Читать книгу Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium. Or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles онлайн

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Crossing the field they saw the ravages of artillery projectiles—deep, conical holes, five or six feet in diameter. Here, too, they found shrapnel cases, splinters of shells, skeletons of horses, fragments of bloodstained clothing and cartridge pouches. The moonlight made the path as open as day, and each object reminding of terrible conflict was apparently magnified by the white shine of the moon. The boys walked as in a dream, and were first awakened by the flapping wings of a huge bird, frightened by their approach from its perch on a broken gun-carriage.

“Let’s get out of this,” mumbled Henri; “it gives me shivery shakes; it’s a graveyard, and it seems like ghosts of dead soldiers are tracking us.”

Billy was short on nerves, but if he had been called on for a confession just then he might have pleaded guilty to a tremble or two.

He managed to put on a bold front, however, and was about to give Henri a brace by telling him they would have to get used to the ways of war, when there was a sound like the roll of distant thunder far to the south.