to pass over his head, and now they
came from many points. He had seen or heard so much firing in the last
eight or ten days that the world, he felt, must be turned into a huge
ammunition factory to feed all the guns. He laughed to himself at his
own grim joke. He was overstrained and he began to see everything
through a red mist.

His clothing was drying fast, but his throat was very hot from
excitement and exertion. He came to a little brook, and kneeling down,
drank greedily. Then he bathed his face and felt stronger and better.
His nerves also grew steadier. There was not so much luminous mist in
the atmosphere. Ahead of him the crash of the guns was much louder, and
he knew that he had already come a long distance. It seemed that the
passing of the storm had renewed the activity of the gunners. The mutter
had become rolling thunder, and both to north and south the searchlights
flared repeatedly.

He heard the beat of hoofs, and he hoped that they were French cavalry
on patrol, but they proved to be German Hussars, Bavarians he judged by
the light blue uniforms, and they were coming from the direction of the
French lines. They had been scouting there, he had no doubt, but they
passed in a few moments, and, leaving his hedge, he resumed his own
rapid flight, continually hoping that he would meet some French force,
scouting also.

But he was doomed to a long trial of patience. Twice he saw Germans and
hid until they had gone by. They seemed to be scouting in the night
almost to the mouths of the French guns, and he admired their energy
although it stood in the way of his own plans. He came to a second
brook, drank again, and then took a short cut through a small wood. He
had marked the reports of guns from a hill about two miles in front of
him, and he was sure that a French battery must be posted there. He
reckoned that he could reach it in a half hour, if he exerted himself.

Half way through the wood and human figures rose up all about him.
Strong hands seized his arms and an electric torch flashed in his face.

"Who are you?" came the fierce question in French.

But it was not necessary for John to answer. The man who held the torch
was short, but very muscular and strong, his face cut in the antique
mold, his eyes penetrating and eager. It was Bougainville and John gave
a gasp of joy. Then he straightened up and saluted:

"Colonel Bougainville," he said, "I see that you know me! I have just
escaped from