Excerpt from The Boy Allies With Pershing in France: Or Over the Top at Chateau ThierryHal paine and Chester Crawford crouched low in a shell hole in No Man\'s Land. A11 morning they had been there and the day had worn on now into the afternoon.Two hundred yards west of their refuge were the American lines. Sprinters such as Hal and Chester could easily have covered the distance in half a minute; and it was not for want oi-courage that so far they had failed to make the effort. It was plain common sense that kept them in their present position.On all sides of them - between the American lines and the most advanced German positions less than two hundred yards from the spot where the open ing of this story finds the two boys - the ground was dotted with shell holes similar to the ones in which Hal and Chester found themselves.About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

Clair W. Hayes is a published author of children\'s books and young adult books.

HardPress Classic Books Series

CHAPTER I A NEW USE FOR A DICTAPHONE The rain fell in torrents over the great battlefield, as Hal Paine and Chester Crawford, taking advantage of the inky blackness of the night, crept from the shelter of the American trenches that faced the enemy across "No Man\'s Land." In the trenches themselves all was silence. To a spectator it would have seemed that the occupants were, either dead or asleep; yet such was not the case. It is true that most of the men had "turned in" for the night, sleeping on their arms, for there was no means of telling at what moment the enemy might issue from his trenches in another of the night raids that had marked this particular sector for the last few weeks; but the ever vigilant sentinels stood watch over the sleeping men. They would sound an alarm, should occasion demand, in ample time to arouse the sleepers if an enemy\'s head appeared in the darkness. Hal and Chester, of course, left the American trenches with full knowledge of these sentinels; otherwise they might have been shot. Once beyond the protecting walls of earth, they moved swiftly and silently toward the German trenches less than a hundred feet away — just the distance from the home plate to first base on a baseball diamond, as Hal put it — ninety feet. These two lads, who now advanced directly toward the foe, were lieutenants in the first American expeditionary force to reach France to lend a hand in driving back the legions of the German Emperor, who still clung tenaciously to territory he had conquered in the early stages of the great war. These boys had, at one time, been captains in the British army, and had had three years of strenuous times and exciting adventures in the greatest of all wars. Their captaincies they\'d won through gallant action upon the field of battle. American lads, they had been left in Berlin at the outbreak of hostilities, when they were separated from Hal\'s mother. They made their way to Belgium, where, for a time, they saw service, with King Albert\'s troops. Later they fought under the tricolor, with the Russians and the British and Canadians. When the United \'States declared war on Germany, Hal and Chester, with others, were sent to America, where they were of great assistance in training men Uncle Sam had selected to officer his troops. They had relinquished their rank in the British army to be able to do this. Now they found themselves again on French soil, but fighting under the Stars and Stripes. On this particular night they advanced toward tile German lines soon after an audience with General John J. Pershing, commander-in-chief of the American expeditionary forces . In one hand Chester carried a little hardwood box, to which were attached coils of wire. In the other hand the lad held a revolver. Hal, likewise, carried his automatic in his hand. Each was determined to give a good account of himself should his presence be discovered. It was unusually quiet along the front this night. It was too dark for opposing "snipers" — sharpshooters — to get in their work, and the voices of the big guns, which, almost incessantly for the last few weeks, had hurled shells across the intervening distance between the two lines of trenches, were stilled....

Clair W. Hayes is a published author of children\'s books and young adult books.

CHAPTER I. TERRIBLE ODDS. “Feels pretty good to be back in harness, doesn’t it, Hal?” asked Chester, as, accompanied by a small body of men, they rode slowly along. “Great!” replied his friend enthusiastically. “And it looks as if we were to see action soon.” “Yes, it does look that way.” The little body of British troopers, only forty-eight of them all told, with Hal Paine and Chester Crawford as their guides, were reconnoitering ten miles in advance of the main army along the river Marne in the great war between Germany and the allied armies. For several hours they had been riding slowly without encountering the enemy, when, suddenly, as the little squad topped a small hill and the two boys gained an unobstructed view of the little plain below, Hal pulled up his horse with an exclamation. Quickly he threw up his right hand and the little troop came to an abrupt halt. “Germans!” he said laconically. “And thousands of ’em,” said Chester. “They haven’t seen us yet. What is best to be done?” The answer to this question came from the enemy. Several flashes of fire broke out along the German front, and the boys involuntarily ducked their heads as bullets sped whizzing past them. “Well, they have seen us now,” said Hal; then turning to the men: “To the woods,” pointing with his sword to a dense forest on his right. Rapidly the little body of men disappeared among the trees. “Up in the trees,” ordered Hal, “and pick them off as they come!” Swiftly the troopers leaped from their horses and climbed up among the branches. Here all could easily command a view of the oncoming German horde. Rapidly the enemy advanced, firing volley after volley as they approached; then, at a word from Hal, the British poured forth their answer. And such an answer! Before the aim of these few British troopers, accounted among the best marksmen in the world, the Teuton cavalry went down in heaps. There was a perceptible slackening in the speed of the approaching horsemen. Then, as the English continued their work, firing with machine-like precision and deadly accuracy, the Germans came to a halt. “What are they stopping for?” cried Chester. “There are enough of them to overwhelm us!” “I believe they fear a trap,” replied Hal. “They are afraid we are trying to ambush them with a larger force. We must keep up the delusion if we expect to get away.” So saying, he ordered the men to the ground, and the little force advanced to the extreme edge of the woods. So far not a man had been even wounded, for the Germans, unable to see that their foe had climbed into the trees, had aimed too low. From the edge of the woods the British poured several volleys, and then, as the enemy finally began an advance, they retreated slowly, firing as they flitted from tree to tree. Apparently, Hal had rightly guessed the cause of the enemy’s indecision. They advanced slowly and warily; and when they finally gained the edge of the woods there was not a Briton in sight; but from further in among the trees the leaden messengers of death still struck the Germans, and man after man fell in his tracks. Now the man nearest Chester threw up his arms and with a cry fell to the ground. The lad made as if to go to his assistance, but Hal stayed him with a word, and the little body of English continued their retreat, firing as they went. Suddenly the pursued emerged from the woods into the open. A distance of half a mile lay between them and the next clump of trees. In this half a mile there was nothing that would afford shelter; and the Germans were approaching nearer every second. Hal did not hesitate. “We shall have to make a dash for it!” he cried. “One more volley, men, and then run!” One more death-dealing volley was delivered at close range, and then the little troop of English turned and fled....

