“It was worth all the trouble, Jack,” admitted Amos.
They could see far away beyond where the doomed Belgian village
undoubtedly lay. Billows of smoke shrouded most objects, but at times
the wind swept this aside, and at such moments they could obtain
glimpses of the fighting.
In one place they saw solid masses rushing forward with the resistless
power of might, to be met with a blast that cut terrible lanes in their
closely packed ranks.
Amos fairly held his breath as he stared. It seemed almost as though he
might be indulging in a nightmare. Then the powder smoke rolled like a
curtain between, and the view was shut off.
Shells were bursting everywhere, and Jack soon located the hamlet
which they had so recently quitted.
“They’re at it hammer and tongs around the village, I’m afraid, Amos,”
he called out to his companion.
“Have you found out where it’s located, Jack?”
“Yes, if you watch sharp when the smoke fog opens you can glimpse a few
of the houses over that way,” and Jack pointed as he said this.
“Yes, I see it now. And how the shells seem to be raining down on that
spot. I guess the German gunners have got the range to a fraction. How
d’ye think they manage such things, Jack?”
“They have the whole country plotted out to begin with, Amos. And then,
you see, they get tips by wireless right along.”
“Wireless?” echoed Amos.
“In a sense, yes. Look up and you’ll see that there are a dozen
aeroplanes swooping around like hawks, now fluttering over some
particular spot, and dropping a colored signal paper. That is to tell
the gunners just how to fire so as to hit what they’re after. Those
birdmen have a regular code they use to talk with.”
“But surely all of them are not German Taubes, Jack? I can see some
that look different in build.”
“Those belong to the Allies,” Jack declared with conviction.
“But how is it they chase around, often close together, without
interfering with each other?”
“I suppose that’s because they’re all too busy now sending information
of great value to bother with their own little rivalry. Though it may
be they take an occasional crack at each other in passing.”
Amos had conceived a sudden startling thought, and he watched the
evolutions of the rising and falling aeroplanes with additional
interest. It could easily be noticed, however, that the machines of the
Allies monopolized his attention.
“Oh! I wonder if one of them could be my brother Frank,” Jack heard
him saying presently.
“It’s one chance in ten he’s working up there right before our eyes,”
the Western boy admitted.
After that Amos could hardly tear his eyes from the darting aeroplanes.
When he saw little puffs of white smoke breaking close to one of them
and knew that this must be shrapnel shells sent from anti-air craft
German guns, his heart seemed almost in his throat with sudden anxiety.
“Oh! that would be too cruel!” he exclaimed. “If I came all the way
over here to find my brother, only to see him shot down before my very
eyes.”
“Don’t think of it,” Jack told him. “Chances are those are British
airmen, and Frank may be far away from here.”
“Oh! he’s been struck, and is falling!” exclaimed Amos in sudden terror.
“His machine has been put out of commission, it seems, but the pilot
aims to coast down so he can land back of his own lines. And as sure
as you live he’s doing it, too.”
They forgot everything else, because of their intense interest in the
fate of the pilot of the stricken monoplane. A short time later Amos
broke out with half a cheer, such was the excitement he was laboring
under.
“Jack, he’s landed, don’t you think?”
“Reckon he has,” agreed the other.
“And safe behind the British lines.”
“You’re right there, Amos, because the place where he struck is some
distance this side of the village. That brave fellow is all right, even
if his machine was put out of commission.”
“But the others keep at work right along, Jack.”
“They direct the gunfire of both sides, to a considerable extent, and
it would be a hard thing to get along without aeroplanes nowadays.
This war has shown how useful they can be. But look over yonder. I do
believe those are the British reserves we saw, going into action.”
“Oh! you’re right, Jack, for I glimpsed the Highlanders deploying
behind that stone wall. And I think that must be the Canadian regiment
charging with their bayonets.”
“It surely is, because I heard their yells when a shift came in the
wind just then. Oh! shucks! there that smoke has to settle down again
and shut off our view when it was getting so thrilling.”
“To think that the same kind of fierce fighting is going on along miles
of territory. Do you think there’s a chance the Germans may break
through at this point, Jack?”
