CHAPTER XXIV.

A FRENCH HERO.

"Can they ever do it?"

Undoubtedly this was what was filling the heart and brain of each of those boys as they watched the living stream of French rapidly draw nearer the river ford commanded by that destructive German battery, and which thus far they had not been able to reach and silence with their own guns and aeroplane attacks.

The time between the uprising of these troops and their reaching the shallow water of the ford was of very brief duration. Undoubtedly the French had crept up just as close as the nature of the ground would permit them to go unseen.

Still to those anxious hearts on the little rise it must have seemed dreadfully long, owing to the strain they were laboring under. As yet the Germans had held their fire, for not a man of the attacking force had fallen save when they stumbled, only to rise again.

Possibly Hanky Panky may even have deluded himself with the hope that when it came to a pinch the Germans had deemed it best to give up their desperate intention of defending the ford to the last gasp. Josh knew better, because he understood the holdfast nature of the Teutons better than did his chums. And he was mentally figuring on just when the bitter blast would break forth that was going to mow down those valiant men with the red trousers and the blue tunics rushing pell-mell forward with such ringing huzzas.

At least the men separated as they ran, doubtless following the instructions of their officers. This was bound to be of advantage to them, since the fire of the enemy could not cut them down as ripe grain falls before the scythe of the reaper or the revolving knives of the modern mowing machine.

"Some may manage to get across anyhow!" Josh was telling himself, as though seeking comfort.

Now the first of the French had reached the bank. They leaped impetuously into the water and hastened to start across. As they advanced of course they waded deeper, and their pace lessened. Was this just what those cool, calculating German gunners were waiting for? Rod expected to hear the first crash at any second now. How his heart went out to those gallant fellows splashing through the river at the disputed ford. He felt as though he must shut his eyes so as not to see what was fated to occur; but for the life of him he could not. Some power beyond his control forced him to continue to crouch there and stare with all his might and main, as though he must omit no small detail of the amazing picture.

The ford was now fairly alive with moving figures, all pushing hurriedly toward the other shore, where not a German could be seen. The bushes in that quarter lay there as unassuming as though every one did not conceal a foe with ready rifle waiting for the order to come to pour in a terrific fire.

That was the picture Rod would often recall in days to come. It was stamped on his memory in imperishable colors--the bright sunlight, the hovering clouds of billowy powder smoke, the gay uniforms of the charging Frenchmen, the sombre, oppressive silence hovering over the opposite bank of the river--all these things had a part in the never-to-be-forgotten scene.

Then it seemed as though some volcano, long held in check, must have burst the confines of Nature in a mighty convulsion. From several points there came the thunderous discharge of batteries, while a thousand rifles added their sharper notes to the dreadful chorus.

And the men in the river, what of them?

Scores could be seen to throw up their arms and disappear, the current doubtless bearing them away. Others were forced to turn and start back to the shore they had so recently left, having been wounded more or less severely. Gaps appeared in the various groups, showing what terrible carnage those guns in the leading German battery had already executed.

Still the forward movement had not been as yet effectually stopped. Those who were thus far uninjured kept pushing ahead, even though they must realize that it was into the very jaws of death they advanced. And Rod found himself filled with sincere admiration for the bravery they exhibited. He had read of similar things many times, but seeing with his own eyes an exhibition of such wonderful valor was an entirely different matter.

Oh! how he hoped and prayed that in the end some of those Frenchmen might manage to reach the other shore which they aspired to gain. But when the German guns continued to roar and send torrents of iron hail into the ranks of the adventurous French it began to look very much as though not a single man might be able to accomplish the passage of the disputed ford.

Hanky Panky could stand it no longer. He rolled over and hid his face, while thrusting the forefinger of each hand as deeply into his ears as he could, evidently with the hope of shutting out all that dreadful noise.

Not so Josh, who, though very white, and trembling with excitement, still continued to stand there, drinking it all in eagerly, as one might something that was fairly intoxicating his senses.

The war drama did not last long. Under that murderous fire the French soldiers in the water fairly melted away. Some managed to return safely to the side of the stream held by their comrades, but by far the larger number seemed to have vanished. Further down the river they could be seen, some of them struggling in the water, with others floating along significantly still.

The firing had almost ceased by now, because there was no further need of wasting precious ammunition on the part of the provident Germans. The charge of the impetuous French had been stopped, and if they still meant to carry the ford they must gather what was left of their force for a second attempt.

Still, while that one battery covered the crossing it seemed madness for them to risk the annihilation of their men in another effort.

