CHAPTER XXMORE GERMAN CRUELTY
True to Harding’s prediction, there was no let-up in the work until two o’clock that afternoon. At that hour the German guards passed the word and the prisoners dropped their tools and wiped moist brows. Hal and Chester found themselves beside Harding, the Englishman, and Mercer, the Frenchman, once more.
“Now what?” asked Chester.
“Back to our holes,” replied Harding. “I mean,” he added, catching the question in Chester’s face, “back to the filthy little shacks where we sleep and spend our leisure hours.”
Several cars now appeared along the little track in the mine and the prisoners clambered aboard. These then proceeded to the main shaft, where the men were carried aloft a few at a time.
Not for a moment did the German guards relax their vigilance. Rifles were held ready for instant use. More than once they had been caught unprepared and several times batches of prisoners had succeeded in making their escape. Some had been recaptured, but others had found their way back to their own lines.
Hal and Chester were carried up in the car with Harding and Mercer and two other British prisoners. For some reason, both lads had decided unconsciously to stick as close as possible to the big Englishman, and he appeared glad of their company.
Under the guns of the guards, the prisoners were marched across the open to a row of shacks in the distance.
“Wonder where they’ll put us, Chester?” said Hal.
“Don’t know,” replied Chester, “but I can’t see that it makes any difference.”
“There is room for a couple of more in my shack,” said Harding. “You boys just walk in with me as though you belonged there. Maybe they’ll let you stay.”
The lads acted on this advice and a few moments later were in the little hovel that Harding called home. Hal took in his surroundings with a calculating eye.
There was only one window, through which the sun now streamed. There was no door beside the one through which they had entered. Hal gave a start of surprise when he saw that the window was not barred.
“I thought of course they’d have bars there,” he said, pointing. “Looks to me like a fellow might crawl out in the middle of the night.”
“So you could,” returned Harding, “but that wouldn’t help anything. There are thousands of armed guards around this place. You wouldn’t have much of a chance getting through.”
“It’s been tried, though, I suppose?” queried Chester.
“Yes; and there’s a graveyard behind us that has more occupants as a result. I believe that several men have succeeded in getting through, but I can’t say positively. It’s only talk among the prisoners.”
“Haven’t you ever thought of making a break for liberty, Harding?” demanded Hal.
The Englishman looked at the lad curiously. He was silent for some moments.
“Let me tell you something,” he said at last. “There isn’t a prisoner in this camp who is not thinking of escape every waking minute. Why, we even dream about it. As a matter of fact, we scarcely think of anything else. Every now and then conditions become so intolerable that a man, or a batch of men, makes the attempt. Mostly, they have some plan in their minds, but sometimes they simply act on the spur of the moment.”
Harding mused a moment in silence. Hal and Chester did not interrupt him.
“I have in mind a man named Judson,” continued Harding at last. “He had been working in the mines for months. He was a big, husky chap—an Englishman. One of the guards below found particular delight in annoying him. He was safe enough in this, for it was apparent that Judson could not thrash his tormentor and the other guards as well. For days Judson bore the torment in silence and then he could stand it no longer.”
“What did he do?” demanded Chester eagerly.
“Why,” said Harding, “he simply diverted a blow of his pick to the guard and that settled the German. Then, before the remaining guards, who were stunned momentarily by the suddenness of the act, could even think, Judson was among them swinging his pick right and left. You know,” he broke off, “it’s funny what a little thing will raise the hopes of every prisoner in the camp. Every man sees in each little breach of discipline—each little mutinous act—the opportunity for which he thinks he has been waiting. It was so in Judson’s case.
“As the guards sprang in to seize Judson, every prisoner in sight entered the conflict. Picks and shovels and drills were our weapons. For a moment we made headway, the attack was so sudden. But we didn’t have a chance. The guards turned their rifles on us and it only took a few minutes to quell the disorder. Five prisoners were killed.”
“And Judson, what happened to him?”
Again Harding was silent for a few moments. Then he said:
“Frankly, I’d rather not talk about that. But having heard so much of the story, I guess you are entitled to the rest. You see, Judson did considerable damage with that pick before he was overcome. Besides the first guard, he felled three more of the Germans before they could subdue him. They couldn’t have done it then except that a guard closed in from behind and shot him through the head.”
