INTO GERMANY
A frosty dawn was just beginning to show through the single window that
lighted up the little room. It opened toward the east, where the light
was pink over the hills, but the upper sky was yet in dusk. John sat up
in bed and rubbed the last sleep out of his eyes. A steady moaning sound
made him think he was hearing again the thunder of great guns, as he had
heard it days and nights at the Battle of the Marne.
The low ominous mutter came from a point toward the north, and glancing
that way, although he knew his eyes would meet a blank wall, he saw that
it was only Jacques, snoring, not an ordinary common snore, but the loud
resounding trumpet call that can only come from a mighty chest and a
powerful throat through an eagle beak. Jacques was stretched flat upon
his back and John knew that he must have worked extremely hard the night
before to roar with so much energy through his nose while he slept.
Well, Jacques was a good fellow and a friend of France, the nation that
was fighting for its existence, and if he wanted to do it he might snore
until he raised the roof!
John sat up. He saw the pink on the eastern hills turning to blue and
then spreading to the higher skies. The day was going to be clear and
cold. He walked to the window and looked up at the skies, seeking for
aeroplanes, after the habit that had now grown upon him. But the sky was
speckless and no sounds came from the Gratz farmhouse. Doubtless the
German officers quartered there were sleeping late, knowing that they
had no need to hurry to the front, since the fighting in the hills and
mountains was desultory.
But the crisp clear blue of the cold morning was wonderfully suitable to
the hosts of the air and they were at work. Along a battle front of five
hundred miles in the west and of seven or eight hundred in the east
messages were flashing, on wires by telephone and telegraph and then on
nothing but the pulsating air.
John, who had been compelled to deal so much with these invisible
agencies felt them now about him. He had a highly sensitive mind like a
photographic plate that registered everything, and when he opened the
window that he might see better and admit the fresh air, he did not have
to reach out for knowledge. It came, and registered itself upon that
delicate and imaginative mind. He had thought so much and he had striven
so hard to see and to divine what lay before him that he felt almost
able to send messages of his own through the air, messages of hope
winging their way directly to Julie.
The mind of man is a strange thing. It may be a godlike instrument, the
powers of which are yet but little known. John did not believe in the
least in anything supernatural, but he did believe in the immense and
unfathomed power of the natural. Alone, and in the early dawn with
silence all about him it seemed that he heard Julie calling to him. Her
voice traveled like the wireless on the pulsating air. She needed him
and she turned to him alone for aid. She had divined in some manner that
only he could help her and he would come, no matter what the risk. The
cry was registered again and again upon his sensitive soul, and always
he sent back the answer that he was coming. His mind, like hers, had
become a wireless, and both were working.
He became unconscious of time and place. He no longer saw the blue sky,
but he stretched out his arms and called:
"I am coming!"
"Coming? What do you mean by coming? Who is it you're telling?"
John came out of his dream, or the misty region between here and
nowhere, and turned to Jacques, who in the process of awakening at that
moment had heard his words which were spoken in French.
"I was just talking to the air," replied John a little uncertainly.
"Fine mornings appeal to me, and I was telling this one that I'd soon
come out into it"
Jacques continued to awaken. He was a big man who worked hard and who
slept heavily. Rousing from sleep was a task accomplished by degrees and
it took some time. He had heard John with one ear and now he heard with
the other. His right eye opened slowly and then the left. The blood
became more active in his brain and in a minute or two he was awake all
over.
"Telling the morning air that you're coming out into it, eh Castel?" he
said as he put one foot on the floor. "You're a poet, I see. You don't
look it, but being French, as you Lorrainers are, it makes you fond of
poetry."
"I do believe you have it right, Jacques," said John, "but if I can get
my breakfast now I mean to go upon the road at once."
"Oh, you can get it, Castel. The whole kitchen has fallen in love with
you. I found that out last night after you had gone away. That little
Annette told me so."
"It was to tease you," said John, who understood at once and who was
willing to fib in a good cause. "I saw her watching through a window a
fine big fellow, exactly your size, age and appearance, and with the
same name. I said something about his being a hulking hostler and she
turned upon me like a hawk."
"Now, did she?" exclaimed Jacques, a great smile spreading slowly across
his face.
"She did. Told me it was a poor return for their kindness to criticize a
better man."
"Ah, that Annette is bright and quick. She can see through a man at one
look. Castel, I like you, and I hope you'll get to Metz without trouble.
But keep a civil and a slow tongue in your mouth. Don't speak until the
Germans speak to you, and then tell the truth without stammering. I'll
go to the kitchen with you, as my work begins early."
