FURRY RESCUERS
The satisfaction that Tom felt at having in his pocket the confession
of Martel helped to make his imprisonment much more bearable in the
week that followed. His heart warmed at the thought of the delight
Frank would feel in clearing up the matter that had long laid heavy
upon his mother's mind.
For the conviction never left him that some time he was going to put
that confession in his friend's hand. He had escaped before from
German captivity, not once but twice. What he had done then he would
do again. And every minute of his waking hours found that active brain
of his working hard at the problem.
He confessed to himself that the solution would not be easy. The
guards were many and were changed frequently. The windows of the old
barracks where he slept were fortified with steel bars, and the open
camp where the prisoners were employed in outside work was surrounded
with wires through which a strong electric current ran. To touch them
would mean instant death, and they were so close together that it would
be impossible to squeeze through without touching.
He fell to studying the routine of the various conveyances that were
constantly arriving and departing. Some of them brought bales of
goods, others barrels. The latter were especially common. They were
in a part of the country that abounded in vineyards, and great
hogsheads of wine were being constantly brought in to supply the
demands of the division stationed there.
They did not stay full long. The German officers were notoriously
heavy drinkers, and there were days when there were great drayloads of
empty hogsheads ready to be taken away to be refilled.
Tom developed a great interest in these hogsheads. The work of loading
them on the drays was performed by prisoners, and he managed to be in
the vicinity as often as possible to help. He was stronger than most
of the prisoners and he worked with such good will at loading the bulky
hogsheads that little by little it became a habit with the guards to
assign him to this work whenever it was to be done.
A day came when the rain poured down in torrents. Tom had waited and
prayed for just such a day. The air was full of fog and a cloud of
steam rose from the horses' backs. Everything in the prison yard was
dim and gray and spectral. The guards were enveloped in heavy
raincoats and the flaps of oilskin on their caps fell halfway over
their faces.
Tom had managed to get on one of the trucks and was tugging at one of
the hogsheads to make room for others further back. Other prisoners
were lifting on the last hogsheads. Tom leaned over one of the
hogsheads and suddenly let himself go into it headfirst. It was all
over in a flash.
There was an awful moment of suspense. Had anyone seen him? He
listened intently. No shout was raised. Nothing happened out of the
usual.
The driver climbed up to his seat and the horses started. There was a
momentary delay as the gates were opened to let him pass. Then the
horses started on a jog trot and the truck was bumping its way over an
uneven country road. A thrill of exultation shot through Tom,
crouching at the bottom of the hogshead. He had made the first step on
the road to freedom.
He was still in the most imminent danger. At any moment he might hear
the clattering of horsemen in pursuit. And he knew the kind of
treatment he would get if he were recaptured.
How to get out of the hogshead without detection was another problem.
But this worried him least of all. He felt sure that the driver would
stop at the first tavern he came across to refresh himself. Then he
would make his break.
His faith was justified, for before long the truck came to a halt and
the driver got down. The weather had driven all the tavern idlers
indoors and the streets of the little hamlet were deserted. Like an
eel, Tom squirmed over the edge of the hogshead, dropped into the
roadway on the side of the truck away from the tavern, and, with
assumed carelessness, went on down the road.
A few rods brought him into the open country. He had not the least
idea where he was. In the gloom he could not tell which was north or
south or east or west. But for the moment he was free.
He made his way across some fields in the direction of a dark fringe of
woods. There he would find shelter for the present. It would be a
poor kind of shelter, but just then Tom asked nothing better. The day
would bring counsel.
For some days past he had been stowing away fragments from his scanty
meals in his pockets. They were only dry and mouldy crusts, but they
would at least sustain life.
Up in the streaming woods he hollowed out a place under a fallen tree.
He was drenched to the skin, but he was so exhausted with the strain he
had undergone that no bodily discomfort could prevent his falling
asleep.
When he awoke the rain had ceased and the sun was striking through the
branches of the trees. With the morning came new courage. He would
yet win through.
He studied the sun and got a general idea of the direction in which he
must go. He knew that the American lines lay to the south and west.
He could hear the distant thunder of the guns.