"It was a fluke, after all!" Josh was calling out in bitter disappointment; "they never had a chance to get over while that awful battery covered the ford. Oh! how I wish a part of them at least had managed to get across. Look, Rod, as I live, one lone Frenchman did succeed in crossing. You can see him crawling along in the scrub there, his red breeches betraying his every movement. Just a single one of all that brave lot, and he'll be either killed right away or made a prisoner, like as not!"

Somehow both boys found themselves compelled to watch the progress of the crawling Frenchman. He seemed only a grain of sand on the seashore compared with the mighty forces employed on both sides, and yet at that particular moment he occupied the centre of the stage in their minds. Without knowing why this should be so they continued to follow his movements with their eyes.

Then suddenly Josh broke out again. He could make himself heard because there was little if any desultory firing now; the Germans were satisfied with the execution already accomplished, while the mortified French held their fire until further plans could be settled upon.

"Rod, what do you reckon that madman means to try and do?" he asked excitedly; "see how he keeps on creeping straight along toward where that battery is hidden behind some sort of barricade. Honest to goodness, now, I believe he means to tackle the entire business all by himself; just like a Frenchman for desperate bravery. He must be crazy to think he can do anything unaided, Rod."

"Don't be too sure of that, Josh," the other told him immediately; "unless I miss my guess that man has got some project he's meaning to put through, come what will."

"Oh! now I see what you mean, Rod; yes, as sure as anything he's carrying something in his hand, and I do believe it must be a bomb that he's meaning to throw over the barricade on to that battery! It's a great scheme, Rod, but with not one chance in ten to succeed."

With strained eyes they watched the creeping figure with the telltale red trousers that added so greatly to his peril. Shortly afterwards Josh broke out again in what might be called a lament.

"Too bad, too bad, Rod, they've glimpsed him at last, just as I was afraid they'd be doing. You can see some of their sharpshooters further back are sending a rain of balls in that direction, for they make little puffs of dust fly up everywhere they strike. He's bound to be hit in a jiffy now. Oh! see that, would you?"

There could be no question but that one or more of the plunging bullets had reached their intended mark, for the creeping soldier had rolled over as if in agony.

"He's done for, poor chap, just as I expected!" cried the sympathizing Josh, while even Hanky Panky once more dared to lift his head and look; but almost immediately afterwards Josh changed his tune from despair to one of new hope--"no, he was only badly injured that time, and not killed, you see, because now he's going on again. Oh! I take off my hat to that gallant man! There never lived a braver chap, never; and now I do hope he'll get close enough up to fire that bomb he's carrying along with him on to that battery."

Perhaps the marksmen who were amusing themselves in trying to pick another foeman off did not realize what the French soldier really meant to do. Had they grasped the full situation a volley would surely have finished his career, and left his self-appointed mission unfulfilled.

Josh kept tabs of his movements. He even knew when again the crawling figure gave signs of having been struck once more by some of that leaden hail. This he could tell from the way in which the heroic fellow writhed as in pain.

"But, Rod, they just _can't_ keel him over, don't you see!" cried the admiring Josh, clapping his hands in his excitement; "twice now they've hit him, but he won't give up the game. Why, he has to drag that left leg after him all the while, showing where he's been hit. Oh! what wouldn't I give for a chance to help him out; but it's no use; he's just got to do it by himself!"

The seconds went on. Perhaps other eyes were following the slow and painful progress of that lone French hero as he crawled along foot by foot, suffering dreadfully no doubt with every movement, yet never for a minute dismayed. Perhaps the eyes of the French commander-in-chief may have been glued on him through his powerful glasses; and realizing what the success of the daring soldier's mission might mean for a second assault on the defenders of the ford, his heart would begin to pick up renewed hope the closer the private crept to the battery.

There could be no question as to the unflinching spirit that dwelt in the breast of that particular soldier. Rod remembered many things he had read in ancient history, but somehow they all paled into insignificance when with his own eyes he saw this wonderful exhibition of valor unparalleled. The heroic defense of the Pass of Thermopylæ; the swimming of the Hellespont by Leander, yes, and other instances made famous in the annals of history had once struck the boy as wonders in their way, but somehow seeing things was a great deal more impressive than reading about similar happenings.

By now the French adventurer had managed to get close up to the place where the terrible offending battery was hidden. Doubtless he could see much better than the boys at a distance, and knew where it would be possible to throw his bomb so as to accomplish the maximum of damage.

"He's nearly there, Rod, and oh! I'm scared almost out of my seven senses for fear they'll get him before he can give that thing a whirl over. There, see, he's trying to get up on his knees now, though it's a hard thing for him to do, because he's so weak from loss of blood, I reckon. Bully boy! now you're going to take a fling, and here's wishing you the greatest of luck!"

The brave soldier had indeed managed to raise himself part way and with all his reserve strength hurl the bomb he carried over to where the battery lay concealed.