|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 55
"It was in a bad battle in Lorraine," spoke Philippe into the sunshiny
peace, "that I lost M'sieur le Docteur's leg. One was in the front
trench and there was word passed to have the wire cutters ready, and
also bayonets, for we were to charge across the open towards the
trenches of the Germans--perhaps one hundred and fifty yards, eight
_arpents_--acres--as we say in Canada. Our big guns back did the
preparation, making what M'sieur le Docteur well knows is called a
_rideau_--a fire curtain. We climbed out of our trench with a shout and
followed the fire curtain; so closely we followed that it seemed we
should be killed by our own guns. And then it stopped--too soon, M'sieur
le Docteur. Very many Boches were left alive in that trench in front,
and they fired as we came, so that some of us were hit, and so terrible
was the fire that the rest were forced back to our own trench which we
had left. It is so sometimes in a fight, M'sieur le Docteur. The big
guns make a little mistake, and many men have to die. Yet it is for
France. And as I ran with the others for the shelter of the trench, and
as the Boches streamed out of their trench to make a counter attack with
hand-grenades I tripped on something. It was little R�n� Dumont, whom
M'sieur le Docteur remembers. He guided for our camp when Josef was ill
in the hand two years ago. In any case he lay there, and I could not let
him lie to be shot to pieces. So I caught up the child and ran with him
across my shoulders and threw him in the trench, and as he went in there
was a cry behind me, 'Philippe!'
"I turned, and one waved arms at me--a comrade whom I did not know very
well--but he lay in the open and cried for help. So I thought of Jeanne
d'Arc, and how she had no fear, and was kind, and with that, back I
trotted to get the comrade. But at that second--pouf!--a big noise, and
I fell down and could not get up. It was the good new leg of M'sieur le
Docteur which those _sacr�s_ Boches had blown off with a hand-grenade.
So that I lay dead enough. And when I came alive it was dark, and also
the leg hurt--but yes! I was annoyed to have ruined that leg which you
gave me--M'sieur le Docteur."
I grinned, and something ached inside of me.
Philippe went on. "It was then, when I was without much hope and weak
and in pain and also thirsty, that a thing happened. It is a business
without pleasure, M'sieur le Docteur, that--to lie on a battle-field
with a leg shot off, and around one men dead, piled up--yes, and some
not dead yet, which is worse. They groan. One feels unable to bear it.
It grows cold also, and the searchlights of the Boches play so as to
prevent rescue by comrades. They seem quite horrible, those lights. One
lives, but one wishes much to die. So it happened that, as I lay there,
I heard a step coming, not crawling along as the rescuers crawl and
stopping when the lights flare, but a steady step coming freely. And
with that I was lifted and carried quickly into a wood. There was a hole
in the ground there, torn by a shell deeply, and the friend laid me
there and put a flask to my lips, and I was warm and comforted. I looked
up and I saw a figure in soldier's clothing of an old time, such as one
sees in books--armor of white. And the face smiled down at me. 'You will
be saved,' a voice said; and the words sounded homely, almost like the
words of my grandfather who keeps the grocery shop. 'You will be saved.'
It seemed to me that the voice was young and gentle and like a woman's.
"'Who are you?' I asked, and I had a strange feeling, afraid a little
M'sieur, yet glad to a marvel. I got no answer to my question, but I
felt something pressed into my hand, and then I spoke, but I suppose I
was a little delirious, M'sieur, for I heard myself say a thing I had
not been thinking. 'A Martel must return to France to find the silver
stirrup'--I said that, M'sieur. Why I do not know. They were the words I
had heard my grandfather speak. Perhaps the hard feeling in my hand--but
I cannot explain, M'sieur le Docteur. In any case, there was all at once
a great thrill through my body, such as I have never known. I sat up
quickly and stared at the figure. It stood there. M'sieur will probably
not believe me--the figure stood there in white armor, with a sword--and
I knew it for Jeanne--the Maid. With that I knew no more. When I woke it
was day. I was still lying in the crater of the shell which had torn up
the earth of a very old battle-field, but in my hand I held
tight--this."
Philippe drew off the last cover with a dramatic flourish and opened the
box which had been wrapped so carefully. I bent over him. In the box,
before my eyes, lay an ancient worn and battered silver stirrup. There
were no words to say. I stared at the boy. And with that suddenly he had
slewed around clumsily--because of his poor wooden leg--and was on his
knees at my feet. He held out the stirrup.
"M'sieur le Docteur, you gave me a man's chance and honor, and the joy
of fighting for France. I can never tell my thanks. I have nothing to
give you--but this. Take it, M'sieur le Docteur. It is not much, yet to
me the earth holds nothing so valuable. It is the silver stirrup of
Jeanne d'Arc. It is yours."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|