BEHIND THE ENEMY'S LINES
In the village of Petit-Bois, on the street leading to the church,
lived a grocer named Adler, a German by birth, who had plied his trade
there for almost ten years before the war forced him to leave French
territory. He was not kept away for long, however, for within a few
weeks his countrymen had overrun Belgium and enough of northern France
to include Petit-Bois, so Herr Adler came back and resumed business,
with more Germans than French now for customers. He was a widower and
lived alone until his uncle and aunt had come to Petit-Bois a month ago
to keep him company. The grocery had become prosperous of late, since
the victorious army had trebled the population of the village, and the
grocer was glad of help in the time his uncle could spare from his work
as company cook in an Infantry regiment. He was pleased also at having
for lodger a relative in the army. Adler's aunt sat mostly in her room
over the grocery knitting socks, except when she was called to wait
upon customers in the shop.
She was seated there now in the early winter afternoon, the needles
moving swiftly in her nimble fingers, though her eyes were not on her
work but turned toward the window through which bare branches showed,
and low, red roofs beneath the sullen, cloudy sky. Elizabeth was paler
and thinner than she had been when the Gordons last saw her, and her
face was serious and sad as she looked off into the distance. It was
not her journeyings since leaving America that had wearied her--the
journey into Mexico, the long sea voyage from Santa Cruz to Copenhagen,
and again the tedious way from Denmark into Germany. It was the weeks
passed in her native land which had done most to sadden her cheerful
spirit.
The month she had spent in Germany had been strangely hard, and lately
she had stayed more and more at work by herself, absorbed in perplexing
and anxious thoughts. The grief and suffering she saw daily about her,
without power to alleviate it, hurt her kind heart, and the great
war seemed further than ever from her simple understanding. She saw
Karl filling once more a humble place in Germany's mighty army, with
a steadily growing pride in the victorious onslaught of which he had
become a part. She heard the name of Germany and of German conquest on
every tongue, or saw a silent witness of it in the vanquished people
around her, and still her heart did not feel that overpowering thrill
at her country's greatness that in Karl had been so quickly awakened.
Elizabeth went among the Germans of the village and spoke with them
in her native tongue. She worked willingly at warm garments for the
soldiers and helped her nephew at every opportunity, but with a quiet
sadness and reserve that any one who had known the old Elizabeth would
have quickly wondered at.
The neighbors often asked her about her life in America, usually with
bitter words and marveling at her safe return.
"How fortunate you were, Frau Müller, to get off so easily! I suppose
our poor countrymen are suffering much at the hands of the Yankees now.
Did you contrive long for your escape?"
Elizabeth had smiled the first time such questions were put to her,
and had told frankly of the freedom with which she and Karl had left
America. But later she did not go into such details, for she saw that
she was not fully believed and that, moreover, her story lost interest
since it contained no accusations against America.
She had heard before in Germany words of suspicion and dislike
expressed against England, and she had not been familiar enough with
England or English people to resent or disbelieve them. But she had
spent a good part of the last twenty years in America, and had known
too much happiness and kind companionship there to feel indifferent
when malicious lies were told about its people. She had lived, too,
much of that time, in the army, and knew enough of its officers and
soldiers and their families not to be deceived into believing them
greedy, money-mad or bloodthirsty, according to the imagination of her
informer.
This sort of stupid abuse made Elizabeth acutely unhappy, and hurt
her confidence in her native land, for which she had long had the
tenderest affection. So rather than engage in arguments with strangers
she remained alone a good part of the time and worked peacefully at her
sewing and knitting, hoping, with as much cheerfulness as she could
summon, for better days to come.
She was pondering again over these troubling thoughts as she sat by
the window, deeply wishing that she could go back to her native town
in Bavaria and talk to the old pastor she had known in her youth. He
had never outgrown for her the wisdom she had seen in him when he had
married her to Karl, with much kind and shrewd advice for both of them.
She smiled at the thought of it as she bent over the heel of her sock.
Suddenly heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and the door was opened.
Elizabeth looked up in surprise.
"Is it you, Karl, home so early?" she asked as her husband came quickly
in and crossed the room to her side.
