FRYING-PAN TO FIRE
The third day of Tom's captivity had been more trying than the two that
preceded it.
A new piece of woodland had been ordered to be cleared and, as there
was a scarcity of labor, Tom had been taxed to even a greater degree
than usual. By the time night came, he was feeling utterly exhausted
and ready to drop.
But dusk brought him little relief, for he was told that he must keep
on by lantern light until ten o'clock, before he would be permitted to
stop.
His troubles were aggravated by the fact that this afternoon a change
of guards had brought him under the control of an especially brutal one
who made his life a burden by abuse.
His guard had ordered him into a thick part of the woods where the high
underbrush cut them off from the sight of other working parties a
hundred yards away. Here the German had seated himself comfortably on
a fallen tree while he watched his prisoner toil, occasionally hurling
a threat or epithet at him.
The guard's watch was out of order, and he had borrowed a small clock
from the mess room in order to know when the time came to report with
his prisoner at quarters. He had placed the clock in the light of the
lantern and kept looking at it frequently and yawning. It was plain
that he would welcome the hour that released him from his monotonous
duty.
The night was warm and the guard's gun was heavy. He stood it against
the tree, but within instant reach, and unbuckled his belt.
In working around the tree, Tom's foot as though by accident knocked
against the clock and it fell over on its face. The guard thundered a
curse against his awkwardness, and stooped down to pick it up.
Quick as thought Tom picked up the heavy lantern and brought it
crashing down on the German's head. The next instant his hands were on
the German's throat.
The struggle was brief, for the German at his best would have been no
match for the young American. Tom had soon choked him into
unconsciousness, and when he felt the man become limp beneath him he
relaxed his hold.
He tied the German's hands with his belt and gagged him securely. The
lantern had gone out with the blow and he did not dare to relight it.
Darkness was now his best friend.
His eyes fell on the clock. It had done him good service, but now was
of no further use to him. But a second thought made him pick it up and
put it in his blouse.
He had no compass, but the clock would do in a pinch. His woodcraft
had taught him how the hands of a clock could find for him the cardinal
points. More than once his watch in more peaceful times had done him a
similar service.
The first thing necessary was to put as wide a distance as possible
between himself and the place where he now was. Afterwards he could
figure out how to regain his own lines. By ten o'clock at latest his
attack on the guard would be discovered. He must be miles away before
then, or his life would not be worth a cent.
His impulse was to take the German's gun, but he discarded the thought
at once. His only salvation lay in hiding. The gun would count for
nothing among the innumerable foes that surrounded him. It was heavy
and cumbrous, and would only retard his progress through the woods. He
must travel light if he would travel fast.
He gathered up some fragments of food left from the lunch that the
guard had been munching and tucked them in his pocket. Then like a
shadow he slipped away through the woods.
From what he had seen and bits of information that he had picked up
from other prisoners, some of whom were Frenchmen and knew the country
well, Tom had a pretty good idea of the lay of the land. He knew that
the country was rolling, with here and there a range of hills that rose
almost to the dignity of mountains. Here there ought to be plenty of
hiding places where he could stay while he planned a way to get across
the lines.
Of course his route would be within the German lines for miles. But
the inhabitants were in sympathy with the Allied cause, prisoners in
almost as great a degree as he himself had been, and he might find
among them aid and comfort, though such assistance if discovered would
be sure to be visited with hard punishment by the German oppressors.
The way was full of difficulties and almost every step would be
attended by danger. But for the present at least he was free. Free!
The word had never appealed to him so strongly before. He drew in
great draughts of the mountain air. They seemed in a way to cleanse
his lungs from the prison taint.
For what seemed to him hours he never slackened his pace. Many times
he stumbled in the darkness and his body was full of bruises, but in
the joy of his recovered freedom, he scarcely felt the pain. On he
went and on until he felt certain he had placed a safe distance between
himself and the scene of his recent captivity.
