THE BRIGHTON BOYS SERIES

BY

LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL

AS FOLLOWS:

THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE FLYING CORPS

THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE TRENCHES

THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE BATTLE FLEET

THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE RADIO SERVICE

THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE SUBMARINE FLEET

THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE ENGINEERING CORPS

The BRIGHTON BOYS in THE TRENCHES

BY LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL

ILLUSTRATED

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY PHILADELPHIA

Copyright, 1918, by The John C. Winston Company

[Pg 5]

ILLUSTRATIONS

[Pg 8] [Pg 9]

CHAPTER I

The Incentive

With the days that the poet has termed the rarest, the longest, sunniest days of the year, there had come to Brighton at once sad and happy days.

For it was that time in early June when to those who have been faithful is given the credit they so richly deserve for hard study and achievement; the time also of parting from loved classmates and companions in glory on the field of sport, of leaving behind for a time, or perhaps forever, the dear old school and the campus, the custodians of so many delightful associations.

Golden moments are those, indeed, even though shadows mar the perfect glow of youth and hope and aspirations. But shadows[Pg 10] there must be, for school is but a part of life's too brief journey taken through many unlighted places, as well as in the sunshine.

Herbert Whitcomb, over-tall and manly-looking for his seventeen years, strolled alone down the broad boardwalk that led from class-rooms to dormitories, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed in earnest thought. He turned off suddenly into one of the clusters of spruces that dotted the spacious grounds and finding a bench sank down dejectedly, his comely face, usually expressive of good humor, now showing only sorrow.

It was just after final examinations, and other students, singly, in pairs and in groups, were among the trees enjoying the restfulness of the out-of-doors. Two standing within a few yards could be heard talking.

"They have joined, but I don't know what regiment. Gosh! What a difference the war is going to make right here in good old Brighton Academy! There's Corwin and Joe Little and 'Fatty' Benson in the American flying squadron; and Jed Harris and a bunch of the fellows are in the navy."

"Jack Hammond and Ted Wainwright—they went underseas with the Yankee submarine fleet, didn't they?"

[Pg 11]

"You bet! There's dare-devil action for you! Fighting the sea wolves in their own element! Shouldn't wonder if those Brighton submarine boys blow up the Kiel Canal before they're through! Got brains, those fellows. Well, things are moving. As sure as shooting, we're going to make the world safe for democracy! I guess I'll have to get into the game myself. It isn't any fun sitting on the bleachers. I'm goin' to enlist."

"Why not wait till you're of age and then let 'em draft you?"

"Not for me, kid. I want to have my choice of the branch of service I join."

"You've made up your mind, then?"

"Yep. Me for the Engineers' Corps. Believe me, there's no more important branch of the army——"

The young men had started off and now their voices died away among the trees. Whitcomb suddenly sat up very straight, his hands on his knees, and gazed fixedly before him, seeing nothing, but in his mind's eye seeing much, for a thought, not altogether new, had come to him and he was beginning to bite down on it hard. The boy's clenched hand went up into the air and then smote the bench seat quite forcibly.

[Pg 12]

"Must've smashed that fly, or was it a knotty problem?" said a jovial voice, the branches of the spruces parting to let the speaker through; a red-headed, freckled, squint-eyed lad who was quite as homely as the one whom he addressed was good looking.

Whitcomb greeted the newcomer sadly. "Well, old man, this is my last day on earth. It was my hopes I was smashing."

Roy Flynn, classmate, loyal friend, all-round good fellow, with laughing Irish eyes, threw back his head, opened a mouth that might almost have made a barn door jealous and very unmistakably chuckled.

"I'm goin' t' die with ye, then! What's the crime for which we're bein' executed?"

"Listen! Got a letter from the legal luminary this morning," began Whitcomb. "Contents nothing but words and to the effect that the cash is gone. It's now up to me right away to hustle round and get myself some more, somehow. That's not so bad, but it means no more school, or of Brighton, anyway. It means this, too: that I, Herb Whitcomb, have got to get back there among the more lowly where I belong and travel the back alleys awhile—it's only the lucky[Pg 13] that can hit the highways. Much pleasure in the thought that some of my old friends are saying: 'Huh! Took a tumble, didn't he? Money ran out. Tried to fly too high in the first place, I guess,' and all that sort of thing. But least pleasant will be that you and I——"

Roy interrupted with a sudden roar.

