by Gordon Bates
CHAPTER VII
"AT HOME"
"This is certainly some ride," grumbled Corporal Bob Dalton to SergeantJimmy Blaise. "I've had enough of old Eight Horses and goodness knowshow many men to last me for a while. There are supposedly forty-eightSammies in this band-box. I should say there were nearer ten thousand.I'd have sure croaked standing up, if you hadn't been along to take thecurse off."
"I'm glad we got in the same car, shoe-box I mean."
Sergeant Jimmy's voice sounded decidedly weary. Luckily for himself andBob, they had been assigned to the same car, Bob being corporal of asquad in Jimmy's platoon. Roger, Schnitzel and Ignace were scatteredsomewhere through the train, though neither Bob nor Jimmy knew whichcar their bunkies were in.
"Well, it'll soon be over." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. "We'vebeen two days and two nights on the road. It's now five o'clock, weought to be out of this dump soon. I never believed I could sleepstanding up, but I know it now."
"Here, too. I hope we get a night's rest stretched out before we hitthe trenches," was Bob's wistful reply.
"Oh, we won't go straight to the trenches in this train. We'll probablybe in rest billets several days before we're called to take our turn."
"Wonder how the fellows like it," mused Bob. "I'll bet Iggy's sleptmost of the way. Nothing fazes him when he wants to sleep. He couldpound his ear standing on his head."
Both Khaki Boys snickered a little as they imagined Ignace turnedupside down and sleeping peacefully, nevertheless.
"It seems a long while since we left Sterling, doesn't it?"
Jimmy broke the silence that had fallen upon both, succeeding Bob'shumorous remark concerning his Polish Brother.
"It certainly does. I had a funny standing-up nightmare about oldSterling last night." Bob grinned reminiscently. "I'd braced my backagainst the wall of this box and was taking forty winks. I'd beenthinking about that Bixton affair and old Schnitz, and I dreamed thatgood old Major Stearns was a Boche spy, and that he was trying tofinish me with a bayonet. He'd just given me an awful punch in thechest and I was yelling: 'What's eating you, you rough neck!'
"The sound of my own voice woke me up, and I found that a man next tome had hauled off and binged me one in his sleep. It was a joke, and weboth laughed after we got wise to ourselves. Wonder you didn't hear meyowl."
"I've heard so many different kinds of yowls since I landed in this jugthat I'm used to 'em. Well, it's a great life if you don't weaken."
Jimmy yawned and, reaching for his water bottle, took a long drink.
"Hope we stop somewhere soon," he observed. "I've emptied this bottle,and I'm still thirsty."
Shortly afterward his wish for a speedy detrainment was granted. Aseries of jolts, which caused the imprisoned Sammies to behave likenine-pins, except that they had not sufficient space to topple over,and the famous "Eight Horses" came at last to a full stop.
Freed at last, the Khaki Boys gladly hustled from the ungraciousbox-cars to the platform of a village station, dotted as usual with thefriendly French folk, whom the Khaki Boys had noticed were always inevidence wherever they went.
The two detachments of Uncle Sam's boys had hardly left the train,however, before they discovered that for once they were not the centerof attraction. Waiting on the platform to enter the train they hadjust left was a company of slightly wounded French soldiers returningfrom active service on the firing line.
Though these men were still able to walk, they presented a pitifulsight. With arms or heads bound up in blood-stained bandages, theirfaces wan and racked by pain, they brought home to the full the grimhorror of the trenches. Yet nearly every face wore an attempt at asmile. Bandaged heads made gay attempts at nodding to the villagers whowere worshiping at their shrine in true French fashion.
One man whose arms were both bound up, blood trickling from his face,bent painfully down to speak to a little boy who was shouting lustily,"_Vive la France_," and waving a little French flag at the wreckedheroes.
Watching the little scene in fascinated horror, it occurred brieflyto Jimmy that for fighters these men were a curious-looking lot.Accustomed to the olive drab uniform and the usually clean-shaven faceof the Sammy, these whiskered _poilus_ with their red trousers and longblue coats pinned back from the front seemed strangely unlike soldiers.Their bandaged heads and arms, and scratched, bleeding faces told quitea different story, however. They had known what it was to be underfire. They had done their bit for France.
Ardent as was the admiration shown for these wounded soldiers, theKhaki Boys were not slighted. As they formed into platoons and marchedaway from the station, they were wildly applauded by the gatheredthrong, part of which followed along after them.
As they tramped along through the narrow streets to headquarters, theirprogress was accompanied by a new sound--a steady, heavy rumble thatwent on ceaselessly. They had now come within the thunder of the bigguns. Off to the east of the village the fight against an unworthy foewas raging. With every heavy detonation, war was taking its toll oflives.
Under his breath, Jimmy found himself repeating:
"At the front brave men are falling, Now's your time to do and dare!"
He wondered if the man who, far back in peaceful America, had composedthe words of the "Glory Road" song could possibly realize the meaningof his own song.
A march of a little over a mile through the village, and the longlines of soldier boys had reached headquarters. Here began the work ofassigning them to temporary quarters. With night approaching it wasnecessary to put the men in lodgings with all possible despatch.
"Lodgings" for fighting men nearing the front consist of anything fromthe odd, not over-clean French farmhouses to stables and barns. Thebest horses naturally fall to the officers; with the enlisted men it isa case of Hobson's choice.
Just as the first stars of evening began to appear in the clear, wintrysky, Jimmy Blaise marched his command into a stable. Ten minutes laterhe had begged the back cover of a note-book from Corporal Bob Dalton,and printed on it in large black letters:
AT HOME SERGEANT BLAISE AND THIRTY-TWO MEN
Sergeant Jimmy Blazes was "at home" to all comers.
