Backed by every gun that could be brought to bear upon the German front, the living stream of blue and red-clad French soldiers, men of the line, zouaves, chasseurs and all, plunged madly along. Little they recked that many fell by the way under the storm of missiles that belched from the hostile trenches; the lines closed over the gaps almost mechanically, and only the figures that dotted the field after their passage told of the terrible price with which the action was accompanied.
Now they were close up to the trenches, and some even leaping over the redoubt, to grapple hand to hand with those who so desperately defended it.
Brave though they were, the French had been so decimated in their mad rush that it seemed as though there could not be enough of them left to overcome the resistance of the defenders of the works.
It was while Rod was filled with this sense of anxiety that he noticed something calculated to arouse new hope; for somehow he found himself in sympathy with the French soldiers, perhaps because they had been the under dog in the other war, when their fair country was overrun by Bismarck’s armies.
The wise French commander-in-chief, possibly General Joffre himself, had seen to it that reserves were on hand to take up the fight after the first line had hewn a way into the hostile trenches. Yes, there they came along like a serried mass, or the waters bursting from a vast reservoir after the dam has been broken.
He saw the living wave strike the first embankment and pass over. He knew what terrible work must be going on beyond that thrown-up earth, for in bayonet work the French have ever been without a rival. He pitied the Germans who were trying to hold the first line of trenches so valiantly, for they would mostly be either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner.
The French guns still roared unceasingly, though that part of the great Marne battle was already as good as won. Now their exploding missiles were being hurled further on, so as to add to the perplexities of the hurriedly retreating Germans, making for the next line of trenches, which in turn would doubtless be just as stubbornly defended.
Josh it was now who used the glasses. As a rule Josh had always been reckoned a generous fellow, sharing alike with his friends; but to-day a spirit of greed possessed him. There was Hanky Panky, who really shrank from such scenes as a battle–why bother paying any attention to him when there was only a single pair of binoculars to go around?
Indeed, Hanky Panky made no further claim on the precious glasses; evidently he had seen enough and more than enough as it was, to satisfy his ambition. He was staring toward those figures dotting the new field, and his lips kept moving as though he might be uttering words of commiseration, though of course what he said could not be heard above the universal clamor that continued with unabated vigor.
Gradually, though, the racket began to slacken, as though word had gone forth that the pursuit of the retiring foe must be temporarily abandoned. Victory had perched on the banner of the defenders of the soil; the lilies of France had swept proudly over the trenches of the foe; still further back from the imperiled capital had the host of Von Kluck been pushed, but all gained at a terrible cost.