# A Gentleman From France/Chapter 4

It was a sudden and complete change that had come into the life of the Airedale. From the luxury and ease of the car he had gone at a single bound, as it were, to the pommel of the Colonel's saddle.
From the small, soft hand of the actress to the strong, yet kindly hand of the man of iron. Of the two, he was not sure but that he preferred the strong hand, for he was a high-spirited animal, full of strife and struggle. As long as he could see the car, he continued to look backward beneath the Colonel's elbow, but when they turned the next corner he faced about and looked up at the man.
​"That's right, little soldier," said the Colonel. "No more looking back for you and me. It must be forward at any cost for us from now on."
The horse joggled him so he could hardly keep his seat upon the saddle, which was not built for man and dog. But finally the Colonel borrowed a blanket from a soldier and strapped it in front of him, and his little chum was made quite comfortable.
They were in the very midst of things, with excitement all about them, and that suited Pierre. They were at the head of the fast-marching column. He had not imagined there were so many of the young I can men in the world. The streets were lined with people, not soldiers, but just ordinary people, and they cheered as the long column swept by and Pierre wiggled ​about on his perch and barked, just as though the cheering had been intended for him, and perhaps some of it was.
All through the afternoon till dusk they marched and marched.
As they went on, the city streets were left far behind, and the broad macadam road ran through green fields and country villages.
At dusk they halted in a field near one of the villages.
The Jean men all ihrew down their blankets and knapsacks and began building queer little houses. The Colonel and the other officers soon went to the village, where they were billeted for the night in the best quarters obtainable.
Pierre took mess with the Colonel, eating from his new master's hand. After each bite there was a kind word or a ​caress. Thus they grew to be good chums, and their friendship ripened rapidly.
It had been such an exciting afternoon and the Colonel was so good to him that Pierre did not once think of his mistress until the soldier drew the sparkling bracelet from his pocket and kissed it before lying down in his blanket in front of an open fire. He had been offered a bed but refused it, saying that he could not get accustomed to the blanket too soon.
"You want to kiss it, too, little soldier?" asked the man, placing the bracelet before the dog's muzzle. Pierre licked it and whined softly.
"We both love her, don't we, little soldier? We'll keep right on loving her till the end of life, whether that be long or short—who knows?"
Pierre was filled with a great sense of ​homesickness at the smell of the bracelet. He went to the door and scratched upon it, then went back to the Colonel and begged to be let out.
"It's not for us, little soldier," said the man. "Ours is the hard road ahead. You cuddle down with me and we'll say a prayer for her and for ourselves. God knows we may need it. Then sleep. We can't waste any time howling to-night."
All the time the strong hand had been caressing his head and drawing the soft ears between the fingers in the manner that dogs like.
Then the Colonel put the dog between his feet under the blanket and soon both were asleep.
In almost no time the bugler was blowing reveille, and both soldiers tumbled out of their blanket ready for the day's march. ​By half—past six the long column was on the road again, the Colonel and Pierre leading the way.
When he had become so accustomed to the life that the Colonel felt sure he would not run away he would let him down to run beside the horse. On these occasions he would scurry up and down the marching column, barking frantically and nipping at the soldiers' legs. These rhythmic marching legs, keeping time, all moving so rapidly, had a great fascination for Pierre. He, on his part, amused the soldiers. He was adopted almost immediately as the regimental mascot, and the men always hailed his appearance among them with shouts of delight. So altogether it was a most exciting and glorious life that the War Dog led.
One night, three days after they had ​left Paris, they camped upon the brow of a high hill, which looked down upon a broad plain. On the farther side of the plain were some villages. There was a river running close to the foot of the hill.
Beyond the villages, as far as the eye could reach, hung a great cloud of smoke, from which jagged flames of lightning spurted.
All the afternoon they had been hearing distant thunder and it seemed to come from this dark cloud. The new soldiers all pointed at it and seemed much excited.
That evening the Colonel was very busy and Pierre did not see him until taps. He was hurrying about among the men, and other men were constantly coming to him. There was a strange excitement in the air. Pierre felt it also. It made his nerves tingle and the hair stand up along his ​back. Somehow he wished that another dog would come along so he could get into a rough and tumble.