"'Whurrah! Whurrah!' as me old granddad used to say. Tin-can the blue stuff and the pessimistic rot! There's going to be nothing unpleasant concerning you and I—I mean you and me. And why, me lad? Because do I see meself letting the misfit circumstances of this changeable world make a monkey of me? Yes, I do not! Life is too brief, and sorry the day when one bids good-by to friends and fun; one's a fool who does and as me old granddad in Ireland used to say: 'Bad cest to 'em!' Am I right?"

"No doubt, if I only knew what you were talking about. I can't help being thick-headed."

"Listen, Herb. Ye won't go to work this summer and ye won't quit school! I'm talkin' to ye. Me old dad has enough for the both of us and I'll lend ye enough for to see ye through in grand shape, if ye will coach me along to keep up with ye. Are ye on?"

[Pg 14]

"Roy, I couldn't do that. I couldn't, really. You know a fellow has some pride, and I——"

"Oh, sure, but tin-can it this once. Ye've got no business to shove it at me and ye know, me lad, I'm never goin' to say one word about this to a single, solitary soul. It's between us only."

"I know that, old man; I would be sure of that, but even then I couldn't—I—you see, I would know it myself, and I could never be quite happy if I weren't paying my own way."

"But ye'll be coachin' me and I'll be payin' ye wages. Now, do ye mind that? Are ye so blamed big-headed——?"

"'Fraid so. You see, I wouldn't be half earning what I'd need. And as for the summer—well, there's another hundred and thirty dollars due and ready for me, my guardian writes, so I might spend a week or so with you in the mountains; then hunt a job. Come on in town with me now, will you? I want to mail this letter to the legal luminary."

The two boys, arm in arm, made their way across the juniper and spruce covered hillside, then into the broad walk and through the[Pg 15] high stone gateway to the street. The post office was half a mile away.

Stepping along briskly and discussing future plans, they were almost past a little crowd, mostly of students and small boys, collected on the sidewalk when quick-witted Roy, not at the moment speaking, caught a few words that made him halt instantly and turn. Herb gazed at him in surprise.

"—und vat I care for der law?" came a guttural voice. "Der American beebles vas fools to go to war mit Chermany, for vat can dey do? Der Chermans is fighters und drained up to der minute und you oxpect dese American chumps vill haff any show mit dem? Uh?"

In a moment Herbert and Roy had joined the assemblage and had observed the speaker to be a big, large-girthed German possessing a very red nose, a glowering countenance and a manner contemptuous and self-exalted. One could read upon him, at a glance, that he held the unalterable opinion that there was no other country like Germany, no people to compare with the Germans and for all the rest of the world, no matter to what section he might owe his present prosperity, he had an altogether poor opinion.

[Pg 16]

The audience seemed strangely silent before the German's denunciations and Herb glanced about him. Two seniors of Brighton were there and two others of the sophomore class, each one a youth of possibly doubtful courage, more in love with the refinements of books than with the danger of engaging in too strenuous argument with a bearish, bully-ragging, irresponsible foreigner. The rest of the bunch were youngsters from the public school.

One bright-faced, quick-witted boy among the latter there was who alone evidently had the courage of his convictions:

"Aw, gwan! What ye tryin' t' give us? Our fellers'll make that big stiff Hindenburg look like a chicken hit with a brick! Them Dutchmen ain't sa much!"

"You vas only a leedle kid und you don'd know noddings," spouted the German. "Chermans ain'd Dutchmens; dey vas ten times as goot. You fellers can fight, heh? Vere do you keep dese fighters? I ain'd seen noddings off dem; dey vas all crawled in a hole. Und der soldiers off der Vaterlandt, dey make 'em crawl in a hole chust like dat!" and he snapped his pudgy fingers.

Roy looked at Herb, who was gazing at the[Pg 17] big man through narrowed lids, his face turning red. The lad of pure Celtic stock felt his own blood boil and his ready tongue found release.

"Now, ain't ye got the ignorant nerve to stand right out here in America and talk like a fat tomat? De ye know that might not be quite safe everywhere?"

"Safe? Safe? Ach, I see noddings onsafe! I don't see no metals on nobotty roundt here vat iss going to make id onsafe for me. Und vat I tinks I says, heh? Und nobotty can stop me, needer!"

