Army Boys in France Part 30

All the pent-up rage that had been gathering for months leaped to the fore. The fire that had stirred their ancestors at Bunker Hill and Gettysburg burst into flame.

Wounds? They scorned them. Death? They laughed at it!

On they went like so many vikings. Faster, faster, rushing, pouring onward--until with tremendous force they fell like a thunderbolt upon the advancing ranks.

Into that grey ma.s.s they forced their way, shooting, thrusting, stabbing. And when their guns were empty, or they could not use their bayonets, they grasped the weapons and swung them about their heads like flails.

There was a red mist before their eyes and red patches on their tunics.

Some of them fell but the others kept on stabbing, hacking, hewing their way into the solid ma.s.s until that ma.s.s, veteran, as it was, wavered and broke before the wild, irresistible charge.

Slowly at first, then more swiftly, the enemy retreated, pursued to the very edge of their trenches by the American boys, who, having tasted blood, were not to be denied.

They would have gone further but this was not in the plan of their commanders, for the enemy's guns had got the range and a murderous fire was being laid down.

The enemy had had a trouncing that he would not soon forget. The recall sounded, and the American boys turned back, reluctantly, gathering up their wounded comrades as they came.

Frank had been separated from his chums in the wild melee, and his first thought as he neared the home trench was for their safety. His relief was great when he found them, blackened, panting, their clothing riddled, but they themselves unharmed, except for a slight wound that Tom had received from a bullet that scarcely more than grazed his arm.

Now that the reaction was upon them, they felt unspeakably weary, for nerve and brawn had been taxed to the utmost. But in their eyes glowed the light of victory. They had met the veteran troops of the Kaiser and given them a taste of Yankee mettle.

It was their first battle and they had borne themselves like men.

Once more in the trenches and Tom's slight wound attended to, they peered curiously over the scene of battle. They shuddered as they looked, for there were still forms lying there that had not been there when the battle began. Who of their own number had gone? Who from that group of jolly, eager, vigorous young manhood with whom they had been living and training for weeks and months--those whom they had come to like and respect as they toiled and pleasured side by side in the camp and in the trenches?

And yet, not one of those who had come back alive from that awful field, where had been left some of their comrades, but would have gladly given his own life that selfishness, arrogance, and brutality should not conquer and rule in this world.

But they took comfort from the fact that despite their own losses, which had been numerous, the greater proportion of those still forms were German.

The enemy's gun fire was still sending a rain of death across the intervening s.p.a.ce and the American guns were answering with equal vigor.

It seemed as though no living thing could endure on that infernal plain.

Suddenly Frank's keen eyes detected a movement on the part of one of the apparently lifeless bodies and he gave a sharp exclamation.

"Look there, Bart!" he said. "There's a man still alive. See how he's trying to get up on his elbow--and he's one of our men, too. That is, he's French--I can tell by his uniform," he added in great excitement, as the light from a bursting star sh.e.l.l threw a ghastly radiance over the field.

The next instant he was clambering up the side of the trench.

"Frank! Frank!" cried Bart desperately, clutching at him. "What are you doing? Where are you going? It's certain death out there!"

"I'm going, Bart," gritted Frank between his teeth as he tore away from his friend's grasp, and leaped over the top!

An instant more and he was on his hands and knees, making his way toward the stricken man who was about twenty yards distant.

Around him bullets rained. A pain shot through his shoulder as though he had been stabbed by a red hot knife, but he kept on doggedly, reached the wounded man and tried to lift him to his feet.

But the effort was futile for the man sank back with a groan. Like a flash Frank's muscular arms lifted him, threw him over his shoulder and staggering, tripping, stumbling, yet somehow keeping his feet, he reached the edge of the trench.

A dozen eager hands relieved him of his burden and then he himself tumbled in, to be caught by Bart and Billy.

What happened in the next half hour, Frank scarcely knew. The wound in his shoulder though not serious had bled freely, and his tremendous efforts had taxed his strength to the utmost.

His surprise was great when, having had his wound attended to, he was ushered into the presence of the man he had saved.

"Why, it is Colonel Pavet!" he gasped. Of course the French military man was equally amazed.

"It is fate!" he cried. "Fate, nothing less, my brave boy! How can I ever thank you!"

"You don't have to thank me," returned Frank modestly.

"But I shall," and the French colonel grasped the young soldier's hand tightly. He was still very weak and spoke with difficulty.

"I am glad it was you, Sir," remarked the army boy.

"It is fate, I tell you," murmured the colonel. "When I am well I shall tell you more. I have heard from Auvergne, and all about the De Latour estate, which is in the courts. You may have a fight to get your rights, but--I am your friend. I shall fight for you and your mother."

"Then you think my mother's chances are good?" questioned Frank eagerly.

"I am certain of it," was the colonel's low reply. Then he had to stop talking, by the doctor's orders.

And what was done in the near future to recover the estate, and how Frank and his chum did their further duty as American soldiers, will be told in the next volume, to be ent.i.tled: "Army Boys in the French Trenches; Or, Hand to Hand Fights with the Enemy."

When Frank came back to camp his friends hailed him as a veritable hero.

"You're the goods!" cried Billy.

"All wool and a yard wide!" came from Tom.

"And American to the backbone, don't forget that!" added Bart.

THE END