All that day he traveled in the friendly shadow of the woods. He did
not dare to approach a cottage or go to any of the peasants he could
see working in the fields. Some of them, he felt sure, would befriend
him, but at any moment he might come in contact with one of the
oppressors who held the land in their grip. He would take no chances.
His food was almost gone now although he had husbanded it with the
greatest care. But he tightened his belt and kept on.
On the morning of the second day he was crossing a small brook and was
just stepping up on the other side when a wet stone rolled beneath his
foot and threw him headlong. His head struck a jagged stump and he lay
there stunned.
When he regained consciousness, he found himself looking into the face
of a German officer who was amusing himself by kicking the youth.
"Awake, are you, Yankee pig?" the officer greeted him. "It's time. I
had half a mind to give you a bayonet thrust and put you to sleep
forever. You needn't tell me how you came here. I know. You're the
schweinhund that escaped two days ago. Here," he called to some of his
men, "tie this fellow and throw him over a horse. We'll settle his
case later on."
The command was promptly obeyed and poor Tom found himself once more in
the grasp of his foes. And from this captivity there seemed little
promise of escape. The deadly purpose of the brute who held him in his
power had been plainly written on his face.
After what seemed an endless journey, the party reached a farmhouse.
The detachment took possession of the place and an orgy of pillage and
destruction ensued. Tom was taken to an upper room and thrown roughly
on the floor. Here he lay bound hand and foot. He could hear cries of
terror and smashing of furniture going on below.
He had no companion but his own thoughts, except when some of the
drunken roysterers invaded his room to remind him of the rope that hung
over the tree near the well and to drive home the information with
kicks of their heavy boots.
His thoughts were black and bitter. This, then, was the end. He was
to be hung to furnish an occasion of laughter to a horde of drunken
brutes. Well, there would be no whine from him. He would show them
how an American could die.
His attention was attracted by a pattering of tiny feet. He looked in
the direction from which the sound came.
A rat had emerged from a hole in the corner and was busy nibbling a
lump of cheese that had been dropped by one of the soldiers who had
just left. The nibbling ceased as Tom turned his head and the rat
scurried back to the corner. There he stayed, his bright eyes looking
longingly at the cheese.
A thought shot through Tom's mind that set him tingling from head to
foot. Was it possible? Of course it was only a forlorn hope. But he
would try it. He would be no worse off if it failed.
He rolled himself over to the cheese and rubbed the rope that tied his
hand in the soft substance until it was thoroughly smeared with it.
Then he lay on his side with his hands outstretched and pretended to
sleep.
Through his nearly closed lids he watched the rat. For some minutes it
stayed motionless. Tom never moved a muscle. Then the rat crept
stealthily forward, and, with many half retreats, at last started in to
nibble at the rope to get the cheese. Soon another rat came and then
another.
Tom conquered the sense of repulsion that their close proximity
inspired in him. His life depended on his self-control. The least
movement might send them scurrying back to their holes. And out in the
yard there was that rope that hung from the tree near the well!
So he nerved himself and his reward came at last. He could feel the
tension of the rope yielding as one strand after another was torn by
the tiny teeth of his unknowing rescuers.
Finally they ceased and sat up on their haunches washing their faces,
and the need for inaction had passed. With a mighty effort Tom
strained at the rope and it snapped.
He could have shouted with exultation. He waved his arms in the air
and the frightened rats vanished. He rubbed his hands and arms until
the circulation came back. It was an easy matter then to untie the
rope that bound his feet.
The noise on the floor beneath had ceased, He stole to the window and
looked out. No one was stirring in the space around the house. He
shuddered as he saw the dangling rope on the tree near the well.
There was the sound of a stealthy step below. Tom drew his head from
the window. Standing in the shadow of the frame he could see a young
girl emerge and run swiftly away.
Where were the others? Consulting perhaps as to how they could get the
most enjoyment from the spectacle of his hanging.
There was only one way of exit that promised safety. He must escape by
the window.
He measured with his eye the distance from the ground. It seemed to be
about eighteen feet. He himself was six feet high. That would leave a
clear drop of twelve feet. He could probably make it without injury.
At any rate he had no choice.
He let himself down gently with his hands and dropped. The shock
brought him to his knees, but he arose unhurt.
The next moment he was racing for the woods with the speed of the wind.