One of Ours
Book V: "Bidding the Eagles of the West Fly On"
Chapter V
B Company reached the training camp at S— thirty-six men short: twenty-five
they had buried on the voyage over, and eleven sick were left at the base
hospital. The company was to be attached to a battalion which had already seen
service, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Scott. Arriving early in the morning,
the officers reported at once to Headquarters. Captain Maxey must have suffered
a shock when the Colonel rose from his desk to acknowledge his salute, then
shook hands with them all around and asked them about their journey. The Colonel
was not a very martial figure; short, fat, with slouching shoulders, and a lumpy
back like a sack of potatoes. Though he wasn't much over forty, he was bald, and
his collar would easily slip over his head without being unbuttoned. His little
twinkling eyes and good-humoured face were without a particle of arrogance or
official dignity.
Years ago, when General Pershing, then a handsome young Lieutenant with a
slender waist and yellow moustaches, was stationed as Commandant at the
University of Nebraska, Walter Scott was an officer in a company of cadets the
Lieutenant tools about to military tournaments. The Pershing Rifles, they were
called, and they won prizes wherever they went. After his graduation, Scott
settled down to running a hardware business in a thriving Nebraska town, and
sold gas ranges and garden hose for twenty years. About the time Pershing was
sent to the Mexican border, Scott began to think there might eventually be
something in the wind, and that he would better get into training. He went down
to Texas with the National Guard. He had come to France with the First Division,
and had won his promotions by solid, soldierly qualities.
"I see you're an officer short, Captain _Maxey," the Colonel remarked at
their conference. "I think I've got a man here to take his place. Lieutenant
Gerhardt is a New York man, came over in the band and got transferred to
infantry. He has lately been given a commission for good service. He's had some
experience and is a capable fellow." The Colonel sent his orderly out to bring
in a young man whom he introduced to the officers as Lieutenant David Gerhardt.
Claude had been ashamed of Tod Fanning, who was always showing himself a
sap-head, and who would never have got a commission if his uncle hadn't been a
Congressman. But the moment he met Lieutenant Gerhardt's eye, something like
jealousy flamed up in him. He felt in a flash that he suffered by comparison
with the new officer; that he must be on his guard and must not let himself be
patronized.
As they were leaving the Colonel's office together, Gerhardt asked him
whether he had got his billet. Claude replied that after the men were in their
quarters, he would look out for something for himself.
The young man smiled. "I'm afraid you may have difficulty. The people about
here have been overworked, keeping soldiers, and they are not willing as they
once were. I'm with a nice old couple over in the village. I'm almost sure I can
get you in there. If you'll come along, we'll speak to them, before some one
else is put off on them."
Claude didn't want to go, didn't want to accept favours,—nevertheless he
went. They walked together along a dusty road that ran between half-ripe wheat
fields, bordered with poplar trees. The wild morning-glories and Queen Anne's
lace that grew by the road-side were still shining with dew. A fresh breeze
stirred the bearded grain, parting it in furrows and fanning out streaks of
crimson poppies. The new officer was not intrusive, certainly. He walked along,
whistling softly to himself, seeming quite lost in the freshness of the morning,
or in his own thoughts. There had been nothing patronizing in his manner so far,
and Claude began to wonder why he felt ill at ease with him. Perhaps it was
because he did not look like the rest of them. Though he was young, he did not
look boyish. He seemed experienced; a finished product, rather than something on
the way. He was handsome, and his face, like his manner and his walk, had
something distinguished about it. A broad white forehead under reddish brown
hair, hazel eyes with no uncertainty in their look, an aquiline nose, finely
cut,—a sensitive, scornful mouth, which somehow did not detract from the
kindly, though slightly reserved, expression of his face.
Lieutenant Gerhardt must have been in this neighbourhood for some time; he
seemed to know the people. On the road they passed several villagers; a rough
looking girl taking a cow out to graze, an old man with a basket on his arm, the
postman on his bicycle; they all spoke to Claude's companion as if they knew him
well.
"What are these blue flowers that grow about everywhere?" Claude asked
suddenly, pointing to a clump with his foot.
"Cornflowers," said the other. "The Germans call them Kaiser-blumen."
They were approaching the village, which lay on the edge of a wood,—a wood
so large one could not see the end of it; it met the horizon with a ridge of
pines. The village was but a single street. On either side ran clay-coloured
walls, with painted wooden doors here and there, and green shutters. Claude's
guide opened one of these gates, and they walked into a little sanded garden;
the house was built round it on three sides. Under a cherry tree sat a woman in
a black dress, sewing, a work table beside her.
She was fifty, perhaps, but though her hair was grey she had a look of
youthfulness; thin cheeks, delicately flushed with pink, and quiet, smiling,
intelligent eyes. Claude thought she looked like a New England woman,—like the
photographs of his mother's cousins and schoolmates. Lieutenant Gerhardt
introduced him to Madame Joubert. He was quite disheartened by the colloquy that
followed. Clearly his new fellow officer spoke Madame Joubert's perplexing
language as readily as she herself did, and he felt irritated and grudging as he
listened. He had been hoping that, wherever he stayed, he could learn to talk to
the people a little; but with this accomplished young man about, he would never
have the courage to try. He could see that Mme. Joubert liked Gerhardt, liked
him very much; and all this, for some reason, discouraged him.
Gerhardt turned to Claude, speaking in a way which included Madame Joubert in
the conversation, though she could not understand it: "Madame Joubert will let
you come, although she has done her part and really doesn't have to take any one
else in. But you will be so well off here that I'm glad she consents. You will
have to share my room, but there are two beds. She will show you."
Gerhardt went out of the gate and left him alone with his hostess. Her mind
seemed to read his thoughts. When he uttered a word, or any sound that resembled
one, she quickly and smoothly made a sentence of it, as if she were quite
accustomed to talking in this way and expected only monosyllables from
strangers. She was kind, even a little playful with him; but he felt it was all
good manners, and that underneath she was not thinking of him at all. When he
was alone in the tile-floored sleeping room upstairs, unrolling his blankets and
arranging his shaving things, he looked out of the window and watched her where
she sat sewing under the cherry tree. She had a very sad face, he thought; it
wasn't grief, nothing sharp and definite like sorrow. It was an old, quiet,
impersonal sadness,—sweet in its expression, like the sadness of music.
As he came out of the house to start back to the barracks, he bowed to her
and tried to say, "Au revoir, Madame. Jusq' au ce soir." He stopped near the
kitchen door to look at a many-branched rose vine that ran all over the wall,
full of cream-coloured, pink-tipped roses, just a shade stronger in colour than
the clay wall behind them. Madame Joubert came over and stood beside him,
looking at him and at the rosier, "Oui, c'est joli, n'est-ce pas?" She took the
scissors that hung by a ribbon from her belt, cut one of the flowers and stuck
it in his buttonhole. "Voila." She made a little flourish with her thin hand.
Stepping into the street, he turned to shut the wooden door after him, and
heard a soft stir in the dark tool-house at his elbow. From among the rakes and
spades a child's frightened face was staring out at him. She was sitting on the
ground with her lap full of baby kittens. He caught but a glimpse of her dull,
pale face.