Part 52 (1/2)

”News? The same as usual. They are sh.e.l.ling Stra.s.sbourg with mortars; the city is on fire. Six hundred women and children left the city; the International Aid Society demanded it.”

Presently he added: ”A big battle was fought this morning along the Meuse. You can hear the guns yet.”

”I have heard them for an hour,” replied Jack.

They listened. Far to the south the steady intonation of the cannon vibrated, a vague sustained rumour, no louder, no lower, always the same monotonous measure, flowing like the harmony of flowing water, pa.s.sionless, changeless, interminable.

”Along the Meuse?” asked Jack, at last.

”Yes.”

”Sedan?”

”Yes, Sedan.”

The slow convoy was pa.s.sing now; the creak of wheel and the harsh sc.r.a.pe of axle and spring grated in their ears; the wind changed; the murmur of the cannonade was blotted out in the trample of hoofs, the thud of marching infantry.

Jack swung his horse's head and drove out across the boundary into the French road. On every side crowded the teams, where the low mutter of the wounded rose from the foul straw; on every side pressed the red-legged infantry, rifles _en bandouliere_, shrunken, faded caps pushed back from thin, sick faces.

”My soldiers!” murmured Lorraine, sitting up straight. ”Oh, the pity of it!--the pity!”

An officer pa.s.sed, followed by a bugler. He glanced vacantly at Jack, then at Lorraine. Another officer came by, leading his patient, bleeding horse, over which was flung the dusty body of a brother soldier.

The long convoy was moving more swiftly now; the air trembled with the cries of the mangled or the hoa.r.s.e groans of the dying.

A Sister of Mercy--her frail arm in a sling--crept on her knees among the wounded lying in a straw-filled cart. Over all, louder, deeper, dominating the confusion of the horses and the tramp of men, rolled the cannonade. The pulsating air, deep-laden with the monstrous waves of sound, seemed to beat in Lorraine's face--the throbbing of her heart ceased for a moment. Louder, louder, nearer, more terrible sounded the thunder, breaking in long, majestic reverberations among the nearer hills; the earth began to shake, the sky struck back the iron-throated echoes--sounding, resounding, from horizon to horizon.

And now the troops around them were firing as they advanced; sheeted mist lashed with lightning enveloped the convoy, through which rang the tremendous clang of the cannon. Once there came a momentary break in the smoke--a gleam of hills, and a valley black with men--a glimpse of a distant town, a river--then the stinging smoke rushed outward, the little flames leaped and sank and played through the fog. Broad, level bands of mist, fringed with flame, cut the pasture to the right; the earth rocked with the stupendous cannon shock, the ripping rifle crashes chimed a dreadful treble.

There was a bridge there in the mist; an iron gate, a heavy wall of masonry, a glimpse of a moat below. The crowded wagons, groaning under their load of death, the dusty infantry, the officers, the startled horses, jammed the bridge to the parapets.

Wheels splintered and cracked, long-lashed whips snapped and rose, horses strained, recoiled, leaped up, and fell scrambling and kicking.

”Open the gates, for G.o.d's sake!” they were shouting.

A great sh.e.l.l, moaning in its flight above the smoke, shrieked and plunged headlong among the wagons. There came a glare of blinding light, a velvety white cloud, a roar, and through the gates, no longer choked, rolled the wagon-train, a frantic stampede of men and horses. It caught the dog-cart and its occupants with it; it crushed the horse, seized the vehicle, and flung it inside the gates as a flood flings driftwood on the rocks.

Jack clung to the reins; the wretched horse staggered out into the stony street, fell, and rolled over stone-dead.

Jack turned and caught Lorraine in both arms, and jumped to a sidewalk crowded with soldiers, and at the same time the crush of wagons ground the dog-cart to splinters on the cobble-stones. The crowd choked every inch of the pavement--women, children, soldiers, shouting out something that seemed to move the ma.s.ses to delirium. Jack, his arm around Lorraine, beat his way forward through the throng, murmuring anxiously, ”Are you hurt, Lorraine?

Are you hurt?” And she replied, faintly, ”No, Jack. Oh, what is it? What is it?”

Soldiers blocked his way now, but he pushed between them towards a cleared s.p.a.ce on a slope of gra.s.s. Up the slope he staggered and out on to a stone terrace above the crush of the street. An officer stood alone on the terrace, pulling at some ropes around a pole on the parapet.

”What--what is that?” stammered Lorraine, as a white flag shot up along the flag-staff and fluttered drearily over the wall.

”Lorraine!” cried Jack; but she sprang to the pole and tore the ropes free. The white flag fell to the ground.

The officer turned to her, his face whiter than the flag. The crowd in the street below roared.