Then, almost before Bob realised what was taking place, a great hand-to-hand carnage began. Shrieks, groans, cries filled the heavens. From that time Bob ceased to be the quiet student who had aspirations after a serene scholastic life. He was an Englishman doing battle with a huge fighting machine. He was one of the many who determined to cut out the great cancer of Europe. England and all she stood for was at stake. Honour, faithfulness to promise, liberty, religion, all must be maintained!
He found himself facing a huge German. The German hesitated a second, and rushed on him. It was that moment's hesitation to which Bob owed his life. With all the strength of his right arm he parried the fearful lunge of the German, who rushed on him with fixed bayonet. A second later the man fell.
Bob shuddered as he saw him fall. What had he against the man he had killed? Nothing. Even at that moment he would gladly have helped him had he been able. Possibly, probably he had a wife or sweetheart somewhere, probably too he was a quiet, inoffensive fellow who had no desire to harm any one. In spite of the war fever which raged, the English had no personal animus against the Germans. But then they were not fighting against Germans, they were fighting against the War God which dominated Germany, they were fighting a system which threatened the liberty, the peace, the religion of Europe—the world.
All this killing was hellish, but the cancer had to be cut out. If it were allowed to remain it would poison the life of the world.
"At 'em! at 'em!"
Blood and carnage everywhere; earth made hell at the bidding of a bully, a madman who declared himself to be the vicegerent of God. Yes, the horrors of war could not be described in human language, but it had to be waged in order to destroy the hellish doctrine that might was right, the hideous creed of "blood and iron."
The English army had, for the time being, occupied the trenches from which they had driven the Germans, and for a moment they were safe. The enemy was moving away towards a distant hill, but a huge rearguard was on the alert.
The commanding officer knew that although a slight advantage had been gained, pursuit would be madness, so, taking advantage of the enemies' trenches, they decided to await further events.
To Bob, the whole day seemed like a dream. His encounter with the German private was like the memory of some event which had taken place long, long ago. All the same, it was a wonder to him that he was alive and unwounded.
All around him lay men in various positions; some never to rise again; some, even if they recovered, to be mutilated for life. Only now and then did the rearguard of the enemy's army reveal its whereabouts, but all knew that thousands of men were waiting for any advantage which might be given to them.
The day was fast dying, and whatever little wind there had been had nearly sunk to rest.
"Hello, Nancarrow! you here?"
"Pickford! Great heavens, man, whoever thought of seeing you!"
It was an old school-fellow who spoke to Bob. They had been four years together at Clifton, and Pickford had been on the military side of the school.
When Bob had gone up to Oxford, Pickford had left for Sandhurst. They had last seen each other on what they called their breaking-up row at the school. Both of them had been as wild as March hares, and they with a hundred others had yelled like mad at the thought of their school days being over.
Now they had met on French soil, amidst carnage and the welter of blood, at the close of a day which would ever live in Bob's memory.
"I heard you had refused to enlist, Nancarrow."
"Who told you?"
"Trevanion: he said you had shown the white feather over the whole business, and pretended to excuse yourself by religious scruples."
Bob was silent for a moment; he scarcely knew how to reply.
"I told Trevanion he was altogether mistaken in you," went on Pickford; "but he gave such details of your refusal, and described in such graphic language what others had said about you, that it seemed impossible for him to be mistaken. Some girl gave you a white feather, didn't she, at the Public Hall in St. Ia?"
"Did Trevanion tell you that?"—and there was anger in Bob's voice.
"I thought it was scarcely a sportsmanlike thing to do," said Pickford, noticing the look on Bob's face; "I told him so, too. We were talking about you only last night."
"Is Trevanion here, then?"
"Yes: didn't you know? He has been in the thick of it the whole day. As you know, he is Captain of the Royal West—a fine lot of men he has, too."
"And he thinks I am still in Cornwall?" asked Bob.
"I suppose so. You see it was this way: we were talking about certain swabs of whom we were ashamed, and he mentioned you."
"Don't tell him I am here," said Bob quietly.
"Why?"
"Never mind—don't; I daresay he will find out soon enough."
"Anyhow," said Pickford, "he is awfully popular with himself just now; I hear he is certain to be a Major in a few days, and will be Colonel in no time. You know he is engaged?"
"Engaged? To whom?"
"You know her—old Tresize's daughter; Nancy, I think her name is. Of course you know her: Penwennack, her father's place, is close by St. Ia."
"And—and is he engaged to her?"
"Yes," replied Pickford.
"Did he tell you so himself?"
"No, not in so many words; but he spoke of her to one of the other men as hisfiancée."
Bob's heart sank like lead; the worst he had feared had come to pass. This, then, was his reward for his fidelity to his conscience. He could not understand it. He knew Nancy was angry with him—angry at what she had called his cowardice, at his refusal to obey the call of his country. But he was sure she loved him: had she not told him so?—and now, to become engaged within only a few weeks, to the man she had spoken of, almost with scorn, was simply unbelievable.
For the moment he had become heedless of his surroundings; the fact that thousands of soldiers were crouching in the trenches waiting for any possible advance of the enemy, the groans of men who were wounded and perhaps dying, did not exist to him.
At that moment the issue of battles was less to him than the action of the woman he loved.
"I used to imagine you were gone on her," went on Pickford; "I suppose it was only a boy-and-girl affair."
Bob did not reply; he could not discuss the tragedy of his life with his old school-fellow.
"Where is Trevanion now?" he asked presently.
"He must be close by," was the reply. "I saw him less than an hour ago, when the Germans were beginning to give way. Of course I have always known him to be a fine soldier, but I never knew he had so much of the fighting devil in him. Man, you should have seen his eyes burn red—he was just like a wild savage. I think he forgot his duties as an officer and gave himself up to the lust of fighting."
Pickford had scarcely uttered the words when a man came up to him. "I say, Trevanion's missing," he said.
"Trevanion missing? I was telling Nancarrow here that I saw him less than an hour ago."
"Yes, so did I; but we have had later reports. Sergeant Beel says he saw him fall; I think he was wounded by a bullet. Beel was at that time so hard pressed that he could do nothing for him."
