Three Times and Out Part 21

The big danger was in the fact that the guard had his gun, and if he saw us would shoot, but the shady lane was deserted and still, and we pushed on with an unconcerned stride that covered the ground, but would not attract the attention of the casual observer.

When we came to the edge of the village, we saw the wood which we had observed when coming in from work both days, and which seemed to promise shelter, although the trees were small. We pa.s.sed through it quickly, and kept it between us and the village until we reached a ditch two and a half or three feet deep and overgrown with heather.

By this time it was beginning to rain, for which we were glad, for it would discourage travelling and drive indoors those who had any place to go to. We crawled on our hands and knees along the ditch, whose bottom was fairly dry and gra.s.sy, until we found a place where the heather hung well over the edge and made a good protection. We could look through the heather at the village, which was about six hundred yards away!

We stayed here until it was quite dark. There did not seem to be any search made for us. The guard would be afraid to leave the other prisoners to come looking for us himself, and we knew none of the village people would be keen on coming out in the rain. But there was a telegraph station at Seedorf, and it gave us an uncomfortable feeling to remember that the guard could wire to Selsingen and get some one there to telephone to the camp. But the rain, which was falling heavily, was our best hope that we were unpursued. It beat into my ear as I lay in the heather, until I put my cap over the side of my head.

At dark we stole out, after taking our direction with the compa.s.s while we were in the ditch. When we came out, we observed the direction of the wind, and started straight south. We would follow this course until we rounded Bremen, and then it was our purpose to go west to the Holland boundary. From our maps we knew that to strike straight across from where we were would bring us to a well-settled country, and the chief desire of our lives now was for solitude!

CHAPTER XXI

TRAVELLERS OF THE NIGHT

The country we travelled over in the first hours of the night was poor and evidently waste land, for we saw no cultivation until near morning, when we crossed through a heavy oat-field, soaking wet with the night's rain. When we came out we were as wet as if we had fallen into the ocean. We took some of the oats with us, to nibble at as we went along.

We came to a wide stream, with wooded banks, which looked deep and dangerous. So we made a pack of our clothes, and cautiously descended into it, expecting to have to swim over. However, we found we could easily wade it, for we had made our crossing at a ford.

On the other side we found ourselves stumbling over a turnip-field, and very gladly helped ourselves, and carried away two of them for provisions for the next day. When morning came we took cover in a thin wood.

On the other attempts we had been able to carry something to eat, and an extra pair of socks. This time we had nothing but what we had on.

I had selected from the stockings I had a pair knit by Miss Edna McKay, of Vancouver, which were the first pair she had knit, but were very fine and well made. We removed our socks the first thing each morning, and rubbed our feet and put the socks in a tree to dry, being careful not to have them so high they would be seen. We were trying to take every precaution this time!

The first day we were near some farm-buildings, and as we lay in the woods, pretty chilly and wet, we could hear the hens scolding and cackling. Cackling hens always bring me back to the pleasant days of childhood, and I was just enjoying a real heartsome visit to the old home at Delmer... and was chasing Willie Fewster around a straw-stack... when the farmer's dog, an interfering, vicious-looking brute, came peering through the woods and gave us heart spasms, barking at us for a few minutes. But we did not move a muscle, and, seeing that he couldn't start a row with us, he went away, muttering to himself about suspicious characters being around.

A woman pa.s.sed through the wood, too, going over to one of the neighbors--I think to borrow something, for she carried a plate. But she did not see us, as we lay low in the scrub.

We certainly found plenty of unsettled country to travel through in the first days of our journey, for we seemed to go through one marsh after another, covered with coa.r.s.e, long hay, which would have been cut, no doubt, but for the soft bottoms which make it impossible to use a mower. To drain this land would furnish more work for the Russian prisoners! In one place we suddenly stepped down a couple of feet into a bog filled with water, but with gra.s.s on the top. We discovered that it was a place from which the peat had been removed, and it was the only sign of human activity that we saw all night.

On the evening of August 23d, when we started out after a fairly good day in a spruce thicket, we could see the lights of Bremen reflected in the sky. The lights of a city, with its homes, its stores, its eating-places, its baths, should be a welcome sight to wayfaring men who have been living on oats and turnips, but not for us, to whom a city meant only capture. So when we noticed the rosy glow in the southern sky we steered our course farther west, but still taking care to avoid the city, which we intended to pa.s.s on the south and east side.

Our troubles were many that night. A good-sized river got in our way and had to be crossed. There was no bridge in sight, and we had determined to waste no time looking for one. So we undressed on the marshy bank and made bundles of our clothes, pinning our tunics about everything with the safety-pins which we carried. We also used the cord around the bundles. Ted was doubtful about swimming and carrying his clothes, so I said I would try it first, with mine. I went down through the coa.r.s.e gra.s.s, which was harsh and p.r.i.c.kly to my feet, and full of nettles or something which stung me at every step, and was glad to reach the open water. The moon was in the last quarter, and clouded over, so the night was of the blackest. I made the sh.o.r.e without much trouble, and threw my bundle on a gra.s.sy bank.