John knew that he had a friend, and the two left the stable together.
But he was not thinking much then of the Gratz farm or of anybody upon
it. He had sent his soul on before, and he meant that his body should
catch up with it.
Johanna, Annette and the master, Gratz himself, were in the kitchen. He
ate a good breakfast with Jacques, paid Gratz for food and lodging, and
putting his blankets and knapsack upon his back, took once more to the
road. Jacques repeated his good advice to be polite to men to whom it
paid to be polite, and Annette, standing by the side of the stalwart
hostler, waved him farewell.
The slush, frozen the night before, had not yet melted, and John walked
rapidly along the broad firm highway, elated and bold. Julie had called
to him. He would not reason with himself, and ask how or why it had been
done, but he felt it. He liked to believe that wireless signals had
passed between them. Anyway he was going to believe it, and hence his
heart was light and his spirit strong.
He passed sentinels posted along the road, but his passport was always
sufficient, and his pleasant manner bred a pleasant manner in return.
Soon there was nothing but a line of smoke to mark where the Gratz farm
stood, but he carried with him good memories of it. He hoped that the
romance of Jacques and Annette would end happily. In truth he was quite
sure that it would, and he began to whistle softly to himself, a trick
that he had caught from General Vaugirard.
John had no certainty that he would enter Metz, which must now be less
of a city than a great fortress with a powerful garrison. But he felt
sure that he could at least penetrate to the outskirts and there find
more trace of Auersperg. A prince and man of his social importance could
scarcely pass through the city without being noticed, and there would be
gossip among the soldiers. Fortunately he had been in Metz twice and he
knew the romantic old city at the confluence of the Moselle and the
Seille, dominated by its magnificent Gothic cathedral. After all he
might overtake Auersperg there and in some manner achieve his task.
Chance took a wide range in so great a war and nothing was impossible.
He was now approaching the line between France and Germany, and Metz lay
only eleven miles beyond. The beauty of the clear cold day endured.
There was snow on the hills, but the brilliant sun touched it with a
luminous golden haze, and the crisp air was the breath of life.
He swung along at a great gait for one who walked. Life for months
without a roof had been hard, but it had toughened wonderfully those
whom it did not kill, and John with a magnificent constitution was one
of those who had profited most. He felt no weariness now although he had
come many miles.
About one o'clock in the afternoon he sat on a stone by the roadside and
ate with the appetite of vigorous youth good food from his knapsack.
While he was there a German sergeant, with about twenty men in wagons
going toward Metz, stopped and spoke to him.
"Hey, you on the stone, what are you doing?" asked the sergeant.
John cut off a fresh piece of sausage with his clasp knife and answered
briefly and truthfully:
"Eating."
The sergeant had a broad, red and merry face, and facing a man of good
humor he was not offended.
"So I see," he said, "but that wasn't what I meant."
John, without another word, took out his passport, handed it to him and
went on eating. The sergeant examined it, handed it back to him and
said:
"Correct."
"I show it to everybody," said John. "When a man speaks to me I don't
care who he is, or what he is, I hand it to him. I, Jean Castel, as you
see by the name on the passport, don't want trouble with anybody."
"And a wise fellow you are, Castel. I'm Otto Scheller, a sergeant in the
service of his Imperial Majesty and the Fatherland."
"You look as if you had seen much of war, Sergeant Scheller, but I am a
dealer in horses and I am happiest where the bullets are fewest."
"It's an honest confession, but it does not bespeak a high heart."
"Perhaps not, but sometimes a horse-dealer is more useful than a
soldier. For instance, the off horse of the front wagon has picked up a
stone in his left hind foot, and if it's not taken out he'll go lame
long before you reach Metz."
"Donnerwetter! But it's true. You do know something about horses and
you have an eye in your head. Here you, Heinrich, take that stone out,
quick, or it won't be good for you!"
"And the right horse of the third wagon has glanders. The swelling is
just beginning to show below the jaw. It's contagious, you know. You'd
better turn him loose, or all your horses will die."
"Donner und blitzen! See Fritz, if it's true. It's so, is it? Then
release the poor animal as Castel says, and put in one of the extras.
See, you Castel, you're a wizard, you hardly glanced at the horses, and
you saw what we didn't see, although we've been with them all day."
"I've grown up with horses. It's my business to know everything about
them, and maybe your trade before the war didn't bring you near them."
Scheller threw back his great head and laughed.
