John meanwhile scanned every hill and valley wood and field with
his powerful glasses, and he was unable to see any diminution in the
fury of the struggle. The cannon thundered, with all their might, along
a line of scores of miles; rapid firers sent a deadly hail upon the
opposing lines; rifles flashed by the hundred thousand, and here and
there masses of troops closed with the bayonet.
Seen from a height the battle was stripped of some of its horrors, but
all its magnitude remained to awe those who looked down upon it. From
the high, cold air John could not see pain and wounds, only the swaying
back and forth of the battle lines. All the time he searched attentively
for men who did not wear the red and blue of France, and at last he
said:
"I've failed to find any sign of the British army."
"They're farther to the left," replied Lannes. "I caught a glimpse of
their khaki lines this morning. Their regular troops are great fighters,
as our Napoleon himself admitted more than once, and they've never done
better than they're doing today. When I saw them they were advancing."
"I'm glad of that. It's curious how I feel about the English, Philip.
They've got such a conceit that they irritate me terribly at times, yet
I don't want to see them beaten by any other Europeans. That's our
American privilege."
"A family feeling, perhaps," said Lannes, laughing, "but we French and
English have been compelled to be allies, and after fighting each other
for a thousand years we're now the best of friends.
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