CHAPTER XXII HELD BY THE ENEMY

I was awakened by a tumult of voices, and by men stumbling over me. So sound had been my sleep that at first I did not recognize my surroundings. A throng of new prisoners was coming through the narrow door near where I was lying.

I sat up with my back against the wall, to see if there were any that I knew, and also to take advantage of any circumstance that might favor me. I did not recognize any of the men, but spoke to some of them. One big fellow trod on my feet and, stumbling, sprawled across me.

“Look out!” I cried, “there’s more room standing up than in lying down!”

“What’s the matter, boy?” said the stumbler; “what are you yelping about?”

“Matter enough,” I replied, “when a ton of a man hits a sore leg!”

He made no immediate reply except to say, “Which leg is it?” And then, unwinding my puttee and the bandage, began rubbing my leg with his strong magnetic hands. Then skillfully rewinding the bandage, he asked: “What’s the matter with your arm?”

“Bullet hole,” I replied. “But it is all right.”

He turned back my slit sleeve, unwound the bandage, took a critical look, and said, “See here, youngster, you haven’t been giving that arm a fair chance.”

“What do you know about it?” I asked rather testily. “It don’t hurt much.”

“It’s inflamed and in pretty bad shape,” he replied half to himself; and then in answer to my question, “I am something of a surgeon-graduate of a medical school.”

Then, with medicaments taken from his kit he cleansed and bandaged the wound, saying emphatically as he turned down my sleeve, “You’ll be short an arm if you aren’t careful!”

“I guess not,” I replied carelessly. “I am expecting to get among civilized folks before long and have it fixed all right.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, you’ve got confidence in yourself. How do you plan to get away?”

“I am watching for a chance.”

For awhile he made no talk, remaining silent as though thinking, then said, “See here; suppose we chum together? I see that you are a lieutenant. My name is Gordon; I am an assistant surgeon. You’ve got confidence and courage. I’ve got some sense and lots of strength, besides a good arm and leg. Any objection to my following your lead?”

“No,” I said, “I like you; I think that you’ve got the right stuff and I may need you.”

He smiled quizzically, and inquired, “Had much to eat?”

“No, I feel as empty as a vacuum.”

“Stay here, and I will see what I can do.”

Making his way through the crowd, he disappeared.

It was stifling hot, and the newcomers injected into this small area had crowded it unmercifully.

Meanwhile I thought over the situation, and tried to form a general plan for escape. I also thought over the possibilities of Jot’s being in that sector of the enemy’s lines. I inferred from the questions asked me under examination, that he was known in that sector and that his loyalty to the German cause had been questioned.

I was turning over in my mind some of the incidents of our long acquaintance, and wondering at its contradictory phases. In the midst of my reflections I felt my arm grasped by Gordon who exclaimed softly, “Wake up, Lieutenant! There’s something doing!”

In an instant I was alert and observant. “Yes,” I said, “it looks as though they were going to take us away from here.”

A German officer with several non-commissioned officers and privates had begun to count the men, form them into military groups, and march them through the doorway.

“They are separating the men from the officers,” said Gordon. “Possibly we may remain here.”

“I think not,” I replied. “They will be keeping us on the move. If I am not mistaken their whole army is falling back. They need all the wheels they have got and legs are cheaper, especially if they belong to us; and they don’t care a bit for our comfort.”

So it proved.

After the men and non-commissioned officers had been moved out, there remained about twenty French and American officers.

Rations of bread, vegetable soup, and imitation coffee, were given us; and, after giving our names and rank, we too were marched from the enclosure and through the half-ruined village.

On all sides were evidences of hasty but methodical retreat. Long lines of German infantry, light artillery and heavy guns on tractors, caissons, ammunition wagons, pontoon trains and other belongings of a monster army, were moving over the roads to the rear, or into position for defence and battle. The roads, gullied by rains, cut up by wheels of heavy gun carriages, tractors and other vehicles, were in poor condition for haste.

