SEEN FROM ABOVE

John's period of unconsciousness was brief. The sweep of air from a gigantic shell, passing close, had taken his senses for a minute or two, but he leaped to his feet to find his motor cycle broken and puffing out its last breath, and himself among the dead and wounded in the wake of the army which was advancing rapidly. The turmoil was so vast, and so much dust and burned gunpowder was floating about that he was not able to tell where the valiant Vaugirard with the remainder of his staff marched. In front of him a regiment, cut up terribly, was advancing at a swift pace, and acting under the impulse of the moment he ran forward to join them.

When he overtook the regiment he saw that it had neither colonel, nor captains nor any other officers of high degree. A little man, scarcely more than a youth, his head bare, his eyes snapping fire, one hand holding aloft a red cap on the point of a sword, had taken command and was urging the soldiers on with every fierce shout that he knew. The men were responding. Command seemed natural to him. Here was a born leader in battle. John knew him, and he knew that his own prophecy had been fulfilled.

"Geronimo!" he gasped.

But young Bougainville did not see him. He was still shouting to the men whom he now led so well. The point of the sword, doubtless taken from the hand of some fallen officer, had pierced the red cap which was slowly sinking down the blade, but he did not notice it.

John looked again for his commander, but not seeing him, and knowing how futile it was now to seek him in all the fiery crush, he resolved to stay with the young Apache.

"Geronimo," he cried, and it was the last time he called him by that name, "I go with you!"

In all the excitement of the moment young Bougainville recognized him and something droll flashed in his eyes.

"Did I boast too much?" he shouted.

"You didn't!" John shouted back.

"Come on then! A big crowd of Germans is just over this hill, and we must smash 'em!"

John kept by his side, but Bougainville, still waving his sword, while the red cap sank lower and lower on the blade, addressed his men in terms of encouragement and affection.

"Forward, my children!" he shouted. "Men, without fear, let us be the first to make the enemy feel our bayonets! Look, a regiment on the right is ahead of you, and another also on the left leads you! Faster! Faster, my children!"

An angle of the German line was thrust forward at this point where a hill afforded a strong position. Bullets were coming from it in showers, but the Bougainville regiment broke into a run, passed ahead of the others and rushed straight at the hill.

It was the first time that men had come face to face in the battle and now John saw the French fury, the enthusiasm and fire that Napoleon had capitalized and cultivated so sedulously. Shouting fiercely, they flung themselves upon the Germans and by sheer impact drove them back. They cleared the hill in a few moments, triumphantly seized four cannon and then, still shouting, swept on.

John found himself shouting with the others. This was victory, the first real taste of it, and it was sweet to the lips. But the regiment was halted presently, lest it get too far forward and be cut off, and a general striding over to Bougainville uttered words of approval that John could not hear amid the terrific din of so many men in battle—a million, a million and a half or more, he never knew.

They stood there panting, while the French line along a front of maybe fifty miles crept on and on. The French machine with the British wheels and springs coöperating, was working beautifully now. It was a match and more for their enemy. The Germans, witnessing the fire and dash of the French and feeling their tremendous impact, began to take alarm. It had not seemed possible to them in those last triumphant days that they could fail, but now Paris was receding farther and farther from their grasp.

John recovered a certain degree of coolness. The fire of the foe was turned away from them for the present, and, finding that the glasses thrown over his shoulder, had not been injured by his fall, he examined the battle front as he stood by the side of Bougainville. The country was fairly open here and along a range of miles the cannon in hundreds and hundreds were pouring forth destruction. Yet the line, save where the angle had been crushed by the rush of Bougainville's regiment, stood fast, and John shuddered at thought of the frightful slaughter, needed to drive it back, if it could be driven back at all.

Then he glanced at the fields across which they had come. For two or three miles they were sprinkled with the fallen, the red and blue of the French uniform showing vividly against the green grass. But there was little time for looking that way and again he turned his glasses in front. The regiment had taken cover behind a low ridge, and six rapid firers were sending a fierce hail on the German lines. But the men under orders from Bougainville, withheld the fire of their rifles for the present.

Bougainville himself stood up as became a leader of men, and lowered his sword for the first time. The cap had sunk all the way down the blade and picking it off he put it back on his head. He had obtained glasses also, probably from some fallen officer, and he walked back and forth seeking a weak spot in the enemy's line, into which he could charge with his men.

John admired him. His was no frenzied rage, but a courage, measured and stern. The springs of power hidden in him had been touched and he stood forth, a born leader.

"How does it happen," said John, "that you're in command?"

"Our officers were all in front," replied Bougainville, "when our regiment was swept by many shells. When they ceased bursting upon us and among us the officers were no longer there. The regiment was about to break. I could not bear to see that, and seizing the sword, I hoisted my cap upon it. The rest, perhaps, you saw. The men seem to trust me."

"They do," said John, with emphasis.

Bougainville, for the time at least, was certainly the leader of the regiment. It was an incident that John believed possible only in his own country, or France, and he remembered once more the famous old saying of Napoleon that every French peasant carried a marshal's baton in his knapsack.

Now he recalled, too, that Napoleon had fought some of his greatest defensive battles in the region they faced. Doubtless the mighty emperor and his marshals had trod the very soil on which Bougainville and he now stood. Surely the French must know it, and surely it would give them superhuman courage for battle.

