CHAPTER XVI A STRANGE DESERTION

Upon my return to the front I found that our forces had been reinforced by new regiments. American troops, we were told, were arriving in great numbers. This information was hailed with satisfaction by French soldiers as well as by ourselves; for, while we did not doubt our ability to meet any equal numbers of the enemy, we wanted the backing given by superior numbers on our side; especially as the enemy were attacking from interior lines with the advantage of quicker concentration at the point of attack.

Reporting for duty, I was cordially received by my comrades.

“Now, I suppose that we shall lose you?” said Corporal Sutherland.

“I think not,” I said, “I have had my leave and had a good time, and it is not likely that I will get another for a good while.”

“Haven’t you heard,” queried one of the sergeants, “that you have been promoted?”

“Promoted!” I replied in surprise; “I hope that they have not made me a top sergeant. I am not big enough for it; and it’s a hard job.”

Just then my captain came up with extended hand, saying, “I congratulate you, as well as myself and our company.”

“For what, Captain?” I replied, saluting; “I don’t understand.”

“On your promotion to be second lieutenant of this company,” he replied; “I thought you had received your commission.”

“Well,” I answered rather ungraciously, “I suppose that _is_ promotion. But don’t a sergeant have a better chance at fighting?”

“The fighting will come along,” he laughed. “We are not likely to get a scrimp measure of it this summer, I assure you. There will be enough for everybody.”

When I called on my colonel, by his order, he in turn greeted me with congratulations.

“Thank you, Colonel,” I said, “but I fear that I owe promotion to your favor, rather than anything that I have done to deserve it.”

His cordial manner changed at once to severity, as he rebuked me sternly. “All my promotions, everything I do here, is for the good of the service. Had I not thought you fit for the place, I would not have recommended you for it.”

“I beg to apologize,” I answered, “and again to thank you for your good opinion. I value that more than the promotion.” And I did.

His manner changed to graciousness again, as he placed his hand on my shoulder, and said while gripping it, “My boy, I have been watching your conduct. You’ve made good. You have qualities I need in an officer. I should have recommended your promotion before, had I not feared that my liking for you might influence my judgment. I do not believe in favoritism in military affairs.”

I was deeply affected, and said with tears of heartfelt affection for him, “I will do all I can to deserve your good opinion and the commission.”

I assumed the duties of my rank at once and was glad, as I thought how it would gratify Aunt Joe and--some one else.

That evening while I was at the “Y” writing letters--one to my aunt telling her of my promotion, and another to Emily Grant--and, I confess my vanity--telling her of the colonel’s kind words, Jot, accompanied by another officer whom I did not recognize, interrupted me.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant!” cried Jot, gripping my hand with one of his, and the other arm around my shoulder in his old affectionate manner. Then, turning to the officer, he introduced him as the one who owned “Jack,” our colt, and said: “I thought you would like to know that I have bought Jack from him.”

I was delighted. We went to Jack’s stable in a near-by, shell-shattered barn--Jot, myself and Muddy--and held a reunion celebration--Jack whinneying, Muddy yelping and jumping, and Jot and I seconding these demonstrations with approving petting.

“But, Jot,” I said, for I had been thinking it over, “what are you going to do with the colt now that you have got him?”

“I think I will get some officer who requires a horse to keep him until I need him. Anyway I wanted him and have got him;” and added, “I may have to ride him sooner than I expect.”

At the time of my return to duty, our regiment with other American and French troops were on a line with a river which divided a historic city. On our left was a broken bridge, cleft as though by a huge blunt sword near its center. The fight for this bridge had, first and last, cost many lives.

Far away in the distance was a wood, occupied by a large force of our troops, that had been fighting for its possession. In the half-ruined town was our division headquarters, the huts of the Y. M. C. A., and hospitals, some of them occupying temporary buildings like those elsewhere described.

“This looks as though we were going in for some real fighting,” I said to a fellow officer.

“Yes,” replied Captain Cross, who had come up, “those are ‘the symptoms,’ as our doctors say;” and then thoughtfully added, “A year ago, most of us here were green as grass so far as fighting was concerned. Some of us were recruits that scarcely knew one end of a rifle from another. But now look at them! They have been trained down to a fighting edge and have already shown great soldierly qualities; and the Boche recognize it by being mighty cautious when they are facing us. That’s why we are on the fighting line here. Our soldiers, I learn, are on the front line in nearly a dozen different places from the Picardy to the Alsace front.”

