The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne

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.