THE PASSAGE OF THE MEUSE
The mist of early evening had settled over the river and wiped away
every vestige of the army, save the flaring lights of the camp-kitchens
and the white lamps of the motors; but the creaking of wheels, the
pounding of engines, and the regular tramp of countless feet told that
the advance had not slackened for an instant.
On the uplands there was still a little light, and Stewart and his
companion picked their way cautiously down through a belt of woodland,
across a rough field, and over a wall, beyond which they found an uneven
path, made evidently by a vanished herd as it went back and forth to its
pasture. They advanced slowly and silently, every sense on the alert,
but seemingly no pickets had been posted on this side, from which there
was no reason to fear an attack, and they were soon down amid the mist,
at the edge of the encampment.
Here, however, there were sentries--a close line of them; the fugitives
could see them dimly outlined against the fires, and could hear their
occasional interchange of challenges.
"It is impossible to get through here," whispered the girl. "Let us go
on until we are below the bridge. Perhaps we shall find a gap there."
So, hand in hand lest they become separated in the darkness, they worked
their way cautiously downstream, just out of sight of the line of
sentries.
"Wait!" whispered Stewart, suddenly. "What is that ahead?"
Something tall and black and vaguely menacing loomed above them into the
night.
"The church tower!" breathed the girl, after a moment. "See--there are
ruins all about it--it is the village they burned."
They hesitated. Should they enter it, or try to go around? There was
something sinister and threatening about these roofless, blackened walls
which had once been homes; but to go around meant climbing cliffs, meant
breathless scrambling--above all, meant loss of time.
"We must risk it," said the girl, at last. "We can come back if the
place is guarded."
Their hands instinctively tightened their clasp as they stole forward
into the shadow of the houses, along what had once been a street, but
was now littered and blocked with fallen walls and débris of every kind,
some of it still smouldering. Everywhere there was the stench of
half-burned wood, and another stench, more penetrating, more nauseating.
Stewart was staring uneasily about him, telling himself that that stench
could not possibly be what it seemed, when his companion's hand squeezed
his and dragged him quickly aside against a wall.
"Down, down!" she breathed, and they cowered together behind a mass of
fallen masonry.
Then Stewart peered out, cautiously. Yes, there was someone coming. Far
down the street ahead of them a tiny light flashed, disappeared, flashed
again, and disappeared.
Crowding close together, they buried themselves deeper in the ruins and
waited.
At last they could hear steps--slow, cautious steps, full of fear--and
the light appeared again, dancing from side to side. It seemed to be a
small lantern, carefully shaded, so that only a narrow beam of light
escaped; and that beam was sent dancing from side to side along the
street, in dark corners, under fallen doorways.
Suddenly it stopped, and Stewart's heart leaped sickeningly as he saw
that the beam rested on a face--a white face, staring up with sightless
eyes.
The light approached, hung above it--a living hand caught up the dead
one, on which there was the gleam of gold, a knife flashed----
And then, from the darkness almost beside them, four darts of flame
stabbed toward the kneeling figure, and the ruins rocked with a great
explosion.
When Stewart opened his eyes again, he saw a squad of soldiers, each
armed with an electric torch, standing about the body of the robber of
the dead, while their sergeant emptied his pockets. There were
rings--one still encircling a severed finger--money, a watch, trinkets
of every sort, some of them quite worthless.
The man was in uniform, and the sergeant, ripping open coat and shirt,
drew out the little identifying tag of metal which hung about his neck,
broke it from its string, and thrust it into his pocket. Then he
gathered the booty into his handkerchief, tied the ends together with a
satisfied grunt, and gave a gruff command. The lights vanished and the
squad stumbled ahead into the darkness.
There was a moment's silence. Stewart's nerves were quivering so that he
could scarcely control them--he could feel his mouth twitching, and put
his hand up to stop it.
"We can't go on," he muttered. "We must go back. This is too
horrible--it is unbearable!"
Together they stole tremblingly out of the ruin, along the littered
street, past the church-tower, across the road, over the wall, back into
the clean fields. There they flung themselves down gaspingly, side by
side.
How sweet the smell of the warm earth, after the stench of the looted
town! How calm and lovely the stars.
Stewart, staring up at them, felt a great serenity descend upon him.
After all, what did it matter to the universe--this trivial disturbance
upon this tiny planet? Men might kill each other, nations disappear; but
the stars would swing on in their courses, the constellations go their
predestined ways. Of what significance was man in the great scheme of
things? How absurd the pomp of kings and kaisers, how grotesque their
assumption of greatness!
A stifled sob startled him. He groped quickly for his comrade, and found
her lying prone, her face buried in her arms. He drew her close and held
her as he might have held a child. After all, she was scarcely more than
that--a child, delicate and sensitive. As a child might, she pillowed
her head upon his breast and lay there sobbing softly.
