The Heart of Germany
"A farm, I think, and a big one by the look of it. There should be
food, and plenty of it, down there," said Jules, moistening his lips
and springing eagerly out from the cover into the open.
Indeed, down below them, on that side of the hill where the copse was
situated, a scene was spread out than which there could have been none
more pleasant in France or in old England, or indeed in any other part
of the world. A smiling, wooded landscape stretched into the far
distance, broken into plots of neatly tilled fields, and intersected at
one point by a river, which, winding between the hills and flowing
sluggishly through forest country, disappeared in the distance,
carrying on one of its banks the broad track of a railway. In the
foreground, perhaps five hundred yards away only, there was that farm
to which Jules had pointed--a typical German farm, its outhouses
clustered about it, cattle in its yard, and poultry feeding round it.
Smoke was issuing from one of the chimneys, and it required no great
imagination on the part of those three to visualize the kitchen at the
other end of the chimney--a broad, stone-flagged kitchen maybe, with a
deep, old-fashioned ingle-nook, and pots and pans about it.
"Phew! It makes a fellow's mouth water," declared Stuart, looking
hungrily at the farm. "To think that there are people down there who
have got plenty to eat, and here are we up here simply longing for it.
I suppose it wouldn't do to venture down?"
Henri shook his head emphatically.
"Not as we are, certainly not," he declared. "For residence in
Ruhleben hasn't exactly improved our appearance. To begin with,
Stuart--no offence, of course--you'll quite understand, a shave and
haircut wouldn't come amiss, would it? As for Jules--our dandy Jules,
whose socks and turn-out were the envy of all the youth of Paris--not
to mention Berlin, before the war broke out--he's hardly 'it', is he?"
"Oh!"
There came an exclamation from Jules, while he grimaced at Henri.
"Not 'it'," he cried, and then laughed as he glanced at his own person
and then back at Henri. "Well, a fellow has to admit that there's not
one of us fit to enter decent society; but it ain't our fault, is it?
Not exactly. Only, as Henri says, it would give us away badly if we
went down to the farm and demanded victuals. Still, the fact remains
that a chap can't help feeling hungry, particularly when he looks at
that smoke coming from the chimney, and the fowls all round. Couldn't
a fellow slink down, knock one of them over with a stone, and bring it
back?"
Even that was out of the question, and each one of them realized it.
Their only safe course, indeed, was to remain hidden as they were in
that cover till the night came again, when, tramp-like, they would take
to the road once more, and, tramp-like, might rob some hen-roost to
provide a meal for the morrow. Yet it was hard, and became harder
still as the hours went by, to put up without even those scanty meals
which had been accorded them at Ruhleben.
However, they had other things to occupy their attention when the
afternoon had come, for a messenger mounted on a motor-bicycle dashed
along the road, a soldier, who drew up at the farm beneath them, and,
having given some message, went on his way, and could be seen calling
at other farms in the far distance. Later in the evening, other sounds
from the road attracted the ears of the fugitives, and, as the dusk was
settling over the country, they watched a party of weary soldiers
marching by, dragging behind them a couple of bloodhounds. These
halted at the farm and presently entered it.
"Taken up their quarters there for the night," said Henri, "and I
should say without a doubt that the cyclist messenger was sent to warn
the farmers all round, while parties of men have been sent in various
directions to try to trace us with hounds. Not a very pleasant
outlook, is it?"
"I shouldn't care a rap," declared Stuart, "if it weren't for the
hounds. Somehow or other we will obtain food and drink, and so long as
we get that we can keep on marching at night-time and can hide up
during the day; but hounds can track us anywhere, and will soon drive
us out of cover. We have got to set ourselves to work to beat them.
But how? It bothers me, and I can't see a way out of the difficulty."
Jules whistled; he often did that when he was rather bothered.
"Beastly idea being tracked by hounds," he said; "sends a chill down a
fellow's spine, and makes one's hair feel like rising. But isn't there
a way out? If those hounds are put on our track--and it beats me how
it is that they didn't discover that we had passed along the
road--they'll soon trace us into this cover, unless we can, as the
British say, contrive to draw a line across it which will break the
scent and take them off in another direction. What about the river?"
"The river, of course," exclaimed Henri. "I never gave it a thought;
but of course it's the thing for us. Why not start now; it's dark
enough, and we can make our way straight down to it. As for food, once
we get across, there's a farm yonder, just behind the railway, which
might easily provide something."
