on the way to arras the boys had their first experience aboard an armored motor car, equipped with machine guns. quite a promotion from the teamster’s seat of a supply wagon!

how the sergeant ever consented to let his charges join the crew of belgians operating the war machine is not known. perhaps he was not told until it was too late to object.

but there they were, billy and henri, as large as life, out “uhlan hunting,” as the soldiers put it. the boys knew that a uhlan was a kind of light cavalry, or lancer, in the german army, and they had heard that he was “game,” but never before in the sense of game to be hunted.

as for that, hardly a day passed but the boys learned something new from the soldiers.

but a short time before at la bassee they had seen one of these armored cars return from a dash ahead of the main body loaded with spoils in the shape of lancer caps, busbies, helmets, lances, rifles, and other trophies, which the crew distributed as souvenirs to a crowd in the market place.

the next day one of the cars that went out never[69] came back. the uhlans probably took it for a trophy.

whenever you see a splendid piece of tapestry or hangings displayed in a window, museum, or house, you may think of arras, the little old town on the right bank of the narrow little river scarpe, right in the center of the line of battle between lille and amiens, and remember that our boys were now following that line in france.

from the armored car the boys in the distance saw that famous old belfry, said to be 240 feet high, rising gracefully above the town hall, and on top of which was a huge crown. a day later this tower was wrecked by a shell in furious bombardment.

during this journey in the armored car the boys were filled with admiration of the dash and skill displayed by the belgian crew. they were also greatly interested in the hardy cyclists, who apparently without effort kept up with the pace of the big machine. in some of the villages through which they passed, the inhabitants met the cyclists with kisses, in some of the roads the cyclists met barricades and machine guns.

“if a doctor told you that you needed change to help your health, henri, you can write him that you’re getting it.”

billy was finding this new war game very much to his liking.

[70]

“you’ll have word from the doctor without writing,” retorted henri, “if you don’t quit standing up in the car.”

even then bullets were whizzing past them. the car had suddenly come upon a small party of the german mounted troops, firing with short-arms from the saddle.

the belgian gunners instantly responded from the car and swept the road.

“on to arras!”

billy made the grim soldiers smile with his enthusiasm.

when the car rolled into the quaint old town of arras, the boys confessed that they had never seen quite the like of it before.

“there’s a building that i’d like to move to bangor,” said billy, pointing to the hotel de ville, one of the finest in france, with its gothic fa?ade rising upon seven arches of different sizes.

“there’s a lot of rare old houses here, i tell you,” asserted henri, “but i never saw them until now, except on postcards. by the way, billy, take a look at those and think of the days of christopher columbus.”

henri referred to the petite place and the grande place, curious relics of the long gone days of spanish rule, with their queer gables and old arcades resting on curiously shaped sand-stone columns.

[71]

“this is the town, you know,” advised henri, “where robespierre was born.”

“humph! this war has kicked up a bigger muss in france than ‘roby’ ever did.”

billy was not inclined to concede that anything had ever created a stir ahead of that in which he was mixing.

the stir of the next day was, indeed, something to be remembered. some of the biggest of the german guns were brought into action.

billy and henri had been napping, and never were naps more rudely disturbed.

shells from the great guns used by the bombarding forces had a way of starting on their course with a minute-long shriek, which seemed to come from the shell itself. when the boys’ eyes had been cleared from sleep they could not only plainly see the projectiles in the beginning of their flight, but also distinctly observe the bellowing air rushing back to fill the vacancy left by the discharge and bounding and rebounding in a disturbed sea of gas.

“what a sight!” cried billy when the first period of nervous strain had passed.

“something fierce.” henri’s comment was boy-like.

the boys were pacing in one of the antique streets with fragments of wood and chips of stone falling[72] about them when they heard a shout, followed down the avenue by the shouter. it was the sergeant rattling like a milk wagon with his military fixings.

“hustle, you young bearcats; get to cover!”

with that the sergeant yanked each boy by the shoulder into a hospital building nearby.

“here’s help for you,” said the sergeant to one of the red cross nurses. “keep them busy, and,” he added with especial emphasis, “inside.”

that gentle nurse, a young english girl, the boys learned afterward, was struck by a shell and carried dying on a litter from a battlefield where she had been attending the wounded. her name was winnie bell, and she rests in the cemetery at le mans, with the bodies of french and german soldiers around her, in whose service she gave up her noble young life.

the boys moved about with the nurse among the wounded, constantly growing in number.

“oh! the pity of it all,” she murmured, putting a cup of water to the quivering lips of a sufferer, a mere lad, wearing the brilliant uniform of a french trooper, with a gaping wound in his shoulder.

henri, leaning forward to give the nurse a bandage from the packet he was carrying, caught sight of the soldier’s upturned face.

[73]

“my brother francois!” he moaned, dropping on his knees beside the litter.

the wounded soldier opened his eyes, and the agony of his hurt did not keep him from smiling.