CHAPTER X IN REST BILLET

After our first call on the Boches, we enjoyed the rest and recuperation of our billets.

“This cow barn,” said Corporal Sutherland, “seems like a good thing after being in the trenches; don’t it?”

“An’ faith it does,” said Quinn; “but a fine tooth comb would improve it.”

“Pat,” said Dean, facetiously, “is related to that countryman of his who found fault because he was to be hanged.”

No sky is perfect without a few clouds; but we had an overshadowing one because we did not get letters from home. There had been complaint ever since the American Expeditionary Force first landed in France, that our letters did not reach us as quickly as they should.

Some mail had just come in, however, and the boys were gladdened by the news.

“Just got some letters from home,” said Corporal Sutherland, “and I am mighty glad to get them, though they are so old they are like last year’s birds’ nests.”

“What’s the matter with our mail service?” queried Shaw. “The poilus get their letters regularly, I am told.”

“The poilus manage their mail better, because it is distributed by women who are in sympathy with their boys; so their letters don’t have to wait until they are cold and dead with old age,” said Sutherland. “They reach them warm from the hearts of those who write them; and I believe that is what gives the blue devils, as the Boches call them, courage to fight so well.”

I was fortunate to get some letters from home and a box of goodies, among which was some spruce gum and a quart can of maple sugar right from the hills of Chester. You may infer that I enjoyed these good things after so lately having come from the hospital!

The little French woman, in whose barn we were billeted, was the wife of a French soldier. She had three children ranging in ages from three to seven years. Our men petted the kiddies and shared their rations with them.

I shared my goodies with the children much to their delight. I was very fond of little four-year-old Marie, who was as pretty as a picture and loved sweet things. One day I was having a great frolic with her. Her face was smeared with chocolate and maple sugar, and a circle of dirt, mingled with the sticky sweets, formed a halo around her pretty mouth. She was in high glee over the possession of peppermints and a doughnut, which was almost as hard as the chocolate.

I was dancing her in my arms, and she was piping like a little canary in attempting to express her delight, when I encountered a French soldier who, to my embarrassment, hugged me and kissed me on either cheek. This is to the French the same as a hearty handshake with us.

“I am so glad,” he said in broken English, “to see you. The madame has told me in her letters how good you Americans have all been to my children and to her.”

He told me that he had lived in New York for a time before he was married, and loved my country and its good people. He was on a short leave of absence to see his family. He said he had been a little jealous, when his wife had told him about the kindness of the Americans who were billeted at his home.

One day while I was sitting on a bench by my quarters, holding the little girl and talking to her father, a slim black-eyed young man came up, and abruptly said, “Good morning, sirs!”

I looked distrustfully at him, for we had been warned against English-speaking German spies, and then opened my eyes with astonishment, for he looked as much like my friend, Jot, as one English sparrow looks like another.

“Who are you?” I inquired. “What do you want?”

“I am on important business,” he responded politely, “for the army.”

“What do you mean by that?” I said. “Are you an American?”

“I was born in America,” he replied with indescribable dignity, “and have lived there a good part of my life. But I was educated on this side.”

Then I remembered what Jot had told me about his half-brother’s resemblance to himself and I distrusted him all the more.

“Where’s your uniform?” I asked. “Why are you in citizen’s dress?”

For answer he pointed to a loosely hanging sleeve.

I turned my head to speak to my French friend, but found him gone; and then, turning back again, found the man I had been talking to had also vanished. I could not understand how he had disappeared so quickly, and this added to my suspicion that he was not straight.

When I again saw the French soldier, Maurice, I said, “Where did you go so quickly? You were standing near me and in an instant had disappeared.”

He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “It would not be, as your people say, ‘just the thing,’ to listen to your conversation with another gentleman.”

Knowing something of a Frenchman’s idea of politeness that seemed to explain his sudden leaving.

As soon as I got a chance from my duties, I started to see Jot. He had been discharged from the hospital, I had learned, but I had not seen him since he came back on duty. Passing the guard I stood before Lieutenant Nickerson and saluted as stiffly as possible, and waited until addressed by my superior officer. Jot returned the salute and, coming up to me, put his hands on my shoulder, saying, “No formalities, Davie, now that we are by ourselves. What is it that makes you look so confoundedly troubled? Have the rations given out, or what is the matter?”