They were up on their legs by now, staring into the dusk which now
covered the country, and, having discussed the matter for a few
moments, and seen the wisdom of an instant move, they left the trees
and trudged off across the open fields till they gained a field track,
and, following that, reached the bank of the river. Stepping in, they
soon found themselves wading into deep water, and presently were forced
to swim.
"Hold on a minute," spluttered Henri, who was leading the party, "don't
let's go straight across; let the stream carry us downwards."
Flat on their backs, and keeping close together by holding hands, the
trio were swept slowly down the stream till they had floated almost
half a mile from the point where they had entered the water; then they
struggled ashore, and, clambering up the bank and crossing the
railroad, sought for the farm which they had observed from the
hill-top. Twinkling lights in the windows attracted their attention,
and within half an hour they were close to it.
"Better sit down for a moment and talk things over," said the cautious
Stuart. "It wouldn't do for the whole three of us to go up to the
place and demand food, and I'm rather doubtful if it 'ud do for even
one of us. You said this morning, Henri, that not one of us was over
presentable, while I should say that now that our clothing is soaked we
are very much more dilapidated and unpresentable."
"Then suppose I go and skirmish about the place," Henri suggested. "If
I happen to bump into someone, I speak German like a native and may
easily be able to pass muster. On the other hand, if I don't happen to
meet anyone, I can pry about the place, and I should say that I am just
as likely to be able to rob a hen-roost as you or Jules. You stay
here, and when I whistle, answer, for otherwise it will be a dickens of
a job to find you."
Gaining a road which ran beside the railway, and from which a track led
up to the farm where the lights twinkled, Henri proceeded at a rapid
rate till he was within a few yards of the residence, when he made a
cautious circle of it and gathered the information that one of the
front rooms was illuminated, while at the back of the house there was
but a feeble glimmer, and from that front room came, as he listened,
the sounds of music--the notes of an organ and the deep voice of a man
singing.
"Fortunate," he told himself, "for it'll drown any sounds that I may
make. First thing will be to investigate the back of the house, where
there's that glimmer. I shouldn't wonder if it was the kitchen."
Stealing round towards the back of the house, and passing through a
wicket-gate which gave entrance to the farm-yard, he tiptoed across the
cobbles of the latter, and was brought up sharply by cannoning into a
barrel, which fell over with a crash. Instantly Henri leapt against
the wall and crouched in the deep shadow, fearful lest the noise should
have alarmed the inmates, or, worse still, should have set some
watch-dog barking; but no noise followed to tell him that his presence
was detected, while, as if to give him greater assurance, the notes of
the organ and that deep, manly voice came even louder to his ears,
proving that those within the house had heard nothing.
"It's a chance in a hundred," he told himself. "Here's the back
door--shut and locked--eh? No, not locked--opens easily,
and--and--ah!--the twinkling light is caused by a fire--a kitchen,
right enough--that looks like food; now where is it?"
Entering the place without hesitation, he groped about till his fingers
lit upon a dresser, and then upon a candle, which he lit by bending
over the flames of the fire and igniting the wick. Then he made a
thorough search of the place, only to discover that there was not a
scrap of food present. However, there was a door leading out of the
back of the kitchen into a small outhouse, and there he found a larder
well stocked with provisions.
"All's fair in love and war," he said, as he looked about him. "A
sausage--eh, that's something--and a round of beef, which is something
better. Here's a loaf of bread, and, 'pon my word, a basket and some
bottles of beer--what more does a fellow want?"
To appropriate the articles, to pop them into the basket, to blow out
the candle, and to march from the kitchen were the work of a few
moments. He slunk away from the farm, out through the wicket-gate,
along the path which he had pursued, back towards the river, and then
gave vent to a whistle. There came at once an answering whistle, and,
getting his direction from the sound, Henri soon found himself by his
companions.
"W--w--what have you got?" said Jules, his teeth chattering, his words
broken and shredded by the cold from which he was suffering. Even the
stalwart and healthy Stuart was no better.
"Y--y--yes?" he demanded, though there was no fire in his question, and
but little eagerness. "W--w--what the d--d--dickens have you got in
that b--b--basket? Lor! W--w--what a weight it is, and, by all the
saints! b--b--beer bottles--well I'm b--b--b--blest!"
"You're beastly cold at any rate," said Henri; "too cold by far to
enjoy cold bottled beer, cold beef, and cold sausage, while I'm
beautifully warm, thanks to the exercise I've been taking. Look here,
you fellows, it's no use our attempting to stay out here and eat our
rations, for we'll catch our death of cold; and no wonder, seeing that
it often freezes at night in this season. I'll tell you what we'll do.
