Altsheler, Joseph - WWI 01 - The Guns Of Europe Read online

  The Guns of Europe By Joseph A. Altsheler AUTHOR OF HORSEMEN OF THE PLAINS, THE LAST OF THE CHIEFS, ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES WRENN NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Printed in the United States of America

  FOREWORD "The Guns of Europe" is the first of three connected romances, of which "The Forest of Swords" and "The Hosts of the Air" are to be respectively the second and third, dealing with the world war in Europe. It was the singular fortune of the author to be present at the beginning of this, the most gigantic struggle in the history of our globe. He was in Vienna the day Austria-Hungary declared war upon Servia, thus setting the torch that lighted the general conflagration. Returning westward, he reached Munich the day Germany declared war upon Russia. He remained in Germany nearly a month, having witnessed in turn the Austrian and German mobilizations, and then arrived in England in time to see the gathering of the British Empire's armed hosts. He was also, upon his return, in Quebec when the greatest colony of the British was rallying to their support. Such an experience at such an extraordinary crisis makes ineffaceable impressions, and through his characters, the author has striven his best to reproduce them in these three romances.

  CONTENTS I. THE SISTINE MADONNA II. THE THUNDERBOLT III. THE REFUGE IV. THE THRILLING ESCAPE V. THE FIGHT IN THE BLUE VI. ABOVE THE STORM VII. THE ZEPPELIN VIII. THE FRENCH DEFENSE IX. THE RIDE OF THREE X. THE DRAGONS OF THE AIR XI. THE ARMORED CAR XII. THE ABANDONED CHATEAU XIII. ON THE ROOF XIV. THE GERMAN HOST XV. THE GIANT GUN

  THE GUNS OF EUROPE CHAPTER I THE SISTINE MADONNA JOHN turned a little to the left, going nearer to the window, where he could gain a better view of the Madonna, which he had heard so often was the most famous picture in the world. He was no technical judge of painting he was far too young for such knowledge but he always considered the effect of the whole upon himself, and he was satisfied with that method, feeling perhaps that he gained more from it than if he had been able to tear the masterwork to pieces, merely in order to see how Raphael had made it. "Note well, John, that this is the Sistine Madonna," began William Anson in his didactic, tutorial tone. "Observe the wonderful expression upon the face of the Holy Mother. Look now at the cherubs gazing up into the blue vault, in which the Madonna like an angel is poised. Behold the sublime artist's mastery of every detail. There are those who hold that the Madonna della Sedia at Florence is its equal in beauty and greatness, but I do not agree with them. To me the Sistine Madonna is always first. Centuries ago, even, its full worth was appreciated. It brought a great price at " The rest of his speech trailed off into nothingness. John had impatiently moved further away, and had deliberately closed his ear also to any dying sounds of oratory that might reach him. He had his own method of seeing the wonders of the Old World. He was interested or he was not. It was to him a state of mind, atmospheric in a way. He liked to breathe it in, and the rattle of a guide or tutor's lecture nearly always broke the spell. Anxious that Mr. Anson should not have any fur ther chance to mar his pleasure he moved yet closer to the great window from which came nearly all the light that fell upon the Sistine Madonna. There he stood almost in the center of the beams and gazed upon the illumined face, which spoke only of peace upon earth and good will. He was moved deeply, although there was no sign of it in his quiet eyes. He did not object to emotion and to its vivid expression in others, but his shy nature, feeling the need of a defensive armor, rejected it for himself. It was a brighter day than the changeful climate of Dresden and the valley of the Elbe usually offered. The sunshine came in a great golden bar through the window and glowed over the wonderful painting which had stood the test of time and the critics. He had liked the good, gray city sitting beside its fine river. It had seemed friendly and kind to him, having in it the quality of home, something almost American in its simplicity and lack of caste. They had arrived as soon as the doors were opened, and but few people were yet in the room. John cartie from his mood of exaltation and glanced at the others, every one in turn. Two women, evidently teachers, stood squarely in front of the picture and looked alternately at the Madonna and one of the red volumes that mark the advance of the American hosts in Europe. A man with a thick, black beard, evidently a Russian, moved incessantly back and forth, his feet keeping up a light shuffle on the floor. John won dered why some northern races should be so emotional and others so reserved. He had ceased to think that climate ruled expression. A stout German frau stood gazing in apparent stolidity. Yet she was not so stolid as she seemed, because John caught a beam of appreciation in her eye. Presently she turned and went out, doubtless returning to some task of the thrifty housewife in this very city of Dresden. John thought her em blematic of Germany, homely herself, but with the undying love of the beautiful shown so freely in her fine cities, and in the parks, gardens and fountains more numerous than in an other country. Her place was taken by an officer in a uniform, subdued in color, but martial. He was a tall, stiff man, and as he walked with a tread akin to the goosestep his feet clanked upon the floor. He wore a hel met, the cloth cover over the spike, but John noticed that he did not take off the helmet in the presence of the Sistine Madonna. He moved to a place in front of the picture, brushing against the sisterhood of the red book, and making no apology. There he stood, indifferent to those about him, holding himself as one superior, dominant by force, the lord by right of rank over inferior beings. John's heart swelled with a sense of resentment and hostility. He knew perfectly well that the stranger was a Prussian officer a strong man too, both in mind and body. He stood upright, more than six feet tall, his wide shoulders thrown well back, his large head set upon a powerful neck. Reddish hair showed beneath the edges of the helmet, and the blue eyes that gazed at the picture were dominant and masterful. He was about thirty, just at the age when those who are strong have tested their minds against other men in the real arena of life and find them good. The heavy, protruding jaw and the compressed lips made upon John the impression of power. The picture grew somewhat dim. One of those rapid changes to which Dresden is subject occurred. The sunshine faded and a gray ness as of twilight fil tered into the room. The glances of the young Ameri can and the Prussian officer turned away from the Madonna at the same time and met. John was conscious that the blue eyes were piercing into him, but he had abundant courage and resolution and he gave back the look with a firmness and steadiness, equal to the Prussian's own. The cold steel of that glance rested upon him only for a few moments. It passed on, dissected in an instant the two teachers with the red guide book, and then the man walking, to the window, looked out at the gray walls of the city. John had not lowered his eyes before the intrusive gaze, but he felt now as if he had been subjected to an electric current. He was at once angry and indig nant, but, resolving to throw it off, he shrugged his shoulders a little, and turned to his older friend who was supposed to be comrade and teacher at the same time. Mr. Anson, the didactic strain, strong in him, recovered his importance, and began to talk again. He did not confine himself any longer to the Sistine Ma donna, but talked of other pictures in the famous gallery, the wonderful art of Rubens and Jordaens, although it seemed to John's normal mind that they had devoted themselves chiefly to studies in fat. But the longest lecture must come to an end, and as the inevitable crowd gathered before the Madonna William Anson was forced by courtesy into silence. The Prussian had already gone, still wearing his defiant helmet, his sword swinging stiffly from his belt, his heavy boots clanking on the floor. "Did you notice that officer?" asked John. "I gave him a casual glance. He is not different from the others. You see them everywhere in Germany." "He seemed typical to me. I don't recall another man
who has impressed me so much. To me he per sonified the great German military organization which we are all so sure is invincible." "And it is invincible. Nothing like the German army has ever before stood on this planet. 'A! great race, strong in both body and mind, has devoted itself for half a century to learning everything that is to be learned about war. It's a magnificent machine, smooth, powerful, tremendous, unconquerable, and for that very reason neither you nor I, John, will ever see a war of the first magnitude in Europe. It would be too destructive. The nations would shrink back, appalled. Besides, the tide is the other way. Re member all those ministers who came over with us on the boat to attend the peace conference at Con stance." John accepted readily all that Mr. Anson said, and the significance of the Prussian, due he was sure to his own imagination, passed quickly from his mind. But he was tired of pictures. He had found that he could assimilate only a certain quantity, and after that all the rest, even be they Raphael, Murillo and Rubens, became a mere blur. "Let's go out and walk on the terraces over the river," he said. "But many other famous pictures are he re. We can't afford to go back to America, and admit that we haven't seen some of the masterpieces of the Dresden gallery." John laughed. "No, we can't," he said, "because if we do ignore a single one that's the very one all our friends will tell us we should certainly have seen. But my eyes are growing tired, there's a congestion in the back of my head, and these polished floors have stiffened my ankles. Besides, we've plenty of time, and we can come back as often as we wish." "I suppose then that we must go," said Mr. Anson, reluctantly. "But one should make the most of the opportunities for culture, vouchsafed to him." John made no reply. He had heard that note so often. Mr. Anson was tremendous on "culture," and John thought it all right for him and others like him, but he preferred his own methods for himself. He led the way from the gallery and the older man fol lowed reluctantly. The sun, having gone behind the clouds, stayed there and Dresden was still gray, but John liked it best in its sober colors. Then the homely touch, the friendly feeling in the air were stronger. These people were much like his own. Many of them could have passed for Americans, and they welcomed as brethren those who came from beyond the Atlantic. He looked from the Bruhl Terraces over the Elbe a fine river too he thought it the galleries, the palaces, the opera house, the hotels, and all the good gray city, beloved of English and Americans as well as Germans. "What is that buzzing and whirring, John?" asked Mr. Anson suddenly. "Look up! Always look up, when you hear that sound, and you will see the answer to your question written in the skies! There it goes! It's passing over the portion of the city beyond the river." The long black shape of the Zeppelin dirigible was outlined clearly, as it moved off swiftly toward the southwest. It did not seem to diminish in size, as it left the city, but hung huge and somber against the sky, its whirr and buzz still audible. "An interesting toy," said Mr. Anson. "If a toy, it's certainly a gigantic one," said John. "Tremendous in size, but a toy nevertheless." "We're going up in it you know." "Are you still bent upon that wild flight?" "Why there's no danger. Herr Simmering, the proprietor of our hotel, chartered a dirigible last week, and took up all the guests who were willing to pay and go. I've talked to some of them and they say it was a wonderful experience. You remember that he's chartered another for next week, and you promised me we could go." "Yes, I promised, but I thought at the time that something would surely happen to prevent it." "Indian promises! I won't let you back out now!" William Anson sighed. His was a sober mind. He liked the solid earth for his travels, and he would fain leave the air to others. The daring of young John Scott, for whom he felt in a measure respon sible, often alarmed him, but John concealed under his quiet face and manner an immense fund of reso lution. "Suppose we go to the hotel," Mr. Anson said. "The air is rather keen and I'm growing hungry." "First call in the dining-car," said John, "and I come." "I notice that you're always eager for the table, although you shirk the pictures and statues, now and then." "It's merely the necessity of nature, Mr. Anson. The paint and marble will do any time." William Anson smiled. He liked his young com rade, all the more so perhaps because they were so different. John supplied the daring and adventurous spirit that he lacked, and the youth had enough for two. "I wonder if any new people have come," said John, as they walked down the steps from the terrace. "Don't think I'm weak on culture, Mr. Anson, but it's always interesting to me to go back to the hotel, see what fresh types have appeared, and guess from what countries they have come." "The refuge of a lazy mind which is unwilling to cope with its opportunities for learning and progress. John, I feel sometimes that you are almost hopeless. You have a frivolous strain that you ought to get rid of as soon as you can." "Well, sir, I had to laugh at those fat Venuses of Rubens and Jordaens. They may be art, but I never thought that Venus weighed three hundred pounds. I know those two painters had to advertise all through the Low Countries, before they could get models fat enough." "Stop, John! Is nothing sacred to you?" "A lady can be too fat to be sacred." Mr. Anson shook his head. He always stood impressed, and perhaps a little awed before centuries of culture, and he failed to understand how any one could challenge the accepted past. John's Philistine spirit, which he deemed all the more irregular in one so young pained him at times. Yet it was more as sumed than real with young 1 Scott. They reached their hotel and passed into the diningroom, where both did full justice to the good German food. John did not fail to make his usual inspection of guests, but he started a little, when he saw the Prussian officer of the gallery, alone at a table by a window overlooking the Elbe. It was one of the pleasantest views in Europe, but John knew very well that the man was thinking little of it. His jaw had not lost is pugnacious thrust, and he snapped his or ders to the waiter as if he were rebuking a recruit. Nobody had told John that he was a Prussian, but the young American knew it nevertheless, and he knew him to be a product, out of the very heart of that iron military system, before which the whole world stood afraid, buttressed as it was by tremendous victories over France, and a state of readiness known to be without an equal. Herr Simmering, fat, bland and bald, was bending over them, asking them solicitously if all was right. John always liked this bit of personal attention from the European hotel proprietors. It established a friendly feeling. It showed that one was not lost among the swarm of guests, and here in Germany it invariably made his heart warm to the civilians. "Can you tell us, Herr Simmering," he asked, "who is the officer alone in the alcove by the window?" Herr Gustav Adolph Simmering, the soul of blandness and courtesy, stiffened in an instant. With the asking of that simple question he seemed to breathe a new and surcharged air. He lost his expansiveness in the presence of the German army or any representa tive of it. Lowering his voice he replied : "A captain attached in some capacity to the General Staff in Berlin. Rudolf von Boehlen is his name. It is said that he has high connections, a distant cousin of the von Moltkes, in much favor, too, with the Em peror." "Do Prussian officers have to come here and tell the Saxons what to do?" The good Herr Simmering spread out his hands in horror. These simple Americans surely asked strange and intrusive questions. One could forgive them only because they were so open, so much like innocent chil dren, and, unlike those disagreeable English, quarreled so little about their bills. "I know no more," he replied. "Here in Germany we never ask why an officer comes and goes. We trust implicitly in the Emperor and his advisers who have guarded us so well, and we do not wish to learn the higher secrets of state. We know that such knowl edge is not for us." Dignified and slow, as became an important land lord, he nevertheless went away with enough haste to indicate clearly to John that he wished to avoid any more questions about the Prussian officer. John was annoyed. He felt a touch of shame for Herr Sim mering. "I wish the Germans wouldn't stand in such tre mendous awe of their own army," he said. "They seem to regard it as some mysterious and omnipotent force which is always right." "Don't forget their education and training, John. The great German empire has risen upon the victories of 1870, and if ever war between them should come again Germany
could smash France as easily as she did then." "I could never become reconciled to the spectacle of an empire treading a republic into the earth." Mr. Anson smiled. He had dined well, and he was at peace with the earth. "Names mean little," he said indulgently. John did not reply, but his under jaw thrust for ward in a pugnacious manner, startlingly like that of the Prussian. The officer, although no word had passed between them, nor even a glance of real hostility had aroused a stubborn antagonism, increased by the obvious awe of Herr Simmering and the deference paid to him by the whole establishment of the hotel. He saw Captain von Boehlen go out, and drawn by a vague resolve he excused himself, abandoning Mr. Anson who was still trifling pleasantly with the fruit, and also left the dining-room. He saw the captain receive his helmet from an obsequious waiter, put it on his head and walk into the parlor, his heavy boots as usual clanking upon the polished floor. In the final analysis it was this very act of keeping his helmet on, no matter where he was, that repelled young Scott and aroused his keen enmity. John went to the smoking-room. Von Boehlen lingered a moment or two in the parlor, and then took his way also down the narrow passage to the smok ing-room. It was perhaps a part of the American's vague plan that he should decide suddenly to go by the same way to the parlor. Hence it was inevitable that they should meet if Captain von Boehlen kept his course an invariable one with him in the very center of the hall. John liked the center of the hall, too, particularly on that day. He was tall and strong and he knew that he would have the advantage of readiness, which everybody said was the cardinal vir tue of the Prussian army. Just before they reached the point of contact the Prussian started back with a muttered oath of sur prise and annoyance. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and then came away again. John watching him closely was sure that hand and hilt would not have parted company so readily had it been a German civilian who was claiming with Captain Rudolf von Boehlen an equal share of the way. But John saw the angry flash in the eyes of the Prussian die suddenly like a light put out by a puff of wind, and the compressed line of the lips relax. He knew that it was not the result of innate feeling, but of a mental effort made by von Boehlen, and he surmised that the fact of his being a foreigner had all to do with it. Yet he waited for the other to apologize first. "Pardon," said the captain, "it is somewhat dark here, and as I was absorbed in thought I did not no tice you." His English was excellent and his manner polite enough. John could do nothing less than respond in kind. "It was perhaps my fault more than yours," he said. The face of Captain von Boehlen relaxed yet further into a smile. "You are an American," he said, "a member of an amiable race, our welcome guests in Europe. What could our hotels and museums do without you?" When he smiled he showed splendid white teeth, sharp and powerful. His manner, too, had become compelling. John could not now deny its charm. Perhaps his first estimate of Captain von Boehlen had been wrong. "It is true that we come in shoals," he responded. "Sometimes I'm not sure whether we're welcome to the general population." "Oh, yes, you are. The Americans are the spoiled children of Europe." "At least we are the children of Europe. The people on both sides of the Atlantic are apt to forget that. We're transplanted Europeans. The Indians are the only people of the original American stock." "But you are not Europeans. One can always tell the difference. You speak English, but you are not English. I should never take an American for an Englishman." "But our basis is British. Despite all the infusions of other bloods, and they've been large, Great Britain is our mother country. I feel it myself." Von Boehlen smiled tranquilly. "Great Britain has always been your chief enemy," he said. "You have been at war with her twice, and in your civil war, when you were in dire straits her predominant classes not only wished for your destruction, but did what they could to achieve it." "Old deeds," said John. "The bad things of fifty or a hundred years ago are dead and buried." But the Prussian would not have it so. Germany, he said, was the chief friend of America. Their peo ples, he insisted, were united not only by a tie of blood, but by points of view, similar in so many important cases. He seemed for some inscrutable reason anxious to convince one as young as his listener, and he em ployed a smoothness of speech and a charm of manner that John in the morning in the gallery would have thought impossible in one so stiff and haughty. The spell that this man was able to cast increased, and yet he was always conscious of a pitiless strength be hind it. John presently found himself telling his name, how he was traveling with William Anson, older than him self, and in a way both a comrade and a tutor, how he expected to meet his uncle, James Pomeroy, a United States Senator, in Vienna, and his intention of returning to America early in the autumn to finish his course at the university. "I should like to see that America of yours," said von Boehlen, after he had told something of himself, "but I fear it is not to be this year." "You stay in Dresden long?" asked John. "No, I leave tonight, but we may meet again, and then you can tell me more of that far western world, so vast and so interesting, but of which we Europeans really know so little." John noticed that he did not tell where he was go ing. But he surmised that Prussian army officers usually kept their destination to themselves. His talk with von Boehlen had impressed him more than ever with the size, speed and overwhelming power of the German army machine. It was not possible for any thing to stand before it, and the mystery that clothed it around imparted to it a superhuman quality. But he brushed away such thoughts. The sun was shining again. It danced in a myriad golden beams over the Elbe, it clothed in warmth the kindly city, and von Boehlen, with a politeness that was now unimpeachable rose to tell him good-bye. He acknowledged to himself that he felt a little flattered by the man's attention, and his courtesy was equal to that of the Prussian. Then the officer, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword, apparently a favorite gesture, stalked away. It was John's first impulse to tell Mr. Anson of his talk with von Boehlen, but he obeyed his second and kept it to himself. Even after he was gone the feeling that some motive was behind the Prussian's blandness remained. A letter came that afternoon from his uncle, the Senator. He was in Vienna, and he wished his nephew and Mr. Anson to join him there, cutting short their stay in Dresden. They could come by the way of Prague, and a day or two spent in that old Bohemian city would repay them. John showed the letter to Mr. Anson, who agreed with him that a wish from the Senator was in reality a command, and should be obeyed promptly. John, although he liked Dresden, had but one regret. He could not go up in the Zeppelin dirigible and he hastened to tell Herr Simmering that his entry was withdrawn. "I'll have to cut out the dirigible," he said in his colloquial tongue. "Perhaps you can find somebody to take my place." "Perhaps," said the landlord, "and on the other hand it may be that the dirigible will not go up for me." "Why? I thought you had chartered it for a second trip." Herr Simmering compressed his lips. John saw that, under impulse, he had said more than he in tended. It was an objection of his to Germany this constant secrecy and mystery that seemed to him not only useless but against the natural flow of human nature. "Are all the Zeppelins confiscated by the government?" he asked, speaking wholly at random. Herr Simmering started. Fat and smooth, he shot a single, menacing glance at the young American. But, in a moment, he was smiling again and John had not noticed. "Our government never tells its plans," he said. "Mr. Anson says that you leave tomorrow for Prague." "Yes," said John curiously, "and I can almost infer from your tone, Herr Simmering, that you will be glad to see us go." But Herr Simmering protested earnestly that he never liked to lose paying guests, above all those de 1 light ful Americans, who had so much appreciation and who made so little trouble. The German soul and the American soul were akin. "Well, we do like your country and your people," said John. "That's the reason we come here so much." In the evening, while Mr. Anson was absorbed in the latest English newspapers which had just come in, John went out for a walk. His favorite method of seeing a European city was to stroll the streets, and using his own phrase to "soak" it in. He passed now down the street which led by the very edge of the Elbe, and watched the long freight boats go by, lowering t
heir smokestacks as they went under the bridges. The night was cloudy, and the city behind him became dusky in the mists and dark ness. Dresden was strangely quiet, too, but he soon forgot it, as he moved back into the past. The past, not the details, but the dim forgotten life, aways made a powerful appeal to John. He had read that Dresden began with a little fishing village, and now he was trying to imagine the tawny men of a thousand years ago, in their rude canoes, casting their nets and lines in the river which flowed so darkly be fore him. But the mood did not endure long. He strolled presently upon the terraces and then back to ward the king's palace, drawn there by a great shout ing. As he approached the building he became conscious that an event of interest was occurring. A huge crowd had gathered, and the youth of it was demon strating with energy, cheering and breaking soon into national songs. John pressed into the edge of the crowd, eager to know what it was all about, but not yet able to see over the heads of the close ranks in front of him. "What is it? What is it? he asked of several, but they merely shrugged their shoulders, unable to understand English. John was angry at himself once more for knowing nothing of German. The whole life of a nation flowed past him, and all of it was mysterious, merely because he did not have that little trick of tongue. He caught sight at last of a man in an automobile that moved very slowly in the heart of the crowd, the people fairly pressed against the body of the machine. It was obvi ous that the stranger furnished the occasion for the cheering and the songs, and John repeated his questions, hoping that he would ultimately encounter some one in this benighted multitude who understood English. His hope was not in vain. A man told him that it was the King of Saxony returning to his capital and palace. John then drew away in some distaste. He did not see why the whole population of a city, even though they were monarchists, should go wild over the coming home of a sovereign. Doubtless the King of Saxony, who was not so young, had come home thousands of times before, and there must be something servile in a people who made such an old story an occasion for a sort of worship. He pushed his way out of the crowd and returned to the terrace. But the noise of the shouting and the singing reached him there. Now it was mostly singing, and it showed uncommon fervor. John shrugged his shoulders. He liked such an unreasonable display less than ever, and walked far along the river, until no sound from the crowd reached him. When he returned toward the hotel everybody had gone, save a few policemen, and John hoped that the king was not only in his palace, but was sound alseep. It must be a great tax upon Saxon energy to demon strate so heavily every time he came back to the palace, perhaps from nothing more than a drive. He found that Mr. Anson, having exhausted the newspapers, had gone to his room, and pleasantly weary in both body and mind, he sought his own bed. CHAPTER II THE THUNDERBOLT JOHN and Mr. Anson ate breakfast not long after daylight, as they expected to take an early train for Prague. They sat by a window in a small dining-room, overlooking pleasant gardens, and the Elbe, flowing just beyond the stretch of grass and flowers. The weather of the fickle valley had decided once again to be good. The young sunshine gilded the surface of the river and touched the gray buildings with gold. John was reluctant to leave it, but he had the anticipation, too, of fresh conquests, of new cities to be seen and explored. "We'll be in Prague tonight," he said, "and it will . be something very different, a place much more me- -' dieval than any we have yet visited." "That's so," said Mr. Anson, and he trailed off into a long historical account of Prague, which would serve the double purpose of instructing John, and of exhibiting his own learning. The waiter, who could speak English, and with whom John, being young, did not hesitate to talk at times, was bent over, pouring coffee at his elbow. "Pardon me, sir, but where did you say you were going?" he asked almost in a whisper. "To Prague?" "I shouldn't go there, sir, if I were you." "Why not?" "You'll run into a war," "What do you mean, Albrecht?" But Albrecht was already on the way to the kitchen, and he was so long in returning that John dismissed his words as merely the idle talk of a waiter who wished to entertain Herr Simmering's American guests. But when they went to an agency, according to their custom, to buy the railway tickets to Prague they were informed that it would be better for them not to go to the Czech capital. Both were astonished. "Why shouldn't we go to Prague?" asked Mr. Anson with some indignation. "I've never heard that the Czechs object to the presence of Americans." "They don't," replied the agent blandly. "You can go to Prague without any trouble, but I don't think you could leave it for a long time." "And why not. Who would wish to hold us in Prague?" "Nobody in particular. But there would be no pas senger trains during the mobilization." The eyes of John and Mr. Anson opened wider. "Mobilization. What mobilization?" asked the elder. "For the war that Austria-Hungary is going to make on Servia. The various army corps of Bohemia will be mobilized first." "A war!" exclaimed Mr. Anson, "and not a word about it beforehand! Why this is a thunderbolt!" John was thoughtful. The agent had made an amazing statement. It was, in truth a thunderbolt, as Mr. Anson had said, and it came out of a perfectly clear sky. He suddenly remembered little things, meaning nothing at the time, but acquiring significance now, the curious actions of Captain von Boehlen, the extraordnary demonstration at the return of the Saxon king to his palace, and the warning words of the waiter. He felt anew their loss in not knowing the language of the country and he gave voice to it. "If we'd been able to speak German we might have had some hint of this," he said. "We'll learn German, and be ready for it the next time we come," said Mr. Anson. "Now, John, in view of what we've heard, it would be unwise to go to Prague. Have you anything else in mind?" "Let's go straight to Vienna. It's a great capital, and it has so much railroad communication that we could certainly get out of it, when we want to do so. Besides, I'm bound to see the Danube." "And your uncle, the Senator, is there. Well, we'll chance it and go to Vienna. Can we get a train straight through to that city?" "One leaves in an hour and is due at nine tonight," replied the agent to whom he had addressed the ques tion. They bought the tickets, and when the Vienna ex press left the station the two with their baggage were aboard it. John was by the window of their compartment, watching the beautiful country. He loved rivers and lakes and hills and mountains more than either ancient or modern cities, and as they sped along the valley of the Elbe, often at the very edge of the river, his mind and his eyes were content. His absorption in what was flitting by the window kept him for some time from noticing what was passing in the train. A low, but impatient exclamation from Mr. Anson first drew his attention. "I never saw such crowding before in a European train," said he. "This compartment is marked for six, and already nine people have squeezed into it." "That's so," said John, "and there are men sitting on their valises in the corridors. An enormously large proportion of them are officers, and I've noticed that great crowds are gathered at every station we pass. The Austrians seem to get a lot of excitement out of a war with a little country like Servia, in which the odds in their favor are at least twenty to one." "The Austrians are a polite, agreeable, but volatile race," said Mr. Anson. "They are brave, but in war they are usually beaten. Napoleon made his early rep utation out of the Austrians. They are wait a min ute, John, and I will read you more about them from this excellent book on Austria that I bought in Dres den." "Excuse me this time ; won't you, sir. We're coming to another station, and the crowd is bigger than ever. I want to see if they cheer us more than they did at the one a few miles back." When they were beyond the town John turned his attention to the occupants of the compartment who had now increased to ten. They did not differ from ordinary travelers, but his attention was held longest by a young man, not much above his own age. He was handsome and blonde with a rme open face, and John put him down as a Viennese. He knew that the Viennese, although fellow Germans, were much unlike the Berliners, their souls being more akin to those of the French. He could not remember at what station the young man had boarded the train, but it was evident that he was already weary, as his head rested heavily against the cushion and his eyelids drooped. "A good fellow, I'm sure," said John to
himself. "I'd like to know him. il hope he's going on to Vienna with us." They were well across the Austrian border now, and an officer came through the train, asking for pass ports. Luckily, John and Mr. Anson had provided themselves with such documents, not because they be lieved them of any value, but, as John said, they always ran true to form, and if any official paper were offered they meant to have their share of it. Now they found these documents, considered worthless hitherto, very useful. The Austrian officer smiled when he looked at them. "Amerikanischer," he said, showing his large, even white teeth. "I haf a cousin leeving in New York." "I've no doubt he's a fine fellow," said John, as the officer passed on, "and I wish 'I knew him. I believe it's true, Mr. Anson, that we Americans are the spoiled children of the world." "It's so, John, although I object to the adjective, 'spoiled,' and it's so because we're far away, and mind our own business. Of course a democracy like ours does many foolish things, and often we make ourselves look ridiculous, but remember John, that we're an honest, straight- forward people, and it's foreign to all our nature to tread on the weak or cower before the strong." John thought little of the words then, Mr. Anson preached so much although he was to remember them later because his attention was diverted to the young stranger whom the officer was now asking for his passport. The youth he was little more than such raised his head languidly from the cushion and without wholly lifting his weary lids produced his passport from the inside pocket of his coat. John could not keep from seeing the name on it, "August Wilhelm Kempner." "Ah, from Vienna," said the examining officer, "and your occupation is described here as that of a painter." "Yes," said the weary youth, "but I fear that it is no occupation at all in times like these." As he spoke in German John did not understand him, but he knew that he was making some sort of explanation. He also saw that the officer was satisfied, as, smiling with the courtesy common to the Austrians, he passed into the corridor, and entered the next com partment. John, by and by, spoke to young Kemp ner, using good French he remembered that many Austrians understood French and the young man promptly replied but in broken and fragmentary French. The two managed to carry on a more or less connected conversation, in which several people in the compartment joined freely with scraps of English, French and German, helping out one another, as best they could, and forming a friendly group. It seemed to John that something of the ordinary stiffness pre vailing among strangers was relaxed. All of them, men and women, were moved by an unusual emotion and he readily attributed it to the war, although a great state like Austria-Hungary should not become unduly excited over a struggle with a little one like Servia. But he let Mr. Anson do most of the talking for America, and by and by began to watch through the window again. The green of the rich country rested both eye and brain, and, a war between Aus tria-Hungary and Servia was not such a tremendous affair. There was always trouble down in that Balkan region. Trouble there, was far less remarkable than the absence of it. As for himself he wanted to see the Danube, which these careless Viennese per sisted in calling the Donau, and the fine old capital which had twice turned back the Tu rks, but not Na poleon. He soon saw that they would reach Vienna long after the destined time. The stops at every station were long and the waiting crowds thickened. "I did not know so many people were anxious to see our entry into the capital," said John. "They are numerous, but not more so than we deserve," replied Mr. Anson in the same vein. It was midnight when they reached Vienna. John bade farewell to Kempner, his companion of the jour ney to whom he had been strongly attracted, and after : the slight customs examination drove away with Mr. lAnson to a modest hotel. It was so late an'd he was so tired that he thought he would sleep heavily. But sleep passed him by, and it was such a rare thing that John was troubled great ly. What was the matter with him? It could not be all those sounds of shouting and singing that were floating in at the open window! He had slept many a time at home, when the crowds were cheering continuously on election night. The noise increased, although it was at least two in the morning. He had always heard that Vienna was a gay city, and never slept, but he had scarcely expected such an ebullient night life, and, his curiosity aroused, he rose and dressed. From his seat at the window he heard the singing much more plainly, and far down the avenue he saw columns of marching men. He could not understand the words they sang, but he knew from the beat of the music that they were Austrian and German patriotic songs, and his curiosity increasing, he went down into the street, nodding to the dozing porter who stood at the door. He found the streets thronged with a multitude constantly growing larger, and vivid with a pleased excitement. He had no doubt that it was the war with the little Balkan state that caused it all, and he could not refrain from silent criticism of a great nation which made so much ado over a struggle with a coun try that it outnumbered enormously. But he recalled that the Viennese were a gay, demonstrative people, and their excitement and light-heartedness were certainly infectious. He was sorry again that he could not speak German, and then he was glad, when he saw young Kempner leaning against a closed window watching the parades. "I suppose that like me you couldn't sleep," he said in French. Kempner started. He had not seen John's ap proach, and, for the moment, John almost thought that the look he gave him was not one of welcome. But it passed swiftly. Then he stretched out his hand and replied. "No, I couldn't. If you who come from across the sea wish to witness the enthusiasm of my countrymen how much more would it appeal to me?" "Has anything definite happened?" "Yes, Austria-Hungary declared war on Servia to day. It had to come. As our Viennese will tell you the Servians are a race of murderers. They murdered their own king, and now they have murdered our Archduke and Archduchess, heaping another sorrow upon the head of our aged emperor. We will finish them in a week." John rememberd some words of Burke about no one being able to indict a whole nation, and he was about to quote them, but second thought kept him silent. He must not argue with a people, perhaps justly infuriated about what was no business of his. He remained with Kempner, but sensitive and quick to receive impressions he soon concluded that the young Austrian wished to be alone. Perhaps he, too, was going to the war, and would soon have to tell his people good-by. That might account for his absent manner. John, as soon as he conveniently could, gave an ex cuse and turned away. Kempner was polite, but did not seek to detain him. The American returned to his hotel, but at the first crossing looked back. He saw the form of Kempner disappearing into a narrow alley. "Taking a short cut home," said John to him self, "and it's what I ought to do, too. I've no busi ness wandering about a strange city at such a time." The same sleepy porter nodded to him, as he passed in and asked him no questions. Now slumber came quickly and he did not awake for breakfast, until Mr. Anson had pounded long and heavily on his door. "Get up, John!" he cried. "Here's your uncle to see you, and you a sluggard, lying abed this late!" John sprang up at the announcement of his uncle's presence. Sleep still lay heavy on his eyelids, and he was in a mental daze, but by the time he reached the door he had come out of it. They had not looked for his uncle the night before, owing to the lateness of the hour, although they were sure that he was stop ping at the same hotel. "Just a moment," he exclaimed, and without waiting to dress he opened the 'door, admitting the stalwart figure of the Senator, who hurried in to greet his favorite nephew. "Jackie, my lad," he cried in a loud voice which had become oratorical from much use on the stump. "The sight of you is good for weak eyes. I'm always glad to see any American, any member of the finest race on God's earth, but I'm particularly glad to see you they do say you look like me when I was a boy although I'm bound to tell you that you're more than half asleep, on this your first morning in Vienna." "I slipped out late to hear the shouting and singing and see the crowds, Uncle Jim. I haven't been in bed more than three or four hours. The city was so much awake that I had to stay awake, too." "Well, don't you do it again. Always get your sleep, especially when you are on foreign travel. It's as hard work as political campaigning in the states, and that, Jackie, my boy, is no soft snap, as I ought to know, having do
