THE HERO OF THE GUNS
"The patriotism of nearly all these children of France is something that you boys and girls cannot fully understand. No one can unless he has seen it displayed, as I have, in many instances," said Captain Favor.
"For instance, there is a little story of 'The Hero of the Guns,' as he was called. His name was Mattia, and though only twelve years old, he was determined to go to war and fight for France. This boy had only his mother left, his two brothers being already in the war and his father having fallen a victim to the Prussians when they raided the village in which Mattia's parents then lived.
"For a long time the lad had been studying a map of France until he possessed a very clear idea of the territory held by the Germans, as well as that where his countrymen were fighting. He talked over these things with the old men of the village and learned much from them.
"One day when he thought he knew the country well enough, this little patriot ran away from home and was well on his way to join his brothers when his absence was discovered.
"Mattia's mother appealed to the police but it was not until the following day that he was found and returned to his home. He had gone more than twenty miles on his journey when the police got him.
"'Unhappy child!' cried the boy's mother when he had been restored to her. 'Why did you do this? Did you not know the danger into which you were running? You might have been killed by German raiders or taken captive and carried to their own country and made to work, with barely enough food to keep you alive.'
"'My mother,' answered the boy bravely, 'when France is in danger, every one, boy or man, should go to her aid just as my brothers have done, and as my father did, and gave up his life for his country. I, too, must go.'
"'Yes, but they were men while you are but a child, Mattia.'
"'Other mothers' sons have gone to war, mother; other mothers' sons will never come back. They have been shot in the war.'
"Mattia's mother, however, refused to give her consent, and the little patriot was obliged to remain at home, yet with his purpose of fighting for France still firmly fixed in his mind. One day he would go, he told himself, and one day he would show them that even a child could do a man's part.
"Early in the following spring Mattia's mother grew ill and died. The little fellow grieved for her until his face grew wan and pale. He was now left in the care of an uncle who was not very kind to him. After a month had passed in which Mattia had continued his study of the war map, he determined to leave the home of his uncle and once more try to reach his brothers.
"One evening a troop train halted at the little village. This was the boy's opportunity. Watching his chance, he slipped into one of the coaches and crawled up to the luggage rack and lay down, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. But, alas, he was discovered and dragged out by a station employe who had seen him enter the car.
"This ended Mattia's going to war for some time to come. He found no opportunity to do so until nearly a month later, when he decided to leave his uncle's home again and take his chances. This time he planned well and carefully. Providing himself with food he set out one evening after he was supposed to be in bed and asleep, and, proceeding to the railroad, started walking along it. This, he had found, was the most direct route to the front.
"Mattia's uncle did not take enough interest in his nephew's disappearance to have a search made for him. For days after that the lad continued his journey on foot, stopping at farmhouses and doing little odd jobs that were the means of providing meals for him. One day, to his great happiness, he came up with the rear of one of the armies of his beloved country.
"The boy plodded in among the troops, for this was a rest camp that he had stumbled upon, some miles distant from the front. An officer, observing that he was a civilian, halted him in the street of the village where the rest camp was situated.
"'Where are you going, boy?' the officer demanded.
"'To the war with you,' answered Mattia promptly.
"'What! To war, at your age? It is impossible. Where is your home?'
"Mattia told him.
"'My mother is dead, as is my father, and my brothers are fighting at Verdun. Mattia has only his country left to love now. Where is Verdun?'
"'You poor little patriot,' answered the officer sympathetically. 'Verdun is yonder where you see the smoke and where the big guns are in action. You can hear them now.'
"The boy nodded.
"'But you are too young to fight. It is not permissible. Wait! You have no family left at home?'
"'None, sir, save my uncle, who does not want me,'
"'And you wish to stay here?'
"'No, sir, I wish to fight.'
"'That cannot be, but if you wish you may remain here. If you can work there is much that you can do in the rear and thus serve your country well. All men who serve their country are not in the trenches. Many are serving heroically who have not yet heard the roar of the big guns.'
"'What shall I do here?'
"'Help the cooks, do little services for the officers—whatever you may find to do. But, my son, remember you are not to try to go near the firing line. It is not for children to be there. You do not know what the soldiers suffer there. They must be strong and they must be old enough to stand the terrible strain.'
"'I care not for that. I want to fight,' replied Mattia with determination. 'I am strong and I can endure as long as can the men. I know, for I have worked with men. Where shall I eat and sleep?'
"The officer told him he would speak to the mess sergeant and that the latter would provide him with food, and would arrange for the lad to lodge in one of the buildings where soldiers slept when off duty.
"That was satisfactory to little Mattia. He was happy, for he was with the army, and that night the roar of the distant artillery lulled him to sleep. It was sweet music to him. 'Tomorrow I shall fight like the Frenchman I am,' he murmured as he dropped off to sleep.