"If a horse had approached where I worked," he said, "much good beer
would have been spilt. I was the head waiter in a restaurant on the
Unter den Linden. Ah, the happy days! Oh, the glorious street! and here
it's nothing but march, march, and shoot, shoot! Three of my best
waiters have been killed already. And the other lads are no horsemen
either. That big Fritz over there made toys, Joseph drove a taxicab,
August was conductor on a train to Charlottenberg, and Eitel was porter
in a hotel. We're all from Berlin, and will you tell us, Castel, how
soon we can take Paris and London and go back to the Unter den Linden?"
John shook his head.
"There are about fifteen hundred million people in the world who are
asking that question, Otto Scheller," he replied, "and out of all the
fifteen hundred millions not one can answer it. But I will ask you a
question in return."
"What is it?"
"Will you give me a ride in one of your wagons to Metz?"
"Why, certainly," replied Scheller. "Your passport is in good order, and
we can take you to the first line of fortifications. There you'll meet
high officers and you'll have to make more statements, because Metz, as
you know, is one of the most powerful fortresses in Europe."
"I know; why shouldn't I, a Lorrainer, know? But my passport will take
me in. Meanwhile, I thank you, Otto Scheller, for the kindness you're
showing me."
"All right, jump in, and off we go."
It was a provision wagon, drawn by stout Percherons, which John felt
sure had been bred in France, and which he also felt sure had never been
paid for by German money. The wagon was empty now, evidently having
delivered its burden nearer the battle lines, and John found a
comfortable seat beside the sergeant, while a stout _Pickelhaube_ drove.
"Looks like peace, Castel," said the sergeant, waving his hand at the
landscape, "but things are not always what they seem."
"How so?"
"See the hills across there. The French hold part of them, and often
the artillery goes boom! boom! They threaten an attack on Metz. We shall
hear the cannon before long."
John looked long at the hills, high, white and silent, but presently
they began to groan and mutter as Scheller had predicted they would.
Flashes of flame appeared and giant shells were emptied like gusts of
lava from a volcano. One burst in the road about three hundred yards in
front of them, and tore a hole so deep that they were compelled to drive
around it.
"The French are good with the guns," said Scheller, regarding the
excavation meditatively, "but of course it was by mere chance that the
shell struck in the road."
John felt a light and momentary chill. It would certainly be the irony
of fate if on his great quest he were smitten down by a missile from his
own army. But no others struck near them, although the intermittent
battle of artillery in the hills continued.
Sergeant Scheller paid no attention to the distant cannon fire, to which
he had grown so used long since that he regarded it as one of the
ordinary accompaniments of life, like the blowing of the wind. He was in
a good humor and he talked agreeably much about battle and march,
although he betrayed no military secrets, chiefly because he had none to
betray.
"I march here and I march there," he said, "I and my men shoot at a
certain point, and from a certain point we're shot at. That's all I
know."
"And that, I take it, is the cathedral in Metz," said John, pointing
toward the top of a lofty spire showing against the blue.
"So it is, Castel, and here you'll have to show your passport again.
We're approaching the fortifications. I couldn't tell you about them if
I would. We drive along a narrow road between high earthworks and we see
nothing."
Their entry into Metz was slow and long. John was compelled to show his
passport again and again, and he answered innumerable questions, many
searching and pointed, but again he was thrice lucky in knowing the town
and something about Lorraine.
Now that he was inside, with a powerful German army all about him, he
must decide soon what to do. Fortunately he had made a friend of
Scheller who advised him to go to a little Inn near the Moselle, much
frequented by thrifty peasants, and John concluded to take his advice.
"Good-by, Castel," said Scheller, reaching out a huge fist. "I like you
and I hope we'll meet in Paris soon."
John took the fist in a hand not as large as Scheller's, but almost as
powerful, and shook it.
"Here's to the meeting in Paris," he said, but he added under his
breath, "may it happen, with you as my unwounded prisoner."
He left Scheller after thanks for the ride, and found his way to the Inn
of the Golden Lion, which was crowded with stout farmers and peasants.
It was old-fashioned, with a great room where most of the men sat on
benches before a huge fire, which cast a cheerful glow over ruddy
faces. Some were eating sausage and drinking beer, and there was plenty
of talk, mostly in German.
John modestly found a place near the fire for which he was very
grateful, and ordered beer and cheese. Apparently he was nothing but a
peasant going about his own humble business, but he listened keenly to
everything that was said, reckoning that someone ultimately would
mention the Prince of Auersperg, or could be drawn into speaking of a
man of so much consequence who might be present in Metz.