“They may in small detachments while all the confusion is on, but not
in great force,” Jack replied. “All these things have been anticipated
and prepared for. A battle is like a game of chess, with every move
having a meaning of its own. The general who can best guess the plan of
the enemy, and lay his own to trip him up, is the one who’s bound to
win.”
It continued to be fascinating work to watch the stirring events that
were transpiring. That tower on the top of the wrecked country house
proved a splendid lookout for the two deeply interested boys.
Jack in particular was making it a point to impress all the features of
the action upon his memory. Later on at the first available chance he
meant to incorporate what he had witnessed in a stirring letter that
might thrill the hearts of all those in the home land who read it, even
as his own pulses were quickened just then.
When the smoke pall chose to lift again after quite an interval, Amos
gave a cry of mingled surprise and chagrin.
“Why, Jack, see, they’re gone!”
“You mean the Highlanders who were behind that stone wall, don’t you,
Amos?”
“Yes, not a man of them is left. And, Jack, I don’t seem to see any
stretched out on the ground. Do you think they had to retreat so soon?”
“Hardly that,” the other assured him. “Those Scots are the most
stubborn fellows going. They don’t like to give up anything they’ve
once had possession of. Of course I couldn’t say for certain, but the
chances are they’ve charged out to meet the oncoming Germans face to
face.”
“And they may be bayoneting each other in that awful fog of smoke
further on,” Amos continued. “Oh! it’s terrible, terrible! I never
thought war was so cruel. I always pictured it as glorious, with the
heroes coming home to be crowned as victors. I’ll never think of it
again as I used to. General Sherman was right when he called it what he
did.”
So the changes took place rapidly. It was as though they were looking
through a kaleidoscope. Every puff of air raised the curtain of smoke
in some new section and allowed the absorbed spectators a chance to
look upon phases of the battle they had as yet failed to see.
To think, that all through that long day, while the rival armies dug
new trenches confronting each other, this terrible butchery must
continue, was something to chill the heart.
“Why,” burst out Amos at length, after they had been a long time in the
tower, “you could almost believe the end of the world had come, with
all this noise and fire. They say it won’t be a flood next time but
fire that is going to destroy everything. For one, Jack, I’m beginning
to get enough of this.”
“We’ll stay only a little while longer, Amos. Fact is, we’ll never run
across such a splendid chance as this to watch a big battle. It is
Teuton against Anglo-Saxon now, the first time they’ve been up against
each other for centuries really. And this war will tell which is going
to be the world leaders.”
“If the Kaiser wins we’ll all have to brush up on our German, and
that’s what I don’t like much,” Amos complained.
“If that was the worst of it there’d be little reason for complaining,”
Jack told him. “I suppose German is as fine a language as the next,
once you get your tongue adapted to it.”
“I can see a smudge of smoke where we think the village lies, Jack, and
it’s black smoke, too. Do you think the place has been set afire so as
to drive the British snipers out?”
“I wouldn’t be much surprised, Amos.”
“And those poor, poor peasants, the helpless women and children, what
will become of them?” exclaimed Amos.
“Don’t ask me,” said Jack, with a shiver. “Those who snatched up what
they could get of their possessions and trekked out along the road
leading to the south were wise, after all.”
“Yes,” continued his chum, “they may suffer from the cold, but as they
get further down into France they’ll have kind friends raised up for
them on every hand. I wonder will the burgomaster live through it all,
brave old chap that he was to decide to stay and share the fate of
those who chose to hide in the cellars.”
“And little Jacques,” added the other boy, “what will happen to him
with all those shells bursting, and the British and Germans fighting
hand to hand in the streets of the village? I’m afraid the poor little
fellow won’t be able to trap his hated Prussian as easy as he expected.”
Jack turned to observe some feature of the wonderful panorama disclosed
when rifts occurred in the eddying smoke curtain. It all seemed to
have a decided fascination for him, so that he would surely regret
leaving that eyrie presently, in order to please his cousin.
Even as he looked, almost holding his breath with eagerness, there came
a strange whining sound in the air. Something hurtled past not fifty
feet overhead. Then came a terrible crash that almost knocked both of
the boys down, and caused Amos to cling desperately to the railing of
the cupola lookout.
“That was a shell, Jack!” he gasped, when he could catch his breath.
“It certainly was,” declared the other. “The Germans are using this
tower as a range finder, and we had a narrow escape that time.”