Where the Souls of Men are CallingHarris, Credo Fitch
General
Where the Souls of Men are Calling
Harris, Credo Fitch
World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
"Not as beautiful, Monsieur, as the inspiration and assistance which one
of them has given me." He stopped, blushing like a girl, then continued
frankly with an infectious smile: "We learn to be outspoken on the edge
of No Man's Land--perhaps it is because we never know at what moment our
lips may be completely sealed that we appreciate the value of saying
fearlessly what is in our minds; therefore I will finish by telling you
that, next to an Allied victory, my greatest hope is that she may be
persuaded to share my fortune in Paris, after we are finished with the
fortunes of war!"
"I could wish no girl better luck than that," Barrow smiled. "To us at
home you stand as a kind of demi-god, a wizard, who----"
"Ah, Monsieur, I have accomplished nothing, really, until I came here,
where her sympathy and bravery have made me see new things! I tell her
that she inherits these traits from an angel mother and an American
Indian father."
Both men laughed delightedly; Dr. Barrow little dreaming at the moment
that this American girl, beloved by every one around her, was the
daughter of an old friend who edited a paper down--or was it up?--in
Hillsdale.
"You see that we are close to things here," Bonsecours continued, as
they walked along.
"I had wondered about the women being so near the front," Barrow
replied.
"Well, Monsieur, in some sectors this position is safer for them than
farther back--only, of course, when our artillery and line is as strong
as here, and the dressing-stations as well protected. Besides," he
added softly, "we are needing many nurses, and have lost fearfully in
men and orderlies."
The sun set clear that evening, putting a sparkle in the air which
touched one's nerves like wine. Shortly before twilight Jeb was drawn to
the entrance of his dug-out by the tramping and sloshing of many feet.
He walked the length of the quadrangle to where it joined a
communicating trench and for half an hour--even after the night had
grown too dark to see distinctly--watched an incessant line of soldiery
moving forward to positions. Tramp, tramp, they went, under orders of
silence, because something big was on the boards for tomorrow. But 'twas
not the quiet of glumness that enveloped them, for they showed in every
step an elasticity of spirits, as of muscles. He might have called it a
fluid line, so lithely did it flow by; he might have called it a line of
gods, so proudly did each man hold his steel-capped head!
The firing trench lay about six hundred yards from the German first
line; six hundred yards of No Man's Land waiting passively for the
shambles! Jeb wrung his hands and leaned against the earthen wall. With
that stark struggle for existence but a few hours off, how was it
possible for men to step out happily! What would he be doing, were he
amongst them!
The line was still passing, coming out of the impenetrable and
marching--who knew where! when he stumbled through the dark entrance of
the dug-out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account