the forest of sword 21
He reckoned that they rode at least three miles in the gorge. Then they
came into a shallow stream about twenty feet wide that would have been
called a creek at home. Its banks were fairly high, lined on one side by
a hedge and on the other by willows. Instead of following the path any
further the Germans turned into the bed of the stream and drove down it
two or three miles. The roar of the artillery from both armies was now
very great, and the earth shook. Once John caught the shadow of a huge
shell passing high over their heads.
All the prisoners knew that they were well beyond hope of rescue for the
present. The French line was far behind them and they were within the
German zone. It was better to be resigned, until they saw cause for
hope.
When they came to a low point in the eastern bank of the stream the
carts turned out, reached a narrow road between lines of poplars and
continued their journey eastward. In the fields on either side John saw
detachments of German infantry, skirmishers probably, as they had not
yet reached the line of cannon.
"Officer," said John to the German leader, "couldn't you unbind the arms
of my friend in the cart here? Ropes around one's wrists for a long time
are painful, and since we're within your lines he has no chance of
escape now."
The officer looked at Picard and shrugged his shoulders.
"Giants are strong," he said.
"But a little bullet can lay low the greatest of them."
"That is so."
He leaned from his horse, inserted the point of his sword between
Picard's wrists and deftly cut the rope without breaking the skin.
Picard clenched and unclenched his hands and drew several mighty breaths
of relief. But he was a peasant of fine manners and he did not forget
them. Turning to the officer, he said:
"I did not think I'd ever thank a German for anything, but I owe you
gratitude. It's unnatural and painful to remain trussed up like a fowl
going to market."
The officer gave Picard a glance of pity and rode to the head of the
column, which turned off at a sharp angle toward the north. The great
roar and crash now came from the south and John inferred that they would
soon pass beyond the zone of fire. But for a long time the thunder of
the battle was undiminished.
"Do you know this country at all?" John asked Picard.
The giant shook his head.
"I was never here before, sir," he said, "and I never thought I should
come into any part of France in this fashion. Ah, Mademoiselle Julie,
how can I ever tell the tale of this to your mother?"
"No harm will come to me, Antoine," said Julie. "I shall be back in
Paris before long. Suzanne and you are with me--and Mr. Scott."
Suzanne again frowned darkly, but John gave Julie a grateful glance.
Wisdom, however, told him to say nothing. The officer in command came
back to the cart and said, pointing ahead:
"Behold your destination! The large house on the hill. It is the
headquarters of a person of importance, and you will find quarters there
also. I trust that the ladies will hold no ill will against me. I've
done only what my orders have compelled me to do."
"We do not, sir," said Julie.
The officer bowed low and rode back to the head of the column. He was a
gallant man and John liked him. But his attention was directed now to
the house, an old French château standing among oaks. The German flag
flew over it and sentinels rode back and forth on the lawn. John
remembered the officer's words that a "person of importance" was making
his headquarters there. It must be one of the five German army
commanders, at least.
He looked long at the château. It was much such a place as that in which
Carstairs, Wharton and he had once found refuge, and from the roof of
which Wharton had worked the wireless with so much effect. But houses of
this type were numerous throughout Western Europe.
It was only two stories in height, large, with long low windows, and the
lawn was more like a park in size. It as now the scene of abundant life,
although, as John knew instinctively, not the life of those to whom it
belonged. A number of young officers sat on the grass reading, and at
the edge of the grounds stood a group of horses with their riders lying
on the ground near them. Not far away were a score of high powered
automobiles, several of which were armored. John also saw beyond them a
battery of eight field guns, idle now and with their gunners asleep
beside them. He had no doubt that other troops in thousands were not far
away and that, in truth, they were in the very thick of the German army.
The château and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the
little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate. A group
of officers who had been sitting on the grass, reading a newspaper, came
forward to meet them and John, to his amazement and delight, recognized
the young prince, von Arnheim. It was impossible for him to regard von
Arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart
he said:
"I had to leave you for a while. It had become irksome to be a prisoner,
but you see I've come back."
Von Arnheim stared, then recognition came.
"Ah, it's Scott, the American! I speak truth when I say that I'm sorry
to see you here."
"I'm sorry to come," said John, "but I'd rather be your prisoner than
anybody else's, and I wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the
young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes,
the sister of that great French aviator of whom everybody has heard."
"I'll do what I can, but you're mistaken in assuming that I'm in command
here. There's a higher personage--but pardon me, I must speak to the
lieutenant."
The officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report
and have done with an unpleasant duty. Von Arnheim gave him rapid
directions in German and then asked Julie and the two Picards to
dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate
and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.
John saw von Arnheim's eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty
of young Julie, but the Prussian was a man of heart and manner. He
lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying:
"It's an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our
prisoner, Mademoiselle Lannes. In this château you must consider
yourself a guest, and not a captive. It would not become us to treat
otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother."
John noticed that he paid her no direct compliment. It was indirect,
coming through her brother, and he liked von Arnheim better than ever,
because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful. The brown dress
and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red
light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the
tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood. She was
beautiful beyond compare, John repeated to himself, but scarcely more
than a child, and she had come into strange places. The stalwart Suzanne
also took note, and she moved a little nearer, while her grim look
deepened.
"We will give you the best hospitality the house affords," continued von
Arnheim. "It's scarcely equipped for ladies, although the former owners
left--"
He paused and reddened. John knew his embarrassment was due to the fact
that the house to which he was inviting Julie belonged to one of her own
countrymen. But she did not seem to notice it. The manner and appearance
of von Arnheim inspired confidence.
"We'll be put with the other prisoners, of course," said John
tentatively.
"I don't know," replied von Arnheim. "That rests with my superior, whom
you shall soon see."
They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told
little of what the house contained. Officers and soldiers saluted the
young prince as he passed. John saw discipline and attention everywhere.
The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline.
A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased
to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. Discipline and
obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain
point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of
their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which
the powers of the trained militarists could not create. At least John
thought so.
The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting
sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered
the château. A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the
uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose
with him. It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John's heart was
troubled.
Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. He stood not only in the presence of
his general, but of royalty also. It was something in the German blood,
even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that
compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not
like it at all. The belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to
be removed that men like Auersperg and the mad power for which they
stood had set the torch to Europe.
"Captain von Boehlen took some prisoners, Your Highness," said von
Arnheim, "and as he was compelled to continue on his expedition he has
sent them here under the escort of Lieutenant Puttkamer. The young lady
is Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the aviator, of whom we all
know, the woman and the peasant are her servants, and the young man,
whom we have seen before, is an American, John Scott in the French
service."
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