THE BATTLE
When the vast German army smashed a way through Belgium and commenced
that historic rush toward apparently doomed Paris, few there were who
were bold enough to believe the French capital could be saved. History
would repeat itself, Paris fall to the invading hosts, and, having
subdued poor France, the Kaiser’s victorious legions could next turn on
Russia and repeat the lesson in preparedness.
Once across the French border, and following out long-since-made plans
of campaign, the Germans separated into four tremendous streams of men
and guns, all sweeping along prearranged lines and heading for Paris.
One of these was held up before Verdun, which fortress was fated to
stand in the way of German success to the end of time, even as Gibraltar
towers at the entrance of the Mediterranean. Three other living streams
forged ahead, pushing aside all opposition on the part of the French
forces, as well as the comparatively small British army that fought them
gallantly, though unsuccessfully, at Mons and other places.
As these immense masses of armed troops approached the region of the
French capital, the desperation of the defenders increased. But,
fortunately for them, there was a man who kept his head through the
near-panic and never lost faith. This man was Joffre, the same
commander-in-chief who, in after days, continuously baffled the efforts
of the most astute German generals to again take the initiative in their
hands, after they lost it at the great five-day battle of the Marne.
It was to fall to the lot of General Von Kluck, more than any of his
fellows, to break through the line of French defense and start the siege
of Paris. Those wonderful mortars that had smashed the steel-domed forts
of Liege and Namur in Belgium would most likely have made short work of
the outlying defences of the French capital, once they came within long
range.
But something happened.
It may never be fully known to the outside world just how the
wonderfully well-arranged plans of the Germans met with a hitch, or why
the army of Von Kluck, after getting so close to Paris, suddenly veered
aside toward the west and commenced to pass by on another tack. Depend
upon it, he had good reasons for so doing.
This, then, was the situation on that September afternoon when Thad and
his three chums stood on the low hill and watched the invading army
coiling over the ridge like a never-ending nest of writhing serpents.
The Germans had no other choice save to attack. Unless they could break
through the cordon that Joffre had managed to stretch before the city
they must continue their great cart-wheel sweep around toward the Marne,
and with the French pushing them on, keep going back toward the border
again, perhaps in what would be next door to a rout.
On the other hand, could they only thrust the French aside here, a gap
would open in the defences through which access could be obtained to the
inner lines; and a glorious victory loom up before them.
Gradually the battle spread before the eyes of the little audience of
scouts on that isolated pinnacle two miles away. They could see charging
masses flung back by the fierceness of the fire from hundreds of machine
guns, together with others of larger bore. The ground must be covered
with dead and wounded, still the human tide continued to pour over the
low ridge like the water passing down the sluice leading to the wheel of
a grist mill.
“I never dreamed men could be so reckless of life and death,” Allan
shouted in Thad’s ear, for ordinary talking was of course next to
impossible in all that horrid din. “They seem bent on breaking through
at all costs. I think it must be they mean to tire the French out in
this one spot by continuous fighting. Then again perhaps the ammunition
may run low, and that will give them the chance they want.”
“Oh! it’s just awful, awful!” declared Bumpus, putting a hand before his
eyes as if to shut out the sight; though a short time later found him
staring as hard as ever, such was the dreadful fascination of the
ever-changing war picture.
The German guns were trying to blast a way through at the same time.
Here, there and everywhere the boys could see shells bursting. Often
these threw up geysers of earth and stones as they exploded after
burying themselves in the ground; and no doubt vast craters began to
appear all along the French front, to remind those who saw them at a
later date how terribly the modern machinery of war worked.
As time passed it became plainly evident that the French line was
holding sturdily. Somehow this apparent fact seemed to give Thad and his
chums a feeling as of relief. While they were none of them as yet wholly
committed to the cause of the enemies of the Teuton race, at the same
time they felt a deep sympathy for the French. Besides, most American
boys always feel for the under dog in a fight, and that was what France
seemed when pitted against the enormous resources of men and munitions
and guns controlled by the Germans.
“I guess it’s going to be a sort of draw for today, after all,”
suggested Giraffe, as the sun sank lower, and the battle still
continued, with neither side seeming to make any perceptible advance
worth mentioning.
“But since it was the Kaiser who attacked,” Allan went on to say
positively, “it must be set down as a defeat for the Germans that they
failed to carry their point. And depend on it, the French will be nerved
for greater things tomorrow. They have proved that they can hold the
enemy up; and that will give them courage to attack in turn. Am I right,
Thad?”
All of the boys were tired under the strain, but already they could
detect signs telling them that the fighting would soon be discontinued,
for that day at least. The Germans had been beaten back again and again,
no matter how they varied the form of attack. If they gained small
advantages in some sectors it was to lose in others. During the night
doubtless hurried councils of war would be held, and by the time another
dawn broke the battle, if continued at all, would develop upon some new
basis.
Gradually the firing dwindled down until as the sun sank out of sight,
save for the regular booming of certain guns that had been given a
special mission to carry out, the myriad batteries had ceased
operations.
Night would soon be falling on that dreadful field. The boys could
easily picture some of the scenes that must be taking place there, as
Red Cross attendants with stretchers stumbled among the piles of dead
and wounded, seeking those most in need of succor, while all around them
arose groans and calls for water.
However, about this time their own condition demanded attention. They
had been given a small extra portion of food while with the French,
enough to stave off hunger to some degree. Thad proposed that they leave
their elevated post and seek a spot further down in the valley, where
they might stay until day came again.
The necessity of passing a night in the open had little terror for any
of those scouts. Many times in the past had they camped out when the
conditions were not half as favorable as now. Fortunately the weather
was quite warm, and consequently they would not miss the blankets to
which they were accustomed when in camp.
Once down on the level, they entered a patch of woods and looked for a
place to throw themselves on the ground before the night closed in
fully. The moon was just past the full stage, and would rise after a
short interval, though clouds had gathered overhead, and a condition of
semi-darkness might be looked for.
Finding what promised to afford them a fairly comfortable camping place
for the night, they commenced to eat the food that their friends in the
French camp had so kindly provided. Sitting there they could
occasionally hear some belated motor working its passage up the hill not
far distant. Then every little while would come a savage burst of firing
from some quarter. Possibly a belated movement of troops on one side or
the other suggested a surprise attack, and this caused the outburst from
quick-firing guns.
Bumpus had managed to choke down the dry food. He remembered about that
spring, and was haunted by thoughts of cold clear water trickling down
his parched throat.
“Guess I’ll go along over and get a drink,” he remarked; “anybody else
want to keep me company?”
It turned out that all the rest of them had been ahead of him, and were
not in need of a fresh supply just then.
“Keep your wits about you, Bumpus,” warned Allan; “it’s getting dark,
you see, and of old we know what a great fellow you always were to lose
yourself when there was half a chance.”
“Yes, _please_ don’t stray away, Bumpus,” urged Giraffe indolently, as
he sprawled there at his ease on the turf; “it’d be rough on the lot of
us now if after a hard day’s tramp we had to start out and scour the
woods around here to find you.”
Bumpus snorted with disdain.
“Huh! don’t you worry about me, Giraffe,” he remarked cuttingly. “I
wasn’t hatched yesterday. I’ve picked up a _little_ intelligence since
we were up in Maine, you must remember. And I’m not going to get lost;
just put that in your pipe and smoke it, will you?”
With that he stalked off, and started toward the quarter where Thad had
told him he would find the spring. Bumpus was never more sure of
anything in his whole life than that he could never lose himself under
such simple conditions as existed; and yet, strange as it may seem, that
was just what he did manage to do.