ne it more than thirty years." Senator James Pomeroy, a western man, was some thing past sixty, of medium height, portly, partly bald, but heavy of mustache and with a short pointed beard. His eyes were gray, his face full, and he was of great physical strength. He was self-made and the job was no discredit to him. His nature was simple and open. America was the finest country, had the finest government and the finest people on earth, and the state of which he was the senior Senator was the choicest flower of the flowery flock. "There was enough to keep a fellow awake," he said, "but I always sleep well. You must learn to do it, if you expect to achieve a success of life. When I was making my first campaign for the Lower House of our state, and I was barely old enough to be eligible, I lay awake and fretted over the votes that might be lacking to me when election came. I at last said to myself: 'Don't do it! Don't do it!' You may roll and you may tumble, but it won't win you a single vote. It's the smooth work you've done before that brings 'em in. Now, hustle on your clothes, Jackie, lad, and we'll have breakfast, not one of these thin continental affairs, but a real breakfast, if I have to go in the kitchen myself and seize it." "What about this war, Uncle Jim?" "A small affair, soon over. We came very near having one, too, with Mexico, but luckily we've got a president who doesn't play to the gallery, and he sat hard on the war-maniacs. I think I was of some little assistance to him myself in that crisis. But, my boy, Europe is the pet home of war scares. They're always coming across the Atlantic by mail and wire. 'War clouds in the Balkans!' 'Eastern question sets Europe by the ears!' 'France plots to get back Alsace-Lorraine and Germany arms!' 'German Kaiser warns Austrian Kaiser against Triple Entente!' Bang! Boom! everybody going to war in the next five minutes but they don't. You'll find 'em all a half hour later in the cafes, eating and drinking. Europe can't fight, because there isn't time between meals. They eat five times a day here, and they eat long at a time. How could they possibly sandwich in a war. I'm sixty-two years old, and as far back as I can rememher European war clouds have been passing like little summer clouds, and they will continue to pass long after you're an old man, Jackie. I make that statement deliberately, and I challenge successful contradiction." He expanded his great chest, and looked around with an air of defiance. It was his favorite oratorical manner, now grown into a habit. But no one challenged him, and they went to a bountiful breakfast, for which the Senator paid willingly, demanding no greater return than the attention of the others while he talked. Later in the day the three drove together in the grounds of Schonbrunn, and John's thoughts passed for a while to the great Corsican who had slept there, and who had led his army to victory over this the haughtiest of European monarchies, and perhaps for that reason the weakest. The tremendous convulsion upon which Napoleon had ridden to such dazzling heights seemed to him impossible: it was clearly impossible according to all the rules of logic, and yet it had occurred. That was the most startling period in the history of the modern world, and, forgetting what was about him, he tried to evoke it from the past. He was recalled to the present bytheir driver, an eager Austrian, who asked them in broken English if they wished to see the old emperor arrive home from Ischl. He pointed with his whip to an open space, adjoining the Schonbrunn grounds, where people were already gathering. "Of course, my good man," replied Senator Pomeroy in oratorical tones. "We will go to see the em peror, but only as an object of curiosity. Far be it from me to pay any homage to the representative of a decayed system. I look on, merely as a free American citizen, no better and no worse than the millions whom I strive to the best of my ability to represent in our National legislative halls. Get us in as close as you can, driver." John was frankly eager. He disliked the military monarchies as much as the Senator did, but he wanted to see the old emperor at whom fate had shot so many cruel arrows. His carriage was to come down a certain street from the railway station, and their skillful driver maneuvered them to the very edge of it. The crowd was immense, and it was electric with excitement. It was no ordinary occasion and all the emo tions of the excitable Viennese had been aroused. As far as John could see the multitude ran, and the packed heads seemed to rise and fall like waves of the sea. Troops in magnificent uniforms of the most vivid colors were everywhere. The day itself seemed to be ablaze with their gorgeousness. If John had been asked to define the chief difference between Europe and America he would have replied that it was a mat ter of uniforms. The crowd which seemed already to fill every space nevertheless grew larger, and waves of emotion ran through it. John did not think they could be defined in any other way. At home people differed in their opinions, every man to his own, but here they appeared to receive them from somebody higher up, and the crowd always swayed together, to this point or that, acording to the directing power. He had never before seen so much emotional ex citement. Vienna's thrill, so obvious the night before, had carried over into the day, increasing as it went along, and it was a happy intoxication, infectious in its nature. He began to feel it in his own veins, although his judgment told him that it was no business of his. Yet the brilliant uniforms, the shimmer of steel, the vast shifting crowd of eager faces, the deep and unbroken murmur of anticipation would have moved an older and dryer mind. Anticipatory shouts arose. They were in German, but John knew that they meant : "He comes!" Never theless "he," which was the Emperor, did not yet come, and the crovd thickened and thickened. He saw the people stretching along leafy avenues, and in the distance they were wedged into a solid mass, faces and figures running together, until they presented the complete likeness of the waving sea. "A strange sight and highly interesting," said the Senator oratorically. "It must take generations of education to teach a people to make a symbol of one man. And yet if we could get at the reality we'd surely find him a poor and broken creature." "Man doesn't always grow according to his nature, he's shaped by continual pressure," said Mr. Anson. John scarcely heard either of them, because he saw far down the avenue that the waves of the human sea were rolling higher than before. An increasing volume of sound also came from that solid sheet of faces, and it seemed to part slightly in the center, as if a sword had been thrust between. Carriages, auto mobiles and the flame of uniforms appeared in the cut. A roar like thunder arose from two hundred thousand people. John knew that the Emperor, in truth, was now coming. Such a spontaneous outburst could be for nothing else, and, in spite of every effort of the will, his own excitement increased. He leaned forward for a better view and just in front of their carriage he saw a slender upright figure that looked familiar. A second glance told him that it was Kempner. "Oh, Kempner!" he called, full of friendly feeling. "Come here with us. You can see better!" Kempner glanced up, and John distinctly saw a shadow come over his face. Then he looked at them as one looks at strangers with a blank, uncomprehending gaze, and the next instant slipped with extraordi nary agility into some crevice of the crowd and dis appeared. John flushed. Kempner's conduct was both rude and strange. He glanced at his uncle and Mr. Anson, but they, absorbed in the coming of the Emperor, had neither seen nor heard, and he was glad. His own attention now turned to the event of the moment, be cause the mighty roar was increasing in volume and coming nearer, and down the opening lane a carriage followed by others was speeding. Along either side of the lane the soldiers were packed so closely that they formed a living wall, but John, standing up in their own carriage, saw over their heads. He saw an old, old man in splendid uniform, sitting by the side of an impassive officer also in a splendid uniform. The old man's cheeks were sunken, and the heavy-lidded eyes stared straight before him. He sat erect, but whether it was his own strength or the ar rangement of the seat John could not tell. His hand flew up, forward, then down, and up forward and down again in automatic salute. He was so near presently that it was only a spear's length over the heads of the soldiers. Then John saw how truly old he was, and suddenly his heart revolted. Why should this old, old man, broken by appalling sorrows, be dragged out to have wars made in his name? The schemers and plotters, whoever they were might let him rest in peace. The carriage flash
ed on, and behind it came the others as fast. They would not linger, to give a chance for bombs and knives. In an instant the em peror was gone through the gates of Schonbrunn, and first the soldiers and then the roaring crowd closed in behind. The Senator gave, the order, and their carriage drove slowly away, the three discussing what they had seen while the happy driver exulted over the glorious show, so dear to the heart of a Viennese. But John once more thought the excitement was not warranted by a little war with a little country like Servia. They devoted three or four days to Vienna, a capi tal, they had often heard, as gay as Paris, and certainly splendid in appearance, but pleasure seemed to hang fire. There was a cloud over the city, the cheering and singing parades went on all through the nights, but at times in the day the spirits of men seemed to droop. John told himself over and over again that this heavy change in the atmosphere was not justified by the size of Servia. The three of them once more and often bewailed their lack of German. People talked all around them and they heard nothing. Austrians who hitherto had a fair knowledge of English forgot it entirely, when they were asked questions. The Senator in the privacy of their rooms thundered and thundered. He hated all this secrecy. He won dered what those men were doing at Schonbrunn in the name of the old Emperor. As for himself he liked the arena of public life in the United States, where you rolled up your sleeves such was his metaphor and told what you were for and what you were against, without fear or favor. Democracies did wrong or rather foolish things, but in them it was impossible for a few military leaders, hid in a palace, to play with the lives of hundreds of thousands. John, although saying nothing, agreed with him fully. The last three or four days had depressed him in a manner unusual in one so young. His silent rebuff by Kempner had hurt his spirit to an extent far beyond the nature of the incident, and, realizing it, he wondered why. He kept a sharp watch in the streets for the young Austrian, but he did not see him again. At last there came a time when the greatest of all thunderbolts fell. It was the simple hand of a waiter that caused it to fall. The others had finished their coffee and rolls at breakfast and had gone out, leaving John alone at the table. "What is the matter with Vienna?" he said casually to the waiter, who he knew could speak English. The man hesitated, then he leaned over and said in a fearful whisper: "It's not a little war. It's not just a war with Servia which we can finish in a week, but it's to be such a war as the world has never seen." John started, looked up at the man. His face was intensely earnest. How should one in his humble calling have news of such import? And yet at Dresden he had been warned by another waiter, and warned truly. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yes, sir, they're all going into it. Europe will be covered with armies!" "When?" "In a few hours! Now, sir! Oh, I can't say any more!" He hurried away, leaving John convinced that he told the truth. It was stunning, appalling, unbeliev able, impossible, but he believed it nevertheless. There were underground channels of communication and true news might come by the way of the kitchen as well as the palace. He was absolutely convinced that he had heard a fact. Now he knew the cause of that heaviness and depression in the atmosphere. Well the clouds might gather, when such a thunderbolt as a general war was going to fall! He immediately hunted up his uncle and Mr. Anson who had not yet left the hotel, and told them what he had heard. Conviction seized them also. "It's come at last, this European war! after a thou sand false alarms, it's come!" said the Senator, "and my boy, Vienna is no place for three honest Amer icans who do not work in the dark. I say it, and I say it without fear of contradiction, that it behooves us to flee westward with all the speed we can." "You won't hear any contradiction from me," said Mr. Anson. "Vienna is a fine city, but nothing be comes it more than our leaving it. Which way do we go?" "There's a train in two hours for Salzburg and Munich," suggested John. "Hurried packing," said the Senator, "but we can do it. Get ready the baggage you two and I'll pay the bills. We'll go to Salzburg and sleep there tonight, and tomorrow we'll reach Munich. The more I think about this the less I like it. Why didn't we read all those signs earlier! I suppose it's because we'd heard the false cry of wolf so many dozens of times." John and Mr. Anson made all speed with the bag gage while the Senator paid the bills, and, as they drove in their cab to the station, the three felt more than ever the need of haste. The clouds seemed to be shutting down completely on Vienna. John felt that it was hard to breathe, but he knew it was the effect of the imagination. He was oppressed by a se nse of an impending and appalling catastrophe, something more tremendous than anything that the world had yet experienced. He had an impression that he had come to the end of an era, and the impression was all the more powerful because it had been made so suddenly. They passed through an excited station filled with a swirling crowd, and secured places on a train, they scarcely knew how. Here people sat and stood upon one another, and, as the train sped westward, they knew that the storm was bursting with terrific vio lence. The nervous people around them no longer restrained themselves. Europe was to be swept with fire and sword, but above all the Germans and Austrians were going to smash up France. They dwelt most upon that. The French and the French Republic must go. There was no longer a place for them in the world. To John's modest wish that France would not come into it they gave a stare and frown of disapproval. France had to come in, she must come in, the two German powers would see that she was smitten down as a nation was never overwhelmed before. Oh, no, Britain would do nothi'ng. Of course she wouldn't. She'd stay behind her barrier of the sea, and, perhaps, at the last when the spoils of war were to be snatched from the exhausted combatants, she'd step in and snatch them. No, they needn't consider Britain, and Germany and Austria could easily dispose of France and Russia. Much of this was said in English and French to the three travelers and John's heart sickened. Poor France! Why should she be smashed up! Why should the French nation be exterminated? He did not forget that France was a republic like his own country. She had been beaten once by Germany and the victor's terms were hard and whatever her faults had been that was enough. He did not like French men personally any better than Germans, but at that moment his sympathies went to the French and he felt a great pity for France. The train crept along, and, after double the usual time, they reached Salzburg, w T here they passed an uneasy night, and, the next day, boarded another train which was to cross the German border and take them to Munich. It, too, was packed with an excited mass of humanity, and as John passed along the corridor he saw Kempner in one of the compartments. Remembering his previous rebuffs he intended to to take no notice, but the young Austrian nodded at him and smiled. "I see that you flee," he said in his broken French, "and you do well to flee. Europe is aflame." "That's so," said John, "and, since it's no fire of ours, we Americans mean to be on the Atlantic foam, as soon as we can." As there was a vacant seat in the compartment and Kempner seemed very friendly now, John sat down to talk a little. He longed occasionally for companion ship of his own age, and his heart warmed again to the young Austrian. "I see that you're running, too," said John. "Yes," smiled Kempner. "I'm a man of peace, a painter, or rather I would be one, and as my heart is a little weak I'm not drawn for military service. I'm on my way to Munich, where I mean to study the gal leries." "I'm going to Munich, too," said John. "So we can travel together." "Then if we expect to reach Munich we'd better jump out now. Quick!" "What for?" "It seems that this is the Austrian border, and trains are not crossing it now, owing to the mobilization. A German train has come to meet us. Look, most of the passengers have transferred already!" John saw his uncle and Mr. Anson standing on the steps of the 'German train and looking about vainly for him. There had been no announcement of the change, and, annoyed, he ran down the corridof and sprang to the ground, closely followed by Kempner. "Passporten! passporten!" shouted some one, put ting a strong hand on his arm. John saw his uncle and Mr. Anson going into the German train, evidently thinking that he was inside, and his alarm increased. "Amerikanischer! Amerikanischer!" he said to the Austrian officer, who was holding his arm and demanding his passport. The officer
shook his head and spoke voluble German. John did not understand it, but he knew that the man at such a time would insist upon seeing his passport. Kempner just behind him was in the same bad case. The whistle of departure sounded from the train, and John, in despair, tore at the passport in an inside pocket. He saw that the officer would never be able to read it in time, and he endeavored to snatch him self from the detaining grasp. But the Austrian hung on firmly. As he fairly thrust the document in the face of the official he saw the wheels of the coaches moving. "I'll come on the next train!" he shouted to the air. The officer looked over the passport deliberately and handed it back. The train was several hundred yards down the track. "Now, yours," he said to Kempner, and the young man passed it to him. "August Wilhelm Kempner," said the officer, and then he added, looking the young man squarely in the eye: "I happen to know August William Kempner who lives in Vienna and he bears no resemblance to you. How do you happen to have his passport?" "That I won't explain to you," said the false Kemp ner, and suddenly he struck him a stunning blow on the temple with his clenched fist. The officer, strong though he was, went down unconscious. "Run! Run! Follow me!" exclaimed the young man. "They'll think you were my comrade and it may mean your death!" His action had been so violent, and he spoke with such vehemence that John was mentally overborne. Driven by a powerful impulse he followed the flying man. Kempner, for so John still called him, darted into a narrow street not wider than an alley, leading be tween two low houses. He had had no opportunity hitherto to observe the border place in which they had stopped. It was small, but like many of the old European towns it was very closely built, and some of its streets were scarcely wide enough for two abreast. The fugitives ran swiftly. Kempner evidently knew the place, as he sprang in and out with amazing agility, and the sounds of pursuit died in a minute or two. Then he darted between two buildings that almost touched, entered a small churchyard in the rear of a Gothic church and threw himself down behind a great tombstone. And even as he did so he pulled John down beside him. As they lay close, still trembling from exertion and excitement, Kempner said to John, and now he spoke in perfect French : "Since I got you into this trouble I think it my duty to get you out of it again if I can. Of course the peo ple of the town saw us running, and I rushed through that narrow passage in order to evade their sight." His tone had a dry and quaint touch of humor and John, despite his exhaustion and alarm, could not keep l from replying in a similar vein. "If I don't owe you thanks for the first statement I do at least for the second. I don't know German, and so I couldn't understand what you and that Austrian officer said, but I fancy your name is not Kempner." "No. It's not, and I'm not an Austrian. I'm a Frenchman, for which I return thanks to the good God. Not that Americans are not great and noble peo ple, but it's a fortunate thing that so many of us are satisfied with our birth." "I was thinking so when you announced with such pride that you were a Frenchman." The other laughed softly. "A fair hit," he said, "and I laid myself open to it." "Now since you're not August William Kempner, and are not an Austrian, will you kindly tell me your name and your nation, as in any event I am no enemy of yours and will betray you to nobody." "My race, as you might infer from the beauty and purity with which I speak my native language, is French, and my name, which I no longer have a motive in concealing from you, is Philip Lannes. I'm a collateral descendant of Napoleon's great marshal, Lannes, and I'm willing to boast of it." "Occupation I will risk another inference is something like that of a spy." The Frenchman looked keenly at the American and again laughed lightly. "You're not far wrong," he said. "It was the passport of another man that I carried, and I happened to meet an official who knew better. It was mere chance that you were with me at the time and would have been taken for my comrade. Didn't you know that a great war was going to burst?" "I've just learned it." "And one of the objects of those who are making the war is to smash my country, France. How could one serve her better than by learning the preparations and forces against her? Oh, I've been among the Austrians and I've been watching them! They've made some terrible mistakes. But then the Austrians always make mistakes. There's an old saying that what the Austrian crown loses by war it wins back by marriage. But I don't think royal marriages count for so much in these days. Lie close! I think I hear sol diers in the alley!" John hugged the earth in the shadow of the great tombstone. CHAPTER III THE REFUGE JOHN SCOTT, in those moments of hiding and physical exhaustion, had little time to think, yet he was dimly conscious that he, an American who meant to meddle in the business of nobody, had fallen into a most extraordinary situation. By a sud den mischance he had lost in a few moments his uncle and the man who was at once his comrade and tutor, and now he had been running for his life with a stranger. Yet he obeyed the warning words of Lannes and fairly tried to burrow into the earth. The name, Lannes, had exerted at once a great influence over him. The career of Napoleon had fascinated him, and of all his marshals the brave and democratic Lannes had appealed to him most. And now he was hiding with one who had in his veins kindred blood of this great and gallant figure. Despite his anxiety John turned a little and looked at the young Frenchman who lay beside him. Lannes was but a year or two older than the American. Tall, slender, narrow of waist, and broad of chest and shoulders he seemed built for both agility and strength. He was fair of hair and gray of eye. But those gray eyes were his most remarkable feature. They were in tensely bright, and the light in them seemed to shift and change, but no matter what the change might be they were always gay and merry. John surmised that he was one of the few, who by a radiant presence, are born to be a source of joy to the world, and time was to confirm him in his opinion. "Luckily the big tombs of dead and forgotten Germans rise on either side of us," whispered Lannes, "and the chances are good that we won't be discovered, but we must keep on lying close. We're on the German side in this town and the Germans will look longer than the Austrians. They're at the end of the alley now, not thirty feet away." John heard them marching. The thump, thump of solid German feet was plainly audible. It was a sound that he was to hear again, and again, and never for get, that heavy thump, thump of the marching German feet, a great military empire going forward to crush or be crushed. Even in those moments he was impressed less by his sense of personal danger than by his feeling that a nation was on the march. "They've turned," said Lannes, and John heard the thump, thump of the feet passing away. But he and the young Frenchman lay still, until the last echo had died. Then Lannes sat up and peeped over the edge of one of the tombs. "They'll search elsewhere," he said, "but they won't come here again. We'll have to be cautious, however, as they'll never stop, until they've gone all through the town. Trust the Germans for that. Now aren't you glad I brought you among the tombs? Could we have found a better hiding place?" His manner was so gay and light-hearted that John found it infectious. Yet, he was resolved not to yield entirely. He had been dragged or pushed into too des perate a quandary. "Suppose they don't find us now, what then?" he asked. "It may be all right for you, but as for me, my uncle and my friend are on the way to Munich, and I'm marooned in a land, the language of which I don't understand." "But you're with me!" "So I am, but you're a stranger. You belong to a country with which Germany is at war or going to war. You're a spy, and if you're caught, which is highly probable, you'll be hanged or shot, and because I'm with you they'll do the same to me." Lannes plucked a grass stem and chewed itthoughtfully, although his eyes at no time lost their cheerful twinkle. "I do seem to have plunged you into a whole lake of trouble," he said at length. "I'll admit that my own neck is in the halter, and it behooves me to es cape as soon as I can, but don't think I'll ever neglect you. I mean to see that you get to Munich and rejoin your friends." "How?" "It's a secret for the present, confined to me. But trust me! can't you?" His speech had glided from French into English so good that it was colloquial, and of the vernacular. Now he looked directly into John's eyes, and John, looking back, saw only truth in their gray smiling depths. There are some things that we feel, instinctive ly, and
with overwhelming power, and he knew that the young Frenchman would be as true as steel. He held out his hand and said: "I believe every word you say. I'll ask no ques tions, but wait for what happens." Lannes took the outstretched hand and gave it a grasp of extraordinary power. The joyous lights in his wonderful gray eyes shifted and changed with extraordinary rapidity. "I like you, John Scott, you Yankee," he said. "You and I will be the best of friends and for life. Thus does the great American republic, which is you, pledge eternal friendship with France, the great Eu ropean republic, which is me." "You put it well, and now what are we going to do?" "Graveyards are good places, my old my old, being as you know, a translation of mon vicux, a term of friendship, becoming to you because of your grave demeanor but it's not well to stay in them too long. You've noticed doubtless that the skies are darkening over the spur of the Alps toward Salzburg?" "And what then?" "It means that we must seek quarters for the night, and night is always friendly to fugitives. I promised that I'd take you to your friends in Munich I can't do it in an hour or even in two, although I'll lead you to food and a bed, which are not to be despised. Hut we must wait a little longer." "Until night comes fully?" "Truly, until it's complete night. And, fortunately for you, it will be very dark, as I see plenty of clouds sailing in this direction from the mountains." John, who was lying on his back, looked toward the south, and saw that the crests of the peaks and ridges were already dim with somber masses floating northward and westward. The air was growing; cooler, and, in a half hour, the ancient churchyard was sure to be veiled in darkness. For the present Philip and he relapsed into silence, and John's thoughts trav eled anxiously toward his uncle and Mr. Anson. What would they think had become of him? He knew that the Senator who was very fond of him would be alarmed greatly, and it was a bad time in Europe for any one to be missing. But there was stern stuff in John Scott, and knowing that they must wait he put anxiety from him as much as he could and waited. The heavy clouds, although they did not give forth rain, swept up, and brought black darkness with them. The white tombstones became pale, and the town be yond was invisible. Lannes rose and stretched himself deliberately, limb by limb. "Are you willing, John Scott?" he asked, "to fol low me and ask no questions?" "Yes, Philip Lannes, I am." "Well, then, John I think I'll call you that because you and I are friends, and you may say Philip, too, which will save time I'm going to lead you to tem porary safety and comfort. I'll tell you, too, enough to assuage your curiosity. There's a little Huguenot quarter to this town. Louis Quatorze, as you know, drove many good people out of France. Some went to your own new land, but the majority settled in the sur rounding countries. They've intermarried chiefly with themselves, and, after more than two hundred years on foreign soil, many of them still have French hearts in French bodies." "Lead on then. I think I'd like to meet these good Huguenots. I'm growing tremendously hungry, Philip." "Hunger is frequent in a great war. You'll grow used to it." His manner took away any sting that his words might have contained. John could yet see those won derful gray eyes shining through the twilight, and his heart warmed anew to the young Frenchman. If he were to be cast away in this strange German town Lannes was just the comrade whom he would have chosen. "We're resurrected," continued Lannes, "and we'll leave our graveyard. May it be a long time before I enter another! And yet with a world going to war who can tell?" But the touch of gravity was only for an instant. The joyous note quickly returned to his voice. "Keep by my side," he said, "and walk in the most careless manner, as if you were a native of the town. If anybody asks question let me make all the replies. God gave me one special gift, and it was an easy tongue. It's not work for me to talk. I like to do it." "And I like to hear you," said John. "Which leaves us both satisfied. Now, it's lucky for us that our old European towns are so very old. In the Middle Ages they built with narrow streets, and all sorts of alleys and passages. Leading from the cemetery is just the sort of passage that you and I need at this time. Ah, here it is, and luckily it's empty!" They had crossed the narrow street beyond the cemetery, and were looking into a dark tunnel between two low stone houses. No one was in sight. Lannes stepped without hesitation into the tunnel. "Keep with me," he said, repeating his injunction, "and we'll soon be under shelter." His manner was so cheerful, so confident that John instinctively believed him, and walked boldly by his side into the well of darkness. But as his eyes grew used to it he made out the walls crumbling with age and dripping with damp. Then the sound of heavy feet came thundering down the passage. "Some one leading a horse," whispered Lannes. "There's a stable on our right. It's nothing. Seem not to notice as you pass." The thunder of the feet, magnified in the confined space, increased, and presently John saw a boy leading one of those huge-footed horses, used for draft in Europe. The animal stepped slowly and heavily, and the boy was half asleep. John and Philip, hovering in the shadow of the wall, passed him so lightly that doubtless he was not conscious of their presence. The Frenchman turned into a tributary alley, nar rower and darker than the other, and Lannes knocked at a heavy oaken doorway, before which a small lan tern cast a dim light. John had good eyes, and accustomed to the heavy shadows, he saw fairly well. He concealed an imaginative temperament under a quiet manner, and he was now really back in the Mid dle Ages. It must have been at least four or five hun dred years since people lived up little alleys like this. And the door with its heavy iron bands, the shuttered window above it, and the dim lantern that lighted the passage could belong only to long ago. The house and its neighbors seemed to have been built as much for defense as for habitation. Lannes knocked again, and then John heard inside the soft tread of feet, and the lifting of heavy bars. It was another mediaeval touch, and he swung yet further back into the past. The door was opened slightly and the face of an elderl y woman appeared at the crevice. "It's Philip Lannes with a friend, Mother Krochburg," said the young Frenchman in a whisper, "and friend as you've often been to me I never needed the friendship of you and your house more than I do now." She said something in German and opened the door wider. Lannes and John pressed in, and she instantly closed it behind them, putting the heavy bars in place.. They stood in complete darkness, but they heard her moving about, and presently she lighted a small lamp which did not dispel the shadows beyond the range of a few feet. But as she stood in the center of the beams the woman was outlined clearly for John. She was at least sixty, but she was tall and strong, and bore her self like a grenadier. She was looking at Lannes, and John had never beheld a gaze of more intense, burning curiosity. "Well?" she said, and to John's surprise she now spoke in French. Lannes gave back her gaze with one fully as concentrated and burning. "Angelique Krochburg, wife of Paul Krochburg, descendant of the Krochburgs, rightly called the Crochevilles," he said, drawing himself up and speaking with wonderful distinctness, "it has come at last." "The war! The great war!" she said in a sharp whisper. John noticed that her strong figure trem bled. "Yes, the great war!" returned Lannes with dra matic intensity. "Germany declares war today on Russia. I know it. No matter how I know it, but I know it. She will make war on France tomorrow, and it will be the first object of her princes and military caste to destroy our republic. They reckon that with the aid of Austria they will rule the whole continent, and that in time the tread of their victorious armies will be heard all over the world." The woman drew a breath so deep and sharp that it made a hissing sound between her teeth. John saw the lamp in her hand trembling. "Then Philip Lannes," she said, "which is it to be the peoples or the kings?" Lannes drew himself up again John recognized the dramatic quality in him and replied in words that he shot forth like bullets : . "The peoples. Armies can be defeated, but nations, cannot be put down. Our Napoleon, despite his-, matchless genius, found it so in his later empire. And they have reckoned ill at Berlin and Vienna. The world in alarm at military domination will be against them. They say the English won't fight and will keepr out. But Mother Krochburg or Crocheville I prefer the sound of Crocheville we French know better. A 1 thousand years of our history say that the Engli
sh will fight. We have Agincourt and Cressy and Poi tiers and La Belle Alliance to say that they will fight. And now they will fight again, but on our side. The bravest of our ancient enemies will stand with us, brothers in arms, shoulder to shoulder against an arro gant foe!" "Do you know this, Philip Lannes, or is it some dream of that hopeful brain of yours?" "It's not a dream. I know it. It hasn't been long since I was among the English. They will have to join us. The German threat will force them to it. Blinded by their own narrow teachings the generals at Berlin and Vienna cannot see the storm they've let loose. Ah, Madame Crocheville, it's more than two hundred years since any of your people have lived in, France, but you are as true a Frenchwoman as if your feet had never pressed any but French soil!" "There is truth in that wild head of yours." "And the time of France and the French is coming-. The republic has restored us. The terrible year of 1870 will be avenged. French valor and skill will bloom again!" John had stood on one side, while they talked or rather allowed their emotions to shoot forth in words. But he was watching them intently, bent slightly for ward, and, like Parsifal, he had never moved by the breadth of a single hair. The woman now glanced to ward him. "He can be trusted?" she asked Lannes. "Absolutely. His head is in the German noose. He must do as we bid or that noose will close." The gay ring had returned to Lannes' voice and a faint smile crossed the face of Madame Crocheville. "It's the best of securities," she said, and John, cornpelled to acknowledge its truth, bowed. "Who are pursuing you," she asked. "Nobody at present," replied Lannes. "I'4 have passed the border safely, but a pig of an Austrian offi cer happened to know the man whose passport I have. It was one chance in a thousand, and it went against me. My friend here is an American, and, as he was dragged into it, we must save him." "It's likely that you need both food and rest as well as concealment." "We do, and thank you for what we know we are going to receive." She smiled again faintly. John surmised that she had a warm place in her heart for Lannes. Who would not? He was as light-hearted now as if he had come to a ball and not to a refuge. His eyes moved about the room and he seemed pleased with all he saw. "Food and a little of the good wine that I've found here before would be indeed most welcome," he said, "and I speak for my new American friend as well as myself." "Come!" she said briefly, and the two followed, as she led the way into a passage not more than wide enough for one, and then up a stone stairway into a room ventilated by only a single narrow window. "Wait here," she said. She closed the door and John heard the huge German key turning in the lock. But the slit of a window was open, and he saw in the room two beds, a table, two chairs and some other fur niture. The ceiling was low and sloping and John knew that they were directly under the eaves. Lannes threw himself into one of the chairs and drew several mighty breaths. "We're locked in, John," he said, "but it's for our good. Nobody can get at us, while Madame Crocheville holds the key, and she'll hold it. More than two hundred years on German soil, and still French, heart and soul. There must be something great and true in France, when she can inspire such far-flung devotion. That isn't a bad place, John. As the French general said in the Crimea, 'J'y suis, j'y reste' and I'm resting now." "She knows all about you, I take it?" "Of course. I've been here before, often. That little window looks out into a tiny court, and you'd probably be amazed at the amount of luxury to be found in this place. This old Europe of ours is often far better than it looks." "I didn't see the man of the house." "Oh, yes you did. Frau Krochburg or Madame Crocheville, if you wish secretly to call her so, is very much the man of the house. There is a Herr Kroch burg, but he won't come in our way now. Madame will do everything for us at present. I've touched a spark of fire to her soul, and it has blazed up. Those Huguenots of long ago were really republicans, and it's republican France now, for the success of which she prays with every breath she draws." "She's locked us in pretty securely. I heard that big German key turn." "To keep others from getting at us. Not to keep us from getting out. Now, I hear it turning again, and I'll wager that she's coming back with something that will rejoice us to the core." The door opened and Madame Crocheville walked into the room, bearing a large tray which she placed upon a chair until she could close and lock the door again. Then she bore it to the table and John looked at it with great longing. He was young, he was healthy and he had a digestion beyond criticism. "I told you so," exclaimed Lannes triumphantly, "and look, Madame Crocheville has brought us her best a bottle of the light, white wine made in this very district, and good! You can dismiss your American scruples it's very mild filet of beef, tender, too, baked potatoes, salad, bread and butter and cheese. It is truly fit for a king. Madame Crocheville, two young and starving souls, thank you." A smile lighted up her stern, almost masculine fea tures. Then her face, in truth, looked feminine and tender. "You're wild and reckless, but you're a good boy, Philip Lannes," she said, "and I know that you'd will ingly lay down your life for the' France that I've never seen, but which I love. You say again that the great war is at hand" "It has come. In a few days four hundred million people will be in it, and I know that France will come out of it with all her ancient glory and estate." "I hope and pray so," she said fervently, and then she left them. The two ate and drank with wonderfully keen appe tites, but they did not forget their manners. John noticed that Philip was extremely fastidious at the table, and he liked him the better for it. And the food was wonderfully good. John felt new life and strength flowing into his veins. "I suppose we stay here tonight," he said. "Yes it would be dangerous for us to leave so soon. Madame Crocheville will take good care of us to night and tomorrow, and tomorrow night we'll leave." "I don't see just how we'll go," said John. "There are German troops in this town, as we know, and even if we could get out of it, where then would we be. I want to go to Munich, and you, I take it, want to reach France. We can't go by land and we can't go by water. How then can we go?" "No, we can't go by either land or water, but we'll go in another way. Yes, we'll surely do it. This filet is certainly good. Take another piece. You haven't tasted the tomato salad yet, and it's fine. No, I won't tell you how we're going, because in every affair of life there's always a possible slip. You just wait upon the event, and learn patience. Patience is a wonder ful quality to have. I ought to know. I've seen how much it does for others, and how often I've suffered from the lack of it." "I'll wait, because I have to. You're right about the filet. It's good. I think I'll take some more of it" "You can't have it. Pig of an American, it would be your th ird piece." "But it would be your third, too!" "I know it, but I saw its merits first. So, I get a discoverer's third as a reward. Feel a lot better, don't you, John?" "I feel like a general now. Where did you learn such good, every-day English." "Studied it ten years at school, and then I lived two years in that great, splendid unkempt country of yours. Mind your step! Good-by, little girl, good-by! We must get the men higher up! Tariff for Revenue only! Hurrah for the Goddess of Liberty! Our glori ous American eagle bathes one wing in Lake Supe rior and the other in the Gulf of Mexico! Our for eign commerce would be larger if it were not for our grape-juice diplomacy! Now for the Maxixe and the Hesitation all at the same time!" He sprang from his chair and whirled and jerked about the room in a kind of wild Apache dance. John laughed until his eyes grew wet. "You've been there," he said, as Lannes sat down again, panting. "You've proved it, and I no longer wonder at your fine colloquial English." "I like your country and I like you Americans," said Lannes seriously. "You are the favorite children of the world, and I say children purposely, because you are children. You think you are terribly wicked, but you're not wicked at all. You're mere amateurs in vice compared with the hoary and sinful nations of Europe. We're more quiet about it, but we practice tricks that you never dream of. We've made you think you're dollar-worshipers, but while the dollars are dropping through your fingers, John, we're hanging on to the francs, and marks, and shillings, and rubles and gulden and pesos and kronen with a grasp that death itself often fails to break." John did not know whether to be pleased or dis pleased, but finally concluded to be pleased.