He wore the German private's gray uniform as cook to an Infantry
company, and his rather stout figure had trimmed down wonderfully since
he put it on. He looked almost young and soldierly. But his face just
now was red and hot, and his black eyes blazed with excitement.
"Whom do you think I have seen?" he shouted, pointing a shaking finger
at his wife as though to assure her earnest attention. "I have seen a
spy from the American army across there with the French, and whom do
you think it was? It was Bob Gordon!"
Elizabeth turned deathly pale. Her knitting slipped unnoticed from her
hands and she stared at Karl speechlessly until he shook her by the
shoulder, crying:
"Come! Don't be so stupid! I want that picture you have of him. Where
is it? I must show it to my captain, so he will be convinced it is the
right man when we have taken him. He was wandering about the border of
the village, just entering it. He has got across the lines somehow, in
a farmer's old clothes. Pretty smart! But not so smart that I didn't
recognize him--our fine young officer! He won't get back so easily, for
I have sent warnings to all the pickets beyond the wood."
Karl was fairly quivering with eagerness. He saw glory awaiting him
around the corner--the precious words of praise from his superior,
the possible decoration, which are life itself to the zealous German
soldier, and which he puts before every impulse of humanity or
independence.
"Hurry!" he urged angrily, astonished at Elizabeth's white-faced
silence. "I want to take him on the road by the fortifications. Think
what it means to us who were half accused of being friendly to America!
Could there be better proof than this of our loyalty?"
Elizabeth's pale lips could hardly form the words she tried to utter.
Her throat choked her, but desperately she strove against the horror
that seized her and pleaded tremblingly, "Oh, Karl, not a spy--not a
spy!"
Karl frowned, staring at her with hard eyes, but she faltered, "You
won't give him up, Karl? Not Mr. Bob, our old friend!"
"What else would I do?" Karl demanded, thrusting out both arms in an
excited gesture. "Would you have me betray the Fatherland?"
Elizabeth found her tongue at last and rose to face her husband. Her
thin face was flushed and her eyes shining.
"Karl, it is not only you who love Germany," she said earnestly. "I
would not betray her to our enemies, but, Karl, you know well that
there is nothing here for Mr. Bob to learn. Only the fortifications
are secret, and he will never be allowed near them by the guard. You
know they would shoot him before he reached them, as they shot that
poor, deaf old man the other day. Tell him to go, Karl. Tell him never,
on his word, to spy again, as the price of his safety. No, wait," she
begged, as Karl showed impatient signs of interrupting her. "Do it for
the debt we owe America. Have you forgotten the long, happy years we
spent there? Often I think of my kind mistress and of Mr. Bob when he
was a little child. Do you remember the day long ago when he fell off
his horse, how you picked him up and carried him in the house? You were
pale that day yourself, and when he opened his eyes you said, 'Thank
God.' You were very ill ten years ago, when the Major had you cared for
like his friend and your life was saved. Don't we owe them anything,
Karl, that you are so ready to harm them?"
Karl's brows had unbent a little as he listened to Elizabeth's plea,
and when he answered it was less arrogantly, though his voice was still
hard and self-assured.
"Yes, wife, I know. But you reason stupidly. I cannot make you see
beyond your finger-tips. Our service in America was good, and we were
friends with the Major's family. I served him faithfully. But now we
are at war, and Germany's enemies are ours. I am now a soldier and Mr.
Bob is a soldier, too. That is an end to all talk of friendship. Keep
your pity for our own people, and forget all gratitude to those who are
against us. America and the sons of America are less than nothing to
you now."
Karl's face was set, and his eyes gleamed at thought of the praise and
honor awaiting him with Bob's capture. No persuasion on earth could
have turned him aside from his purpose, and to his excited mind it lost
all trace of selfish ambition and became the loftiest patriotism.
Elizabeth closed her lips despairingly and looked at him with sad eyes.
But his forbearance was now quite at an end.
"Give me the picture!" he cried, shaking her thin shoulder. "Must I
treat you roughly to get it? Where is your obedience?"