"Better not think too much, then, Dutchy," advised Roy.

"Say, young feller, you vas oldt enough to know bedder den to call me Dutch. I vas Cherman. Und chust you remember dot; see?"

"That's so, Germany. I guess it's an insult to the honest Dutch to call you that. By the way you fellows have been carrying on over there in Belgium, burning, looting, murdering women and children——"

"Dot vas a lie! All a lie! Newspapers, newspapers! Der American newspapers iss chust like der beeble, all liars! Und you belief 'em, py gollies, effrybotties. Efen Vilson, he ain'dt got no better——"

[Pg 18]

"Hold on, there! You're going much too far! Speak with respect of the President of the United States, or don't speak of him at all!" This came, like a shot, from Herb, and the boy's eyes flashed into the little pig's peepers of the big foreigner. A cheer went up from the crowd and Roy slapped his chum on the back.

"That's the stuff! Give him some more of that!"

The German took a few steps forward facing Herb, the crowd giving way. The man's arm was raised.

"Vat you got to say aboudt it, heh? I say chust vat I bleese. Who vas you? Purdy soon I ketch you py der neck und twist id like a chicken gets der axe, heh?"

"You really couldn't mean to be so unkind, could you? Now, honest." Herb was sarcastic. "Now, I'll tell you what we'll do to fix you. You come along down town and we'll just turn you over to the cops. They'll want to investigate you. How about it, fellows? Hadn't we better take him right now?"

One senior, scenting trouble, began to edge away, but the others responded by general acclamation. It might mean a serious scrimmage,[Pg 19] but they were ready for it; all that had been needed to call them into action was a leader.

But the big German proved to be the actual aggressor. Permitting his anger to get the better of his judgment and quicker on his feet than his girth would indicate, he made a rush straight at Herbert. No doubt he meant to end matters by a sudden defeat of the leader and thus intimidate the others. But like many German plans this one did not fully work out.

Herb merely side-stepped. As a most promising pupil he had long received special training in boxing from the capable athletic instructor. He was instantly out of the man's reach as the big arms and fat hands reached to seize him; he was just a mite too far away also when the ponderous fist, swung round in the air, aimed at his head. But the German was not out of Roy's reach.

The foreigner's artillery may have been heavier, but that of the American youth was handier and reached farther. The man's blow, that surely would have done damage had it landed, by its momentum had carried him half off his feet when Herb just stepped forward, shot out his arm and stepped back again.

[Pg 20]

The German got it precisely in the right place on the jaw and he collapsed like a clothes-horse with the props knocked from under it.

It was a good deal like a fat pig doing the wallow act, for the man did not remain long quiescent. He rolled over to his hands and knees, then got to his feet and letting out a roar like a mad bull, commenced swinging his arms windmill fashion. Then there was another rush at Herb.

The incident was repeated, precisely and accurately, except that the blow on the jaw was this time harder and that the German lay prone somewhat longer. He arose this time to a sitting posture and through his little eyes regarded Herb with something akin to wonder. The boy, never hard-hearted, turned away. But Roy stood before the undignified foe.

"Now, you see, Dutchy, what is bound to happen to you if you get gay. Pretty much the same thing is going to happen to the German Army before long. If you don't stop shooting off your big mouth this'll happen to you." And the lad drew his fingers around his neck to indicate a strangling rope.

The growing crowd, many others having[Pg 21] now joined it, set up a laugh and then a decided cheer at this; the German blinked at his opponents, felt his jaw, made a horrible grimace and finally, getting to his feet, made off slowly across the street. The crowd jeered after him, then turned with appreciation toward Herbert. But that worthy, hating laudation, beckoned to Roy, and the two walked quickly on their way.

"One battle won, b'gorry!" Roy could not refrain from some comment. "Say, Herb, they were sure nice ones that you handed him and right where he needed them most, too—in his talker. Reckon that was about the first victory over the Germans, but guess it won't be the last."

"I'm going to try to help that it isn't, Roy."

"What you mean, lad?"

"That chump's words set me to thinking," Herb said. "It's up to just such as I am to take a hand; a bigger hand. I'm going right now to the recruiting office and enlist."