In spite of himself a feeling of joy shot into Bob's heart. If Trevanion were wounded, perhaps he—then . . . but he would not allow himself to complete the thought which had been born in his mind.
Bob found himself amidst a group of officers. "It is impossible to do anything for him," he heard one say: "I know where he is, but no man's life would be worth a pin's purchase who tried to get at him. The Germans are not more than 500 yards away, and whoever shows himself to them is a dead man. Only a few minutes ago some men were trying to get from one trench to another, and they were just mowed down like grass."
"But Trevanion may not be killed," urged another, "and if he is badly wounded it might mean death to him if nothing is done for him. Besides, daylight will be gone in less than an hour, and if he is not got at at once, it will be impossible to find him in the dark."
"And the man who tries to get at him in the light," said another, "will find himself full of bullets."
Bob listened eagerly to every word that was said, and again he could not help rejoicing at what seemed Trevanion's fate. The fact that he had discussed his, Bob's, cowardice with fellows with whom he had been at school had roused his anger against him; and when he was told that Trevanion was engaged to Nancy Tresize, a feeling of mad hatred mastered him.
"By God," said one, "but we cannot leave him out there without trying to get at him! Isn't there one of us who will make the attempt?"
"It would be a madman's act," cried another. "You know they are waiting for us, and, if any one dares to go out in the open, he is a dead man."
"You say you know where he is now?" said Bob.
"I know where Sergeant Beel said he saw him," was the reply.
"I should like to speak to Beel," and Bob's voice was very quiet as he spoke.
Instantly an order was given, and a few minutes later Sergeant Beel was saluting him.
"You say you saw Captain Trevanion fall?" said Bob.
"Yes, sir."
"Can you point out the spot?"
"Yes, sir."
A few minutes later Bob was in possession of all the information which the Sergeant could give.
"Heavens, you are not going, Nancarrow?"
"I'm going to have a try," was Bob's reply.
In the few seconds which it took Sergeant Beel to tell his story, Bob had been fighting the greatest battle of his life. It seemed to him as though thousands of devils were pleading with him to let his rival die, and all the time every particle of manhood he possessed was telling him where his duty lay.
If Nancy Tresize had promised Trevanion to be his wife, she must love him, and if she loved him, the death of her lover would be like death to her. Anyhow, it was for him to make the attempt.
He crept from his place of safety, and threw himself flat on the ground, while the others, with whispered exclamations of surprise, watched him.
Keeping his body as close as he could to the ground, he crawled forward. When he had been a boy, he, like thousands of other English boys, had played at fighting Indians, and the old trick of crawling close to the ground served him well now; but it was painfully slow, and every yard he took he expected to hear the whistle of bullets—to feel the baptism of fire.
When he had crawled perhaps one hundred yards, a rifle shot rang out, and he heard a bullet cut its way through the leaves of the trees in the near distance. Was it aimed at him? He didn't know, but he did know that the nearer he went to the enemies' lines, the greater chance they would have of seeing him.
"Why should I go any further?" he asked himself. "It is a madman's trick I am playing. No one but an idiot would take such a risk; besides, it is useless—I can never reach him. Even if I get to the spot Beel described, I may not find him, and then I shall have simply thrown away my life for nothing." Then for the first time that day he really felt what fear meant.
Since early morning he had been in the midst of the fray, now directing his soldiers, now fighting hand-to-hand battles, but never once had he felt fear; even when his comrades on his right hand and on his left had fallen, he had not felt even a tremor. His nerves had been wrought up to such a pitch that fear was almost impossible; rather he had known a kind of mad joy in fighting. When in answer to the German charge the English soldiers had rushed forward, bayonets fixed, to meet them, he knew he had become almost a savage in his lust for blood. More than once he had laughed aloud as slowly, amidst cries of pain, savage yells of joy, and feverish passion, they had fought their way, inch by inch, and driven the Germans back; but now he felt fear.
It was one thing to rush forward amidst the clash of arms and the cheers of his comrades; it was another to crawl along like an Indian savage, in the silence of the dying day. And for what purpose? To save a man who, half an hour before, he had wished dead.
But he knew he could not go back. Something, he could not explain what, urged him forward. How could he go back with his purpose unfulfilled? What would the others say? In spite of the fact that he had undertaken what every man of them had said was a madman's act, they would in their heart of hearts scorn him for having played the coward.
Every muscle in his body ached; his hands were torn and bleeding; it seemed to him as if there were hammers striking his temples; sparks of fire were in his eyes,—still he struggled forward.
He lifted his head and looked around. Yes, he was near the spot which Sergeant Beel had described. Daylight was now falling, and half an hour later darkness would be upon them. If his mission were not accomplished whilst the light lasted, the Captain would have to lie until the morning, and if he were wounded, he might during those hours die from loss of blood.
Again there was a crack of rifles, and he heard the whistle of bullets as they passed by him; one of these was not more than a yard away. What the Germans meant, he did not know, neither could he tell whether he had been seen, but he was sure that his life was not worth a pin's purchase.
He had left his sword behind—that was of no use to him now and would be only an encumbrance—but he had his revolver ready to hand.
Feverishly he looked around him, but nowhere could he see the man he sought. Still, he had done his duty; he could go back to Pickford and the other fellows and tell them he had done his best and had failed.
But he stayed where he was.
He realised that he was faint and hungry. Since, early that Sunday morning he had scarcely partaken of food; all day long there had been mad fighting and deadly carnage, and in his excitement he had forgotten hunger; now he thought he was going to faint. Then suddenly every nerve became tense again. He saw not more than a dozen yards away a man in German uniform; like lightning his hand flew to his revolver, and he held himself in readiness. Scarcely had he done so, when he heard a groan. The German also evidently heard it, for he quickly made his way towards the spot from which the sound came.
A moment later Bob heard the German give a low laugh as if he were pleased, but the laugh died in its birth; before it was finished, a bullet from Bob's revolver had pierced his brain. Forgetful of danger, he rushed forward, and saw that he had not been a moment too soon. The German was about to drive his sword into the body of a prostrate man.
