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

THE RESCUE

Escorted by Bougainville, John went down a little slope to a point where several officers stood talking earnestly.  The central figure was that of a huge man who puffed out his cheeks as he spoke, and whose words and movements were alive with energy.  Even had he seen but a dim outline, John would have recognized him with no difficulty as General Vaugirard, and beside him stood de Rougemont.

Bougainville saluted and said;

“The American, John Scott, sir.  He has just escaped from the enemy and he brings important information.”

Vaugirard puffed out his great cheeks and whistled with satisfaction.

“Ah, my young Yankee!” he said.  “They cannot hold you!”

“No, my general,” replied John, “I’ve come back again to fight for France.”

General Vaugirard looked at him keenly.

“You’re exhausted,” he said.  “You’ve been under tremendous pressure.”

“But I can guide you.  I want neither sleep nor rest.”

“You need both, as I can see with these two old eyes of mine.  Sleep you can’t have now, but rest is yours.  You go with me in my automobile, which this war has trained to climb mountains, jump rivers, and crash through forests.  The motor has become a wonderful weapon of battle.”

“May I ask one question, General?” said John.

“A dozen.”

“Do you know where the aviator, Philip Lannes, is?  His sister is held a prisoner by a German general in a château toward which we will march, and doubtless he would wish to go at once to her rescue.”

“He is not here, but his friend, Caumartin, is only a half-mile away.  I’ll send a man at once with a message to him to find Lannes, who will surely follow us, if he can be found.  And now, my brave young Yankee, here is my machine.  Into it, and we’ll lead the way.”

John sprang into the automobile, and sank down upon the cushions.  He had a vast sense of ease and luxury.  He had not known until then, the extent of his mental and physical overstrain, but de Rougemont, who was also in the machine, observed it and gave him a drink from a flask, which revived him greatly.

Then the automobile turned into the road and moved forward at a slow gait, puffing gently like a monster trying to hold in his breath.  From the wood and the fields came the tread of many thousand men, marching to the night attack.  Behind their own automobile rose the hum of motors, bearing troops also, and dragging cannon.

John felt that he was going back in state, riding by the side of a general and at the head of an army.  He found both pride and exultation in it.  Sleep was far from his eyes.  How could one think of sleep at such a moment?  But youth, the restorer, was bringing fresh strength to his tired muscles and he was never more alert.

At one point they stopped while the general examined the dusky horizon through his glasses, and a company of men with faces not French marched past them.  They were John’s own Strangers, and despite the presence of General Vaugirard both Wharton and Carstairs reached up and shook his hand as they went by.

“Welcome home,” said Wharton.

“See you again in the morning,” said Carstairs.

“God bless you both,” said John with some emotion.

Captain Daniel Colton nodded to him.  They were not effusive, these men of the Strangers, but their feelings were strong.  When the automobile in its turn passed them again and resumed its place at the head of the column, they seemed to take no notice.

No more shells passed over John’s head.  He knew that General Vaugirard had sent back word for the batteries to cease firing in that direction, but both to south and north of them the sullen thunder went on.  The night remained light, adorned rather than obscured by the little white clouds floating against the sky.  The only sound that John could hear was the great hum and murmur of a moving army, a sound in which the puffing of automobiles had introduced a new element.  He wondered why they had not roused up German skirmishers, but perhaps those vigilant gentlemen, had grown weary at last.

They reached the first brook, and, as they were crossing it, the rifle fire expected so long began to crackle in front.  Then the French trumpets shrilled, and the whole force marched rapidly, rifles and field guns opening in full volume.  But the French had the advantage of surprise.  Their infantry advanced at the double quick, a powerful force of cavalry on their right flank galloped to the charge, and Bougainville’s Paris regiment and the Strangers swept over the field.

A heavy fire met them, but the general’s automobile kept in front puffing along the main road.  General Vaugirard puffed with it, but now and then he ceased his puffing to whistle.  John knew that he was pleased and that all was going well.  The battle increased in volume, and their whole front blazed with fire.  The dark was thinning away in the east and dawn was coming.

“The château!  The château!” cried John as a dark shape rose on the horizon.  Even as he looked a shell burst over it and it leaped into flames.  He cried aloud in fear, not for himself, but for those who were there.  But General Vaugirard was calmly examining the field and the house through powerful glasses.

“They’re pouring from the building,” he said, “and it’s full time.  Look how the fire gains!  What a pity that we should destroy the home of some good Frenchman in order to drive out the enemy.”

“Faster, sir!  Faster!  Ah, I pray you go faster!” exclaimed John, whose heart was eaten up with anxiety as he saw the château roaring with flames.  But he did not need the general’s glasses now to see the people stream from it, and then rush for refuge from the fire of the French.  The surprise had been so thorough that at this point the enemy was able to offer little resistance, and, in a few moments more, the automobile reached the grounds surrounding the burning château.

John, reckless of commands and of everything else, leaped out of the machine and ran forward.  A gigantic man bearing a slender figure in his arms emerged from the shrubbery.  Behind him came a stalwart young woman, grim of face.  John shouted with joy.  It was Picard, carrying Julie, and the woman who followed was the faithful Suzanne.

Picard put Julie down.  She stood erect, pale as death.  But the color flooded into her face when she saw John, and uttering a cry of joy she ran forward to meet him.  She put her hands in his and said: 

“I knew that you would save me!”

Time and place were extraordinary, and war, the great leveler, was once more at work.

“The château was set on fire by shells, Monsieur Scott,” Picard said, “and when the enemy saw the French force appearing across the fields they took to flight.  That dog of a prince, the Auersperg, tried to carry off Mademoiselle Julie in his automobile, but the young prince interfered and while they were quarreling I seized her and took her away.  All the other women have escaped too.”

“Thank God, Picard,” exclaimed John, wringing the huge hand of the peasant, who was at once a peasant and a prince too.

“And look,” said Carstairs, who with Wharton had approached unnoticed.  “An aeroplane comes like the flight of an eagle, and my guess is poor if it is not our friend, the great Lannes.”

Caumartin in truth had found Philip, and he came like the lightning, circling and swooping until he touched the ground almost at Julie’s feet.  Brother and sister were united in a close embrace, and Lannes turned to John.

“I have heard from Caumartin that it was you who brought the word.  We can never repay you.”

“We’ll wait and see,” said John.

Her brother did not see Julie flush rosily, as she turned her face away.

“And now,” said Lannes, “we go to Paris.  My duties allow me enough time for the flight.  No, John, my friend, don’t object.  She’s been up in the Arrow with me before.  Picard, you and Suzanne can come later.”

The thunder of the battle rolling toward the east still reached them, but Lannes quickly threw a coat around Julie, gave her a cap and huge glasses to put on, and exclaimed: 

“Now we go.”

“But I must first thank Mr. Scott himself for saving me,” she said.

She put her hand, small and warm, in his, American fashion, and the two palms met in a strong clasp.

“Good-bye, Mr. Scott,” she said.

“Good-bye, but not forever.  I’m coming back to Paris.”

“And it’s my hope, too, that it’s not forever.”

She and her brother took their seats in the Arrow.  Carstairs, Wharton and the others gave it a push, and it soared up into the fresh blue of the dawn.  An ungloved hand, white and small, reached over the side and waved farewell, a farewell which John felt was for him.

To the east the battle still rolled, but John had forgotten its existence.  Higher and higher rose the Arrow, flying toward Paris, until it diminished to a mere dot in the sky, and then was gone.

THE END