Chapter II: Preparations

At nine o'clock that evening all arrangements had been completed and the final inspection held. The last letters were deposited at the regimental post-office, a most solemn ceremony. Many a long thought passed through the minds of the soldiers as they mailed what might be their final messages to their loved ones.

"I don't like this business of hanging around," whispered Jacques in Leon's ear. "I'd like to get started."

"So should I," agreed Leon. "It seems sort of weird standing here in the darkness with thousands of men all about you, all waiting for the same order that we are."

The night was clear and the stars were unusually brilliant. Not a cloud appeared and the long lines of troops resting on their arms looked like misshapen hedgerows in the faint light. The roar of the French artillery came distinctly to the ears of these men who stood and waited. Every man knew why it was that its activity was so greatly increased that night. Their guns were playing a stream of metal death on every yard and foot and inch of the opposing trenches. Not a spot in the German lines but was being searched by these great mechanical monsters.

"Listen!" warned Earl suddenly.

Nearby some man had started to sing the Marseillaise. Soon others joined in and the chorus swelled as man after man lent his voice to that stirring anthem. In a few moments every soldier present was singing and even the roar of the great guns became faint and indistinct as the thousands of throats chanted the great hymn of victory.

A thrill ran up and down Leon's spine. He used to regard the Marseillaise as the national anthem and had often heard it sung without any particular feeling. Since the war had started, however, it had seemed different to him. As the soldiers sang it, biting out each word sharp and short, it had become a battle-cry. He realized how terribly in earnest these Frenchmen were who stood there in the darkness and hurled defiance at their German foes.

At length the order came to move. Slowly the column moved out of the camp and turning to the right marched down the road leading to the trenches. On both the right and left could be seen other columns moving in parallel lines and in the same direction.

"Who are they?" whispered Earl.

"I can't tell," replied Jacques in answer to his comrade's query. "Both regiments are attached to our division though, I think."

Slowly and at the same pace the three columns advanced. The men were unusually quiet and none of the customary bantering was present. Perhaps every man was busied with the thought of what was going to happen to him at quarter past nine the next day.

"This seems like a funeral march," exclaimed Leon in a low voice.

"And I don't like it, either," added Earl.

"Wait," cautioned Jacques. "Everyone's spirits will revive in a few minutes. The strain will wear off soon."

His prediction proved to be correct. A short time later the pace was quickened and the murmur of low-voiced conversations could be heard. The men even began to tease one another and tell jokes. It seemed almost incredible that men preparing to face what they were to meet-on the morrow could be so light-hearted.

"Here we come to the trenches," exclaimed Jacques. "What time is it?"

"Just eleven o'clock," said Earl, consulting his watch.

"An hour so far," murmured Jacques.

One by one the soldiers filed into the trench. All talking ceased and mile after mile they moved forward. In single-file the men marched through the communicating trench. Every little while a lateral trench appeared and as they came closer to the front these trenches increased in number. The roar of the giant guns steadily became louder and louder.

Soon the lateral trenches became very numerous. Every one was filled with soldiers, their arms resting on the ground. They eyed the regiment filing past them enviously and were apparently curious to know why it had been selected to lead the charge in preference to themselves.

"Who are you?" demanded one man.

"_La douziéme_," said Jacques.

"Ah," said the man. "I see."

It was a famous regiment to which these three boys belonged and its record for daring and bravery was known by all the army. No wonder it had been chosen to lead the advance. If anyone could get through, _la douziéme_ was that one. A feeling of confidence pervaded the regiment and the knowledge that the army shared that feeling was a source of satisfaction to every member.

"Look!" exclaimed Leon suddenly. "What place is this?"

"There's not much left of it whatever it is," replied Jacques grimly.

The regiment had suddenly emerged from the trench into the street of a village. At least it had once been a village, but only its ghost now remained. Every house had been bombarded and battered until now there was standing only bare walls, when indeed they had been spared.

"There's the moon," whispered Earl suddenly. "I saw it over my right shoulder. That means good luck."

"We'll need it," said Leon grimly.

Down the ruined village street the march continued and then another trench swallowed them up. Straight ahead they went and then turned sharply to the right. A short distance and they swung to the left. Finally the advance ceased and the men came to rest.

"We're in the first line trench," whispered Jacques.

"You don't have to tell me that," exclaimed Leon.

"Look here," cried Earl who was peering cautiously through one of the holes made for the rifles.

Following his instructions Jacques and Leon could see the French shells exploding in the opposing trenches. Big and little they were, and had somewhat the appearance of a great display of fireworks. The noise was beyond description. So fast did the shells burst that they seemed all to be part of one continuous explosion. The German return fire only added to the din.

"They say," shouted Jacques after a consultation with the man next to him, "that only the German long range guns are doing any damage."

"I hope they don't find us here," said Leon grimly. "I want to live long enough to get into this fight to-morrow anyway."

"How big are those long-range cannon of the Germans?" asked Earl.

"Ten-inch," said Leon. "They're good ones too."

"Can't they use the 42-centimeter guns out here?"

"No, they're for smashing forts. They're mortars, you know."

"None of them compare with our 75's," exclaimed Jacques proudly.

"That is, for field work, you mean," said Leon.

"Yes. And no gunners can compare with the French, either."

"That's been proved to every one's satisfaction, I guess," Leon agreed.

It seemed remarkable that these three boys could stand in the front line trenches of the greatest battlefield the world has ever known and calmly discuss the merits of the rival artillery. Such is the effect of war, however. It seems as if a man can become accustomed to almost anything, and after weeks and months on the battle-line the artillery duels and the ever-present death become matters of unconcern to the ordinary soldier.

"We ought to get some sleep," Jacques announced finally.

"Can any one sleep here?" demanded Earl.

"I think I can," said Jacques. "I'm healthy and I'm tired."

"We can lie right down here in the trench," suggested Leon. "We can use our knapsacks for pillows and maybe get a little sleep."

"This is no place for a man who's nervous," laughed Jacques as a German shell whistled over their heads and exploded with a roar a short distance behind their position.

"I should think not," exclaimed Earl. "Still I don't suppose it will do us any good to keep thinking about it. I suppose we might as well try to get a little rest as Jacques advises."

"Jacques won't be able to lie down," laughed Leon. "He's too tall."

"Not at all," protested the young Frenchman quickly, taking this remark literally. "I am but six feet two; you and Earl are at least six feet."

"Not quite," said Leon. "At any rate I was only fooling."

"I see," said Jacques soberly. He did not always catch the drift of some of the sallies his young American friends made.

"How about sleep?" exclaimed Earl. "We can get some little rest anyway."

The three young soldiers followed the example of most of their companions in the trench and lay down, with their knapsacks under their heads. Still the artillery roared. Incessant explosions shattered the night air, predicting the struggle to take place on the morrow.