Three Times and Out Part 7

I saw a beautiful little lodge, vine-covered, with a rustic fence around it, with blue smoke curling out of its red-brick chimney, and I just knew they were having bacon and eggs and coffee for breakfast.

Two graceful deer, with gentle eyes, looked out at me from a tangle of willows, and then I knew the brown lodge was the game-keeper's house. A hay meadow, green with after-gra.s.s, stretched ahead of me, but there was no sign of the Main River.

I had kept well under cover, I thought, but before long I had the uncomfortable feeling that some one was following me; the crackling of the bushes, which ceased when I stopped, and began again when I went on, seemed very suspicious. I abruptly changed my course, making a wide circle, and was able to elude my pursuer and find my way back to Bromley.

I had an uneasy feeling that I had been too careless, and that some one had seen me. However, I lay down to sleep, for I was dead tired, and we had a splendid hiding-place in the thick bush.

I do not know how long I slept; it seemed only a few minutes when a bugle-call rang out. We wakened with a start, for it went through us like a knife.

We heard loud commands, and knew there was a company of soldiers somewhere near, and I gathered from my recent observations that these sounds came from the hay meadow in front of us.

We did not connect the demonstration with our presence until the soldiers began shouting and charging the wood where we lay. Then we knew we were what the society papers call the "raison d'etre" for all this celebration.

We lay close to the earth and hardly dared to breathe. The soldiers ran shouting and firing (probably blank cartridges) in every direction. Through the brush I saw their feet as they pa.s.sed--not ten feet from where we lay.

The noise they made was deafening; evidently they thought if they beat the bushes sufficiently hard, they could scare us out like rabbits, and I knew they were watching the paths and thin places in the woods. But we lay tight, knowing it was our only safety.

Soon the noise grew fainter, and they pa.s.sed on to try the woods we had just come through, and we, worn with fatigue, fell asleep.

In the afternoon they gave our woods another combing. They seemed pretty sure we were somewhere near! But they did not come quite so close to us as they had in the morning.

However, we had heard enough to convince us that this was a poor place to linger, and when it got real dark, we pushed on south across the hay meadow. This meadow was full of ditches which were a little too wide to jump and were too skwudgy in the bottom to make wading pleasant. They delayed us and tired us a great deal, for it was a tough climb getting out of them.

At last we decided to take the road, for the night was dark enough to hide us, and by going slowly we thought we could avoid running into any one.

We had not gone very far when we heard the sound of wagons, and when we stopped to listen we could hear many voices, and knew our road was bringing us to a much-used thoroughfare. In the corner formed by the intersecting roads there was a thick bush of probably ten acres, and I could not resist the desire to scout and see what sort of country we were in. So I left Bromley, carefully marking where he was by all the ways I could, and then went out to the edge of the bush. I went along the edge of the road, keeping well into the bush. It was too dark to see much, but I could make out that there was a well-wooded country ahead of us. I came back to the exact place where I had left Bromley, or at least where I thought I had left him, but not a trace of him could I see. Of course, I dared not call, so I gave a soft whistle, as near like a bird-call as I could. Bromley reached out his hand and touched me! He was right beside me. That gave me the comfort of knowing how well the darkness and bushes hide one if he is perfectly still.

We thought this road led to the river Main, and decided to keep close to it so we could get across on the bridge. We followed along the road until it branched into two roads. We took the right branch first, but as it turned more and more sharply to the west, we concluded it was the road to Frankfort, and retraced our steps to the place where we had picked it up, and went the other way. There was heavy forest along the road, and it seemed to us to run southeast by east. We wanted to go south, so we turned off this road through a chance hay meadow, and then through the forest, until we found a sort of road which ran south.

All German forests have roads, more or less distinct, traversing them according to some definite plan, but they do not necessarily follow the cardinal points of the compa.s.s. We followed the south road, which was little used, until we came to a stream. There was no way of getting across it, so we followed its bank until it flowed into the Kinzig River. We knew by our map this must be the Kinzig River.

We tried to find a path along the Kinzig, but there did not seem to be any, and the underbrush was impenetrable. We decided to wait until morning came, took some chocolate and biscuits and filled our beer-bottle in the stream. Then we found a comfortable bank, and put some brush under our heads and slept. But not very soundly, for we did not want to miss that misty light which comes about an hour before sunrise.

We wakened just as the light began to show in the east, and, stiff and cold, with our teeth chattering, we started on our way to find some means of getting across the Kinzig. Bridge, boat, or raft, anything would do us, provided only it came soon, before the daylight.

In a few minutes we came to a foot-bridge, with a well-beaten path running down to it and up the opposite bank. So we made a dash across it. We knew enough, though, to get off the path at once, for we could see it was a well-travelled one. We struck into the wood, keeping our southerly direction, but soon came out on another road, and as the light was too strong now for us, we went back into the woods and kept hidden.

That was Wednesday, October 6th. Again it rained; not in showers this time with redeeming shots of sunshine, but a dull, steady, miserable rain that wet us clear through to the skin. Still, we ate our cheese and bread, and opened a tin of sardines, and managed to put the day in. We were near a town, and could hear people driving by all day long. We were kept so on the alert that we had no time to feel uncomfortable. However, we were very glad when the darkness came and we could stretch our legs and get warm again.