Elizabeth made no more protests. She walked with heavy steps to the
old bureau and pulled open a drawer. From the depths of a worn leather
pocketbook she drew out the little photograph and, without one glance
at it, handed it to her husband.
Karl snatched it eagerly from her hand, and looked at it closely,
holding it to the light. He started to tear off the figures of Lucy and
William, but reflecting that it would be better to show the picture
unmutilated, he thrust it quickly inside his blouse and went out of the
room.
Elizabeth stood by the bureau motionless for a moment, then
mechanically she straightened the crocheted cover where Karl had
brushed against it. She had crocheted it herself two years ago at
Governor's Island, while Lucy was recovering from the measles, sitting
beside her in the darkened room. She went slowly over to the window,
staring out unseeingly. In her painful bewilderment she prayed for help
and guidance to know what she should do, and as her lips moved she felt
her mind made up beyond any faltering.
She turned to the wall where a woolen shawl hung, and, hesitating no
longer, took it down and wrapped it about her head and shoulders. Her
face was calm and quiet now with the strength of her resolution. She
descended to the shop and found Herr Adler seated there, casting up his
accounts, for it was Saturday afternoon.
"Good-day, Aunt," he nodded, raising his blond head at sight of her.
"Will you stay here for a while and attend to the customers while I do
my figuring? My uncle has gone off somewhere in a great hurry."
"First I must go out and see Frau Bauer," said Elizabeth, smiling
pleasantly at her nephew. "I promised to come before the week is out.
In half an hour I will be back and help you gladly." She replaced a
few potatoes which had fallen from the basket and walked out into the
street. Once outside she quickened her pace a little and turned off in
the direction of the fortified road behind the village.
* * * * *
Bob had lingered in the woods a while after putting on the peasant's
clothes, trying to feel at home in them before he showed himself in the
village. But the disguise was complete enough to any one unfamiliar
with his face, and sure to escape notice by its very commonplaceness.
"If they see that you are a stranger they will take you for a marketer
from the countryside," the old Frenchman had assured him. "They come
from a day's journey off now, because the land is untilled beneath the
shell-fire, north and south of us."
Bob entered Petit-Bois about noon, skirting the edge of it until he
could get enough idea of its streets to seem passably familiar with
the ones leading to the farther end of the village. His cap was pulled
down over his eyes, and his clumsy shoes no longer impeded his steps
as they had done at first. He bent his shoulders forward too, with a
suggestion of physical unfitness.
Thrusting his hands into his pockets he walked along at a good rate
on a pretty, tree-bordered street, until he reached the center of
the village with its shops and red-roofed houses, one or two of them
damaged by shell-fire, beyond which the little, spired church showed
against the gray sky. Not many people were on the streets and the few
were mostly German soldiers off duty, wearing an air of self-importance
which contrasted strongly with the hasty and anxious looks of the
French women, children and occasional men who went about such business
as they had. What might have marked Bob out for notice was his fresh
color and the clear eyes shaded beneath his cap, for terror and
privation had taken the healthy bloom from the French country-folk, and
even the children wore a serious, apprehensive look as they hurried by,
wrapped in their scanty shawls against the biting air.
Bob did not linger, having no desire to remain in a crowd, and
possessed by one idea--to see all he could and get away as soon as
possible. He went on up the street, passed the church, and turning into
a lane found himself presently at the eastern end of the village. Along
its outskirts a road ran at right angles to the principal street, and
as Bob reached it he saw, to his discomfort, a German sentry walking
guard. Beyond the little grove of oaks just back of the road Bob's
fancy pictured with eager certainty one of the concrete block-houses,
or machine-gun emplacements that formed the projected second line of
defense. He stepped out on to the road and immediately received a
threatening gesture of the sentry's bayonet, eloquent enough, though
the man was some distance from him, accompanied by a thumb pointed
vigorously back in the direction of the village. Bob turned unwillingly
into the lane again, frowning at the oak grove before he strolled
slowly away from it.
"Fine chance I have of seeing anything," he thought, fuming, as he
shuffled along. "I don't make a very dangerous spy."