"It is he!" cried Bob, in a hoarse whisper; he had found the man he had come to seek. There, partly hidden by a small bush, lay Captain Trevanion, and on his face was a pallor like the pallor of death.
"He is alive," reflected Bob; "I heard him groan just now."
He put his ear close to Trevanion's heart and listened. Yes, he was faintly breathing, but his clothes were saturated with blood.
With trembling hands Bob undid the other's uniform, and was not long in finding a wound from which oozed his life's blood. He called to mind all the medical knowledge he had, and set to work to stop the bleeding; in a few minutes had partially succeeded.
But how to get him back to the English lines! That was the question. He did not think Trevanion was in any immediate danger now. All he could do was to wait until the daylight was gone, and then carry the wounded man to a place of safety. But he dared not wait. The wound began bleeding again. Trevanion was a heavy man, almost as heavy as Bob himself, and in carrying him he knew that he must expose himself to the German fire; but that risk must be taken.
He thought he might carry him two or three hundred yards before being shot, and by that time he would be near enough to the English lines to enable those who were watching, to reach them.
Bob could never call clearly to mind any details of the next few minutes. He knew that he was stumbling along in the twilight, bearing a heavy burden—knew, too, that bullets whizzed by him; but, heedless of everything, he plodded forward. He had a vague idea, too, that he must be seen; but all thought of danger had gone.
If he were killed, he was killed, and that was all.
Then suddenly cheers reached him. It seemed to him as though a thousand arms were around him, and wild excited cries filled the air. After that he knew no more.
When he came to himself again, he was lying in a tent, and bending over him was a face he had never seen before.
"There, you'll do now; you're all right."
"Who are you?" asked Bob.
"I'm Doctor Grey; but that doesn't matter. You haven't a wound or a scratch, my dear chap; you just fainted—that was all. How the devil you got through, I don't know; but there it is, you're as right as rain."
"Have I been long here?"
"Not more than five minutes. Heavens, man, it was the maddest thing I ever heard of! Trevanion is in a bad way; whether he'll pull through or not, I don't know; but if he does, he'll owe his life to you. He was slowly bleeding to death, and of course your getting him here didn't help him. Still, he's in good hands."
"He's alive, then?"
"Oh, yes, he's alive, and I think he'll live; still, he'll have a bad time. Oh, yes, you can get up, if you want; you're all right. When did you have food last?"
"I don't think I remember," said Bob. "It must have been about midday,I think."
"I thought so. Now drink this. Do you mind seeing the fellows?That's right; here they come. Now, Pringle—oh, yes, and ColonelSapsworth too—no wonder you are proud of your subaltern; there are menwho've got the Victoria Cross for less."
Colonel Sapsworth caught Bob's hand and wrung it without a word.
Bob saw his lips tremble beneath his grey moustache, saw too that his eyes were filled with tears; but Colonel Sapsworth was a man who didn't talk much. "You're a plucky young devil," he said, "but I thought you had it in you. There, there, do you feel better now? By Jove, you're the talk of the whole division! Yes, Trevanion will do all right—at least, I hope so," and then the Colonel rubbed his eyes.
"That is enough," said Dr. Grey. "I'm chief in command here; he wants a few hours' rest, and then he'll be as right as ever. Meanwhile, let him alone; the young beggar has had a hard day."
After the incidents I have just recorded, Bob had no longer reason to complain that he was kept out of the firing-line. Event after event followed quickly in what is now generally spoken of as "The Battle of the Rivers."
Position after position was taken by the English, only to be lost again; now the Germans were driven back, and again, although on the whole progress was made, the English were driven back, but all the time carnage and bloodshed continued.
Every day and all through the days the great guns poured forth red-hot death. Every day the welter of blood went on.
We in England read in our newspapers that a great flanking movement was taking place which was eventually either to wipe out or capture General von Kluck's Army, and for this, day after day, we waited in vain.
We were told that the Germans were surrounded by a ring of steel, from which, except a miracle took place, they could not escape; but somehow there was an opening in the ring of steel, and nothing decisive took place. In the minds of many, conviction grew that it might be years before the war, brought about by the Germans, would come to an end.
The soldiers at the front knew little of this. I, who have received letters from more than one of them, learned that they, who were in the very thick of the fighting, knew practically nothing of the trend of the war. The interest of each regiment was largely confined to the little space it occupied.
All the soldiers knew was that they were advancing slowly, and that instead of the German army's reaching Paris, it was steadily going backward.
Tragedy ceased to be tragedy, because it became so commonplace; death was an everyday event, and men grew almost careless of it. "It may be my turn to-day," they said one to another, with a grim laugh; and some of them, even when they were wounded, jested about their sufferings.
This, however, Bob could not help noticing; he was more and more trusted by his Colonel, and, although he was in a subordinate position, work of importance was often entrusted to him. Especially was this the case after an incident, which, in one form or another, was repeated all along the battle-line.
One morning a young officer came to him saying that he had been requested to obtain information which Bob had gathered the day before, and concerning which a new line of action had to be taken.
This young officer was an utter stranger to Bob, but, seeing he possessed the necessary papers, he spoke to him freely.
"We had a great day yesterday," he said.
"We shall have a greater to-morrow," was Bob's reply.
A few minutes later the two were eagerly discussing what would probably take place, and Bob found himself giving away information of great importance.
"I wish I could talk German," said the young officer presently. "I had heaps of chances whilst I was at school, but, like a fool, I neglected them."
"Why, what would you do?" asked Bob.
"I would find my way to the enemies' camp," was the reply; "and I would learn what they are up to; it would be a great advantage to us. It is said that our lines are filled with German spies."
"I suppose spies are necessary," was Bob's reply; "but, somehow, spying does not fall in with our ideas; still, I suppose we have to use them."
"Those Germans are such mean devils," was Captain Rivers' retort; "there's no dirty work they aren't prepared to do; still, if I only knew German, I would be a match for 'em. I suppose you do not happen to know German?"
