Over There with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge

Who first started the undermining process may never be known, unless both kept records of dates and doings along this line. It is probable, however, that it was begun by the Canadians, for the opposing army had not as great incentive for haste as had the Allies. Moreover, they did not have to go back so far to start their tunnels, and their subterranean operations were more of defensive than offensive character.

Statements from authoritative sources since the close of the war indicate that this tunneling contest was somewhat of a "diving" nature. It was a contest of depth as well as progress. The Allied engineers began operations at a certain level and went forward. As they advanced they listened. It was like an American Indian putting his ear to the ground to listen for the approach of distant enemy horsemen, or a physician examining the chest of a patient with a stethoscope for "unfriendly" sounds in the heart and lungs. The engineers carried a sort of subterranean stethoscope to detect the approach of enemy tunnelers. The instant they heard sounds of Prussian engineers boring their way to meet the sappers of the Allies, they stopped operations and went back to a new starting point and began over again, this time on a lower level. This process was repeated many times, the Prussians ever planning to get near enough to the Canadian sappers to enable them to stop their subterranean operations with high explosives, and the Allied tunnelers purposing to plant enough trinitrotoluol under Vimy Ridge to blow it sky-high.

Meanwhile, Private Irving Ellis, in preparation for the greatest event of his young career, was oblivious to all these activities, which were destined to culminate in one of the biggest sensations of the war. He knew in a vague way that something was going on under the ground at the front. He had heard more or less reliable trench gossip to this effect and had enough real information to assure him that there was something behind it. Moreover, it was reasonable, to one of modern warfare training, to suspect very extensive sapping activities in positions of this kind. However, he would have been greatly astonished if an intimation had come to him of how his own preparations for a plunge from the skies were converging in point of time with the preparations of the Canadians for blowing up Vimy Ridge.

At last the occasion arrived for the carefully planned departure by night of the "boche spy" with his tattooed message camouflaged in a "spasm of cubist art," as it was characterized by the architectural draftsman who helped copy it on Irving's left forearm. The latter sat in the rear seat of the aeroplane from which he had taken his lessons in dropping from the sky and which was specially fitted up with an elaborate parachute mechanism of the latest and most approved development.

Apparently it was an important occasion in aircraft activities aside from Irving's scheduled stunt, for a large squadron of machines was preparing for flight at the same time. Probably a big raid was about to be made on the boche lines or some important ammunition or supply station of the enemy, the boy reasoned. But no information was volunteered to him on this subject and he asked none, for it had nothing to do with his affair. He was merely to watch for his opportunity, pick his own time for taking "French leave," signal the pilot by an agreed touch on the shoulder, "put up his umbrella," and depart.

Irving had more than one good cause to feel elated at the manner in which circumstances had shaped themselves for an all-around success of his venture up to the present time. And not the least of these was the presentation to him, a few hours before his flight over the boche lines, of a second lieutenant's commission. Accompanying this was a note from Col. Evans wishing him the "best of good fortune," and concluding thus:

"You will take your leave in the same rank that Hessenburg might have taken his, namely, as a second lieutenant, if your shrewd interpretation of developing events had not intervened. If you have any reasonable degree of success in this big venture of yours-and I'm sure you will-I'll guarantee you a first lieutenancy, and it will take only a continued exhibition of the good sense and judgment that I have seen in you up to date to bring you eventually a captain's commission."

"It's 'Second Looie Ellis' now," Irving mused, as he took his seat in the rear cockpit, strapped himself in, buckled about his waist, chest and shoulders the parachute harness, and waited for the pilot to start the motor that would send them away off on a wild night trip through the air over a wilder scene of human slaughter and with one of the wildest spy-plans in view that ever put thrills into the records of international secret service agents.

