rise?" shouted Carstairs. "They thought to
catch us napping in the night and the snow!"

The battle spread with astonishing rapidity over a front of more than a
mile, and in the driving snow and white gloom it assumed a frightful
character. The German guns fired for a little while over their troops at
the French artillery beyond, but soon ceased lest they pour shells into
their own men, and the heavy French batteries ceased also, lest they,
too, mow down friend as well as foe. But the light machine guns posted
in the trenches kept up a rapid and terrible crackle. The front lines of
the Germans were cut down again and again, always to be replaced by
fresh men, who unflinchingly exposed their bodies to the deadly hail.

"The massed attack!" exclaimed Wharton. "What courage! Nobody was ever
more willing to die for victory than these Germans!"

Even in the moment of danger and utmost excitement he could not refuse
tribute to the enemy. Nevertheless he snatched up a rifle and was firing
as fast as he could into the gray ranks. John and Carstairs were doing
the same and the trench held by the Strangers was a continuous red
blaze. There was so much fire and smoke and so much whirling snow that
John could not see clearly. He was a prey to illusions. Now the Germans
were apparently at the very edge of the trench, and then they were
further away than he had first seen them. The white gloom was shot with
a red haze, and the shouts of soldiers, the commands of officers and
groans of wounded were mingled in a terrible turmoil of sound. But John
knew that the Germans would be driven tack. Only surprise could have
enabled them to win, and the vigilance of the French scouts had put
their commanders on guard.

Captain Colton walked up and down the trench, his face ghastly white,
although it was the flare of the searchlight and not any retreat of the
blood that made it so. Now and then under the frightful crash of the
rifles and machine guns he addressed brief words of warning and
encouragement to his men:

"Don't raise your heads too high! Keep cool! Aim at something! Here they
come again! Fire low!"

All of John's pulses were throbbing hard with excitement. He wished the
Germans would go back, and his wish was prompted--less by the desire of
victory than the sickening of his soul at so much slaughter. Why would
their leaders continue to hurl these simple and honest peasants upon
that invincible line of rifles and machine guns? Th