There were the great ships, and beyond them the cape, and beyond that the hovering dirigibles, and beyond them the great bird seaplanes, and beyond them the background of a rose-colored sky, and beyond that the memories of home.

III

SILHOUETTES OF SACRIFICE

Every day for two months, February and March, sometimes when the roads were hub-deep with mud, and sometimes when the roads were a glare of ice and snow and driving the big truck was dangerous work, we passed the crucifix.

It was the guide-post where four roads forked.  One road went up to the old monastery, where we had, in one corner, a canteen.  Another road led down toward divisional headquarters.  Another road led into Toul, and a fourth led directly toward the German lines, over which, if we had driven far enough, as we started to do one night in the dark, we could have gone straight to Berlin.

The first night that I went “down the line” alone with a truck-load I was trembling inside about directions.  The divisional man said:  “Go straight out the east gate of the city, down the road until you come to the cross at the forks of the road.  Take the turn to the left.”

But even with these directions I was not certain.  I was frankly afraid, for I knew that a wrong turn would take me into German lines.  I did not like that prospect at all.

I drove the big car cautiously through the night.  There were no lights, and at best it was not easy driving.  This night was impenetrably dark.  When I came to the cross-roads I stopped the machine and climbed down.  I wanted to make sure of the directions, and they were printed in French on the sign-board that was near the crucifix about which he had told me.

I got my directions all right, and then, moved by curiosity, flashed my pocket-light on the figure of the bronze Christ on the crucifix there at the crossroads guide-post.  There was an inscription.  Laboriously finding each small letter with my flash in the darkness, my engine panting off to the side of the road, I spelled it all out: 

“Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?”

Off in the near distance the star-shells were lighting up No Man’s Land.  “Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?” they seemed to say to me.

I climbed into the machine and started on.

Suddenly I heard the purring of Boche planes overhead.  One gets so that he can distinguish the difference between French planes and Boche planes.  These were Boche planes, and they were bent on mischief.  Then the search-lights began to play in the sky over me.  But they were too late, for hardly had I started on my way when “Boom! boom! boom! boom!” one after another, ten bombs were dropped, and as each dropped it lighted up the surrounding country like a great city in flames.

As I saw this awful desecration of the land the phrase of the cross seemed to sing in unison with the beating of the engine of my truck: