the forest of sword 10

the forest of sword 10

John felt the cold steel come away from his throat, and satisfied that

Lannes with his precious message was safe, he looked at his captors.

They were about thirty in number, Prussian Uhlans.

 

"Well," said John to the one who seemed to be their leader, "what do you

want with me?"

 

"To hold you prisoner," replied the man, in excellent English--John was

always surprised at the number of people on the continent who spoke

English--"and to ask you why we find an American here in French

uniform."

 

The man who spoke was young, blond, ruddy, and his tone was rather

humorous. John had been too much in Germany to hate Germans. He liked

most of them personally, but for many of their ideas, ideas which he

considered deadly to the world, he had an intense dislike.

 

"You find me here because I didn't have time to get away," he replied,

"and I'm in a French uniform because it's my fighting suit."

 

The young officer smiled. John rather liked him, and he saw, too, that

he was no older than himself.

 

"It's lucky for you that you're in some kind of a uniform," the German

said, "or I should have you shot immediately. But I'm sorry we didn't

take the man in the aeroplane instead of you."

 

John looked up again. The _Arrow_ had become small in the distant blue.

A whimsical impulse seized him.

 

"You've a right to be sorry," he said. "That was the greatest flying man

in the world, and all day he has carried messages, heavy with the fate

of nations. If you had taken him a few moments ago you might have saved

the German army from defeat today. But your chance has gone. If you were

to see him again you would not know him and his plane from others of

their kind."

 

The officer's eyes dilated at first. Then he smiled again and stroked

his young mustache.

 

"It may be true, as you say," he replied, "but meanwhile I'll have to

take you to my chief, Captain von Boehlen."

 

John's heart sank a little when he heard the name von Boehlen. Fortune,

he thought, had played him a hard trick by bringing him face to face

with the man who had least cause to like him. But he would not show it.

 

"Very well," he said; "which way?"

 

"Straight before you," said the officer. "I'd give you a mount, but it

isn't far. Remember as you walk that we're just behind you, and don't

try to run away. You'd have no chance on earth. My own name is Arnheim,

Wilhelm von Arnheim."

 

"And mine's John Scott," said John, as he walked straight ahead.

 

They passed through a wood and into another field, where a large body of

Prussian cavalry was waiting. A tall man, built heavily, stood beside a

horse, watching a distant corner of the battle through glasses. John

knew that uncompromising figure at once. It was von Boehlen.

 

"A prisoner, Captain," said von Arnheim, saluting respectfully.

 

Von Boehlen turned slowly, and a malicious light leaped in his eyes when

he saw John on foot before him, and wholly in his power.

 

"And so," he said, "it's young Scott of the hotel in Dresden and of the

wireless station, and you've come straight into my hands!"

 

The whimsical humor which sometimes seized John when he was in the most

dangerous situation took hold of him again. It was not humor exactly,

but it was the innate desire to make the best of a bad situation.

 

"I'm in your hands," he replied, "but I didn't walk willingly into 'em.

Your lieutenant, von Arnheim here, and his men brought me on the points

of their lances. I'm quite willing to go away again."

 

Von Boehlen recognized the spirit in the reply and the malice departed

from his own eyes. Yet he asked sternly:

 

"Why do you put on a French uniform and meddle in a quarrel not your

own?"

 

"I've made it my own. I take the chances of war."

 

"To the rear with him, and put him with the other prisoners," said von

Boehlen to von Arnheim, and the young Prussian and two Uhlans escorted

him to the edge of the field where twenty or thirty French prisoners sat

on the ground.

 

"I take it," said von Arnheim, "that you and our captain have met

before."

 

"Yes, and the last time it was under circumstances that did not endear

me to him."

 

"If it was in war it will not be to your harm. Captain von Boehlen is a

stern but just man, and his conduct is strictly according to our

military code. You will stay here with the other prisoners under guard.

I hope to see you again."

 

With these polite words the young officer rode back to his chief, and

John's heart warmed to him because of his kindness. Then he sat down on

the grass and looked at those who were prisoners with him. Most of them

were wounded, but none seemed despondent. All were lying down, some

propped on their elbows, and they were watching and listening with the

closest attention. A half-dozen Germans, rifle in hand, stood near by.

 

John took his place on the grass by the side of a fair, slim young man

who carried his left arm in a bandage.

 

"Englishman?" said the young man.

 

"No, American."

 

"But you have been fighting for us, as your uniform shows. What

command?"

 

"General Vaugirard's, but I became separated from it earlier in the

day."

 

"I've heard of him. Great, fat man, as cool as ice and as brave as a

lion. A good general to serve under. My own name is Fleury, Albert

Fleury. I was wounded and taken early this morning, and the others and I

have been herded here ever since by the Germans. They will not tell us a

word, but I notice they have not advanced."

 

"The German army is retreating everywhere. For this day, at least, we're

victorious. Somebody has made a great plan and has carried it through.

The cavalry of the invader came within sight of Paris this morning, but

they won't be able to see it tomorrow morning. Whisper it to the others.

We'll take the good news quietly. We won't let the guards see that we

know."

 

The news was circulated in low tones and every one of the wounded forgot

his wound. They spoke among themselves, but all the while the thunder of

the hundred-mile battle went on with unremitting ferocity. John put his

ear to the ground now, and the earth quivered incessantly like a ship

shaken at sea by its machinery.

 

The day was now waning fast and he looked at the mass of Uhlans who

stood arrayed in the open space, as if they were awaiting an order.

Lieutenant von Arnheim rode back and ordered the guards to march on with

them.

 

There was none too severely wounded to walk and they proceeded in a file

through the fields, Uhlans on all sides, but the great mass behind them,

where their commander, von Boehlen, himself rode.

 

The night was almost at hand. Twilight was already coming over the

eastern hills, and one of the most momentous days in the story of man

was drawing to a close. People often do not know the magnitude of an

event until it has passed long since and shows in perspective, but John

felt to the full the result of the event, just as the old Greeks must

have known at once what Salamis or Platæa meant to them. The hosts of

the world's greatest military empire were turned back, and he had all

the certainty of conviction that they would be driven farther on the

next day.

 

The little band of prisoners who walked while their Prussian captors

rode, were animated by feelings like those of John. It was the captured

who exulted and the captors who were depressed, though neither expressed

it in words, and the twilight was too deep now for faces to show either

joy or sorrow.

 

John and Fleury walked side by side. They were near the same age. Fleury

was an Alpinist from the high mountain region of Savoy and he had

arrived so recently in the main theater of conflict that he knew little

of what had been passing. He and John talked in whispers and they spoke

encouraging words to each other. Fleury listened in wonder to John's

account of his flights with Lannes.

 

"It is marvelous to have looked down upon a battle a hundred miles

long," he said. "Have you any idea where these Uhlans intend to take

us?"

 

"I haven't. Doubtless they don't know themselves. The night is here now,

and I imagine they'll stop somewhere soon."

 

The twilight died in the west as well as the east, and darkness came

over the field of gigantic strife. But the earth continued to quiver

with the thunder of artillery, and John felt the waves of air pulsing in

his ears. Now and then searchlights burned in a white blaze across the

hills. Fields, trees and houses would stand out for a moment, and then

be gone absolutely.

 

John's vivid imagination turned the whole into a storm at night. The

artillery was the thunder and the flare of the searchlights was the

lightning. His mind created, for a little while, the illusion that the

combat had passed out of the hands of man and that nature was at work.

He and Fleury ceased to talk and he walked on, thinking little of his

destination. He had no sense of weariness, nor of any physical need at

all.

 

Von Arnheim rode up by his side and said:

 

"You'll not have to walk much further, Mr. Scott. A camp of ours is just

beyond a brook, not more than a few hundred yards away, and the

prisoners will stay there for the night. I'm sorry to find you among

the French fighting against us. We Germans expected American sympathy.