A FRENCH HERO.
"Can they ever do it?"
Undoubtedly this was what was filling the heart and brain of each of
those boys as they watched the living stream of French rapidly draw
nearer the river ford commanded by that destructive German battery, and
which thus far they had not been able to reach and silence with their
own guns and aeroplane attacks.
The time between the uprising of these troops and their reaching the
shallow water of the ford was of very brief duration. Undoubtedly the
French had crept up just as close as the nature of the ground would
permit them to go unseen.
Still to those anxious hearts on the little rise it must have seemed
dreadfully long, owing to the strain they were laboring under. As yet
the Germans had held their fire, for not a man of the attacking force
had fallen save when they stumbled, only to rise again.
Possibly Hanky Panky may even have deluded himself with the hope that
when it came to a pinch the Germans had deemed it best to give up their
desperate intention of defending the ford to the last gasp. Josh knew
better, because he understood the holdfast nature of the Teutons better
than did his chums. And he was mentally figuring on just when the bitter
blast would break forth that was going to mow down those valiant men
with the red trousers and the blue tunics rushing pell-mell forward with
such ringing huzzas.
At least the men separated as they ran, doubtless following the
instructions of their officers. This was bound to be of advantage to
them, since the fire of the enemy could not cut them down as ripe grain
falls before the scythe of the reaper or the revolving knives of the
modern mowing machine.
"Some may manage to get across anyhow!" Josh was telling himself, as
though seeking comfort.
Now the first of the French had reached the bank. They leaped
impetuously into the water and hastened to start across. As they
advanced of course they waded deeper, and their pace lessened. Was this
just what those cool, calculating German gunners were waiting for? Rod
expected to hear the first crash at any second now. How his heart went
out to those gallant fellows splashing through the river at the disputed
ford. He felt as though he must shut his eyes so as not to see what was
fated to occur; but for the life of him he could not. Some power beyond
his control forced him to continue to crouch there and stare with all
his might and main, as though he must omit no small detail of the
amazing picture.
The ford was now fairly alive with moving figures, all pushing hurriedly
toward the other shore, where not a German could be seen. The bushes in
that quarter lay there as unassuming as though every one did not conceal
a foe with ready rifle waiting for the order to come to pour in a
terrific fire.
That was the picture Rod would often recall in days to come. It was
stamped on his memory in imperishable colors--the bright sunlight, the
hovering clouds of billowy powder smoke, the gay uniforms of the
charging Frenchmen, the sombre, oppressive silence hovering over the
opposite bank of the river--all these things had a part in the
never-to-be-forgotten scene.
Then it seemed as though some volcano, long held in check, must have
burst the confines of Nature in a mighty convulsion. From several points
there came the thunderous discharge of batteries, while a thousand
rifles added their sharper notes to the dreadful chorus.
And the men in the river, what of them?
Scores could be seen to throw up their arms and disappear, the current
doubtless bearing them away. Others were forced to turn and start back
to the shore they had so recently left, having been wounded more or less
severely. Gaps appeared in the various groups, showing what terrible
carnage those guns in the leading German battery had already executed.
Still the forward movement had not been as yet effectually stopped.
Those who were thus far uninjured kept pushing ahead, even though they
must realize that it was into the very jaws of death they advanced. And
Rod found himself filled with sincere admiration for the bravery they
exhibited. He had read of similar things many times, but seeing with his
own eyes an exhibition of such wonderful valor was an entirely different
matter.
Oh! how he hoped and prayed that in the end some of those Frenchmen
might manage to reach the other shore which they aspired to gain. But
when the German guns continued to roar and send torrents of iron hail
into the ranks of the adventurous French it began to look very much as
though not a single man might be able to accomplish the passage of the
disputed ford.
Hanky Panky could stand it no longer. He rolled over and hid his face,
while thrusting the forefinger of each hand as deeply into his ears as
he could, evidently with the hope of shutting out all that dreadful
noise.
Not so Josh, who, though very white, and trembling with excitement,
still continued to stand there, drinking it all in eagerly, as one might
something that was fairly intoxicating his senses.
The war drama did not last long. Under that murderous fire the French
soldiers in the water fairly melted away. Some managed to return safely
to the side of the stream held by their comrades, but by far the larger
number seemed to have vanished. Further down the river they could be
seen, some of them struggling in the water, with others floating along
significantly still.
The firing had almost ceased by now, because there was no further need
of wasting precious ammunition on the part of the provident Germans. The
charge of the impetuous French had been stopped, and if they still meant
to carry the ford they must gather what was left of their force for a
second attempt.
Still, while that one battery covered the crossing it seemed madness for
them to risk the annihilation of their men in another effort.
