"Well, we are in a good place," said Don, his eye on the mouth of an opening leading to an abri.
The ambulanciers waited expectantly, and, sure enough, but a few moments had elapsed when shells were crashing both to the right and left of the battery, but fortunately far enough away to make a dash into the cave unnecessary.
When the flurry was over the lieutenant remarked:
"Come along. I'll introduce you to Captain Langlois."
As the three followed a narrow lane through the woods the reports of various guns of the battery echoed and reëchoed among the hills, the staccato rattle and bang of the lighter field-pieces blending in with the deep and solemn booming of the bigger guns.
They soon reached a battery of the former type, also so well concealed from view by various devices that they might easily have passed by without noting its presence.
"The eighteen pounders!" shouted Lieutenant D'Arraing in Don's ear. "Each shell contains three hundred bullets. They can be fired with very great rapidity."
The ambulancier did not need to be told this—the evidence was right before him. Terrific crash after terrific crash, following a lurid sheet of flame and a spurt of smoke, was coming from each field-piece; and after every shot the empty shells were discharged and fresh projectiles slipped into place.
"Did you ever see such wicked and vindictive-looking little chaps!" exclaimed Don, yelling with all his might, so as to make himself heard above the din. "They seem to be lashing out in perfect fury. Somewhere somebody is being deluged with a hail of lead."
"And every crash we hear may mean a tragedy some miles off," shouted Dunstan, gravely.