"I belong to the command of General Vaugirard," he said to Bougainville. "I'm serving on his staff, but I was knocked off my motor cycle by the rush of air from a shell. The cycle was ruined and I was unconscious for a moment or two. When I revived, my general and his command were gone."

"You'd better stay with me a while," said Bougainville. "We're going to advance again soon. When night comes, if you're still alive, then you can look for General Vaugirard. The fire of the artillery is increasing. How the earth shakes!"

"So it does. I wish I knew what was happening."

"There comes one of those men in the air. He is going to drop down by us. Maybe you can learn something from him."

John felt a sudden wild hope that it was Lannes, but his luck did not hold good enough for it. The plane was of another shape than the Arrow, and, when it descended to the ground, a man older than Lannes stepped out upon the grass. He glanced around as if he were looking for some general of division for whom he had an order, and John, unable to restrain himself, rushed to him and exclaimed:

"News! News! For Heaven's sake, give us news! Surely you've seen from above!"

The man smiled and John knew that a bearer of bad news would not smile.

"I'm the friend and comrade of Philip Lannes," continued John, feeling that all the flying men of France knew the name of Lannes, and that it would be a password to this man's good graces.

"I know him well," said the air scout. "Who of our craft does not? My own name is Caumartin, and I have flown with Lannes more than once in the great meets at Rheims. In answer to your question I'm able to tell you that on the wings the soldiers of France are advancing. A wedge has been thrust between the German armies and the one nearest Paris is retreating, lest it be cut off."

Bougainville heard the words, and he ran among the men, telling them. A fierce shout arose and John himself quivered with feeling. It was better, far better than he had hoped. He realized now that his courage before had been the courage of despair. Lannes and he, as a last resort, had put faith in signs and omens, because there was nothing else to bear them up.

"Is it true? Is it true beyond doubt! You've really seen it with your own eyes?" he exclaimed.

Caumartin smiled again. His were deep eyes, and the smile that came from them was reassuring.

"I saw it myself," he replied. "At the point nearest Paris the gray masses are withdrawing. I looked directly down upon them. And now, can you tell me where I can find General Vaugirard?"

"I wish I could. I'm on his staff, but I've lost him. He's somewhere to the northward."

"Then I'll find him."

Caumartin resumed his place in his machine. John looked longingly at the aeroplane. He would gladly have gone with Caumartin, but feeling that he would be only a burden at such a time, he would not suggest it. Nevertheless he called to the aviator:

"If you see Philip Lannes in the heavens tell him that his friend John Scott is here behind a low ridge crested with trees!"

Caumartin nodded, and as some of the soldiers gave his plane a push he soared swiftly away in search of General Vaugirard. John watched him a moment or two and then turned his attention back to the German army in front of them.

The thudding of the heavy guns to their left had become so violent that it affected his nerves. The waves of air beat upon his ears like storm-driven rollers, and he was glad when Bougainville's regiment moved forward again. The Germans seemed to have withdrawn some of their force in the center, and, for a little while, the regiment with which John now marched was not under fire.

They heard reserves now coming up behind them, more trains of motor cars, bearing fresh troops, and batteries of field guns advancing as fast as they could. Men were busy also stringing telephone wires, and, presently, they passed a battery of guns of the largest caliber, the fire of which was directed entirely by telephone. Some distance beyond it the regiment stopped again. The huge shells were passing over their heads toward the German lines, and John believed that he could hear and count every one of them.

The remains of the regiment now lay down in a dip, as they did not know anything to do, except to wait for the remainder of the French line to advance.

Something struck near them presently and exploded with a crash. Steel splinters flew, but as they were prone only one man was injured.

"They're reaching us again with their shell fire," said John.

"Not at all," said Bougainville. "Look up."

John saw high in the heavens several black specks, which he knew at once were aeroplanes. Since the bomb had been dropped from one of them it was obvious that they were German flyers, and missiles of a like nature might be expected from the same source. Involuntarily he crouched close to the ground, and tried to press himself into it. He knew that such an effort would afford him no protection, but the body sought it nevertheless. All around him the young French soldiers too were clinging to Mother Earth. Only Bougainville stood erect.

John had felt less apprehension under the artillery fire and in the charge than he did now. He was helpless here when death fell like hail from the skies, and he quivered in every muscle as he waited. A crash came again, but the bomb had struck farther away, then a third, and a fourth, each farther and farther in its turn, and Bougainville suddenly uttered a shout that was full of vengeance and exultation.

John looked up. The group of black specks was still in the sky, but another group was hovering near, and clapping his glasses to his eyes he saw flashes of light passing between them.

"You're right, Bougainville! you're right!" he cried, although Bougainville had not said a word. "The French flyers have come and there's a fight in the air!"

He forgot all about the battle on earth, while he watched the combat in the heavens. Yet it was an affair of only a few moments. The Germans evidently feeling that they were too far away from their base, soon retreated. One of their machines turned over on its side and fell like a shot through space.

John shuddered, took the glasses down, and, by impulse, closed his eyes. He heard a shock near him, and, opening his eyes again, saw a huddled mass of wreckage, from which a foot encased in a broad German shoe protruded. The ribs of the plane were driven deep into the earth and he looked away. But a hum and swish suddenly came once more, and a sleek and graceful aeroplane, which he knew to be the Arrow, sank to the earth close to him. Lannes, smiling and triumphant, stepped forth and John hailed him eagerly.

