CHAPTER XIV

BACK TO THE FIRING LINE

Gathered in a long, low-ceilinged room Bumpus found the other monks assembled. Upon a long deal table, destitute of cloth and other garnishings such as he was accustomed to seeing in his own well-ordered home of plenty, the American lad discovered a number of bowls of steaming gruel. There was bread in plenty, besides, and his friend who could speak English bade him take a vacant seat, where he could partake of the humble fare to his heart’s content.

It was simple enough, but, to a hungry boy, quite appetizing; and Bumpus showed no hesitation about “pitching in.” Meanwhile, as the other Brothers were fairly consumed with curiosity concerning the appearance of a strange lad in their midst, the tall monk commenced to repeat the story told by Bumpus.

Evidently all of the Brothers were intensely interested. The devotion which the boy had shown with regard to his invalid mother made them cast many benevolent glances toward Bumpus as the story proceeded. And a little later, when the edge had been taken off the guest’s appetite, he was asked further questions.

To the surprise and delight of Bumpus these touched upon the meaning of the uniform he wore; and presently he found that considerable interest was taken in the calling of the Boy Scouts of America.

It was true they had scouts in France, as in England and Germany, but always in these European countries the organization hinged upon military necessities. And when these men of peace learned how such is not the case over in America, and that scouts there only strive to be of use to their fellows, as well as build up their own moral characters, they were wonderfully pleased.

They talked among themselves when all this was explained through the medium of the interpreter, and it was evident from the smiles upon their faces that the idea appealed powerfully to their belief in universal service to mankind. It was a startling fact for them to learn that in this newer country across the sea even boys were uniting to raise the standard of living, to help those in need of assistance, and to build up, rather than tear down.

Bumpus told lots of interesting things. He did not bother relating how he and some of his intimate chums had passed through certain amazing adventures, but rather confined himself to explaining how scouts in general went about their work; how every member of the organization had to keep his badge turned upside down of a morning until he had done some kind act for another; how they were taught to succor those in peril of their lives; to forgive enemies when the chance came; to play the part of amateur surgeons in cases of necessity, and in innumerable other ways prove themselves useful members of society.

Evidently those retired men of the monastery learned many things that pleased them during that hour Bumpus sat at their board and talked from the fulness of his heart, for the subject was very dear to him, and it is to most genuine scouts.

Finally he bethought himself of the fact that unless he got started soon he was likely to have a difficult time finding his three comrades. They might leave some sort of communication for him at the place where they spent the night, should it happen that they felt called upon to move their quarters. Bumpus knew that Giraffe, as well as Allan, had considerable knowledge concerning Indian methods of sign writing, and he rather anticipated that if any message was found it would be along those lines.

Another thing caused him to consider it wise that he hasten his departure. Even as he sat there in that peaceful dining room of the monastery, with those earnest Brothers gathered about the long table, leaning on their elbows and listening to the answers he made to the many questions, Bumpus could hear an increasing uproar outside.

The heavy reverberation of great guns shook the massive walls of the building; those insistent sounds of cruel warfare invaded the peaceful dwelling, where strife was not supposed to ever come. Half a million men in uniform were about inaugurating another day of buffeting and killing in the struggle for the mastery. And it behooved him to get started on his way.

So he arose from the table, his appetite thoroughly satisfied with the humble but abundant fare of the monks.

“If you feel that you must go, my son,” said the tall Brother, once again at his side, “allow me to set you on your way. In the name of myself and the rest of those assembled here, I wish to thank you for giving us such pleasing news concerning your noble order across the sea. With such sentiments governing your actions we can see a glorious future opening up before you. Take, then, our blessing with you, my son. And we hope and pray that some time, when peace shall have fallen on our own beloved France; when swords shall be beaten into pruning hooks, then, too, our loyal Boy Scouts may forget all aspirations for military glory and live only to be a helping force in the world.”

So Bumpus gravely went around and shook hands with each of the monks in turn. He never felt prouder in all his life than just then, as they beamed on him; and more than one placed a trembling hand on his head as though invoking a blessing for the comforting message this boy from America had brought them.

Once outside and Bumpus became deeply interested in what was going on. He could hardly have been otherwise, for already it was plainly evident from the terrific pounding of cannon that the battle had broken out more furiously than on the preceding day.

As he walked along by the side of the tall monk in his coarse gray gown Bumpus talked of the war and its possible end in a general limitation of armies and navies all over the world.

“It is the one great result we hope and pray for,” said the other, soberly; “and toward that end we are ready to devote everything that we possess, property and life, too, if need be. ‘Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad,’ and certainly that is what is happening in these dark days. But we have faith to believe great good will surely come out of all this terrible destruction.”

