The Hosts of the Air by Joseph A. Altsheler


Main
- books.jibble.org



My Books
- IRC Hacks

Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare

External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd

books.jibble.org

Previous Page | Next Page

Page 41

He was filled with an unreasoning rage. He did not hate any one of the
Germans who were fighting on the other side of Chastel, but the anger
that seized him when he found Julie missing was still heavy upon him.
Before, whenever he had fired at an enemy he had usually felt a secret
hope that the bullet would miss, but now he prayed that every one would
hit. Bougainville pulled him down. "Not too fast! Not too fast!" he
said. "You're worth more alive than dead. We'll soon drive them from
Chastel anyhow. The seventy-fives are doing the work."

Bougainville had read the story of the battle aright. The great
seventy-five-millimeter guns were too much for the German force. As the
houses of Chastel were swept away the enemy on the other side was left
exposed, and the Germans, despite their courage and energy, were cut
down fast. Aid for the French was coming continually. New regiments
rushed up the snowy slopes. John heard a shout behind him, and Captain
Colton and the Strangers coming from afar rushed into the battle. As
they were about to swing past John joined Wharton and Carstairs.

"We thought you were gone forever this time," shouted Carstairs. "There
seems to be a special Providence for you Yankees!"

"It's skill, not luck, that counts!" exclaimed Wharton.

John joined them, and Bougainville, taking command of the whole battle,
directed the charge upon the town. The spirits of the French were at the
highest, and shouting tremendously they soon passed through Chastel and
drove the enemy beyond it, headlong into the forest. Having superior
numbers now, a better knowledge of the ground and led by a man of genius
like Bougainville, they soon broke up the German force, capturing a part
of it, while the rest fleeing eastward, burst through the French
trenches, and, after further heavy losses, succeeded in getting back to
the main German army.

The pursuit was carried on some time by the French cavalry which had
appeared as the last charge was made, but Bougainville, with the clear
note of trumpets, recalled the infantry. He was satisfied with the
victory that had been won in Chastel, and he did not wish to exhaust his
troops with vain rushes in the deep snow.

The Strangers halted with the rest, and John, coming out of the red rage
that had possessed his soul, saw that Captain Colton was uninjured and
that Carstairs and Wharton, who stood near him, had only scratches.

"Grazed four times," said Carstairs happily. "The bullets knew a good
man when they saw him, and turned aside just in time to give him slight
but honorable wounds."

"Two scratches for me, too," said Wharton.

"Which proves what I told you," said Carstairs, "that it was often luck,
not skill, that saved you."

"Both count," said Captain Colton, tersely. "Napoleon had immense skill.
Suppose bad luck had sent a bullet into his heart in his first battle in
Italy. Would have been forgotten in a day. And if no bullet had ever
touched him, wouldn't have amounted to much, without immense skill."

"Do we go back to Chastel, sir?" asked John.

"Back to what's left of it. Not much, I think. See nothing but Gothic
tower!"

John looked up. The great Gothic spire hung over a scene of desolation
and ruin, now complete save for the cathedral itself. Otherwise not an
undamaged house remained in Chastel. Fires still smoldered, and the
largest of them all, marked where the H�tel de l'Europe had stood. The
firing had ceased save for a distant murmur where the cavalry still
pursued, and John choked as he gazed at ruined Chastel. He looked most
often at the burning H�tel de l'Europe where he had spent such happy
hours, the happiest, in truth, of his life, hours that glowed. He could
see as vividly, as if it were all real again, Julie and himself at the
little table by the window, and Antoine and Suzanne serving. He choked,
and for a little while he could not reply to Wharton's question:

"Why, Scott, what's struck you? You look as if you had lost your last
friend!"

"Wharton," replied John at last, "I found Mademoiselle Lannes and her
servants, Antoine and Suzanne Picard here, come as requested by letter,
to meet her brother Philip. I found them in the cathedral waiting, and
we went to the H�tel de l'Europe, where she and I dined together."

Previous Page | Next Page


Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 15th Jan 2026, 15:26