"I met Caumartin in an aerial road," said Lannes, in his best dramatic manner, "and he described this place, at which you were waiting. As it was directly on my way I concluded to come by for you. I was delayed by a skirmish overhead which you may have seen."

"Yes, I saw it, or at least part of it."

"I came in at the end only. The Taubes were too presuming. They came over into our air, but we repelled the attack, and one, as I can see here, will never come again. I found General Vaugirard, although he is now two or three miles to your right, and when I deliver a message that he has given me I return. But I take you with me now."

John was overjoyed, but he would part from Bougainville with regret.

"Philip," he said, "here is Pierre Louis Bougainville, whom I met that day on Montmartre. All the officers of this regiment have been killed and by grace of courage and intuition he now leads it better than it was ever led before."

Lannes extended his hand. Bougainville's met it, and the two closed in the clasp of those who knew, each, that the other was a man. Then a drum began to beat, and Bougainville, waving his sword aloft, led his regiment forward again with a rush. But the Arrow, with a hard push from the last of the soldiers, was already rising, Lannes at the steering rudder and John in his old place.

"You can find your cap and coat in the locker," said Lannes without looking back, and John put them on quickly. His joy and eagerness were not due to flight from the field of battle, because the heavens themselves were not safe, but because he could look down upon this field on which the nations struggled and, to some extent, behold and measure it with his own eyes.

The Arrow rose slowly, and John leaned back luxuriously in his seat. He had a singular feeling that he had come back home again. The sharp, acrid odor that assailed eye and nostril departed and the atmosphere grew rapidly purer. The rolling waves of air from the concussion of the guns became much less violent, and soon ceased entirely. All the smoke floated below him, while above the heavens were a shining blue, unsullied by the dust and flame of the conflict.

"Do you go far, Philip?" John asked.

"Forty miles. I could cover the distance quickly in the Arrow, but on such a day as this I can't be sure of finding at once the man for whom I'm looking. Besides, we may meet German planes. You've your automatic with you?"

"I'm never without it. I'm ready to help if they come at us. I've been through so much today that I've become blunted to fear."

"I don't think we'll meet an enemy, but we must be armed and watchful."

John had not yet looked down, but he knew that the Arrow was rising high. The thunder of the battle died so fast that it became a mere murmur, and the air was thin, pure and cold. When he felt that the Arrow had reached its zenith he put the glasses to his eyes and looked over.

He saw a world spouting fire. Along a tremendous line curved and broken, thousands of cannon great and small were flashing, and for miles and miles a continuous coil of whitish smoke marked where the riflemen were at work. Near the center of the line he saw a vast mass of men advancing and he spoke of it to Lannes.

"I've seen it already," said the Frenchman. "That's where a great force of ours is cutting in between the German armies. It's the movement that has saved France, and the mind that planned it was worth a million men to us today."

"I can well believe it. Now I see running between the hills a shining ribbon which I take to be a river."

"That's the Marne. If we can, we'll drive the Germans back across it. Search the skies that way and see if you can find any of the Taubes."

"I see some black specks which I take to be the German planes, but they don't grow."

"Which indicates that they're not coming any nearer. They've had enough of us for the present and it's to their interest too to keep over their own army now. What do you see beneath us?"

"A great multitude of troops, French, as I can discern the uniform, and by Jove, Lannes, I can trace far beyond the towers and spires of Paris!"

"I knew you could. It marks how near the Germans have come to the capital, but they'll come no nearer. The great days of the French have returned, and we'll surely drive them upon the Marne."

"Suppose we fly a little lower, Lannes. Then we can get a better view of the field as we go along."

"I'll do as you say, John. I rose so high, because I thought attack here was less possible, but as no enemy is in sight we'll drop down."

The Arrow sank gradually, and now both could get a splendid view of a spectacle, such as no man had ever beheld until that day. The sounds of battle were still unheard, but they clearly saw the fire of the cannon, the rapid-firers, and the rifles. It was like a red streak running in curves and zigzags across fifty or maybe a hundred miles of country.

"We continue to cut in," said Lannes. "You can see how our armies off there are marching into that great open space between the Germans. Unless the extreme German army hastens it will be separated entirely from the rest. Oh, what a day! What a glorious, magnificent day! A day unlike any other in the world's story! Our heads in the dust in the morning and high in the air by night!"

"But we haven't won yet?"

"No, but we are winning enough to know that we will win."

"How many men do you think are engaged in that battle below?"

"Along all its windings two millions, maybe, or at least a million and a half anyhow. Perhaps nobody will ever know."

Then they relapsed into silence for a little while. The Arrow flew fast and the motor drummed steadily in their ears. Lannes let the aeroplane sink a little lower, and John became conscious of a new sound, akin nevertheless to the throb of the motor. It was the concussion of the battle. The topmost and weakest waves of air hurled off in circles by countless cannon and rifles were reaching them. But they had been softened so much by distance that the sound was not unpleasant, and the Arrow rocked gently as if touched by a light wind.

John never ceased to watch with his glasses, and in a few minutes he announced that men in gray were below.

"I expected that," said Lannes. "This battle line, as you know, is far from straight, and, in order to reach our destination in the quickest time possible, we must pass over a portion of the German army, an extended corner or angle as it were. What are they doing there, John?"

"Firing about fifty cannon as fast as they can. Back of the cannon is a great huddle of motors and of large automobile trucks, loaded, I should say, with ammunition."

"You're quite sure of what you say?" asked Lannes, after a silence of a moment or two.

