"Suddenly the whole side of the wood was one big sheet of flame, as our hidden men sent volley after volley ripping through the ranks of the advancing Germans. They were fairly staggered by the suddenness of the fire, and before they had time to collect their wits a big body of our chaps were into them with the bayonet, thrusting right and left, and sweeping the Germans away as a scavenger sends the mud before his brush on a dirty day.
"Just when this little show was in full blast, the Germans obliged us with more limelight, and we saw it clearly. We spoiled the German appetite for breakfast in that part of the field; though, from what we learned later, there was no doubt that this was the point where they expected to break through. They cleared off quickly.
"Then they began to press their attack in another part of the field, and there was some dandy bayonet work within the trenches as the Germans tried to rush them. Our boys were on the lookout, and gave it them hot. Our artillery found the German infantry advancing to the attack—a fine target—and we tore holes in their tightly-packed ranks that it would take some tinkering to make right again, I can tell you. Their artillery did all their gunners knew to silence ours and help their attacking parties; but it was no good, and by six o'clock they drew off, leaving us nice time to get breakfast."
A private of the 12th Lancers gives the following account of a ride for life. He does not tell us where the incident took place, but it may have been at Bourg.
"We had," he says, "to cross a river and canal by means of pontoon bridges, as the permanent iron ones were blown away by the enemy. Half of the brigade got safely across, when the enemy started shelling the bridges with six big guns. The half that had not yet come over returned to safety; not so we. We were trapped in the town, and had to take shelter as best we could along the street. It was about the worst experience one could have gone through. To see those sixty-pound shells hit houses twenty and thirty yards away, and explode in the centre of troops, was awful.
"One shell burst in a garden ten yards from where I was standing, but luckily there was a heavy wall between. I was knocked flat by the shock of the explosion; and soon the place became too hot to hold us, as it was in flames. Then the ride through death took place. One by one we had to retire at full gallop across a pontoon with six big guns trained on it, and two or three explosions taking place every half-minute. I was next man after the colonel to cross, so I set my horse to it, murmured a prayer, and won through. What a cheer from the chaps when we got back to safety! They had given us up for lost; but, thank God! we came across with but few casualties, although it seemed impossible."
Let me now tell you how the youngest soldier of the 127th French regiment of infantry won the military medal, which is the French equivalent to our Victoria Cross. His name was Léon Lemaire, and he was twenty years of age. During the Battle of the Aisne it was necessary to send a message to the captain of one of the companies in an advanced trench. Lemaire was chosen for the purpose. He had no sooner shown himself on the level ground, ready to run forward on his errand, than the Germans, whose trenches were at short range, fired volleys at him. First, a bullet passed through his greatcoat; then his cap was struck; his haversack and water-bottle were riddled with shots; and a hole was bored through the scabbard of his bayonet. Through this hurricane of fire Lemaire advanced with great coolness, and actually reached the trench without a wound! Some days later his regiment was paraded in his honour at a place behind the firing line. His general pinned the little silver medal for valour on his breast, embraced him, and placed him by his side, where he remained while the whole regiment, with colours flying, and the band playing the "Marseillaise," marched past him and saluted. Thus does the French army honour its heroes.