CAMOUFLAGE
They turned westward now in a direction which Tom thought would bring
them about opposite the Alsatian town of Norne. A day's journey took
them out of the forest proper into a rocky region of sparse vegetation
from which they could see the river winding ribbonlike in the distance.
Beyond it in the flat Alsatian country lay a considerable city which,
from what old Melotte had told them, they believed to be Mulhausen.
"Norne is a little to the south of that and closer to the river," said
Tom.
They picked their way along the edge of the palisades, concealing
themselves among the rocks, and as they thus worked to the southward the
precipitous heights and the river converged until they were almost
directly above the water. At last, looking down, they saw upon the
narrow strip of shore directly below them the old castle of which
Melotte had told them. There was no other in sight. From their dizzy
perch among the concealing rocks they could see almost the whole width
of southern Alsace in panorama, as one sees New York from the Palisades
of the Hudson, and in the distance the dim outlines of the Vosges
mountains, beyond which lay France.
Not far from the river on the Alsatian side and (as old Melotte had
said) directly opposite the castle, was a small town which Tom studied
carefully with the glass.
"That's it," he said, relieved, for both of them had harbored a
lingering fear that these places existed only in the childish mind of
the blue-eyed old weaver. "Melotte was right," he added. "Wait a
minute--I'll let you look. You can see the new road and people working
on it and--wait a minute--I can see a little flag on one house."
There was no doubt about it. There was the town of Norne, and just west
of it a road with tiny figures distributed along it.
Archer was all a-quiver as he took the glass. "I can see the house," he
said; "it's right near the road, it's got a flag on it. When the light
strikes it you can see the black spot. Oh, look, look!"
"I can't look when you've got the glass," said Tom in his dull way.
"I can see the battleline!" cried Archer.
Tom took the glass with unusual excitement. Far across the Alsatian
country, north and south, ran a dim, gray line, seeming to have no more
substance than a rainbow or the dust in a sun-ray. Far to the north it
bent westward and he knew its course lay through the mountains. But
short of those blue heights it seemed to peter out in a sort of gray
mist. And that was all that could be seen of that seething, bloody line
where the destinies of mankind were being contended for.
It was easy for the boys to imagine that the specks they could see were
soldiers, American soldiers perhaps, and that low-hung clouds were the
smoke of thundering artillery....
"I wonder if we'll ever get over there," said Archer.
"Over there," Tom repeated abstractedly.
* * * * *
Their program now must be one of stealth, not boldness, and they did not
wish to be seen scrambling down the heights in broad daylight; so they
waited for the night, regaling themselves out of the "furious profusion"
of grapes of which there seemed enough to make an ocean of Rhenish wine.
It was dark when they reached the river bank and explored the shore for
some means of getting across. At last they discovered a float with
several boats attached to it and a ramshackle structure hard by within
which was a light and the familiar sound of a baby crying.
"We've got to make up our minds not to be scared," said Tom, "and we
mustn't _look_ as if we were scared. You can't make believe you're not
scared if you are. Let's try to make ourselves think we're really German
soldiers and then other people will think so. We've got to act just like
'em."
"If you mean we've got to murrderr that baby," said Archer; "no sirree!
Not for mine!"
"That _ain't_ what I mean," said Tom. "You know Jeb Rushmore at Temple
Camp? He came from Arizona. He says you can always tell a fake cowboy no
matter how he may be dressed up because he don't _feel_ like the West.
It ain't just the uniforms that do it; it's the way we _act_."
"I get you," said Archer.
"I wouldn't do the things they do any more than I have to," Tom said;
"and I don't know exactly how they feel----"
"They don't feel at all," interrupted Archer.
"But if we act as if we didn't care and ain't afraid, we stand a
chance."
"We've got to act as if we owned the earrth," Archer agreed.
"Except if we should meet an officer," Tom concluded.
In his crude way Tom had stumbled upon a great truth, which is the one
chief consideration in the matter of successful disguise. _You must feel
your part if you would act it_. As he had said, they did not know how
German soldiers felt (no civilized mortal knows that!), but he knew that
the Germans were plentiful hereabouts and no novelty, and that their
only hope of simulating two of them lay in banishing all timidity and
putting on a bold front.
"One thing, we've got to keep our mouths shut," he said. "Most people
won't bother us but we've got to look out for officers. I'm going to
tear my shirt and make a sling for my arm and you've got to limp--and
keep your mind on it. When you're faking, you limp with your
brain--remember."
The first test of their policy was successful beyond their fondest
dreams, though their parts were not altogether agreeable to them. They
marched down to the float, unfastened one of the boats with a good deal
of accompanying noise and started out into the river, just as Kaiser
Bill had started across Belgium. A woman with a baby in her arms
appeared in the doorway and stared at them--then banged the door shut.
They were greatly elated at their success and considered the taking of
the boat as a war measure, as probably the poor German woman did too.
Once upon the other side they walked boldly into the considerable town
of Norne and over the first paved streets which they had seen in many a
day. They did not get out of the way of people at all; they let the
people scurry out of _their_ way and were very bold and high and mighty
and unmannerly, and truly German in all the nice little particulars
which make the German such an unspeakable beast.
Tom forgot all about the good old scout rule to do a good turn every day
and camouflaged his manners by doing a bad turn every minute--or as
nearly that as possible. It was good camouflage, and got them safely
through the streets of Norne, where they must do considerable hunting to
find the home of old Melotte's friend Blondel. They finally located it
on the outskirts of the town and recognized it by the billet flag which
Melotte had described to them.