There's not a dog in that farm which I have just visited, and there are
outhouses in plenty. Why not make our way to one of them and make a
bed in some straw or hay if possible."
In any case active exercise was what was required by Jules and Stuart,
for after their immersion in the river, and the thorough soaking they
had received, lying still in the grass at the side of the road waiting
for Henri's return--a cold and chilly business at any time--had become
doubly cold. They were chilled to the bone now, their teeth chattering
so hard that it was with difficulty they could speak, while a natural
appetite--an appetite increased by their enforced abstention from food
during a whole day, their rapid crossing of the country since they had
broken out of Ruhleben, and their movements on this evening--was dulled
by the temperature to which their bodies had been lowered.
"B--b--beastly cold," Stuart admitted, and he was the very last
individual to grumble as a general rule. "S--s--sound c--c--common
sense, Henri. Let's get off to these b--buildings and search for some
hay. Somehow or other we must get some warmth into our bodies."
He stood in the darkness before the other two, swinging his arms with
vigour and trying to beat some sort of circulation into his frigid
fingers; then, picking up the basket as if to increase the warmth of
his body by added effort, he went off beside Henri, Jules marching on
the farther side, his teeth still chattering, utterly cold and
miserable. However, the sharp walk to the farm made them feel warmer,
so that they had almost stopped shivering by the time they reached the
yard. From outside the window of that front room, which was still
illuminated, they listened to the sound of the notes of the organ which
was still being played, and to the music of that deep bass voice still
warbling in the interior.
"Jolly nice it sounds too," said Stuart, "and I reckon that
anyone--even a German--ought to be able to sing when in a comfortable
room, probably with a nice blazing fire. A nice fire, Henri--a nice
fire. George! wouldn't that be ripping!"
Henri led them on round the end of the building, through the
wicket-gate into the yard, and halted again outside the kitchen door.
If only they had dared enter in a body, if only they could have found a
welcome in that warm place, how great a relief it would have been, what
comfort it would have brought to them all, and what a pleasure it would
have been after the life they had lived in Ruhleben. But if they had
found little comfort in the camp where they had been interned, if they
had found few or no friends amongst their guards and amongst the staff
appointed to watch over them, they were just as little likely to
discover friends outside the camp in any portion of Germany. Indeed,
every part of the land of the Kaiser was inhabited by a people
antagonistic to the last degree to an enemy amongst them. In those
early days, when Henri and Jules had first been captured, the arrogance
of their captors, the hatred of the mob, and the unbridled passions of
the Kaiser's people might easily have resulted in those two hapless
prisoners being torn to pieces. But for the police they would probably
have been slain in the streets of Berlin, for, thanks to them, all but
minor injury was forbidden, while insults, blows if possible, and
curses were hurled at them. But that was in August, 1914, at the
commencement of the war--a war for which Germany had prepared during
forty-two years of peace, a war anticipated and waited eagerly for by
multitudes of Germans, and one which they believed was to make them the
ruling nation of the world. That was in August, 1914, as we have said,
and now see the change. Months had gone by since Germany, prepared to
the last detail--with an army in full readiness and trained for its
task, and with a population trained also for helpful service to the
army--had thrown herself upon Russia and France and Belgium, had found
them unprepared, had beaten them back, had decimated the country of
King Albert of the Belgians, had made Louvain a shambles, and had set
the streets of Dinant running with the blood of her victims. Yet she
had not triumphed. She had captured enemy country, to be sure, she had
driven France and the British ally--which had so quickly come to the
side of the French--back towards the sea-coast, and she had hurled
Russia out of East Prussia, and, after the sturdy advance of the Grand
Duke Nicholas into Galicia and the fall of the fortress of Przemysl,
had fallen upon him with mighty force, had discovered the Russians
short of ammunition and of artillery, and had driven the forces of the
Tsar back towards Warsaw and other cities. Yes, Germany had gained
much territory, and had lost many, many lives. Yet, see what now faced
her; not victory, but embarrassment on every side: a trench-line
running from north to south in Russia--a trench-line against which her
weakened battalions had battered in vain, a line held by the forces of
the Tsar, even though short of ammunition, so securely that Germany
could not advance; and on the west another trench-line, which, after
the battle of the Marne, had been extended westward and northward to
the sea-coast and blocked the advance of the Kaiser's forces just as
securely as did those lines in Russia.
