PREPARATIONS
At nine o'clock that evening all arrangements had been completed and
the final inspection held. The last letters were deposited at the
regimental post-office, a most solemn ceremony. Many a long thought
passed through the minds of the soldiers as they mailed what might be
their final messages to their loved ones.
"I don't like this business of hanging around," whispered Jacques in
Leon's ear. "I'd like to get started."
"So should I," agreed Leon. "It seems sort of weird standing here in
the darkness with thousands of men all about you, all waiting for the
same order that we are."
The night was clear and the stars were unusually brilliant. Not a
cloud appeared and the long lines of troops resting on their arms
looked like misshapen hedgerows in the faint light. The roar of the
French artillery came distinctly to the ears of these men who stood and
waited. Every man knew why it was that its activity was so greatly
increased that night. Their guns were playing a stream of metal death
on every yard and foot and inch of the opposing trenches. Not a spot
in the German lines but was being searched by these great mechanical
monsters.
"Listen!" warned Earl suddenly.
Nearby some man had started to sing the Marseillaise. Soon others
joined in and the chorus swelled as man after man lent his voice to
that stirring anthem. In a few moments every soldier present was
singing and even the roar of the great guns became faint and indistinct
as the thousands of throats chanted the great hymn of victory.
A thrill ran up and down Leon's spine. He used to regard the
Marseillaise as the national anthem and had often heard it sung without
any particular feeling. Since the war had started, however, it had
seemed different to him. As the soldiers sang it, biting out each word
sharp and short, it had become a battle-cry. He realized how terribly
in earnest these Frenchmen were who stood there in the darkness and
hurled defiance at their German foes.
At length the order came to move. Slowly the column moved out of the
camp and turning to the right marched down the road leading to the
trenches. On both the right and left could be seen other columns
moving in parallel lines and in the same direction.
"Who are they?" whispered Earl.
"I can't tell," replied Jacques in answer to his comrade's query.
"Both regiments are attached to our division though, I think."
Slowly and at the same pace the three columns advanced. The men were
unusually quiet and none of the customary bantering was present.
Perhaps every man was busied with the thought of what was going to
happen to him at quarter past nine the next day.
"This seems like a funeral march," exclaimed Leon in a low voice.
"And I don't like it, either," added Earl.
"Wait," cautioned Jacques. "Everyone's spirits will revive in a few
minutes. The strain will wear off soon."
His prediction proved to be correct. A short time later the pace was
quickened and the murmur of low-voiced conversations could be heard.
The men even began to tease one another and tell jokes. It seemed
almost incredible that men preparing to face what they were to meet-on
the morrow could be so light-hearted.
"Here we come to the trenches," exclaimed Jacques. "What time is it?"
"Just eleven o'clock," said Earl, consulting his watch.
"An hour so far," murmured Jacques.
One by one the soldiers filed into the trench. All talking ceased and
mile after mile they moved forward. In single-file the men marched
through the communicating trench. Every little while a lateral trench
appeared and as they came closer to the front these trenches increased
in number. The roar of the giant guns steadily became louder and
louder.
Soon the lateral trenches became very numerous. Every one was filled
with soldiers, their arms resting on the ground. They eyed the
regiment filing past them enviously and were apparently curious to know
why it had been selected to lead the charge in preference to themselves.
"Who are you?" demanded one man.
"_La douziéme_," said Jacques.
"Ah," said the man. "I see."
It was a famous regiment to which these three boys belonged and its
record for daring and bravery was known by all the army. No wonder it
had been chosen to lead the advance. If anyone could get through, _la
douziéme_ was that one. A feeling of confidence pervaded the regiment
and the knowledge that the army shared that feeling was a source of
satisfaction to every member.
"Look!" exclaimed Leon suddenly. "What place is this?"
"There's not much left of it whatever it is," replied Jacques grimly.
The regiment had suddenly emerged from the trench into the street of a
village. At least it had once been a village, but only its ghost now
remained. Every house had been bombarded and battered until now there
was standing only bare walls, when indeed they had been spared.
"There's the moon," whispered Earl suddenly. "I saw it over my right
shoulder. That means good luck."
"We'll need it," said Leon grimly.
Down the ruined village street the march continued and then another
trench swallowed them up. Straight ahead they went and then turned
sharply to the right. A short distance and they swung to the left.
Finally the advance ceased and the men came to rest.
"We're in the first line trench," whispered Jacques.
"You don't have to tell me that," exclaimed Leon.
"Look here," cried Earl who was peering cautiously through one of the
holes made for the rifles.
Following his instructions Jacques and Leon could see the French shells
exploding in the opposing trenches. Big and little they were, and had
somewhat the appearance of a great display of fireworks. The noise was
beyond description. So fast did the shells burst that they seemed all
to be part of one continuous explosion. The German return fire only
added to the din.
"They say," shouted Jacques after a consultation with the man next to
him, "that only the German long range guns are doing any damage."
"I hope they don't find us here," said Leon grimly. "I want to live
long enough to get into this fight to-morrow anyway."
"How big are those long-range cannon of the Germans?" asked Earl.
"Ten-inch," said Leon. "They're good ones too."
"Can't they use the 42-centimeter guns out here?"
"No, they're for smashing forts. They're mortars, you know."
"None of them compare with our 75's," exclaimed Jacques proudly.
"That is, for field work, you mean," said Leon.
"Yes. And no gunners can compare with the French, either."
"That's been proved to every one's satisfaction, I guess," Leon agreed.
It seemed remarkable that these three boys could stand in the front
line trenches of the greatest battlefield the world has ever known and
calmly discuss the merits of the rival artillery. Such is the effect
of war, however. It seems as if a man can become accustomed to almost
anything, and after weeks and months on the battle-line the artillery
duels and the ever-present death become matters of unconcern to the
ordinary soldier.
"We ought to get some sleep," Jacques announced finally.
"Can any one sleep here?" demanded Earl.
"I think I can," said Jacques. "I'm healthy and I'm tired."
"We can lie right down here in the trench," suggested Leon. "We can
use our knapsacks for pillows and maybe get a little sleep."
"This is no place for a man who's nervous," laughed Jacques as a German
shell whistled over their heads and exploded with a roar a short
distance behind their position.
"I should think not," exclaimed Earl. "Still I don't suppose it will
do us any good to keep thinking about it. I suppose we might as well
try to get a little rest as Jacques advises."
"Jacques won't be able to lie down," laughed Leon. "He's too tall."
"Not at all," protested the young Frenchman quickly, taking this remark
literally. "I am but six feet two; you and Earl are at least six feet."
"Not quite," said Leon. "At any rate I was only fooling."
"I see," said Jacques soberly. He did not always catch the drift of
some of the sallies his young American friends made.
"How about sleep?" exclaimed Earl. "We can get some little rest
anyway."
The three young soldiers followed the example of most of their
companions in the trench and lay down, with their knapsacks under their
heads. Still the artillery roared. Incessant explosions shattered the
night air, predicting the struggle to take place on the morrow.