He returned to the church, found a second by-way and made for another
part of the forbidden road. This way was not so deserted as the lane
he had left, and as he passed a dozen people he quickened his pace
a little, thinking his idle wandering might look suspicious. He was
the less conspicuous, though, as many of the villagers were wandering
about themselves with little object. Their livelihood gone, their
hearts wrung with grief or anxiety, they seemed to have little purpose
in their actions, and those who met Bob's eyes looked at him with
dull indifference, or at most with a mild curiosity. The German
soldiers left them unmolested, so far as Bob could see. Even the most
brutal, he guessed, had seen enough of abusing an unarmed and helpless
population. Once an officer passed quickly by, having the whole road
to himself by unanimous consent of the other pedestrians. He was a
tall, powerful-looking man, a captain, as Bob saw by a glance at his
shoulder. It went severely against the grain to salute him, but Bob
could not risk being brought into notice by a reprimand and he raised
his hand briskly with the others. The officer did not condescend
to return the salute, but his eyes passed over Bob's shabby figure
indifferently, which was all Bob wanted.
As he neared the road again he peered across it as well as he could
before coming under the sentry's gaze, and to his delight he saw
plainly a square, white spot rising slightly from the ground in the
moss among the tree-trunks. He hastily calculated the distance between
this lane and the other and decided that the block-houses were at least
a hundred yards apart. His sketches made from the airplane were fairly
accurate, and would be of great service when the looked-for retreat
commenced from the hard-pressed German lines before the village. He
was consumed with a desire to get nearer the road, but the few houses
along the lane had already ended, and it was empty except for himself.
He felt that it would be going too far to show himself again to the
sentry appearing from a second deserted road. To the left he heard the
sound of drums and caught sight of a big farmhouse not far off, which,
to judge from the crowd of soldiers gathering about its yard, had been
turned into a barracks.
It was, of course, something to have verified his observations of the
morning, and he had a pretty good idea of what protection the houses
of the village would afford an army defending the second line, but Bob
was far from satisfied as he once more neared the church. He glanced
up at the spire, wondering if by hook or by crook, or by any of those
marvelous schemes that seem easy enough when you read about them, he
could get up inside the belfry and use the glasses carefully hidden
under his blouse. While he gazed up, blinking at the mist-covered
sun, a hand laid quickly on his arm made him jump in spite of all his
self-control. He turned, expecting he knew not what, to see a thin,
little woman with a shawl drawn like a hood over her face.
A house close by them had been partly shattered by shell-fire, and a
gaping hole still showed in the wall. "Come in here," she whispered,
and drew Bob inside the wrecked door out of sight of passers-by.
"Mr. Bob," said Elizabeth, pushing back her shawl and showing her
haggard, frightened face. "Oh, Mr. Bob, why did you come here? Go
quickly away, I beg you--for your mother's sake!"
"Elizabeth!" said Bob, staring unbelievingly at the troubled face
before him. Then as the shock of her recognition of him outweighed his
curiosity he asked, bewildered, "Who knows I am here? Have you told any
one?"
"Karl saw you," said Elizabeth, wringing her hands in her helpless
terror. "He will give you up, Mr. Bob, but I could not stay and nothing
do after he told me. Your mother's eyes came sorrowfully before me, and
I must help you if I can. But, oh, Mr. Bob, if without your uniform
they take you! Get back while yet there is time, if some way you know!"
"Karl--here? What a chance!" Bob muttered, his brain on fire now with
the impulse of his desperate need.
"It is not chance, Mr. Bob," said Elizabeth heavily. "His regiment was
here sent when the Americans joined the French across the line. Karl
could choose this or one other regiment, but here he came because my
nephew asked him. You will believe me?" Her face was beseeching in its
tearful earnestness, lest Bob should not take her warning with instant
seriousness.
"Oh, I believe you, Elizabeth--it isn't that!" Bob assured her,
darting a glance into the street. "Thank you a thousand times," he
stammered, clasping her hands with more fervent gratitude than his
hurried words could speak. "Good-bye!"
