CHAPTER XI
A FRIEND IN NEED
“Help! Help!”
A voice, strangely familiar to Hal and Chester, floated into the American trenches from the darkness of No Man’s Land beyond.
“Hello,” said Captain O’Neil, “somebody left out there, eh? Well, I guess he’ll have to make the best of it for the night. Fritz is in an ugly humor this evening. No use stirring him up. We’re pretty comfortable here for a change.”
“Seems pretty tough to leave him out there though, sir,” Chester ventured.
“So it does. Still when he came into this war he must have known it wasn’t a game of tiddlewinks. He’ll have to take his chances same as the rest of us. Anyhow, he’s probably in a shell hole and should be safe enough. But I thought all our men returned safely after the raid.”
“I thought so, too, sir,” said Hal. “There wasn’t a man reported missing.”
“Probably a straggler from another brigade, sir,” said Chester.
“Most likely,” rejoined Captain O’Neil. “We’ll see what can be done for him in the morning.”
He strode away.
It was two days after Hal and Chester had delivered General Lawrence’s despatches to General Pershing. Contrary to their expectations, they had not been ordered to return again to General Lawrence’s command, but had been returned to their own division, which at that time chanced to be guarding front-line trenches in the Soissons region only a short distance south of the Marne. Arrived, they had reported at once to Captain O’Neil and had been assigned new quarters.
To-night they were keeping watch. Early in the evening they had accompanied a party of troops in a raid on a certain point in one of the German trenches. Several prisoners had been made and the Americans had not lost a man. It was no wonder, then, that they should be surprised at the voice which called from No Man’s Land.
The voice came again:
“Help! Help!”
“By Jove, Hal!” said Chester, “there is something familiar about that voice. Wonder who it can be?”
Hal shrugged his shoulders, a habit occasioned by long association with French troops.
“Don’t know,” was his reply; “but I’ll admit I seem to have heard it before. We’ll see when daylight comes.”
At that moment a private by the name of McHugh began to sing.
“Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?” were the words of the song that broke the uncanny stillness of the trenches. It was the song that had come into fame after the American troops reached the battlefields of France—the song to which American regiments marched into battle.
Other voices took up the song.
Came a hail in broken English from the German trenches scarce a hundred yards away.
“Hey there, Yanks!”
Instantly the singing in the American trenches came to a stop.
“What do you want, Fritz?” Hal called back.
“Don’t make so much noise, all you fellows, and let the boy sing.”
The boy, Chester took it, was McHugh. He could not have been more than twenty.
“He has a grand voice,” the German continued. “If he will sing us a song we will let the man in the shell hole oud there go back.”
At the same time the voice from No Man’s Land cried a third time:
“Help! Help!”
Chester took counsel with Hal.
“Well,” he said, “shall we take Fritz at his word?”
It should be explained here that incidents such as this were not uncommon in the trenches where friend and foe were so close together. More than once British and American soldiers had shared their tobacco and other luxuries with the less fortunate Germans. Sometimes, conversations like this were carried on for hours at a time.
“Trouble is,” Hal answered Chester, “you can’t trust them. It’s likely to be a ruse to get the man into the open so they can take a shot at him.”
“And it may be they’re acting in good faith this time.”
“Oh, it may be, of course.” Hal turned to the private. “What do you say, McHugh, will you sing for Fritz?”
“Well,” said McHugh, “I didn’t enlist to come over here and entertain the Boche, but if it’ll do that chap out there any good, why count me in.”
“Very good,” said Hal. He raised his voice. “Still there, Fritz?”
“Yah! What have you decided?”
“He’ll sing for you. But we’ll hold you to your word.”
“Good,” said the German. “Let him stand up on the top of the trench so we can see.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Fritz,” Hal shouted back. “We’re on to your tricks.”
“But it is no trick,” the German protested. “We give our words.”
“Your word is not always to be trusted, Fritz.”
“But me,” said the voice. “I am Hans Loeder, who sang on the American stage. I give the word of an artist.”
