The Hosts of the Air by Joseph A. Altsheler

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World War Series

THE HOSTS OF THE AIR

The Story of a Quest in the Great War

by

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

Author of _The Guns Of Europe_, _The Forest Of Swords_, etc.

Illustrated by CHARLES WRENN

D. Appleton and Company New York and London

1915

[Illustration: The Hosts of the Air]

* * * * *

THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

The Star of Gettysburg
The Guns of Bull Run
The Guns of Shiloh
The Scouts of Stonewall
The Sword of Antietam
The Rock of Chickamauga

THE WORLD WAR SERIES

The Guns of Europe
The Hosts of the Air
The Forest of Swords

THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES

The Young Trailers
The Forest Runners
The Free Rangers
The Riflemen of the Ohio
The Scouts of the Valley
The Border Watch

THE TEXAN SERIES

The Texan Star
The Texan Scouts
The Texan Triumph

Apache Gold
The Quest of the Four
The Last of the Chiefs
In Circling Camps
A Soldier of Manhattan
The Sun of Saratoga
A Herald of the West
The Wilderness Road
My Captive

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK

* * * * *

FOREWORD

"The Hosts of the Air" is the third and concluding volume of the World
War Series, of which "The Forest of Swords" and "The Guns of Europe"
were the predecessors. It deals primarily with the love story of John
Scott and Julie Lannes, but all the characters of the earlier books
reappear in this romance also.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. THE TRENCH 1
II. THE YOUNG AUSTRIAN 25
III. JULIE'S COMING 45
IV. THE HOTEL AT CHASTEL 70
V. THE REGISTER 87
VI. JOHN'S RESOLVE 108
VII. THE PURSUIT 128
VIII. INTO GERMANY 160
IX. THE GREAT CASTLE 179
X. THE FAIR CAPTIVE 200
XI. THE EFFICIENT HOSTLER 225
XII. THE HUNTING LODGE 248
XIII. THE DANGEROUS FLIGHT 278
XIV. THE HAPPY ESCAPE 299

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING
PAGE

The Hosts of the Air, Frontispiece

"Once they came to the very edge of the trench to be slain there" 28

"'You! You! Is it really you?' she cried" 260

"Now the aeroplanes flew at almost incredible speed,
the _Arrow_ always at their head", 332

CHAPTER I

THE TRENCH

A young man was shaving. His feet rested upon a broad plank embedded in
mud, and the tiny glass in which he saw himself hung upon a wall of raw,
reeking earth. A sky, somber and leaden, arched above him, and now and
then flakes of snow fell in the sodden trench, but John Scott went on
placidly with his task.

The face that looked back at him had been changed greatly in the last
six months. The smoothness of early youth was gone--for the time--and
serious lines showed about the mouth and eyes. His cheeks were thinner
and there was a slight sinking at the temples, telling of great
privations, and of dangers endured. But the features were much stronger.
The six months had been in effect six years. The boy of Dresden had
become the man of the trenches.

He finished, rubbed his hand over his face to satisfy himself that the
last trace of young beard and mustache was gone, put away his shaving
materials in a little niche that he had dug with his own hands in the
wall of the trench, and turned to the Englishman.

"Am I all right, Carstairs?" he asked.

"You do very well. There's mud on your boots, but I suppose you can't
help it. The melting snow in our trench makes soggy footing in spite of
all we can do. But you're trim, Scott. That new gray uniform with the
blue threads running through it becomes you. All the Strangers are
thankful for the change. It's a great improvement over 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, and he felt a light glow pass over his face.
He knew it was due to the belief that he would see Julie once more, and
yet the trenches now extended about four hundred miles across Northern
France and Belgium. The chances seemed a hundred to one against her
arrival in the particular trench, honored by the presence of the
Strangers, but John felt that in reality they were a hundred to one in
favor of it. He wished it so earnestly that it must come true.

"You're smiling, Scott," said Carstairs. "A good honest English penny
for your thoughts."

"What do I care for money? What could I do with it if I had it, held
here between walls of mud only four feet apart?"

"At least," interrupted Wharton, "the high cost of living is not
troubling us. Next month's rent may come from where it pleases. It
doesn't bother me."

A messenger turned the angle of the trench and summoned John to the
presence of his commander, Captain Colton, who was about three hundred
yards away. Young Scott, stooping in order to keep his head covered
well, started down the trench. The artillery fire was at its height. The
waves of air followed one another with great violence, and the fumes of
picric acid and of other acids that he did not know became very strong.
But he scarcely noticed it. The bombardment was all in the day's work,
and when the Germans ceased, the French, after a decent interval, would
begin their own cannonade, carried on at equal length.