Elizabeth held him back for an instant. "Oh, Mr. Bob, nothing try
against the German army!" she entreated. "They are too strong. Now go,
and God go with you."
The street was almost empty. Bob reached it unnoticed and crossed
swiftly to the lane from which he had caught a glimpse of the German
barracks a quarter of an hour before. He had observed that it ran
through the length of the village obliquely parallel with the principal
street. At a guess it should come out nearer by half a mile to the
north end of the meadow than the way by which he had entered. He began
walking down it swiftly, but fear urged him on until his feet would no
longer keep the ground. He darted furtive looks around him and saw no
passers-by. The scattered houses were closed, too, against the raw,
misty air. He broke into a gentle run and reached the village outskirts
in ten minutes. Where the lane ended the meadows began, and for a
moment Bob paused, uncertain, looking about him at the brown fields and
the trees with sombre, bare branches against the gloomy sky. The woods
stretched beyond, and to these Bob raised his eyes and saw a splotch
of green among the winter bareness. It was the little wood of firs
among which Benton lay hid. Bob sprang forward and crossing the first
field at a leisurely walk, in case curious eyes were at any of the
windows behind him, he descended a little knoll and then, stretching
his long legs, broke into a run that would have won him trophies on any
athletic field.
For a mile and a half he ran on, over fields and through thickets,
steering wide from any signs of habitation, until his breath began
to fail and his legs to ache and stumble. But on he went, until the
woods closed in and, close at hand, he saw the little thatched shed
whose safe haven meant more than anything in the world to him just
then--refuge from certain death.
He darted in the narrow doorway and dropped, gasping, on the earthy
floor. But only for a moment. The next he was tearing off the shabby,
old garments he wore and searching in the dim corner for his precious
discarded uniform. Five minutes later--never did he think he could have
dressed so quickly--he stood up, once more an American officer.
Discovery he felt to be inevitable, for Karl must have been hot upon
his trail when Elizabeth warned him--and he was barely half a mile from
Benton's hiding-place. The search would be complete, but by getting
further off he would lessen the chance of giving away his comrade
with him, and making him the victim of his own rashness. He went out,
stepping cautiously, and seeing all clear, walked quickly into the
woods toward the German line. He had got no further in his plan than
this--to be taken far off to the right, beyond the grove of firs. But
as he walked wearily on, he tried vainly to think of some way out, some
place of concealment that German sagacity could not fathom. He thought
vaguely, too, of home, and wished that he were back there. The words of
an old song came into his mind:
"Do they miss me at home, do they miss me,
When the shadows darkly fall?"
He shook his head, trying hard to think to some purpose. The sound
of the guns was nearer now, and the detonations distracted him as he
tried to locate them. He thought he was within five miles of the German
trenches. He listened intently, trying to find his direction, when
crackle--crash! sounded the breaking twigs and brushwood back of him.
He wheeled around and met the barrel of a German rifle with a stocky
infantryman behind it.
Bob felt almost calm now that it had actually happened. He nodded to
the soldier and, at a sharp signal, turned his back, raising his arms
above his head. His pistol was jerked from his belt, his pockets
quickly searched, then the soldier gave an order, motioning him to go
on. He led the way, and the two soon emerged from the wood and began
skirting the meadow. Bob had a part to play in the eyes of this silent
and stolid Teuton. He represented America, and she was going to be
represented worthily, whatever despondency and dread might in reality
clutch at the heart of her son. About half a mile down the field an
officer was seated on a rock with a little group of soldiers about him.
Bob guessed that this was the main base of the searching party Karl had
instituted.
Karl was evidently taking part in the hunt, for he was not in sight,
but as he drew nearer another figure brought Bob's heart into his
mouth. Almost a groan escaped him. Benton was a prisoner like himself,
and lost, with all his matchless skill, to the American flying corps.
Bob cast one remorseful look at him, which was returned by an undaunted
nod and twinkle from the plucky Westerner, then the officer got up from
the rock and strolled in Bob's direction. As he inspected the insignia
on Bob's uniform he made a slight, stiff bow, which Bob returned. The
German was a lieutenant like himself, a slender, fair man with keen,
blue eyes and set lips.