In short, the triumphal march of Germany had been abruptly stopped, in
spite of those forty-two years of preparation. The prize so nearly
seized--so certain to fall to the armies of Prussia, as the people of
Germany thought--Paris, in fact, had been snatched from the armies of
the Kaiser at the very last moment; the cup of triumph had, indeed,
been dashed to pieces on the Marne, where French and British soldiers,
turning at bay after that glorious retreat from Mons, had fallen upon
the Germans, had driven them north across the river, had sent them
fleeing to the Aisne, and had there read them a lesson.
Possessing still much territory of her enemies, but checked on every
side, Germany had yet not achieved her object by a great deal. She
had, in fact, failed most utterly and most miserably; for to have
proved successful--as successful as she had designed and had
confidently hoped to be--she should, in the first few months of the
war, have thoroughly beaten the French and have crushed the armies of
the Tsar. But she had failed to do either, in spite of her treacherous
invasion of Belgium; for the coming of the British had helped not a
little to turn the tables. It had held up the advance on Paris, it had
helped to drive the Germans over the Marne, it had held the gate to
Calais at Ypres--where the forces sent from England had shattered the
Prussian Guard, the best of Germany's troops. Indeed, one may say that
the inclusion of Great Britain in the fighting had given vital
assistance to France and Belgium and Russia, had gone some long way to
check the mad triumphal rush of the German bully upon her unready
enemies, and had assisted in the erection of that barrier of trenches
which held the enemy in check; while, beyond the fighting-line, Britain
called for her volunteers to form new armies, and France completed the
mobilization of her men and made ready to shatter the invader.
Disappointment had taken the place of elation, of arrogance, in
Germany. Bitter hatred of England was paramount, and, next to it,
detestation of France and all that was French. Such hatred was
greater, we may say, amongst the civil population of Germany than
amongst the men in the army. Indeed, so great was it that had the
treatment of prisoners of war been left to them--treatment none too
good and often diabolical when conducted by officials of the army--not
a prisoner would have survived; and, for the same reason, escaping
prisoners, such as Jules and Henri and Stuart, might look for little
else from the inhabitants of Germany than blows, than immediate
betrayal to guards, than persecution and harsh treatment.
"Here we are on the far side of the yard, and this looks like an open
shed in which carts are stored. Yes, carts," repeated Henri, having
driven his shin rather violently against a shaft, and with difficulty
refrained from giving loud expression to his feelings. "Let's have a
look at the roof. Stop here a minute, while I prospect and see whether
there's a loft."
Stepping back into the yard, he stared up overhead, and, thanks to the
fact that the night was not excessively dark, was able to detect the
line of roof as it cut across the sky. From its height it gave promise
of a loft under its shelter, and, searching round for some access to
it, Henri presently stumbled upon a wooden staircase. Clambering up
it, he was astonished to find a glimmer of light coming through the
chinks of a door on his left, and, applying his eye to those chinks,
discovered a fire burning on a brick hearth in a room of small
dimensions. To open the door quietly was the most sensible procedure,
and, lifting the latch and pushing the door before him, he carefully
investigated every corner of the room.
"Looks as though it were used by some farm hand, or a groom of some
sort," he told himself. "In any case, it's warm and comfortable and
untenanted, and will allow us to strip off our clothes and dry
ourselves."
Turning abruptly on his heel, he crept slowly down the staircase, and
very soon had brought Stuart and Jules to the warm quarters he had
discovered. There, indeed, they stripped off their wet clothing and
hung it in front of the fire, which, by diligent prodding and by an
addition of logs which lay beside it, was soon giving off a fine heat,
and was crackling and blazing merrily.
"A mighty fine feed," declared Stuart, now without a stutter in his
voice and without a chatter about his teeth. "Henri, my boy, you're a
nobleman, or ought to be one; and if you aren't, all I can say is, that
the French Government don't know what they're doing. And because why?
Well, now, I'll just tell you," he proceeded, his mouth half full of
sausage, a huge piece in one hand, and a slice of bread in the other,
while between his feet, as he stood on the floor, there rested a bottle
of beer already opened. "Because why, my boy? Well, here's the
reason: our friend Henri contrived, in the first place, to attract our
attention to a spot in Ruhleben where escape seemed possible--I'm not
going to say that he was the chief cause of our undertaking the
venture, but he was one of us--accompanied us to the outside of the
entanglements, and led us away from the camp. It was his and Jules's
idea to escape those dogs by swimming and floating all this distance
down the river, and, though we ain't altogether clear of 'em yet, we're
on the high road to be so. But--and here I'll take a denial from no
one"--and at that moment he looked across at Jules, as if to challenge
him to controvert the statement--"but our friend Henri is the man
mainly responsible for bringing us to the farm, for procuring, first of
all, food and drink, and then providing warm quarters. If I was the
French Government, he'd have every honour possible. As it is,
why--well--" said Stuart, hesitating, and taking another bite of
sausage, "why, now--I'll drink his health, and that's the best I can do
at the moment."