John thought little of the fire of the guns, now almost a regular affair
like the striking of a clock, but force of habit kept his head down and
no German sharpshooter watching in the trench opposite had a chance at
him. He advanced through a vast burrow. Trenches ran parallel, and other
trenches cut across them. One could wander through them for miles. Most
of them were uncovered, but others had roofs, partial or complete, of
thatch or boards or canvas. Many had little alcoves and shelves, dug out
by the patient hands of the soldiers, and these niches contained their
most precious belongings.

Back of the trenches often lay great heaps of refuse like the kitchen
middens of primeval man. Attempts at coziness had achieved a little
success in some places, but nearly everywhere the abode of burrowing
soldiers was raw, rank and fetid. Heavy and hideous odors arose from the
four hundred miles of unwashed armies. Men lived amid disease, dirt and
death. Civilization built up slowly through painful centuries had come
to a sudden stop, and once more they were savages in caves seeking to
destroy one another.

This, at least, was the external aspect of it, but the flower of
civilization was still sound at the stem. When the storm was over it
would grow and bloom again amid the wreckage. French and Germans, in the
intervals of battle, were often friendly with each other. They listened
to the songs of the foe, and sometimes at night they talked together.
John recognized the feeling. He knew that man at the core had not really
returned to a savage state, and a soldier, but not a believer in war, he
looked forward to the time when the grass should grow again over the
vast maze of trenches.

A shell bursting almost overhead put all such thoughts out of his mind
for the present. A hot piece of metal shooting downward struck on the
bottom of the trench and lay there hissing. John stepped over it and
passed on.

The cannonade was at its height, and he noticed that it was heavier than
usual. Perhaps the increase of volume was due to the presence of some
great dignitary, the Kaiser himself maybe, or the Crown Prince, or the
Chief of the General Staff. But it was only a flitting thought. The
subject did not interest him much.

The sky was turning darker and the heavy flakes of snow fell faster.
John looked up apprehensively. Snow now troubled him more than guns. It
was no welcome visitor in the trenches where it flooded some of them so
badly as it melted that the men were compelled to move.

As he walked along he was hailed by many friendly voices. He was well
known in that part of the gigantic burrow, and the adaptable young
American had become a great favorite, not only with the Strangers, but
with his French comrades. Fleury, coming out of a transverse cut,
greeted him. The Savoyard had escaped during the fighting on the Aisne,
and had rejoined the command of General Vaugirard, wounded in the arm,
but now recovered.

"Duty?" he said to John.

"Yes. Captain Colton has sent for me, but I don't know what he wants."

"Don't get yourself captured again. Twice is enough."

"I won't. There isn't much taking of prisoners while both sides keep to
their holes."

Fleury disappeared in one of the earthy aisles, and John went on,
turning a little later into an aisle also, and arriving at Captain
Cotton's post.

Daniel Colton had for his own use a wooden bench three feet long, set in
an alcove dug in the clay. Some boards and the arch of the earth formed
an uncertain shelter. An extra uniform hung against the wall of earth,
and he also had a tiny looking-glass and shaving materials. He was as
thin and dry as ever, addicted to the use of words of one syllable, and
sparing even with them.

John saluted. He had a great respect and liking for his captain.

"Sit down," said Captain Colton, making room on the bench.

John sat.

"Know well a man named Weber?"

"Yes," replied John in surprise. He had not thought of the Alsatian in
days, and yet they had been together in some memorable moments.

"Thought you'd say so. Been here an hour. Asks for you. Must see you, he
says."

"I'll be glad to meet him again, sir. I've a regard for him. We've
shared some great dangers. You've heard that he was in the armored
automobile with Carstairs, Wharton and myself that time we ran it into
the river?"

Captain Colton nodded.

"Then we were captured and both escaped during the fighting along the
Marne. Lannes took me away in his aeroplane, but we missed Weber. I
thought, though, that he'd get back to us, and I'm glad, very glad that
he's here."

"See him now," said Colton, "and find out what he wants."

He blew a whistle, and an orderly appeared, saluting.

"Bring Weber," said the captain.

The orderly returned with Weber, the two coming from one of the narrow
aisles, and John rose impulsively to meet the Alsatian. But before
offering his hand Weber saluted the captain.