He attracted little attention, as he sat warming himself before the fire
and listening. People of French sympathies might be in the crowd, but if
so they were silent, because nearly all the talkers were speaking of
German success. It was true that they had been turned back from Paris,
but it meant a delay only, they would soon advance again, and this time
they would crush France. Meantime, von Hindenburg was smashing the
Russians to pieces. John smiled as he gazed into the crackling fire.
After all, the Germans were not supreme. They knew a vast deal about
war, but others could learn and did learn. They were splendid soldiers,
but there were others just as good and they had proved it.
Men came and went through the Inn of the Golden Lion. Sometimes soldiers
and officers as well as civilians sought its food and fire. The day had
turned darker, full of raw cold, and a light hail was falling. John was
glad to have a place in the inn. He reflected that a man's good luck and
bad luck in the long run were about even, and, after so much bad luck,
the good luck should be coming his way. He would certainly remain in the
inn that night if he could, and a bench before the fire would be a
sufficient bed for the peasant he seemed to be, at such a time, with the
city full of troops, and the French batteries almost near enough to be
heard.
More officers were coming in now. Some of them stood before the great
fire, warming themselves and drying their uniforms, the hail having
begun to drive harder. He thought he might see some one whom he knew. It
was possible that von Arnheim, the young prince of whom he had such
pleasant memories, was in Metz, and it was possible also that he might
come to the Inn of the Golden Lion. And there was young Kratzek, who he
knew had been exchanged. Some chance might make him, too, enter the inn,
but John's second thought told him the fulfillment of his wish would be
folly. They were his official enemies and must seize him if he made
himself known to them. He was merely lonesome, longing for the sight of
a familiar face.
His own appearance had been changed greatly by a stubby young beard that
called aloud for a razor. Clad in a peasant's garb, and with a cap drawn
down over his face Carstairs and Wharton themselves might have passed
without knowing him.
Although the young Germans did not appear, one whom John expected least
came. A man of medium size, built compactly, and with a short brown
beard, trimmed neatly to a point, walked briskly through the room, and
spread out cold hands before the flames. John was dozing in his chair,
but the man's walk and manner roused him at once. They seemed familiar,
and a glance at the face showed him that it was Weber.
He resisted a powerful impulse to call to him or to signal to him in
some manner. The impulse was strong to recognize the appearance of a
friend, but he understood the deadly danger of it. He was a spy and so
was Weber. By recognition each might betray the other, and it was best
that he should not attract the Alsatian's attention in any way. So he
pretended to doze again, although he was really watchful.
Weber stood by the fire a little while, until he was warm. Then he sat
down in one of the chairs and called for beer and sausage, which he
drank and ate slowly and with evident relish. His eye roved about the
room and once or twice fell upon John, but did not linger there.
Evidently he did not recognize the peasant with the stubby growth of
young beard. Nor did he appear to know anyone else in the room, and,
after a few inquiring glances, he seemed to be busy with his own
thoughts.
A half-hour or so later Weber went into the street, and John, muttering
that he wished a little fresh air, rose and followed. He had in mind
only a vague idea of speaking with Weber, and of finding out something
about Auersperg, of whose movements the Alsatian was likely to know. But
when he was outside Weber had vanished. He walked up the street, only a
little distance in either direction, because the soldiers were thick
everywhere, and their officers wanted explanations. Moreover, he
recognized the futility of search. Weber was gone as completely as if he
had been snatched up into the air by an invisible hand, and John felt
that he had missed an opportunity.
He took courage, nevertheless, and dismissing Weber from his mind, he
made a renewed effort. The precious passport once more came into play,
and gradually, he made his way toward the finest hotel in Metz. If
Auersperg was still in the city it was likely that a man of his temper
and luxurious habits would be at this hotel.
There were sentinels about the building and it was crowded with guests
of high degree. The assemblage here was altogether different from that
of the Inn of the Golden Lion. Generals and colonels were passing, and
John learned from a soldier that a prince of the empire was inside. His
heart beat hard. It could be none other than Auersperg, and using every
possible excuse he remained in the vicinity of the hotel.
At last while he stood there he saw a face appear at an upper window,
and his heart gave a great leap. Despite the falling dusk, the
strangeness of the place and the distance, the single faint glimpse was
sufficient. It was Julie. He could not mistake that crown of wonderful
golden hair in which slight coppery tints appeared, and the face, pale
now.
John impulsively reached out his arms, but she could not see the young
peasant who stood afar, watching her. He dropped his arms, caution again
warning him, but he stood gazing. Perhaps it was a powerful, mysterious
current sent from his heart that drew her at last. She looked in his
direction. John knew that she could not recognize him there in the
gloom, but, snatching off his cap, and, reckless of risk he waved it
three times about his head. It was a signal. He did not know whether she
could see it, nor if, seeing, could she surmise what it meant, but he
hoped vaguely that something might come of it. In any event, it was a
relief to his feelings and it brought hope.