I called over to Ted that the going was fine, and that I would come back for his clothes. At that, he started in to meet me, swimming on his back and holding his clothes with both hands, using only his feet, but when he got into the current, it turned him downstream. I swam toward him as fast as I could, but by the time I reached him he had lost the grip of his clothes, and when I got them they were wet through. As we were nearer to the bank from which he had started, we went back to it, for we were both pretty well blown. However, in a few minutes we were able to strike out again, and reached the other bank in safety. Poor Ted was very cold and miserable, but put on his soaking garments, without a word, and our journey continued.

This was another ditch country--ditches both wide and deep, and many of them treacherous things, for their sides were steep and hard to climb. The darkness made it doubly hard, and sometimes we were pretty well frightened as we let ourselves down a greasy clay bank into the muddy water. Later on we found some corduroy bridges that the hay-makers had put over the ditches.

All night we had not found anything to eat, and when we arrived at a wood near morning, we decided to stay, for we could see we were coming into a settlement, and the German farmers rise early in harvest-time. So, hungry, muddy, wet, and tired, we lay down in the wood, and spent a long, uncomfortable day!

My watch stopped that day, and never went again. Edwards's watch was a better one, and although it stopped when it got wet, it went again as soon as it had dried out.

That day we had not a mouthful of anything. But we comforted ourselves with the thought that in this settled country there would be cows, and unless these farmers sat up all night watching them, we promised ourselves a treat the next night.

At nightfall we stole out and began again to get over the distance that separated us from freedom. The country was drier and more settled, but the cows, we saw, were all in farmyards, and we were afraid to risk going near them. About midnight we almost stumbled over a herd of them, and one fine old whiteface arose at our request and let us milk her. Ted stood at her head, and spoke kind words to her and rubbed her nose, while I filled our tin again and again. She was a Holstein, I think, though we could not see if she was black or red--it was so dark, we could only see the white markings. We were sorry to leave her. She was another of the bright spots in my memory of Germany.

We crossed a railroad, a double-tracked one with rock ballast, which my map showed to be a line which runs to Bremen, and a little later we came to the Weser. This river brought up pleasant recollections of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who drowned the rats in the Weser by the magic of his pipe. But there was no romance in it as we came upon it in a gray and misty dawn. It was only another barrier to our freedom.

There were bunches of willows on the water's edge, and some fine beeches, whose leaves were slightly tinged with yellow, farther back.

We selected a close bunch of willows for our hiding-place, and after spending a short time looking for a boat, we gave up the quest, and took cover.

We were feeling well, and were in a cheerful mood,--no doubt the result of our pleasant meeting with the Holstein,--and when we saw some straw in a field not far from the willows, we went over and got two armfuls of it, and made beds for ourselves. Fresh, clean straw, when dry, makes a good bed, and no Ostermoor mattress was ever more comfortable. We burrowed into it like moles, and although it rained we had a good day.

Waking up in the afternoon, we decided on a general clean-up, and, dipping water from the Weser in a rusty tin pail without a handle, we washed our faces, cleaned our teeth, shaved, and combed our hair.

My socks were in fine shape, but Ted's began to show signs of dissolution. The heels were gone, and the toe of one was broken and going. His feet were sore and blistered, and he sat long looking at the perfidious socks which had failed him so soon. Then he had a plan--he would make himself a pair out of the sleeves of his unders.h.i.+rt. To me was given the delicate task of cutting off the sleeves with rather a dull knife, which I managed to do with some difficulty, and, with a thorn for a needle and wool from the socks for thread, a pair of socks were constructed. The thorn was too soft and doubled back, so Ted sharpened a piece of hard wood, and with it made the holes for the yarn.

From our shelter in the willows we could see a ferry-boat carrying people across the river, and sometimes people pa.s.sed along the sandy sh.o.r.e quite near to us, but the willows were thick and we were not discovered. Two big freight steamers also pa.s.sed by us.

That night we went cautiously down the bank looking for a boat. We could swim the river, but a boat would suit us better, for the night was chilly and dark. Before we had gone far, we found one tied in the rushes. But the oars were locked to the bottom of the boat, and we had to cut them loose with our pen-knives, which took quite awhile, for the wood was hard!

When we got across the Weser we found plenty of cows. Some of them were fickle jades who would let us almost touch them, and would then sniff at us in disapproval and leave us. Others would not consider our case for a moment. They were not going to run any danger of giving aid and comfort to the enemy! But one good old one with a crooked horn took pity on us, and again we felt better.