"You are my prisoner, Lieutenant," he said in good English.
Bob made a sign of assent.
"You admit having come down by accident with Captain Benton this
morning?"
"Yes," said Bob briefly.
"You were seen near the village and taken while walking in the woods.
Did you expect to get away if nobody appeared to be in sight?"
"We hoped to get back across the lines after dark," said Bob, wishing
he could talk to Benton.
"You will be taken into the town for examination directly. Have you any
request to make?"
"No, thank you," said Bob. The officer turned away, and Bob was led
by the guard to a place beside the rock, where he sidled along in the
course of a few minutes until he could mumble a word near Benton's ear.
The pilot spoke over his shoulder.
"Awfully sorry, Gordon, to have got you into this."
"Why, it's my fault," said Bob.
"No, it isn't. They saw us come down. They've been trying to locate our
descent all day. They got me about an hour after you left, and before
this search began. Don't know what started that."
The guard pushed in between the two, shutting off any further
communication, and the little group formed in double lines, the
prisoners in the center, for the march to the village.
Bob caught sight of Karl now, standing a short way off in excited
conversation with a non-commissioned officer. He felt a sudden,
unreasoning anger at sight of the familiar face and unfamiliar
gray-uniformed figure of the man he had so long regarded as a harmless
and friendly dependent. But recognizing the hard fortunes of war he
turned his eyes resolutely away.
Karl, indeed, was quite willing to keep out of Bob's vicinity. Not
all his pride and self-importance could make him look forward to such
a meeting with any enjoyment. Just now he was fully taken up by the
argument with his superior.
"You say when you saw him at the outskirts of the village he was
dressed in peasant's clothes, Müller?" inquired the Feldwebel or
Sergeant, dubiously. "The man is certainly in uniform now. The mist
befogged your eyes. That muddy colored cloth they wear may look
like anything at a distance." The Sergeant was milder than he might
ordinarily have been at Karl's mistake because he belonged to the
company Karl cooked for, and had enjoyed better meals lately than for a
year past.
Karl hesitated, longing to insist, but not wishing to presume too far.
He had won praise already for revealing the presence of another man
after Benton was taken.
"We searched the village from end to end at your direction," the
Sergeant continued. "He was not in it, naturally, as he was in these
woods. That'll do, Müller. The squad is ready to move."
In an hour the two prisoners were in the house requisitioned in the
village by the Regimental Commander. There they were separated. Bob
was asked a few perfunctory questions by several officers in turn,
relating to his rank, his corps, and his intention in making the
morning's flight. He managed to reply with enough vagueness to give no
information, and they stopped short of questions which he must refuse
to answer. Before long they withdrew and left him alone. He stood
forlornly by the window, watching the winter twilight close in and
lights spring up through the village, when the door opened, and, to his
delight, Benton came toward him.
"I have only a minute," he said quickly. "They told me I could say
good-bye, but to cut it short."
"Good-bye?" echoed Bob, feeling his heavy heart sink still lower. "They
aren't going to separate us, Benton?"
"Yes." Benton frowned, all the bitter and helpless disappointment at
his capture distorting for an instant his calm face. "They are going to
send me up to the Divisional Commander. Whether to present me with the
Iron Cross or to show me to a firing squad I haven't yet made out,"
he muttered. "But anyway you're to be sent on alone, with some French
prisoners taken yesterday."
"Oh, Benton, that's tough," sighed Bob, his brave heart quailing for a
moment at thought of the lonely captivity before him.
Benton brought back a feeble smile at sight of Bob's black depression.
He held out a big hand. "Cheer up! Things might be worse, Bob. Here's
hoping for the best."
Bob gave the friendly hand a warm clasp, and took a long, parting look
into his comrade's frank, honest face. He thought of the memorable days
of work they had spent so companionably together, but more than all, as
he let go Benton's hand he seemed to sever the last link that bound him
to freedom and America. Then Benton went out, and on his heels came a
soldier, holding open the door for the fair-haired young officer, who
said curtly:
"Follow me, Lieutenant. You will leave the village in half an hour."