Over There with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge

"Gee! I must get back in a hustle and we'll get those Huns," was Irving's next thought. "No doubt they'll carry that fellow to their trench, and necessarily they'll go pretty slow."

He scuttled back to the listening pit even more rapidly, if possible, than "the turtle" had scuttled, and soon was with his comrade scouts.

"Is everybody here?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yes, you're the last one out," Lieut. Tourtelle replied in, Irving fancied, a sneering tone.

"Then sweep that section right over there" – indicating with his right hand. "There are several boches 200 yards in that direction carrying in a comrade that I cracked on the head."

The other scouts had returned with information of interest to the machine gunners, and presently the "typewriters" were rattling away with a hail of steel-jacketed messages. Cries and groans from several quarters of the arc swept by the guns indicated the effectiveness of the firing. Irving was rewarded for his evening's work by hearing several evidences of hits from the neighborhood of the scene of his adventure.

After the firing, there was a quick retreat to the Canadian front line. They got back before the Heinies were able to collect their wits and concentrate an answering fire upon the pit which undoubtedly they thought they had recently converted into a combined shambles and tomb.

This last statement is true, but misleading. The patrol did not get back without some punishment. One machine gun of the enemy got busy just before the scouts leaped back into their trench. Again we are misleading. One of the returning scouts did not leap into the trench-he fell. It was Lieut. Tourtelle.

Irving sprang to his aid, lifting the officer to his feet and supporting him thus. But his efforts were of little use. The wounded man had fainted.

Another soldier offered assistance, and together they carried him to a lighted dugout. There speedy first-aid remedies brought the wounded soldier back to consciousness, but it was evident that he was severely injured.

A telephone call in the dugout soon brought a team of stretcher bearers, and in a short time Lieut. Tourtelle was being conveyed to a Red Cross ambulance.

Next day Irving's left shoulder was so sore that he was unable to use the arm. He tried to conceal his embarrassment, but it was observed by Sergt. MacDonald, who reported it to Lieut. Osborne. Then followed an examination, which proved that the young American's shoulder was discolored and swollen as a result of the wound he received following the explosion of minnenwerfer No. 1 near the listening pit early in the evening, and he was ordered behind the lines for treatment.

CHAPTER VI

A LITTLE HISTORY

Irving was not confined to an invalid's couch at the hospital behind the Canadian lines. His left arm was put in a sling and his shoulder bandaged in hot cloths, frequently changed. It was found that the stone that struck him had strained and bruised the muscles and ligaments severely, so that the subsequent use of the arm had brought about a condition resembling results of a bad sprain.

He was in the hospital a little over a week, and although he was not subjected to any of the heroic treatment that is administered to many of the wounded, yet the exciting thrills that had filled his short experience in trench and No Man's Land with "lots of pep and pepper" had a very fitting sequel in his hospital sojourn, very much unlike the usual wearisome wait of the wounded.

As we have intimated, Private Irving Ellis was an American of the United States brand. His home was in Buffalo, N.Y. His father was a ship captain employed by a company that operated a line of passenger and freight steamers on the Great Lakes. As a result the boy grew up a "fresh water tar." He worked with his father on the latter's boat most of the time during the summer vacations after he reached his teens.

The steamer of which Mr. Ellis had charge touched at several Canadian as well as United States ports. In one of these lived an uncle of Irving's, John Douglas, and the latter's family.

Mr. Ellis had married a Scotch Canadian bride, and as both families lived near Lake Erie, there was frequent visiting between them back and forth across the mid-water line.

As a result, Irving's best chum of his schoolboy days was his cousin, Bob Douglas. They were about the same age, and both were fond of life on the lake. Bob also was given work under Mr. Ellis's command in the summer when he became old enough to be of service on board.

Soon after England declared war against Germany, Canada began the organization of an army to aid her mother country in the great fight, and Bob was one of the first to enlist. On the day of his enlistment he wrote a long letter full of fiery patriotism to his cousin over in the United States, and perhaps you can imagine the sensation this communication created in the family of the steamboat captain.

