Part 5 (2/2)
HE HEARS ABOUT ALSACE AND RECEIVES A PRESENT
That was a good lesson for Tom and a practical demonstration of the wisdom of Mr. Conne's advice. Not that he had exactly gone outside his duties to indulge his appet.i.te for adventure, but he had had a good scare which reminded him what a suspicious and particular old gentleman Uncle Sam is in wartime.
The officer, who had thus frightened him and, in Tom's opinion, cast a slur upon the Scouts, made matters worse by scrutinizing him (or so he fancied) whenever they met upon the deck. But that was all there was to it, and the captain's mess boy did his allotted tasks each day, and stood for no end of jollying from the soldiers, who called him ”Whitey”
and ”Eats,” because he carried the captain's tray back and forth.
This banter he shared with Frenchy, who took it as good-humoredly as Tom himself, when he understood it, and when he didn't Tom explained it to him.
”Ziss--how you call--_can_ ze Kaiser?” he would inquire politely.
”That means putting him in a tin can,” said Tom.
”Ze tin can? Ze--how you call--wipe ze floor wiz him?”
”They both mean the same thing,” said Tom. ”They mean beating him--good and thorough--kind of.”
Frenchy did not seem to understand but he would wave his hands and say with great vehemence, ”Ah, ze Kaiser, he must be defeat! Ze wretch!”
Frenchy's name was Armande Lateur. He was an American by adoption and though he had spent much time among the people of his own nationality in Canada, he was strong for Uncle Sam with a pleasant, lingering fondness for the region of the ”blue Alsatian mountains,” whence he had come.
It was from Frenchy that Tom learned much which (if he had only known it) was to serve him well in the perilous days to come.
The day before they entered the danger zone the two, secure for a little while from the mirthful artillery fire of the soldiers, had a little chat which Tom was destined long to remember.
They were sitting at dusk in the doorway of the unoccupied guardhouse which ordinarily was the second cabin smoking-room.
”Alsace-Lorraine is part of Germany,” said Tom, his heavy manner of talking contrasting strangely with Frenchy's excitability. ”So you were a German citizen before you got to be an American; and your people over there must be German citizens.”
”Zey are Zherman _slaves_--yess! Citizens--no! See! When still I am a leetle boy, I must learn ze Zherman. I must go to ze Zherman school. My pappa have to pay fine when hees cheeldren speak ze French. My little seester when she sing ze Ma.r.s.ellaise--she must go t'ree days to ze Zherman zhail!”
”You mean to prison?” Tom asked. ”Just for singing the Ma.r.s.ellaise! Why, the hand-organs play that where I live!”
”Ah, yess--Americ'! In Alsace, even before ze war--you sing ze Ma.r.s.ellaise, t'ree days you go to ze zhail. You haf' a book printed in ze French--feefty marks you must pay!” He waived his cigarette, as if it might have been a deadly sword, and hurled it over the rail.
”After Germany took Alsace-Lorraine away from France,” said Tom, unmoved, ”and began treating the French people that way, I should think lots of 'em would have moved to France.”
”Many--yess; but some, no. My pappa had a veenyard. Many years ziss veenyard is owned by my people--my anceestors. Even ze village is name for my family--Lateur. You know ze Franco-Prussian War--when Zhermany take Alsace-Lorraine--yess?”
”Yes,” said Tom.
”My pappa fight for France. Hees arm he lose. When it is over and Alsace is lost, he haf' lost more than hees arm. Hees spirit! Where can he go?
Away from ze veenyard? Here he ha.s.s lived--always.”
”I understand,” said Tom.
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