The Hosts of the Air | Page 3

and he felt a light glow pass over his face.
He knew it was due to the belief that he would see Julie once more, and
yet the trenches now extended about four hundred miles across
Northern France and Belgium. The chances seemed a hundred to one
against her arrival in the particular trench, honored by the presence of
the Strangers, but John felt that in reality they were a hundred to one in
favor of it. He wished it so earnestly that it must come true.
"You're smiling, Scott," said Carstairs. "A good honest English penny
for your thoughts."
"What do I care for money? What could I do with it if I had it, held
here between walls of mud only four feet apart?"
"At least," interrupted Wharton, "the high cost of living is not troubling
us. Next month's rent may come from where it pleases. It doesn't bother
me."
A messenger turned the angle of the trench and summoned John to the
presence of his commander, Captain Colton, who was about three
hundred yards away. Young Scott, stooping in order to keep his head
covered well, started down the trench. The artillery fire was at its

height. The waves of air followed one another with great violence, and
the fumes of picric acid and of other acids that he did not know became
very strong. But he scarcely noticed it. The bombardment was all in the
day's work, and when the Germans ceased, the French, after a decent
interval, would begin their own cannonade, carried on at equal length.
John thought little of the fire of the guns, now almost a regular affair
like the striking of a clock, but force of habit kept his head down and
no German sharpshooter watching in the trench opposite had a chance
at him. He advanced through a vast burrow. Trenches ran parallel, and
other trenches cut across them. One could wander through them for
miles. Most of them were uncovered, but others had roofs, partial or
complete, of thatch or boards or canvas. Many had little alcoves and
shelves, dug out by the patient hands of the soldiers, and these niches
contained their most precious belongings.
Back of the trenches often lay great heaps of refuse like the kitchen
middens of primeval man. Attempts at coziness had achieved a little
success in some places, but nearly everywhere the abode of burrowing
soldiers was raw, rank and fetid. Heavy and hideous odors arose from
the four hundred miles of unwashed armies. Men lived amid disease,
dirt and death. Civilization built up slowly through painful centuries
had come to a sudden stop, and once more they were savages in caves
seeking to destroy one another.
This, at least, was the external aspect of it, but the flower of civilization
was still sound at the stem. When the storm was over it would grow
and bloom again amid the wreckage. French and Germans, in the
intervals of battle, were often friendly with each other. They listened to
the songs of the foe, and sometimes at night they talked together. John
recognized the feeling. He knew that man at the core had not really
returned to a savage state, and a soldier, but not a believer in war, he
looked forward to the time when the grass should grow again over the
vast maze of trenches.
A shell bursting almost overhead put all such thoughts out of his mind
for the present. A hot piece of metal shooting downward struck on the
bottom of the trench and lay there hissing. John stepped over it and

passed on.
The cannonade was at its height, and he noticed that it was heavier than
usual. Perhaps the increase of volume was due to the presence of some
great dignitary, the Kaiser himself maybe, or the Crown Prince, or the
Chief of the General Staff. But it was only a flitting thought. The
subject did not interest him much.
The sky was turning darker and the heavy flakes of snow fell faster.
John looked up apprehensively. Snow now troubled him more than
guns. It was no welcome visitor in the trenches where it flooded some
of them so badly as it melted that the men were compelled to move.
As he walked along he was hailed by many friendly voices. He was
well known in that part of the gigantic burrow, and the adaptable young
American had become a great favorite, not only with the Strangers, but
with his French comrades. Fleury, coming out of a transverse cut,
greeted him. The Savoyard had escaped during the fighting on the
Aisne, and had rejoined the command of General Vaugirard, wounded
in the arm, but now recovered.
"Duty?" he said to John.
"Yes. Captain Colton has sent for me, but I