Bob did not reply, but he looked at the other keenly, noticing his fair, smooth, ruddy face and altogether innocent appearance. Then a suspicion was born in his mind. "Wait a minute, will you?" he said, and then, calling a soldier, told him to fetch Lieutenant Proctor, as he wished to speak to him.
"What's up, Nancarrow?" said Proctor, when he came.
"I want to know how poor Trevanion is getting on have you heard anything?"
"He has been removed to a hospital at C——," replied Proctor; "as you know, he was not well enough to be sent back to England. I'm afraid it will be a long time before he is well again."
"Let's see, who is taking his place?"
"Captain Tremaine. Didn't you know? Promotions are rapid in these days."
"Oh, he has got his captaincy, has he? By the way, there is something else I want to ask you," and Bob, knowing that Proctor had spent some time in Germany, spoke to him in German.
While Proctor was replying, he gave a quick glance at Rivers, and then moved towards him. It was no time for hesitation or parley.
"Rivers," said Bob—"if that is your name—you're a liar. You know German, and, if I'm not mistaken, you're a German spy. At him, Proctor." The last words came out like a shot from a pistol, and he saw Rivers draw a revolver from his pocket as if he intended to shoot him. A few seconds later he was fast bound, and Bob and Proctor escorted Rivers towards General Fortescue's tent.
"General," said Bob, "this man tells me he was sent to me from you; is that true?"
"Heavens, no! I never saw the fellow before, but I am inclined to think we have put our hands upon a spy," he said, when Bob had recorded what had taken place.
Ten minutes later the guilt of thesoi-disantRivers was proved up to the hilt.
Notes were found on his person proving not only the fact that he had come from the German lines, but that he had for some time been gathering information in the British lines, with the evident intention of conveying it to the enemy.
This information, moreover, was of such vital import, and it had been kept with such secrecy, that it seemed miraculous that he could have obtained it; still, obtained it he had, and a dozen proofs of his treachery were found upon him. To all questions, however, he maintained a rigid silence; evidently he was faithful to his own country.
"And did the blackguard tell you he did not know German?" asked theGeneral.
"That's what aroused my suspicions, sir," replied Bob. "He was like a character in Hamlet—he protested too much; this made me send for Proctor, to whom I could speak German in a natural sort of way. As I watched his face, I saw that he understood every word that was being said, and I took steps accordingly."
"A jolly sensible thing to do," was the General's response. "Still, we have spotted him, and, what is more, the biter's bitten; not only will he fail to carry back the information he has gained, to the enemy, but his papers reveal their intentions, and so you have rendered us a great service."
A little later on, the man who had called himself Rivers, but whose real name, according to his papers, was Werter, was shot.
"That Nancarrow is a useful man," said Colonel Sapsworth to theGeneral, not long after, when they were discussing the situation.
"He certainly seems to have behaved very well," was the General's response.
"I have had my eye upon him for weeks," said the Colonel. "From the first time I saw him, I felt he had the makings of a good soldier, and I gave special instructions about him. Of course, I had to be careful, and I saw to it that he was tested in various ways; but he's as plucky as they make 'em. Of course, it was a mad thing to do to creep out into the open, as he did, and bring back Trevanion, but it was a fine thing all the same."
"He seems quite intelligent too," said the General.
"Yes, the way he nabbed that German was just fine; he had very little data upon which to go, and it seems that this man Werter has been on the loose for weeks. Nancarrow, however, spotted him, and now he will not do any more spying. If Nancarrow doesn't get killed, he will be of great service to us."
"We'll give him every chance," was the General's reply, "and if what you have told me is a true indication of his quality, he shall not lack for opportunity."
This was probably why, a few days later, Bob was placed in command of a number of men to do outpost duty in the direction of the enemies' lines.
For three days the English had been preparing for an attack which they hoped might be of considerable importance, but it was vital to the fulfilment of their plans that they should not be in any way surprised before they were ready.
It was well known that the Germans were in strong force close by, and that any false step might prove disastrous.
It was late in the evening when Bob and the men placed under his command found themselves at the post which had been allotted to them. All round them was wooded country, which made observation difficult, but which also sheltered them from the enemies' fire.
"Anything may happen here, sir," said a young non-commissioned officer to Bob.
"Still things seem pretty quiet; we may as well feed now."
Bob was on good terms with his men, and while he never slackened discipline in the slightest degree, he tried to be friendly with all. He ate the same food and partook of the same danger—never in any degree commanding them to do what he himself shirked.
The little meal was nearly over, and Bob was taking his last drink of tea out of a tin can, when he caught a sound which brought him quickly to his feet.
Ten seconds later every soldier was on the alert, ready for action. Then in the light of the dying day they saw a number of men marching from behind the trees.
"They look like our own men," said Corporal West; "still, them blessedGermans' uniform seems just the same colour as our own in this light."
A minute later some English words rang out in the still evening air.
"We're the Lancashire Fusiliers," said a voice.
"Wait a minute," said Bob to the corporal. "I am going to see who they are before taking any risks."
He covered the intervening space in less than a minute, and saw that the other party was not quite so large as his own, but still of considerable strength. They wore, as far as he could judge, the English uniform, and gave evidence that they were our own soldiers.
Barely had he reached the man whom he supposed to be the officer, however, than from behind the trees a dozen more rushed to him, whom he had not hitherto seen. A second later, he was surrounded.
"Speak one word, and you're a dead man," was the cry. Bob knew what this meant. If his soldiers remained in ignorance, and were unable to give alarm to the general army, the enemy could easily surprise them and have them at advantage. Without a second's hesitation, however, and unmindful of his own danger, he shouted aloud:
"They're Germans. Fire!"
Almost at the same moment there was a crash of rifle shots, and the men around him fell by scores. It seemed almost miraculous that he himself was untouched, but, before he had time to say another word, a huge German struck him with the butt-end at his revolver, and he felt himself hastily dragged away.
For some time after this he little knew what was taking place; he had a vague idea, however, that he was in the hands of the enemy, but, from the fact that they were going away from the English lines, he hoped that his action had not been in vain.
As his senses returned to him, he saw that he was accompanied by a dozen German soldiers, and that he was being hastily dragged towards the German lines.
