Now a thunderous roar broke out. The British artillery, unable to be used while the hand to hand fighting was in progress, was in action again, shelling the fleeing Germans.
The dead strewed the battlefield, and as Hal, Chester and Lieutenant Anderson made their way toward the rear, they were forced to climb over the dead and wounded, many with shattered limbs and maimed for life. But the Red Cross was at work, and the wounded were being cared for with the greatest possible haste and gentleness.
“That was some fight, if you ask me,” said Hal to Chester, as they continued their way to the part of the field where they could see General French and his staff, Lieutenant Anderson having left them to rejoin his own men, from whom he had become separated.
“It was all of that,” replied Chester, “and I can’t imagine how we escaped with our lives.”
“Nor I. It doesn’t seem possible that anyone in the midst of such terrible carnage could live, to say nothing of being only slightly wounded. By the way, are you hurt much, Hal?”
“No; just a scratch on the face and a bump on the head. And you?”
“I was luckier than that, although a German did crack me with his rifle butt.”
“Look at the dead and wounded lying about,” said Hal. “It is a terrible thing—this modern warfare.”
“It is, indeed,” returned Chester, and the two continued on their way in silence.
General French noticed their approach. The British commander was standing as he had stood through the last part of the battle, exposed to the fire of the enemy, calmly smoking a cigarette!