CHAPTER XXI

THE BLOWING UP OF VIMY RIDGE

The aeroplane in which Lieut. Ellis made his "get-away" flight was equipped with two machine guns, one for the pilot and one for the gunner in the rear cockpit. While practicing the art of parachute descent, Irving also acquired some practical knowledge of the use of a machine gun in the air, not with the idea of engaging an enemy plane in battle, but in order that he might put up an appearance of being skilled in sky fighting if it became advisable for him to make such pretense in order to avert suspicion as to the motive of his "escape." In other words, he must be careful not to create a suspicion that there was collusion between him and the pilot.

The parachute was folded compactly and deposited in a cylindrical chamber behind the rear seat. The mechanism by means of which this aero life-preserver was put in operation may be described as follows: Directly in front of the parachute container was a device which, when put in action, effected the release of the giant "umbrella." In front of this device was a compressed-air reservoir. Within easy reach of the person occupying the rear seat was a ratchet-lever, which, when pulled, threw the seat back to an angle of about forty-five degrees and jerked open the compressed-air reservoir. The opening of this reservoir put the release machinery into action, and this in turn threw out of the containing chamber the compactly folded parachute, which automatically, on being released, spread out and encompassed a great volume of resisting atmosphere. This powerful resistance, acting like a hurricane in a tent, caused the occupant of the rear cockpit to be jerked along the slanting back of his seat out into the vast expanse of empty space.

One great beauty of this device, when used for exhibition purpose, was the fact that if it failed to work, the aviator retained his seat as comfortably as if nothing had happened. As a life-saver, of course, this peculiarity had little or no value, inasmuch as a flyer in distress would be lost if the parachute failed to pull him out of his seat.

Before each of his experiments, Irving had tested the "sky-umbrella" with a dummy heavier than himself in order to be certain that there was no danger of ripping the silken cloth. A slight tear produced by the strain on the parachute while he was being dragged from his seat might become larger during the descent and cause him to fall with sufficient shock to seriously injure or kill him. This was really the only considerable danger in the whole performance, but it was one that needed to be guarded against very carefully.

Up flew the aeroplane with graceful sweep and joined the flock of two score other "night birds" that were starting out on a raid. The flight to the front lines was quickly made and without incident of note. In fact, not an enemy plane arose in the air to oppose the attacking squadron until the leading flyers were directly over No Man's Land, brilliantly illuminated with the fireworks of battle, and then something happened that must have thrilled every aviator who witnessed it, accustomed though he was almost daily to thrills that make the life of a soldier on land or a Jackie of the navy seem like a tame existence in comparison.

Suddenly there was an upheaval of earth almost directly below him, followed by another and another in quick succession; then a regular concert of upheavals in almost a straight line, and a very long line at that, evidently, even to a pair of eyes looking down from a great height in the air. There was a magnitude in the scene that could not be mistaken, although the ridge of land that was visible only a few moments before looked like little more than an elongated anthill.

"My goodness!" Irving exclaimed, though the noise of the motor and the propeller and the rush of air about him made it impossible for him to hear himself. "My goodness! they've actually blown up Vimy Ridge."

The machine swept on with the flock of mechanical war-birds, on over No Man's Land and past the enemy front lines. Meanwhile Irving gazed down, fascinated by the scene far, far below. It was a scene of the most diminutive dwarfs now. The trenches looked like little more than pen scratches on a dim-colored sheet, certainly not more than chalk marks, of no particular color, on a "faded blackboard." And the people-the soldiers! Yes, he could see them now, in large numbers. They looked like ants-no, let's not understate it, – they looked like mice, small mice, however; and they arose-on the Canadian side-out of the "chalk marks" and dashed forward, a very short distance, it seemed, only a few inches or feet at the most, but they chopped off their steps so short that they appeared just to creep along. Irving was astonished at the clearness of the night scene under the battle's illumination.

But they made it finally, up the side of the hill, if indeed any hill remained, and into the crater-Irving could see an altered condition following the trinitrotoluol explosions, and concluded that there must be a long, a very long, crater-miles of it-in the place of Vimy Ridge. They were cheering like mad-Irving knew it, though he could not hear a voice. Yes, into the crater they went, a myriad of insects, or wee animals, – they had possession of it-the enemy seemed not to offer any resistance. They were whipped, thoroughly-they knew it. Tons and tons of high explosive planted under that ridge had blown it to the sky.

