

  PLUCK and perseverance are American characteristics; in all the worldthere are none superior. Perhaps more than to anything else thephysical advancements of our country have been due to the tremendousdesire and the will to go forward, to gain, to consummate. Almosteverything that we as a people have set our hearts upon we haveachieved beyond the expectations of ourselves and other peoples.

  The building of the Panama Canal, the discovery of the North Pole, theresults attained at the modern Olympic games are but minor instancesof our determination; the accumulative values of inventions and theircommercialism, the acquiring of vast wealth and well being express thismore generally.

  And the great World War has given additional evidence of the kind ofstuff that goes along with American brawn and bravery; there was shownmore than mere momentary force. The fighter _par excellence_ is hewho stays in the battle until every ounce of energy he possesses isexpended, if necessary, to beat his opponent and goes back for more andmore punishment, with the determination to give more than he gets. Sucha fighter and of such fighters the American Army proved itself to be,collectively and with wondrously few exceptions individually; it wasthis quality, as much as anything else, that caused the foe to respectthe prowess of the Yanks, to make way before them and to surrenderoften when there was no immediate need for it.

  Despite much luxury and pleasure, much easy living, much indolence of akind, the fighting stamina has been instilled into the American youth;history, sports, teaching, habits of life, all have conspired to makehim the kind of man to want to smash the would-be bully and rough fullyas hard as he deserves. And then, when injustice looks like comingback, to go in and smash some more.

  Brighton Academy, in common with other high-grade schools, in theclassrooms and on the athletic field, wisely implanted qualities offairness and of determination into its boys. Imbued thus were the ladswho had, from the halls of Old Brighton, gone forth to do and to diefor their country against Germany, the thug nation.

  Happy, then, was he who could go back after having been invalidedhome--and there were many, indeed, who gloried in it. One such, wearingthe chevrons of a lieutenant of infantry, had come from BrightonAcademy and had served with bravery and distinction in the trenches. Hestood on the deck of the transport and gazed through moist eyes at thereceding coast of the land of the free, for the most part seeing butone figure, that of a one-legged lad waving him a sad farewell.

  “Poor old Roy! It’s the first time I’ve really seen him so sick atheart as to show it keenly. But who can blame him? He’d rather fightthan eat and now he’s got to sit by and see us go without him.” Sothought the youth on the upper deck, as he long held up his flutteringhandkerchief.

  And then, after not many days of glorious, semi-savage anticipation,there followed disembarkation at an obscure port of France and ourreturning hero, with many others, sauntered to the billets, laughing,some singing: “Where do We Go from Here?” and “There’ll be a Hot Timein the Old Town Tonight.” Suddenly the young officer’s arm was seized,he was whirled about and found himself face to face with another lad,evidently a little younger, but quite as tall, with the accustomedmilitary bearing, but upon his khaki sleeve reposed the familiar andmuch loved insignia of the Red Cross.

  “Herb Whitcomb, or I’m a shad! You old dear, you! But ain’t it good torun smack into a son-of-a-gun from Old Brighton? And what now and whereare you----?”

  “You’ve got me, comrade--” the Lieutenant began, eyeing the speakernarrowly for a moment, his brows set in a puzzled wrinkle as the othergrinned at the very idea of not being recognized by an old friend andclassmate. Herbert, in turn, suddenly grabbed him, seizing him by theshoulders and chuckling with real delight.

  “Don--Don Richards, by the wild, whistling wizard! You boy! Glory, butI’m glad to see you! But say, man----”

  “Say it--that I’ve changed a bit. Must have for you not to have knownme.” Don fell into step with Herbert.

  “Yes, you have indeed! Sun-dyed like a pirate and older, somehow. ButI knew that grin. The great thing about it is that you’re alive andlooking fit as a fiddle. Why, man, we heard you’d been wounded pastrecovery--hit with a shrapnel.”

  “Shrapnel all right, but it was uncommonly kind to me. Piece just wentthrough my left shoulder and now it’s only a little stiff at times.Clem Stapley and I were together out there beyond Bouresches; theBelleau Wood scrap. He was hurt badly and I was trying to bring himin.” Don spoke mere facts; not with boastfulness.

  “Red Cross work; we heard that, too. Clem pulled through; didn’t he?”the lieutenant questioned.

  “Yes, just, but he won’t be good enough to join in again. Went backhome last ship, three days ago. I didn’t go because Major Little cameafter me to serve again.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Well, I guess I ought to. It’s got under my skin, but I’d like to geta glimpse of the good old U. S. Came off this boat; didn’t you? Donasked.”

  “Just landed. Going back to my company; can’t help it; it’s permeatedmy carcass, too, with the gas I got near Montdidier. Poor Roy Flynn,you know, lost a leg, but he wanted to come back, nevertheless. I’mbilleting with this bunch of fellows. Where are you stopping?”

  “Down here at a sort of little inn; jolly fine place, but expensive.Major Little sent Clem and me there. How about your bunking with menow? Then we’ll go back together. If I go on again I guess it will bein an auto and there’ll be room for you. They want me to report at thebase somewhere southeast of Rheims. Where is your old command?”

  The boys had turned aside from the khaki-clad procession, Donaldconducting Herbert toward a side street that led to his inn. Several ofthe “Yanks” shouted words of friendly banter at the lieutenant, whomthey had come to know and respect aboard ship.

  “Hey, you scrapper! Don’t let the Red Cross get you this soon!” “Whereyou goin’, boy? Stay with the bon tons!” “Sure, we need your cheerfulreminders of what the Heinies will do to us!”

  It was long past the noon hour and the hungry boys ordered a meal; thenbegan a long and minutely explanatory chat during which the affairsat Brighton, the pro-war sentiment in the United States, the retreatof the Germans and the American influence thereon were discussed withthe vast interest that only those who had taken and expected again totake part in the conflict could so keenly feel. Presently a Red Crossmessenger on a motorcycle came to seek young Richards.

  “How about conveyance?” Don asked. “Major Little said not to botherwith the roundabout on the crazy railroad; a car would make the directrun across in less time.”

  “There are two new ambulances stored here that came in on the lastfreighter across. I have orders to turn one of the ambulances over toyou if you wish,” the messenger said.

  “Then I can deliver my reply to the Major in person, after I havedropped my friend here at general Army Headquarters. Let’s have yourorder. I’ll be on the road early in the morning and likely make the runby night.”