But no, you can't, for the big sensation was not immediate. Of course, there was a good deal of excitement among Irving's brothers and sisters-two boys and two girls, all younger than he. Cousin Bob was a real hero in their minds, and Irving envied him. The violation of the Belgian treaty, the storming of Liege and the invasion of France across the Belgian frontier were still fresh in the minds of the people everywhere. The "scrap of paper" was still waving like a red flag in the face of popular demand for the inviolability of international honor.

Well, two days later, Irving electrified the family circle at the breakfast table with the announcement that he wished to enlist. Nobody protested; nobody approved. In fact, Mr. Ellis had paved the way for his oldest son's wish by expressing the opinion that the United States would be drawn into the war before it was over. Even the younger children were so imbued with a sense of the seriousness of the great struggle as a result of things they had heard father, mother, and older brother say, that they just looked awed when Irving's announcement came.

Mr. and Mrs. Ellis had too good sense of the logic of things to start an argument to dissuade their son from his unexpected desire. They rather decided upon a plan of silence, which put an end to discussion of the war in their household. The radical change that suddenly transformed the family conversations was almost grewsome in its emptiness; the substitution of silence for talk frequently became embarrassing. But there was one thing that did not stop; that was the arrival of letters from Bob. They came almost with every mail, and Irving devoured them eagerly.

At last the boy was able to stand the embarrassing silence no longer, for the desire to take part in the great struggle against the hosts of a hated military power was growing every day. Mr. and Mrs. Ellis saw the inevitable coming. They knew that they would not forbid their son to enlist when once they were convinced of his deep-seated desire to do so. They could sacrifice their son for a great cause just as well as for country.

"Father, mother, I want to go," the boy said one day.

It was an isolated statement, that would have been Greek to one not intimately familiar with the campaign of silence that had preceded. The consent was given in silence and the subject was not discussed again until Irving began to make preparations for his departure.

He went to Canada and enlisted. Partly through a deliberately planned purpose and partly by good fortune, he was able to get into the regiment with which his cousin was training and a few months later was aboard a transport on a zig-zag, submarine-dodging course for England. After their arrival in France, Irving because of his training in certain technical lines was put in the engineering service, but shortly before the occurrence of the events already related herein, he succeeded in getting a transfer back to his regiment on the plea that he wished to do some real fighting.

Then for the first time he learned that his cousin had been severely wounded and sent back to Canada incapacitated for further service several months before. This information came in a letter from Bob written at home. Two weeks later, while Irving was in the hospital recovering from the injury he received in the listening pit in No Man's Land, another letter came from his cousin, communicating a seemingly innocent but strange bit of news which was destined to have an important bearing on Private Ellis's future experiences as a soldier.

CHAPTER VII

TOURTELLE APOLOGIZES

But something remarkable and of great importance, affecting Irving's soldier career, took place between the time when he entered the hospital and the time when he received the second letter from his cousin at home. The deep significance of the event did not develop at once, but the novelty of the thing kept the attention of interest upon it until the real meaning was uncovered. From that time on the young American soldier's war experiences were a succession of thrills, surprises, and dangerously interesting work.

The field hospital to which he was taken consisted in part of a group of farm buildings that might have served as the nucleus of a village a short distance behind the rear battle line. Everything was slow and uninteresting to him during his first two days at this place. Then came the first incident in the chain of events that was to mean so much to Private Ellis as an American fighter in France.

He received a message from one of the guards patrolling the grounds that a wounded officer in one of the buildings wished to see him. No explanation as to why he had been sent for was given by the bearer of the message. The head nurse of the building would direct him to the man who wished to see him, he was informed.

Wondering a little who the officer could be and what was the nature of his interest in him, Irving hastened to answer the call. He was conducted by a nurse upstairs in a former rural residence and into a small room, little larger than a closet and occupied by a single patient on an army cot.