To be sure, the German command had other things to rely on than mere
physical pursuit. There were the long arms of the telegraph and
telephone, through which every division on the sector might be warned
to be on the lookout for him. But it was wholly unlikely that this
would be done. On the eve of the great drive, the authorities were too
busy to expend their energies on the recapture of an escaped prisoner.
Even if he should fall into the hands of another body of his enemies,
it was unlikely that they would know anything of his recent exploit.
So with body tired after his strenuous exertions, but with his mind as
much at rest as it could be under the circumstances, Tom threw himself
down at last to take a brief rest under the shadow of a giant beech.
The sun streaming through the branches woke him a little later. For a
moment he did not know where he was and lay trying to get his thoughts
in order. Then it all came back to him with a rush and he sprang to
his feet and looked about him.
There was nothing in sight to alarm him. The place seemed to be wild
and unvisited. A squirrel sat in the boughs over his head chattering
his surprise and perhaps his displeasure at the sight of the intruder.
A chipmunk slipped along a grassy ridge and vanished in the
undergrowth. Birds sang their welcome to a new day. Everything about
him spoke of peace and serenity. It seemed as though there were no
such thing as war in the world.
Yet even while this thought lingered with him there came a discordant
note in the booming of a distant gun. But it seemed far off and though
other guns soon swelled the menacing chorus there seemed to be no
immediate cause for alarm.
A little way off from where he had slept, a small brook wound its way
through the sedge grass. Tom welcomed it with a grin, for he had not
had a bath since he had been captured.
In a moment he had undressed and plunged into the brook. The water was
scarcely deeper than his waist, but its coolness was like balm to Tom's
bruised and heated body. When he resumed his clothing he felt
infinitely strengthened and refreshed.
The young soldier worked his way into a dense thicket as a measure of
precaution, before he ate the remnants of food that he had carried away
with him the night before. It was a meager breakfast and he could have
eaten four times as much if he had had it. But even crumbs were
grateful to him in his famished condition.
He had just finished when an ominous sound fell on his ears. Voices
mingled with the tread of feet and the clank of weapons. He looked
through the bushes and saw a squad of soldiers wearing helmets coming
over a little rise of ground beyond where he lay concealed.
He counted them as they came into view. There were at least forty
Germans going along in loose marching order. They might have been a
patrol out for scout duty or, what was more likely, a foraging party.
He had scarcely established their numbers when on the other side of the
thicket and not more than fifty feet away another squad of Germans came
into view. They apparently belonged to the same party, but had
separated somewhat from the others, probably for more ease in marching.
They seemed to have come from some distance for they were warm and
perspiring. The sight of the brook was refreshing, and after a brief
conference between the lieutenant in command and a sergeant, the order
was given to break ranks, and the men threw themselves down in
sprawling attitudes for a rest under the trees.
Tom's heart was in his mouth. What kind of a trick was fate playing on
him? Was this to be the end of his heartbreaking struggle, his wild
flight through the woods? Was he to get just a tantalizing glimpse of
liberty to have it immediately snatched from him? At that moment he
tasted the bitterness of death.
How lucky it was, though, that he had sought refuge in that thicket
before he commenced his breakfast. There was still a chance. The men
were tired and would not be likely to wander about. They were only too
glad of a chance to rest.
He burrowed deeper and deeper into the recesses of the thicket. He lay
as close to the ground as possible. What would he have given for the
friendly shelter of a trench!
The men conversed lazily together while the officer sat some distance
apart. At times the Germans' eyes rested carelessly on Tom's shelter,
but without any sign of suspicion.
At last the order came to resume the march, and Tom drew an immense
sigh of relief. A few minutes more and they would be gone.
The men had formed in loose marching order and the lieutenant lifted
his hand to give the signal.
Suddenly a loud ringing came from the center of the thicket, whirring,
rattling, clanging.
_The time-piece Tom was carrying was an alarm clock!_