But the sobs ceased presently; he could feel how she struggled for
self-control; and at last she turned in his arms and lay staring up at
the heavens.
"That's right," he said. "Look up at the stars! That helps!" and it
seemed to him, in spite of the tramp of feet and the rattle of wheels
and curses of savage drivers, that they were alone together in the midst
of things, and that nothing else mattered.
"How sublime they are!" she whispered. "How they calm and strengthen
one! They seem to understand!" She turned her face and looked at him.
"You too have understood!" she said, very softly; then gently disengaged
his arms and sat erect.
"Do you know," said Stewart, slowly, "what we saw back there has revived
my faith in human nature--and it needed reviving! Those men must have
seen that that scoundrel was a soldier like themselves, yet they didn't
hesitate to shoot. Justice still lives, then; a sense of decency can
survive, even in an army. I had begun to doubt it, and I am glad to know
that I was wrong."
"The tenderest, noblest gentleman I ever knew," she answered, softly,
"was a soldier."
"Yes," Stewart agreed; "I have known one or two like that."
War was not wholly bad, then. Its fierce flame blasted, blackened,
tortured--but it also refined. It had its brutal lusts--but it had also
its high heroisms!
The girl at his side stirred suddenly.
"We must be going," she said.
"You're sure you are all right again?"
"Yes," and she rose quickly. "We must go back the way we came."
They set out again along the edge of the army, stumbling across rough
fields, crouching behind hedges, turning aside to avoid a lighted house
where some officers were making merry. For perhaps a mile they pressed
on, with a line of sentries always at their right, outlined against the
gleam of scattered lights. Then, quite suddenly, there were no more
lights, and they knew that they had reached the limit of the encampment.
Had they also reached the limit of the line of sentries? There was no
way to make sure; but they crept forward to the wall along the highway
and peered cautiously over. The road seemed empty. They crossed it as
swiftly and silently as shadows, and in a moment were safe behind the
wall on the other side.
Beyond it lay the yard of an iron foundry, with great piles of castings
scattered about and a tall building looming at their left. In front of
it they caught the gleam of a sentry's rifle, so they bore away to the
right until they reached the line of the railway running close along the
river bank. There were sentries here, too, but they were stationed far
apart and were apparently half-asleep, and the fugitives had no
difficulty in slipping between them. A moment later, they had scrambled
down a steep bank and stood at the edge of the river.
"And now," whispered Stewart, "to get over."
He looked out across the water, flowing strong and deep, mysterious and
impressive in the darkness, powerful, unhurried, alert--as if grimly
conscious of its task, and rejoicing in it; for this stream which was
holding the Germans back had its origin away southward in the heart of
France. He could not see the other bank, but he knew that it was at
least two hundred yards away.
"If we could find a boat!" he added. "We saw plenty of them this
afternoon."
"We dare not use a boat," the girl objected. "We should be seen and
fired upon."
"Do you mean to swim?" Stewart demanded.
"Be more careful!" she cautioned. "Someone may hear us," and she drew
him down into the shadow of the bank. "Unfortunately, I cannot swim, but
no doubt you can."
"I'm not what would be called an expert, but I think I could swim across
this river. However, I absolutely refuse to try to take you over. It
would be too great a risk."
"If we had a plank or log, I could hold to it while you pushed it along.
If you grew tired, you could rest and drift for a time."
Stewart considered the plan. It seemed feasible. A drifting plank would
attract no attention from the shore--the river was full of débris from
the operations around Liège--and, whether they got across or not, there
would be no danger of either of them drowning. And they ought to get
over, for it would be no great task to work a plank across the stream.
"Yes, I think I could do that," he said at last. "Let us see if we can
find a plank."
There was nothing of the sort along the shore, though they searched it
for some distance; but opposite the foundry they came upon a pile of the
square wooden sand-boxes in which castings are made. Stewart, when he
saw them, chuckled with satisfaction.
"Just the thing!" he said. "Providence is certainly on our side
to-night!"
"I hope so!" breathed the girl, and between them they carried one of the
boxes down to the edge of the water.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, Stewart sat down and began to take
off his shoes.
"We shall have to get rid of our clothing," he said, in the most
matter-of-fact tone he could muster. "There is nothing heavier than
clothes when they get water-soaked. Besides, we've got to keep them dry
if we can. If we don't, we shall nearly freeze to death after we leave
the water--and they'll betray us a mile off!"
The girl stood for a moment staring out across the river. Then she sat
down with her back to him.
"You are quite right," she agreed, quietly, and bent above her shoes.
"We'll turn the box upside down and put our clothes upon it," went on
Stewart, cheerfully. "They will keep dry there. The water isn't very
cold, probably, but we shall be mighty glad to have some dry things to
get into once we are out of it."