The Colonel sent an orderly for him about ten o'clock and he was taken to the officer's tent.
"Hello, little soldier," said the man pleasantly and Pierre barked a friendly greeting. "This may be our last night together, messmate," said the soldier as he divided his rations with his comrade. "We must make the most of it."
After mess he romped and tumbled the dog about for a few moments, and then fell to stroking his ears in that nice way he had. Pierre knew that the Colonel must love him. He could even feel it in his hands.
They took out the bracelet and both kissed it. This night, Pierre did not ​whimper to go back to his mistress. He was fast becoming a soldier. Soon the bracelet was returned to the man's pocket. "We both love her, don't we, little soldier?" The dog wagged his tail in assent.
Then they said their prayer to the God of battle and rolled up in the blanket as they had done for the past three nights, the dog between the man's feet.
The following morning, reveille was earlier than usual. The man and the dog bolted their rations with the utmost dispatch.
When the meal was over, the Colonel picked up the Airedale and hugged him.
"I must go alone to-day, little soldier," he said. "Perhaps I sha'n't come back. If I do not, they will send you back to her. Tell her I died loving her."
Pierre did not understand the words, ​but he knew it was a solemn occasion. The man's manner told him as much.
"Good-bye, dog, be good until we meet again." He patted the dog upon the head and gave him to an orderly who took him away to a near-by house and locked him in the cellar. When Pierre discovered what had happened to him and that he was not going with his master, he set up a great howling and angry barking, but no one paid any attention to him. The fate of France hung in the balance that day; and what was a dog's howling, or a child's, either, for that matter?
It was a day of blood and iron; so small things like a broken-hearted dog in a cellar did not count.
For an hour Pierre raced up and down frantically, barking, whining, and howling. He tried every possible chance for ​escape, but there seemed to be none. The door at the head of the stairs was locked. He sprang against it repeatedly, but it would not give.
The windows were all too high for him to attempt. He sprang at each several times, but finally gave that up also. Then he sat down on his tail to think, but no way of escape came to him. Finally he lay down to rest, for the strenuous hour had tired him out. As he lay upon the ground, where earth sounds came plainly to his ears, he noted that the strange thunder they had heard all the day before was now much louder and more persistent. It must be a bad storm, indeed. It was a bad storm, for this was the day that the great man of France had said, "We must go forward now, no matter what the cost." Every true Frenchman, and all ​Frenchmen were true in those days, was obeying the command.
Pierre must have slept, for when he next noted the strange thunder it had swelled to a constant roar, which made the windows in his cellar rattle. Again he made a detour of the cellar, and he now noted a pile of boxes near one of the windows. They were piled up so evenly he could not scale them, but if they were tumbled down he might.
With the thought, which was perhaps only an instinct, he began digging frantically under the bottom box. Three hours steady digging did the trick. He was nearly buried under the avalanche when the pile fell but he managed to scramble out and then jump upon the fallen heap.
The window was now about three feet above him. The first spring shattered the ​glass and cut his face, but he was a little soldier. His master had said so.
He sprang again, and broke away a part of the sash, which was rotten. One more jump carried him to freedom.
He raced to the top of the hill where they had been the night before. The villages he had noted upon the farther side of the plain were burning. The sky-line was red with the conflagration. The whole plain nearer the river was dotted with men running hither and thither.
Flames belched, and thunder rolled all along the valley, as far as the eye could reach. His master, the Colonel, was somewhere upon the plain, in the storm. They had all been going that way.
He was a little soldier of France. He must follow. So he trotted down the road towards the one bridge that was still ​standing, across which machine-guns were constantly playing, and over which shells were bursting. It was a terrible storm. Once he whined and started to go back, but something seemed to be calling to him, so he returned and obeyed the summons.
He was a War Dog.
The sun crept through a smoke-filled sky to the zenith.
The sun was very old, but never in its aeons of shining had it seen such a sight in brave France. The plain ran blood—little rivulets in all the low places. The turf was torn with shells.