"Perhaps you're telling the truth," he said. "I know I am. But here comes Madame Crocheville for the dishes. She will also say: 'Good night my wild and reckless but gallant Philip, and the same to you young American stranger.' ' "How do you know?" "Never mind how I know. I know." Madame Crocheville came in and she looked at the two with satisfaction. Their appearance had improved greatly under the ministrations of her good food and drink. She put the dishes on her tray and went to ' the door. When she had turned the key she looked back and said : "Good night, my wild and reckless but gallant Philip, and the same to you, young American stranger." Then she went out, closed the door, and the two heard the big key turning again in the lock. The young Frenchman looked at the young American and smiled in content. "How did you know so exactly?" asked John. "Just call it an uncommonly accurate guess. Now, I think I'll put out the lamp. The light from the win dow is sufficient for us, and we don't want to take any unnecessary risk." He blew out the light, but John went to the win dow, and looked out on the tiny court or place, on the far side of which ran a street so narrow that it would have been called an alley at home. He could not see much owing to the thick darkness, and it had begun to rain also. The air was chill and heavy with damp. John shivered. Fate had played him a weird trick by causing him to lose his train, but she had atoned for it partly by giving him this brave young Frenchman as a comrade. It was won derfully snug and comfortable in the house of Madame Crocheville, called by her fellow townsmen and townswomen Frau Krochburg. "I'm glad it's not a part of your plan for us to es cape tonight, Philip," he said. "And what's the cause of your gladness." "It's raining, and it's as cold as winter. I like this place, and I think I'll go to bed." "A good plan. Everything is ready for us." There was a little adjoining room, in which they found water, towels and could make all the other preparations for the night, and John, feeling a sudden great weariness, made ready. When he was in bed he saw Lannes still at the window. "Better crawl in, too, Philip," he called. "This is a fine bed, and I fancy the other is just as good." "I'll join you in slumber land soon. Good night." John closed his eyes, and in a few minutes he was sleeping soundly. He was first to awake the next morning, and he saw that it was a gray day. The rain had ceased, but there was no one in the little court or street beyond. Philip slept soundly, and, as it was early, John did not awake him. But he rose and dressed shortly before Madame Crocheville came with breakfast. "You have slept well, I hope," she said. "Never better," replied Lannes for them both. "I hear from others that which you told me last night. Germany has declared war upon Russia, and the mightiest of the German armies marches today against France. Philip! Philip! Poor France will be crushed!" "Not so, Madame! France is not ready and the German armies will go far toward Paris, but France, the republic, will not fall. I am young, but I have heard, and I have seen. French valor is French valor still, and Germany is creating for herself a ring of foes." "You make me believe! you make me believe, Philip, in spite of myself," she said. "We shall see what we shall see," said Lannes with confidence. The day passed and they did not seek to stir from the room. Madame Crocheville brought them food, but talked little. Time was very heavy. John did not dare to go much to the window, for fear of being seen. The night at last came again, and to their great joy it was dark without either moon or stars. "Now we'll go," said Lannes. "I'm ready," said John, although he did not have the remotest idea how they were going. CHAPTER IV THE THRILLING ESCAPE MADAME CROCHEVILLE brought them supper, and they ate with strong appetites. John was all courage and anticipation. He was chafing over his compulsory day and night in one room, despite its comfort and safety, and he was ready for any risk. He wanted to reach his uncle and Mr. Anson, knowing how great must be their anxiety. Lannes was as eager to be away, for other reasons. "Don't make the risks too great," said Madame Crocheville, as she paused with the tray of empty dishes. "We will not," replied Lannes earnestly. "It is not a time for folly." He went out with Madame, leaving John alone in the room, but he returned in two or three minutes, and thrust an automatic pistol in the young American's hand. "Put this in your pocket," he said, "and here's a little bag of cartridges that you can drop into an other pocket." "But it's not my war," said John, "I don't want to shoot at anybody." "No, it's not your war, but it's forcing itself upon you, and you may have to shoot. You'll be wise to take what I offer you." Then John took them, and an hour later they stole out of the house, carrying with them the earnest hopes of Madame Crocheville. The house, doubtless, had other inmates, but she was the only one whom John had seen, and her competency gave the impression that no other was needed. "We're going out into the country," said Lannes. "Show the way." "Don't you feel any curiosity about it?" "A lot, but, remember I promised to ask no ques tions." Lannes laughed. "So you did," he said, "and I knew that you were a man who'd keep your word, as you're doing. We're going to leave this town and the country about it, but I'll say nothing about the way it's to be done. There's some danger, though, and I'm armed just as you are." "I'm not afraid of a little danger." "I knew you were not. Here we are in the passage again, and it's as dark as a well. Mind your step, and, when we come out into the broader street, walk as if you had lived here all your life. But the town is half deserted. All the younger men have gone away to the war." They came into the street and walked carelessly along, passing only an occasional old man or woman. The wonderful German mobilization, like a net, through which nothing slipped, was going on, and the youthful strength of the town was already departing toward the French border. "No notice of us will be taken until we come to the outskirts," said Lannes, "but there they have sentinels whom we must pass." It was on the tip of John's tongue to ask how, but he refrained. He was willing to put his trust in this young Frenchman who was proving himself so trust worthy, and he continued in silence by his side. It did not take them long to reach the area of scattered houses. Walking swiftly among them they entered a vegetable garden, and John saw beyond the metals of a railway track, a bridge, and two soldiers, gun on shoulder, guarding it. "We're going to pass under that bridge," said Lannes. Now John could not refrain from asking how. "It crosses a canal and not a river," said Lannes. "It's an old disused canal, with but little water in it, and we'll go down its bed. Come on, John." The canal flowed at the foot of the garden, and they lowered themselves into the bed, where they found a muddy footing, between the water and the bank, which rose four or five feet. "We'll bend over and hug the bank," said Lannes. "In the darkness we may be able to go under the bridge, unseen by the two sentinels. At any rate we must chance it. If they fire on us the odds are at least twenty to one against our being hit. So, don't use the automatic unless the need is desperate." A chill ran along John's spine. He had never fired at anybody, and nobody had ever fired at him. A week ago he was a peaceful tourist, never dreaming of bullets, and now he was fairly hurled into the middle of a gigantic war. But he was one who accepted facts, and, steadying himself for anything, he followed Lannes who, bent almost double, was walking rapidly. They were within twenty yards of the bridge now, and John distinctly saw the two sentinels. They were stout Bavarian lads, with heavy, unthinking faces, buthe k new that, taught in the stern German school, they would fire without hesitation on Lannes and himself. He devoutly hoped they would not be seen, and it was not alone their own safety of which he was thinking, but he did not want to use the automatic on those kindly Bavarian boys. As they came within the shadow of the bridge they bent lower and went much more slowly. Strange thrills, the product of excitement and not of fear, ran down John's back. This was no play, no game of make-believe, he was running for his life, and a world which had been all peace a few days ago was now all war. It was impossible, but it was happening and it was true. He could not comprehend it all at once, and he was angry at himself because he could not These emotions went fleeting by, even at the moment, when they passed under the bridge. They paused directly beneath the superstructure, and hugged the bank. John could see the two sentinels above, one at either end. Lannes and he had come thus far in safety, but beyond the b
ridge the shadows were not so deep, and the banks of the canal were lower. "I think that luck has favored us," whispered Lannes. "I hope it will continue to do so." "It will. It usually goes one way for a little while. Come!" They passed from the shelter of the bridge and ran down the old canal. Luck favored them for forty or fifty yards, and then one of the sentinels caught a glimpse of John's figure. Hastily raising his gun he fired. John felt a rush of air past his face, and heard the thud of the bullet as it buried itself in the soft bank. A cold chill ran down his spine, but he said nothing. Lannes and he increased their speed. The sentinels did not fire again. Perhaps they thought imagination had been tricked by a shadow. A hundred yards farther on, and the canal passed through woods, where it was so dark that one could not see far. Lannes climbed the bank and threw him self down among the trees. John imitated him. "Are you hit?" asked Lannes. "No, but I felt the wind from the bullet." "Then you've had your baptism of war, and as it was a German bullet that was seeking you you're one of us now." John was silent. Both lay a while on the grass in the dense shadow of the trees, until their panting passed into regular breathing. The darkness did not decrease, and no sound came from the fields. It was evident that they had not been followed. John felt that all his strength had returned, but he waited patiently for Lannes to lead the way. The Frenchman rose presently and went to the edge of the grove. "The coast is clear," he said, "and we might as well depart. Come, Monsieur John. You've shown great power over your curiosity, and I'll ask you to show it a little longer. But I'll say this much. You can barely make out a line of hills across those fields. Well, they are five or six miles away and we're going toward them at a leisurely but fairly rapid pace." "All right. Show the way. I think I'm in good shape for a canter of several miles." They walked steadily more than an hour, and the night lightened somewhat. As they approached the hills John saw that they were high, rough, and covered with dark green foliage. It was possible that Lannes was seeking a refuge among them, but reflection indicated that it was not probable. There could be no secure hiding place in a country so thickly populated, and in a region so far away from France. Lannes must have something else in view. When they came to the first slope Lannes led boldly upward, although he followed no path. The trees were larger than one usually sees in Europe, and there was some undergrowth. At a point two or three hun dred feet up they stopped and looked back. They saw nothing. The town was completely hidden by the night. John had a strong feeling of silence, loneliness and awe. He would have insisted upon knowing where Lannes was leading him, but the young French man had shown himself wholly trustworthy. The way continued upward. Lannes was following no path, but he advanced with certainty. The night lightened somewhat. A few stars came out, and an edge of the moon showed, but the town was now shut off from sight by the foliage on the hills, and they seemed absolutely alone in the world. John knew that they were not likely to see houses, owing to the habit the rural people had on the continent of living in villages, but they might pass the hut of a stray woodcutter or charcoal burner. He had no mind to be taken back to the town and his hand slipped down to the butt of the automatic. "You've plenty of courage, John," said Lannes, "and you've a very steady nerve, too. Courage and steady nerve don't always go together. You'll need both," "For our escape?" "Yes. It's scarcely possible to walk out of Germany because the borders are guarded everywhere. The land is closed to us, nor can we go by water either. As an American they might have passed you on, if you had not become so strongly identified with me, but borrowing one of your English expressions we are now tarred with the same brush. But, as I told you before, we shall leave Germany nevertheless." John's curiosity was intense, but pride still kept him from asking any questions. In silence he followed Lannes, who was traveling upward. The region now became utterly dreary, steep, stony and rain-washed. Not even the thrifty European peasant could have drawn any part of a living from those blasted rocks. They came at last to the crest of the hills, or rather low mountains, and passed into a depression which looked to John like some age-old crater. Then he heard Lannes draw a deep breath, almost a sigh, and he knew it was caused by relief of the mind rather than of the body. "Well, we're here," said Lannes, sitting down at the stony edge of the crater. "Yes, we're here," said John, also sitting down, "and being here, where are we?" Lannes laughed. It was a pleased and friendly laugh, and John recognized it as such. "Wait until we draw about a hundred long breaths apiece," said Lannes, "and then we'll have action." "Suits me. That was a big climb." As they rested, John looked down with renewed in terest at the crater. He saw that the center of it was quite level, and evidently the soil on that spot was rich, as it was covered with thick long grass. Nearer by, among the stones, lay faggots, and also smaller pieces of wood. "John," said Lannes, at the end of a few minutes, "you'll help me with these billets, won't you?" "Of course. What do you want to do?" "To build a fire. Aren't you cold?" "I hadn't thought about it. I'm not likely to notice either heat or cold at such a time." Lannes laughed. It was a low laugh of satisfaction, but wholly without irony. "You're not cold," he said, "nor am I, and if we were we wouldn't build a fire to keep us warm. But we're going to build one." They laid the faggots and smaller pieces together, and then cut off dry splinters with their clasp knives. Lannes set fire to the splinters with a match, and the two stood away. The blaze spread rapidly, and soon crackled and burned at a merry rate, sending up high flames. "Aren't you afraid the fire will warn some one?" asked John. "I hope so," was the startling reply. Lannes threw on more wood. He seemed anxious that the flames should rise higher. They obeyed his wish, shooting upward, and sending streams of sparks far above. Then he stepped back, and, sitting down on a stone, began to look into the skies, not a stray glance, but a long, unbroken anxious gaze. The heavens were yet brightening. More stars sprang out, the segment of the moon broadened and shone like burnished silver. The last cloud was gone, leaving the skies a vast vault of dusky blue. And Lannes never took his eyes from the great arch, al- ' though they traveled from horizon to horizon, searching, searching, searching everywhere. The young Frenchman's action and manner had an indescribable effect upon John. A warning thrill ran down his back, and there was a strange, creeping sen sation at the roots of his hair. Without knowing why, he, too, began to gaze steadily into the skies. The little town from which they had escaped and the possibility of the wandering wood-cutter or charcoal burner passed from his mind. His whole soul was in his eyes as he stared into the heavens, looking for he knew not what. The gaze of Lannes turned chiefly toward a range of mountains, to the south, visible only because of the height on which they stood. Anxiety, hope, belief and disbelief appeared on his face, but he never moved from his seat, nor spoke a word. Meanwhile the flames leaped high and crackled, making the only sound heard in all that desolation and loneliness. How long they sat there, watching the skies John never knew, but the time seemed hours, and through out it Lannes did not once take his gaze from above. Now and then, he drew a sharp breath, as if a hope had failed, but, in a moment or two, hope came back to his eyes, and they still searched. John suddenly felt a great thrill again run down his spine, and the roots of his hair quivered. He was looking toward the mountains in the south, and he be lieved that he saw a black dot hanging in the air above them. Then another dot seemed to hang beside it. So much looking could make one see things that were not, and he rubbed his eyes. But there hung the dots, and they were growing larger. John looked long and he could not now doubt. The black dots grew steadily. They were apparently side by side, and they came fast toward the hill on which Lannes and he stood. He glanced at his comrade. He had never before seen a face express so much relief and exultation. "They come! they come!" said Lannes, "I knew they would!" John looked back. The black dots were much nearer, and he began to make out d im shapes. Now, he knew. The full truth burst upon him. They were aeroplanes, and he knew that Lannes had summoned them out of the black ether with his fire. He felt the great thrill along his spine again. It was magic; nothing less. Flights in the air were
yet too novel to allow of any other feeling. "They're coming to us!" said John. "Yes," said Lannes, pride showing in his tone. "I called them and they came. I told you, John, that we'd escape, neither by land, nor by water, but that we would escape. And so we will. We go by air, John. The heavens open and receive us." He rose and stretched out his arms, as if to meet the coming black shapes. The dramatic instinct in him was strong, and John could well pardon it as he saw that his emotion was extraordinary. "The heavens open a path for us!" he cried. The two aeroplanes were now circling over their own hill, and John could discern human shapes in them. They began to descend gently, as the operators skill fully handled the steering rudders. "Well done! well done!" said Lannes to himself rather than to John. "They couldn't be managed bet ter." Presently the machines began to loop and make spir als, and then both sank gently upon the grassy turf in the center of the glade. A man stepped forth from the seat in each machine and saluted Lannes, as if he were a commander. Lannes returned the salute promptly and gracefully. "We saw the fiery signal, lieutenant," said one of the men in French, as he took off his great glasses, "and we came as fast as we could." "I knew that you would do so, Castelneau," said Lannes, "and I knew that Mery would be as prompt." The two aviators bowed with evident gratification, and Castelneau said : "We are proud of praise that comes from the most daring and skillful airman in France, which means in this case the world. We thank you, Lieutenant Lannes." Lannes blushed and said: "You overrate me, Castelneau." John glanced at him. And, so this youth with the easy manner and the wonderful eyes was the greatest of all flying men! John's own mind was not mechan ical, but his glance became a gaze of admiration. What a mighty achievement it was to cleave the air like a bird, and leave the whole solid earth beneath. One, in fact, did leave the world and hang in space. For the moment, he thought more of the wonder than of its bearing upon his own fortunes. He glanced down at the machines resting on the grass. Their motors were still throbbing, and in the dimness they looked like the rocs of Arabian mythol ogy, resting after a gigantic flight. In truth, everythink had taken on for John an aspect of unreality. These men were unreal, Lannes and he were unreal, and it was an unreal world, in which nothing but unrealities moved. "My new friend is an American," said Lannes, "and he's to be trusted, since his own life as well as ours is at stake. Monsieur John Scott, Messieurs Gaston Castelneau and August Mery. John, these are two skillful and valued members of the 'French flying corps. I want you to shake hands with brave men." John gladly shook their gloved hands. "Castelneau, and you, Mery, listen," said Lannes, and again his voice took on that dramatic ring, while his figure seemed to swell in both size and stature. "It is here! It has come, and the whole world will shake beneath its tread!" "The war!" they exclaimed with one voice. "Aye the war! The great war! the world war! The planet-shaking war! Germany declared war to day on Russia and tomorrow she declares war on France! Never mind how I know! I know, and that's enough! The strength and weight of a Germany that has devoted its best mind and energy for nearly half a century to preparation for war will be hurled at once upon our poor France! We are to be the first and chief victim!" "It will not be so!" said Castelneau and Mery to gether. "No, I think not. Republican France of 1914 is not Imperial France of 1870. There I think Imperial Germany has made her great mistake. And we have friends, as Imperial France had not! But every son of France must be prepared to shed his blood in her defense!" Castelneau and Mery bowed gravely. John could tell little about them, except they were short, thick men, apparently very strong. They wore caps, resembling those of a naval officer, heavy, powerful glasses, and baggy clothing, thick and warm. John saw that they paid Lannes great deference, and he remembered the words of Castelneau that the young Frenchman was the greatest airman in France. And he had a vague impression, too, that France led in flying. "Can France win against Germany, my lieuten ant?" asked Mery, who had not spoken hitherto. "The Germans outnumber us now in the proportion of seven to four, and from a time long before we were born they've thought war, dreamed war, and planned war." "We'll not have to fight Germany, single handed, my good Mery," replied Lannes. "We'll have friends, good friends, powerful friends. And, now, I suppose that you have extra clothing with you?" "Enough for two, sir. Your friend goes with you?" "He does unless he wishes to remain here and be shot as a spy by the Germans." Lannes did not glance at John as he spoke, but it was a calculated remark, and it met with an instant response. "I'll go with you in the machine," he said. And yet it took great courage to make the resolve. The three Frenchmen were practised aviators. They traveled in the air as John would have traveled on the water. He had never been in a flying machine in his life, and his mind did not turn to mechanics. "We must not waste time in delay," said Lannes. "Mr. Scott and I will go in the first machine, and we will start straight for France. John, I promised to take you to Munich, but I can't do it now. I'll carry you to France. Then you may cross over to Switzer land, and communicate with your people in Munich. It's the best that can be done." "I know," said John, "and I appreciate the effort you're making for me. Nor would I be in your way at a time when you may be able to do so much for your country." "Then we go at once. Castelneau, we take the 'Ar row" He pointed to the smaller of the machines. "Yes, my lieutenant," said Castelneau, "it is the bet ter for a long flight." "I thought so. Now, Castelneau, you and Mery return to the hidden station in the mountains, while Mr. Scott and I take flight for France. John, here are your clothes." John hastily put on the heavy garments, which seemed to him to be made of some kind of oilskin, thrust his hands into heavy gloves, and put on the pro tecting glasses. But as he did it his pulses were beating hard. The earth on which he now stood looked very good and very solid, and the moonlit ether above him was nothing but air, thin, impalpable air, through which his body would cleave, if he fell, with lightning speed. For a moment or two he was afraid, horribly afraid, but he resolutely put the feeling down. Lannes was also clothed anew, looking like a great baggy animal, but he was rapid and skillful. John saw at once that the praise of Castelneau was justified. "Here is your seat, John," said Lannes, "and mine is here. All you'll have to do is to sit still, watch the road and enjoy the scenery. We'll give her a shove, and then you jump in." There was some room on the grass for the preliminary maneuver, and the four shoved the machine for ward and upward. Then Philip and John, quickly releasing their grasp, sprang into their seats. Lannes' eyes behind the heavy glasses were flashing, and the blood was flying through his veins. The daring strain, the utter defiance of death which ap pears so often in French blood was up and leaping. He was like a medieval knight, riding to a tournament, confident of victory, only Philip Lannes was not any conqueror of narrow lists, the vast space in which the whole universe swings was his field of triumph. His hand sought the steering rudder, and the machine, under the impulse of the strong push it had received, rose into the air. John's sensation as he left the earth for the very first time in his life was akin to seasickness. The machine seemed to him to be dipping and gliding, and the throbbing of the motor was like the hum of a ship's machinery in his ear. For a few moments he would have given anything he had to be back on that glorious solid earth. But again he put down the feeling of fear. He turned his head for a last look at Castelneau and Mery, and, to his amazement, he could barely make them out standing by the other machine, which looked like some great, vague bird poised on the grass. Directly below him he saw the tops of trees, and at that moment they looked to his excited fancy like rows of glittering spear points, poised to receive him. "Look up! Look up!" said the sharp voice of : Lannes in his ear. "It's always the fault of beginners to look down and see what they've left." His tone was more than sharp, it was peremptory, commanding. John glanced at him and saw his steady hand on the rudder, and his figure loose and swinging easily like that of a sailor poised on a rolling deck. He knew that Lannes' manner was for his own good, and now he looked straight up at those heavens, into which they were ascending. The motor throbbed, and John knew that the ma chine was ascending, rising, bu
