They quickly overtook a band of villagers trudging stoically along. During the long months that had elapsed since the beginning of the cruel war these poor people had suffered so much that by now they were growing callous, and accepted every new trial uncomplainingly.
They had seen beloved kindred shot down, had watched their possessions given to the torch, and in so many ways endured the terrors that come to a subjugated country that it seemed as though they could weep no more.
Both boys felt for the poor people. They would have done something to help them, only there seemed to be no way in which they could be of any assistance, since it was folly to slow down their pace to correspond with the snail-like progress of the fugitives.
All this while the noise to the north had continued to grow in volume until it was simply frightful. Amos had never dreamed there could be as many big guns on the fighting line from Alsace to the sea as the Germans had brought to bear upon this one section of the British defense, possibly only a few miles in extent.
“They boasted that they would batter their way through to Calais,” Amos called out, as they stood and listened, “and it looks like they are doing it.”
“Wait,” said wise Jack. “The fury of the drive will exhaust itself. Those stubborn British never know when they are whipped. They will hang on like bulldogs until the enemy is tired out, and then block his way with the reinforcements that must be hurrying up, and which we’ll soon meet.”
“Then, Jack, you don’t believe the Kaiser will get to Calais as he said he would, so as to fire his big guns across the Channel on to English soil?”
“Not this time, anyway,” asserted Jack. “They may win three or four miles of muddy ground, for which they’ll pay a heavy price, but that is all. Some of those guns you hear crashing are manned by British Tommies, and Canadian troops, who are bound to give a good account of themselves. But the losses will be terrible on both sides, more the pity. Come, let’s be moving.”