On the way he ran over, in his mind, the list of officers with whom he could claim anything in the nature of a personal acquaintance and found it very small. Moreover, he had not known that any of these had been wounded. In this review of acquaintances of both commissioned and non-commissioned rank, however, he missed one who should not have been disregarded, although their intimacy had been of anything but friendly nature. This officer he found lying on the cot in the little room which he now entered. It was Second Lieut. Tourtelle.

The surprise became almost startling when Irving saw the face of the "shavetail" brighten up with a look of apparent eagerness as he recognized the caller. The nurse withdrew immediately and the American soldier was left alone with his strange "comrade enemy" of No Man's Land.

"Hello, Ellis," the "second looie" greeted, extending his right hand to his visitor and making an effort to smile pleasantly. "I sent for you because I wanted to have a talk with you. Sit down on the edge of the cot. Sorry there's no chair here, but I'm not the housekeeper."

This latter "breath of levity" didn't sound bad at all, and Irving began to have a vague suspicion that there might be an intelligent side to the nature of this young officer who had behaved so brutally toward him. However, he indicated that he preferred to stand and waited patiently for Tourtelle to continue.

"I called you to ask you to do me a favor," the wounded officer continued; "but first I want to apologize for the way I treated you. I won't attempt to explain why I did it because I don't know. But I acted like a bum scoundrel and ought to have been reported for it. The fact that you made no complaint against me shows that you're a real man and makes me feel ashamed of myself."

Irving was rather embarrassed by this unexpected speech on the part of his supposed "comrade-enemy." He could not well reject the profession of humility, and yet he was uncertain just how to take it. Lieut. Tourtelle apparently desired to convey the impression that he was suffering from pangs of deep regret, but although the "pangs" twisted the muscles of his countenance the visitor was unable to convince himself as to the depth of the patient's mental suffering.

"I hope you will forgive me, Ellis," the injured soldier said after a few moments' silence. "I had a spell of very bad temper that night and have regretted nay actions ever since. If there's anything I can do to make it right, I'll do it."

This seemed to be as much as any reasonable person could ask under the circumstances; so Irving replied:

"I'm sure I don't bear you any ill will under the circumstances, lieutenant. I admit I was pretty much offended by what you did, but I'm sure, after what you've just said, I can let bygones be bygones. We must remember that we are fighting a common enemy and it is ridiculous for us to be fighting one another. We ought rather to be helping one another."

"That's an excellent idea," Tourtelle declared. "Now what would you say if I should ask you to do something for me? Would you resent it?"

"I couldn't very well, after the principle I just laid down," Irving answered with the shadow of a smile; "provided it were reasonable," he added.

"Oh, I don't see how there's anything unreasonable in it," the officer replied quickly. "The only thing is, you may think it a very odd request, freakish perhaps. But I think I can explain it satisfactorily. First, let me enlist your sympathy a little by informing you that my wound is more severe than was thought at first. I'm going to lose my left arm. One of the doctors told me today that it would have to be amputated between the elbow and the shoulder."

"That's too bad," Irving said with evidence of fellow feeling for the second lieutenant. "If there were anything I could do to save your arm for you I'd surely do it. But what's the matter?"

"A bad compound fracture and gangrene. The doctor said he'd have to cut it off today or my whole system might be poisoned. But here's the favor I want you to do for me:

"When the doctor told me my arm would have to be cut off, I asked him if it would be possible to save the limb, so I could take it back home with me."

Irving interrupted this statement with a start of surprise.

"That's what the doctor did when I suggested the idea to him," Tourtelle continued, noting the effect of his suggestion. "He wanted to know why I wished to save the arm, and I replied that it was for two reasons: first, because I thought it would make an excellent souvenir; second, because it was tattooed in a very artistic manner and I don't want to lose the art. I'm of an artistic temperament, and it would break my heart more to lose that bit of tattooing on my arm than to lose the arm and keep the art."

"I think I get you," said Irving with a smile. "You want me to put the arm in alcohol and preserve it, tattooing and all?"

"That's a clever inference, but not quite to the point," Tourtelle commented without much change of expression on his face. "The doctor offered a substitute suggestion, and that's what I'm going to put to you now."