"Absolutely sure. I fancy that it's an ammunition depot."

"Then, John, you and I must take a risk. We are to deliver a message, but we can't let go an opportunity like this. You recall how you threw the bombs on the forty-two centimeter. I have more bombs here in the Arrow—I never fly now without 'em—little fellows, but tremendously powerful. I shall dip and when we're directly over the ammunition depot drop the bombs squarely into the middle of it."

"I'm ready," said John, feeling alternate thrills of eagerness and horror, "but Philip, don't you go so near that if the depot blows up it will blow us up too."

"Never fear," said Lannes, laughing, not with amusement but with excitement, "I've no more wish to be scattered through the firmament than you have. Besides, we've that message to deliver. Do you think the Germans have noticed us?"

"No, a lot of smoke from their cannon fire has gathered above them and perhaps it veils us. Besides, their whole attention must be absorbed by the French army, and I don't think it likely that they're looking up."

"But they're bound to see us soon. We have one great advantage, however. The target is much larger than the forty-two centimeter was, and there are no Taubes or dirigibles here to drive us off. Ready now, John, and when I touch the bottom of my loop you throw the bombs. Here they are!"

Four bombs were pushed to John's side and they lay ready to his grasp. Then as the Arrow began its downward curve, he laid his glasses aside and watched. The most advanced German batteries were placed in a pit, into which a telephone wire ran. Evidently these guns, like the French, were fired by order from some distant point. John longed to hurl a bomb at the pit, but the chances were ten to one that he would miss it, and he held to the ammunition depot, spread over a full acre, as his target.

Now the Germans saw them. He knew it, as many of them looked up, and some began to fire at the Arrow, but the aeroplane was too high and swift for their bullets.

"Now!" said Lannes in sudden, sharp tones.

The aeroplane dipped with sickening velocity, but John steadied himself, and watching his chance he threw four bombs so fast that the fourth had left his hands before the first touched the ground. An awful, rending explosion followed, and for a minute the Arrow rocked violently, as if in a hurricane. Then, as the waves of air decreased in violence, it darted upward on an even keel.

John saw far below a vast scene of wreckage, amid which lay many dead or wounded men. Motors were blown to pieces and cannon dismounted.

"Score heavily for us," said Lannes. "I scarcely hoped for such a goodly blow as this while we were on our way!"

John would not look down again. Despite the value of the deed, he shuddered and he was glad when the Arrow in its swift flight had left the area of devastation far behind.

"We're flying over the French now," he said. "So I expected," said Lannes. "Can you see a hill crested with a low farm house?"

"Yes," replied John, after looking a little while. "It's straight ahead. The house is partly hidden by trees."

"Then that's the place. You wouldn't think we'd come nearly fifty miles, would you, John?"

"Fifty miles! It feels more like a thousand!"

Lannes laughed, this time with satisfaction, not excitement.

"You'll find there the general to whom we reported first," he said, "and he'll be glad to see us! I can't tell you how glad he will be. His joy will be far beyond our personal deserts. It will have little to do with the fact that you, John Scott, and I, Philip Lannes, have come back to him."

The circling Arrow came down in a meadow just behind the house, and officers rushed forward to meet it. Lannes and John, stepping out, left it in charge of two of the younger men. Then, proudly waving the others aside, they walked to the low stone farmhouse, in front of which the elderly, spectacled general was standing. He looked at Lannes inquiringly, but the young Frenchman, without a word, handed him a note.

John watched the general read, and he saw the transformation of the man's face. Doubting, anxious, worn, it was illumined suddenly. In a voice that trembled he said to the senior officers who clustered about him:

"We're advancing in the center, and on the other flank. Already we've driven a huge wedge between the German armies, and Paris, nay, France herself, is saved!"

The officers, mostly old men, did not cheer, but John had never before witnessed such relief expressed on human faces. It seemed to him that they had choked up, and could not speak. The commander held the note in a shaking hand and presently he turned to Lannes.

"Your fortune has been great. It's not often that one has a chance to bear such a message as this."

"My pride is so high I can't describe it," said Lannes in a dramatic but sincere tone.

"Go in the house and an orderly will give food and wine to you and your comrade. In a half hour, perhaps, I may have another message for you."

Both John and Lannes needed rest and food, and they obeyed gladly. The strain upon the two was far greater than they had realized at the time, and for a few moments they were threatened with collapse which very strong efforts of the will prevented. They were conscious, too, as they stood upon the ground, of a quivering, shaking motion. They were assailed once more by the violent waves of air coming from the concussion of cannon and rifles past counting. The thin, whitish film which was a compound of dust and burned gunpowder assailed them again and lay, bitter, in their mouths and nostrils.

"The earth shakes too much," said Lannes in a droll tone. "I think we'd better go back into the unchanging ether, where a man can be sure of himself."

"I'm seasick," said John; "who wouldn't be, with ten thousand cannon, more or less, and a million or two of rifles shaking the planet? I'm going into the house as fast as I can."

It was a building, centuries old, of gray crumbling stone, with large, low rooms, and, to John's amazement, the peasant who inhabited it and his family were present. The farmer and his wife, both strong and dark, were about forty, and there were four children, the oldest a girl of about thirteen. What fear they may have felt in the morning was gone now, and, as they knew that the French army was advancing, a joy, reserved but none the less deep, had taken its place.

John and Lannes sat down at a small table covered with a neat white cloth, and Madame, walking quickly and lightly, served them with bread, cold meat and light red wine. The smaller children hovered in the background and looked curiously at the young foreigner who wore the French uniform.

"May I ask your name, Madame?" John asked politely.

"Poiret," she said. "My man is Jules Poiret, and this farm has been in his family since the great revolution. You and your comrade came from the air, as I saw, and you can tell us, can you not, whether the Poiret farm is to become German or remain French? The enemy has been pushed back today, but will he come so near to Paris again? Tell me truly, on your soul, Monsieur!"

"I don't believe the Germans will ever again be so near to Paris," replied John with sincerity. "My friend, who is the great Philip Lannes, the flying man, and I, have looked down upon a battle line fifty, maybe a hundred miles long, and nearly everywhere the Germans are retreating."

She bent her head a little as she poured the coffee for them, but not enough to hide the glitter in her eye. "Perhaps the good God intervened at the last moment, as Father Hansard promised he would," she said calmly. "At any rate, the Germans are gone. I gathered as much from chance words of the generals—never before have so many generals gathered under the Poiret roof, and it will never happen again—but I wished to hear it from one who had seen with his own eyes."

"We saw them withdrawing, Madame, with these two pairs of eyes of ours," said Lannes.

"And then Poiret can go back to his work with the vines. Whether it is war or peace, men must eat and drink, Monsieur."

"But certainly, Madame, and women too." "It is so. I trust that soon the Germans will be driven back much faster. The house quivers all the time. It is old and already several pieces of plaster have fallen."

Her anxiety was obvious. With the Germans driven back she thought now of the Poiret homestead. John, in the new strength that had come to him from food and drink, had forgotten for the moment that ceaseless quiver of the earth. He held the little bottle aloft and poured a thin stream of wine into his glass. The red thread swayed gently from side to side.

"You speak truly, Madame," he said. "The rocking goes on, but I'm sure that the concussion of the guns will be too far away tonight for you to feel it."

They offered her gold for the food and wine, but after one longing glance she steadfastly refused it.

"Since you have come across the sea to fight for us," she said to John, "how could I take your money?"

Lannes and John returned to the bit of grass in front of the house, where the elderly general and other generals were still standing and using their glasses.

"You are refreshed?" said the general to Lannes.

"Refreshed and ready to take your orders wherever you wish them to go."

John stepped aside, while the general talked briefly and in a low tone to his comrade. He looked upon himself merely as a passenger, or a sort of help to Lannes, and he would not pry into military secrets. But when the two rose again in the Arrow, the general and all his suite waved their caps to them. Beyond a doubt, Lannes had done magnificent work that day, and John was glad for his friend's sake.

The Arrow ascended at a sharp angle, and then hovered for a little while in curves and spirals. John saw the generals below, but they were no longer watching the aeroplane. Their glasses were turned once more to the battle front.

"Ultimately we're to reach the commander of the central army, if we can," said Lannes, "but meanwhile we're to bend in toward the German lines, in search of your immediate chief, General Vaugirard, who is one of the staunchest and most daring fighters in the whole French Army. If we find him at all it's likely that we'll find him farther forward than any other general."

"But not any farther than my friend of Montmartre, Bougainville. There's a remarkable fellow. I saw his military talent the first time I met him. Or I should better say I felt it rather than saw it. And he was making good in a wonderful manner today."

"I believe with you, John, that he's a genius. But if we find General Vaugirard and then finish our errand we must hasten. It will be night in two hours."

He increased the speed of the aeroplane and they flew eastward, searching all the hills and woods for the command of General Vaugirard.

IN HOSTILE HANDS

The task that lay before the two young men was one of great difficulty. The battle line was shifting continually, although the Germans were being pressed steadily back toward the east and north, but among so many generals it would be hard to find the particular one to whom they were bearing orders. The commander of the central army was of high importance, but the fact did not bring him at once before the eye.

They were to see General Vaugirard, too, but it was possible that he had fallen. John, though, could not look upon it as a probability. The general was so big, so vital, that he must be living, and he felt the same way about Bougainville. It was incredible that fate itself should snuff out in a day that spark of fire.

Lannes, uncertain of his course, bore in again toward the German lines, and dropped as low as he could, compatible with safety from any kind of shot. John meanwhile scanned every hill and valley wood and field with his powerful glasses, and he was unable to see any diminution in the fury of the struggle. The cannon thundered, with all their might, along a line of scores of miles; rapid firers sent a deadly hail upon the opposing lines; rifles flashed by the hundred thousand, and here and there masses of troops closed with the bayonet.

Seen from a height the battle was stripped of some of its horrors, but all its magnitude remained to awe those who looked down upon it. From the high, cold air John could not see pain and wounds, only the swaying back and forth of the battle lines. All the time he searched attentively for men who did not wear the red and blue of France, and at last he said:

"I've failed to find any sign of the British army."

"They're farther to the left," replied Lannes. "I caught a glimpse of their khaki lines this morning. Their regular troops are great fighters, as our Napoleon himself admitted more than once, and they've never done better than they're doing today. When I saw them they were advancing."

"I'm glad of that. It's curious how I feel about the English, Philip. They've got such a conceit that they irritate me terribly at times, yet I don't want to see them beaten by any other Europeans. That's our American privilege."

"A family feeling, perhaps," said Lannes, laughing, "but we French and English have been compelled to be allies, and after fighting each other for a thousand years we're now the best of friends. I think, John, we'll have to go down and procure information from somebody about our general. Otherwise we'll never find him."

