CHAPTER XXI.
THE HAUNTED WELL.
The boys did not attempt to do much of this sort of talking as they moved along the road. Many reasons united to make conversation a weariness to the flesh when carried on under the prevailing conditions.
In the first place they had to keep a certain distance apart, which would in itself necessitate shouting. Then the rumble of cannon was growing steadily heavier the further they advanced, deadening most other sounds pretty much all the time. Last of all there were those gaps in the road, springing up most unexpectedly, where enemy shells had struck in the endeavor to destroy as many of the pursuing French troops as possible.
Both armies had traversed the region through which Rod and his friends were making their tedious way. It can well be understood that the marks of their late progress abounded on all sides.
Even where no particular action had occurred a thousand reminders of the human flood of men that had so lately passed through were to be discovered on every side. Often Hanky Panky’s heart seemed to feel a chill hand rest upon it as he marked the inevitable evidences of “man’s inhumanity to man.” Cottages were burned or ruined in some way or other; once beautiful gardens trampled out of all recognition; outbuildings torn down to make campfires for the marching hosts–in fact the land looked as though a hurricane might have recently swept across it, leaving scars that it would take a long time indeed to heal.
Here, there, and everywhere they could see groups of the forlorn inhabitants wandering about. Some stood and stared at the ruins of their recent homes; others guarded the little they had saved; while still more were on the roadside looking toward the region of the north, from whence came all those portentous rumblings and angry roarings.
Hanky Panky, however, was astonished to discover very few solemn faces among the peasants of the Marne country. At first this amazed him, but presently he figured out what it meant.
They had in many cases lost the accumulated savings of years, even their humble homes; but in spite of this they could take off their caps and shout in almost savage glee as the three Motorcycle Boys rode past.
Why, to be sure, the Great Day had come, of which they had some of them dreamed full forty years and more; when the German legions, like a plague of locusts, had once more descended upon devoted Paris, only to be brought to a standstill by the glorious army of the republic. And even now those furious guns told how Von Kluck, who had made such wonderful boasts of what he meant to do, was in full retreat bordering on a panic.
That was why temporary sufferings were all forgotten. For France these honest sons and daughters would make much greater sacrifices, and think little of it. So Hanky Panky felt ready to take off his hat to every one of them who gave the three riders a cheer or a salute in passing by.