The commander of the battery, a short, powerful Frenchman, was as cool as ice, and John drew coolness from him.  One can get used to almost anything, and his nervous tremors were passing.  Despite the terrible fire of the German artillery the French army was still advancing.  Many thousands had fallen already before the shells and shrapnel of the invisible foe, but there had been no check.

The cannon crossed a brook, and, unlimbering, again opened a tremendous fire.  To one side and on a hill here, a man whom the commander watched closely was signaling.  John knew that he was directing the aim of the battery and the French, like the Germans, were killing by mathematics.

He rode his cycle to the crest of a little elevation behind the battery and with his newfound coolness began to use his glasses again.  Despite the thin, whitish smoke, he saw men on the horizon, mere manikins moving back and forth, apparently without meaning, but men nevertheless.  He caught, too, the outline of giant tubes, the huge guns that were sending the ceaseless rain of death upon the French.

He also saw signs of hurry and confusion among those manikins, and he knew that the French shells were striking them.  He rode down to the commander and told him.  The swart Frenchman grinned.

“My children are biting,” he said, glancing affectionately at his guns.  “They’re brave lads, and their teeth are long and sharp.”

He looked at his signal man, and the guns let loose again with a force that sent the air rushing away in violent waves.  Batteries farther on were firing also with great rapidity.  In most of these the gunners were directed by field telephones strung hastily, but the one near John still depended upon signal men.  It was composed of eight five-inch guns, and John believed that its fire was most accurate and deadly.

Using his glasses again, he saw that the disturbance among those manikins was increasing.  They were running here and there, and many seemed to vanish suddenly—­he knew that they were blown away by the shells.  To the right of the great French battery some lighter field guns were advancing.  One drawn by eight horses had not yet unlimbered, and he saw a shell strike squarely upon it.  In the following explosion pieces of steel whizzed by him and when the smoke cleared away the gun, the gunners and the horses were all gone.  The monster shell had blown everything to pieces.  The other guns hurried on, took up their positions and began to fire.  John shuddered violently, but in a moment or two, he, too, forgot the little tragedy in the far more gigantic one that was being played before him.

He rode back to General Vaugirard and told him that his order had been obeyed.  The general nodded, but did not take his glasses from the horizon, where a long gray line was beginning to appear against the green of the earth.  “It goes well so far,” John heard him say in the under note which was audible beneath the thunder of the battle.