FROM TANK TO LIMOUSINE
The big tank was still laboring along with the retreating boche army,
although no more shells were being hurled at her. The defeat and rout
effected by the dash and daring of the “devil-hound” Marines had been
complete and this powerful “dreadnaught,” although uninjured by the
score or more of shells that struck her, evidently was unfitted to fight
a finish fight with the “fleet of land cruisers” of the enemy, in the
opinion of her crew.
The engine made a good deal of noise as the huge war machine
“caterpillared” along, and Phil and “the count” had to lift their voices
to high pitch in order to be understood during their conversation.
Although the battle had resulted in disaster for the kaiser’s army,
still the “titled Topoff” appeared to gloat with satisfaction over such
phases of the engagement as could be shown to have an element of glory
for the boches. He seemed to have no eye, ear, taste, or smell of
appreciation for anything that suggested defeat for his soldier
comrades.
“He’s awfully conceited, but not such a fool as I thought he was,” Phil
mused during a lapse of the conversation. “That was a fairly clever joke
he put over on me about the water cure, but I don’t believe he saw the
joke himself. He seems to take himself seriously even when he says
something funny.”
Fifteen or twenty minutes after the finish of the battle, the tank came
to a standstill, and the door in the right side was opened. Topoff then
ordered his prisoner to get out and followed close at his heels. Outside
the tank, “the count” seized the boy’s arm with one hand and led him
along—whither, Phil was curious to know.
The defeated army had retreated to a new line and dropped into a series
of trenches undoubtedly occupied by them, or the French, during an
earlier stage of the big boche offensive. The most feverish activity
marked the scene, which extended north and south as far as eye could see
and east and west for a depth of about half a mile. The country
consisted of a succession of rolling hills, but Phil was able to command
a good view of proceedings from the eminence on which he stood. The
trenches had suffered considerably from shell explosions and rainy
weather since their last condition of serviceability, and consequently
there was much to do now to get them back into the most comfortable
shape possible.
All this Phil gleaned with little more than a sweep of the eye, for he
was not left in leisurely contemplation of the scene more than a minute
or two. He was suddenly aroused from his spell of enchantment by a new
order from “Mr. Boaconstrictor.”
“Come on,” said the latter; “no time to waste.”
Phil accompanied his captor to the foot of the hill behind the front
line trench, and there “the count” held a short consultation with a
superior officer. They conversed in German, and the prisoner was unable
to understand much that they said. However, he did glean this from
several disgruntled remarks: that very few prisoners had been taken in
the recent engagement, due, no doubt, to the boches’ heavy defeat, and
there seemed to be no others in the vicinity to corral with Phil.
“Am I the only prisoner in the hands of these badly defeated boches in
this sector?” the boy mused. “I feel very much honored, also
considerably ashamed of myself. Well, it’s some consolation to realize
that I wouldn’t be here if a side of a house hadn’t fallen on top o’
me.”
A peculiar circumstance in this interview struck Phil so forcibly that
the impression remained with him almost constantly as long as the
mystery surrounding “Count Boaconstrictor Topoff” was unexplained. This
was the manifest attention and deference shown the oddly shaped
lieutenant by the superior officer, whose insignia indicated that he
bore the rank of major.
“I can’t understand it,” Phil mused with a puzzled confusion. “From the
way everybody bows and scrapes before him, one might think he’s the
kaiser himself. The officers all seem to know him at sight, and if it
weren’t contrary to military form, I believe they’d bend before him in
the middle like jackknives. He must be something more than a count.
Maybe I ought to feel honored at being his prisoner.”
The interview developed remarkable characteristics more and more as it
progressed. “The count” became more and more demonstrative and finally
was giving unmistakable orders to the major, who apparently acquiesced
to everything the second lieutenant said. Finally the subservient
superior officer scribbled a few words on a bit of paper and delivered
it to an orderly with instruction as to what to do with it.
The orderly jumped onto a motorcycle and dashed away on his errand. Phil
did not watch him after his departure, as he would have done if he had
suspected that the note had any bearing on what was to be done with him
as a prisoner of war. He was considerably surprised when, a few minutes
later, the messenger returned, followed by an automobile driven by a
soldier in uniform. It was a large closed limousine, hardly the kind one
would expect to see on a battlefield.
“Pile in,” ordered Topoff, taking hold of his prisoner’s arm and half
dragging him toward the machine.
Phil obeyed the order literally. He was so astonished he could do
nothing with any degree of grace. He “piled into” the automobile and
stumbled and fell onto the rear seat. “Mr. Boa” also squeezed into the
car and sat down beside the boy, taking up so much room that he pushed
the Yank against the upholstered side hard enough to render breathing
difficult. Then he gave an order through a speaking tube to the driver,
and they were whirled away to the rear of the Prussian lines.