"We've gotyou, anyhow," said one by his side.
"Where are you taking me?" asked Bob.
"You'll soon know," was the reply.
"I fancy I spoiled your little game, anyhow," and Bob was able to laugh, in spite of the fact that the world seemed to be swimming around him.
"Yes, our trick nearly succeeded; but, thanks to you, it has been spoiled," was the German's grim reply. "Still, better luck next time."
"I fancy you have lost heavily," said Bob.
"Yes," replied the German, "every man except ourselves is either killed or taken prisoner. Still, we've got you."
"That doesn't matter much," replied Bob. "Your little plans are spoiled, and by this time all the information will be in the right quarters."
The German with whom he had this conversation spoke English almost like a native; indeed, but for certain intonations, he might easily pass as an Englishman. The others were evidently ignorant of our language, but spoke to each other freely in their own tongue. Apparently they imagined that their prisoner was entirely ignorant of what they said, and Bob was not long in gathering the importance of what had taken place. But for his little company, which had surprised and overwhelmed them, they would have been able to carry out their plans without our Army's knowing anything of their whereabouts. It was evident, too, that they were in considerable apprehension as to how they would be treated when they reported their failure. They had not only failed to accomplish their purpose, but they had lost a large number of men. As Bob thought over the matter, he realised that had he hesitated a second before speaking, he would have been silenced altogether, and that they would have been able to accomplish their purpose.
Half an hour later he found himself in the German camp.
Night had now fallen, but in the light of the moon he saw that he was surrounded by vast hordes of men. No one spoke to him, however; but he saw by the many glances that were cast at him, that he was an abject of great interest.
Some time later he came to the conclusion that he had reached the quarters of officers in high position. He was evidently away from the main army, and from the nature of his surroundings he came to the conclusion that he was to be questioned by those in high places.
The officer who had captured him and who spoke English, made his way to a large tent, and was evidently making his report of what had taken place.
Bob could not catch a word of what was being said, but he noted that the officers constantly threw glances towards him.
A few minutes later he found himself amongst a number of men, whom he couldn't help realising occupied important commands.
To his surprise these men seemed to speak to him quite freely, and appeared to desire to be on friendly terms. They told him they were naturally chagrined at the failure of their plans, but congratulated him on his coolness and courage in giving warning to his men. After this, they tried to draw him into conversation about the numbers of the Allies, and of their plans of warfare. As may be imagined, however, Bob was very careful of what he said, and gave them only the vaguest generalities.
One thing, however, struck him very forcibly; instead of being treated harshly, each seemed to vie with the other in showing him kindnesses. Good food was brought to him, and excellent wine was placed before him.
He, like others, had heard of the harshness with which English prisoners were treated; thus, when he found himself regarded rather as an honoured guest than as a prisoner of war, his astonishment was great.
Nearly all the officers spoke English, and they laughed and chatted with him freely. They told him that all the reports he had heard about the bitterness of the Germans towards the English were so many lies. Of course, they said, now they were at war they meant to fight it out to the end, but it was impossible for them to feel bitterly towards the English, with whom they had for so many years been friendly. They also pretended to speak freely of their plans, evidently with the intention of leading him to copy their example.
To his surprise, moreover, he found himself a little later in a well-appointed tent of his own, and whilst it was guarded jealously, he was surrounded with comforts which he had never expected.
It was nearly midnight, and he was just on the point of falling asleep when an officer came to him.
"Follow me," he said brusquely, and ere long he found himself again in the open, walking between lines of soldiers.
As he thought of it afterwards, his experiences that night seemed to him almost like a dream. He was passed from guard to guard, seemingly without reason, yet according to some pre-arranged plan. After what appeared to him an interminable time, he was ushered into the presence of a grave-looking military man, whose uniform bespoke the fact that he was of the highest rank.
This man was quickly joined by another, and a whispered conversation took place between them, and Bob saw that keen, searching glances were constantly directed towards himself.
"He's only a lieutenant," he heard one say.
"It's no use; he will have it so," replied the other; "after he had heard the report, he gave his orders, and there's nothing else for it."
The other shrugged his shoulders, as if impatient at something, and then Bob was again commanded to move forward to another place.
Eventually he found himself in what seemed to him like an ante-room of some apartment of extreme importance. Here he waited for nearly half an hour; still on each side of him stood a soldier, erect, motionless, silent.
Then some curtains were drawn aside, and Bob found himself in what might have been a richly appointed room of an old French mansion.
Seated at a desk, covered with documents of all sorts, his face almost hidden from the light, sat a man—alone. He did not look up at Bob's entrance, but went on reading quietly, now and then making a note on the margin of the papers which he was examining.
He was clad in an officer's uniform, but what rank he held, Bob was unable to determine; that he was in high command, there could be no doubt.
Minute after minute passed, and still this lonely figure sat reading and examining.
The silence was intense; they might have been away in the heart of the country, far from the rush and clamour of life. Had not Bob passed through innumerable hordes of men, he would have thought himself in an uninhabited region.
A little clock on a kind of sideboard ticked distinctly, and as minute after minute passed by, the ticking strangely affected his nerves. On his right hand and on his left, men on guard still stood silent, motionless.
Presently the lonely figure at the desk lifted his head and gave Bob a keen, searching glance. In so doing, although the young man was unable to distinguish any particular feature, he caught a glimpse of the face. As far as he could judge, it was grave and deeply lined. He noticed, too, that the hair was grey, while over the temples it was nearly white.
But what impressed him most was the peculiar quality of the eyes—he did not remember ever having seen such eyes before; they were not large, neither was there anything particular in their colour—and yet, they held him like a magnet. Instinctively he knew that here was a master of men.
Those eyes which looked into his—not large, light, steely grey in colour—spoke of domination—of power; they seemed hard and glittering.
A second later he gave a nod to the officers on guard, whereupon they silently backed out of the apartment, leaving Bob alone with the grave, solitary figure at the desk.
"Your name is Robert Nancarrow?" The words came suddenly, not in the form of a question, but as an assertion.
