Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 77, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 April 1915 — Behind the Guns [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Behind the Guns

By ALEX SHELL BRISCOE

(Copyright, The Prank A. Muneey Co.) •Stephen Barrow paused in his work of dough to Usten to the distant pulsing of the battle. The rasping rifle volleys sounded from a point nearer at hand and he knew that there had been changes In the positions of the batteries, too. Tea, tbfi troops were retreating again. Prom the hill he could see cav- * airy already crossing the Marne. Well, that had been the regular ♦king since the English expeditionary force had bumped into the German legion at Mona, far to the north in Belgium. Stephen could hardly recall how many days had passed since this steady retirement had begun. It seated to him that it had been going on for months —years. He had been disappointed in the campaign from the very outset —from the day he had accepted the king's shilling to fight for the union jack. Neither events nor his part in them had come up to his expectations. In the first place he had been transferred to the commissary department to mix dough and bake bread instead of fighting, and then he had seen the army hurled back toward Paris in the Initial battle —and since then the English had been retreating to new positions as a matter of daily routine. But bitter as the constant retirement was to the men in the battle line#, it was doubly so to Stephen. Occasionally they had an opportunity of turning on their pursuers, but he was everlastingly mixing dough without a chance of feeling the kick of a rifle against his shoulder. Now they were recreating again. Infantry in small detachments was i crossing the bridge over the Marne, and the tops of the hills beyond were dotted with white puffs of smoke which marked bursting shrapnel. A regiment moved past toward a position on (the river bank, and Stephen studied it casually. Somehow the bearing of the men cheered him. They were grimmer, leaner, dirtier than when they landed In France, but they were still full of fight and confidence. Every man seemed waiting impatiently for the. day when he should turn his face north and help even the score with the Germans. And the time for the stand was near at hand, they believed, and Stephen did too. Hie imperiled left wing rested against the forts of Paris; the river provided a strong line of defense, and to retreat farther meant severing communications With the capital. Yes, without doubt; the allies were about to stop and fight. But the thought deepened Stephen's gloom. He was a tall man of twenty-eight, with a jaw that jutted forward at a pugnacious angle, and he yearned for

an opportunity to, take a hand when the big battle started. He knew how slender his chances were? of ever reaching the firing line, hut a thorough appreciation of the situation didn’t make it easier to bear —didn’t soothe his resentment agdlnst the fate that kept him mixing dough while others did the real work of war. "If I only had a chance!” he thought. ”1 wouldn’t mind walloping kettles the rest of my life, if I could take just one crack at them. Tomorrow or next day the boys: will be having It out with Kaiser Bill—and HI be wrestling with a camp oven.” Far a moment he was silent as he watched the infantry deploying along the river; then he nodded his head. "Tea,” he said, “they’re going to stop and fight and right here.” His belief was soon Justified by the activities of sappers and engineers. Tb» Infantry was pnt to work “digging themselves in" along the south of the river. Battery after battery wheeled into position on the hills; the signal corps was running wire alone the for field telephones;

