Uncle Sam's Boys with Pershing's Troops Part 30

d.i.c.k vaguely knew when the same men lifted him slightly and dropped him, feet first, into the German trench. He fell forward to his knees, and a German non-com raised him to his feet.

"What place is this?" d.i.c.k demanded. But he knew as soon as he heard laughing German voices around him.

"Well, if I'm captured, I gave a good account of myself first,"

Prescott muttered as he shook himself together, "I first captured two German spies and a German colonel and turned them over to the French. But poor old Greg! I'd almost sooner be in my present boots than in his, for he'll be frantic when he finds this out."

The same two German soldiers who had dragged him across No Man's Land were now permitted the honor of piloting their distinguished captive back from the line. Leading him into a communication trench, they started with him for the rear.

Though he still felt dizzy, d.i.c.k found his head clearing as he moved along. He was able to judge that he had walked half a mile through the communication trench, then at least another half-mile along a road before he was halted at a hole in the ground.

"Go down here," said one of the men in German, and pushed d.i.c.k down a long flight of steps, leading to a large, electrically lighted dug-out at least twenty-five feet below the earth's surface.

"Only prisoners of rank received here, without orders," said a sergeant near the foot of the stairs.

"But this man is a captain," returned one of the captors.

"Of what army?"

"The American."

"Bring the prisoner here!" ordered a voice from the further end of the underground room.

d.i.c.k was hustled along, bringing up at last in front of a long table, behind which sat three German officers.

"You are an American?" asked the officer who sat between the other two. He spoke in English.

"Yes," d.i.c.k admitted.

"Of what regiment?" demanded the questioner.

"Infantry regiment," d.i.c.k replied.

"Yes, but how is your regiment known?"

"As an infantry regiment," d.i.c.k answered, though he knew well what was wanted of him.

"Are your American regiments numbered?"

"Oh, yes."

"How is yours numbered?"

"Numbered among the best, I believe," d.i.c.k returned, with a smile.

"You are a captain?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what I mean to ask, and you must not try to trifle with me. How is your regiment numbered? What is the number of your regiment?"

"Numbered among the best, as I told you."

"How long have you been in France?"

"Long enough to like its people, meaning those who belong here, not those who have come into France by force of arms."

"Captain, is your regiment on the line yet?"

"It's a line regiment, of course," Prescott replied dumbly.

"Captain," spoke the questioner angrily, "you must not try to make game of us! If you do not answer our questions you will regret it."

"And if I did answer them I'd feel ashamed of myself," d.i.c.k smiled blandly. "I'm going to take the liberty of asking you a question.

If you were captured and questioned, how much would you tell that would injure Germany?"

"I'd tell nothing," replied the German officer stiffly.

"Same here," d.i.c.k went on smilingly. "I'm as strong for my country as you are for yours."

"But, Captain, you will have to tell us your name and rank, also the designation of your organization. That has to be entered on our records."

"I am Captain Richard Prescott, captain of infantry, United States Army," d.i.c.k returned, in a business-like way. "But when you go further, and ask me for information about the American Army, you need expect no sensible answers."

"Take this man to the temporary prisoners' camp, and see that he is put in the officers' section," said the questioner to the two guards who had brought d.i.c.k in.

So d.i.c.k was led out again, and once more escorted along a road.

He judged that the walk from dug-out to camp must have been at least two miles in length. The "prison" to which he found himself taken consisted of a high barbed wire enclosure, with a small wooden building at one end, and another end of the enclosure fenced off for officers.

Into the building d.i.c.k was taken first. It contained only one room and was evidently used as a booking and record office.

Again he was asked his name by an officer behind a desk. As before Prescott refused to state anything further than that his name was Richard Prescott, and that he was a captain of infantry in the American Army.

"But you will have to tell us more than that," objected the German officer blandly.

"I'll answer any questions you may put to me," promised d.i.c.k, "but I won't agree, in advance, to answer them truthfully."

Another bald effort was made to force him to answer questions, but d.i.c.k gave evasive replies that carried no information.

"Take the fellow to the officers' section," ordered the man at the desk, at last.

So through a dark yard Prescott was led between rows of prisoners sleeping on the ground. Some of them, too cold and miserable to sleep, stirred uneasily as the newcomers pa.s.sed by.

It was the same in the officers' section. Though the night was cold, all prisoners were sleeping on bare ground in the open.

There were some four hundred prisoners in this lot, all French except Prescott.

In the officers' section he found some twenty men, also all French.

Two of them sat up as d.i.c.k entered.