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Page 12
"But a black night would oppress me less than the ghastly whitish
glare of the snow. I can't see a thing out there, Scott, but those low
sounds I hear appall me."
The wind and the fall of snow alike were increasing in violence. The
great flakes poured in a feathery storm into the trench, and, before
them, all things were hidden. John knew, too, that it was covering the
many dead in their front with a blanket of white and that the wounded
who were unable to crawl back would probably lie frozen beneath it in
the morning. Once more that shiver of horror and utter repulsion seized
him. Despite himself, he could not control it, and he merely remained
quiet until his nerves became steady again.
But a low moaning just beyond the trench held his attention. It did not
seem to him that it was more than a dozen feet away, and he felt a great
sympathy and pity. He did not doubt that some German boy hurt terribly
lay almost within reach of his arm. He moved once in order that he might
not hear the dreadful sound, but an irresistible attraction drew him
back. Then he heard it more plainly, but the thick pouring snow covered
all things.
"Carstairs," he said, "I'm going to get a wounded man out there. I just
can't stand it any longer."
"Don't be foolish. They may send a volley at any time through the snow,
and one of their bullets is likely to get you."
"I'll chance it."
"It's against orders."
"I'm going anyhow. Maybe I've suddenly grown squeamish, but I mean to
save that wounded German from freezing to death."
"Stop, Scott! You mustn't risk your life this way. I'll report you to
Captain Colton!"
But it was too late. John had climbed up the side of the trench, and,
standing in the deep snow, was feeling about for the one who groaned.
Guided by the sound his hands soon touched a human body.
The fallen man was lying on his side and he was already half buried in
the snow. John ran his hand along his arm and shoulder, and felt cold
thick blood, clotting his sleeve. But he was yet alive, because he
groaned again, and John believed from the quality of his voice that he
was very young. The hurt was in the shoulder and the loss of blood had
been great.
He knelt beside the wounded lad and spoke to him in English and French,
and in German that he had learned recently. A faint reply came; but it
was too low for him to understand. Then he knelt in the snow beside him
and was just barely able to see that he had a blond youth younger than
himself. Shots came from the German line as he knelt there, but they
were merely random bullets whistling through the snowy gloom. He was
made of tenacious material, and the danger from the flying bullets
merely confirmed him in his purpose. Moreover, he could not bear to
return, and listen to those groans so near him. He grasped the young
German under the shoulders and dragged him to the edge of the trench.
Then he called softly:
"Carstairs, Wharton! I've got him! Help me down!"
Carstairs and Wharton appeared and Carstairs said:
"Well, you light-headed Yankee, you have come back!"
"Yes, and I've brought with me what I went after. Help me down with him.
Easy there now! He's hit hard in the shoulder!"
The two lifted him into the trench and John slid after him, just as a
half-dozen random shots whistled over his head. There they drew the
rescued youth into one of the alcoves dug in the wall and Carstairs
flashed his electric torch on his face, revealing features boyish,
delicate, and white as death now. His gray uniform was of richer
material than usual and an iron cross was pinned upon his breast.
"A brave lad as the cross shows," said Carstairs, "and I should judge
too from his appearance that he's of high rank. Maybe he's a prince or
the son of a prince. You've already had adventures with two of them."
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