t not at a sharp angle. The dizzy feeling began to depart, and he longed to look down again, but did not do so. Instead he kept his eyes upward, his gaze fixed on the dusky blue heavens, which now looked so wide and chill. He knew that the little distance they had come from the earth was nothing to the infinity of the void, but by some mental change the stars seemed to have come much nearer, and to have grown hugely in size. There they danced in space, vast and cold. The machine dipped a little and rose again. John dared another glance at Lannes, who was swaying eas ily in his seat, feeling all the exaltation of a confident rider who has a swift horse beneath him. "I'm better now," said John above the purring of the motor. Lannes laughed deep down in his throat, and with unction. "Getting your air-legs, so to speak," he said. "You're learning fast. But don't look down at the ground, at least not yet. By and by you'll feel the thrill, which to me is like nothing else on earth or rather above it. You've noticed, haven't you, that it's growing colder?" "Not yet. I suppose the excitement has made my blood flow faster than usual, and that keeps me warm." "It won't much longer. We're up pretty high now, and we're flying fast toward that beautiful country of mine. Can't you feel the wind rushing like a hurricane past your ears?" "Yes, I do, and in the last minute or two it's acquired an edge of ice." "And that edge will soon grow sharper. We're going higher." John felt the upward swoop of the plane. The sensation that a ship gives a passenger when it dips after a swell returned, but it quickly passed. With it went all fear, and instead came a sort of unreasoning exhilaration, born of a strange new tincture in his blood. His ears were pounding and his heart had a more rapid beat. He hoped that Lannes would go yet higher. Yes, his comrade was right. He did feel the wind rushing past, and heard it, too. It was a pleasant sound, telling of trackless miles through the ether, falling fast behind them. Those moments were filled for him with a new kind of exaltation. Despite the cold heights the blood still flowed, warm, in his veins. The intangible sky was coming nearer and its dusky blue of the night was deepening. The great, friendly stars looked down, meeting his upturned gaze, and still danced before him. Now, he dared to stare down for the second time, and his heart took a great leap. Far beneath him, somber and dark, rolled the planet on which he had once lived. He had left war and the hate of nations behind. Here was peace, the steady throb of the mo tor in his ear was soothing music. "I see that you've got your air-balance, John," said Philip, "you learn fast. I think that Castelneau and Mery would approve of you. Since you've learned to look down now with steady eyes take these glasses." He handed him a pair of powerful glasses that he took from under the seat, and John, putting them to his eyes turned them downward. It gave him a strange tingling sensation that he from some unknown point in space should look at the earth as a distant and for eign planet. But the effect of the glasses was wonderful. The earth sprang forth in the moonlight. He saw forests, fields, villages, and the silver ribbon of a river. But all were racing by, and that, even more than the wind rushing past, gave him an idea of the speed at which they were going. He took a long, long look and then returned the glasses. "It's tremendous," he said. "I confess that at first I felt both fear and physical ill. But I am getting over it, and I feel instead the thrill of swift motion." "It's because we have a perfect piece of track." "There's no track in the air!" "Oh, yes, there is. If you'd thought a moment you'd have known it, though I'll admit it's a shifting one. When you stand on the ground and turn your eyes upward all the sky looks alike. But it's far from it. It's full of all kinds of winds, currents and strata, pockets, of which all aviators stand in deadly fear, mists, vapors, clouds of every degree of thickness and complexion, and then you have thunder and lightning, just as you do on land and sea. It's these shifting elements that make the navigation of the air so dangerous, John. The whole question would be solved, if there was nothing but stationary air, growing thin ner in exact proportion as we rise. But such a condition of aerial peace could not be reached unless we could go up fifty miles, where there is no air, and that we'll never be able to do." "How high are we now?" "About three thousand feet. Draw that collar more closely about your neck. You may not feel cold, be cause of the new fire in your blood, but you are cold, nevertheless. Now, see those whitish streams below us. They're little clouds, vapor mostly, they don't contain rain. You've read the 'Arabian Nights,' haven't you, John?" "Yes, and I know just the comparison you're thinking of." "What is it, then? See if you're right." "The roc, great, fabled bird, flying through the air with those old Arabs perched on its back." "Right! He guessed right the very first time. That's one of your Americanisms, isn't it? Oh, I know a lot of your choicest expressions. Hit it up lively! That's what we're doing. He's full of pep! That's what we are; aren't we, John? Come across with a double play! And we're doing that, too." "I don't know that your baseball metaphor is ex actly right, Philip, but your heart is certainly in the proper place. When do we get to France?" "Don't talk about that yet, because it's impossible to approximate. This smooth track will not go on for ever. It's lasted longer than usual already. Then, we'll have to eat, later on. There's food here in a tiny locker that you can't see, but it may be better for us to drop down to the earth when we eat. Besides, while we're sailing through the sky, I'd like to ob serve as much as I can of this German mobilization and take the news of it to France. That, of course, leaves you out of consideration, John, but I'm bound to do it." "Don't regard me. I've no right to ask anything of you. I'm a guest or a prisoner, and in either capacity it behooves me to take what comes to me." "But I got you into it, and so I feel obligations, but, heavy as they are, they're not heavy enough to keep me from seeing what I can see. I told you that we were going toward France, but we're not taking the direct course. I mean to fly over the ancient city of Nuremburg, and then over Frankfort-on-the-Main. Look out, now, John, we're going to drop fast!" The machine descended rapidly in a series of wide spirals, until it was within seven or eight hundred feet of the earth. "Look down now," said Lannes, "and without the glasses you can see a town." But he had taken the glasses himself, and while he held one hand on the steering rudder he made a long and attentive examination of the place, and of low works about it, which he knew contained emplacements for cannon. "It's a fortified town and a center for mobiliza tion," he said. "All day long the recruits have been pouring in here, responding to the call. They receive their uniforms, arms and ammunition at that big bar racks on the hill, and tomorrow they take the trains to join the giant army which will be hurled on my France." John heard a sigh. Lannes was afraid after all that the mighty German war machine, the like of which the world had never seen before would crush every thing. "It will be hard to stop that army," he could not keep from saying. "So it will. The Germans have prepared for war. The French have not. John, John, I wish I knew the secrets of our foes! For more than forty years they've been using their best minds and best energies for this. We don't even know their weapons. I've heard strange tales of monster cannon that the Krupps have sent out of Essen, and of new explosives of tmimagined power. I don't know whether to believe these tales or not. But I do know that the Germans will be ready to the last cartridge." "But something in the machine may go wrong, Phil." "That's our hope. We've got to smash some of the wheeles, or rods or levers. If we compel them to change their plan they won't have time to organize a perfect new one." "The old simile of the watch, I suppose. It'll run a hundred years if all the works are kept right. But if a single one of them goes wrong it's done forever." "It's as you say. Sit steady, now. We're going to take another upward swoop. I've seen enough of that town and its forts, and I don't want to linger so close to the earth that they'll see us." The machine rose like a mighty bird, but shortly after it reached the top of its flight John felt a slight jerk. It was a sudden movement of Lannes' hand on the steering rudder that had caused it. "John," he said, and the voice shook a little, "take the glasses. Look off there in the northwest, and see if you can't make out a black object hanging in the sky?" John took the glasses and put them to his eyes. CHAPTER V THE FIGHT IN THE BLUE
JOHN turned his glasses toward the northwest, where cloud wrack hung-. At first he could see nothing, as the dark blue sky was obscured by the darker mists and vapors, but he presently discov ered in the very midst of them an object that looked jet black. It was moving, and slowly it took the shape of an aeroplane. He wondered at the keenness of Lannes' vision, when he was able to pick out so dis tant an object with the naked eye. "What do you make of it?" asked Lannes. "It's an aeroplane, or some other kind of flying machine." "And which way do you think it's going?" "The same way that we are. No, it seems to be nearer now." "Likely it's running parallel with us in a sense ; that is we two are moving down the sides of a triangle, and if we continue long enough we'd meet at the point." "Perhaps it's Castelneau and Mery in the otherplane?" "Impossible! They would certainly stay on the mountains far behind us. They would never disobey orders. We're back into a bank of fine .air now and the machine almost sails itself. Let me have the glasses a moment." But he looked many moments. Then he calmly put the glasses away in the tiny locker and said: "It's not a French machine, John, and it's not a friend's. It's a German Taube, and it's flyin g very fast. I think the man in it has seen us, which is unfortunate." "And there's another!" exclaimed John in excitement. "Look! He's been hidden by that long, trailing sheet of vapor off toward the north. See it's close to the other one." "Aye, so it is! And they are friends, twin foes of ours! Two Taubes, but only one man in each, while there are two in this tight little machine! They have certainly seen us, because they're bending in rapidly toward us now!" "What do you intend to do? Meet them and fight?" "Not unless we have to do it. I've news for France which is worth more than my life, or yours either for that matter or more than my honor or yours. No, John, we'll run for it with all our might, and the Arrow is one of the prettiest and sweetest little racers in all the heavens!" Lannes' hand pressed upon the steering rudder, and the machine, curving from it's western course, turned toward the south. The motor throbbed faster and louder and John became conscious almost at once that their speed was increasing. Although the heavy cap was drawn down over his ears he heard the wind whistling as it rushed past, and it was growing much colder. In spite of himself he shivered, and he was sure it was the cold, not fear. John's nature was sensitive and highly intellectual, but his heart was brave and his will powerful. He remembered that while two planes were in pursuit only one man was in each pursuer while there were two in the pursued. His gloved hand slipped down to the butt of the automatic. He had no idea how fast they were going, but he knew the speed must be terrific. He grew colder and colder. He wondered how Lannes, taut and strained, bent over the steering rudder, could stand it, but he recalled the words of Castelneau that he was the best flying man in the world. Lannes, in truth, felt neither stiffness nor cold, then. The strain of daring in the French nature which the Anglo-Saxon would call recklessness responded fully and joyfully to the situation. Not in vain, while yet so young, was he a king of the air. Every pulse in him thrilled with the keen and ex traordinary delight that comes only from danger, and the belief in victory over it. His hand touched the rudder as the fingers of a pianist touches the keys of a piano, and in either case it was the soul of an artist at work. Oh, it was a beautiful machine, the Arrow, strong, sinuous, graceful! Sure like the darting bird! It an^ swered the lightest pressure of his hand upon the rudder, and he drew from it harmonies of motion that were true music to him. But while the hand on the rudder did its work his eyes swept the heavens with a questing gaze. Had he been alone in the Arrow he could have left the German Taubes far behind, but the extra weight of the passenger was a terrible burden for so light and deli cate a machine. Yet he was glad John was with him. Already Lannes had a deep liking for the young American whose nature v^as so unlike his own. That questing gaze lingered longest on the south ern heavens. One who flees on the land must pick his way and so must one who flees through the skies. Now, the mind of the flying man was keyed to the finest pitch. He thought of the currents of air, the mists, the vapors, and, above all, of those deadly pock ets which could send them in an instant crashing to the earth far below. No engineer with his hand at the throttle of a locomotive was ever more watchful and cautious. John, too, was looking into the south, where he saw a loom of cloud and haze. It appeared that the heav ens had drawn a barrier across their way, and he saw that Lannes was turning the Arrow again toward the west, as if he were seeking a way around that bar rier. Then he looked back. The Taubes, beyond a doubt, were nearer, and were flying in a swift true line. "Are they gaining?" asked Lannes, who kept his eyes on the "country" ahead, seeking to choose a way. "Considerably. They have been flying close togather, but now they're separating somewhat ; at least it seems so, although my eyes are tricky in an element so new to me." "They're probably right in this instance. It's their obvious course. It's impossible for us to fly perfectly straight, and whenever we curve one or the other of their machines will gain on us. I've heard that a troop of lions will adopt this method in pursuing an antelope, and that it's infallible." "Which means that we Co'.i't escape?" "There's a difference. The antelope can't fight back, but we can. Don't forget the automatic I gave you." "I haven't. Not for a second." "But it won't come to that yet, and may not at all. See, how those clouds and vapors are stretching. They hem us in on the south, and now they're curving around in our front on the west, too. We can't lose the Taubes, John, here on this lower level, as we're not fore than two thousand, perhaps not more than fifteen hundred feet above the earth, but we may be able to do it higher up. Steady, now! We're going to rise fast!" The machine tilted up at an angle that made John gasp, but he quickly recovered himself and resisted a desperate inclination to grasp anything he could reach and hold on with all his might. He knew that the strap passed about his body held him so firmly that he could not fall out. Still, it shortened his breath and made his pulses bound, rather than beat. Up! up they went into the thinner air, the nose of the Arrow again turned toward the south. Lannes did not look back. His mind and soul were absorbed in the flight of his machine, and his heart throbbed with exaltation as he knew that it was flying beauti fully. But he called upon John to note the pursuers. "They're curving up, too," said John. "They're very steady, and I think they're still gaining." "Daring men! Yes, the Germans have good fly ers, and we'll have a hard time in shaking them off. Still, we may lose them among the clouds." "I think they're rising at a sharper angle than we are." "Trying to get above us! Ah, I know what that means! Why did I not think of it at first? We must not permit it! Never for a moment!" "Why not?" But Lannes did not reply. Apparently he had not heard him, and John did not repeat the question. "Watch! John! Watch!" said Lannes, "and tell me every movement of theirs!" "You can depend on me!" The nose of the Arrow was still tilted upward, and John knew that they had come to a great height, as the cold struck to his very bones. The air also was darker and damper, and he saw that they were in the region of mists of vapors. Mentally he already used terms of land as terms of the air. Before them lay banks of cloud which were the same as mountains. "One Taube is directly behind us and it seems to me a little higher," he announced. "The other has cut o$ to the right and also a little higher, if I see right." "Then we must rise fast! We can't let them get above us!" The nose of the Arrow tilted up yet farther, and shot into colder and darker regions. John saw mists and vapors below, but the earth was invisible. He was truly hanging between a planet and the stars, and this was the void, dark and thin, cold and infinite. "Steady again!" said Lannes. "We're going to descend for a while." The nose of the Arrow dropped down many degrees, and then they seemed to John to slide through space, although they slid like lightning. The air felt damper and thicker, and the area of vision contracted fast. They had plunged into a bank of vapor, and search as he would with both eye and glass he could see no sign of the Taubes. "We've lost them for the time at least," he said. "I hoped for it," said Lannes. "That's why I made for this area of vapor. It's exactly like a ship escaping in a fog from a fleet only we haven't escaped yet." "Why not?" "We can't ha
ng in here. If we do they'll explore for us, and if we go on and through it they'll follow. Yet we can hope for a gain. Isn't it a beautiful ma chine, John, and hasn't it behaved nobly?" He patted the Arrow as a man would a horse that had saved his life with its speed. "We'll go slowly here, John. Have you got good ears?" "Yes. Why?" "Then uncover them and listen. In case one of the Taubes draws near you can hear its humming and throbbing. My hearing may be deadened a little for the time by my tension in sailing the Arrow, so you're our reliance." John listened intently, and in a few minutes the sound they feared came to his ears. "I hear it," he said suddenly, "and as sure as we live it's directly over our heads!" "Then we must mount at once!" Up shot the Arrow, and passing through the vapor it flew again with nothing above it but the clear, cold stars. John looked down, but his vision was lost in the mass of floating mist. He exulted. They had lost the Taubes! But joy lasted only a moment. Out from the bank shot a dark shape. It was one of the machines, and in two minutes the other appeared. "They've come through the mist, too, and they see us," he said to Lannes. "They seem to be trying to rise above us." "I thought it would be their plan, if we didn't lose 'em. We've got to make another dash. We're pointing toward Switzerland, now, John, and maybe if we have luck we can descend in a neutral country. But I don't want to do it! I tell you I don't want to do it!" He spoke with uncommon energy, but relapsed af terward into complete silence. The humming of the motor increased, and the icy wind rushed past John's ears in a perfect hurricane. He drew his cap down further and sank his neck and ears deeper in his collar. Nevertheless he thought he would freeze. The fingers that still clasped the butt of the automatic felt stiff and bloodless. "What are they doing now, John?" "They are gaining again -- Ah, and there's a change!" "What's that change?" "One machine seems to have dropped a little lower than we are, while the other is rising higher." "And that has come, too! I expected it. This, John, is what you might call an attempt to surround us. I'm surprised that they didn't attempt it sooner. Watch the Taube that's rising. Watch it all the time, and tell me everything it does!" He spoke with the most intense energy and earnest ness, and John knew that he had some great fear in regard to the upper Taube. So, he never took his eyes from it, and he noted that it was not only rising fast, but that its gain was perceptible. As it was his first flight it did not occur to him in those moments of ex citement that his own weight was holding back the Arrow, and Lannes had been willing to risk death rather than tell him. "They're coming very fast," he said to Lannes, "and the upper machine seems to be the swifter of the two." "Naturally. That's the reason why it's now the up per one. Is it above us yet?" "No, but in fifteen minutes more it will be, at the present rate of speed." "About how much higher above us do you think it is?" "A thousand feet maybe, but 'I never calculated dis tances of this kind before." "Likely it's near enough. Let me know when it's about to come directly over us, and on your life don't fail!'