The voice was light, almost thin; the eyes were the eyes of a commander; the face, to Bob, suggested weakness.
He spoke English almost as an Englishman might; there was scarcely the suggestion of a German accent.
"Yes, sir," was Bob's reply.
"You are under General Fortescue, and to-night were placed on outpost duty. By your quick, decisive action you gave your men alarm and frustrated the plans of those you call your enemy?"
"I'm very proud to think so, sir," replied Bob.
Again those piercing eyes rested on him. Bob felt a shiver run down his spine as he saw them. Evidently the man at the desk was reading him like an open book; he was estimating his quality—his position.
"You wear a lieutenant's uniform, I see?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you trained as a soldier?"
"No, sir."
"How long have you been in the Army?"
"Only a few weeks, sir."
"And yet they made you a lieutenant?" and the suggestion of a smile passed his lips—a smile that was almost a sneer.
"You may know, sir," said Bob, "that in England we have what is called an 'Officers Training Corps'; men who join that corps do not necessarily go into the Army, but they join it so that in time of need officers may be forthcoming. When I was at school at Clifton, I joined the Officers' Training Corps, and qualified. That accounts for what would seem a rapid promotion."
"I see; and you come from what is called a good family in England, I suppose?"
"I can claim to have that honour, sir," and again the lonely figure was silent, and appeared to be reexamining the papers before him. His face was still in the shade, but, as far as Bob could judge, he appeared to be thinking deeply. "Who is he, and what does he want with me, I wonder?" he reflected. "I am nobody; why have I been treated in this wonderful fashion?"
"You Englishmen think you are winning in this war, I suppose?"
Again the words came suddenly, and still in the same, almost light, weak voice.
"We do not think, sir—we are sure."
"Ah, how? why?"
For a moment Bob felt afraid to speak; the silence of the room, save for the ticking of the little clock, and the occasional rustle of papers, together with the experiences through which he had been passing, almost unnerved him; besides, there was something uncanny, almost ghostly, about the silent, lonely figure there.
"You would have me speak freely, sir?"
"I command you to do so."
"We shall win, sir, because God is always on the side of right."
"God! Do you believe in God?"
"I believe in nothing else so much."
"Right! Then you think you are in the right?"
"What doubt can there be? We stand for liberty against tyranny; for faithfulness to our promises; but, more than all, we stand for peace against war,—that is why God will be on our side."
Again the lonely figure looked at Bob intently; the young man's words seemed to have caused him some surprise.
"Nonsense!" he said presently. "I suppose you are thinking of theBelgian Treaty? What do you English care about the Belgian Treaty?"
"Enough to risk our very existence, sir."
"Come, tell me frankly—of course, you cannot speak for your statesmen—but do you know anything of the English people as a whole? I was informed just now that you seemed intelligent; perhaps you are. It will be interesting to hear what you regard as the general feeling in England about this war."
"The English hate it, sir—hate it as they hate the devil; they think it is the greatest crime in history. The English are a peace-loving people; they want only peace."
"Ah, then they hate this war?"
"Bitterly."
"And, as a consequence, they do not support it."
"On the contrary, sir, never was so much enthusiasm shown about any war in the history of the nation as is shown about this."
"And yet they hate it. Why then are they enthusiastic?"
"Because they believe it to be war against war; against the spirit of war; against the doctrines that might is right, and that force is the will of God."
"How? I do not understand. Tell me."
"Since you command me to speak plainly, sir, I will, and perhaps I can best tell you what I mean by recounting my own history. My father belonged to a Community in England who believe that all war is sinful, and I was brought up to accept his doctrine; he took the teaching of our Lord literally."
"What teaching of our Lord?"
"What we call the Sermon on the Mount: 'Ye have heard it hath been said, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth; but I say unto you, that if a man strike thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. Ye have heard it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy; but I say unto you, love your enemies'; I was taught to believe that, sir, and to regard all war as a crime.
"For some time after this war was declared I refused to volunteer. I was trying to be a Christian, and I did not see how a man who wanted to be a Christian could be a soldier."
His interrogator looked at him, evidently in surprise: "You believe that?"
"In a deep vital sense I believe it still, sir."
"Well, go on."
"That was why I refused to volunteer for the Army, when Lord Kitchener sent out his appeal that he wanted half a million men immediately."
"Why have you changed your mind? It might be interesting to hear," and again there was the suggestion of a sneer in the voice.
"I read some German books, and got to know what the Germans actually thought; I realised the ideas which lay at the heart of Germany, and then I knew that if Germany won this war, all liberty would be gone, all our free institutions would be destroyed, and that the spirit of war would reign more and more throughout the world. I saw that what to the Germans was right, was to us wrong; that the Germans' Gospel was different from ours."
"Different! How?"
"I saw that the Germans gloried in war; that they regarded it as necessary; that to them those who asked for peace committed a crime. I heard one of our Members of Parliament say that he had been in Berlin at a Peace Conference, but that Conference was broken up by the order of the German Government. I read the works of authors whose words are accepted as gospel by the dominant party in Germany, I realised the Germans' aim and ambitions, and I knew that if they succeeded, peace would for ever be impossible in the world. Then I knew I had a call from God, and then I no longer hesitated."
"Ah, you are a dreamer, I see. So you joined the Army; but are your beliefs common in England, may I ask?"
"Throughout the major portion of England they are common," replied Bob. "The great feeling in the hearts of the English throughout the whole country is—we must destroy this War God of Germany. Against Germans as individuals we feel nothing but kindness, but this War God, before which the people fall down and worship, is a devil."
"And you say that is the belief throughout England?"
"That is so, especially among thoughtful people."
"Then why is it you have so few volunteers?"
"Few volunteers, sir! I do not understand."
"Why is it, in spite of Lord Kitchener's call, only a few thousands of the offscouring of the country have joined his Army in spite of huge bribes?"
"Your question shows that you are misinformed, sir. Instead of a few thousands of the off-scouring, as you call them, there has simply been a rush to the English recruiting stations; not only of the poorer classes, but of every class—from our public schools, from the Universities, from our middle-class families, the flower of our young manhood have come."