"No, it didn't, either," Irving mused with a smile of "altitude amusement." "It was only a flash in the pan. Not a pebble came half as high as we are, and the sky is hundreds of miles-umph! How much higher is it? My! if the world could only get up here and look at itself, I wonder if things wouldn't go a little differently. No, I'm afraid not! There'd always be somebody then trying to grab a bigger slice of the moon than he's entitled to.

"But what am I thinking about? My head must be getting giddy. That won't do a bit. I'm on very serious business. The bombing planes are hovering over the rear line trenches and dropping their flower-pots on 'em. The anti-aircraft guns are getting busy, too. There went one right ahead of us. They're getting our range. And here comes a fleet of German planes to meet us. Well, it won't be safe to wait very long, and it won't be fair to my pilot. Just as soon as we get well beyond that third trench there, I'll take my plunge."

Irving set himself fixedly as if about to make a mighty leap or a pistol-shot start in a foot race. As a matter of fact, he was going to do nothing of the kind. Only a sort of passive effort was required of him, and yet, his nerves had never been more tense. He put his right hand on the release lever and leaned forward, his left hand almost touching the pilot, and looked down over the side of the car, then off toward the approaching enemy squadron, then at the camouflaged positions of the belching anti-aircraft guns, then here and there at the exploding shells in the midst of the invading fleet, then back again at the ground scene directly below.

Suddenly he leaned farther forward and slapped his hand smartly on the pilot's shoulder. The latter nodded and turned the nose of the sky machine downward. This was Irving's cue. He leaned back and pulled the release lever as far as it would go.

CHAPTER XXII

BEHIND THE GERMAN LINES

The "escape" was successful in every respect. The boy rocked to and fro all the way down, like a cork on a billowy sea. Down, down he went, the scene continuing, in the glare of innumerable lights of the battle, almost as bright as day. Irving could see clearly where he was going, although it was just beyond the zone of blazing activities. Between the chosen landing place and the fighting terrain was a small belt of timber, but the surroundings were lighted so brilliantly that the general character and lay of the land could be determined even from a height of several thousand feet.

Reinforcements were being rushed forward from points farther in the rear. Irving could see a wave of men advancing toward the lighted area. It looked as if attempts were being made to retake the hill, or what was left of it. Undoubtedly the enemy had lost heavily as a result of the volcanic explosions and the need of reserves was pressing at the front.

Irving landed right in the midst of a company of advancing men. The lieutenant called a halt and remained long enough to make inquiry as to the meaning of the parachute descent. The boy replied in fairly good German that he was a spy in the service of the emperor, and asked to be directed to regimental, divisional or army headquarters. The officer assigned a sergeant to accompany the "arrival from the sky" and, after a tramp of more than an hour over a highway on which they had to dodge camions and autos and motorcycles and troops almost as watchfully as one must dodge heavy traffic in a warehouse district in a large city, they arrived at a small town where they found a brigadier general's headquarters in what had formerly been the chief municipal building of the place.

Lieutenant Ellis was taken in charge here by an intelligence attache, who, observing the Canadian uniform worn by the boy, questioned him as to his identity and mission. Irving was greatly pleased, as the conversation progressed, to find that he understood almost everything his inquisitor said and could answer intelligibly all the questions put to him. The conversation, freely translated into English, was as follows:

"Who are you?"

"My name is Hessenburg. I am a second lieutenant in the Canadian army. But I am a Prussian sympathizer and the bearer of a message from agents of Emperor William working secretly for him on the other side of the Atlantic ocean."

"To whom is the message addressed?"

"I don't know. It is in cipher."

"Then how are you going to find the person to whom it should be delivered?"

"I was informed that any high officer in the German army, from brigadier general up, could tell me what to do the instant he heard my story."

