“Behold in me the villain of the piece,” he remarked grimly; “I am Jules Baggott, the cousin who plotted to keep Andre from receiving the inheritance our uncle had planned to give him. With shame I confess it now, but, my general, never again would I be guilty of conspiring against a member of my family who has won for it and for France such imperishable renown. I, too, saw what Andre did, and even though I had the power to destroy that paper at this minute I would scorn to do so. Here and now I beg his forgiveness. His wife and family have reason to be proud of him, even as we are.”
Rod never knew whether Jules meant all he said. He did not altogether like the man’s looks; but his words were fair enough, and he acted as though for once in his life he was thoroughly ashamed of himself.
It turned out that Jules could not serve as a soldier on account of lacking the sight in one of his eyes; so there was really nothing to his discredit in his absence from the army. In reality he had become a member of the Secret Service, and doubtless would find a means in that capacity to do his part in the long war that faced France.
Of course the general could not give them any more of his valuable time. He did shake hands all around again at parting, and assured Rod that he would take a personal interest in seeing that Andre and his family were speedily reunited in Paris. With that the boys believed they had good reason to feel satisfied; and that they could conscientiously give over their adventurous and perilous journey to the battle front where the two rival armies were fighting so desperately day after day.
Hanky Panky in particular displayed considerable delight at the prospect of once more turning their faces toward home. He had, to tell the truth, become weary of all these pictures of savage warfare, and yearned to again gaze upon peaceful scenes such as the country beyond the sea held in store for them. Faces of his boyhood friends were appearing before him in his dreams every single night, and too the loved ones left behind had never seemed one half so precious as now.
“This fighting business may be all very well for those who like it,” Hanky Panky was saying as they prepared to cross the ford again, this time on the ambulance that would take Andre, as well as several other wounded men, to the hospitals of Paris, “but I’m not much of a hand at that game. Baseball and football are the limit of my scrapping abilities. This thing of standing up before a quick-firing battery, and getting punched all full of holes, doesn’t appeal to me at all, though Josh here seems to never get enough of watching men shoot each other down.”
“Oh! say, don’t make me out to be a regular savage,” remonstrated Josh, in turn; “I feel just as bad as the next one to see a man get hurt; but my folks came of a line of soldiers, I guess, because some of ’em fought in the Revolutionary War; so it must be in my blood to want to see stirring sights all the time. Now, I wouldn’t be caught attending a bull fight, or even watching two roosters scrap, because that makes me sick; but when men are standing up and sacrificing their lives for love of their country it somehow just thrills me to the marrow, and I never can drag myself away. But all the same I confess I’ll be glad to get back home again. There are plenty of ways to get excitement without being on the battle line.”
They took a last look around them, wishing to carry away a full remembrance of the scene at the captured ford. How often would every item of that never-to-be-forgotten engagement come back to haunt them in memory, as time passed, and they found themselves amidst other surroundings. In the bellowing of the thunder they might start up in bed to again fancy themselves listening to the roar of the guns on both sides of the Marne; in imagination to see the valiant French as they splashed through the breast-high waters, seeking to reach the bank where the grim Germans held the fort, and poured such a merciless fire upon them.
So they crossed the river again, dryshod, and hastened to where they had secreted their precious motorcycles. According to Rod they would possibly be able to make the French capital before night had fully set in; but even though delayed on the road this could easily be accomplished on the morrow.
Then, after getting a little rest, they would strike out for Havre or Boulogne, and take passage across on the first boat that could give them any sort of accommodations; for in the rush of American tourists to get home people were even willing to sleep in the steerage in order to quit the inhospitable shores of Europe in flames.