"Looks as if we might have to retreat."
"It will soon be a question, whether or not we can retreat. The Germans are now on both our flanks."
Carstairs' face blanched a little, but he refused to show discouragement.
"They're telling us to retire now," he said, "but we'll come again. England will never give up. John, your own transplanted British blood ought to tell you that."
"It does tell me so, but when I was riding across the hills I saw better than you can see here. If we don't get away now we never shall, and England and France cannot regain what they will have lost."
But the British army was withdrawing. Those terrible horns had not quite closed in. They were beaten back with shell, bullets and bayonets, and slowly and sullenly, giving blow for blow the British army retreated into France.
John and his comrades were with a small force on the extreme left, almost detached from the main body, serving partly as a line of defense and partly as a strong picket. They stopped at times to rest a little and eat food that was served to them, but the Germans never ceased to press them. Their searchlights flashed all through the night and their shell and shrapnel searched the woods and fields.
"It's no little war," said Carstairs.
"And I tell you again," said Wharton, "that England must wake up. A hundred thousand volunteers are nothing in this war. She must send a half million, a million and more. Germany has nearly seventy million people and nearly every able-bodied man is a trained soldier. Think of that."
"I'm thinking of it. What I saw today makes me think of it a lot. Jove, how they did come, and what numbers they have!"