CHAPTER XXIII A HAZARD OF FORTUNE

Again we found ourselves on the march.

The weather was warm and moist, something like our dog days, though cooler at night and during the morning hours. Our guard of six were old or war-worn soldiers, inclined to be ill-tempered, and disagreeable enough upon little provocation. One of them near me struck a lieutenant with the butt of his rifle because, having a head wound, he had become unsteady and had staggered against him. As he struck him the second time, I would have interfered, but for my comrade who, seeing my anger, restrained me. I uttered, however, an angry imprecation, which of course the guard did not comprehend, though he evidently did understand that I resented his brutality.

“Wait,” said Gordon, “by and by it may be more convenient to have a row with him--but I reckon not; it’s a mighty poor plan to play with powder.”

During the day, we were often required to march in the fields by the side of the roads, to make way for passage of troops and war vehicles. In the afternoon, however, we turned off on a road in a north-east direction that was less congested with troops and military material.

When we were halted, and rations of the same meagre and unpalatable kind were issued to us, my comrade and I held a consultation, taking care, however, that our manner should not excite suspicion.

“It is possible,” said Gordon, “that before long we may be put on the cars and sent by train to some German prison; and then, our chances to escape will be small.”

“I wonder if any of these men speak English,” I mused.

“I reckon not,” said Gordon. “But I can speak enough German to make myself understood.”

“Have you heard them say where they are taking us?”

He shook his head. “These men know nothing beyond their orders, and possibly only that non-com. knows that much. These German officers give orders, but don’t explain them. I do know that they expect to cross a river soon. I heard them asking if there was a bridge, and making jokes about swimming.”

“Can you swim, Gordon?”

“Like a duck,” he answered, “and I sure would like to take a dive right now!”

“Same here,” I said; “I had some fine swimming when I was on my permission. Can you guess what time we shall reach that river?”

“By the way they are hurrying us, I should say it would be late in the day; but I really know nothing about it; it’s only a surmise.”

“I have a plan,” I said, “I know something about pontoon bridges made of boats. I wonder if we could make them believe that neither of us can swim?” Then I told him of my scheme.

Nothing more was said for a long time, as we marched along the road, I still hobbling on my improvised crutch and my comrade pretending to help me occasionally.

Quite late in the day we came to a narrow but apparently deep stream where the guard halted. Gordon told me later that they discussed with the non-commissioned officer, whether or not it wouldn’t be best to try to find a ford, as it would save a mile or more of travel.

Then they made motions to us, to know if we could swim, to which we both replied by shaking our heads and pretending to be frightened.

So again we began our march by a road that led along the stream. I pretended to be very tired, and occasionally jostled against the guard that was marching near me. He cried out angrily and pushed me with his rifle. When I jostled against him again, he threatened me with the butt of it. I was getting on bad terms with him; for he did not have the sweetest of tempers. I am afraid my face showed him that it would be more than agreeable to me if I could kick him; for he grew more and more disagreeable.

It was nearly dark and clouds darkened the sky, when we came to a pontoon boat bridge.

“I am awfully afraid of water,” I said to Gordon with a wink. “It would be just my confounded luck to fall overboard here and drown. It don’t look safe.”

As our group reached the bridge, I pretended to grow very timid about trusting myself on it. The guard near me was tired and ugly. I started and jostled against him, and he struck me with the butt of his rifle, which I returned with an angry look and gesture; for that is a language that any one can understand.

The bridge was made up of about twenty boats, which showed me that the stream was about two hundred and seventy feet in width, or more. The water looked dark, but I was not sure that it was deep.

About the middle of the bridge I lurched against the same guard heavily, as though by accident, and he struck me a heavy blow with his rifle. With a yell I went overboard, threw up my hands, and sank.

I had taken a deep breath for a long swim under water, for I had fallen on the down tide side and would have to swim against the current to come up under the bridge, as I intended to do. I was almost exhausted when, looking upward, I saw I was under one of the boats. I took another long stroke and, fortunately, came up between two boats, but to my alarm saw that I was not under the covered portion that formed the roadway. I quickly submerged, and without being seen reached a safe place and clutched the gunwale of a covered boat.

I heard a tumult of trampling feet on the planks above me, with calls and outcries. Then it occurred to me that some one might look under the planking; so I dove under the boat, swam to one that was nearer the shore from which we had come, and waited again until their footsteps receded to the other end of the bridge, and I was satisfied that they had abandoned further search for me.

But what had become of my chum? He was to have followed me.

I stayed under the bridge, keeping myself above water by holding on to a boat, until it was very dark, then swimming quietly down stream, landed on the shore, thinking it safer to keep away from the roadway for a time.

I was lying on my stomach, looking and listening, and trying to make out which was south, but with neither moon or stars visible, I could only guess. I was in a quandary. It would not do to blunder, for fear of getting caught, which was likely enough with the country swarming with Boches.

I finally made up my mind to reach the bridge once more, and get the points of the compass thereby. I walked for a long distance without seeing the bridge, which I had thought to be near me. Was it possible that they had removed it?

I was lying in the grass thinking it over, when I heard the roar of wheels and the tramping of men on what I knew must be the bridge; but it was in a different direction from what I thought it to be.

I waited an hour until the sounds died entirely away. Then I crept cautiously to the bridge to get my bearings. I had approached the bridge through the field, mostly on my hands and knees, and was about to get to my feet, when I saw--or did I only imagine it?--a dark figure slowly moving on the road, occasionally stopping as though to look or listen. I saw this figure so indistinctly that, as I have said, I at times questioned its reality. Then the moon came out from behind a cloud, and I no longer doubted. It was a man. And I had but little doubt that it was a German soldier who had been left behind to hunt me down.

I moved cautiously, crouching in the short grass, observing the movements of the man, and dreading lest he had spied me out as I had him. Then he suddenly disappeared from view. I waited awhile; then, not seeing him, I began cautiously to move along the field parallel with the road, occasionally stopping to look and listen. At last, believing the course to be clear, I walked as fast as my feet could carry me, though still keenly observant with eyes and ears, of everything near me.

Again I heard a rustling sound near by which sent me crouching to the ground again. But, seeing and hearing nothing more, I went forward again, and again dropped to the ground to listen.

Then I heard a loud, hoarse whisper, which, but for the words distinctly enunciated, I should have mistaken for the wind in the tree tops: “Stark! Stark! David!” I did not trust my senses, for my imagination had deceived me more than once in my life when under excitement, and might again be deluding me.

From the shadows again came the whisper--“Dave! Dave! Dave! Is it you?”

I sprang up, and there stood erect a form I could mistake for no one else than my comrade, Gordon.

In another moment we had clasped hands.

So deep had been my emotions of fear and hope during that short interval of suspense, that I could only thank God for that which had seemed to be peril, was the reverse.

“It won’t do to talk here,” he said; “let us get back into the field.”