"Do you mean that your well-born people have been willing to join as privates?"
"I mean, sir, that there are tens of thousands of the sons of our best families, who have joined, side by side with privates with labourers and colliers. In three weeks after the call, half a million volunteered."
"Half a million!" this with a contemptuous shrug, "and what then?"
"The call for the second half-million came," was Bob's reply; "and that second half-million has responded."
"From England alone?"
"From the British Isles."
"But the Empire as a whole has not responded."
"The Germans thought our Empire was a rope of sand—that it would fall to pieces at the first touch of war; instead of that, from Canada, from Africa, from India, from Australia, men volunteered by thousands—by hundreds of thousands."
"And you believe that these can stand against the Army through which you passed?"
"I don't believe—I am sure, sir."
"And that is the feeling of your nation?"
"That is the conviction of our nation, sir."
"But do you realise that Germany has millions of trained soldiers?"
"Yes, sir; but every German is forced to be a soldier. We have in England to-day hundreds upon hundreds of thousands who are soldiers because they long to be at the front. If a man doesn't pass the doctor's examination, he is disappointed beyond measure, because he is longing to fight. Ours is not a conscript army, sir, but an army which pleads to be at the front."
"You are sure of this?"
"I'm absolutely certain, sir."
Again the lonely man turned to some papers before him and read eagerly.
"And when your first million is killed, what then?" He again spoke suddenly.
"Another million will come forward, sir, and, if need be, another, and another, and another. Rather than that Germany should conquer, the whole nation will come forward—the whole Empire will fight."
"And what have the English thought of the German victories?"
"That they are merely passing phases," was Bob's reply; "but this I will tell you: the greatest impetus to volunteers coming forward has been the news of a German victory. Officers have repeatedly told me that our new volunteers, eagerly do more work in a week and learn more of the art of war in a few days than the men learned in six months in time of peace. In England we have no need for conscription, because the best manhood of our nation pleads to be allowed to fight for the country."
"And yet the English hate war?" Again there was a sneer in the voice.
"That is why we are eager to fight," was Bob's reply, "and we shall never rest until German militarism is destroyed root and branch; until this War God which dominates Germany is thrown down, and crushed to atoms; until this poisonous cancer of war which has thrown its venomous roots into the heart of Europe is cut out for ever. We shall never cease fighting until that is done, and when that is done, we shall have peace."
Bob had almost forgotten where he was by this time—forgotten the circumstances under which he spoke, and to whom he spoke; he did not seem to realise that he was in the heart of the German camp—that he was speaking to one in high command in the German army; he had got away from the mere material aspect of the question—he was dealing with spiritual things.
"And if you win"—and still there was a sneer in the other's voice—"what do you expect to gain?"
"As a nation, sir?"
"As a nation."
"Nothing, sir; I've never heard of an Englishman speaking of any gain that might be ours when we win."
"Then what do you suppose will happen?"
"Justice and peace will come, sir; Belgium will have justice."
"Belgium! If she had obeyed our commands, she need never have suffered."
"But why should she obey your commands, sir? You had promised her neutrality and independence, and you broke your promise; she had depended upon you, and you failed her. Then she turned to England, and England will never rest until Belgium has justice."
"And what is to become of Germany?"
"This is to be a fight to the end, sir; and Germany will never have power to make war again."
"You would rob us of our country, I suppose?"
"No, sir, we do not want to rob you of your country. We hope that when the war is over, the German people—many of whom hate war—will come back to their peaceful life; but we shall never rest until the War God of Germany is destroyed and is powerless to make war again. That is why we are fighting, and will fight for the peace of the world."
"But, surely, that is not the feeling of England as a whole?"
"It is the feeling of England as a whole, and we shall never cease fighting until our object is accomplished."
"And the Kaiser, what think you of him? What is the feeling in Britain about him?"
"We believe the Kaiser to be sincere, sir, but obsessed with the war spirit, and that because of it he is full of arrogance and conceit; many believe him mad—that he suffers from a kind of megalomania. Evidently he, like the rest of the war party in Germany, believes that war is a good thing—a virtuous thing, a necessity; and, because of it, he regards himself as a kind of Deity. We believe that his great ambition is to make Germany the dominant power in the world, and that war is the means by which he hopes to accomplish this. That is why we are fighting, sir—and will fight."
While Bob was speaking, he saw that the other's hand moved nervously among the papers on the desk; he saw too that he fidgeted uneasily in his chair, as though with difficulty he restrained himself.
"And you think the Kaiser is responsible for this war?"
"We believe that he has been preparing for it for years. For a long time we fought against the belief, and a great part of the country held that those who regarded him as a kind of War god were mistaken: now we know otherwise. Doubtless, in many respects, he is a great man—a strong man; but he is mad."
Again the man in the chair started: then he touched the bell, and the officers who brought Bob there again returned. The man at the desk nodded to them and they led Bob out. As he withdrew, the last sight which met his gaze was that of the lonely figure seated at the desk, his face still largely in obscurity, but the eyes plain to be seen—light, steely, penetrating—the eyes of a master of men.
A few minutes later Bob heard two of the officers, with whom he had been previously brought into contact, conversing in their own tongue:
"It was unlike him to give an audience to a subaltern like that," said one.
"Yes," was the reply; "but he said he was dissatisfied with the reports of the spies; he wanted to see England's position through English eyes. I wonder what the young cuckoo said to him."
Still between his guards, Bob walked away from the house where he had been for more than an hour; he was oblivious of the fact that he was passed from sentry to sentry, from guard to guard; his mind was full of the strange scene in which he had taken part.
The figure of the lonely man at the desk, who was thinking and working while others were asleep, haunted him, and he wondered.
As he came to the tent from which he had been led more than an hour before, he again saw the officer who had given the command which had ended in the scene we have just described.
"Whom have I been speaking to?" he asked, as the officer entered the tent with him.
"Didn't you recognise him?"
"I fancied I did, but I dared not think I was right."
"You've been speaking to the Emperor of Germany," was the reply.
"I'm glad I spoke my mind," Bob said.
