CHAPTER XXVIII.
GOOD NEWS FROM DOVER.
The bombardment of Rheims was in full blast, and here it was that the boys witnessed a strange combination of war and peace. Unaffected by the terrific shelling of the town, refugees from Northern France and Belgium were busy in the country picking grapes for the French champagne yield.
“Can you match that?”
Billy marveled at the scene presented.
Henri and Reddy were intently watching the flight of shells, some of which struck the cathedral, and a boy bugler, between 14 and 15 years old, who came out of the heat of the fray, told them that a shell had fallen on one of the high altars and had considerably damaged it.
This youngster had the grit, for he was as cool as a cucumber under fire, and with his battalion had been nearly all day where bullets flew thicker than flies in Egypt.
“That was quite a shake-up,” referring to the shell explosion in the cathedral, “but,” assuming the easy air of one accustomed to such things, “it wasn’t a marker to some of the whacks I’ve seen coming from those howitzers.
“I’m from Dover; name Stetson; came over with the marine brigade; from where does your ticket read?”
The youthful bugler was looking at Billy.