CHAPTER IX
INDIAN FASHION
NO braver deed was ever done than that undertaken by seventeen men--allthat remained of a platoon--and one other, a messenger from a squad introuble. The platoon was left without a commissioned officer and wasunder the command of a sergeant; he and his men dared the very jawsof death to effect a rescue, performing that which seemed well-nighmiraculous.
The squad of Yanks, like many others exceeding their orders, hadadvanced too far and found their return cut off. Perhaps the corporalin a measure lost his nerve, or perhaps he showed wisdom, for he wasunwilling that they should all make an effort to get back. He chosebut one of their number, who seemed best fitted for the task, as amessenger. An account of this fellow’s adventures in making his waythrough the German lines resembles chapters of the pioneer history ofthe western United States. For sheer daring there could hardly be aparallel.
Billy Morgan was the name of this fearless chap. He was a mere youth,in his teens; very tall and large for his age, as agile as a cat, asstrong as a young mule, as soft-spoken as a girl. When urged to makehaste and report the condition of the squad he had smilingly assented;then had departed at once on the errand. It was after nightfall, but itdid not take the boy long to ascertain that his way was barred.
The Germans occupied the base of a low hill in front; another bunchof them had fortified themselves in a bit of dense woodland to theright, and to his left were even a greater number, a relatively largeencampment that included some sort of headquarters, probably that ofthe field commander of that section. All this the young fellow had tofind out by the most painstaking and silent scout work, during whichhe crawled half a mile or so, emulating a snake much of the time. Lowvoices, almost invisible camp fires, seldom seen moving figures and thestertorous breathing of sleeping men gave Morgan his clues.
There was no way to get through the enemy’s lines, except between thepositions in front and to the right of the unfortunate messenger, andthe Germans were practically in touch with each other at this place.Time was flying, the night was wearing on; the order, rather a plea, tohasten and the immediate need of his comrades, their ammunition largelyspent and no water to drink, inspired the youth.
A small ravine, with exceedingly precipitous sides and a dry waterwayor gully along its bottom formed the ground over which he must make hisway. Probably the Germans believed this terrain would be impassable toan assaulting or scouting force and hence did not occupy it, except tostation a sentry there.
An unfortunate sentry he proved to be, for Morgan, after ascertainingthat the enemy occupied only the ground at the top of the hills oneither side, crept down the gully, spied the light of the Hun’s pipeor cigarette, approached near enough, without being heard, to hit thefellow with a stone and when the sentry showed signs of regaining hiswind and yelling Morgan banged him another that finished him for good.
Wearing the sentry’s cap, his own stuffed in his blouse, the messengeradvanced then a little less carefully and presently he came to anothersentry, who took him for a comrade and sleepily let him pass withoutquestion.
On the messenger went, even a little faster. The Huns seemed to befarther away on both sides of him; was he getting through and pastthem? He actually straightened up and was stepping along the water-worngully in almost a trot. The woods were silent; there was hardly a soundexcept the everlasting boom of guns miles away to the east. A largehare, in no great haste, crossed the ravine directly in front of him,leaping up the hill and startling the boy not a little. Small birdsalso, from time to time, were frightened from their roosting places inthickets. With a ripping sound following a sharp blow a bit of bark ona tree not two feet ahead flew off, sending pieces that stung his faceand upon the instant came the report of the gun that sent the bullet.This was intended for him, no doubt; a forward sentry had caught sightof a moving figure where he must have known a Hun soldier had no rightto be.
Morgan stopped and crouched. At the brink of the gully not three feetabove was a clump of grasses; up the back of this the boy dived, lyingflat, at the same time pulling his automatic.
A voice, some little distance away, spoke in German; another, muchnearer, made reply. Then almost beside him a third man growled out alot of guttural stuff. He it was who had fired the shot, but with whatresult he could not have ascertained. The fellow was on the steep slopeopposite and across the gully from where Billy Morgan lay and the leastmove of the latter might be seen.
Morgan could plainly discern the outline of the German against a patchof sky above and between the trees. The young fellow’s home was in theOzark Mountains of Arkansas; he had three brothers and all had enlistedtogether. Since quite small he had been almost as familiar withshooting irons as he was with a knife and fork, and hunting turkeyson their roosts at night had been a much followed pastime with thebrothers. To get one’s sights against the sky before shooting did thetrick. An automatic pistol was not the accurate weapon that a finelysighted rifle is, but the man was much nearer than one could ever getto a roosting turkey.
Morgan, quite noiselessly, turned partly over on his side and broughthis right arm around with the elbow resting on the ground. He glancedalong the barrel of the little weapon, holding it toward the open skyabove the German’s head. Then without altering the relative line ofeye and weapon he lowered his arm until the pistol barrel was blendedinto the dark form of the Hun and pulled the trigger.
No doubt the sentry’s ears had been troubled with at least thesuggestion of some sound, perhaps the faintest rustle, and this hadcaused him to remain motionless, listening intently. But it is doubtfulif he heard even the crack of the automatic. A man shot through thebrain cannot know what hit him. Morgan’s bullet, though a line shot,went high, naturally. The sentry’s tumbling body had hardly reached thebottom of the ravine before the Yank was on his feet and going at thebest rate he could down the gully, hearing a short call in German frombeyond and hurrying feet in his direction. They must not see him now,he knew, and he would leave them behind, for he was making no noise onthe hard earth.
But not a hundred yards from where the last tragedy occurred the gullyended, spreading out into a sort of little sand bar over level and moreopen ground. Ahead of the American was another hill. He could look upand get his direction by keeping a little to the left of the milky wayand in line with the bright star Altair, which he knew, having studieda bit of astronomy.
Up the steep slope he went, encountering much dense undergrowth andbrambly thickets, though these held him back but little. On the top aclearer space lay before him; he could again see the sky and get hisbearings. And then right in his path arose three figures, men, but hecould not distinguish whether they were friend or foe. The group stoodthere, silently confronting him. Morgan, pistol in hand, was ready forthe slightest hostile move, if he could detect it. Suddenly it occurredto him that the three were similarly in doubt concerning him. Theremust be a show-down. If these fellows were Germans, the Yank meant toget all three of them as fast as he could pull the trigger, though atleast one of them would probably get him before his triple task couldbe completed.
Which side would first make itself known? It seemed to be up to thestrongest party to take the initiative, the risk.
A rifle was raised a little, pointing toward Morgan and aimed from thehip. There was a sort of movement in his direction. Were they satisfiedthat he was an enemy? The messenger was on the point of being surethat his first shot would count and was about to press the trigger ofhis automatic when his finger went straight instead and he dropped themuzzle toward the ground, fearing it would go off.
“Come on, Heinie; hands up!” were the words that turned a possibletragedy of some kind into a very welcome reception.
“I’m right glad you spoke,” remarked Morgan in his soft voice.
“Ho, a Yank! Where’d you come from, fellow?”
“From back yonder half a mile or so; the other side the German lines.”
“Huh? No you didn’t; ’taint possible! We been pro
wlin’ and the Heiniesis in there thicker’n cooties. You couldn’t shoot in the air withoutgettin’ a few when she comes down. Nobody could come through ’em.”
“But I happened to get through and I’m going back,” Morgan protested.
“Mean it? Spy work, I reckon.”
“No; some of my comrades, my squad, are cut off in there.”
“Saint’s love! Do the Heinies know it?”
“Not when I left.”
“Did they hunt a hole and pull it in after em? Come daylight, they’llbe found. Say, pards, let’s take this fellow to the sarge and see whathe has to say about it.”
The Brighton Boys in the Argonne Forest Page 10