The patient paused a moment or two, and Irving waited expectantly for the next development in the strange narrative of novel events.

CHAPTER VIII

CUBIST ART

"Yes, I am of an artistic temperament," Lieut. Tourtelle continued in a sort of dreamy way, which tended rather to give his audience-of-one "the creeps" than to "soften his soul," as art is supposed to do.

"If he's an artist, he ought to be painting kaisers, crown princes, Hindenburgs, and Ludendorfs with horns on their heads and arrow-tipped tails," he thought grimly. "But maybe he means it all right. Perhaps he really believes he has artistic temperament, but hasn't sized himself up right. A few years ago I thought I could write poetry, but found I couldn't even write an acceptable advertisement in verse for sentimental candy or floating soap. I'll humor 'im a while and see what's on 'is mind."

Tourtelle's mind was wandering now, either with a purpose in view or because of a real genius delusion. He rambled along thus:

"I made a study of art ever since I was old enough to daub with a little box of colors and a paint brush. When I was old enough to attempt something better than a smear, I went to an art school and there made quite a hit with the professors with some of my novel ideas. Then when that craze of the cubists and the futurists swept the country a few years ago, I took it up and made quite a hit with some of my paintings. One painting in particular, a cubist production representing a basket of eggs spilling down a stairway, was regarded as a student masterpiece. The praise I received over that work intoxicated me, I guess, for I caused a copy of it to be tattooed on my arm by a fellow student.

"Well, the original was lost and I had only the copy on my arm. So, you see, I became very fond of that copy, as the original was acknowledged to be worthy of exhibition along with masterpieces of well known painters. By the way, you remember something of that cubist craze a few years ago, don't you?"

"Yes," Irving replied, "I remember something about it. There was a good deal about it in the magazines. I suppose I recall it because it was so perfectly crazy. Those artists seemed to take great delight in making a human being look as if he had gone through a threshing machine and afterwards raided a hornet's nest."

"You've got the idea exactly-I mean the layman's idea," said the self-styled cubist enthusiastically. "And I don't blame you, in a way. But if you could only have got an artist's view of the idea, you'd look at life a good deal differently. But that's neither here nor there. Oh, yes, it is, too-I forgot myself on the moment. It's here-on my arm-and I want to save it. Now, this is what the doctor told me to do. He told me to peel off the skin where the tattooing is, as soon as the arm is sawed off. That is, he didn't tell me to do it myself, for I'd be in no condition to perform such an operation on my amputated limb. He meant that's the way it should be done. But I don't believe he'd ever look after the job himself. He'd cut the arm off while I'm under the influence of ether, and that 'u'd be the last I'd ever see of it, including the miniature copy of my painting.

"So I decided to get somebody else to look after the matter, and that's what I called you here for. It isn't much of a job. All you have to do is to cut the skin around the tattooing and peel it off, then pack it in salt to preserve it. The doctor said it would peel off easily and that salt packing would keep the skin and the tattooed colors in good condition. The nurse got me a little box and some salt, so everything is ready as soon as the doctor comes along with his saw."

"When is he coming?" Irving inquired.

"Sometimes this afternoon, he said," Tourtelle replied. "What do you think about it, Ellis? Will you do me the favor?"

"Sure," the private answered with a smile. "I'm sorry you're going to lose your arm, but I'll take care of your cubist art for you with pleasure. I'm really very curious to see what it looks like."

"I'd roll up my sleeve and show you, but I'm afraid I'd hurt my arm," the "second looie" said in response.

"Oh, no," Irving returned hurriedly, "I wouldn't have you do that for anything. But I'll kind o' hang around until the surgeon comes. If I'm not here right on the dot, the nurse'll be able to find me without much trouble."

CHAPTER IX

BOB'S LETTER

Irving almost forgot that there had ever been any difficulty between him and Lieut. Tourtelle in contemplation of the novel service he had promised to perform. Perhaps his remembrance of that trouble had been smothered by his curiosity as to the character of this tattooed copy of a "Basket of Eggs Spilling Down Stairs."