He lifted the bottle, and, tossing his head back, let the frothy fluid,
so beloved of the Germans, trickle into his mouth and down his throat,
and, gasping at last, replaced it on the floor beside him. Yes, it was
a meal which delighted the hearts of all three of them, a meal to be
looked back upon, one which, if they escaped safely from the country
and lived to tell the tale, would be spoken of in glowing terms as a
reminiscence to be thankful for, and an item amongst hundreds during
their adventure to be emphasized, to be picked out as momentous, and to
be expatiated on in the warmest language.
"And now, what do we do?" asked Stuart, when the meal was finished and
each had enjoyed a cigarette--for the cautious Stuart had brought some
with him. "One's natural inclination is to stretch out on these boards
and sleep in the warmth of the fire; but that, just as naturally,
raises the question as to whether it would be wise, and as to whether
it would not lead to certain discovery in the morning."
"Of course we could take it in turns to sit up and watch," suggested
Henri, yawning widely as he spoke; "but then, we are all of us dead
tired, and the chances are that anyone who attempted to keep awake
would be overpowered by drowsiness. It looks to me as though it would
be far better for us to clear up the mess we have made and to retire
into the loft; that is to say, if there is one. And I've another
suggestion to offer: it may be that to-morrow we shall find our exit
from the farm cut off, or we may find that we have to keep away from
all dwellings as we cross country; that points to the need of
replenishing the commissariat at this stage, particularly as we know
that there is food almost within a stone's throw of us."
The big, beefy, ruddy, and smiling face of Stuart was turned upon him
promptly.
"My boy," he exclaimed, smacking Henri heavily on the shoulder, "my
boy, didn't I say that you were deserving of the highest honours, and
here is another reason for giving you rewards. The idea of food for
to-morrow had escaped my notice altogether, and I would say that both
Jules and I were so satisfied with what we have had that we didn't give
a thought to it. But it's just plain common sense--the common sense
which you seem to have got a store of, Henri--which should prepare us
to look to to-morrow, to make provision for the future, particularly
when it can be done so easily. You get off, Henri, but take care that
that fellow with the voice doesn't spot you. Jules and I will search
round in the buildings for a loft, and then we'll return to this room
and wait for you."
Separating at the door of the room, and leaving a goodly portion of
their clothing still hanging in the warmth of the fire, the three
parted, Jules and Stuart clambering up the staircase, which ascended
again after it had passed the landing at the door of the room they had
just vacated, while Henri slid to the floor below, and, marching into
the yard, crossed to the kitchen doorway. Pausing there for a while,
he listened for the notes of the organ, and presently heard them and
the sound of a woman singing, a coarse, guttural, bucolic voice, very
different from the other. As for the kitchen, the fire still flickered
on the hearth, while the place was untenanted, and once more Henri,
emboldened by the success of his previous visit, lit the candle at the
fire, looked serenely about him, and entered the little storehouse at
the end of the kitchen.
Perhaps three minutes later he emerged from that place with two baskets
more than fully laden; for, be it mentioned, if the towns and cities of
Germany at these times were feeling the pinch of war, if the blockade
of the British Fleet had deprived the Kaiser's subjects of many
food-stuffs and other commodities, and if, indeed, as undoubtedly was
the case, there was shortage in many parts of Germany, there was still
without doubt, abundance in many a farm and homestead, abundance, that
is to say, of home-produced articles. Thus, there were strings of
sausages in that larder, ready for the hand which sought to take them,
there were hard-baked biscuits and bread, and home-brewed beer in
abundance. It was indeed with provisions and drink enough to last for
several days that Henri struggled from the larder into the kitchen,
and, having blown out the candle and replaced it where he had found it,
went to the door that led to the yard and made ready to emerge from it.
It was indeed in that precise position that his further progress was
suddenly arrested; for, as he pulled the door open and prepared to step
into the yard, a gang of men came to the corner of the building, and,
thrusting their way through that gate which gave admission to the yard,
suddenly accosted him in the doorway. They were Germans; they were a
party of guards sent from Ruhleben; and beyond them, secured to
leashes, were a couple of dogs, sent with them to hound down the
prisoners who had escaped from the camp.