On one side of the heavily burdened roads, directed by the guard, we picked our way. Everywhere were the German wounded, some conveyed on gun carriages, others in baggage wagons and ambulances. Some of our guard even were slightly wounded men, others were old and war-worn soldiers.

About six o’clock that afternoon we came to a halt in a field where grain had been harvested and stacked. A guard was stationed around us, and we were glad to rest. The weather was hot and uncomfortable; but the sky grew suddenly darkened, and a tempest was upon us. Gordon, who had been with me during the day’s march, pretending to help me, hurried me to one of the grain stacks where with our blankets we were able partially to shelter ourselves from the rain.

Soon as we had protected ourselves from the downpour, Gordon said, “We have got to escape before we get too weak from being underfed and overmarched, and they get us on a train to take us to a German prison. I have bought, begged, and stolen all the food I could get before we left that barbed wire coop where I found you. What have you got?”

“Not much,” I replied; “a piece of bread about as big as my hand. I have been too confounded hungry to save more from the little that I have received.”

He sat thinking for a while, and then said: “Everything will count in an escape. A starving man would be in poor shape for quick and determined action.”

“Yes,” I assented, “a full stomach gives courage!”

He laughed one of his inward chuckles and observed: “I guess that you are a good feeder like myself, and that you are right hungry.”

“Just that,” I agreed; “but I won’t mind that if we can only get away.”

“All right, comrade, we will divide up now,” he decided; “for you may have a chance to get away before I do, or if we escape together we may be separated. It ain’t much, but I am going to whack up even.”

“You are a good fellow,” I said. “Where are you from?” For up to this time I had not asked that question.

“Virginia,” he replied, “and I am proud of it. You are a Yank, I reckon, but I know a white man when I see him. My old dad was a Confederate soldier.”

“And mine,” I said, “was a Union soldier.”

“Shake!” he said, extending his hand. And we shook hands heartily.

After awhile I saw him with his hands among the grain.

“Say,” he said, “here’s a find! They haven’t threshed this grain yet. Stow some of it away in your pockets. It’s good food at a pinch without cooking.”

I had a wallet-like envelope of oil cloth which I showed him.

“Just the thing,” he said.

We rubbed the ears of grain in our hands, and secured about a quart apiece before we went to sleep that night.

On awaking I found the sun shining, the sky clear, and the weather cooler than the day previous. As there were no immediate indications of moving, we spread our blankets on the grain stack to dry. And then we had a long talk.

I told him all about Jot and his desertion, as I had never told it to any one before. There was something about him that drew me out to confide in him my inmost thoughts. He asked several questions and then, after a moment’s silence he looked me in the face, and gave one of his inward chuckles.

“What is it?” I said. “To me it seems a _crying_ matter.”

“So it does, chum,” he said soberly; “I can understand your feelings. But you have, with all of your Yankee intelligence, a childish streak in you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked with some stiffness.

“Don’t you see that it is more than likely, your friend and his brother are both in the secret service of our army? You know that Foch got information of the German plans, and has been posted from the first about what they were going to do. I shouldn’t wonder if your chum and his brother had a hand in it. From what you have told me I infer that they know how to keep their lips shut. And that dog and horse! My! If it is as I think, it’s fine! But still, it _may_ possibly be the other way.”

I forgot my present troubles--even my hunger--as I grasped his hand. “By George!” I cried, and turned my head to hide the tears--but they were tears of joy.

He radiated an indefinable smile and said, “There’s nothing certain, but I reckon that your friend is white.” And then added, “You are a good deal of a child yet, Stark. Don’t mind if I tell you so. You see things more with your eyes than with your mind, and can’t understand a two-sided game--because you haven’t any two sides to yourself. You’re honest.”

I didn’t exactly understand his view, and asked: “How about this sprain, Gordon? Is that honest, too?”

But he only laughed one of his internal chuckles, and began talking of other things.