The surgeon came at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and got busy at once. However, before administering the ether, he acknowledged an introduction to Private Ellis and promised to "skin the tattoo off the arm" after the amputation and turn it over to its delegated caretaker.

Irving was permitted to be present during the operation. He watched with a good deal of curiosity for a first vision of the cubist art on the patient's arm, and was not at all disappointed. It surely was a clever piece of work, from the point of view of a votary of this sort of art. This was the conclusion of all who saw the operation, and it was the general subject of conversation until the arm was removed.

The surgeon took more interest in the subject now than he had taken at any time previously. This doubtless was due to the special preparations made by the patient for the preservation of the tattooed skin. While the ether was being administered by a nurse, he bared the wounded arm and examined the "copy of quaint art" with interest.

"What does he call this picture?" the "military sawbones" asked as he gazed at the seemingly unmethodical arrangement of distorted "cubes" of all sorts of shapes and angles.

The patient was not yet unconscious, although the nurse was dropping ether into the mask covering his mouth and nose. In a low dreamy voice he answered the question thus:

"It's 'The Basket of Eggs Spilling Down Stairs.'"

The surgeon and the two attending nurses laughed at this answer.

"His mind is wandering under the anæsthetic," said the surgeon.

"No, it isn't," Irving interposed. "He told you the same thing he told me. You see, he's a cubist. That's his idea of art. That tattooing on his arm is a copy of a picture painted by him when he was a student in an art school. That's the story he told me this morning."

The expression on the surgeon's face went through a motion-picture metamorphosis while the boy onlooker was making his statement. First it indicated a kind of professional resentment at the contradiction; then followed a wave of incredulity, succeeded by an enigmatical smirk. As he cast a glance of still-smirking amusement at young Ellis, the latter interpreted it to mean that he questioned the sanity of the patient.

"If I were to perform this operation in the manner that cubists execute their art, he'd probably want to sue me for malpractice," said the scientific man as he finished preparation for the use of the knife.

The operation was quickly performed, and the surgeon obligingly peeled off the portion of skin containing the cubist tattooing and handed it to Irving. The latter proceeded at once to pack it in the box of salt provided for the purpose, and said to the nurse in charge:

"I'll lay it here on the bed beside his pillow, so that he'll find it when he wakes up. Will you please call his attention to it?"

The nurse promised to do as requested, and Irving left the building and heard nothing more of the incident for several days. At last his shoulder recovered from its lameness and he was ordered back to the front.

Before returning to the trenches, however, he received a letter from his cousin, Bob, that stirred in him a thrill of excitement that no sensational activities of battle could have aroused. The affair thus revealed over a distance of thousands of miles confronted Irving with what seemed at first a most remarkable coincidence. But the boy was unable to accept it as such without first making an inquiry about certain suspicious circumstances. He suspected at once that something was doing that ought to be laid before army officials for investigation.

"I'm getting along first rate, Irving," Bob wrote. "My wounds have all healed. I was pretty badly shot to pieces. One of the bones of my left leg was pretty much shattered. They thought, at first they'd have to amputate the limb, but it was saved, thank goodness, although the knee will always be stiff. I had half a dozen shell and machine gun wounds in my body, too, though fortunately all of them were well removed from vital spots. But, although these injuries were as bad as one would care to receive, all of them together were not nearly as dangerous or uncomfortable as the dose of gas I got. Believe me, Irving, I don't want any more of that. If you want my opinion of it, I'll tell you I think it's more cruel than submarine warfare where they sink passenger ships without warning. The doctors thought for a while that I was going to have the 'con,' but I'm about over the effects of my dose now."

"Well, while I was convalescing, I had to have some amusement-I mean after I was able to be up and around, but hardly strong enough to shovel snow. Say, we've had some awful heavy snow storms this winter. Regular blizzards, with snow over your shoetops when you're standing on your head. That's snowing some, isn't it?