and in the
shattering reports of those French 75's, which, blazing hard in the
rear, registered still upon the enemy.

Then those gallant _poilus_ who had poured over the parapets of their
trenches--where such still existed--springing from shell-holes where
they had taken shelter, and emerging from every sort of odd and
unexpected corner, joined in one frantic mob, swept down under the rays
of the search-light upon the enemy, and, plunging into their midst,
commenced at once a desperate hand-to-hand encounter.

So it was where Henri and Jules were stationed, and the tale was
repeated in a hundred different places. Indeed, on this 21st February,
when the Germans had confidently anticipated a "walk-over", and when
such an event as a massed attack, or even the loss of a considerable
number of their infantry, was hardly contemplated, they found
themselves held up entirely, with whole ranks of their divisions swept
away, and with the ground in front of Brabant, Haumont, and along the
northern face of the Verdun salient littered with their killed and
wounded. That torrent of shells, which should have killed every one of
the slender garrison of Frenchmen, had failed in its effect; while the
hope of gaining Verdun, the capture of which was to influence the whole
world, and particularly wavering neutrals, was as far away as ever.
That desperate attack made during the darkness broke down as others had
done, and the Germans--those who were left of them--fled to the cover
of the evergreen pine-trees, leaving the _poilus_ of General Joffre's
armies to stagger back to their battered trenches, there to
prepare--not to rest, not to sleep, for that was out of the
question--but to resist still further.

CHAPTER XI

Falling Back

Down below, in a subterranean chamber, there burned a cheerful fire, a
chimney taking the smoke and flames up through the ground above and
into the open. Seated about it, more dishevelled than ever, their
chins bristly now, and their faces and hands stained a dull, dirty
colour, sat Jules and Henri and others of their comrades, resting for a
time, while men of their regiment watched for them.

"And, believe me, it has been a fight of fights," said one bearded
veteran, lolling back against the earth wall of the dug-out, a cup of
steaming coffee gripped in one huge, dirty hand, and a hunch of cheese
in the other. "A fight more bitter than any that has gone before it,
and one which will become more