"How did you get past the Canadian and German lines without being captured; or did you surrender in battle?"

"No, although that was my plan at first. I managed to get into the air service temporarily and dropped with a parachute, from an aeroplane in the midst of a big battle after we got over on this side."

The intelligence attache uttered a guttural something that sounded like an oath. From the tone and facial expression accompanying it, Irving mentally translated the ejaculation into the much milder, "You don't say so!"

"That's true," interposed the sergeant who accompanied Irving from the scene of his descent. "I saw him come down. The lieutenant of my company ordered me to bring him here."

"If all this is true, I suppose you'll have to see the general," the attache concluded. "Just wait here and I'll find out how long you'll have to wait. You say your message is important?"

"I haven't read it," the spy answered; "but I was informed that it was very important. I think you'd better help me get it to him as soon as possible."

The attache left Irving and his companion seated on a long bench in the orderly room and entered the adjutant's office. A few minutes later he came out again and announced that the message was "on its way to the general" and an order to "come in" would probably come out in a short time.

The "short time" was more than two hours, however. The brigadier general had been napping. Ordinarily his night repose might fittingly have been called sleep, but the taking of Vimy Ridge rendered any such peaceful term inappropriate. It is probable, indeed, that there were naps for few German officers of whatever rank, attached to that sector, on the night of the great battle on the Canadian front. At any rate, this officer was one of the few, and he awoke at break of day. One of the first matters brought to his attention was the arrival of a spy from America with an important message.

"Bring him in," he ordered.

A minute later Irving was standing before a very burly and very fierce looking individual in the uniform of a high commanding officer and saluting him with an appearance of self-confidence, in spite of a most provoking nervousness that unexpectedly seized him.

CHAPTER XXIII

OFF FOR BERLIN

Irving Ellis recovered his composure and his nervousness left him in full control of his faculties as he answered the first question put to him by the brigadier general. It was a very simple question, thus:

"You are Second Lieutenant Hessenburg of the Canadian army?"

"I am."

"But a subject of Kaiser Wilhelm?"

"No, I am not," Irving replied. "I'm a subject of Great Britain, for my father was naturalized in Canada. But my sympathies are over here and when I am old enough, you'll find my citizenship where it ought always have been."

"There, I got a little truth into my bunch of lies," Irving interpolated to himself. "My citizenship will be where it always ought to have been, and was, and is, and always will be, as long as I live-in the United States. I spoke with a double tongue and satisfied my own conscience at the end. Oh, I can see that I'm going to be some prevaricator before this adventure is finished. Really, it never occurred to me before, but a spy must have the biggest imagination on earth to be successful. However, it's a good cause, that's some consolation."

Before the boy finished this soliloquy, the brigadier general was asking another question:

"And you were sent here by some of our agents in Canada?"

"Yes."

"With a message?"

"Yes."

"Let me see it."

Irving took off his coat and rolled up his left shirtsleeve, exposing to view the "cubist art" tattooing recently pricked into the skin with sharp pointed needles and aniline dye. The brigadier general gazed at it with deep interest two or three times; then looked into the spy's face and said:

"You're all right. You must go to Berlin at once."

He contemplated the hieroglyphic oddity a minute longer and then said:

"My curiosity is keen to know how you got over here."

"I flew over," Irving replied.

"How could you manage that? Were you in the air service?"

"Yes, during the last few weeks. I was out with a pilot last night and slipped away with a parachute in the heat of the battle."

It was the brigadier general's turn now to utter something of the explosive character of an oath. As Irving's schooling and recent drill in the Teutonic tongue did not comprehend such ultra-rhetorical figures of speech, he did not get the full significance of the expletive.

But it was evident that the officer's outburst was anything but an expression of anger. Admiration popped into his eyes and spoke out of them in "violent harmony" with his oath. But this overflowing endorsement of the spy's activities was suddenly interrupted by a change of manner that caused Irving a little uneasiness as a new thought took possession of the burly military man's mind.