engineers with transits were accurately mapping the ranges of vantage points across the stream. Stephen’s regiment was encamped on a little plateau above a bend in the river. To the east lay a thickly wooded neck of land—to the west the stream cut through a hill. Across a stretch of bottom land In front spread a little village near which had been the bridge the troops had crossed. The bridge was now a mass of shapeless masonry, the engineers having blown it up as soon as the last soldier was over. The crossing of the Marne at that point would be no easy tank. Even Stephen could see that, aiyl he hankered more than ever to take part in the fighting. But he knew his desire was futile. Duty would send other men to the firing line; duty would force him to mix dough while they battled. At dawn the German guns opened fire, grumbling like a tired sleeper awakened too early; then for the first time in weeks of active campaigning, Stephen saw a real battle begin. The commissary wagons were Jjack of a ridge hardly a half mile behind the line of rifle pits, and from the top of the hill he could see the whole battlefield in the bend of the river. The infantry swarmed into the trenches, each man working diligently with his bayonet to “dig himself in" deeper, using planks, branches of trees, or any other material at hand to construct overhead coverings as a protection from shrapnel. A group of staff oflicers galloped the length of the lines, then the English batteries went into action, firing at regular intervals as they tried out the range. The cannonading swelled to a steady pulsing roar that answered the throb of German howitzers masked in the hills beyond the river and soon the black spurt of smoke from high explosive shells mingled with the white cotton balls of bursting shrapnel. All morning Stephen watched the Germans attempting to force their way across the river. He paused in his work to see an English battery knock a pontoon bridge to pieces, and' marveled when the Germans went doggedly to work to rebuild it, while their guns concentrated a deadly fire on the pieces which had caused the damage. From both sides he heard the throbbing of cannon and the smashing rifle volleys—like the sound of hail on a glass skylight For miles up and down the river the battle was in progress, and at every point the German onslaught was equally determined. The ppntoon bridge was completed again, and ghost-gray thousands poured over it. Cavalry battalions swam their horses across the stream, and under the shelter of the high banks the kaiser's legions massed themselves for an attack. They waited while their artillery drenched the English position with shrapnel, then surged out from under cover in gray hordes. and with a rip like the tearing of tough cloth, the Infantry cut loose, the racket swelled by the wicked snarl of machine-guns which were spraying the advancing lines with steel-jacketed bullets. Into the little village, now deserted by its inhabitants, poured a German column; and as the English shells plumped down among the houses, thin plumes of smoke —which thickened and grew blacker—appeared at a dozen points. But the Germans did not hesitate. Through the burning town they swept, while other columns advanced on each side, and Across the river the living stream still flowed. In the fields the solid masses spread out fanwise and charged up the slope toward the trenches. Now they were at the foot of the hill, and Stephen could no longer see the ones directly in front of where he stood; but on each side he had a good view of their onward rush, little flashes of light glinting from bayonets fixed for the charge. Machine-guns and riCes took heavy toll. The ground the Germans passed over was carpeted with writhing or motionless figures; but ever they closed their ranks and went on. The attack seemed irresistible —their numbers hardly diminished. Half-way up the hill the Germans faltered as ,an enfilading battery plowed red furrows through their ranks; but it was only for a moment; then they pulled themselves together and surged upward. At the edge of the hill Stephen saw the English clambering out of the trenches mpd heajrd the final volleys that withered the charging host and, above the thudding of cannon and the spitting rattle of rifles, the deep shout of dhe infantry as they met steel with steel. - Back down the slope rolled the red, line of battle! ... rx Stephen caught the imperative call of bugles commanding the English to retire to the trenches and watched the Germans re-form and again storm forward to the attack, only to be flung back. A third time they hurled themselves upon the English, but this time they were more quickly checked. ( Another battery had been brought into position and the gray forces broke halfway up the hill—broke and recoiled hi confusion. A yell of victory arose; cape waved from the British lines, then again the men burrowed in the holes they had dug as the storm of shrapnel was resumed. Stephen swung his hat and cheered too; but secretly he was aflame with revolt because he could not take an active part in the fighting. A great, possibly a decisive, battle was on, and he was a mere spectator.

He realised he should be mixing dough, for the men in the trenches would be hungry. They must be fed so they could fight again. But even as he turned back to take up his work there came a shout Men were running about among the wagons, horses were being harnessed; already some of the vehicles were moving away. For a moment Stephen stared bewildered; then, after a glance toward the west, he, too, broke into a run. Stephen’s driver was backing the traces when he arrived, and started the team with a shout and a swing of his whip as his comrade leaped to the seat of the big oven. The crest of a hill to the west was swarming with gray-clad figures. The English were fleeing before them. The line had been broken by a force which had charged up the Bteep banks along the Marne. Whether the Germans could hold the position under the fire of the English batteries and could cut off the force entrenched on the little plateau

was yet to be decided; but, meantime, the vicinity was no place for a commissary train. At the foot of the ridge a road ran east and west, and the wagons took it at the top speed of their lumbering horses, camp kettles sloshing and splashing, iron ovens clanging as they jumped over the stones. A cloud of dust appeared in front, and the wagons turned aside into a shallow ditch while a battery whirled by, gun after gun; the rattling caissons, and after them cavalry, all in a desperate hurry to save the infantry from rout. At the same time the air seemed suddenly full of shrieking things that burst with thunder-claps and scattered death! The Germans had brought guns across the Marne, and they had the range. When the battery and cavalry had passed, the commissary wagons turned back into the road and raced on in an effort to get beyond the zone of fire; but disaster quickly overtook them. A shell struck a heavy van, the vehicle following it toppled over into a ditch in an effort to drive past the wreck, and the road was blocked, while German field-pieces continued to rake the train from end to end. Every shell added to the confusion. The road quickly became a litter of smashed wagons and dead horses. Drivers were cutting loose the animals and riding away. It was obviously impossible to extricate the train, and Stephen was about to follow the example of his fleeing comrades when around a turn came a black ammunition wagon, its driver lashing his horses. Plump into the piled-up mass of wreckage it drove! Stephen reached the scene as the who had been hurled from his seat, staggered to his feet, and from his blasphemous comments he learned the reasons for the others’ haste. The infantry on the plateau was running short of ammunition. There had been a bungle somewhere, and the word had been wigwagged that unless ammunition arrived soon the troops would be helpless.