The fields were divided by hedges, made of a closely-leaved green shrub, somewhat resembling--in the leaf--our buckthorn. It was very thick and very green, and we crawled into one of these on the morning of the fourth day, glad of such a good shelter. However, there was no room to move--or stand up. The hedge being low made it necessary to lie down all day. Still, we were well satisfied with the hot milk, and slept most of the day.

Waking up suddenly, I heard a whistle, and, without moving, could see a man's legs coming toward us. Then a dog, white with black markings, darted past him, and, to my horror, stood not six feet from me. We stopped breathing--we shut our eyes for fear we might wink--we effaced ourselves--we ceased to be--I mean we wished we could.

The dog came nearer--I could hear his soft footfalls--I knew the brute was stepping high--as they do when they see something. I knew his tail was going straight out behind--he was pointing!

The man walked by, whistling--but the dog stayed!

Then I heard the man call him--insisting that he come--making remarks about his lack of sense. It sounded like "Come here, you fool!" The dog, with a yelp of disapproval, did as he was told, but I could hear him barking as he ran along--in a hurt tone. His professional pride had been touched!

That afternoon as we lay in the hedge, we saw a company of school-children running toward us. I think it was the afternoon recess, and they came running and shouting straight for the hedge. I could only see their feet from where I lay, but it seemed to me that there were a large number. They stopped in the field on the right of where we lay, and played some game--I was too excited to notice what it was. Sometimes it brought them close to the hedge, and then they ran away again. It may have been a ball-game.

We were cold and hot by turns, watching the feet that advanced and receded, and were coming at us again, racing this time as if to see who would reach the hedge first, when a sudden downpour of rain came on--and they ran back! We heard the voices growing fainter in the distance, and registered a vow that if we got out of this place alive we would not trust in a hedge again. Dogs and children seemed to be our greatest dangers!

When we began our journey that night, we crossed a light railway, one of those which on the map was indicated with light lines, and which, sure enough, had only dirt ballast. Ahead of us was another railway track with lights, which we determined to leave alone. The lights of the two towns, Delmenhorst and Gunderksee, shone against the western sky, and we kept to the south to avoid them. The going was difficult on account of the settlement, and we had to be watching all the time for travellers. There were a lot of people out that night who might better have been at home--and in bed!

We were glad to take refuge before daylight in an extensive wood. We had a few turnips, which we ate. The day was spent as usual trying to dry our socks and get our feet in shape for the night, but the rain came down hard, and when we started out at dusk we were soaking wet.

We at once got into a forest, a great dark, quiet forest, where fugitives could hide as long as they liked, but which furnished no food of any kind. In the small clearings we came upon herds of cattle, but they were all young, with not a cow among them. This was one of the planted forests of Germany, where a sapling is put in when a big tree is taken out, to conserve the timber supply. No one would know that it had been touched by man, except for the roads which ran through it. There was no waste wood; there were no stumps, no hacked trees, no evidences of fire--such as I have often seen in our forests in British Columbia. The Germans know how to conserve their resources!

There was no wind or stars, and there were so many roads crossing and dividing, that it was hard for us to keep our direction. Toward morning it began to rain, and soon the wet bushes, as well as the falling rain, had us wet through.

We stopped at last to wait for daylight, for the forest was so dense we believed we could travel by day with safety. We lit our pipes in the usual way, to conserve our matches. One match would light both, when we followed this order. The lighted one was inverted over the unlighted one. Into the lighted one Ted blew, while I drew in my breath from the unlighted one. This morning, something went wrong.

Either the tobacco was soggy or I swallowed nicotine, for in a few minutes I had all the symptoms of poisoning, I wanted to lie down, but the ground was too wet. So I leaned against a tree, and was very sorry for myself. Ted felt much the same as I did.

Then we tried to light a fire--we were so cold and wet, and, besides, we had a few potatoes, carried from a garden we pa.s.sed the night before, which we thought we could roast. Hunger and discomfort were making us bold. Our matches would not light the damp wood, and we could find no other. We chewed a few oats, and were very down-hearted. It looked as if lack of food would defeat us this time!

We had so far come safely, but at great expense of energy and time.

We had avoided travelled roads, bridges, houses, taking the smallest possible risk, but with a great expense of energy. Our journey had been hard, toilsome, and slow. We were failing from lack of food.

Our clothes hung in folds on us, and we were beginning to feel weak.

The thought of swimming the Ems made us shudder! One thing seemed clear--we must get food, even if to get it imposed a risk. There was no use in starving to death.... The recklessness of the slum-cat was coming to us.

The weather had no mercy that day, for a cold, gray, driving rain came down as we leaned against a tree, two battered hulks of men, with very little left to us now but the desire to be free.