"It was many days later, however, before he got the chance to take part in actual fighting. Even that came about by chance. He had been sent back to carry a message to the lieutenant in a high-angle gun squad—"
"What is that?" interjected Joe Funk.
"I should have explained. That is what the outfit that handles the anti-aircraft guns, the men who stay on the ground and shoot at airplanes, is called. He was permitted to stand by and watch the operations of the squad. Pretty soon he was assisting them by running back and bringing up the long, slender projectiles that the gun, pointed toward the skies, fired. He enjoyed watching the kick of the piece and the way it ejected the case of the shell after the projectile had soared on its way to the clouds.
"Mattia proved himself very useful that day and earned the thanks of the ammunition carriers for his help. He was quick and never stumbled or dropped a shell.
"That night he slept on the ground near the gun, which was silent all through the night. Early in the morning he was awakened by the sharp report of the weapon. Quickly springing up, he saw, high in the air, a black speck which he knew to be an enemy airplane, because the gun squad was firing at it.
"Once more Mattia took up his work of carrying ammunition. Something tremendous exploded not far from the squad.
"'The Boches are bombing us,' cried a soldier. The lad knew from that that the airplane, so far above them, was dropping bombs to destroy the gun and its squad. The only effect of the bombing, however, was to knock down several men, Mattia among the number, by the shock of an exploding bomb.
"'They're coming down!' yelled the lad as the airplane grew larger.
"'It's a hit!' cried the lieutenant in command.
"Mattia saw the airplane turning over and over, falling, soaring like a leaf from a tree in the fall.
"'Di—did we hi—hit him?' questioned the lad.
"'Of course we hit him,' answered a soldier. 'Don't you see him coming?'
"For the first time the little French lad realized what war was. He knew there was one man, and perhaps two, in that falling machine, and that he was watching them falling to what would probably be death.
"'It is for France,' he said to himself. 'If they are Boches they must die.' However, Mattia did not get the picture of that scene out of his mind for a long time. Later on he became used to it and did not even marvel.
"One day the gun squad was sent to another point a long distance away and the lad returned to the rest camp. He now felt himself to be a well-seasoned soldier and talked of high-angle guns as volubly as could an experienced gunner. Still, he had not yet reached the realization of his ambitions. He tried often to steal away to the trenches, but in each instance was stopped and turned back.
"While in billets he fell in with a machine-gun company and became much interested in what they told him of the perilous work of that branch of the service. He concluded that this work would suit him better than the anti-aircraft service. While the latter squads ordinarily were located behind the lines, the machine gunners were up where there was trouble all the time. To join a machine-gun company was not so easy.
"Mattia's chance came one night. A company of machine gunners was ordered to a remote point on the line, a journey of some fifteen miles, where they were to establish a new emplacement, temporarily, to clean out a nest of Prussians. The lad listened to what the men had to say about their proposed journey and the work they expected to have to do with the keenest interest.
"'I too shall go,' he decided, but he told no one of his intention. Instead, he waited until the men were well started, then followed them. There was no difficulty about this, as they did not have to pass any sentries on the way.
"Shells frequently fell near them, many soared over their heads with weird moanings. He was getting so familiar with the sound of shells that he could tell the kind of shell that was passing by the noise made by it.
"Along toward the middle of the night the machine gunners reached their destination. Mattia did not show himself until the soldiers began preparing an emplacement for their gun. This emplacement was located in a clump of bushes, in which they dug a short trench, carrying the dirt far to the rear, so the enemy airplanes might not discover that the earth had been turned over there.
"The lieutenant in command discovered him and Mattia spent a few most uncomfortable minutes in trying to explain why he was there.
"'I know this boy, sir,' volunteered a sergeant. 'He is with the army and he is always very useful. Why not, sir, let him remain in case we need to send a messenger back?'
"'Very good,' answered the lieutenant, after brief reflection. 'But understand, boy, you must keep out of sight. In the daytime I want you to go over yonder in those bushes and lie down and don't dare to show yourself unless I give you permission.'
"To these orders Mattia made no response. None was expected. All the rest of the night he assisted in carrying back dirt in bags and dumping it in a gully where it could not be seen from up in the air. In addition to the parallel trench one was dug back through the soft ground as a sort of communicating trench. The lad wondered how that trench could be dug there without the enemy's seeing it, but when the men began to plant bushes along its sides, permitting the branches to droop over the trench, he saw the idea of the plan. This was camouflage.
"It was nearly daybreak when he and some of his comrades made their way to the rear and went to sleep. When he awakened the sun was shining brightly. Forgetful of his orders, he entered the communicating trench and walked forward. He was amazed to find another trench leading into the communicating trench. He asked a soldier about it.