.' John watched with all his eyes. He saw the hovering shape, and he caught a glimpse of the arm of the man who steered. But it became to his fancy a great bird which, with its comrade below, pursued them. That name, Taube, the dove, called so from its shape, was very unfitting. While he was watching he saw the Taube swoop down at least five hundred feet, and at the same time make a burst of speed forward. "It will be over us! almost directly! within a min ute!" he shouted to Lannes. The Arrow swerved to on side with such sudden ness that John reeled hard against his seat, despite the strap that held him. At the same moment he caught a glimpse of some small object shooting past the Arroiv. "What was it? what was it?" he cried. "A bomb," replied Lannes. "That was the reason why I didn't want either of the Taubes to get above us. I was sure they had bombs, and if one of them fell upon us, well, nobody would ever find our pieces. Hold hard now, we're going to do a lot of zigzagging, because that fellow probably has more bombs, where the one he just dropped came from." John's interest in what followed was, in a measure, scientific. He realized afterward that he should have been terribly frightened. In fact, he felt more fear later on, but at that moment the emotions that pro duce fear were atrophied. The extraordinary nature of his situation caused instead wonder and keen an ticipation. The Arrow shot to the right and then to the left. It dipped, and it rose, and then it darted on a level line toward the south. John wondered afterwards that the delicate fabric was not torn to pieces, but Lannes was not a supreme flying man for nothing. Every movement was part of a plan, executed with skill and precision. Once more his hand played upon the rudder, as the fingers of a great pianist play upon the keys. "Is the fellow directly above us yet, John?" he asked. "Not at this moment, but I think he must have been several times. He has dropped at least three more bombs." "Then his supply is probably getting small, and he'll be extremely careful with what's left. It's no easy task, John, to drop a bomb from a height, and hit a small target, moving as swiftly as the Arrow. Let him alone for the present, and look out for the fellow below. See what he is doing." John looked down quickly. He had almost forgot ten the existence of the second Taube, and he was sur prised to find it beneath them and close at hand. The dark, hooded face of the man in the seat looked up at them. As well as John could judge he was using the superior speed of his Taube to keep up with the Arrow, and, at the same time, to rise slowly until they approached the point of contact. His apprehensions were quickly transferred from the upper to the lower Taube. "The second machine is under us and rising," he said. "And the second attack is likely to come from that point. Well, he can't drop bombs on us. That's sure, and we can meet him on his own ground or rather in his air. John, did you ever shoot at a man?" "Never!" "You're going to do it very soon. The automatic I gave you is a powerful weapon, and when the fellow rises enough you must shoot over the side at him. Take good aim and have no compunction, because he'll be shooting at us. But you've the advantage. You're free, while he has to steer his Taube and fire at the same time." John drew the big automatic. He felt a shiver of reluctance, but only one. He and Lannes were in des perate case, and he would be fighting for the lives of both. Clutching the powerful weapon in a firm hand he looked down again. The Taube had come much nearer, and he heard suddenly a crack sharp and clear in the thin air of the heights. A bullet sang by his ear. The man in the lower machine had a pistol or perhaps a rifle John had not seen him raise any weapon. Lannes glanced at John, whose face had hardened, but he said nothing. John pulled the trigger of the big automatic, and he saw the Taube waver for a moment, and then come on as steadily as ever. "I don't think I hit him," he said, "but I believe the bullet flattened on his machine." "You're getting close. Give him another. There went his second. I felt its wind past my face." John pulled the trigger again, but marksmanship at such an immense height, between two small machines, flying at great speed was almost impossible. Bullet after bullet flew, but nobody was hit, although several bullets struck upon the Arrow and the Taube, doing no serious harm, however. "I'm doing my best," said John. "I know it," said Lannes. "I notice that your hand is steady. You'll get him." John looked down, seeking aim for his fifth bullet, when he suddenly heard an appalling crash, and the Taube, a flying mass of splinters, disappeared in a flash from view. It had happened so quickly that he was stunned. The machine had been and then it was not. He looked at Lannes. "The fellow above us dropped another bomb," said Lannes in a voice that shook a little. "It missed us and hit his comrade, who was almost beneath." "What a death!" said John, aghast for a little while. Then he pulled himself together and looked up at the other Taube. It was hovering almost over them like a sinister shadow. As John looked something flashed from it, and a heavy bullet sang past. "He has a rifle! Give him what's left in the auto matic!" shouted Lannes. John fired and he knew that his bullet had struck one of the exposed arms, because a moment later a drop of blood fell almost on his face. "You've winged him," said Lannes. "Look how the Taube wobbles! You must have given him a bad wound in the arm. He'll have all he can do now to save himself. Good-bye to the pursuit. Luck and your skill, John, have saved us." John, feeling faint, leaned aga
inst the seat. "I think I'm air-sick," he said. "It'll pass soon, but you're tremendously lucky. It's not often a fellow gets into a battle in the air the first time he goes up. See what's become of the Taube." "It's descending fast. I can see the man struggling with it. I hope he'll reach the ground all right." "He did his best to kill us both." "I know, but I hope he'll get down, anyway." "He will. He's regained control of his machine, but he can use only one arm. The other hangs limp. And now for a glorious flight in this brave little Arrow of ours." "Will you return to our original course?" "I think we'd better not. The German flying men are out, and we might have another fight, from which we would not emerge as well as we have from this. No one must ever underestimate the Germans. They're organized to the last detail in every department. I, a Frenchman, willingly say this. I'll make our flight more southerly. We'll come down in Switzerland. I'd like to go on to France, but we must make a descent soon. We're both cold and overstrained, and it won't be a real violation of neutrality just to touch Switzer land once." The Arrow now sank to a much lower level, and that planet, which they had left came again into view. It was not much more than a dark shadow, save for the sheen of high mountains in the south, but John was glad to see it again. It was like the return of an old friend. It was the fine Earth, not one of the greatplanets, but the only planet he knew. He felt a great weakness, but they had descended so much that the intense cold was going away. The thicker and warmer air lulled him, and he sank into a sort of stupor from which he soon roused himself with anger. He considered it a disgrace to him that he should sleep, while Lannes still picked their way through the currents, and pockets and flaws of the heavens. "You might sleep if you feel like it," said Lannes. "You did all the fighting, and I ought to do all the flying, especially as it's my business and I've had lots of experience. Go ahead, old man. It'll be all the better for us if you get back your strength." Under Lannes' urging John leaned back a little more in his seat, and closed his eyes. It was true that he was horribly tired, and his will seemed to have weak ened, too. Flying was new to him, and now the col lapse after so much tension and excitement had come. In a few minutes he slept, but the Arrow sailed swiftly on, mile after mile. John's sleep was sound, but not long. When he awoke it was still night, although the dark bore a suspicious tint of silver in the east. The physical and mental weakness had departed, but he was singularly cold and stiff. When he sought to move, something firm and unyielding about his waist restrained him. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around. On three sides space met his vision, just dusky blue sky with floating banks and wisps of vapor. But far off to the south, rising like mighty battlements, he saw a dim line of mountains clad in snow. Then it all came back to him. He was aloft in the Arrow, the first time that he had ever awakened in the void between the stars and his own planet. There was Lannes at the rudder, looking a little bent and shrunken now, but his hand was as delicate and true as ever. The machine hummed softly and steadily in his ears, like the string of a violin. "Philip!" he cried in strong self-reproach, "show me how, and I'll sail the Arrow for a while and you can rest." Lannes shook his head and smiled. "You're an apt student," he said, "but you couldn't learn enough in one lesson, at least not for our pur pose. Besides, I'll have plenty of rest soon. We're going to land in an hour. Behold your first sunrise, seen from a point a mile above the earth!" He swept his free hand toward the east, where the suspicion of silver had become a certainty. In the infinity of space a mile was nothing, but all the changes were swift and amazingly vivid to John. The silver deepend, turned to blue, and then orange, gold and red sprang out, terrace after terrace, intense and glowing. Then the sun came up, so burning bright that John was forced to turn his eyes away. "Fine, isn't it?" said Lannes appreciatively. "It's good to see the sunrise from a new point, and we're up pretty high now, John. We must be, as I said, nearly a mile above the earth." "Why do we keep so high?" "Partly to escape observation, and partly because we're making for a cleft in the mountain straight ahead of us, and about on our own level. 'In that cleft, which is not really a cleft, but a valley, we'll make our landing. It's practically inaccessible, except by the road we're taking, and our road isn't crowded yet with tourists. Look how the light is growing! See, the new sun is gilding all the mountains now with gold! Even the snow is turned to gold!" His own wonderful eyes were shining at the tre mendous prospect, outspread before them, peak on peak, ridge on ridge, vast masses of green on the lower slopes, and now and then the silver glitter of a lake. The eyes of him who had been so stark and terrible in the battle were now like those of a painter before the greatest picture of the greatest master. "The Alps!" exclaimed John. "Aye, the Alps! Hundreds of thousands of you Americans have come all the way across the sea to see them, but few of you have ever looked down on them in the glow of the morning from such a height as this, and you are probably the only one who has ever done so, after an all-night fight and flight for life." "Which makes them look all the better, Philip. It's been a wonderful night and flight as you call it, but I'll be glad to feel the solid mountain under my feet. Besides, you need rest, and you need it badly. Don't try to deny it." "I won't, because what you say is true, John. My eyes are blurred, and my arms grow unsteady. In that valley to which we are going nobody can reach us but by way of the air, but, as you and I know, the air has our enemies. Do you see any black specks, John?" "Not one. I never saw a more beautiful morning-. It's all silver, and rose and gold, and it's not desecrated anywhere by a single German flying machine." "Try the glasses for a longer look." John swept the whole horizon with the glasses, save where the mountains cut in, and reported the same result. "The heavens are clear of enemies," he said. "Then in fifteen minutes the Arrow will be resting on the grass, and we'll be resting with it. Slowly, now! slowly! Doesn't the machine obey beauti fully?" They sailed over a river, a precipice of stone, rising a sheer two thousand feet, above pines and waterfalls, and then the Arrow came softly to rest in a lovely valley, which birds alone could reach before man took wings unto himself. The humming of the motor ceased, and the machine itself seemed fairly to snuggle in the grass, as if it relaxed completely after long and arduous toil. It was in truth a live thing to John for the time, a third human being in that tremendous flight. He pulled off his gloves and with his stiffened fingers stroked the smooth sides of the Arrow. "Good old boy," he said, "you certainly did all that any plane could do." "I'm glad you've decided the sex of flying ma chines," said Lannes, smiling faintly. "Boats are ladies, but the Arrow must be a gentleman since you call it 'old boy.' " "Yes, it's a gentleman, and of the first class, too. It's earned its rest just as you have, Philip." "Don't talk nonsense, John. Why, flying has be come my trade, and I've had a tremendously interesting time." John in common with other Americans had heard much about the "degenerate French" and the "deca dent Latins." But Lannes certainly gave the lie to the charge. If he had looked for a simile for him in the animal kingdom he would have compared him with the smooth and sinuous tiger, all grace, and all power. Danger was the breath of life to him, and a mile above the earth, with only a delicate frame work holding him in the air he was as easy and confident as one who treads solid land. John unbuckled the strap which had held him in the Arrow, stepped out and fell full length upon the grass. His knees, stiff from such a long position in one attitude, had given way beneath him. Lannes, laughing, climbed out gingerly and began to stretch his muscles. "You've something to learn yet about dismounting from your airy steed," he said. "You're not hurt, are you?" "Not a bit," replied John, sitting up and rubbing his knees. "The grass saved me. Ah, now I can stand! And now I can move the rusty hinges that used to be knees! And as sure as you and I live, Philip, I can walk too!" He flexed and tensed his muscles. It was a strange sight, that of the young American and the young Frenchman capering and dancing about in a cleft of the Alps, a mile above the valley below. Soon they ceased, lay down on the grass and luxuriated. The heavy suits for flying that they had worn over their ordinary clothing kept them warm even at that height. "We'll rest unti
l our nerves relax," said Lannes, "and then we'll eat." "Eat! Eat what?" "What people usually eat. Good food. You don't suppose I embark in the ship of the air like the Arrow for a long flight without provisioning for it. Look at me." John did look and saw him take from that tinylocker in the Arrow a small bottle, two tin cups, and two packages, one containing crackers, and the other thin strips of dried beef. "Here," he said, shaking the bottle, "is the light red wine of France. We'd both rather have coffee, but it's impossible, so we'll take the wine which is absolutely harmless. We'll get other good food else where." He put the food on a little mound of turf between them, and they ate with hunger, but reserve. Neither, although they were on the point of starvation would show the ways of an animal in the presence of the other. So, their breakfast lasted some time, and John had never known food to taste better. When they finished Lannes went back to the locker in the Arrow. "John," he said, "here are more cartridges. Reload your automatic, and keep watch, though nothing more formidable than the lammergeyer is ever likely to come here. Now, I'll sleep." He rolled under the lee of a bank, and in two min utes was sleeping soundly. CHAPTER VI ABOVE THE STORM JOHN had slept well in the Arrow, and that fact coupled with his extraordinary situation kept him wide-awake. It was true that he had returned from the dizzy heights of the air, but he was still on the dizzy side of a mountain. He stood up and tensed and flexed his muscles until he was sure of his physical self. He remembered the weakness in his knees that had sent him down like a little child, and he was so ashamed of himself that he was resolved it should not happen again. Then he walked to the edge of the little valley which in the far distance had looked like a cleft in the side of the mountain. It was rimmed in by a line of stunted pines, and holding to a pine with each hand he looked over. He saw that sheer stone wall which he had beheld first from above when he was in the Arrow, and far below was the ripple of silvery white that he knew to be the river. To the north lay rolling hills and green country melting under the horizon, the old Europe that men had cultivated for twenty centuries and that was now about to be trodden to pieces by the iron heel of tremendous war. John understood it. It seemed at the moment that his mind expanding to such an extent could compre hend the vastness of it all, the kingdoms and republics, the famous and beautiful old cities, and the millions of men who did not hate one another involved in a huge whirlpool of destruction. And yet, expand as his mind did, it could not fully comprehend the crime of those who had launched such a thunderbolt of death. His eyes turned toward the south. It was perhaps not correct to call that little nest in which the Arrow lay a valley. It was a pocket rather, since the cliffs, unscalable by man rose a full half mile above it, and far beyond glimmering faintly in the sunshine he saw the crest of peaks clad in eternal snow. Truly his view of the Alps was one of which he had never dreamed, and Lannes was right in saying that no man had ever before come into that valley or pocket, unless he had taken wings unto himself as they had done. They were secure where they were, except from danger that could come through the air. He took the glasses, an uncommonly powerful pair from the locker and examined every corner of the heavens that he could reach. But he saw none of those ominous, black dots, only little white clouds shot with gold from the morning sun, floating peacefully under the blue arch, and now and then some wide-winged bird floating, aslant, from peak to peak. There was peace, peace everywhere, and he went back from the dizzy edge of the precipice to the side of the Arrow. Lannes still slept heavily, and John appreciated his great need of it, knowing how frightful his strain must have been during that long night. He felt that he was wholly in Lannes' hands, and he did not know the young Frenchman's plans. He might wish to get away early, but John resolved to let him sleep. Whatever they undertook and wherever they went strength and steadiness must be of the ut most importance, and Lannes alone could take them on their flight. John leaned against a little hillock and watched the country that rolled northward. For the first time in hours he thought of his uncle and Mr. Anson. And yet he was so filled with wonder at his own translation into another element that he did not worry greatly about them. They would hear of him soon, he felt sure, and in a time of such vast anxiety and fear for half a world brief apprehension about a single person amounted to but little. He dozed a short while, and then awoke with a start and an effort of the will. Lannes still slept like one dead. He felt that the young Frenchman and the Anow were in his care, and he must fail in nothing. He stood up and walked about in the pocket, shaking the dregs of sleep from his brain. The sun doubled in size from that height, was sweeping toward the zenith. The radiant sky contained nothing but those tiny clouds floating like white sails on a sea of perfect blue. The gold on the snow of the far peaks deepened. He was suffused with the beauty of it, and, for a little space the world war and the frightful calamities it would bring fled quite away. Lannes awoke about noon, stood up, stretched his limbs and sighed with deep content. He cast a questing glance at the heavens, and then turned a satisfied look on John. "No enemy in sight," he said, "and I have slept well. Yea, more, I tell you, Yankee that you are, that I have slept magnificently. It was a glorious bed on that grass under the edge of the cliff, and since I may return some day I'll remember it as one of the finest inns in Europe. Have you seen anything while I slept, Monsieur Jean the Scott?" "Only the peaks, the hills, the blue sky and three or four big birds which I was unable to classify." "Let their classification go. When we classify now we classify nothing less than armies. Do you think the Arrow has had sufficient rest?" "A plenty. It's a staunch little flying machine." "Then we'll start again, and I think we'll have an easy trip, save for the currents which are numerous and varied in high mountains." "What country are we in now?" "A corner of Switzerland, and I mean for us to descend at a neat little hamlet I've visited before. They don't know war has begun yet, and we can get there provisions and everything else we need." They launched the Arrow, and once more took flight, now into the maze of mountains. Their good craft frequently rocked and swayed like a ship at sea and John remembered Lannes' words about the currents. Reason told him that intervening peaks and ridges would make them break into all forms of ir regularity, and he was glad when they hovered over a valley and began to descend. He saw about half a mile below them a small Swiss village, built on both sides of a foaming little river, and, using the glasses as they dropped down, he also saw the whole population standing in the streets, their heads craned back, staring into the skies. The effect was curious, that of the world turned upside down. "The place has four or five hundred inhabitants, and it is a good village," said Lannes. "I have been here four times before, and they know me. Also they trust me, though through no merit of mine. They have seen flying machines often enough to know that they are not demons or monsters, but not often enough to lose their curiosity concerning them. We shall descend in the midst of an audience, inquisitive but friendly." "Which you like." Lannes laughed. "You judge me right," he said. "I do love the dramatic. Maybe that's one reason why I'm so fond of flying. What could appeal to the soul more than swimming through the air, held up on nothing, with a planet revolving at your feet? Why a man who is not thrilled by it has no soul at all! And how grand it is to swoop over a village, and then settle down in it softly and peacefully like some magnificent bird, folding its wings and dropping to the ground! Isn't it far more poetical than the arrival of a train which comes in with a clang, a rattle, and smoke and soot?" John laughed in his turn. "You do put it well for yourself, Philip," he said, "but suppose our machine broke a wing or something else vital. A mile or a half mile would be a long drop." "But you'd have such a nice clean death. There would never be a doubt about its completeness." "No, never a doubt. Have you picked your port?" "'Port' is a good enough place. We'll land on that little park, squarely in the center of the popu lation." "You're truly in love with the dramatic. You want an audience whenever it's safe." "I admit it. There is something about the old Ro man triumph that would have made a mighty appeal to me. Think of a general, young, brilliant, garlanded, coming