We had great difficulty to clear the town and the railway yards ahead of us, but at last found a road leading south, and followed it through the forest. In one place, as I was going along ahead, intent on keeping the road, which seemed to be heaped up in the middle, I heard a cry behind me, and almost jumped across the road in my excitement. Instinctively I began to run, but a second cry arrested me, for it was Bromley's voice. I ran back and found he had fallen into a hole in the road. The heaped-up appearance I had noticed was the dirt thrown out of a six-foot drain, in which they were laying water-pipes, and into this Bromley had fallen. He was not hurt at all, but jarred a little by the fall.

We knew we had pa.s.sed the Hesse boundary, and were now in Bavaria.

Our one beer-bottle did not hold nearly enough water, and in our long walk through the forest on this night we suffered from thirst. We had thought we should be able to find cows to milk, but on account of the people living in villages, there was but little chance of this.

When we got out of the forest we found ourselves in an open country.

We came to a good-sized stream, and crossed the bridge and to our horror found ourselves in a town of considerable size. The streets were dark, but from one or two windows lights shone. We pushed rapidly on, and thought we were nearly through, when a little upstart of a fox-terrier came barking out at us from a doorway. We stepped into a s.p.a.ce between two houses, and just then a cat crossed the street and he transferred his attentions to her.

"I always did like cats," Bromley whispered.

We came out again and went on, breathing out our condemnation of all German dogs. And we were not done with them yet! For before we got out another cur flew at us and raised enough noise to alarm the town.

I believe the only thing that saved us was this dog's bad character.

n.o.body believed he had anything--he had fooled them so often--and so, although he pursued us until we slipped down an alley and got into a thick grove, there was not even a blind raised. He ran back, yelping out his disappointment, and the bitterest part of it would be that no one would ever believe him--but that is part of the liar's punishment.

We got out of the town as soon as we could, and pushed on with all haste; we were afraid that news of our escape had been published, and that these people might be on the lookout for us. The telephone poles along the roads we were travelling kept us reminded of the danger we were in.

Loaded apple-trees growing beside the road tempted us to stop and fill our pockets, and as we were doing so a man went by on a bicycle.

We stepped behind the tree just in time to avoid being seen, and although he slackened his pace and looked hard at the place where we were, he evidently thought it best to keep going.

We met two other men later in the night, but they apparently did not see us, and we went on.

We left the road after that, and plunged into the woods, for the daylight was coming.

During the day of October 7th we stayed close in the woods, for we knew we were in a thickly settled part of the country. Lying on the ground, we could see a German farmer gathering in his sugar beets, ably a.s.sisted by his women-folk. We could also hear the children from a school near by, playing "Ring-a-ring-a-roselein."

The rain that day was the hardest we had yet encountered, but in the afternoon the sun came out and we got some sleep. At dusk we started out again, on a road which had forest on one side and open country on the other. We could see the trains which ran on the main line from Hanau to Aschaffenburg. The Main River was at our right. Soon the forest ended abruptly, and we found ourselves in an open country, and with a railroad to cross.

As we drew near, the dog at the station gave the alarm. We stepped into a clump of trees and "froze." The man at the station came rushing out and looked all around, but did not see us, and went back.

We then made a wide detour and crawled cautiously over the road on our hands and knees, for this road had rock ballast which would have crunched under our feet.

We then went on through the village, where another dog barked at us, but couldn't get any support from his people, who slept on. We were worried about the time, for neither of us had a watch, and we suspected that it was near morning. We hurried along, hoping to find a shelter, but the country seemed to be open and treeless. A thick mist covered the ground and helped to hide us, but it might lift at any minute.

We struck straight east at last, in the hope of finding woods.

Through the mist we saw something ahead of us which when we came nearer proved to be a hill. Hoping it might be wooded on the top, we made for it with all haste. When we reached the top we found no woods, but an old cellar or an excavation of a building. It was seven or eight feet deep, and the bottom was covered with rubbish. Into it we went, glad of any sort of shelter.

When daylight came, we looked cautiously over the edge, and saw we were near a village; also we saw that about two hundred yards away there was a good thick wood, but it was too late now to think of changing our position. There was a potato patch on the face of the hill, with evidence of recent digging. About eight o'clock we heard voices. Women were digging the potatoes.

Our feet were very sore that day, on account of the rain and of our not being able to keep our boots off enough each day, but we lay perfectly lifeless and did not even speak, for fear of attracting the attention of the potato-diggers. We wished it would rain and drive the potato-diggers in. But about nine o'clock a worse danger threatened us. We heard firing, and could hear commands given to soldiers. Soon it dawned on us that they were searching the wood for us.

The hours dragged on. We were cramped and sore of feet, hungry, and nervous from lack of sleep, but managed to remain absolutely motionless.

About three o'clock a five-year-old boy belonging to the potato-digging party, strolled up to the top of the hill. Bromley saw him first, and signed to me. He loitered around the top of the cellar a few minutes, threw some stones and dirt down, and then wandered away. There was nothing to indicate that he had seen us.

But in a few moments a woman and little girl came. The woman looked straight at us, and made away at full speed. We knew she had seen us.

Then we heard the soldiers coming, shouting. It was not a pleasant time to think of.

When they surrounded the place, we stood up, and surrendered.

There was nothing else to do.

CHAPTER IX

CAUGHT!

At first it seemed as if there were a platoon of soldiers: they were everywhere I looked, and there were more coming! They were, for the most part, young fellows from the training camp at Aschaffenburg, and it was not every day they got a chance to catch a couple of prisoners. So it was done with a flourish!