VIII. The Russian IX. Robina's Doll X. Dundonald's Destroyer THE DITCH PERSONS THE BOY an American soldier THE BOY'S DREAM OF HIS MOTHER ANGELIQUE } } French children JEAN-BAPTISTE } THE TEACHER THE ONE SCHOOLGIRL WITH IMAGINATION THE THREE SCHOOLGIRLS WITHOUT IMAGINATION HE SHE THE AMERICAN GENERAL THE ENGLISH STATESMAN The Time.--A summer day in 1918 and a summer day in 2018 FIRST ACT _The time is a summer day in 1918. The scene is the first-line trench of the Germans--held lately by the Prussian Imperial Guard--half an hour after it had been taken by a charge of men from the Blank_th _Regiment, United States Army. There has been a mistake and the charge was not preceded by artillery preparation as usual. However, the Americans have taken the trench by the unexpectedness of their attack, and the Prussian Guard has been routed in confusion. But the German artillery has at once opened fire on the Americans, and also a German machine gun has enfiladed the trench. Ninety-nine Americans have been killed in the trench. One is alive, but dying. He speaks, being part of the time delirious._ _The Boy_. Why can't I stand? What--is it? I'm wounded. The sand-bags roll when I try--to hold to them. I'm--badly wounded. (_Sinks down. Silence._) How still it is! We--we took the trench. Glory be! We took it! (_Shouts weakly as he lies in the trench._) (_Sits up and stares, shading his eyes_.) It's horrid still. Why--they're here! Jack--you! What makes you--lie there? You beggar--oh, my God! They're dead. Jack Arnold, and Martin and--Cram and Bennett and Emmet and--Dragamore--Oh--God, God! All the boys! Good American boys. The whole blamed bunch--dead in a ditch. Only me. Dying, in a ditch filled with dead men. What's the sense? (_Silence_.) This damned silly war. This devilish--killing. When we ought to be home, doing man's work--and play. Getting some tennis, maybe, this hot afternoon; coming in sweaty and dirty--and happy--to a tub--and dinner--with mother. (_Groans_.) It begins to hurt--oh, it hurts confoundedly. (_Becomes delirious_.) Canoeing on the river. With little Jim. See that trout jump, Jimmie? Cast now. Under the log at the edge of the trees. That's it! Good--oh! (_Groans_.) It hurts--badly. Why, how can I stand it? How can anybody? I'm badly wounded. Jimmie--tell mother. Oh--good boy--you've hooked him. Now play him; lead him away from the lily-pads. (_Groans_.) Oh, mother! Won't you come? I'm wounded. You never failed me before. I need you--if I die. You went away down--to the gate of life, to bring me inside. Now--it's the gate of death--you won't fail? You'll bring me through to that other life? You and I, mother--and I won't be scared. You're the first--and the last. (_Puts out his arm searching and folds a hand, still warm, of a dead soldier_.) Ah--mother, my dear. I knew--you'd come. Your hand is warm--comforting.