At length there came a crash that seemed to break within the very room in which they were gathered. The lights flickered, some of them went out, there was a sound as if a tower had crashed down upon the roof. Dust and smoke filled the room.
“Light up that gas,” said the Officer Commanding. An orderly sprang to obey. The gasjets were once more lighted and the work went on.
“Rather near, wasn't that one?” asked Barry of a wounded man at his side.
“Yes,” he replied casually, “they got a piece that time,” and again he sunk into apathetic silence.
In a few moments the driver had obtained his orders and was ready to set forth.
“Better wait a bit,” said the sergeant at the door, “until their Evening Hate is over.”
“Oh, that's all right,” said the driver. “I guess Fritz is pretty well through. They are rather crowded there at the mill, and I guess we'll go on.”
In his heart, Barry earnestly hoped that the sergeant would interpose with a more definite command, but, inasmuch as the bombardment had apparently ceased, and as if it were all in a day's work, the driver, buttoning up his coat, said:
A few minutes' run brought them to the gate of the ruined city. As the car felt its way through the ghostly town, Barry was only vaguely conscious in the darkness of its ghostly skeletonlike ruins. Fifteen minutes brought them to the Menin gate.
“Sounds rather hot out there,” remarked the driver. “Well, Fritzie, I guess we won't join your party this time. We prefer to wait, if you don't mind, really.”
He ran the car into the lee of the ramparts, by the side of the gateway, waited there half an hour or so, until the “Evening Hate” was past; then onward again to the Menin Mill.
They lifted the blanket covering the sandbagged entrance, passed through a dark corridor and came into a cellar, lit by lanterns, swinging from the roof, and by candles everywhere upon ledges or upon improvised candlesticks.
No sooner had they come into the light, than Barry saw across the room his friend, Dr. Gregg, his coat off, and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.
“Hello, Dunbar,” said the doctor, coming forward. “I guess I won't shake hands just now. Sit down. Won't you have a cup of coffee? Jim,” turning to an orderly, “give Captain Dunbar a cup of coffee.”