A man with a bugle was lying in the snow near Bougainville and the
little colonel reached over and touched him. John saw the soldier put
the instrument to his lips, as if he would make ready, and he knew that
an important movement was at hand. He tautened his own figure that he
might be ready. The artillery fire behind them ceased suddenly. The air
there had been roaring with thunder, and then all at once it became as
silent as the grave. The bugler leaped to his feet and blew a long and
mellow note. The Bougainville regiment and other regiments both right
and left sprang up and, with a short, fierce shout, rushed upon the
town. John, his automatic in his hand, charged with them, keeping close
to Bougainville.

A scattering fire of bullets carried away many, but John knew that he
was not touched. Neither was Bougainville, who, like Bonaparte at Lodi
or Arcola, was now leading his men in person, waving aloft a small
sword, and continually shouting to his children to follow him. The
French fell fast, but they reached the first line of the houses, and
then they sent a deadly hail of their own bullets upon the defenders.

Every street and alley in Chastel was swept by the fire of the French.
John heard above the crash of the rifles the incessant rattling of the
machine guns, and then, as they opened out, the roar of the
seventy-five-millimeters added to the terrible tumult. The Germans,
withdrawing to the far edge and taking what shelter they could, replied,
also with cannon, machine guns and rifles.

John saw Chastel already in ruins fairly melting away. Caught as it must
have been in the former action it came tumbling, stone and brick walls
and all to the ground. Detached fires were burning at many places, and