"What do you suppose they think about you now over in the Canadian lines? They're onto you now, aren't they? If we want you to return on another mission over there, you've spoiled the game by your manner of escape, haven't you? How could you explain it if they put you on the grill?"

"That'll be very easy," Irving replied. "I waited for the right conditions. We got into a fight with a couple of German planes and it was looking pretty bad for us. Then a shell from an anti-aircraft gun exploded so near to us that it seemed impossible for us to have escaped serious damage. Well, two seconds later I saw the pilot was having trouble with his engine; so I concluded it was time for me to take my departure."

The look of gleeful admiration returned to the officer's face.

"You handled it well, very well," he said, with a disagreeable, gloating laugh.

Irving's sentiments, however, were of much different nature. He was thoroughly disgusted with his own "string of falsehoods," as he characterized the stories he had told to the intelligence attache and the brigadier general.

"I know very well that a spy is a personified fib, pure and simple," he told himself with a reflective compression of his lips. "I don't think it's any worse than that, and I don't think the stories I told were any worse than fibs. A spy is just a misrepresentation walking around on two feet. If he doesn't tell a single fib, it's his business to make the enemy think he's something he isn't. If he does this for a bad cause, he's a bad man; if he does it for a worthy cause, he's a good man, not because he fibs, but because of the cause he misrepresents. So long as he doesn't misrepresent the cause, he ought to be all right. Still, the world will admire him more if he's smart enough to get what he wants without telling any downright li-fibs like the ones I told. I'm going to see if I can't get along hereafter without fibbing."

Irving worked this reasoning out in his mind as the conversation with the officer proceeded. He was much relieved also on finding that he was able to answer all succeeding questions without resorting to any gross misstatements of facts. At last the brigadier general closed the interview by saying:

"I'll excuse you for the time being. Meanwhile I'll communicate with my superior officers and you'll wait under orders of the adjutant for instructions from me."

Irving returned to the orderlies' room. He had not eaten breakfast and informed an officer of the hungry condition of his stomach. This resulted in his being turned over to an orderly who conducted him to the officers' mess, where he was served with a very good meal.

"I guess I'm in right," he mused. "They give me the best feed and show me considerable attention. The auspices are good. Hope I can keep things coming my way, and I'll get what I'm after."

About an hour after breakfast, the adjutant summoned Irving into his office and spoke to him, thus:

"We have just received orders to send you to Berlin. Are you ready to go?"

"I haven't any luggage to pack," the spy answered.

"You will be supplied with what you need," the adjutant continued. "You will also be accompanied by a young lieutenant who is recovering from wounds received at the front and who has been granted home leave for a month or two. He lives in Berlin. He will be here soon and go with you to the train."

An hour later Irving was on a troop train, speeding away to the northeast, away from the still thundering battle front and toward the objective city of his secret-service aims, hopes, plans and patriotic ambition.

CHAPTER XXIV

IN BERLIN

Berlin!

The name was well worth the exclamation. If Irving did not utter it aloud, he thought it in the "tone of voice" in which it appears here.

He had ridden more than half of the preceding day, all night and well into another day with a companion in whom he was able to find little of sympathetic interest. The fellow, an infantry lieutenant, about 30 years old, was a cold-eyed, emotionless individual and about as cruelly boastful Prussian as one would care to meet. There was no fate too frightful for an English soldier in his opinion, and all other Allies fighting on the side of the British ought to be reduced to vassalage and forced to pay tribute to the House of Hohenzollern.

Irving tried for a while to engage in intelligent conversation with him, but at last found this impossible and decided to encourage him along the line of least resistance with the view of obtaining as much information from him as his prejudiced mind was capable of giving. By discounting every thing uttered with a burst of passion or with sneer of contempt or tone of bravado and by watching for inadvertent admissions, Irving gleaned enough to convince him that the central allies were not nearly as confident of winning the war as they wished the outside world to believe.