The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1918-12-20
CHAPTER xV-cont.


returned, all his energy and
battle. He forgot everything. v
the sword, he hurled himself into
attacking ranks They gave, and witt
a cheer the defenders swept on into
the main street, Mark leading them.
How he fought that day he never
knew; long afterWard he would see
visions of it in sleep, and battle pic
lures that forever eluded his waking
consciousness. Round the little vii
from unexpected places, hideous death
traps caught the unwary and venture
some, sometimes a street was filed
with a jostling mob, too packed to use
their steel, tearing at one another with
fists and teeth. There was no order,
and the. command fell to him who
1age, the key to the days fortunes, the
tide ebbed and flowed. Company after
company came up on either side. Now
advancing, now driven back, the Amer
leans fought from street to street and
back again. Machine guns opened fire
seized it. Through all that nightmare
Mark fought at the head of his COM
pany, looking like madman, as they
said of him afterward. When he came
to himself at last he found himself,
from which the bandage had long since
fallen, and in command of a battalion.
They had driven the Germans from
the last house Of the village. The de-
lay had saved the day. The reserves
had come pouring in. On the ridge be-
yond the enemy was marshaling for
last counter-attack.
Mark looked about him. Lieutenants,
captains who should have commanded
companies, mingled with privates and
noncoms, were following. as If hypno-
tized, this middle-aged private with the
red cross on his arm. AS Mark looked
his heart swelled with the conscious
ness and pride of leadership. And, at
his glance, roar went up that was
caught up from man to man and sent
echoing into the distance.
And Mark was swept away With un-
conquerable enthusiasm. 1t was his
day, the day of which every soldier
dreams.
"Come along, boys! Break them
up!'' he shouted, and ran forward.
With one resounding cheer the lines
swept after him. A ripple Of machine
gun fire caught them, but could not
hold them. Over the fallen they
pressed on, cries of triumph upon their
lips, the faces, set above the cleaning
bayonets, animated by a single pur-
pose. And now they were upon them.
Mark fought in the bloody swirl.
Blades thrust at him, bullets tore his
tattered uniform. Once he was down,
and he saw a giant rush at him with
dubbed rifle. He raised his arm, he
tried to drive with his sword, lunged
and missed. Then the uplifted rifle
fell harmlessly beside him, and the
giant fell forward, dead, lover him, pin
ming him to the ground, and covering
him with his blood. A bayonet thrust
had passed clean through his body.
And, looking up bewildered, Mark
thought he saw Hartley's face look
into his own.
Next moment Mark was on HIS leel
again, and Hartley had vanished. But
already the last tussle was over. The
Germans broke and fled.
Mark stood still, gasping. The men
were crowding all about him, waving
their helmets on bayonet points, cheer
ing him, shaking his hand. Across the
field two mounted men were riding.
They came up to the ridge, and one, a
white-haired old officer, leaped to the
ground and wrung Marks hand.
''My thanks-our country's thanks to
you :" he cried. "What is your name?"