“By Jove, sir!” ejaculated McHugh at this juncture. “I know him well. In Chicago I once took lessons from him.”
“So?” exclaimed Hal in surprise. “Then maybe you would wish to talk to him. But remember he is a German, after all, and be careful.”
“Hello there, professor!” called McHugh. “Don’t you remember me?”
“Vat?” came the reply. “Can it be my old pupil Daniel McHugh?”
“The same, professor,” McHugh shouted back.
“No wonder I recognize the voice,” came the response. “Did I not say always that you had talent? And now you will sing for us, eh?”
“Sure,” said McHugh. “I’ll take your word, professor.”
Without further words, the young soldier sprang to the top of the trench.
“Well,” said Hal, “if you’re going up, so am I.”
He sprang up also, and Chester followed suit. A moment later fully a hundred American heads appeared over the top of the trenches. Beyond, in the darkness, German heads also bobbed up.
“Now professor,” said McHugh, “what shall it be?”
“Someding lively,” was the reply. “Someding to make us forget why we are here.”
“The Darktown Colored Ball,” suggested McHugh.
“Yah!” came the cry from the German lines. “Dat is id. Someding with the swing.”
So McHugh sang. And when he concluded, a hail of applause came from the enemy lines. The American troops also applauded and cheered. Two more popular songs McHugh sang and then, when the applause had died down, he called out:
“That’s all for to-night, professor. More some other time.”
“Good,” was the shouted reply. “Now I keep my word. Tell your friend oud there he may return without fear.”
“Come on in, you out there,” cried one of the Yankee soldiers.
“Oh, no,” the man in the shell hole shouted back. “They just want to get me out there for a little target practice.”
“Rats!” shouted McHugh. “Crawl out of there and come in like a man. We’re here to protect you if we have to.”
“You haven’t done much of a job of it so far,” said the voice from No Man’s Land.
A German voice broke in.
“You can have but ten minutes,” it said. “After that you must take your chances.”
“Fair enough, Fritz,” called an American. “Hey! You in the shell hole, come on in here.”
“It’s safer here,” was the reply.
Again a German voice interrupted.
“If the Yank is afraid,” it said, “we will allow two of your number to go and get him.”
Half a dozen men would have leaped from the trench had Hal not stayed them.
“You stay here and cover us,” he said. “Lieutenant Crawford and I will go. At the first sign of treachery, fire without hesitation.”
“Very well, sir,” said Private McHugh.
Hal and Chester leaped down and advanced into the darkness of No Man’s Land.
“No use coming after me now,” cried the voice in the shell hole. “I know when I’m well off. I don’t want to be shot in the back.”
Hal started.
“Great Scott, Chester!” he cried. “Haven’t you recognized that voice yet?”
“No,” returned Chester in some surprise. “Have you?”
“Rather,” said Hal dryly. “It’s Stubbs.”
Chester clapped a hand on his leg.
“By all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Now why couldn’t I place that voice?”
The lads increased their pace and at length they came to the shell crater where the lone American had taken shelter from the German fire.
“Come on out of there,” said Hal, disguising his voice.
“Not much,” said the man inside.
“Don’t be a fool, man,” said Chester angrily. “We’ve only a few moments’ grace. Hurry, now!”
“Say,” came the voice from the darkness, “why are you fellows bent on getting me killed? I haven’t done anything to you.”
“We’ll have to hurry, Hal,” said Chester. “Let’s go down and get him.”
The two lads leaped into the shell crater and laid rough hands upon the occupant, who squirmed and struggled in vain.
“Let me go,” he cried angrily, and struck out right and left.
“Listen, Stubbs,” said Hal. “If you don’t come out of here right now I’ll have to tap you over the head with my revolver.”
The struggles of the man in the shell hole ceased. He almost moaned.
“Hal!” he gasped, and muttered to himself. “Anthony, you certainly are out of luck. Something always happens. And I suppose Chester is here, too, eh?”
“Right,” said Chester.
“Poor Stubbs,” said the occupant of the hole. “You’re a dead man!”