THROUGH THE GERMAN LINES
Perhaps this was the moment most trying for Ruth Fielding in all that
long-to-be-remembered night. And the Frenchmen realized it.
Having come so far and already having endured so much, however, the
girl of the Red Mill was of no mind to break down. But the thought
introduced into her brain by Major Marchand's last words was troubling
her.
As for roughing it in such an admirable garment as this rubber suit,
Ruth was not at all distressed. She had camped out in the wilderness,
ridden half-broken cow ponies on a Wyoming ranch, and gone fishing in
an open boat. It was not the mannish dress that fretted her.
It was the suggestion of the long and arduous passage between the
American trenches and the German trenches. What lay for her in that No
Man's Land of which she had heard so much?
"I am ready," she said at length, and calmly. "Am I to remove my
skirts?"
"Quite unnecessary, Mademoiselle," replied the major respectfully.
"See! The garment is roomy. It was made, you may be sure, for a man
of some size. Your skirts will ruffle up around you and help to keep
you warm. At this time in the year the swamp water is as cold as the
grave."
Without further question the girl stepped into the rubber suit.
Sergeant Tremp helped to draw it up to her armpits, and then buckled it
over her shoulders. He showed her, too, how to pull in the belt.
She immediately felt that she would be dry and warm in the suit. And,
although the boots seemed loaded, she could walk quite well in them.
Major Marchand gave her a pair of warm gloves, which she drew on, after
tucking her hair up under her helmet all around.
The major thrust two automatic pistols into his belt. But he gave her
a small electric torch to carry, warning her not to use it.
"Then why give it to me?" she asked.
"Ah, Mademoiselle! We _might_ need it. Now--_allons_!"
Tremp slid the plank back, and they filed out into the trench after he
had looked both ways to make sure that the coast was clear. Ruth
wondered what would happen to them if they were caught by an American
patrol? Perhaps be apprehended for the spies they were--only the
Americans would think them spying for the Huns!
The major's hands were full. Before the candle had been put out Ruth
had seen him pick up two gas-masks, and he carried these as they
stumbled along the duckboards toward the next cross trench.
"Halt!"
A sibilant whisper. Sergeant Tremp muttered something in reply. The
trio turned the corner and immediately it seemed they were at the back
of the firing shelf where--every so far apart--the figures of riflemen
stood waiting for any possible German attack. The men in the trenches
at night are ever on the alert.
Nobody molested the girl and her companions. Indeed, it was too dark
to see much in the trench. But the sergeant seemed to know his way
about perfectly.
Little wonder in that. The French had dug these trenches and Sergeant
Tremp knew them as he did the paths in the environs of his native
village.
At a dark corner he clucked with his tongue and brought them to a halt.
"This is it, Major," he whispered, after peering about.
"Good!" ejaculated the officer softly. "Let me step ahead,
Mademoiselle. Cling to my belt behind. Try to walk in my footsteps."
"Yes," she breathed.
Tremp seemed to melt into the darkness. Major Marchand turned at an
abrupt angle and Ruth followed him as he had desired. She knew they
were passing through a very narrow passage. The earth was scraped from
the walls by their elbows and rattled down upon their feet.
The passage rose slightly. The bottom of the trench they had just
left--the very front line--was all of thirty feet in depth at this
point. This narrow tunnel was thrust out into No Man's Land and led to
a listening post.
At least, so she supposed, and she was not mistaken. Nor was she
mistaken in her supposition that Tremp was no longer with them. He was
not prepared to cross the Savoie morass.
A breath of sweeter air blew upon Ruth's cheek.
"Down!" whispered the major. They almost crawled the final few yards.
There was a quick word spoken ahead and the clatter of arms. Major
Marchand shrilled a whisper in reply.
"Come, my boy," he said aloud, turning to Ruth. "We must step out
lively. It is nearing ten o'clock."
"So you take a friend to-night, do you, Major?" asked a good American
voice--that of the officer in command of the listening post.
"Aye," was the reply. "A boy to help me bring home the fish I may
catch."
There was a little laugh. Ruth felt herself in a tremor. She knew
instinctively that it would never do for her sex to be discovered.
She was not discovered, however. They stood upon the surface. Major
Marchand took her hand and led her quietly away. The earth about them
looked gray; but the blackness of night wrapped them around. There was
not a light to be seen.
She realized more by the sense of locality she possessed than by aught
else that they were on the lowland far beyond that ridge through which
they had first tunneled after Sergeant Tremp had joined them.
Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as they stumbled on. Below
them and ahead, she occasionally caught the glint of water. It was a
pool of considerable size. She believed it must be the small lake
Major Marchand had spoken of.
Suddenly Ruth seized her companion's arm.
"There!" she whispered.
"What is it?" he asked in the same low tone.
"There are men. See them?"
"No, no, Mademoiselle," he told her with a small chuckle. "There are
no men standing so boldly there. They are posts--posts to which our
barbed-wire entanglements are fixed."
"Oh!" she breathed with relief.
"Be not alarmed----" He seized her shoulder as he spoke and so great
was his sudden pressure on it that he carried her with him to the
ground.
A shower of flare rockets had erupted from the German trenches. They
sailed up over No Man's Land and burst, flooding acres of the rough
ground with a white glare.
The major and Ruth lay flat upon the ground, and the girl knew enough
not to move. Nor did she cry out. For five minutes the eruption
lasted. Then all died down and there was no reply from the American
side. Major Marchand chuckled.
"That was most unexpected, was it not, Mademoiselle? But have no fear.
The first patrol has already been across here to the German wire
entanglements to-night, and found nothing stirring. It is not yet that
we shall run into Germans."
They arose, and the major led straight on again, slowly descending the
easy slope of this hillside. Finally they reached a gaping hole. Ruth
knew it must have been made by a shell. It was thirty feet or more
across, and when they descended into it she found it to be fully twenty
feet deep.
"Now you may show a flash of your light, Mademoiselle," the Frenchman
advised her. "Thank you. Remove that casque you wear. These would
attract much attention upon the German side. Here is a German helmet
to take the place of the other. I cached them on a former trip. So!
Now, over this way. On hands and knees, Mademoiselle."
She followed him, obeying his word. So they crept out of the marmite
hole and up under the entanglement of wire. It was plain that this
path had been used before.
Once clear of the barrier, they descended the last few steps to the
shore of the lake. There was thick shrubbery here, but Major Marchand
led through this to the narrow beach.
"Can it not be crossed by boat?" she whispered.
"This water can be seen from watchers of both armies. Its least
disturbance--even that occasioned by a swimmer--would draw volleys of
shots from Americans and Germans alike.
"Now, we follow along this narrow beach. Step in my track, if
possible, Mademoiselle Fielding. And keep within touch of me."
They walked on steadily. Soon the track became soft and sticky. She
sank ankle deep in mire. Then gradually the morass grew deeper and she
was in mud and water up to her knees. Later she was plodding half-leg
deep, panting deeply.
The Frenchman wished to get to a certain place before they halted. The
girl was almost exhausted when the major leaped out upon a log and
offered her his hand.
"Come up here, Mademoiselle," he whispered. "We shall be dry here--and
we can rest."
She could not speak; but her breathing soon grew calmer. Major
Marchand said, suddenly speaking in German:
"Forget your French, Fraulein--from this point on. The German tongue
only for us."
"Oh! Are we near?" she asked, obeying him.
"Yes. Can you go on again?"
"At once," she declared with confidence.
They walked to the end of the long log. Stepping down, she found that
the quagmire was not so deep. But for some minutes they continued to
plow through it, but walking as softly as possible.
Ahead there was a flash of light. Ruth thought it might be another
flare, and prepared to drop down in the mud.
But it was merely an electric torch. There were voices--rougher voices
than those to which Ruth had been used. She caught German words.
Major Marchand drew her behind the huge trunk of a tree. There
splashed past through the mud a file of bulky figures. When they had
gone, her companion whispered to the girl:
"Fraulein, it is a patrol. We are in good season. Soon we shall be
there."
She was soon able to walk beside him on higher ground. She saved her
breath for continued exertion. They came to a wire entanglement
somewhat similar to that on the American side of the morass. But here
a narrow path had been opened for the patrol.
"Halt! Who goes there?" croaked the sentinel.
"_Ein Freund_!"
The major gave the reply in a guttural tone. He stepped forward and
whispered to the sentinel. Evidently he had the password of the
Germans, as he had had that of the Americans!
Ruth followed on through the wires. They crossed a narrow field and
were again challenged. Here a sergeant was brought to confer with the
disguised Frenchman. But it was all right. He and his companion were
passed, and they were led on by the sergeant.
They went over several bridges which spanned the front trenches and
then their escort left them. Major Marchand seized Ruth's hand and
held it for a moment.
"Rejoice, Fraulein!" he whispered. "We are through the lines."