Well, I had gotten my permit to leave A——on the following day, the 24th. I wandered around over the city viewing the destroyed portions and making the acquaintance of some womenfolk who ran a restaurant, and at last I found a hotel and went to sleep. The next morning after breakfast I left my hotel and made my way up the main street until I came to a narrow alley-like street with tall buildings on either side, into which I entered, bent on investigation. I had not gone more than a hundred feet down this street when I distinctly heard a boom!
I did not pay much attention to it, for I thought it was likely some blasting in the vicinity, and presently I heard another boom!
I then looked about and saw a man ahead of me leading a horse hitched to a high-wheeled vegetable cart, heavily loaded. He was trying to run and drag along with him, horse, cart, and all. Everybody was running and—well—I guess I ran, too! I don't know just why I did—I know I wasn't scared! But some way a feeling inside of me told me I would rather be in some other place than there. If I was to be killed, I thought it would be more consolation to the folks at home if my body wasn't loaded down with hundreds of tons of brick and mortar. For nine and one-fifth seconds I beat the world's record.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
When I got out into the main street again and turned to get my breath, along with a good many other runners, I saw three airplanes dropping bombs down on the city at the rate of a hundred in a little over three minutes, and with the detonations and the reverberations of the anti-aircraft guns which were being fired, added to the explosions of the bombs themselves, it just seemed as though the entire atmosphere was raining bombs. And any way I went, a whole flock of the bombs followed me. I learned later that an important factory was destroyed and that forty people were killed. If they had told me forty thousand, I think I should have believed it. The feeling on such an occasion as this is indescribable. It is not like any ordinary bombardment when you know the enemy is letting you have it from only one side—the front. The sense of utter helplessness when you feel he is all about you and peppering you from a thousand angles isn't comfortable to say the least. That afternoon I strolled about the city taking in the ruined districts, and that evening I set off for my post, complying with the provisions of my pass. If I hadn't left then, I couldn't have gone at all without a lot of difficulty.
CHAPTER XIV THE DEATH OF A COMRADE
On a certain Friday afternoon at M—— the day had been ominously quiet. Several of the boys had gone out for a little stroll and lunch before retiring, and a few were hanging around the cars. The sun was sinking low in the west and appeared to be loath to drop out of sight. An orderly from the hospital came rushing over out of breath and told us to come quickly. Two boys went with me immediately and as we entered a darkened room we saw our old friend, Gaston, apparently "passing out." Some of us had been pretty well acquainted with him. We went in noiselessly but as soon as we stepped over the threshold he opened his eyes a little wider and smiled faintly. He looked so peaceful that we hated to disturb him. Speaking in a kind of hoarse whisper he said, "I sent for you. I am glad you came. You boys have been good to me and I wanted to thank you. I am lonesome, and I want my mother, too. Pneumonia has set in, but I'll be better—in—a—couple—of—days. How—is—the—battle—go——?" Here his eyes closed and he seemed to sleep. Yes, I can truthfully say he did find sleep. The sleep which knows no waking. But the room was so quiet and he looked so calm and happy as he lay there that it did not seem like death. It only seemed as if some white angel had come down and touched his tired, feeble body and transfigured him. Poor fellow, he had been gassed at the battle of Ypres, and we had met him at the hospital. Several times we had had good visits with him and neither he nor we surmised that his time was so near at hand. He had not appeared to be in pain and he always said he did not suffer. And he was so hopeful to the end.
His life story had been a sad one. Married when very young he had been a farmer on one of those little places so common and yet so unique in France. Things had not gone well with him and his farm had almost been forfeited. He had a family of children but his little twin boy and girl had been killed in a runaway and the shock had prostrated his wife. She had been an invalid ever since. Years had gone by and then when the Germans came, a shell had struck his home killing his wife in her bed and injuring his other boy. A few hours later the Germans entered the place, driving him out of his home, taking his farm. He had barely time to escape being captured, which would have meant service for Germany instead of for France. His heart had been saddened but he was glad to get away and go into the French Army and he had gone back to fight the Germans. He had gone through several battles without being injured but the gas caught him at Ypres. He lived sadly but died peacefully, and we were requested to be present at the last little service over what was earthly of him. They put him in a plain casket covered with a French flag and the procession started down toward the little church.