"We must be near the center of our army, and that's where he's likely to be. Suppose we descend in the field a little to the east of us."

Lannes looked down, and, pronouncing the place suitable, began to drop in a series of spirals until they rested in a small field that had been devoted to the growth of vegetables. Here John at once felt the shaking of the earth, and tasted the bitter odor again. But woods on either side of them hid the sight of troops, although the sound of the battle was as great and violent as ever.

"We seem to have landed on a desert island," said Lannes.

"So we do," said John. "Evidently there is nobody here to tell us where we can find our dear and long lost general. I'll go down to the edge of the nearest wood and see if any of our skirmishers are there."

"All right, John, but hurry back. I'll hold the Arrow ready for instant flight, as we can't afford to linger here."

John ran toward the wood, but before he reached the first trees he turned back with a shout of alarm. He had caught a glimpse of horses, helmets and the glittering heads of lances. Moreover, the Uhlans were coming directly toward him.

In that moment of danger the young American showed the best that was in him. Forgetful of self and remembering the importance of Lannes' mission, he shouted:

"The Uhlans are upon us, Philip! I can't escape, but you must! Go! Go at once!"

Lannes gave one startled glance, and he understood in a flash. He too knew the vital nature of his errand, but his instant decision gave a wrench to his whole being. He saw the Uhlans breaking through the woods and John before them. He was standing beside the Arrow, and giving the machine a sharp push he sprang in and rose at a sharp angle.

"Up! Up, Philip!" John continued to cry, until the cold edge of a lance lay against his throat and a brusque voice bade him to surrender.

"All right, I yield," said John, "but kindly take your lance away. It's so sharp and cold it makes me feel uncomfortable."

As he spoke he continued to look upward. The Arrow was soaring higher and higher, and the Uhlans were firing at it, but they were not able to hit such a fleeting target. In another minute it was out of range.

John felt the cold steel come away from his throat, and satisfied that Lannes with his precious message was safe, he looked at his captors. They were about thirty in number, Prussian Uhlans.

"Well," said John to the one who seemed to be their leader, "what do you want with me?"

"To hold you prisoner," replied the man, in excellent English—John was always surprised at the number of people on the continent who spoke English—"and to ask you why we find an American here in French uniform."

The man who spoke was young, blond, ruddy, and his tone was rather humorous. John had been too much in Germany to hate Germans. He liked most of them personally, but for many of their ideas, ideas which he considered deadly to the world, he had an intense dislike.

"You find me here because I didn't have time to get away," he replied, "and I'm in a French uniform because it's my fighting suit."

The young officer smiled. John rather liked him, and he saw, too, that he was no older than himself.

"It's lucky for you that you're in some kind of a uniform," the German said, "or I should have you shot immediately. But I'm sorry we didn't take the man in the aeroplane instead of you."

John looked up again. The Arrow had become small in the distant blue. A whimsical impulse seized him.

"You've a right to be sorry," he said. "That was the greatest flying man in the world, and all day he has carried messages, heavy with the fate of nations. If you had taken him a few moments ago you might have saved the German army from defeat today. But your chance has gone. If you were to see him again you would not know him and his plane from others of their kind."

The officer's eyes dilated at first. Then he smiled again and stroked his young mustache.

"It may be true, as you say," he replied, "but meanwhile I'll have to take you to my chief, Captain von Boehlen."

John's heart sank a little when he heard the name von Boehlen. Fortune, he thought, had played him a hard trick by bringing him face to face with the man who had least cause to like him. But he would not show it.

"Very well," he said; "which way?"

"Straight before you," said the officer. "I'd give you a mount, but it isn't far. Remember as you walk that we're just behind you, and don't try to run away. You'd have no chance on earth. My own name is Arnheim, Wilhelm von Arnheim."

"And mine's John Scott," said John, as he walked straight ahead.

They passed through a wood and into another field, where a large body of Prussian cavalry was waiting. A tall man, built heavily, stood beside a horse, watching a distant corner of the battle through glasses. John knew that uncompromising figure at once. It was von Boehlen.

"A prisoner, Captain," said von Arnheim, saluting respectfully.

Von Boehlen turned slowly, and a malicious light leaped in his eyes when he saw John on foot before him, and wholly in his power.

"And so," he said, "it's young Scott of the hotel in Dresden and of the wireless station, and you've come straight into my hands!"

The whimsical humor which sometimes seized John when he was in the most dangerous situation took hold of him again. It was not humor exactly, but it was the innate desire to make the best of a bad situation.

"I'm in your hands," he replied, "but I didn't walk willingly into 'em. Your lieutenant, von Arnheim here, and his men brought me on the points of their lances. I'm quite willing to go away again."

Von Boehlen recognized the spirit in the reply and the malice departed from his own eyes. Yet he asked sternly:

"Why do you put on a French uniform and meddle in a quarrel not your own?"

"I've made it my own. I take the chances of war."

"To the rear with him, and put him with the other prisoners," said von Boehlen to von Arnheim, and the young Prussian and two Uhlans escorted him to the edge of the field where twenty or thirty French prisoners sat on the ground.

"I take it," said von Arnheim, "that you and our captain have met before."

"Yes, and the last time it was under circumstances that did not endear me to him."

"If it was in war it will not be to your harm. Captain von Boehlen is a stern but just man, and his conduct is strictly according to our military code. You will stay here with the other prisoners under guard. I hope to see you again."