"'Say, Mattia, do you think this squad is the only one in France?' asked the soldier. 'There are other machine-gun units out here. Of course, we know where they are and the officers know what we are going to do. Peek through these bushes.'
"'Boches!' gasped the lad.
"'That is right, Mattia. They do not know we are here.'
"'Why don't you shoot at them?'
"'We are not ready, or rather, they are not.'
"The Germans were digging a trench on a rise of ground, where they always try to place them, instead of on low ground, about half a mile away. Mattia peered at them, looking through the bushes, until he was ordered by an officer to go back and bring up the breakfast for the men. Thus the little Frenchman was given to understand that he was one of them. The officer in command either had forgotten his orders to the boy of the previous night, or else had decided to use him so long as no fighting was going on.
"There was much about the work that Mattia did not understand. He now knew that there were other French detachments close at hand, but he neither saw nor heard them. The others, undoubtedly, were camouflaged just as his detachment was.
"So secretly, however, had the French worked that the Germans did not appear even to suspect the presence of the enemy. This secrecy was maintained for two more days, Mattia in the meantime having been initiated into the mystery of the machine gun. He was allowed by a friendly sergeant to handle the gun and go through the motions of firing it and putting in a fresh string of shells. It was a delight to him.
"On the morning of the third day he was ordered to remain behind in a dugout that had been built. He knew by this that an action was at hand.
"It came about nine o'clock in the morning, when a company of French soldiers came marching down the field in plain view of the Germans, though no Germans were in sight. He did not know that these infantrymen were a decoy, a part of the plan of the French to draw the enemy down within easy range of their machine guns.
"Rifles began to crackle from the Prussian trenches, and to his amazement, after firing a few rounds in reply, the French infantrymen ran for the cover of the brush. He saw the reason for this a moment later when a big troop of German cavalry topped the rise of ground and swept on toward the French, followed by the charging infantry of the Germans.
HIS FIRE SAVED THE DAY.
"Some time since, Mattia had slipped from his dugout. He was determined to miss nothing of what was going on. He saw his own infantrymen take to the communicating trenches and disappear, plainly as a part of the plan.
"Then the machine guns began to play. The mounted German detachment was close upon them before the hidden French machine guns opened up. All down the line to the right he could hear French machine guns pouring their fire into the approaching horsemen. Those who were not killed or who had not fallen wounded from their horses were turned back.
"Mattia, in his excitement, crawled along one side of the communicating trench toward the machine-gun emplacement. He was shocked to see that more than half of his machine-gun crew already were dead or wounded. Now the German artillery, which he could not see, began shelling the French positions. A shell exploded in the trench occupied by his comrades, and Mattia was hurled violently into the communicating trench.
"When the smoke had cleared away Mattia ran forward. The machine gun was silent, though others down the line were very busy. It was a strange sight for a boy to gaze upon. All his comrades were now lying in the trench, either killed or badly wounded.
"The German infantry, in close formation—meaning close together—was coming on steadily. Down the line the French were holding them back, but in Mattia's trench there was no opposition.
"The boy collected his wits, uttered a gasp, then sprang to the silent machine gun. A half-used strip of shells was in the gun and other strips were close at hand.
"Little Mattia began to work the machine gun. He swept the field with it as far as it would reach to the right and the left, sending a rain of bullets into the enemy. Even after the strip was exhausted he kept on working the gun, not realizing that it was out of cartridges. Discovering this finally, he reloaded and began firing again.
"His fire saved the day for the French, because, had Mattia failed to serve the gun, the Germans soon would have broken through the line and that would have lost the battle for the French.
"At last the German line began to waver; it stopped, then began a retreat on the run, followed by the bullets of the machine gunners. Mattia was yelling and whooping as he pumped away with his weapon, elevating its muzzle a little from time to time that he might be sure to reach the fleeing men.
"Shells had been bursting about him all the time and were still bursting.
"The French machine-gun fire from other trenches stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun. Then something happened to little Mattia. Another shell landed in his trench and burst with a deafening explosion. The lad fell forward on his gun and lay still.
"They found him there later, unconscious, badly wounded, his hand still on the trigger of the gun he had worked with such success. He was carried back to the rest billet and thence to a hospital. Everywhere the story of the boy's heroism had preceded him.
"One day as he lay in his cot, now well on the road to recovery, some officers, guided by an orderly, entered the ward where he lay and halted at his cot. The officer in charge of the party, who proved to be a general, made a little speech to the wounded boy, then pinned the Cross of War on his breast and finished by kissing him on both cheeks.
"Mattia had won his reward, and though he would never fight again, he was a happy boy. He had served his country well and had bled for her and had won an honor that comes to few."