After the signal he forgot to put the cap on his head, but stood with it
dangling in his hand.
"Hey, you fool!" said a rough German voice, "why do you stand there
staring, with your cap in your hand, and your head bare, inviting the
quick death of pneumonia that an idiot like you deserves?"
Although the voice was rough it was not unkindly, and as John came out
of his dreams and wheeled about he saw again the rubicund face of
Sergeant Scheller.
"I was looking at the hotel," he replied with perfect composure, as he
replaced his cap, "and I saw one of our great generals pass in at the
door. At least I thought him such by his uniform, and taking off my cap
to honor him I forgot to put in back again."
Scheller burst into a roar.
"Why, it's our Castel once more!" he exclaimed. "Good, honest, simple,
patriotic Castel! You can take off your cap when a general passes, but
you needn't keep it off after he's gone."
"I thought it might be our great Kaiser himself."
"I don't think he's in Metz, although he may be near, but your act does
credit to your loyalty, Castel."
John glanced up at the window. Julie was gone and the twilight was
coming over city and fortress. Yet he had seen her, and he felt that he
would be able to follow Auersperg wherever he might go. He had no doubt
that the prince would leave in the morning, traveling swiftly by
automobile, but he, plodding on foot, or in any way he could, would
surely follow. It gave him courage to remember the old fable of the
tortoise and the hare, a fable which doubtless has proved a vain
consolation to many a man, far behind in the race.
"Come to the Inn of the Golden Lion," he said to Scheller, for whom he
had a genuine friendly feeling, "and take a glass of beer with me. I was
wandering about, and it interested me to see the great people go into
the hotel or come out."
"A half-dozen of our famous generals are there," said Scheller, who
seemed to be both well informed now and talkative.
"Some one told me that the great Prince Karl of Auersperg was there,
too," said John at random.
"So he is," replied Scheller, seeing nothing unusual in the question,
"and he has with him under close guard the two French women spies. It's
quite certain that he will carry them into Austria, perhaps to Salzburg
or some place near there."
It was precious information, given casually by a chance acquaintance,
and John believed that it was true. It was in the region of Salzburg
that his great Odyssey had begun, and now it seemed that chance, after
many a curve through the smoke of battle, was taking him back there.
"I'm off duty, Castel, and I'll be glad to go with you," he heard
Scheller saying. "Beer is always welcome and I think you're a good
fellow. It's too bad the blood of your forefathers was French, but it's
had a German stiffening under our rule."
"The German spirit is strong and the Kaiser's armies are mighty," said
John sincerely. "Now we'll hurry to the inn and have our beer."
Scheller was not loath, and before the great fire John toasted his
health in a huge foaming mug, and Scheller toasted back again. Then the
sergeant gave him a grip of his mighty hand and told him good-by.
"I like you, Castel, lad," he said, "and whatever you want I hope you'll
get it."
John, imaginative at all times, but with his nerves keyed to the highest
pitch now, took it as an omen. The kindly Scheller little dreamed what
he sought, but the good wishes of a sergeant might have as much effect
as those of a general or a prince with the Supreme Power.
"Farewell, lad," said Scheller again, and, "Farewell," John responded.
When he was gone John sank back into his chair. He had not been able to
secure for the night more than a bench in the great room, but with his
blankets he could do very well. Besides, there was a certain advantage
in the place, as a dozen others would be sleeping in it, making it a
news center.
He bought a supper of cheese and sausage, and continued to watch the
people who came to the Inn of the Golden Lion. He thought Weber might
return, and if so he meant to speak with him, if a possible chance
should occur, but there was no sign of the Alsatian.
The heat and the smoke made him doze, by and by, and knowing that it
would be long before the room could be cleared, he resigned himself at
last to sleep, a circumstance that attracted no attention as others also
were sleeping in their chairs.
When he awoke it was past midnight, and only those who were to make it a
bedroom remained. Then he stretched his hardy form, wrapped in his
blankets, on a bench beside the wall and fell promptly into the deep
slumber of the young and just.
He awoke once or twice in the night and heard healthy snores about him.
German civilians and Lorrainers were asleep on the benches and they
slept well. The fire in the great, ancient fireplace had burned low, but
a fine bed of coals glowed there and cast quivering lights over the
sleepers. John thought he beard from afar that mutter of the guns, with
which he was so familiar, but he did not know whether it was fancy or
reality, as he always returned quickly to his deep slumber.