With these polite words the young officer rode back to his chief, and John's heart warmed to him because of his kindness. Then he sat down on the grass and looked at those who were prisoners with him. Most of them were wounded, but none seemed despondent. All were lying down, some propped on their elbows, and they were watching and listening with the closest attention. A half-dozen Germans, rifle in hand, stood near by.

John took his place on the grass by the side of a fair, slim young man who carried his left arm in a bandage.

"Englishman?" said the young man.

"No, American."

"But you have been fighting for us, as your uniform shows. What command?"

"General Vaugirard's, but I became separated from it earlier in the day."

"I've heard of him. Great, fat man, as cool as ice and as brave as a lion. A good general to serve under. My own name is Fleury, Albert Fleury. I was wounded and taken early this morning, and the others and I have been herded here ever since by the Germans. They will not tell us a word, but I notice they have not advanced."

"The German army is retreating everywhere. For this day, at least, we're victorious. Somebody has made a great plan and has carried it through. The cavalry of the invader came within sight of Paris this morning, but they won't be able to see it tomorrow morning. Whisper it to the others. We'll take the good news quietly. We won't let the guards see that we know."

The news was circulated in low tones and every one of the wounded forgot his wound. They spoke among themselves, but all the while the thunder of the hundred-mile battle went on with unremitting ferocity. John put his ear to the ground now, and the earth quivered incessantly like a ship shaken at sea by its machinery.

The day was now waning fast and he looked at the mass of Uhlans who stood arrayed in the open space, as if they were awaiting an order. Lieutenant von Arnheim rode back and ordered the guards to march on with them.

There was none too severely wounded to walk and they proceeded in a file through the fields, Uhlans on all sides, but the great mass behind them, where their commander, von Boehlen, himself rode.

The night was almost at hand. Twilight was already coming over the eastern hills, and one of the most momentous days in the story of man was drawing to a close. People often do not know the magnitude of an event until it has passed long since and shows in perspective, but John felt to the full the result of the event, just as the old Greeks must have known at once what Salamis or Platæa meant to them. The hosts of the world's greatest military empire were turned back, and he had all the certainty of conviction that they would be driven farther on the next day.

The little band of prisoners who walked while their Prussian captors rode, were animated by feelings like those of John. It was the captured who exulted and the captors who were depressed, though neither expressed it in words, and the twilight was too deep now for faces to show either joy or sorrow.

John and Fleury walked side by side. They were near the same age. Fleury was an Alpinist from the high mountain region of Savoy and he had arrived so recently in the main theater of conflict that he knew little of what had been passing. He and John talked in whispers and they spoke encouraging words to each other. Fleury listened in wonder to John's account of his flights with Lannes.

"It is marvelous to have looked down upon a battle a hundred miles long," he said. "Have you any idea where these Uhlans intend to take us?"

"I haven't. Doubtless they don't know themselves. The night is here now, and I imagine they'll stop somewhere soon."

The twilight died in the west as well as the east, and darkness came over the field of gigantic strife. But the earth continued to quiver with the thunder of artillery, and John felt the waves of air pulsing in his ears. Now and then searchlights burned in a white blaze across the hills. Fields, trees and houses would stand out for a moment, and then be gone absolutely.

John's vivid imagination turned the whole into a storm at night. The artillery was the thunder and the flare of the searchlights was the lightning. His mind created, for a little while, the illusion that the combat had passed out of the hands of man and that nature was at work. He and Fleury ceased to talk and he walked on, thinking little of his destination. He had no sense of weariness, nor of any physical need at all.

Von Arnheim rode up by his side and said:

"You'll not have to walk much further, Mr. Scott. A camp of ours is just beyond a brook, not more than a few hundred yards away, and the prisoners will stay there for the night. I'm sorry to find you among the French fighting against us. We Germans expected American sympathy. There is so much German blood in the United States."

"But, as I told Captain von Boehlen, we're a republic, and we're democrats. In many of the big ideas there's a gulf between us and Germany so wide that it can never be bridged. This war has made clear the enormous difference."

Von Arnheim sighed.

"And yet, as a people, we like each other personally," he said.

"That's so, but as nations we diverge absolutely."

"Perhaps, I can't dispute it. But here is our camp. You'll be treated well. We Germans are not barbarians, as our enemies allege."

John saw fires burning in an ancient wood, through which a clear brook ran. The ground was carpeted with bodies, which at first he thought were those of dead men. But they were merely sleepers. German troops in thousands had dropped in their tracks. It was scarcely sleep, but something deeper, a stupor of exhaustion so utter, both mental and physical, that it was like the effect of anesthesia. They lay in every imaginable position, and they stretched away through the forest in scores of thousands.

John and Fleury saw their own place at once. Several hundred men in French uniforms were lying or sitting on the ground in a great group near the forest. A few slept, but the others, as well as John could see by the light of the fires, were wide awake.

The sight of the brook gave John a burning thirst, and making a sign to the German guard, who nodded, he knelt and drank. He did not care whether the water was pure or not, most likely it was not, with armies treading their way across it, but as it cut through the dust and grime of his mouth and throat he felt as if a new and more vigorous life were flowing into his veins. After drinking once, twice, and thrice, he sat down on the bank with Fleury, but in a minute or two young von Arnheim came for him.

"Our commander wishes to talk with you," he said.

"I'm honored," said John, "but conversation is not one of my strong points."