“I hope that we may be able to give a good account of ourselves before long,” I asserted.

“Never doubt it,” rejoined our adjutant, who was in the group. “Our men have got the right stuff in them, and association with French soldiers has strengthened their confidence in themselves.”

“Yes,” said another confidently, though in a jocular vein, “we will wipe the Prussian monarchy from the map, and hang the Kaiser to a sour apple tree!”

“What we lack now--so I understand,” said Captain Cross, “is better means of getting information of the plans of the enemy; a better spy system.”

“Well,” said my friend Jot, “gentlemen, we must do everything necessary to win the war, or the world won’t be a safe place for Christian men and women to live in. There can be no peace until it is done.”

The captain as he turned to go to his duties said, “A million of our men will soon be here, and other millions are coming, that will put victory beyond doubt.”

Several days passed and I was becoming accustomed to the duties of my new station and office. I enjoyed it, for it brought me in closer intercourse with men of a higher social grade than I had hitherto been with; and it was especially gratifying to be in closer social touch with Jot and Chaplain John Fuller.

At every opportunity, when off duty, Jot had been riding and teaching Jack. “He is the most intelligent creature I ever saw,” he said to me one evening.

“You remember we used to call him by a peculiar whistle? He remembers it, and answers it; no matter where I am, he will come when he hears me. I was at the colonel’s this afternoon about keeping him, and had an understanding about other matters, not so pleasant.” And then his face darkened, as a cloud dispels sun-light, and I saw that something deep like an undercurrent of reflection was worrying him.

That night as we parted, he said, “If anything should ever occur to make you doubt me, always remember that I love you and love my country.”

“What in heaven’s name,” I said, “_can_ occur to make me doubt it! Don’t I know you?” I little thought then how terribly this confidence was to be shaken.

“Strange things happen sometimes in army life,” he said, “and we don’t know.” And then, with the shadow still on his face, we parted for the night.

Before daybreak, the next morning, our regiment was moved to relieve troops that held an advanced post along the very verge of the river, when as we silently marched through the moon-lit, half-ruined city streets to take our places, I again exchanged silent salutations with Jot. He seemed, as I thought, more like himself--cheerful and smiling.

We held a line on the river near the bridge which I have mentioned, where a street ran down near the water’s edge from the bridge road just above us. Everything was silent. Not a German soldier could be seen, as moonlight gave place to daylight.

As the sun came up there was heard an occasional crack of rifle, as though to let us know they were “alive and watching us,” as I heard one of the men say in an undertone. Then came the steady purr of our airplanes and occasionally the more irregular sound of German air craft, which, like great buzzards seeking prey, soared far above us.

It was high noon and we were eating our dinners, when I heard a sharp, twice-repeated whistle. I could scarcely believe my senses; for it was the signal by which Jack was called.

While I was wondering, Jack trotted up whinneying. Jot caught his bridle and, fully equipped with arms and uniform, mounted bare back, walked him to the river, and, horse and man were seen swimming for the opposite shore. Before we had fully recovered from our surprise they were on the opposite side moving at a swift gallop. Then shots were fired; there were calls, confusing and uncertain before we fully comprehended that it was a case of desertion! Then rifle and machine-guns opened fire; but it was too late. Jot had deserted to the enemy, there was, apparently, no doubt about that. The deserting horseman had paused for a moment for a defiant salutation, before riding away with awaiting German soldiers.

I was paralyzed with astonishment! I would not have believed it, had I not seen this disgraceful act with my own eyes. There it was, notwithstanding: Jonathan Nickerson, a trusted officer, had deserted in the face of his comrades, and gone over to the hated enemy!

When I thought it over, it seemed to me that it had been planned from the first of his entrance into the service of the United States. His known conferences with his half-brother of German name, and his assuming another name than his real one, his interviews with another stranger, probably German, his buying Jack, all pointed to a deeply-laid, dangerous act of treason.

Was he a German spy? How long had it been going on, and what damage had he already done to our cause? His desertion was bold, aye brave, but that was no atonement for the deep damnation of it! Could I ever believe in any man’s profession again?