“And killed him?” asked Hal.
“No,” said Harding, “the bullet didn’t kill him, worse luck. It would have been better if it had. Now comes the part I don’t like to talk about.” The lads saw the Englishman’s great hands clench and unclench as he talked and they knew that a terrible anger was raging within him.
“What happened?” asked Hal in a low voice.
“Why,” said Harding, “they took Judson to the surgeon, had his wound dressed and gave him some clean clothes. Then, the next day, right at the mouth of the mine as the shafts changed and practically every prisoner in the camp was there, they killed him.”
Hal and Chester shuddered.
“How?” asked Hal softly.
“That’s the horrible part of it,” said Harding in a choking voice. “They tied him to a post stuck in the ground for that purpose. Then a score of guards drew off twenty paces and unslung their lances. These they then began to use as spears, hurling them from that distance. It was plain, of course, that they did not mean to kill Judson instantly—from that distance there are few men who can launch a death throw—particularly with a lance. The first weapon struck Judson a glancing blow in the side—he had been stripped to the waist—it was a terrible sight.” Harding broke off again.
“Why did you stay?” demanded Hal, who was raging furiously within as Harding proceeded with his story.
“There was no help for it,” the man replied. “We were herded there under the guns of a hundred or more guards. Well, every lance thrown brought cheers and jeers from the guards—but there came never so much as a groan from Judson. I don’t know how long it lasted—it seemed like hours, though I suppose it was only a matter of minutes. Pierced in scores of places, Judson at last found eternal peace.”
Harding dropped suddenly into a little chair and buried his face in his hands. For the moment, Hal and Chester were too greatly shocked by this tale of barbarism to utter a word. Chester’s hand clutched Hal’s arm.
“Isn’t it terrible?” he whispered. “And to think that these men call themselves Christians!”
Harding overheard the remark and looked up.
“Christians!” he echoed. “Let me tell you something. The atrocities of the Turks in Armenia that we have heard so much about pale into insignificance alongside the cruelties of the Germans. Not for nothing have they won the name ‘Hun.’
“Poor Judson!” he continued. “He was my pal. Never shall I forget that sight. Sometimes in my dreams I see it now, and I awake with a scream. Now, my lads, do you wonder that while every prisoner here is thinking of escape he hesitates to make the attempt?”
“I should say not!” declared Hal. “But the Huns must answer for all this—their time of reckoning will come.”
“Yes, but it will not be in proportion to the punishment they deserve,” said Harding, “and that is what makes it so hard to bear. Cruelties that they have inflicted upon their prisoners will not be repaid in kind—there is no such barbarism in the hearts of the Allied nations. But,” and Harding brought his clenched fist into his left palm with a resounding smack, “the debt should be paid in kind.”
“No, no, Harding,” said Chester quietly. “We cannot lower ourselves to the level of these barbarians. Remember what the Good Book says: ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”
Again Harding buried his face in his hands. When he again looked up there was a more peaceful expression in his face—his eyes had lost their hardness.
“You are right,” he said quietly.
“Now,” said Chester, turning the subject, “the question is what they will do with us in view of the trouble we stirred up to-day?”
Harding shrugged.
“It’s hard to tell,” he answered. “It all depends on their mood. It may be that they will prescribe a week or so of solitary confinement, the lash, or the matter may be overlooked. You never can tell.”
“Great Scott!” said Hal. “We can’t stand for solitary confinement. I must tell you something, Harding. It is absolutely necessary that we get away from here without delay—at least that we make the attempt.”
Harding shook his head.
“Remember the story of Judson,” he said slowly.
“Well, it can’t be helped,” declared Chester. “We’ll have to risk it.”
Harding looked at the lad sharply.
“You mean that you have some particular reason?” he asked.
Chester nodded affirmatively, and then, in a few words, explained the mission with which they had been entrusted by General Pershing.
“I can realize the necessity of haste,” declared Harding, a strange light in his face, “and now I will tell you something. I have considered the situation from every angle and I believe that I have found a plan that promises success.”
“You have?” exclaimed Chester eagerly.
“Yes,” said Harding, “and now that the necessity has become so urgent we shall make the attempt to-morrow.”
Hal and Chester stifled their joy in subdued exclamations of delight.