Part 13 (1/2)

The bullets struck around them, and then among them. One aide fell from his cycle, and lay dead in the road, two more were wounded, but two hundred thousand men, their artillery blazing death over their heads, went on straight at the mouths of a thousand cannon.

Companies and regiments were swept away, but there was no check. Nor did the other French armies, the huge links in the chain, stop. A feeling of victory had swept along the whole gigantic battle front. They were fighting for Paris, for their country, for the soil which they tended, alive, and in which they slept, dead, and just at the moment when everything seemed to have been lost they were saving all. The heroic age of France had come again, and the Third Republic was justifying the First.

The battle deepened and thickened to an extraordinary degree, as the s.p.a.ce between the two fronts narrowed. John for the first time saw the German troops without the aid of gla.s.ses. They were mere outlines against a fiery horizon, reddened by the mouths of so many belching cannon, but they seemed to him to stand there like a wall.

Another giant sh.e.l.l burst near them, and two more members of the staff fell from their cycles, dead before they touched the ground. That convulsive shudder seized John again, but the crash of tremendous events was so rapid that fear and horror alike pa.s.sed in an instant. A piece of the same sh.e.l.l struck General Vaugirard's car and put it out of action at once. But the general leaped lightly to the ground, then swung his immense bulk across one of the riderless motor cycles and advanced with the surviving members of his staff. Imperturbable, he still swept the field with his gla.s.ses. Two aides were now sent to the right with messages, and a third, John himself, was despatched to the left on a similar errand.

It was John's duty to tell a regiment to bear in further to the left and close up a vacant spot in the line. He wheeled his cycle into a field, and then pa.s.sed between rows of grapevines. The regiment, its ranks much thinned, was now about a hundred yards away, but sh.e.l.l and bullets alike were sweeping the distance between.

Nevertheless, he rode on, his wheel b.u.mping over the rough ground, until he heard a rus.h.i.+ng sound, and then blank darkness enveloped him. He fell one way, and the motor cycle fell another.

CHAPTER V

SEEN FROM ABOVE

John's period of unconsciousness was brief. The sweep of air from a gigantic sh.e.l.l, pa.s.sing close, had taken his senses for a minute or two, but he leaped to his feet to find his motor cycle broken and puffing out its last breath, and himself among the dead and wounded in the wake of the army which was advancing rapidly. The turmoil was so vast, and so much dust and burned gunpowder was floating about that he was not able to tell where the valiant Vaugirard with the remainder of his staff marched. In front of him a regiment, cut up terribly, was advancing at a swift pace, and acting under the impulse of the moment he ran forward to join them.

When he overtook the regiment he saw that it had neither colonel, nor captains nor any other officers of high degree. A little man, scarcely more than a youth, his head bare, his eyes snapping fire, one hand holding aloft a red cap on the point of a sword, had taken command and was urging the soldiers on with every fierce shout that he knew. The men were responding. Command seemed natural to him. Here was a born leader in battle. John knew him, and he knew that his own prophecy had been fulfilled.

”Geronimo!” he gasped.

But young Bougainville did not see him. He was still shouting to the men whom he now led so well. The point of the sword, doubtless taken from the hand of some fallen officer, had pierced the red cap which was slowly sinking down the blade, but he did not notice it.

John looked again for his commander, but not seeing him, and knowing how futile it was now to seek him in all the fiery crush, he resolved to stay with the young Apache.

”Geronimo,” he cried, and it was the last time he called him by that name, ”I go with you!”

In all the excitement of the moment young Bougainville recognized him and something droll flashed in his eyes.

”Did I boast too much?” he shouted.

”You didn't!” John shouted back.

”Come on then! A big crowd of Germans is just over this hill, and we must smash 'em!”

John kept by his side, but Bougainville, still waving his sword, while the red cap sank lower and lower on the blade, addressed his men in terms of encouragement and affection.

”Forward, my children!” he shouted. ”Men, without fear, let us be the first to make the enemy feel our bayonets! Look, a regiment on the right is ahead of you, and another also on the left leads you! Faster!

Faster, my children!”

An angle of the German line was thrust forward at this point where a hill afforded a strong position. Bullets were coming from it in showers, but the Bougainville regiment broke into a run, pa.s.sed ahead of the others and rushed straight at the hill.

It was the first time that men had come face to face in the battle and now John saw the French fury, the enthusiasm and fire that Napoleon had capitalized and cultivated so sedulously. Shouting fiercely, they flung themselves upon the Germans and by sheer impact drove them back. They cleared the hill in a few moments, triumphantly seized four cannon and then, still shouting, swept on.

John found himself shouting with the others. This was victory, the first real taste of it, and it was sweet to the lips. But the regiment was halted presently, lest it get too far forward and be cut off, and a general striding over to Bougainville uttered words of approval that John could not hear amid the terrific din of so many men in battle--a million, a million and a half or more, he never knew.

They stood there panting, while the French line along a front of maybe fifty miles crept on and on. The French machine with the British wheels and springs cooperating, was working beautifully now. It was a match and more for their enemy. The Germans, witnessing the fire and dash of the French and feeling their tremendous impact, began to take alarm. It had not seemed possible to them in those last triumphant days that they could fail, but now Paris was receding farther and farther from their grasp.

John recovered a certain degree of coolness. The fire of the foe was turned away from them for the present, and, finding that the gla.s.ses thrown over his shoulder, had not been injured by his fall, he examined the battle front as he stood by the side of Bougainville. The country was fairly open here and along a range of miles the cannon in hundreds and hundreds were pouring forth destruction. Yet the line, save where the angle had been crushed by the rush of Bougainville's regiment, stood fast, and John shuddered at thought of the frightful slaughter, needed to drive it back, if it could be driven back at all.