Then I told him about the man who so much resembled him.

He stood for a moment as though meditating what to say, and then replied, “It’s all right, David; I have seen him, too.”

“Is he your half-brother with whom you told me you could not agree?”

“We may not have been able to agree, but it does not follow that he is not straight and a patriot, does it? We may be in agreement in a large way, if not in little ones?”

I felt, knowing Jot’s habitual reserve, that it would be of no use to question him further, and as he had not really told me anything, I was much confused and uncertain what it all meant.

“Well, Lieutenant,” I said stiffly, “I feel it my duty to report these facts to Colonel Burbank.”

“That’s not military,” he said. “You must report them first to your captain, and he will report them to the colonel.”

“Oh, confound the red tape!” I said. “Can’t I report to the colonel in some way, without passing it around the red-tape ring?”

“Yes,” responded Jot, somewhat to my surprise, “the colonel was saying that he would like to see that watch of yours, that the Boche spoiled and told me to send you to his quarters some time.”

Then he came to me once more, and, grasping my hand, with a look of love on his high-bred face, said, “Do what your New England conscience dictates and God be with you, Davie. I wish I could see more of you. But whatever happens, remember that I am always your friend.”

Reaching Colonel Burbank’s quarters, I sent word by the orderly that I was present to take his orders, if he wished to give any, and, also had something important to communicate.

On reaching Colonel Burbank, I clicked my heels, saluted, and waited to be addressed by my colonel.

“What is it, Sergeant Stark? What do you wish to communicate?”

“I took the liberty of coming here because I was told that you wished to see me.”

“That will keep,” he replied and repeated his inquiry. Then I briefly told him what I have here narrated.

To my surprise he said, “I have seen the man this morning. It was right for you to report the matter, and I am glad that you did not report it in the usual way. You will not mention to any one what you have heard or know of this affair,” he commanded, “or it might do harm.”

Then he gravely said, as though to dismiss further talk about it, “I have learned about your gallant conduct during the raid on the enemy trench, and am pleased with you, and congratulate you.”

Just then Muddy rushed in like a miniature cyclone, circled around me, barking, as much as to say, “I have found you!” and then jumped into the colonel’s lap.

“He comes here once in a while,” explained the colonel, “and this is the way he salutes.”

Then rising, he came to me and said: “I would like to see that watch.”

“It isn’t a watch any more,” I said; “it’s a ruin.”

And I took it out and handed it to him.

“So I see,” he said, examining an inscription on the inner case, and then reading aloud, “‘Presented to Captain David Stark by his comrades and admirers.’ Yes,” he added, musingly, “it is the same that my father, with others, gave to him after the battle of Winchester, during the Shenandoah Campaign under General Sheridan. Do you know that Captain Stark saved my father’s life?”

Then he turned away as though to examine the inscription under better light, but I saw a tear in his eye, and I was proud of my father.

As I turned to go, he added, “I have heard my father tell about making the presentation of that watch, and am pleased to see it; I am sure he will be glad as I am, that his friend’s son has proved himself worthy to wear it, and that it has saved his life. Now as a favor to me--will you allow me to have the watch repaired for you?”

I felt a lump rise in my throat. The eagle was asking a favor of me!

I did not get a chance, and did not much care to tell, how little I really deserved all that my colonel said; and how scared I had been before the fight. But I thought of a saying of mother’s: “How much praise is often given to those who do not deserve it.” I determined, however, to try to live up to the reputation that chance had given me.

Afterwards, telling Jot about the Colonel’s compliments, I said: “As Bill Jenkins used to say, ‘I felt as mean as pussley.’”

“That’s just like you!” said Jot. “Don’t you remember about your leaving some bunches of grass unmowed where there were bumblebees, and getting Bill Jenkins to get into them by telling him that you had left them as fancy spots? Bill said, ‘Confound your fancy spots!’ and pitched into them, and got all stung up. And you lay awake that night laughing and repenting by turns? The difference between you and some other cowards is that you are mostly scared before a fight and they are scared when in a fight.”

“What is the reason,” I said, “that I am so scared before a fight?”

“A vivid imagination,” replied Jot; “and borrowing troubles before they come.”