BARRAGE FIRE
Don Hale certainly had a very unpleasant prospect before him. Responsibility shared is that much lessened; but, bravely holding his feelings in check, he guided Number Eight with a firm hand.
"I hope to goodness no more adventures are in store for me to-night," he thought, grimly.
Reaching the scene of the catastrophe, the car bumped and floundered heavily over places where the explosion had torn up the road-bed.
The "empties" were still stalled, but the transports in advance had gone on their way; and for this Don felt very thankful, as it enabled him to make better speed.
Around another bend—then Number Eight began mounting the rather narrow road which led over the hill just beyond. The roar of the big guns hidden in the forest was now almost incessant, and between the trees in the distance, through the clearing atmosphere, the ambulancier caught glimpses of flares and signal bombs rising above the German trenches.
Along this portion of the way he again encountered "arrivés," which were coming in pretty fast and still further devastating the forest, but so long as none of them landed within a few hundred yards or so the young Red Cross driver's mind was easy.
Finally the ambulance climbed over the summit and presently went slipping and sliding down the opposite slope. The lightning now cast only an occasional glimmer among the trees and the task of piloting the car down that wet and treacherous incline required all the skill Don Hale possessed. Not the faintest glimpse of horses, wagons or trucks could he see. It was taking chances with a vengeance. Nevertheless the young ambulancier, ever mindful of the serious nature of his mission, kept steadily on, while the forest all about him rang and reverberated with the thunderous reports of the big guns. A succession of rolling hills was passed in safety, and now the dreaded crossroad was being approached.
"The Germans are peppering it, all right!" exclaimed Don, aloud.
A marmite had just dropped on the heights above.
There are some things to which the nerves can never become accustomed. Don Hale felt his heart throbbing faster; he clutched the steering wheel with a stronger grip, and anxiously peered upward.
Bang!
Another shell, he felt sure, had come close to its objective point. Still Number Eight kept plugging steadily along, and while the boy's thoughts were fixed intently on the crossroad a series of bright flashes accompanied by crashing reports from the top of a high bank almost overhead nearly startled the life out of him.
A battery of soixante-quinze, or seventy-fives, had suddenly gone into action. The force of the concussions was so frightful as to cause the ambulance to shake and tremble in the most violent fashion. The young ambulancier's head seemed to be fairly bursting.
Guns on the other side of the road now began blazing away, and to the rolling, volleying, crashing reports was joined the echoes hurled back by the surrounding hills.
A tir de barrage[12] was on.
Fearful that his ear-drums might be permanently injured, Don strove to get away with all possible speed, but the road was slippery, the hill rather steep, and under the circumstances Number Eight could only crawl along.
He found the strain almost unendurable.
The roar gradually became louder, at last culminating in one mighty, reverberating crescendo, like the rolling and booming of continuous thunder, which jarred the earth with its appalling intensity.
As the car neared the top of a slope Don Hale, scarcely able to control his jumping nerves, became a witness to one of the most marvelous and stupendous spectacles which man has ever given to the world.
From the heights both to the north and south as far as his vision could reach, guns of many calibers were belching forth their messengers of death so fast that in places the spurts of livid fire piercing the blackness appeared almost to join together and form a flickering line of flame. All the elements of the sublime, the terrible and the unreal were there; and so awestruck and thrilled was the boy that, actually forgetting the danger which threatened him, he brought the ambulance to a halt and gazed with wonderment on the scene.
Streaming high into the sky was a great pyrotechnic display. Balls of brilliant white fire sent a ghastly light over the surrounding landscape; red and green signal rockets were continually ascending, while powerful searchlights flashed this way and that, until the night was fairly driven away and a strange, almost supernatural illumination held sway.
Breathless, almost spellbound, Don Hale sat in the seat of the ambulance. Then, suddenly, recalled to his senses by the words "tres pressé" flashing through his mind, he put the car in motion again. Truth to tell, the boy had never been more frightened—more unnerved in his life. While such a fearful commotion was under way it seemed as if nowhere could any safety possibly exist. All things impressive at other times now dwindled into insignificance.
Occasionally the vari-colored lights in the sky shone faintly on the now moving line of "empties." Amid the immensity of the conflict even the great camions appeared like mere atoms. However, it gave Don Hale a sense of vast relief to know that he was not alone.
The ambulance descended a slope and mounted a hill beyond.
The danger point was right before him. The vehicle lurched heavily. The rear wheels had narrowly missed sliding into a shell-hole. Yes, there had been some work going on at the crossroads that night. Now the driver increased his speed, and Number Eight presently shot over the brow of the hill.
And from the heights Don caught a glimpse of another extraordinary scene—the bright flashes of the French shells, a literal stream of fire, bursting over the German lines—withering, scorching blasts, which must have been fairly annihilating to the enemy's trenches. And in the heavens above was another magnificent display of star-shells and signal rockets. But this time Don did not halt a second.
The thunder of the guns showed no signs of abating, and as blow invites blow, so the artillery on the eastern hills was stirred into frenzied action, and the terrible din of the French batteries was answered by the terrible din of the foe's. Countless projectiles whistled and screamed overhead in both directions. Every instant terrific detonations came from shell-bursts in the forest, and frequently the frightened driver of the Red Cross ambulance caught glimpses of their lurid gleams.
"It seems almost like the end of the world!" he reflected, with a shiver.
About this time the boy began to vaguely wonder if dawn was not breaking. At first quite uncertain, he soon realized that the blackness actually was being dispelled.
"Ah, what a relief!" he cried.
Imperceptibly but steadily, the light spread throughout the sky, and finally a cold, cheerless glimmer was descending into the valleys, bringing the surroundings very plainly into view. Once more the serpent-like line of camions had come to a halt. Not a driver could be seen, all evidently having sought safety in the abris along the roadside. Don Hale felt an almost irresistible impulse to do the same, but, manfully setting such thoughts aside, he stuck to his post.
At last the car was chugging its way up the slope of the final hill. Now the tops of the gaunt, scarred trees above stood out clearly against the rapidly-lightening sky. Gleams of somber gray were penetrating into the forest and formless shadows began to assume definite shapes. All nature appeared in its most sad and melancholy aspect. The dripping, water-soaked vegetation reflected the dull leaden gray of the clouds overhead; rivulets were still trickling down the hill and huge puddles and pools lay on all sides, as reminders of the recent storm. There is always a certain solemnity about the awakening of day, and this particular dawn seemed to be one of the most impressive the young ambulancier had ever known. He could not help picturing in his mind the awful scenes which must be taking place along the battle-front, yet, wrought up as were his nerves, thoughts of Chase Manning almost constantly came to his mind. Had anything happened to him? Where was he? What wouldn't he have given to know!
The last stretch was probably the most terrible of all. Shells were actually landing all about the road. Like avalanches, the upheaved earth and stones and trees came crashing downward, though, amid the terrible roar, no sounds of their falling could be heard.
Now that the light was stronger, Don Hale, his face bathed in perspiration, drove recklessly; and Number Eight, like a marathon sprinter on the final lap, wobbled, staggered and shook as it bowled over the last few yards of the main road and turned into the spur which led to the abri.
"Great Julius Cæsar! I am actually here!" cried Don.
The car stopped with a jerk, and in another second he was on the ground, running with all speed toward the shelter.
With every ounce of his strength he pounded on the door.
It was almost immediately opened, and Don Hale, the youngest ambulancier in the Red Cross service, almost fell inside.