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Clair W. Hayes is a published author of children\'s books and young adult books.

THE PICTURE. H, Madge, just stay as you are; there—your head a little more turned this way." "But, Raymond, I can\'t possibly make the toast if I do." "Never mind the toast; I shan\'t be many minutes," said the boy who was painting in the window, while he mixed some colours in an excited, eager manner. "The fire is very hot. Mayn\'t I move just to one side?" "No; it is the way that the firelight is falling on your hair and cheek that I want. Please, Madge; five minutes." "Very well," and the patient little sister dropped the toasting-fork, and folded her hands in her lap, with the scorching blaze playing on her forehead and cheek, and sparkling in her deep brown eyes. The boy went on with rapid, bold strokes, while a smile played over his compressed lips as he glanced at Madge every few moments. "The very thing I have been watching for—that warm, delicious glow—that red light slanting over her face;—glorious!" and he shook back the hair from his forehead, and worked on unconscious of how the minutes flew by. "Raymond, it is very hot." "There—one moment more, please, Madge." One minute—two—three, fled by, and then Raymond threw down his brush and came over to his sister\'s side. "Poor little Madge," and he laid his hand coaxingly on her silky hair. "Perhaps you have made my fortune." This was some small consolation for having roasted her face, and she went to look at the picture. "I\'m not as pretty as that, Raymond." "FACES IN THE FIRE." "Well, artists may idealize a little; may they not?" "Yes. What is this to be called?" "Faces in the Fire." "Shall you sell it?" "I shall try." THE COTTAGE IN THE COUNTRY. Raymond Leicester had not a prepossessing face; it was heavy, and to a casual observer, stupid. He had dark hazel eyes, shaded by an overhanging brow and rather sweeping eyelashes; a straight nose, and compressed lips, hiding a row of defective teeth; a high massive forehead and light hair, which was seldom smooth, but very straight. This he had a habit of tossing back with a jerk when he was excited; and sometimes the dull eyes flashed with a very bright sparkle in them when he caught an idea which pleased him,—for Raymond was an artist, not by profession, but because it was in his heart to paint, and he could not help himself. He was sixteen now, and Madge was twelve. Madge was the only thing in the world that he really cared for, except his pictures. Their mother was dead, Madge could hardly remember her; but Raymond always had an image before him of a tender, sorrowful woman, who used to hold him in her arms, and whisper to him, while the hot tears fell upon his baby cheeks,—"You will comfort me, my little son. You will take care of your mother and of baby Madge." And he remembered the cottage in the country where they had lived, the porch where the rose-tree grew, the orchard and the moss-grown well, the tall white lilies in the garden that stood like fairies guarding the house, and the pear-tree that was laden with fruit. He remembered how his mother had sat in that porch with him, reading stories to him out of the Bible, but often lifting her sad pale face and looking down the road as if watching for some one....

"What I would like to know," said Frank Chadwick, "is just how long England intends to put up with the activities of the German submarines in the waters surrounding the British Isles." "How long?" echoed Jack Templeton. "Surely you know that England is already conducting a vigorous campaign against them." "I don\'t seem to have heard anything of such a campaign," returned Frank dryly; "but another big liner was torpedoed and sunk off the coast of Ireland yesterday. What are we going to do about it? That\'s what I want to know." "I\'ll tell you a little something you don\'t seem to know," said Jack. "In the last thirty days, in the neighborhood of a hundred German submarines have disappeared—sunk or captured—no one seems to know which. Nevertheless, it is a fact. Through diplomatic channels word has been received in London that a large number have failed to return to their bases. The German government is much disturbed." "Where have they gone?" asked Frank, with some surprise. "I don\'t know. Nobody knows—unless, perhaps, a few high government officials. They have just naturally disappeared—vanished." "How do you know all this?" "I happened to hear Lord Hastings discussing it with Mr. Churchill while you were out the other day." --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.

Clair W. Hayes is a published author of children\'s books and young adult books.