It was no longer dark for day was at hand. Besides, the constant bursting of those countless enormous shells helped dissipate the gloom, although in places a low-hanging sea fog made objects assume a weird appearance.
A few frightened villagers could be seen hurrying past. Some of them were bearing bundles as though they had hastily gathered their scanty possessions together, and intended to cut loose from their anchorage, seeking safety in hurried flight.
Indeed, Amos could not blame them when he listened to all those dreadful noises, and mentally pictured the desperate scenes that were likely to occur when the retreating British tried to make a desperate stand amidst the houses of the already sorely stricken Belgian village. Perhaps in the end ere they were driven forth hardly one stone of those humble dwellings would remain on another.
As they passed little Jacques, still marching up and down, Amos patted the child on the shoulder. There was resolution and courage in the eyes that looked up at him. Others might be afraid and tremble and weep, but Jacques was the child of a soldier. The spirit of Jean Larue, who fell in defense of Antwerp, dwelt within that young heart. The coming of the Germans only meant to poor little Jacques a possible chance to carry out the plans for revenge that had of late taken possession of his mind to the exclusion of everything else.
In leaving the apparently doomed village both of the American boys were conscious of very heavy hearts. They had already seen enough of war’s horrors to impress them deeply. The uncertainty concerning the fate of all those innocent non-combatants grieved them exceedingly.
Still, there was absolutely nothing they could do to render assistance, and for them to linger there would simply mean unnecessary risk. In the heat of battle neither one side nor the other would pay any attention to the fact that they claimed to be Americans and neutrals. They had no business on the fighting line, and if injured could not complain.
Perhaps Jack felt a keen desire to hang around and see with his own eyes what a desperate battle looked like. The spirit of the newspaper correspondent was strong within Jack. But while reckless at times he could also show considerable caution. Besides, he was not alone now, he must remember, and the life of Amos was doubly precious just then, in the estimation of the one who had sent him abroad on that search for Frank Turner.
On this account Jack curbed his desire to linger and try to see what took place when the fighting reached the doomed village.
There was little choice in the matter of deciding upon the direction of their intended flight. The German drive was coming from the north, and hence only in the opposite quarter could there be any assurance of safety.
Fortunately the road offered them an opportunity to retreat from the village without taking to the fields.