"Go ahead. Tell all," said Colton briefly.

Weber first shook John's hand warmly. Evidently he had not been living
the life of the trenches, as he looked fresh, and his cheeks were full
of color. His gray uniform, with the blue threads through it, was neat
and clean, and his black pointed beard was trimmed like that of a
painter with money.

"We're old comrades in war, Mr. Scott," he said, "and I'm glad, very
glad to find you again. You and Lannes left me rather abruptly that time
near the Marne, but it was the only thing you could do. If by an effort
of the mind I could have sent a wireless message to you I'd have urged
you to instant flight. I hid in the bushes, in time reached one of our
armies, and since then I've been a bearer of dispatches along the front.
I heard some time back that you were still alive, but my duty hitherto
has kept me from seeing you. Now, it sends me to you."

His tone, at first eager and joyous, as was fitting in an old friend
meeting an old friend, now became very grave, and John looked at him
with some apprehension. Captain Colton motioned to a small stool.

"Sit down," he said to Weber. Then he offered the Alsatian a match and a
cigarette which were accepted gratefully. He made the same offer to
John, who shook his head saying that he did not smoke. The captain took
two or three deliberate puffs, and contemplated Weber who had made
himself comfortable on the stool.

"Military duty?" he asked. "If so, Scott's concern is my concern too."

"That is quite true, Captain Colton," said Weber, respectfully. "As Mr.
Scott is under your command you have a right to know what message I
bring."

"Knew you'd see it," said Colton, taking another puff at his cigarette.
"There! Germans have ceased firing!"

"And our men begin!" said John.

The moment the distant German thunder ceased the French reply, nearer at
hand and more like a rolling crash, began. It would continue about an
hour, that is until nightfall, unless the heavy clouds and falling snow
brought darkness much earlier than usual. The flakes were coming faster,
but the three were protected from them by the rude board shelter. John
again glanced anxiously at Weber. He felt that his news was of serious
import.

"I saw your friend Lieutenant Philip Lannes about three weeks ago at a
village called Catreaux, lying sixty miles west of us," said Weber. "He
had just made a long flight from the west, where he had observed much of
the heavy fighting around Ypres, and also had been present when the
Germans made their great effort to break through to Dunkirk and Calais.
I hear that he had more than a messenger's share in these engagements,
throwing some timely bombs."

"Was he well when you saw him?" asked John. "He had not been hurt? He
had not been in any accident?"

"He was in the best of health, bard and fit. But his activities in the
_Arrow_ had diminished recently. Snow, rain, icy hail make difficulties
and dangers for aviators. But we wander. He had not heard from his
mother, Madame Lannes, or his sister, the beautiful Mademoiselle Julie,
for a long time, and he seemed anxious about them."

"He himself took Mademoiselle Julie back to Paris in the _Arrow,"_ said
John.

"So he told me. They arrived safely, as you know, but Lannes was
compelled to leave immediately for the extreme western front. The
operations there were continuous and so exacting that he has been unable
to return to Paris. He has not heard from his mother and sister in more
than two months, and his great anxiety about them is quite natural."

"But since the retreat of the Germans there is no danger in Paris save
from an occasional bomb."

"No. But a few days after seeing Lannes my own duties as a messenger
carried me back to Paris, and I took it upon myself to visit Lannes'
house. I had two objects, both I hope justifiable. I wanted to take to
them good news of Lannes and I wanted to take to Lannes good news of
them."

"You found them there?" said John, his anxiety showing in his tone.

"I did. But a letter from Lannes, by good luck, had just come through
the day before. It was a noble letter. It expressed the fine spirit of
that brave young man, a spirit universal now throughout France. He said
the fighting had been so severe and the wounded were so many that all
Frenchwomen who had the skill and strength to help must come to the
hospitals, where the hurt in scores of thousands were lying."

"Did he mention any point to which she was to come?"

"A village just behind the fortress of Verdun. To say that she was
willing was not enough. A great spirit, a magnificent spirit, Mr. Scott.
The soul of chivalry may dwell in the heart of a young girl. She was
eager to go. Madame, her mother, would have gone too, but she was ill,
so she remained in the house, while the beautiful Mademoiselle Julie
departed with the great peasant, Antoine Picard, and his daughter
Suzanne."

"Do you know how they went?"

"By rail, I think, as far as they could go, and thence they were to
travel by motor to the tiny village of Chastel, their destination.
Knowing your interest in Mademoiselle Julie, I thought it would not
displease you to hear this. Chastel is no vast distance from this
point."

