CHAPTER XIIIMR. BOACONSTRICTOR
“Something we can hardly swallow” proved to be a true characterization of the meat-and-vegetable stew that was served to the prisoners in tin bowls, which looked as if they had seen service in the Franco-Prussian war. The meat was in small bits, which were few in number and so tough or gristly as to be hardly edible. The vegetables were principally potatoes and onions. This combination would have been fairly well calculated to sustain life if it had been well seasoned and if it had not tasted and smelled as if it had been warmed several times over a low fire insufficient to bring it to the boiling point. A piece of stale brown bread was served to each prisoner with this stew.
In order to prevent any of the prisoners from getting double portions of this mess, the men were lined up next to the barbed wire fence, along which several boys and men, the latter too old for military service, passed, carrying kettles of stew and buckets of sliced bread and handing out dippersful and slices through thefence to the hungry Americans and Frenchmen.
Meanwhile two guards, also of the superannuated post-military class entered the inclosure and advanced to the spot where the animated discussion was going on among the three comrade Marines. The latter, as has been observed, noticed their approach and so camouflaged their further words and actions that the evident suspicion of the guards was effectually dispelled.
There was a good deal of comment among the prisoners concerning the quality of food served to them and other conveniences—or inconveniences—with which they were provided. The general opinion among them was that the enemy was approaching dangerously near the limit of their resources, which might mean an ending of the war in the not far distant future. Indeed, Phil was sure that he could detect signs of spitefulness in the manner and actions of both commissioned officers and non-coms toward the prisoners, and he was equally certain that the reason for this spitefulness was an undisguisable consciousness of their shortage of resources and equipment.
“This war isn’t going to last very much longer,” Phil remarked to his two friends as he forced down the last spoonful of stew. Hewas ravenously hungry, having had nothing to eat since early the preceding day, and in spite of the fact that the food served was most unpalatable, he deemed it wise not to waste any of the scanty portion served to him.
“That’s what lots of soldiers are saying principally because of stories of experiences similar to ours that find their way across No Man’s Land,” said Dan. “But there’s one thing that gets me in this connection more than anything else, and that is that the more defeat you cram down these boches’ throats, the more arrogant and overbearing they become. Just look at that human boaconstrictor strutting around as if utterly unconscious of the fact that he ought to be going to sleep.”
“I don’t get you,” said Emmet with an expression of challenging curiosity. “If we were campaigning with the British among the pyramids of Egypt, it might be appropriate for you to talk like a Sphinx.”
“I get him,” announced Phil. “He means that boche officer has such an ungainly girth that he looks like a boa that has swallowed a pig and ought to be taking an after-dinner nap. But I have something to add to Dan’s observation. That fellow is one of the six kaiserites whom I forced to strip to their underclothes and who turned the tables on me and recapturedtheir pants et cetera, and brought me here as an honored guest.”
“Better keep out of his sight then,” Emmet advised. “If he sets eyes on you, he’s likely not to rest until he gets his revenge. And you know what revenge means in wartime. He’ll probably find some way of blowin’ you to atoms to feed the molecules.”
“You do him too great a chemical honor by presenting the matter in such light,” Phil objected, screwing up one side of his face to indicate his skepticism. “He looks to me like an ordinary butcher, and I don’t think he’d attempt to do anything more than make mincemeat of me.”
“Have it your own way,” Emmet returned with a shrug. “But look out for him at any event. He seems to be recognized as having a good deal of authority around here.”
“He’s only a second lieutenant,” was Phil’s reminder.
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Emmet insisted. “This fellow’s in right with the higher-ups. It may be easier, you know, to use an officer of low rank for all sorts of jobs than one of higher rank. He can work more quietly—won’t attract so much attention sometimes.”
Phil decided to take his companion’s advice,and keep as much in the background as possible in order that “Mr. Boaconstrictor” might not fall into revengeful temptation at the sight of him. And before long he was congratulating himself on this decision. Half an hour after the early “feed,” as he was pleased to designate the morning stew and bread, the order was given for everybody in the inclosure to get ready to move. This was succeeded by another order ten minutes later for all to file out through the gate and follow two soldiers who would lead the way.
Mechanically Phil glanced toward the two soldiers referred to by the prison guard who made the announcement. Dan and Emmet, who were still near him, did likewise.
“It seems impossible for you to shake your friend, Boche Boa,” observed Emmet. “He’s going to be one of the leaders of the grand march to some munitions factory, where, undoubtedly, we will be set at work making big shells to shoot at the Allies.”
“Let’s hang back and fall in at the rear end of the line of march,” Dan suggested. “He may have forgotten all about his experience with Phil, and the sight of the fellow who dragged his dignity in the dust may make him show his fangs.”
This seemed to be good advice, and was followedas nearly as possible, although they were forced into the line several paces ahead of the rear end by the guards who herded the prisoners out of the inclosure without regard for the wish or convenience of anybody.