They trudged along for a time in silence, though both of them kept eyes and ears open so that they might not lose any portion of the remarkable war panorama by which they were surrounded.
As they overtook and passed other fugitives from the threatened village, Amos found himself still pitying the poor souls once again cast out upon the cold world.
“I wish we could help them,” he said to his chum, “but of course that’s out of the question. We’re like the ‘babes in the woods’ ourselves. But by now we must be about the end of the string. The road looks clear ahead.”
“And I was just thinking,” added Jack, “we hadn’t left the village any too soon for our health.”
He made a suggestive movement with his hand when saying this, and Amos guessed the meaning.
“Do you really think the battle has reached there so soon?” he asked as he stood and listened to the clamor that welled up from their rear.
“Yes,” said Jack; “from the sound of spattering rifle firing I think the retreating British have taken advantage of the houses. Every stone cottage will shelter a dozen or so. And as the pursuing Germans come along with a rush they’ll be met by a murderous fire.”
“Then just as our good old friend the burgomaster said, it will spell the finish of the village,” sighed Amos; and apparently his chum caught his meaning in spite of the dreadful din, for he went on to follow up the thought.
“Yes, the Germans will turn their guns on the place if they meet with a set-back there, and make it a howling wilderness.”
“Those poor women and youngsters,” groaned Amos.