John followed, that he
might report the result. They were now facing toward the east and the
whole horizon there was a blaze of fire. The shells were coming thicker
and thicker, and the air was filled with the screaming of the shrapnel.
The commander of the battery, a short, powerful Frenchman, was as cool
as ice, and John drew coolness from him. One can get used to almost
anything, and his nervous tremors were passing. Despite the terrible
fire of the German artillery the French army was still advancing. Many
thousands had fallen already before the shells and shrapnel of the
invisible foe, but there had been no check.
The cannon crossed a brook, and, unlimbering, again opened a tremendous
fire. To one side and on a hill here, a man whom the commander watched
closely was signaling. John knew that he was directing the aim of the
battery and the French, like the Germans, were killing by mathematics.
He rode his cycle to the crest of a little elevation behind the battery
and with his newfound coolness began to use his glasses again. Despite
the thin, whitish smoke, he saw men on the horizon, mere manikins moving
back and forth, apparently without meaning, but men nevertheless. He
caught, too, the outline of giant tubes, the huge guns that were sending
the ceaseless rain of death upon the French.
He also saw signs of hurry and confusion among those manikins, and he
knew that the French shells were striking them. He rode down to the
commander and told him.
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