"You are? By cracky! Enlist, is it? That's the stuff! Well, you know what I told you about you and me. I'm going to enlist, too, if you do! I'll have to write for me old man's consent, of course, but he'll[Pg 22] give it. Come on! Let's go see what we gotta do." And the youth raised his voice in impromptu song:

CHAPTER II

Joining Hands with Uncle Sam

Captain Pratt, recruiting officer, glanced up to see two young fellows approaching, evidently with some intention of engaging his services. And for the big and important cause he was appointed to aid he was more than willing that his services should be engaged, heavily engaged, at any and all times.

The world was at war; his beloved country was mixed up in this contest, hopefully for the right and as humanely as it is possible to be when fighting. It required soldiers to fight and men and more men and still more men out of which to make these soldiers which were to win in a glorious cause for liberty and honor.

And so, because of the position of his office and the considerable number of students coming to him there, he may have been a little less careful about sticking to the precise regulations concerning very young applicants. The captain had a weakness for[Pg 24] youngsters, being something of an overgrown boy himself at times, and this may have had much to do with his leniency.

The upshot of it was that, a little while later, after some information had been exchanged, questions had been asked mostly on the part of the captain, and oaths had been taken, the military gentleman dismissed the two young fellows with this parting injunction:

"Now you understand. Both of you report to the commanding officer at Camp Wheeler as soon as you can arrange matters. Come to me for cards to him. I need hear nothing more from you, Whitcomb, as you say your guardian will be willing and anxious for you to enlist. I'll want a letter of consent from your father, Flynn. Flynn? That might be somewhat of a Celtic name, eh?"

"Yiss, sorr!" said Roy, standing very straight and saluting in the most approved manner, at which the captain laughed heartily.

"Well, go your ways, lads, and report to me as soon as you can get away from school in the proper manner. I rather think that Uncle Sam can make very promising soldiers of you both, especially considering the shooting practice you've had."

"Say, Herb," said Roy, as soon as the two[Pg 25] had got well away from the office, "that guy thought I could shoot, too, but I didn't tell him so. I only bragged you up."

"Too much; I don't like it, Roy. But it's natural; you will blarney, you dear, old chump. You made it so strong that I guess he thought we're an entire regiment of experts. Well, you can't help it now. The only thing to do is for you to learn to shoot."

"But could I, Herb?"

"Of course."

"Glory be! Hearken, me lad! Come along. I'm goin' to get me a rifle and ammunition and you get your gun and we'll go out and blow the face off of nature. I'll buy your ammunition and you teach me; see? Come on."

In vain Herbert protested that it was needless to spend money for a gun; that Roy could practise with Herb's own, a splendid repeating weapon, of .30-caliber, won by the boy at the individual shoot of the Interstate Prep School Match a month before.

No; Roy must have his own gun.

From tiny boyhood, when a chummy father had put into the youngster's hands his first air-gun, Herbert had shown a marked genius, if it may be so called, for aiming[Pg 26] straight and knowing just when to press a trigger. Then, with his first cartridge gun, a light target 22, which he had brought to school and taken on many a hike into the broad country, the boy had become, as Roy put it, almost unreasonably expert, knocking acorns and chestnut burs from high limbs, cutting tall weeds and hanging vines in half with the first shot, tossing a stone or a tin can in air with one hand and nine times out of ten plunking it fairly before it reached the ground.

But with all this ability to put a bullet just where he wanted it to go, the lad was unwilling to use his skill in taking the life of any creature. He would not kill even a hawk or a crow, though sometimes sorely tempted to try a shot at such birds on the wing. Once he sat on a log, with rifle across his knees, while a fox leaped on a fence not forty yards away and stood balancing and curious for half a minute.

"We've got no real right to kill these things," he said to Roy, who was always with him. "They've got as much right to live as we have and they were here before we were. A fellow might shoot something if he were hungry, but not decently just for sport.[Pg 27] These animals, birds and things, are getting too scarce as it is."

The town supported a first-class hardware store and its stock of guns was sufficient for the most exacting selection to be made therefrom. When the boys reached their room in the dormitory an hour later and the new gun was unpacked, Herb took it up and toyed with it lovingly. It was one of the most modern of sporting rifles, also shooting a 30-30-160 cartridge, the first figure referring to the caliber, the second to the grains of powder by weight and the third to grains of lead. The workmanship, the finish, the design were perfect.

Herb, perforce, must make potent remarks concerning the weapon.