She did not reply, and Stewart went rapidly on with his undressing. When
that was finished, he rolled his trousers, shoes and underclothing into
a compact bundle inside his coat, and tied the sleeves together.
"Now I'm going to launch the raft," he said. "Roll your clothes up
inside your coat, so that nothing white will show, and wade out to me as
soon as you are ready."
"Very well," she answered, in a low tone.
With his bundle under one arm, Stewart turned the box over and dragged
it into the water. He had been shivering in the night air, but the water
was agreeably warm. Placing his bundle upon the top of the box, he
pushed it before him out into the stream, and was soon breast-deep.
Then, holding the box against the current, he waited.
Minute after minute passed, but she did not come. He could not see the
shore, but he strained his eyes toward it, wondering if he should go
back, if anything had happened. So quiet and unquestioning had been her
acceptance of his plan that he did not suspect the struggle waging there
on the bank between girlish modesty and grim necessity.
But, at last, from the mist along the shore, a white figure emerged, dim
and ghostlike in the darkness, and he heard a gentle splashing as she
came toward him through the water. He raised his arm, to make certain
that she saw him, then turned his head away.
Near and nearer came the splashing; then the box rocked gently as she
placed her clothing on it.
"All right?" he asked, softly.
"Yes," she answered.
He turned to find her looking up at him from the level of the stream,
which came just beneath her chin. The light of the stars reflected on
the water crowned her with a misty halo, and again he read in her face
that sweet and tremulous appeal for respect and understanding which had
so moved him once before. It moved him far more deeply now; but he
managed to bite back the words which leaped to his lips and to speak
almost casually--as though situations such as this were the most
ordinary in the world.
"Have you got a firm grip of the handle?"
"Yes."
He assured himself that both bundles of clothing were secure.
"All ready, then," he said. "Just hold on and let your body float out in
the water. Don't hold your head too high, and if you feel your hands
slipping call me at once. I don't want to lose you, little comrade!"
"I will remember," she promised, smiling gratefully up at him.
"Then here we go," and he pushed the box slowly out into the stream.
In a moment the water was at his chin.
"All right?" he asked again.
"Yes."
He took another step forward, the current caught him and lifted him off
his feet, and he began to swim easily and slowly. He was not sure of his
strength, it was a long time since he had done any serious swimming, and
he knew that he must husband himself. Then, too, the current was
stronger than it had seemed from the shore, and he found that he could
make head against it but slowly, for the box was of an awkward shape and
the girl's body trailing behind it so much dead weight.
"Slow but sure," he said, reassuringly, resting a moment. "You're quite
all right?"
"Yes. You must not worry about me."
He glanced back at the shore, where the lights of the camp shone dimly
through the mist.
"We're going to drift right past the camp," he said; "but they can't see
us, and it will make our landing safer if we come out below the troops.
It would be rather embarrassing, wouldn't it, if we found a patrol
waiting for us on the bank? Now for another swim!"
He pushed ahead until he found himself beginning to tire, then stopped
and looked around.
"There's the bridge!" he said, suddenly.
And, sure enough, just ahead, they could see its dim shape spanning the
stream. A cold fear gripped Stewart's heart. Suppose they should be
swept against one of the abutments!
"Take tight hold with both hands," he commanded. "Don't let go, whatever
happens!"
He swung himself round to the front of the box and tried to pierce the
gloom ahead. The center of the stream would be clear, he told himself,
and they must be nearly in the center. Then he heard the confused tread
of many feet, the current seemed to quicken, and he glanced up to see
that they were almost beneath the bridge. Yes, the stream ahead was
clear; but what were those lights down along the water?
And then he saw that a boat was moored there, and that a squad of men
were strengthening the supports with which the engineers had hastily
repaired the shattered abutment.
With frenzied energy, he pulled the box around so that his companion's
head was hidden behind it; then, with only his nose out, he floated
silently on. They would not see him, he told himself; they were too
busily at work. Even if they did, they could make nothing of this rough
shape drifting down the river.
Nevertheless, as they swept within the circle of light cast by the
flaring torches, Stewart, taking a deep breath, let himself sink below
the surface; and not until the blood was singing in his ears did he come
up again.
They had passed! They were safe! He drew a deep breath. Then he peered
around the box.
"Are you there? Are you all right?"
"Yes," came the soft answer. "Never tell me again that you are not a
fighter!"
"Compliments are barred until we are safe in Belgium!" he reminded her
gayly. "But it's clear sailing now!"
He struck out again, pushing diagonally forward toward the bank which he
could not see, but which could not be far away. This was not going to
prove such a desperate adventure, after all. The worst was over, for,
once on land, far below the German troops, they had only to push forward
to find themselves among friends.
Then his heart stood still as a shrill scream rent the night--a woman's
scream of deadly horror--and he jerked his head around to find that his
comrade was no longer there.