Tom Slade on a Transport Part 18

Tom thought it must be much better fun to be an English soldier than a German soldier. And he thought this good-natured prisoner would be able to hold his own even against a great Yankee drive--of jollying.

FOOTNOTE:

[3] England.

CHAPTER XXII

HE LEARNS WHERE HE IS GOING AND FINDS A RAY OF HOPE

It seemed to Tom that the two German officials who sat behind a table examining him, asked him every question which could possibly be framed in connection with himself. And when they had finished, and the answers had been written down, they made a few informal inquiries about American troops and transports, which he was thankful that he could not answer.

When he returned to the ante-room he had fastened to his b.u.t.tonhole a bra.s.s disk with a number stamped upon it and a German word which was not "Slopsgotten," though it looked as if it might be something like it.

"Let's see," said the sailor; "didn't I jolly well tell yer?

Congratulations!"

"Does it mean I go to Slopsgotten?" Tom asked.

"They'll keep us there till the war's over, too," said the one called Freddie. "We'll never get a good whack at Fritzie now."

Tom's heart fell.

"We'll be wittling souveneers out o' wood," Freddie concluded.

"We'll have plenty o' wood," said his comrade. "The old Black Forest's down that w'y."

"It's just north of Alsice," Freddie said.

"A pair o' wire nippers and a bit o' French----"

"Shh," cautioned Freddie.

"We m'y be ible to s'y 'Owdy' to General 'Aig yet."

"Shh! We aren't even there yet."

Tom listened eagerly to this talk and thought much about it afterward.

For one whole year he had longed to get into the war. He had waited for his eighteenth birthday as a child waits for Christmas. He had gone on the transport with the one thought of its bringing him nearer to military service. He was going to fight like two soldiers because his brother was--was not a soldier.

And now it appeared that his part in the great war, his way of doing his bit, was to lie in a prison camp until the whole thing was over. That was worse than boring sticks in Bridgeboro and distributing badges. Tom had never quarreled with Fate, he had even been reconciled to the thought of dying as a spy; but he rebelled at this prospect.

Instinctively, as he and his two philosophical companions were placed aboard the train, he reached down into his trousers pocket and found the little iron b.u.t.ton which Frenchy had given him. He clutched it as if it were a life preserver, until his hand was warm and sweaty from holding it.

It seemed his last forlorn hope now.

CHAPTER XXIII

HE MAKES A HIGH RESOLVE AND LOSES A FAVORITE WORD

Miss Margaret Ellison, the stenographer in the Temple Camp office, had once p.r.o.nounced judgment on Tom. It was that if he made up his mind to do a thing he would do it. There was something about his big mouth and his dogged scowl which made this prophecy seem likely of fulfilment.

And now, silently, he threw his challenge down before Fate, before Germany, before barbed wire entanglements--before everything and everybody. He did not know whether they ever paroled ordinary prisoners, but he hoped they would not parole him, because then he would be bound by honor. And he did not want to be bound by honor. He kept his hand in his pocket, grasping his precious b.u.t.ton, and it was well that the German officials did not know what was in his mind.

"I ain't goin' to be cheated out of it now," he said to himself; "I don't care what."

All day long they journeyed in the box car, but Tom could see nothing of Germany save an occasional glimpse now and then when the sliding door was opened at the stations, usually to admit more prisoners. Whatever became of the men from the British trawler he never knew, but his jack-tar companions were with him still and helped to keep up his spirits. He never knew them by any other names than Freddie and Tennert--the first name of one and the last name of the other--but so great was his liking for them that it included the whole of st.u.r.dy, plodding, indomitable old England into the bargain. They never talked patriotism, and seemed to regard the war merely as a sort of a job that had to be done--just like any other job. Early in the day before the car filled up, Tom talked a good deal with them and as there was no guard inside, the conversation was free.

"When you said, 'Shh'," said Tom at one time, "I knew what you was thinkin' about. I was never in a war," he added innocently, "so I don't know much about it. But if I was sent to jail for--say, for stealing--I wouldn't think I had a right to escape."

"You'd be a pretty honorable sort of a thief," said Freddie.

"But, anyway," said Tom, "I was going to ask you about escapin' from a military prison. That ain't dishonorable, is it?"

"No, strike me blind, it ain't! But it's jolly 'ard!" said Tennert.

"It's fer them to keep yer and fer you to grease off, if you can," said Freddie. "If you give your parole, it's like a treaty----"

"A bloomin' sc.r.a.p o' piper," interrupted Tennert. "They wouldn't put you on yer honor because they don't know what honor is. It ain't in Fritzie's old dictionary."

Tom was glad to think of it in this way. _It's for them to keep you and for you to grease off_ (which evidently meant "get away"). He had great respect for the opinions of these two Britishers and his mind dwelt upon this only hope even before he had so much as a glimpse of his prison.

He meant to fight with the American forces, in spite of Fate and in spite of Germany. Germany had armed guards and barbed wire entanglements. Tom, on his side, had an iron b.u.t.ton, a big mouth, a look of dogged determination, a sense of having been grossly cheated after he had made a considerable investment in time and a good deal of scout pluck and Yankee resource. The only thing that had stood in the way was the question of honor, and that was now settled on the high authority of the British navy! Who but st.u.r.dy old John Bull had come forward when Belgium was being violated? And now a couple of John Bull's jack-tars had told him that it was for Germany to keep him and for him to get away if he could.

He was on the point of telling them of his double reason for wanting to escape; that he had to fight for two--himself and his brother. Then he thought he wouldn't for fear they might not understand.

But he made up his mind that henceforth all his efforts and activities should be of double strength--to make up. He would think twice as hard, work twice as hard, fight twice as hard. Above all he would try twice as hard as he otherwise would have done, to get out of this predicament and get to the battlefront. He was glad of his scout training which he thought might help him a great deal now. And he would put every quality he had to the supreme test.

"Do you believe," he asked, after a considerable silence, "that a feller can do more, kind of, if he's doing his own work and--I mean if he thinks he's got to do two people's work--for a special reason?"

Freddie did not seem quite to "get" him, but Tennert answered readily, "You jolly well can! Look at Kippers wot cime 'ome fer orspital treatment arfter Verdoon. 'E lived in Chelsea. 'Is pal got sniped an'

Fritzie took 'is shoes. They're awrful short o' shoes. Kippers, 'e s'ys, 'I'll not l'y down me rifle till I plunk[4] a German and get 'is shoes.'

Two d'ys arfter 'e comes crawlin' back through No Man's Land and the color sergeant arsks 'im did 'e carry out 'is resolootion. 'Yes,' s'ys 'e, 'but blimy, I 'ad to plunk seven Germans before I could get a pair o' clods to fit me.' 'E was usin' 'is pal's strength too besides 'is own. Any Tommy'll tell yer a lad wot's dyin' on the field can leave 'is fightin' s.p.u.n.k to anyone 'e pleases."

Tom stared open-eyed. He found it easy to believe this superst.i.tion of Tommy Atkins'. And he made up his mind anew that he would square matters with Uncle Sam by doing the work of two.

In the afternoon this pleasant chatting was made impossible by the numbers of military prisoners who were herded into the rough box car.

They had come far enough south to be abreast of Belgium now and there must lately have been a successful German raid along the Flanders front, for both British and Belgian soldiers were driven aboard by the score.

All of the British seemed exactly like Tennert and Freddie, cheerful, philosophical, chatting about Fritzie and the war as if the whole thing were a huge cricket game. Some of these were taken off farther down the line, to be sent to different camps, Tom supposed.