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Page 24
The army, too, was moving, or getting ready to move. Batteries of the
splendid French artillery passed before him, squadrons of horsemen
galloped by, and regiments of infantry followed. It all seemed confused,
aimless to the eye, but John knew that nevertheless it was proceeding
with order and method, directed by a master mind.
Often trumpets sounded and the motion of the troops seemed to quicken.
Now he beheld men from the lands of the sun, the short, dark, fierce
soldiers of the Midi, youths of Marseilles and youths of the first Roman
province, whose native language was Provencal and not French. He
remembered the men of the famous battalion who had marched from
Marseilles to Paris singing Rouget de Lisle's famous song, and giving it
their name, while they tore down an ancient kingdom. Doubtless, spirits
no less ardent and fearless than theirs were here now.
He saw the Arabs in turbans and flowing robes, and black soldiers from
Senegal, and seeing these men from far African deserts he knew that
France was rallying her strength for a supreme effort. The German
Empire, with the flush of unbroken victory in war after war, could
command the complete devotion of its sons, but the French Republic,
without such triumphs as yet, could do as well. John felt an immense
pride because he, too, was republican to the core, and often there was a
lot in a name.
It was about noon now, and the sun was shining with dazzling brilliancy.
The tall hill and the low hill were clothed in deep green, and the
waters of the little river that ran between, sparkled in the light. The
air was crisp with a cool wind that blew from the west, and John felt
that the omens were good for the great mysterious movement which he
believed to be at hand.
He looked into the tent and saw that Lannes was sleeping soundly, with a
good color in his face. A powerful constitution aided by a strong will
had done its work and he was sure that on the morrow Lannes would again
be the most daring French scout of the air.
John found the waiting hard work. There was so much movement and action
that he wanted to be a part of it. He had thrown in his lot with this
army and he wanted to share its work at once. Yet much time passed, and
de Rougemont did not return. The evidences that the great French army
was marching to the point designated in the note brought by Lannes
multiplied. From the crest of the hill he already saw large bodies of
troops marching forward steadily, their long blue coats flapping
awkwardly about their legs. He wondered once more why they wore such an
inharmonious and conspicuous uniform as blue frock coats and baggy red
trousers.
He heard presently the martial sounds of the Marseillaise, and the
regiment singing it passed very close to him. The men were nearly all
short, dark, and very young. But the spring and fire with which they
marched were magnificent. As they thundered out the grand old tune their
feet seemed scarcely to touch the earth, and fierce eyes glowed in dark
faces.
John, with a start, recognized one, a petty officer, a sergeant it
seemed, who marched beside the line. He was the most eager of them all,
and his face was tense and wrapt. It was Geronimo, the little Apache, in
whom the spark of patriotism had lit the fire of genius. His call had
come and it had drawn him from a half savage life into one of glorious
deeds for his country.
"He'll be a general if he isn't killed first," murmured John, with
absolute conviction.
Geronimo, at that moment, looked his way and recognized him. His hand
flew to his head in a military salute, which John returned in kind, and
his eyes plainly showed pleasure at sight of this new friend whom he had
made in a few minutes on the Butte Montmartre.
"We meet again," he said, "and before the week is out it will be victory
or death."
"I think so, too," said John.
"I know it," said Geronimo, and, saluting once more, he marched on with
his regiment. John saw them pass across the valley and join the great
mass of troops that filled the whole northern horizon. About an hour
later a cheerful voice called to him, and he beheld Lannes standing in
the door of the tent, his head well bandaged, but his eyes clear and
strong and the natural color in his face.
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