The darkness was shredding away so fast that John got a clear view. He was surprised, too, to find how low they were flying. They were not more than a hundred yards above the tops of the trees, and the glorious country was all that Lannes had claimed for it.
He saw woods heavy in foliage, fields checkered in green and brown, white roads, neat villages and farm houses, and the spires of churches. It seemed impossible that war should come upon such a land. This word "impossible" was often recurring to John. It was impossible that all Europe should go to war and yet the impossible was happening. The world would not allow twenty million men to spring at one another's throats, and yet they were doing it.
Lannes suddenly uttered a deep "Ah!" and pointed with a long forefinger.
"Our camp," he said. "On the hill about five miles to the left. The planes have seen us. Three are coming to meet us."
John saw the camp distinctly through the glasses, a long intrenched position on a low, broad hill, many guns in front and many horses in the rear, with the banners of France floating over the works.
"We'll be there soon," said Lannes joyfully. "Here, John, wave this!"
He took a small French flag from the locker and John waved it with vigor. The fastest of the planes was soon beside them and Lannes called out gayly:
"The Arrow, Philip Lannes at the rudder, and John Scott, an American, who is going to fight with us, as passenger and comrade!"
Thus they flew into the republican camp, and a great crowd came forward to meet them. Lannes stepped out of the Arrow, saluted an officer in the uniform of a captain, and asked:
"What corps is this?"