A blush would have been visible on John's face had he not been tanned so
deeply, but he felt no resentment. Captain Colton took his cigarette
from his lips and said tersely:

"Every man likes a pretty face. Man who doesn't--no man at all."

"I agree with you, Captain Colton," said Weber heartily. "When I no
longer notice a beautiful woman I think it will be time for me to die.
But I take no liberty, sir, when I say that in all the garden of flowers
Mademoiselle Julie Lannes is the rarest and loveliest. She is the
delicate and opening rose touched at dawn with pearly dew."

"A poet, Weber! A poet!" interjected Captain Colton.

"No, sir, I but speak the truth," said Weber seriously. "Mademoiselle
Julie Lannes, though a young girl but yet, promises to become the most
beautiful woman in Europe, and beauty carries with it many privileges.
Men may have political equality, but women can never have an equality of
looks."

"Right, Weber," said Captain Colton.

John's pulses had begun to leap. Julie was coming back to the front, and
she would not be so far away. Some day he might see her again. But he
felt anxiety.

"Is the journey to Chastel safe, after she leaves the railway?" he asked
of Weber.

"Is anything safe now?"

"Nothing in Europe," interjected Captain Colton.

"But I don't think Mademoiselle Lannes will incur much danger," said
Weber. "It's true, roving bands of Uhlans or hussars sometimes pass in
our rear, but it's likely that she and other French girls going to the
front march under strong escort."

His tone was reassuring, but his words left John still troubled.

"My object in telling you of Mademoiselle Lannes' movements, Mr. Scott,"
continued Weber, "was to enable you to notify Lieutenant Lannes of her
exact location in case you should see him. Knowing your great friendship
I thought it inevitable that you two should soon meet once more. If so,
tell him that his sister is at Chastel. He will be glad to know of her
arrival and, work permitting, will hurry to her there."

"Gladly I'll do it," said John. "I wish I could see Philip now."

But when he said "Philip" he was thinking of Julie, although the bond of
friendship between him and young Lannes had not diminished one whit.

"And now," said Weber, "with Captain Colton's permission I'll go. My
duties take me southward, and night is coming fast."

"And it will be dark, cold and snowy," said John, shivering a little.
"These trenches are not exactly palace halls, but I'd rather be in them
now than out there on such a night."

The dusk had come and the French fire was dying. In a few more minutes
it would cease entirely, and then the French hour with the guns having
matched the German hour, the night would be without battle.

But the silence that succeeded the thunder of the guns was somber. In
all that terrible winter John had not seen a more forbidding night. The
snow increased and with it came a strong wind that reached them despite
their shelter. The muddy trenches began to freeze lightly, but the men's
feet broke through the film of ice and they walked in an awful slush. It
seemed impossible that the earth could ever have been green and warm and
sunny, and that Death was not always sitting at one's elbow.

The darkness was heavy, but nevertheless as they talked they did not
dare to raise their heads above the trenches. The German searchlights
might blaze upon them at any moment, showing the mark for the
sharpshooters. But Captain Colton pressed his electric torch and the
three in the earthy alcove saw one another well.

"Will you go to Chastel yourself?" asked John of Weber.

"Not at present. I bear a message which takes me in the Forest of
Argonne, but I shall return along this line in a day or two, and it may
be that I can reach the village. If so, I shall tell Mademoiselle Julie
and the Picards that I have seen you here, and perhaps I can communicate
also with Lannes."

"I thank you for your kindness in coming to tell me this."

"It was no more than I should have done. I knew you would be glad to
hear, and now, with your permission, Captain Colton, I'll go."

"Take narrow, transverse trench, leading south. Good of you to see us,"
said the captain of the Strangers.

The Alsatian shook hands with John and disappeared in the cut which led
a long distance from the front. Colton extinguished the torch and the
two sat a little while in the darkness. Although vast armies faced one
another along a front of four hundred miles, little could be heard where
John and his captain sat, save the sighing of the wind and the faint
sound made by the steady fall of the snow, which was heaping up at their
feet.

Not a light shone in the trench. John knew that innumerable sentinels
were on guard, striving to see and hear, but a million or two million
men lay buried alive there, while the snow drifted down continually. The
illusion that the days of primeval man had come back was strong upon him
again. They had become, in effect, cave-dwellers once more, and their
chief object was to kill. He listened to the light swish of the snow,
and thought of the blue heights into which he had often soared with
Lannes.

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