Dead and dying men were everywhere. For a while the storm stood still, then it began to sway this way and that and finally, thank God, it rolled slowly away to the north and east. The tide had turned.
​For this day at least, heroic France had been saved.
The sun dropped slowly down the western sky-line to the horizon, but only by the timepiece could you have told that it went. It was hidden from sight by the storm, the smoke, the flames, the dust, and the tears in men's eyes.
The dusk fell. The stars came out. The moon appeared. The cool of evening was over the landscape. The thunder had died away and the hush of night was over the land.
The Colonel lay close to a hedge in a cool, green field. He had been lying there for many hours. He was not dead, but very close to death's door. He lay upon a blanket, with a soldier's knapsack under his head. He had received first aid, but the surgeon had said that he could not ​afford to waste time on him. He was done for.
The doctor had not thought the Colonel heard, but it was just as well. The Colonel had known all the time. He was trying to summon all his strength for a task he wanted to perform. Presently he felt something warm on his hand. He slowly opened his eyes. His little pal was licking his hand and looking with anxious, fearful eyes into his face.
He put up his hand with a great effort and stroked the dog's head.
"Hello, little soldier," he said weakly. "I had just asked God to send me a messenger and he has sent you. You are the best ever." Then he closed his eyes and remained very still for a long time. The dog licked frantically at his hand. Again he opened his eyes.
​"Still here, little guardsman?" He reached slowly into his pocket and brought out the bracelet. He kissed it feebly. The dog kissed it also when he held it up. "You must take it back to her," said the soldier. "I will write in a minute." Again he rested. Once more he opened his eyes and smiled at the dog. The dog wagged his tail.
"Dear lady: I am sending him back to you. The little soldier. He will bring back the bracelet and my love. I am dying, but I am very happy. I have seen the Germans' right turned, and I think France is safe. Many a brave Frenchman will sleep well to-night for that sight. Please keep the bracelet and wear it always on your left wrist for me. It is sweet, dying for the one you love, and your country.
"My War Cross, I am giving to my little chum. Let him wear it always. Bury it with him. Next to you, I love him. God has sent him to me to bear my love to you. I am very tired. I must stop now. Taps will soon sound. It is sweet to die for one's country. Do not grieve for me. I am not grieving for myself. Keep me always in your heart. Taps will sound in a minute."
He folded the note and tucked it beneath the dog's collar. Then with his handkerchief wet with his heart's blood, he bound the note firmly to the collar. Next he took off his War Cross, la Croix de ​Guerre, and clasped the chain about the dog's neck. Then he kissed the dog on his head.
His sight had nearly left him. His senses were reeling. It was only by great will power that the Colonel kept his mind working.
"Home, Pierre," he said sternly, "Home." He patted the place on the collar where the bracelet lay. The dog cocked his ears and listened. "Home," repeated the man of blood and iron. The dog whimpered. "Home," he repeated again, and struck him sharply on the shoulder. The dog whimpered but turned partly about. Again he slapped his shoulder. The Colonel listened intently and smiled as he heard his paws patting slowly down the road. Ordinarily he would have doubted if he would ever find ​home and his mistress, but he was sure now. God was sending him. All would be well.
With a deep sigh the man lay back upon his knapsack. Once his lips moved, but no words came. Taps sounded, and he slept with the smile of victory on his pale face.
Three days later a footsore, forlorn Airedale limped up the shady avenue to the château on the Loire. Five minutes afterwards the actress's private secretary was reading the Colonel's love note to Madame. When she had finished, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and tied the note carefully back on the collar.
She noted that the War Cross was safe upon the dog's breast. She also noted a bullet hole in one of his ears and blood upon his face.
​An hour later both secretary and dog were travelling to Paris on the express.
That evening, in her dressing-room, after the first act, with the dusty, dirty Pierre in her lap, the actress read the Colonel's last letter. When it was finished she sat very still until her maid told her to hurry, for the next act had begun. She tucked the note away in her bosom and went upon the stage, to play Juliet as she had never played that love part before.