The Hosts of the Air | Page 2

those long blue
coats and baggy red trousers."
"But we don't have any chance to show 'em," said Wharton, who sat
upon a small stool, reading a novel. "Did I ever think that war would
come to this? Buried while yet alive! A few feet of cold and muddy
trench in which to pass one's life! This is an English story I'm reading.
The lovely Lady Ermentrude and the gallant Sir Harold are walking in
the garden among the roses, and he's about to ask her the great question.
There are roses, roses, and the deep green grass and greener oaks
everywhere, with the soft English shadows coming and going over
them. The birds are singing in the boughs. I suppose they're
nightingales, but do nightingales sing in the daytime? And when I shut
my book I see only walls of raw, red earth, and a floor, likewise of
earth, but stickier and more hideous. Even the narrow strip of sky
above our heads is the color of lead, and has nothing soft about it."
"If you'll stand up straight," said John, "maybe you'll see the rural
landscape for which you're evidently longing."
"And catch a German bullet between the eyes! Not for me. While I was
taking a trip down to the end of our line this morning I raised my head
by chance above the edge of the trench, and quick as a wink a
sharpshooter cut off one of my precious brown locks. I could have my
hair trimmed that way if I were patient and careful enough. Ah, here
comes a messenger!"
They heard a roar that turned to a shriek, and caught a fleeting glimpse

of a black shadow passing over their heads. Then a huge shell burst
behind them, and the air was filled with hissing fragments of steel. But
in their five feet of earth they were untouched, although horrible fumes
as of lyddite or some other hideous compound assailed them.
"This is the life," said Wharton, resuming his usual cheerfulness. "I
take back what I said about our beautiful trench. Just now I appreciate
it more than I would the greenest and loveliest landscape in England or
all America. Oh, it's a glorious trench! A splendid fortress for weak
human flesh, finer than any castle that was ever built!"
"Don't be dithyrambic, Wharton," said Carstairs. "Besides the change is
too sudden. It hasn't been a minute since you were pouring abuse upon
our safe and happy little trench."
"It's time for the Germans to begin," said John, looking at his watch.
"We'd better lie close for the next hour."
They heard the shrieking of more shells and soon the whole earth
rocked with the fire of the great guns. The hostile trenches were only a
few hundred yards in front of them, but the German batteries all
masked, or placed in pits, were much further away. The French cannon
were stationed in like fashion behind their own trenches.
John and his comrades, for the allotted hour, hugged the side of the
trench nearest to the Germans. The shells from the heavy guns came at
regular intervals. Far in the rear men were killed and others were
wounded, but no fragment of steel dropped in their trench. There was
not much danger unless one of the shells should burst almost directly
over their heads, and they were so used to these bombardments that
they paid little attention to them, except to keep close as long as they
lasted.
Wharton resumed his novel, Carstairs, sitting on one end of a rude
wooden bench, began a game of solitaire, and John, at the other end,
gave himself over to dreaming, which the regulated thunder of many
cannon did not disturb at all.

It had been months now since he had parted with Philip and Julie
Lannes. He had seen Philip twice since, but Julie not at all When the
German army made a successful stand near the river Aisne, and both
sides went into trenches, Lannes had come in the Arrow and, in reply to
John's restrained but none the less eager questions, had said that Julie
was safe in Paris again with her mother, Antoine Picard and the faithful
Suzanne. She had wanted to return to the front as a Red Cross nurse,
but Madame Lannes would not let her go.
A month later he saw Lannes again and Julie was still in the capital, but
he inferred from Philip's words rather than his tone that she was
impatient. Thousands of French girls were at the front, attending to the
wounded, and sharing hardship and danger. John knew that Julie had a
will like her brother's and he believed that, in time, she would surely
come again to the battle lines.
The thought made him smile,