"It was a fluke, after all!" Josh was calling out in bitter
disappointment; "they never had a chance to get over while that awful
battery covered the ford. Oh! how I wish a part of them at least had
managed to get across. Look, Rod, as I live, one lone Frenchman did
succeed in crossing. You can see him crawling along in the scrub there,
his red breeches betraying his every movement. Just a single one of all
that brave lot, and he'll be either killed right away or made a
prisoner, like as not!"
Somehow both boys found themselves compelled to watch the progress of
the crawling Frenchman. He seemed only a grain of sand on the seashore
compared with the mighty forces employed on both sides, and yet at that
particular moment he occupied the centre of the stage in their minds.
Without knowing why this should be so they continued to follow his
movements with their eyes.
Then suddenly Josh broke out again. He could make himself heard because
there was little if any desultory firing now; the Germans were satisfied
with the execution already accomplished, while the mortified French held
their fire until further plans could be settled upon.
"Rod, what do you reckon that madman means to try and do?" he asked
excitedly; "see how he keeps on creeping straight along toward where
that battery is hidden behind some sort of barricade. Honest to
goodness, now, I believe he means to tackle the entire business all by
himself; just like a Frenchman for desperate bravery. He must be crazy
to think he can do anything unaided, Rod."
"Don't be too sure of that, Josh," the other told him immediately;
"unless I miss my guess that man has got some project he's meaning to
put through, come what will."
"Oh! now I see what you mean, Rod; yes, as sure as anything he's
carrying something in his hand, and I do believe it must be a bomb that
he's meaning to throw over the barricade on to that battery! It's a
great scheme, Rod, but with not one chance in ten to succeed."
With strained eyes they watched the creeping figure with the telltale
red trousers that added so greatly to his peril. Shortly afterwards Josh
broke out again in what might be called a lament.
"Too bad, too bad, Rod, they've glimpsed him at last, just as I was
afraid they'd be doing. You can see some of their sharpshooters further
back are sending a rain of balls in that direction, for they make little
puffs of dust fly up everywhere they strike. He's bound to be hit in a
jiffy now. Oh! see that, would you?"
There could be no question but that one or more of the plunging bullets
had reached their intended mark, for the creeping soldier had rolled
over as if in agony.
"He's done for, poor chap, just as I expected!" cried the sympathizing
Josh, while even Hanky Panky once more dared to lift his head and look;
but almost immediately afterwards Josh changed his tune from despair to
one of new hope--"no, he was only badly injured that time, and not
killed, you see, because now he's going on again. Oh! I take off my hat
to that gallant man! There never lived a braver chap, never; and now I
do hope he'll get close enough up to fire that bomb he's carrying along
with him on to that battery."
Perhaps the marksmen who were amusing themselves in trying to pick
another foeman off did not realize what the French soldier really meant
to do. Had they grasped the full situation a volley would surely have
finished his career, and left his self-appointed mission unfulfilled.
Josh kept tabs of his movements. He even knew when again the crawling
figure gave signs of having been struck once more by some of that leaden
hail. This he could tell from the way in which the heroic fellow writhed
as in pain.
"But, Rod, they just _can't_ keel him over, don't you see!" cried
the admiring Josh, clapping his hands in his excitement; "twice now
they've hit him, but he won't give up the game. Why, he has to drag that
left leg after him all the while, showing where he's been hit. Oh! what
wouldn't I give for a chance to help him out; but it's no use; he's just
got to do it by himself!"
The seconds went on. Perhaps other eyes were following the slow and
painful progress of that lone French hero as he crawled along foot by
foot, suffering dreadfully no doubt with every movement, yet never for a
minute dismayed. Perhaps the eyes of the French commander-in-chief may
have been glued on him through his powerful glasses; and realizing what
the success of the daring soldier's mission might mean for a second
assault on the defenders of the ford, his heart would begin to pick up
renewed hope the closer the private crept to the battery.
There could be no question as to the unflinching spirit that dwelt in
the breast of that particular soldier. Rod remembered many things he had
read in ancient history, but somehow they all paled into insignificance
when with his own eyes he saw this wonderful exhibition of valor
unparalleled. The heroic defense of the Pass of Thermopylae; the swimming
of the Hellespont by Leander, yes, and other instances made famous in
the annals of history had once struck the boy as wonders in their way,
but somehow seeing things was a great deal more impressive than reading
about similar happenings.
By now the French adventurer had managed to get close up to the place
where the terrible offending battery was hidden. Doubtless he could see
much better than the boys at a distance, and knew where it would be
possible to throw his bomb so as to accomplish the maximum of damage.
"He's nearly there, Rod, and oh! I'm scared almost out of my seven
senses for fear they'll get him before he can give that thing a whirl
over. There, see, he's trying to get up on his knees now, though it's a
hard thing for him to do, because he's so weak from loss of blood, I
reckon. Bully boy! now you're going to take a fling, and here's wishing
you the greatest of luck!"
The brave soldier had indeed managed to raise himself part way and with
all his reserve strength hurl the bomb he carried over to where the
battery lay concealed.