A PRISONER OF THE ENEMY
As soon as Dave saw the Germans he attempted to retreat, but they were
too quick for him, and in a few seconds six of the enemy had surrounded
him while several more were running in that direction.
As we know, the young lieutenant was unarmed, so resistance was out of
the question. Several of the Germans pointed their rifles at him, and
then there was nothing left for him to do but throw up his hands in
token of surrender.
“Watch him, you Kopek and Posen,” said an under officer, in German.
“There may be more coming.”
The two soldiers addressed pushed Dave roughly to one side in an angle
of the wall, and there one of them held him at the point of a bayonet.
In the meantime, the other Germans, under the leadership of the
officer, spread out across the passageway of the mine. Some even ran a
distance ahead, peering this way and that along the dark passageways.
Presently the officer came back, accompanied by one of his men, a
fellow who had lived for some time in London and who could speak fairly
good English.
“Haf you been all alone?” demanded this soldier, after having received
a request for this information from his superior.
“Yes, I am all alone,” answered Dave.
“How did you come by this part of the mine?” was the next question put.
Dave saw no reason for deceiving those who had made him a prisoner,
and in a straightforward manner he told of having rolled down through
an opening in the mines some distance off, and then related how he
had wandered around, met the savage dogs, and finally come out into
daylight at this point. The German listened attentively, and from time
to time translated what our hero said for the benefit of the others.
“And you wass sure you been all alone?” was the next question.
“Yes.”
No more questions were asked just then, but a number of the Germans
were detailed to watch for any signs of approaching Americans. Then
Dave was placed in the charge of two of the men and told to march.
[Illustration: ONE OF THEM HELD HIM AT THE POINT OF A BAYONET.--_Page
227._]
The young lieutenant wondered if he had come out of the mines at a
point which was near the German lines. He saw only about fifteen
soldiers, and nothing that looked like a trench or a dugout, and
concluded that this was simply a reconnoitring party making its way
through the woods and over the rough rocks, probably with some idea of
“feeling out” that portion of the American front.
Presently the party came to where they had to cross a small stream.
Before this was done Dave was halted and the soldier who could speak
English addressed him.
“You not make any noise now, or you get killed,” he ordered, and the
look on his face showed that he meant what he said.
With these men ready either to shoot or stab him at an instant’s
notice, Dave felt that it would be foolhardy to make any noise
or attempt to escape. Consequently he silently crossed the small
stream with them and walked along a trail leading through some thick
brushwood. Thus they covered a good quarter of a mile, presently
reaching open ground beyond which were a number of German trenches.
The appearance of the American prisoner was hailed with delight by a
gathering of German soldiers, all of whom eyed Dave curiously.
“American--and a lieutenant at that!” cried one. “Some catch!”
“Lieutenant Oswald will get some credit now,” returned another.
“The Yankee pig ought to be shot down! What is the sense of making a
prisoner of him?” cried a third. “The Americans had no business to come
into this war!”
“Don’t worry, Carl--they will treat him rough enough!” exclaimed the
first soldier who had spoken. Then he picked up a lump of dirt and
hurled it at Dave, striking him in the leg.
“He’ll be useful to get some information from,” remarked another
soldier. “A lieutenant like that ought to know a good deal.”
“I don’t believe the Americans know anything!” cried still another.
“They are a lot of numskulls! They had no business to get into this
war!”
After a short pause at the trenches Dave was marched to the rear, of
the lines. Here, to his surprise, he was joined by two other Americans,
both privates.
“Hello! where are you from?” he questioned quickly, after both of the
other prisoners had saluted him and he had saluted in return.
One man, whose name was Oscar Davis, was from New York State, and the
other, named Ralph Thompson, was from Massachusetts. Both were young
fellows of about Dave’s age, and both were as mad as hornets because
they had been captured.
“I was out in a night raid with twenty others,” explained Oscar
Davis. “We got along pretty well until all of a sudden Jerry began to
throw up some star shells and flaming onions. Then I and two other
fellows were spotted by the Fritzies, and both of the other fellows
were killed. Then something hit me in the back and knocked me over on
my head, so that I was partly stunned. When I got so I could do some
thinking these fellows had me and they fairly dragged me over to their
trench.”
Ralph Thompson proved to be an American aviator. He had been up in a
small machine doing special work when a storm had come up and one of
the planes of his machine had suddenly broken. He had tried to get back
behind the American lines, but the storm had been too much for him,
and he had come down with a crash directly on top of one of the German
dugouts. There had been a grand commotion, the Germans thinking that
the dugout had been struck by a shell. He had set fire to his machine,
as was the custom, but before he could make his escape had been
surrounded and captured.
“And now I suppose we are in for a dandy time--not,” he concluded
dismally.
“You can be thankful you weren’t killed when your plane collapsed,”
returned Dave; and then told something about himself.
“What do you suppose they will do with us?” questioned Oscar Davis
anxiously. He was a tall, thin youth, and later on let out that he had
the year before graduated from Harvard University.
“I suppose we’re booked for one of their prison camps,” answered Dave.
Then several of the Germans came up and made motions that they should
keep quiet.
It must be confessed that our hero was much downcast. He had read and
heard a great deal of how inhumanly the Huns were treating all of their
prisoners. Only a few days before word had reached the engineers of how
several prisoners had died in one of the detention camps from lack of
proper food and clothing.
“I suppose I’ve got to make the best of it,” he thought philosophically.
“Just the same, I’d give a good deal to be back among our crowd once
more.”
