A NARROW ESCAPE
It was an inspiring spectacle. The French field battery had done its
utmost to inflict more or less damage upon the advancing German hosts,
but evidently the time had come for discretion to take the part of
desperate valor.
They had no orders to stick it out until every gun was smashed or the
enemy had come swarming up to bayonet each reckless gunner. “Those who
fight and run away may live to fight another day”; and the policy of
these clever Frenchmen was to pester and annoy the oncoming invaders as
much as possible in order to delay their progress, since every hour
counted in the gathering of a force to defend Paris.
The boys hastened to step aside in order to let the galloping horses and
the swinging guns and caissons sweep past. Bumpus looked at the wild way
in which they were hastening along the dusty road and gave it up. It
would take a much better athlete than he professed to be to manage such
a thing as boarding one of those hurrying guns, even though they were
invited to climb aboard. If the others tried it he, Bumpus, would have
to keep going afoot, that was all.
But of course Thad had no such scheme in his mind.... Far in the rear he
had sighted a caisson on which there was but a lone Frenchman. Doubtless
his companion must have met with some catastrophe, one of the bursting
shells having “got him” in the wild flight.
The horses drawing this caisson did not seem capable of equalling the
speed displayed by the other animals. Perhaps they, too, had suffered
from particles of a bursting bomb, and, being sorely wounded, they could
not exert their customary strength.
The man was using a whip vigorously. Apparently he did not fancy being
left in the lurch by his mates, nor could it be pleasant to have all
those explosions taking place so near by.
Thad believed he saw a small chance, if only the driver displayed heart
enough to stop and allow poor Bumpus to climb aboard. He meant to do all
in his power to influence the man, and for that purpose commenced making
motions with his hands as the other drew near.
Of course it did not require any wonderful degree of sagacity to enable
the driver to understand what was wanted. Anybody would wish to get away
from that region if such a thing were at all possible. And, being a
Frenchman, and a gallant fellow in the bargain, what did he do but hold
his frightened horses in as he reached the spot where the four boys
stood in a bunch.
He also shouted something at them in French. They may not have known
just what the exact meaning of the few words were, but understood his
generous act. He was inviting them to get up beside him and have a ride.
Bumpus almost frantically climbed aboard amidst much grunting, which,
however, could not be heard, such was the terrific din all around them.
And hardly had he managed to get a seat than the driver whipped his
horses into another mad gallop.
Those boys would never forget that furious race. It was impressed on
their memories after a fashion that time could not efface. The straining
horses, speeding through the cloud of dust raised by the other units of
the field battery; the detonations of exploding shells, which still
continued to drop around them as though the unseen German gunners had
the range down to a fraction; the difficulty of keeping their seats on
the jumping caisson—all these things conspired to form a species of
excitement that kept their nerves tingling with a constant dread lest
something would suddenly happen to bring about disaster.
Once only through a miracle did they escape from death. A shell dropped
upon the road back of them not ten seconds after they had passed. Had
they been delayed just that length of time it must have blown caisson
and all aboard into atoms; for, of course, the ammunition in the chest
would also have exploded.
No one tried to talk, which was somewhat strange on the part of Giraffe,
who always wanted to be heard. With all that fierce jolting knocking the
wind out of them, even he realized the folly of wasting any breath.
Besides, it could do no good. They were in a position where the utmost
that was possible would be to grimly hold on and trust to good fortune
to presently carry them out of range of the German guns. Perhaps
presently, too, they might reach the advance line of the French army,
where they could hope to find shelter behind the bristling defense guns.
Down along the dusty road Thad stared. He fancied that he could see what
looked like a covered bridge crossing some branch of the river. Yes, now
the first gun was starting to pass over it, with the others, as well as
the caissons, following swiftly behind. And higher rose that billow of
dust, betraying their location to the eyes of the enemy doubtless
through field-glasses and by means of aerial scouts hovering aloft.
Thad saw that one gun was missing, and he discovered it alongside the
road almost at the same moment. Horses lay there with the shattered
carriage supporting the gun and a human leg protruding from underneath
the mass told of the terrible fate that had overwhelmed the driver. The
second man was not in sight, and Thad had a suspicion that he might have
been picked up by one of the other teams in passing.
Bumpus, too, caught a passing glimpse of this terrible sight, and his
face was lacking its customary rosy hue; still he had as much grit as
the next one when it came down to a showing, and uttered no sound to
indicate his dismay, only clinched his jaws together and set the muscles
of his fat cheeks as if summoning all his resolution to the fore.
They were now approaching the bridge.
Once across it and there was some hope that they might find themselves
in less peril. Surely there must be a limit to the range of the guns
that were sending all those bombs around them, and the stream might mark
this. Thad hoped so most certainly, as he mentally counted the seconds
that must elapse before they could gain the bridge.
The horses did not run as they should, and Thad knew they had been
injured, for there was a perceptible limp to the gait of both animals.
Only that constant lashing on the part of the driver caused them to keep
going; and even that must fail before a great while.
What would happen then he knew not. At the most, they would find
themselves no worse off than before they were taken aboard the caisson
by the obliging driver. Afoot they would have to seek some sort of
shelter and try to hide until that rain of shells had ceased.
Several times they had other narrow escapes. Once Giraffe gave a
perceptible start, and Thad saw him clap a hand to his shoulder. It gave
the scout leader a chill, for he, of course, believed the tall chum must
have received a wound that might prove more or less serious.
“Are you hit, Giraffe?” he shouted in the other’s ear, for the din made
talking in ordinary tones utterly out of the question.
“Oh, I guess it didn’t amount to much,” came the reply; “but something
struck me on the arm. Still, I can’t see any sign of blood.”
Thad himself took a look.
“Your coat sleeve is torn, Giraffe,” he told the other, “and I expect
you’ve had a wonderfully close shave of it. You’re in great luck, let me
tell you!”
Indeed, it even seemed as if the German gunners far away were
concentrating all their fire upon the vicinity of that covered bridge
across the stream, for the bursting shells were more numerous than ever.
It would be next door to a miracle if they were allowed to run the
gantlet unscathed. At any second something might happen, and Thad did
not like to imagine what this was apt to be like.
It would be only natural if all of the boys realized just then that they
had been overbold in trying to reach Paris from the northwest instead of
going on down the coast to Boulogne and approaching from the rear, where
they might only have met swarm of fugitives fleeing from the capital and
no German armies closing in.
Now they were drawing close to the bridge. The balance of the battery
had vanished beyond somewhere. No doubt they had a place in view where
another stand was likely to be made, with the idea of again opening fire
upon the enemy should he come within range of their guns.
Looking closely, Thad could see no sign of life around the bridge, and
yet somehow he seemed to have a queer suspicion that there was something
wrong about it, though if asked he could not have explained his feeling.
They were so close that in another minute the staggering horses must
have pounded upon the planks with their hoofs. Then came a staggering
blow. It seemed to stop the advance of the tired team as though they had
suddenly dashed against a barrier, such was the impact of air.
The bridge, where was it? A bewildering sweep of smoke and fitful
flashes of dimly seen flame; a rending of planks and beams, many of
which rose high in the air; a terrific din of crashing wood, and then,
only a great gap remained.
The bridge was gone!