It was then that Stephen qualified as a man in an emergency, f he ammunition wagon was overturned, one of its horses was down with a broken leg; but nearby stood a. big wheeled trough, ip which <|qfigh for' the camp bakery was mixed. Its horses had not been touched as yet by the rain , of shells. ..Promptly Stephen took command of the situation. No officer was near, and the men followed him, as promptly as they always will a natural leader whether ke wears shoulder-straps or not. Willing hands ripped a passage through a hedge which surrounded an adjoining field, while others hastily transferred boxes of cartridges from the ammunition wagon 'to the camp bakery trough. ,! . •- : * When the gap was open Stephen took the reins' Hie driver of the ammunition wagon swung up beside him, and they drove through the hedge. Shells were bursting around them. Any moment one might hit the wagon! ■ ■ There was more than half a mile of open country, swept by bullets, to be crossed. It was his first experience under fire; but he did not hesitate. * There was no time even to think Of

being scared, to analyse his emotions. The men up on the plateau must have cartridges or they must surrender — and the loss of that hill spelled disaster! The pace of the heavy draft horses was slow—cruelly slow —and the need of haste was vital They had not gone a hnndred yards before bullets from the German infantry were whlnldg past/ and Stephen stood up to lash the lumber!n| animals. Now they were only a quarter of a mile from the English trenches, but the ballets were flyjng thick, and shrapnel was dotting the slope with fleecy, white balls! Now they were at the bullet-swept summit, with only a hundred yards to go! Could they pass through the storm of lead unscathed? Stephen yelled encouragement to the laboring horses, swung his whip in an effort to urge them to greater speed. The man beside him suddenly slumped in his seat, and quietly slid off to the ground. Stephen felt a shock and his left shoulder went numb; his cap was dashed from his head; something warm was running down his wrists and making the reins slippery. One of the horses lurched in its stride, but he lashed it on to a quivering, last effort Only a hundred feet to go—now, then! One horse went down; the other was thrown to one side. The twist overturned the wagon, spilling cases of cartridges on the ground. There was a sensation of flying through space, and blackness swallowed Stephen! He awoke to find himself lying on the trampled grass near the trenches, swathed in bandages, very stiff and helpless and weak. The sound of the guns had receded. English guns were slamming shells into the rear ranks of Von Kluck’s army, which was already beginning Its retreat to the north.

Some one leaned over him—a grayhaired man who wore the straps of a colonel. “So this Is the who drove half a mile through hell to bring ihe cartridges,’’ a voice said. “Well, if he hadn’t it’s hard telling what would have happened today. Holding this hill is all that saved us.” Several days later in a field hospital Stephen, with the petulcnce of a sorely wounded man, Interviewed the brisk, capable young physician who was dressing his wounds. “You think they’ll take me in one of the active regiments when I get out" of here?” he asked. “They put me in the commissary where a chap has no chance to get into the fighting. It’s tough.” The surgeon nodded approval and understanding. He knew what It was to remain behind the guns dressing wounds, when he would have preferred to be making them. “Yes,” he said, “It Is tough to be tied down where you can’t grab a gun and wade in. As for your being able

to get transferred to the infantry. I’m rather sure they’d be glad to get a hundred thousand like you.” “You think so?” Stephen spoke eagerly: “I’m going to make application as soon as I can. I sure would like to get into just one battle.” A slow grin overspread the doctor’s face, and he ran his eyes over Stephen as though taking an inventory. "That’s too bad," he said dryly; “and you’re not likely to be able to have a chance soon. You’ve' a hole through your right thigh, a bullet in your left shoulder, a superficial furrow of the scalp, the calf of your right leg was drilled twice, and you have three , minor flesh wounds. 1 “Yoh’ve been mentioned in dispatches for that ammunition stunt of yours, and the chance are you’ll land a nice decoration that many a staff officer would give his left leg for. Yes, it’s tough you never had a chance,to get into a battle.”

The Bearing of the Men Cheered Him.

English Batteries Went into Action.

Every Shell Added to the Confusion.