About an hour later the three prisoners were told to march, and were
made to travel a distance of several miles. At one point they were
joined by several other Americans and about a dozen Canadians, and then
the whole crowd continued on its way to the rear.
The young lieutenant was hungry. He had already eaten what was left of
his emergency ration and used up the water left in his canteen. But no
food was offered to him, and he had all he could do to get a drink of
water, the Germans even seeming to begrudge him this comfort.
“They’re Huns, all right enough!” growled one of the Canadians, who
chanced to be tramping along just behind Dave. “We ought to wipe every
mother’s son of them off the face of the earth!”
“Certainly not a very encouraging prospect,” answered Dave.
“Silence!” came the sharp command from the head of the column; and then
followed some words in German to the soldiers who had the prisoners
in charge. As a consequence Dave and a number of others received jabs
from the soldiers’ gun-butts, and one poor fellow who made a slight
resistance was promptly bowled over and stuck through the side with a
bayonet.
It was not until well toward nightfall that the prisoners reached a
small wire compound where they were herded together like so many sheep.
This compound had been used by other prisoners before them, and was
in anything but a clean or sanitary condition. They were thrust into
the enclosure in the most brutal fashion, and told they would have to
remain there until the next day.
“Don’t we get anything to eat?” questioned Dave in broken German. He
was beginning to feel faint.
“Yes; you’ll get something in a little while,” was the reply.
All of the prisoners had, of course, been disarmed and searched, and
many of their most valuable possessions had been taken from them. The
compound was heavily guarded, so that escape was practically out of the
question.
“It is nothing more than a big pig-pen!” was the way Oscar Davis
expressed himself.
“Well, you didn’t expect to have it look like a New York City hotel,
did you?” queried Dave, with a faint grin.
“They might at least treat us like human beings!”
“I agree with you there.”
“If they don’t give me something to eat pretty soon I’m going to try
to make a break for it, even if it costs me my life,” put in Ralph
Thompson recklessly. He had come from a rich family, and previous to
entering the army had been used to the best of living.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” warned Dave. “It won’t help you any, and
it will only make it so much the harder for the rest of us. By their
looks, some of those Huns wouldn’t like any better fun than to shoot
down every one of us.”
It was fully an hour before the prisoners were given anything to eat,
then each got a small tin full of weak soup and a chunk of black bread.
“I can’t eat such chow as that,” declared one of the prisoners after
tasting the stuff. “Why, it isn’t even respectable dish-water!”
Nevertheless, being very hungry, he managed at last to soak up his
chunk of bread in the mess and devour it.
Dave was of the opinion that the food served was decidedly poor, but it
was better than nothing, and he ate it without comment.
“Anyway,” remarked Ralph Thompson, “it’s a little bit filling, and
that’s something. I won’t pull my belt any tighter until I am worse
off.”
The next day the prisoners were joined by a number of others, and
all were marched still further to the rear, arriving about noon at a
freight-yard on the outskirts of a small town. Here were a number of
box-cars, and the prisoners were herded into these like so many cattle.
Over thirty men were in the car to which Dave and the other Americans
were assigned. The car had only small slatted windows at either end.
After being given a couple of buckets of water the door was closed and
locked upon them.
“I don’t see how we are going to stand this,” grumbled one of the
prisoners. “Why, I can hardly breathe now!” He was a short, thick-set
fellow, and consequently somewhat at a disadvantage in that crowd.
Of course, every one wanted to get in the vicinity of one of the
slatted windows so that he might get the benefit of what little fresh
air was stirring. The car had been used for the transportation of
cattle, and had not been cleaned.
“This certainly is the limit!” was Dave’s comment, when he found
himself squeezed into one end of this place. “I wouldn’t treat a skunk
like this!”
Presently the train began to move, and the car rattled out of the
freight-yard and on its journey. Previous to going aboard the prisoners
had been given some weak coffee, made mostly of acorns, and some
bread which several of the men declared must be made of rye flour and
sawdust. And that was the only meal they had had since morning.
“If they are going to starve us to death, they might as well do it at
once,” grumbled Davis.
“They’re either going to starve us or suffocate us,” returned Thompson.
The pair had struck up quite an acquaintance.
On and on rattled the train, over switches and bridges, and through
many villages and towns. Where they were bound, Dave could not imagine,
but he knew they must be getting deeper and deeper into the heart of
Germany, and this made him more downcast than ever.
“I’ll have no chance to escape at all if they take me too far away from
the front lines,” he reasoned. “Too bad! I almost wish I had made a
dash for it when I met those Germans at the entrance to the mines.”
It was not until eight o’clock in the evening that the train came to a
stop and the doors were thrown open. By that time many of those within
could hardly stand upright, so weak were they from want of fresh air
and proper rest. They staggered into the open, and were glad enough to
learn they were to receive another meal. This time they were given a
watery stew, made up partly of potatoes and greens with a tiny piece of
meat. Accompanying the stew was the inevitable chunk of black, sawdusty
bread.
“A really elaborate menu, eh?” was Oscar Davis’s sarcastic comment. “I
hardly know what to pick out on the bill-of-fare.”
“Well, don’t eat too much,” returned Dave, with a faint grin. “If you
do that, you may get indigestion.”
“Indigestion!” ejaculated the former university student. “I think this
mess is just the thing to go back on a fellow’s stomach.”
“Well, don’t be discouraged,” returned Dave grimly. “It may be that the
worst is yet to come.”
In that surmise our hero was correct, as events a little later proved.