The boys had been fortunate in their first day’s travel as cyclists, in that they had not even fallen in with the stragglers of the contending armies reported in terrible conflict inside the Dixmude-Nieuport line.
In the afternoon of the second day, however, they took the wrong road, one leading to Bixchoote.
In the distance they heard heavy and continuous artillery fire, and decided to turn back. “Out of the frying-pan into what next?” as Billy put it, when they found the woods north of Ypres were aflame with bursting shells. Fighting in front and fighting in the rear.
“The sides are still open,” declared Henri, “even if both ends are plugged.”
“But which side shall it be?” asked Billy.
The situation was one of great peril to the boys.
To get a better idea of the lay of the land, they rolled their bicycles into the woods alongside the road and climbed into the low hanging branches of a huge tree, then ascended to the very top of this monarch of the forest.
From their lofty perch they could see quite a distance in all directions, but they had no eyes for any part of the panorama after the first glance to the south. The firing line stretched out before their vision, presenting an awe-inspiring scene.
The shell fire from the German batteries was so terrific that Belgian soldiers and French marines were continually being blown out of their dugouts and sent scattering to cover. The distant town was invisible except for flames and smoke clouds rising above it.
The tide of battle streamed nearer to the wood where the boys had taken shelter. From their high point of vantage they were soon forced to witness one of the most horrible sights imaginable.