Part 24 (1/2)
”Right! old man!” shouted Wharton, agreeing with him for once.
They were already retiring, and the field artillery was going with them.
But the deadly seventy-five millimeter guns were not idle, although they were withdrawing. They sent sh.e.l.l after sh.e.l.l, which hung low over the German ranks, and then burst in a whirlwind of steel fragments and splinters. Death was showered upon the gray ma.s.ses, but they never flinched, coming on steadily, with the deep German cheer, swelling now and then into thunder.
The battle was so near that the Strangers could no longer hear one another, although they shouted. Their company luckily had suffered little, but now the bullets began to search their ranks, and brave young Americans and brave young Englishmen gave up their lives under an alien flag.
John was conscious of neither elation nor despair. The excitement was too great. His heart hammered heavily against its walls, and the red mist before him deepened until it became a blazing glare. Then the rush of hoofs came again. The Uhlans had reformed and made a second charge.
The riflemen beat it off, and, still protecting the guns, joined the main French force.
But it was evident there that the French must retreat again. The powerful artillery of the Germans had cut their defenses to pieces. The earth was torn by the great sh.e.l.ls as if mining machinery had been at work, and the ground was covered with dead and wounded. Valor against numbers and long preparation was unavailing.
”If we don't go we're lost,” shouted Carstairs.
”And if we go today we can come back and fight another day!” said Wharton.
The French leader gathered together his army, beaten for a second time, and slowly retired across the hills. The French character here showed itself entirely different from what popular belief had made it. John saw no signs of panic. The battered brigades closed up and withdrew, turning a steady and resolute face to the enemy. Their deadly artillery continually swept the front of the advancing Germans, and at intervals their riflemen sent back withering volleys.
John's excitement did not abate. Again he loaded and fired his rifle, until its barrel grew hot in his hand. The tumult was fierce and deafening beyond all description. He shouted to his comrades and his comrades shouted to him, but none could hear the sound of a human voice.
The roar of the explosions was mingled without ceasing with the whining and shrieking of shrapnel and bullets.
Yet the retreating army defeated every attempt to close with it. The rifles and cannon mowed down the flankers to both right and left, and their powerful guns drove the pursuing center to a respectful distance.
Toward night they came to a higher range of hills spreading to such a distance that they could not be flanked, and, turning there, they sat down, and waited, confident of their position.
CHAPTER IX
THE RIDE OF THREE
The battle, including the fighting retreat, had lasted a long time and it had proved even to inexperienced John that the French force could not stand before the superior numbers of the Germans, and their tremendous equipment. And yet the French officers had shown much skill. They had inflicted great losses, they had drawn off all their artillery, and they had defeated every effort of their enemy to surround and destroy them.
John felt that not everything was lost as they sat down on the hills and began to fortify anew. There was no time for him to rest. He was only a private soldier, and, armed with a spade, he worked at a trench with all the strength and energy he could command. But his immediate friends of the Strangers were of no higher rank than himself and they were beside him engaged in the same task. ”I'm only a new soldier,” he said, ”but it seems to me we did pretty well to get off with our army and our guns.”
”So we did,” said Carstairs. ”I fancy the chief part of our occupation will be retreating until the British come up.”
”There it goes,” said Wharton. ”Every Englishman has a fatal disease.
You can never cure him of being an Englishman. If a million French and a hundred thousand English were to win a battle Carstairs would give all the credit of it to the hundred thousand English.”
”I'd give it to 'em, because it belonged to 'em. Keep your fool Yankee head down, Wharton. Didn't you hear that sh.e.l.l whistle?”
”I heard it, and I heard a dozen others too,” said John, who could not keep from s.h.i.+vering a little. ”Why do they keep on bothering us, when we're now in too strong a position to be attacked, and the night too is at hand?”
”Oh, you'll get used to it,” said Wharton. ”They won't attack tonight, but they want to keep us disturbed, to create terror among us, and then we'll be easier, when they do come again.”
”I don't hear the giant any more.”
”You mean the forty-two centimeter. I fancy it's far in the rear. They have to have roads on which to drag it, and then, so they say, it has to be placed in a concrete bed before they can fire it.”
”At any rate their fire is dying,” said Carstairs, ”and I'm jolly glad of it. I didn't get any sleep last night, and I want some tonight. I need it, after this back-breaking work.”