Bumpus was sorry to say good-bye to the friendly monk when the latter had placed him on another road, which, he said, was the thoroughfare leading to Paris in one direction and the field of battle in the other.

“I’ll never forget all I’ve seen and heard while your guest, sir,” he told the other, whom he now knew as Brother Ambrose; “and perhaps some time or other I may write to you from my home over the sea.”

“We seldom receive letters from the outside world,” the grave man replied, “but under the unusual conditions I can promise to reply should you think to send me word. I would like to learn if you found your mother safe, and that with your brave comrades you had again reached that wonderful land of promise, America.”

So they shook hands earnestly and parted. It must have been a wonderful experience to this recluse, who had for so many years kept away from the bustling world to meet a lively American boy and learn so many surprising facts concerning the new spirit of usefulness that had taken hold of the rising generation across the sea.

Bumpus strode on, with his mind filled with the things he had just passed through. As he progressed he could notice that the dreadful roar was constantly increasing as new batteries took up the refrain and belched out their noisy defiance. Von Kluck evidently could not give up all idea of keeping on in the direction of the coveted prize in the shape of the French capital, now only ten miles more or less distant. Visions of that other successful occasion, when Paris was taken by siege, doubtless spurred him on to further strenuous efforts; and if the French eventually prevented a breach in their lines, wonderful generalship would be necessary.

The road was far from deserted now. With the break of day fresh streams of vehicles of every description had commenced moving, generally toward the front, as new supplies of ammunition and food were being constantly required to keep the army up to top-notch fighting pitch.

And those motor trucks and other moving vans that came _from_ the front were never empty, Bumpus saw. Every one carried wounded Frenchmen, brave fellows, who doubtless had already received first aid at the field hospitals, and were now being taken to other institutions around Paris, where they could in time possibly recover from their grievous injuries and once more join their regiments.

Bumpus heard few groans as these vehicles, with their ghastly freight, passed him on the road. How his heart beat in sympathy with the gallant occupants. Many times did he snatch his old campaign hat off to wave it around his head in vigorous salute as he let out a lusty cheer. This was in answer to some waving hand that even pain and weakness could not wholly subdue.

Naturally, these things affected a fellow built along the lines of sensitive Bumpus. He wished he had a chance to be of some use while there so close to the battle front; and as he trudged along a resolution began to form in his mind.

At first the boy had stopped several times on the road and looked long and wistfully back of him. To tell the truth, he was sorely tempted to turn “right about face” and go the other way. Paris lay in that quarter, and there he was likely to find his invalid mother. Bumpus hardly knew what his proper course should be. He did not believe she really needed him, because at last accounts she had been feeling very much better. Of course, like all mothers, she would be greatly worried concerning his safety. On that account he wished he might communicate with her; but since his three chums had decided to remain there and see the end of the great battle he really had no other choice.

So in spite of these pullings at his heart-strings the boy each time kept on as he had started. His resolution to be of some use to those in need grew stronger all the while. The procession of ambulances and vans filled with stricken humanity kept that determination fresh in his mind. While Bumpus of course did not pretend to know a quarter of the things connected with surgery that Thad, for instance, was able to practice, at the same time he had been drilled in the rudiments of the art, and could act as an assistant when called upon, bind up ordinary cuts, stop the flow of blood, fetch cool water to parched throats, and in many similar ways prove of service about a field hospital.

Well, he was getting along toward the spot where that low hill stood from which he and his three chums had lately watched the progress of the terrible fight on that never-to-be-forgotten afternoon in early September. Bumpus recognized it in the near distance by certain formations of trees at its base, which he, as a true scout, had impressed upon his memory at the time he stood there.

Then a new inspiration came to him. Why not stop one of these drivers and find out if the man knew anything about Thad and the rest—always providing he, Bumpus, could manage to make him understand English.

The idea impressed itself upon his mind as worth trying. Supposing the other fellows had been upon the road, their presence would be noticed by an observing driver, who could easily tell the boys in khaki were not natives.

With this scheme in view Bumpus waited for another van or ambulance to approach, when he meant to throw up his hand and signal for a stop. His opportunity was not long in coming; indeed, somewhat to his surprise, the motor ambulance marked with the significant Red Cross began to pull up even before he made motions.

Imagine the amazement of Bumpus when in the khaki-clad driver at the wheel he recognized a familiar form—no other, in fact, than his own chum, Giraffe, grinning at him as though greatly pleased over the unexpected meeting.