"There goes 'Busy Bertha' again!" exclaimed Wharton.
John remembered nothing clearly for the next minute or two. There was a vast rushing sound, a crash of thunder, and, although he was not touched, he was thrown from his feet. He sprang up, dazed, cleared his eyes and looked around. The monstrous shell, weighing more than a ton, had burst almost in the heart of the French army, killing or wounding at least three hundred men, and spreading awe among the others. Nothing so capable of destruction and made by man had ever before been seen in the history of the world. And the shot had come from a point at least ten miles away, where the giant lay invisible.
The glasses had not been hurt in the fall and he handed them back to Carstairs. No harm had been done among the Strangers, although he was not the only one who had been thrown to the ground. But they were bold hearts and they jested among themselves.
"I hope they won't aim that pop-gun so well again," said Wharton.
"After all, Scott," said Carstairs, "you were perhaps safer with Lannes a half mile up in the air. The forty-two centimeter couldn't reach you there."
"Maybe not," said John, "but I'm one of the Strangers now, and I'll take my chances with them. I'm most alarmed about the Uhlans who have gone into the woods on our right."
"To cut off our field guns, of course. And look! Here comes the German army in our front to support their flanking movement!"
The fire in the wood increased in intensity, and John saw a great body of French troops advancing to the support of their artillery. Evidently the French leader meant to maintain his fire there and also to protect his field guns against capture.
"I told you, Wharton," said Carstairs, "that the Germans would give us no rest, that they would advance at once to a new battle."
"You didn't have to tell it to me. I knew it as well as any Englishman could possibly know it, perhaps better, but I'm modest, and I didn't talk about it."