"The general will make the conversation," said von Arnheim, smiling. "It will be your duty, as he sees it, to answer questions."

John's liking for von Arnheim grew. He had seldom seen a finer young man. He was frank and open in manner, and bright blue eyes shone in a face that bore every sign of honesty. Official enemies he and von Arnheim were, but real enemies they never could be.

He divined that he would be subjected to a cross-examination, but he had no objection. Moreover, he wanted to see a German general of high degree. Von Arnheim led the way through the woods to a little glade, in which about a dozen officers stood. One of them, the oldest man present, who was obviously in command, stood nearest the fire, holding his helmet in his hand.

The general was past sixty, of medium height, but extremely broad and muscular. His head, bald save for a fringe of white hair, had been reddened by the sun, and his face, with its deep heavy lines and his corded neck, was red, too. He showed age but not weakness. His eyes, small, red and uncommonly keen, gazed from under a white bushy thatch. He looked like a fierce old dragon to John.

"The American prisoner, sir," said von Arnheim in English to the general.

The old man concentrated the stare of his small red eyes upon John for many long seconds. The young American felt the weight and power of that gaze. He knew too instinctively that the man before him was a great fighter, a true representative of the German military caste and system. He longed to turn his own eyes away, but he resolutely held them steady. He would not be looked down, not even by an old Prussian general to whom the fate of a hundred thousand was nothing.

"Very well, Your Highness, you may stand aside," said the general in a deep harsh voice.

Out of the corner of his eye John saw that the man who stood aside was von Arnheim. "Your Highness!" Then this young lieutenant must be a prince. If so, some princes were likable. Wharton and Carstairs and he had outwitted a prince once, but it could not be von Arnheim. He turned his full gaze back to the general, who continued in his deep gruff voice, speaking perfect English:

"I understand that you are an American and your name is John Scott."

"And duly enrolled and uniformed in the French service," said John, "You can't shoot me as a franc tireur."

"We could shoot you for anything, if we wished, but such is not our purpose. I have heard from a captain of Uhlans, Rudolf von Boehlen, a most able and valuable officer, that you are brave and alert."

"I thank Captain von Boehlen for his compliment. I did not expect it from him."

"Ah, he bears you no malice. We Germans are large enough to admire skill and courage in others. He has spoken of the affair of the wireless. It cost us much, but it belongs to the past. We will achieve what we wish."

John was silent. He believed that these preliminaries on the part of the old general were intended to create an atmosphere, a belief in his mind that German power was invincible.

"We have withdrawn a portion of our force today," continued the general, "in order to rectify our line. Our army had advanced too far. Tomorrow we resume our march on Paris."

John felt that it was an extraordinary statement for an old man, one of such high rank, the commander of perhaps a quarter of a million soldiers, to be making to him, a young American, but he held his peace, awaiting what lay behind it all.

"Now you are a captive," continued the general, "you will be sent to a prison, and you will be held there until the end of the war. You will necessarily suffer much. We cannot help it. Yet you might be sent to your own country. Americans and Germans are not enemies. I know from Captain von Boehlen who took you that you have been in an aeroplane with a Frenchman. Some account of what you saw from space might help your departure for America."

And so that was it! Now the prisoner's eye steadily confronted that of the old general.

"Your Highness," he said, as he thought that the old man might be a prince as well as a general, "you have read the history of the great civil war in my country, have you not?"

"It was a part of my military duty to study it. It was a long and desperate struggle with many great battles, but what has it to do with the present?"

"Did you ever hear of any traitor on either side, North or South, in that struggle?"

The deep red veins in the old general's face stood out, but he gave no other sign.

"You prefer, then," he said, "to become a charge upon our German hospitality. But I can say that your refusal will not make terms harder for you. Lieutenant von Arnheim, take him back to the other prisoners."

"Thank you, sir," said John, and he gave the military salute. He could understand the old man's point of view, rough and gruff though he was, and he was not lacking in a certain respect for him. The general punctiliously returned the salute.

"You've made a good impression," said von Arnheim, as they walked away together.

"I gather," said John, "from a reference by the general, that you're a prince."

Von Arnheim looked embarrassed.

"In a way I am," he admitted, "but ours is a mediatized house. Perhaps it doesn't count for much. Still, if it hadn't been for this war I might have gone to your country and married an heiress."

His eyes were twinkling. Here, John thought was a fine fellow beyond question.

"Perhaps you can come after the war and marry one," he said. "Personally I hope you'll have the chance."

"Thanks," said von Arnheim, a bit wistfully, "but I'm afraid now it will be a long time, if ever. I need not seek to conceal from you that we were turned back today. You know it already."

"Yes, I know it," said John, speaking without any trace of exultation, "and I'm willing to tell you that it was one of the results I saw from the aeroplane. Can I ask what you intend to do with the prisoners you have here, including myself?"

"I do not know. You are to sleep where you are tonight. Your bed, the earth, will be as good as ours, and perhaps in the morning we'll find an answer to your question."

Von Arnheim bade him a pleasant good night and turned to duties elsewhere. John watched him as he strode away, a fine, straight young figure. He had found him a most likable man, and he was bound to admit that there was much in the German character to admire. But for the present it was—in his view—a Germany misled.

The prisoners numbered perhaps six hundred, and at least half of them were wounded. John soon learned that the hurt usually suffered in stoical silence. It was so in the great American civil war, and it was true now in the great European war.