During the three days which followed the one on which he was captured, Bob's experiences were difficult to explain. He found himself being moved farther and farther away from the English lines; but he knew nothing of what was taking place, neither could he understand why he was treated with such kindness and consideration.
He had expected to be immediately forwarded to some dirty German prison, where he would suffer the same fate as many of his English comrades. Instead of which, however, he might almost have been a guest of honour.
For this reason he could not help coming to the conclusion that this special treatment was for some purpose.
On the second day after the interview mentioned in the last chapter, he was closely questioned by some German officers. They evidently believed that he was possessed of information which would be valuable to them, and for that reason did not treat him like an ordinary prisoner.
Although he knew but little of what was going on in the German camp, his experience there was of great interest; it gave him an insight into the life of the German army which he had never hoped for. He realised at once the different atmosphere which obtained there from that which obtained in the English army.
He saw that the German discipline was more severe and more unbending; that not the slightest feeling of friendship or comradeship could be found between officers and men.
He saw too that the German private was scarcely regarded as a human being, but as a pawn on a chessboard; the officer looked upon himself as living in a different world from that of his men.
One day Bob saw that one of the soldiers failed to salute an officer with sufficient promptness to please him, and immediately the officer struck the man across the face with a whip.
Bob saw the great red mark rise on the man's face, where the officer had struck him. He knew that the pain he suffered must be great, but he made no sign; he simply bore the punishment as if he were without feeling.
That same evening he was admitted into the circle of a number of the officers. Bob mentioned the incident he had seen, and asked whether this treatment was common.
"What would you?" replied the German. "The man did not salute quickly, therefore he must be punished."
"And if he had cast a look of disrespect?" asked Bob.
The German shrugged his shoulders.
"We do not allow disrespect from men to their officers," was the reply."In time of war he would be shot like a dog."
"And in peace?" asked Bob.
"Ah—in peace, he would be treated in such a fashion that he would not soon offend again."
It was at that time, too, that Bob realised the terrible disappointment among the German troops at the progress of the war. It had been given out during its early stages, that the German Army would be in Paris by the end of August. At first their boasts seemed likely to be fulfilled, but as the days went by—as August passed and September came to an end, and then, not only did they not find themselves in Paris, but were driven back mile by mile, until they were nearing their own borders—they were not only dismayed, but astonished. It seemed impossible to them that anything could stand before the German Army.
"It's you English," said one to him. "In 1870 we crushed the FrenchArmy in six weeks, and we should have done the same now but for you."
"And the contemptible little army has given you a great deal of trouble?" said Bob.
"That was one of the Kaiser's jokes, but we will pay you out for it."
Upon this they turned the conversation into such a channel that Bob was not slow to see their purpose. They were trying to obtain information from him, and, as may be imagined, he did not fall readily into their trap; indeed, they soon began to regard him as a hopeless case.
He saw, too, that his position was becoming desperate. The German officers were not cheerful and gay as our own were. Even in spite of the most terrible fighting and awful suffering the English had kept cheerful.
It was as though the Germans felt themselves on the losing side. Almost hourly they were pressed back, while great masses of wounded soldiers were being brought from the battle-lines and hurried off to the hospitals.
"This does not seem like another Sedan," Bob heard one officer say to another. "It is all those English; they fight like devils, and yet they are as cool as men on parade. Instead of advancing, we are going backward. Unless there is a change, we shall be driven out of the country."
"They shall pay for it later, never fear," said another. "When we have once beaten them, France will be ours, and England crushed like an empty eggshell."
"When we have beaten them," was the doubtful response.
What Bob suffered it is impossible to say; how he longed to be back among his comrades in the fighting-line, I cannot put into words.
He knew by the questions which were constantly asked him that they thought he would be in a position to render them invaluable service; that was why he had special treatment.
At the end of three days, however, he knew that this special treatment was over, and by the looks that were cast towards him, he felt sure that the doom he expected would be his. He would be packed off to a German prison.
"What is to become of me?" he asked one of the officers, who had constantly been plying him with questions.
"You'll know to-morrow morning," was the curt reply.
As may be imagined, Bob had, during the whole time, sought eagerly for a means of escape; but this seemed impossible. All around him were vast hordes of men, and he knew that any movement towards liberty on his part would mean instant death. Yet he determined to try, and hour by hour had formulated his plans.
Up to the present no alteration had taken place in his treatment. It seemed to him madness that the Germans should spare two men continuously to guard him and watch him; yet they did.
Then, inadvertently, he learned that the august personage with whom he had had such a long conversation on the night of his capture had given special orders concerning him, as it was his intention to speak with him again.
In view, however, of the significant words of the officer who had told him that some change would take place on the following morning, he imagined that this determination had been abandoned.
Bob's opportunity of escape seemed to him afterwards almost like a miracle. One night, as chance would have it, only one of the guards was on duty, and he determined to take advantage of the circumstance. If he were to escape, a bold, almost mad, endeavour must be made. Failure would mean death; but, with all the enthusiasm of youth, he decided to risk it.
The guard was a man about his own height and build, and, under ordinary circumstances, would be his match in physical strength.
Of course a hand-to-hand struggle was out of the question; a cry from the German soldier would mean arousing hundreds of others, and then Bob's fate would be sealed. But if——and his brain almost reeled at the madness of the plan which had been so suddenly born in his mind.
Seizing his opportunity, and taking full advantage of the fact that he had been allowed the use of his limbs, he suddenly struck his guard a heavy blow, which, for the time, stunned him; then, seizing the man's rifle, he struck him a blow on the head which left him senseless. Quick as lightning, he pulled the man's clothes from off his prostrate body, and a minute later he was himself, to all appearances, a German soldier.
As he reflected afterwards, the thing happened so quickly and under such strange circumstances, that it seemed to him impossible.
To overpower a German guard in the midst of thousands of German soldiers, and then to appear among the others in a German uniform, seemed absolutely impossible; yet he did it.
It was for him, now, to find his way through the German lines without revealing his identity. One thing was in his favour—that was a fact which he had kept rigorously secret—he spoke German almost like a German.