into Rome along the Appian Way, with the chariots before him, the captive princes behind him, miles of beautiful young girls covered with roses, on either side, and then the noble villas, and the patricians looking down from the porticoes, the roar of Rome's thunderous million acclaiming him, and then the Capitoline with the grave and reverend senators, and the vestals and the pontifex maximus, and all the honors for the victory which his brain and courage have won for the state." "I'm not so sure that I'd like it, Philip." " 'De gustibus non disputandurn,' as somebody wrote, John. Well, here we are, settling down gently in the place something or other, and just as I told you all the people are around it, with their eyes and mouths wide open." The aeroplane settled softly upon the grass amid great and sincere cheers, and John looked about curi ously. He had returned to the world from space, a space inhabited only by Lannes, himself and the two Germans, one of whom was now dead. That pocket in the mountain had not counted. It was like a bird's nest in a tree, and this was the solid, planetary world, upon which he had once dwelled. An elderly man of fine appearance, and with a long brown beard, reaching almost to his waist, stepped forward. Lannes lifted the cap and glasses that hid his head and face and greeted him in French. "It is I, Philip Victor Auguste Lannes, Herr Schankhorst," he said politely. "You will remember me because I've dropped out of the skies into your village before. The young gentleman with me is one of those strange creatures called Yankees, who come from far across the ocean, and who earn money by the sweat of their brows in order that we may take it from them." There was such a mellow tone in his voice, and the ' friendly gleam in his eyes was so wonderful that neither Herr Schankhorst nor his people could resist him. It seemed that most of them understood French as they raised another cheer, and crowded around the two men of the sky, plainly showing their admiration. None mentioned the war, and it was clear that the news of it had not yet penetrated to that remote valley in the high mountains. Lannes introduced John by his right name and description to Herr Schankhorst who was the burgomaster and then, still followed by the admiring crowd, they hurried away to the little inn, two stalwart youths being first detailed to keep watch over the Arrow. "They're proud of their trust and they'll guard it as they would their lives," said Lannes in English to John. "Meanwhile we'll have dinner in this inn, which I know from experience to be the best, and we'll have the burgomaster and the Protestant clergyman to dine with us. This is German-speaking Switzerland, but these people fear the Germans and they don't fear us. So, we're welcome." The inn was small, but the food and drink were of the best. John was well supplied with gold, and he did not hesitate to spend it for the burgomaster, the Lutheran clergyman, Lannes and himself. "No you can't pay your share," he said to Lannes, "because you haven't any share. Remember, I've been a free passenger in the Arrow, which belongs to you, and it's my time to settle the bill." "Have your way," said Lannes. They had been speaking in English, and Lannes politely explained to their guests that his comrade was an obstinate Yankee, a member of a nation, noted for its stubborness, but the most delightful of people when you let them have their way, which after all was a way that generally harmed nobody. The burgomaster and the clergyman smiled benevo lently upon John and John smiled back. He had no ticed already that Americans were popular among the great masses of the people in Europe. It was only those interested in the upholding of the classes who frowned upon them and who tried to write or talk them down. He was keen enough too, despite his youth, to deduce the reasons for it. Here in this little town he was looked upon with favor because he was from America, and soon he was busy answering questions by the burgomaster and clergyman about his own land. They made no reference to any war or approaching war, and he surmised that they had no thought of such a tremendous catastrophe Lannes informed him later that they had neither telegraph n or telephone and John following the cue of his comrade made no reference to it. They ate with sharp appetites, but an end had to come at last. Then Lannes went out into the town to buy his supplies, leaving John to entertain the guests. John felt deeply that little period of rest and kindly simplicity and the time was soon to come, when he would look back upon it as the greenest of green spots in the desert. Lannes returned in an hour and announced that they were ready for another flight. They went back to the Arrow which the stalwart youths were still guarding, proud of their trust. "Must you really go?" said the burgomaster to Lannes. "Why not stay with us until tomorrow? Look, the clouds are gathering on the mountains. There may be a storm. Better bide with us till the morrow." "We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your kindness," said Lannes, as he and John took their seats, "and under any other circumstances we would stay, but Herr Schankhorst there is a call for us, a call that is sounding all over Europe, a call louder than any that was ever heard before on this old continent." Lannes raising his voice spoke in clear, loud tones, and he had the impressive manner that he knew so well how to assume. The crowd, eager and expect ant, pressed nearer, all about the Arrow. John saw that the dramatic instinct, always alive within his partner, had sparkled into flame. "And there is reason for this call," continued Lannes, raising his voice yet further, until the most distant were sure to hear every syllable. "The trumpet is sounding throughout Europe. You may well thank the good God that you dwell here in your little valley, and that all around you the mountains rise a mile above you. There were many trumpets when the great Napoleon rode forth to war, but there are more now." A gasp arose from the crowd, and John saw faces whiten. "All Europe is at war," continued Lannes. "The nations march forth against one another and the continent shakes with the tread of twenty million soldiers. But stay here behind your mountain walls, and the storm will pass you by. Now push!" Twenty youths shoved the Arrow with all their might and the plane rising gracefully in the air, soared far above the village. John looked down and again he saw the whole population with heads craned back and eyes turned upward, but he knew now that they were swayed by new and powerful emotions. "Lannes," he said, "I never saw such an actor as you are." "But think of the opportunity! How could I over look such a chance! They knew absolutely nothing of the war, did not dream of it, and here was I with the chance to tell them the whole tremendous truth, and then to shoot suddenly up into the air far beyond their hearing. It was the artistic finish that appealed to me as much as the announcement. Tell your great news and then disappear or become silent. Don't linger over it, or you will mar the effect." "We're leaving the valley out of sight, and I judge by the sun that our course is northwesterly." "Right my brave aviator, but I don't think you'll be able to use the sun much longer for reckoning. The worthy burgomaster was right. Look behind you and see how the clouds are gathering!" John gazed at the vast mass of the Alps, stretching their tremendous rampart across the very heart of Europe. The Arrow had gone higher, and deep down in the south he saw the ridges and sharp peaks stretching on apparently to infinity. But it was a wild and desolate world. Even as he looked the far edges dropped away in the gloom of advancing clouds. The gray of the horizon became black and sinister. But he looked on, his gaze held by the sublimity of the mountains and the powerful spell, cast by an historic imagination. He was not only gazing upon the heart of Europe, but upon the heart of great history. There, where that long black line led through the clefts the army of Hannibal was passing. He shut his eyes and he saw the dark Carthaginian with his deep eyes, his curly perfumed beard, a scarlet robe wrapped around him, its ends dropping upon his horse, his brothers and the captains riding just behind him, and behind them the Carthaginian sacred band, the Spaniards, the Gauls, the Celts, the wild Numidians shivering on their barebacked horses, the monstrous elephants, the women, and all the strange and heterogeneous elements which the fire and genius of the great leader fused into an army unconquerable by the bravest and best soldiers of antiquity, a great man holding a great nation at bay for half a rife time. Mind and eye ran down the long line of the ages. He saw Goths and Vandals, Germans and Gauls pouring through the passes upon Italy, and then almost in his own time he saw that other, the e
qual of Hannibal, almost exactly the same age, leading another army over the mighty mountains into the rich plains below. He watched the short figure of Napoleon, and behind him the invincible French youth, born of the republic, dragging their cannon through the snow to victory. "Open your eyes, John, are you going to sleep?" "I was never further from sleep, and my eyes were so wide open that I saw more than I ever did before in my life." "And what did you see, my wise John?" "I saw generals and nations crossing the mountains down there. I saw through a space of many centuries, and the last I saw was your Napoleon leading his troops over the Great St. Bernard to Marengo." Lannes' eyes flamed like stars. "And the great marshal whose name I bear was there with him," he said. "It was near Marengo that he won his Dukedom of Montebello. Napoleon can not come back, but victory may perch again on the banners of France." John understood him. He knew how Frenchmen must have writhed through all the years over Gravelotte and Sedan and Metz. He knew how deeply they must have felt the taunt that they were degenerate, and the prediction of their enemies that they would soon sink to the state of a second class power. He knew how Americans would have felt in their place, and, while he had never believed the sneers, he knew they had been made so often that some Frenchmen themselves had begun to believe them. He under stood fully, and the ties that were knitting him so strongly to Lannes increased and strengthened. "They were really republicans who won the victories of Napoleon," he said, "and you have been a republic again for forty-four years. Republics give life and strength." "I think they do, and so does a liberal monarchy like that of England. Freedom makes the mind grow. Well, I hope we've grown so much that with help we'll be able to whip Germany. What's become of the Alps, John?" "The clouds have taken 'em." There was nothing now in the south but a vast bank of gray, and presently John felt drops of rain on his face. Besides, it was growing much colder. He did not know much about flying, but he was quite sure that in the midst of a great storm of wind and rain they would be in acute danger. He looked anxiously at Lannes, who said reassuringly : "We'll go above it, John. It's one of the advan tages of flying. On earth you can't escape a storm, but here we mount so high that it passes beneath us. 'After you get used to flying you'll wonder why people trust themselves on such a dangerous place as the earth." John caught the twinkle in his eye, but he was learning fast, and his own heart thrilled too as they swung upward, rising higher and higher, until the thin air made the blood beat heavily in his temples. [At last he looked down again. The earth had vanished. Vast clouds of gray and black floated be tween, and to John's startled eyes they took on all the aspects of the sea. Here the great swells rolled and tumbled, and off far in the north stretched a vast smooth surface of tranquility. But beneath him he saw flashes of light, and heard the heavy mutter as of giant guns. High above, the air was thin, cold and motionless. A troubled world rolled directly under them, and the scene that he beheld was indescribably grand and awful. The clouds were in conjunction, and thunder and lightning played as if monstrous armies had crashed together. But here they sailed steadily on a motionless sea of air. He shared the keen pleasure that Lannes so often felt. The Arrow suddenly be came a haven of safety, a peaceful haven away from strife. "Aren't you glad you're not down there?" asked Lannes. "Aye, truly." "The winds that blow about the world, and the clouds that float where the winds take them appear to be having a terrible commotion, but we are safe spectators. Monsieur Jean the Scott, I wonder if the time will ever come when we'll have a flying machine that can manufacture its own air to sail in. Then it could rise to any height." "Phil, you're dreaming!" "I know I am but I'm not dreaming any more than you were just now when you saw Napoleon and his army crossing the Alps. Besides who can forecast the achievements of science? Why, man who was nothing but a savage yesterday is just getting a start in the world! Who can tell what he'll be doing a mil lion years from now? Think of going on, and on in the void, and maybe arriving on Venus or Mars!" "In that case we'll find out whether that Mars canal story is true or not."' Lannes laughed. "I come back to earth," he said, "or rather I come back to a point a safe distance above it. How's our storm making out?" "It seems to be moving westward." "And we're flying fast toward the north. We'll soon part company with the storm, and then we'll drop lower. But John, you must take the glasses and watch the skies all the time." "Which means that we'll fly near the French border, and that I've got to be on the lookout for the Taubes and the dirigibles." "And he guessed right the very first time. That's m ore of your American slang. Yes, John, the hosts of the air are abroad, and we must not have another encounter with the Germans. Before night we'll be approaching the battle lines, and the air will be full of scouts. Perhaps it will be better to do the rest of our traveling at night. We might drop down in a wood somewhere, and wait for the twilight." "That's true Philip, but there's one question I'd like to ask you." "Go ahead." "Just how do you classify me? I belong to Amer ica, which has nothing to do with your gigantic war, and yet here I am scouting through the air with you, and exposed to just as much danger as you are." "I don't think I could have answered that question about classification yesterday, John, but I can without hesitation today. You're an Ally. And you're an Ally because you can't help it. Germany represents autocracy and France democracy. So does England who is going to help us. You've risked your life over and over again with me, a Frenchman, one who would look upon the defeat of the German empire as almost the millennium. You may like the German people, but all your principles, all your heart-beats are on our side. When we get to some convenient place you'll write to your uncle and friend at Munich that you've joined England and France in the fight against German mili tarism. Oh, you needn't protest! It's true. I know you. You're quiet and scholarly, but your soul is the soul of adventure. I've seen how you responded to the thrill of the Arrow, how you're responding at this very moment. I know with absolute certainty, Mon sieur Jean the Scott, that you'll be fighting on the side of England and France. So you'd better make up your mind to stick to me, until we reach the French army." John was silent a moment or two. Then he reached out and grasped Lannes' free hand. "I was thinking of doing the things you predict," he said, "and to keep you from being a false prophet, Phil, old man, I'll do them." Lannes returned his strong grasp. "But if the English come into the war on your side," continued John, "I think I'll join them. Not that I'm overwhelmingly in love with the English, but they speak our American language, or at least varia tions of it. In the heat of battle I might forget the French word for, retreat, but never the English." Lannes smiled. "You won't be running, old fellow," he said. "You're right of course to join the English since they're close kin to you, but I have a feeling, John Scott, that you and I will see much of each other be fore this war is over." "It may be so. I'm beginnig to think, Phil, that lots of things we don't dream about happen to us. I certainly never expected a week ago to be in the mid dle of a great war." "And you expected least of all, Monsier Jean the Scott, to be sailing smoothly along in the air far above the clouds, and with a terrific storm raging below." "No, I didn't. If a man had predicted that for me I should have said he was insane. But I think, Phil, the storm is leaving us or we've left it. That big ball of darkness giving out thunder and fire is moving fast toward the west." "So it is, and there's clear air beneath us. And the Alps are reappearing in the south." "Right you are, Philip. I can see a half dozen peaks, and there is another, and now another. See, their white heads coming out of the mists and vapors, whole groups of them now!" "Don't they look from here like a friendly lot of old fellows, John, standing there and nodding their snowy pates to one another, just as they've done for the last million years or more!" "You hit the nail on the head, Phil. Understand that? It's one of our phrases meaning that you've told the exact truth. There goes that wicked storm, farther and farther to the west. Soon the horizon will swallow it up." "And then it will go on toward Central France. I hope it won't damage the vineyards. But what a fool I am to be talking about storms of weather, when the German storm of steel is about to sweep over us!" "Yo
u don't talk very hopefully, when you speak of a German invasion at once." "But I am hopeful. I expect the invasion because we are not ready. They accuse us French of planning a surprise attack upon Germany. What nonsense, when we're not even prepared to defend ourselves! The first sound of this war will show who was getting ready to attack. But John we'll drive back that in vasion, we and our allies. I repeat to you that the French of 1914 are not the French of 1870. The Third Republic will command the same valor and devotion that served the First. But here I am talking like an old politician. Get the glasses, John, and look at our field of battle, the heavens. It's all in the light now, and we can't afford another encounter with the Taubes." John took a long look. The passage of the storm had purified the air which was now of dazzling clear ness, a deep, silky blue, with a sun of pure red gold that seemed to hang wonderfully near. Lannes per mitted the Arrow to drop lower and lower, until the earth itself sprang up into the light. John saw again the green hills, the blue lakes and the streams, neat villages and splendid country houses. It was his planet, and he was glad to come once more where he could see it. "It was fine up there above the clouds," he said to Lannes, "but after all I've got a very kindly feeling for the earth. It's like meeting an old friend again." "Comes of use and habit. I suppose if we lived on Venus or Mars we'd have the same kind of attachment. But like you, John, I'm glad to see the earth again. The scenery is more varied than it is up in the heavens. What do you see through the glasses, John? Don't miss anything if it's there. It's too important." "I see in the north just under the horizon four black specks. It's too far away for me to tell anything about 'em, but they move just as those two Taubes did be fore their shape became clear." "More Taubes. That's certain. And it's time for us to get away. We're almost on the border John and the German aeroplanes and dirigibles are sure to have gathered." "There's a forest a little to the right of us. Suppose we go down there." Lannes examined the forest. "It seems fairly large," he said, "and I think it will make a good covert. But whether good or bad we must drop into it. The German airships are abroad and we can take no chances." The Arrow descended with increased speed. John still used the glasses, and he searched every nook of the forest, which like most of those of Europe had little undergrowth. It contained no houses at all, but he picked out an open space near the center, large enough for the landing of the Arrow, which he pointed out to Lannes. "I suppose you'd call it a respectable forest," said John. "I see some trees which are at least a foot through, near the ground. Luckily it's sum mer yet and the foliage is thick. If I were one of you Europeans I'd never boast about my trees." "Some day I'm going to run over to that America of yours, and see whether all you tell me about it is true. Steady now, John, I'm about to make the landing, and it's my pride to land more gently every time than I did the time before." They slid down softly and alighted on the grass. Lannes' triumph was complete, and his wonderful eyes sparkled. "The best I've done yet," he said, "but not the best I will do. John, what time is it?" "Half-past five." "With our long evenings that makes considerable daylight yet. Suppose you take your automatic, and examine the woods a little. I'd go with you, but I'm afraid to leave the Arrow here alone. Leave the glass es with me though." John, after regaining his land legs, walked away among the woods, which evidently had been tended with care like a park, bearing little resemblance, as he somewhat scornfully reminded himself to the mighty forests of his own country. Still, these Europeans, he reflected were doing the best they could. The region was hilly and he soon lost sight of Lannes, but he threshed up the wood, thoroughly. There 1 was no sign of occupancy. He did not know whether it lay in Germany or France, but it was evi dent that all the foresters were gone. A clear brook ran through a corner of it, and he knelt and drank. Then he went back to Lannes who was sitting placidly beside the Arrow. "Nothing doing," said John in the terse phrase of his own country. "At imminent risk from the huge wild animals that inhabit it I've searched all this vast forest of yours. I've forded a river three feet wide, and six inches deep, I've climbed steep mountains, twenty feet high, I've gone to the uttermost rim of the forest, a full half-mile away on every side, and I beg to report to you, General, that the wilderness contains no human being, not a sign of any save ourselves. Strain my eyes as I would I could not find man any where." Lannes smiled. "You've done well as far as you've gone," he said. "I could go no farther." "You said you saw no sign of man." "None whatever." "But I do." "Impossible!" "Not impossible at all. Why don't you look up?" John instantly gazed into the heavens, and he was startled at the sight he beheld. The population of the air had increased suddenly and to a wonderful extent. A score of aeroplanes were outlined clearly against the sky, and as he looked the distant drumming noise that he had heard in Dresden came again to his ears. A monstrous black figure cut across his vision and soon sailed directly overhead. "A Zeppelin!" he said. "A huge fellow," said Lannes. "The aeroplanes are German too, or there would soon be trouble between them and the Zeppelin." "Should we take to flight?" "No, it's too late. Besides, I think we're safe here. The foliage is so dense that they're not likely to see us. This forest must lie in Germany, and I judge that t he heads of their armies have already passed to the west of us. The planes may be scouting to see whether French cavalry is in their rear. Do you hear that? I say, John, do you hear that?" From a far point in the west came a low sound which swelled gradually into a crash like thunder. In a few moments came another, and then another and then many. They could see no smoke, no fire, and the very distance lent majesty to the sound. John knew well what it was, the thudding of great guns, greater than any that had been fired before by man on land. Lannes turned ashy-pale. "It's the cannon, the German cannon!" he said, "and that sound comes from France. The Kaiser's armies are already over the border, marching on Paris. Oh, John! John! all the time that I was predicting it I was hoping that it wouldn't come true, couldn't come true! You Americans can't understand! In your new country you don't have age-old passions and hates and wrongs and revenges burning you up!" "I do understand. It must be a serious battle though. All the planes are now flying westward, and there goes the Zeppelin too." ^Which leaves us safe for the present. Besides, the twilight is coming." CHAPTER VII THE ZEPPELIN THE brilliant sunlight faded into gray, but the European twilight lingers, and it was long be fore night came. John and Lannes stood be side the Arrozv, and for a while neither spoke. They were listening to the thunder of the great guns and they were trying to imagine how the battle was swaying over the distant and darkening fields. The last of the air scouts had disappeared in the dusk. "The sound doesn't seem to move," said Lannes, "and our men must be holding their own for the pres ent. Still, it's hard to tell about the location of sound." "How far away do you think it is?" "Many miles. We only hear the giant cannon. Be neath it there must be a terrible crash of guns and rifles. I've heard, John, that the Germans have seventeen-inch howitzers, firing shells weighing more than two thousand pounds, and France furnishes the finest roads in the world for them to move on." He spoke with bitterness, but in an instant or two he changed his tone and said