CHAPTER VII

A NARROW ESCAPE

It was an inspiring spectacle. The French field battery had done its utmost to inflict more or less damage upon the advancing German hosts, but evidently the time had come for discretion to take the part of desperate valor.

They had no orders to stick it out until every gun was smashed or the enemy had come swarming up to bayonet each reckless gunner. “Those who fight and run away may live to fight another day”; and the policy of these clever Frenchmen was to pester and annoy the oncoming invaders as much as possible in order to delay their progress, since every hour counted in the gathering of a force to defend Paris.

The boys hastened to step aside in order to let the galloping horses and the swinging guns and caissons sweep past. Bumpus looked at the wild way in which they were hastening along the dusty road and gave it up. It would take a much better athlete than he professed to be to manage such a thing as boarding one of those hurrying guns, even though they were invited to climb aboard. If the others tried it he, Bumpus, would have to keep going afoot, that was all.

But of course Thad had no such scheme in his mind.... Far in the rear he had sighted a caisson on which there was but a lone Frenchman. Doubtless his companion must have met with some catastrophe, one of the bursting shells having “got him” in the wild flight.

The horses drawing this caisson did not seem capable of equalling the speed displayed by the other animals. Perhaps they, too, had suffered from particles of a bursting bomb, and, being sorely wounded, they could not exert their customary strength.

The man was using a whip vigorously. Apparently he did not fancy being left in the lurch by his mates, nor could it be pleasant to have all those explosions taking place so near by.

Thad believed he saw a small chance, if only the driver displayed heart enough to stop and allow poor Bumpus to climb aboard. He meant to do all in his power to influence the man, and for that purpose commenced making motions with his hands as the other drew near.

Of course it did not require any wonderful degree of sagacity to enable the driver to understand what was wanted. Anybody would wish to get away from that region if such a thing were at all possible. And, being a Frenchman, and a gallant fellow in the bargain, what did he do but hold his frightened horses in as he reached the spot where the four boys stood in a bunch.

He also shouted something at them in French. They may not have known just what the exact meaning of the few words were, but understood his generous act. He was inviting them to get up beside him and have a ride.

Bumpus almost frantically climbed aboard amidst much grunting, which, however, could not be heard, such was the terrific din all around them. And hardly had he managed to get a seat than the driver whipped his horses into another mad gallop.

Those boys would never forget that furious race. It was impressed on their memories after a fashion that time could not efface. The straining horses, speeding through the cloud of dust raised by the other units of the field battery; the detonations of exploding shells, which still continued to drop around them as though the unseen German gunners had the range down to a fraction; the difficulty of keeping their seats on the jumping caisson—all these things conspired to form a species of excitement that kept their nerves tingling with a constant dread lest something would suddenly happen to bring about disaster.

Once only through a miracle did they escape from death. A shell dropped upon the road back of them not ten seconds after they had passed. Had they been delayed just that length of time it must have blown caisson and all aboard into atoms; for, of course, the ammunition in the chest would also have exploded.

No one tried to talk, which was somewhat strange on the part of Giraffe, who always wanted to be heard. With all that fierce jolting knocking the wind out of them, even he realized the folly of wasting any breath.

Besides, it could do no good. They were in a position where the utmost that was possible would be to grimly hold on and trust to good fortune to presently carry them out of range of the German guns. Perhaps presently, too, they might reach the advance line of the French army, where they could hope to find shelter behind the bristling defense guns.

Down along the dusty road Thad stared. He fancied that he could see what looked like a covered bridge crossing some branch of the river. Yes, now the first gun was starting to pass over it, with the others, as well as the caissons, following swiftly behind. And higher rose that billow of dust, betraying their location to the eyes of the enemy doubtless through field-glasses and by means of aerial scouts hovering aloft.

Thad saw that one gun was missing, and he discovered it alongside the road almost at the same moment. Horses lay there with the shattered carriage supporting the gun and a human leg protruding from underneath the mass told of the terrible fate that had overwhelmed the driver. The second man was not in sight, and Thad had a suspicion that he might have been picked up by one of the other teams in passing.

Bumpus, too, caught a passing glimpse of this terrible sight, and his face was lacking its customary rosy hue; still he had as much grit as the next one when it came down to a showing, and uttered no sound to indicate his dismay, only clinched his jaws together and set the muscles of his fat cheeks as if summoning all his resolution to the fore.

They were now approaching the bridge.

Once across it and there was some hope that they might find themselves in less peril. Surely there must be a limit to the range of the guns that were sending all those bombs around them, and the stream might mark this. Thad hoped so most certainly, as he mentally counted the seconds that must elapse before they could gain the bridge.

The horses did not run as they should, and Thad knew they had been injured, for there was a perceptible limp to the gait of both animals. Only that constant lashing on the part of the driver caused them to keep going; and even that must fail before a great while.

What would happen then he knew not. At the most, they would find themselves no worse off than before they were taken aboard the caisson by the obliging driver. Afoot they would have to seek some sort of shelter and try to hide until that rain of shells had ceased.

Several times they had other narrow escapes. Once Giraffe gave a perceptible start, and Thad saw him clap a hand to his shoulder. It gave the scout leader a chill, for he, of course, believed the tall chum must have received a wound that might prove more or less serious.

“Are you hit, Giraffe?” he shouted in the other’s ear, for the din made talking in ordinary tones utterly out of the question.

“Oh, I guess it didn’t amount to much,” came the reply; “but something struck me on the arm. Still, I can’t see any sign of blood.”

Thad himself took a look.

“Your coat sleeve is torn, Giraffe,” he told the other, “and I expect you’ve had a wonderfully close shave of it. You’re in great luck, let me tell you!”

Indeed, it even seemed as if the German gunners far away were concentrating all their fire upon the vicinity of that covered bridge across the stream, for the bursting shells were more numerous than ever. It would be next door to a miracle if they were allowed to run the gantlet unscathed. At any second something might happen, and Thad did not like to imagine what this was apt to be like.

It would be only natural if all of the boys realized just then that they had been overbold in trying to reach Paris from the northwest instead of going on down the coast to Boulogne and approaching from the rear, where they might only have met swarm of fugitives fleeing from the capital and no German armies closing in.

Now they were drawing close to the bridge. The balance of the battery had vanished beyond somewhere. No doubt they had a place in view where another stand was likely to be made, with the idea of again opening fire upon the enemy should he come within range of their guns.

Looking closely, Thad could see no sign of life around the bridge, and yet somehow he seemed to have a queer suspicion that there was something wrong about it, though if asked he could not have explained his feeling.

They were so close that in another minute the staggering horses must have pounded upon the planks with their hoofs. Then came a staggering blow. It seemed to stop the advance of the tired team as though they had suddenly dashed against a barrier, such was the impact of air.

The bridge, where was it? A bewildering sweep of smoke and fitful flashes of dimly seen flame; a rending of planks and beams, many of which rose high in the air; a terrific din of crashing wood, and then, only a great gap remained.

The bridge was gone!