CHAPTER XVIIHE AWAITS THE WORST AND RECEIVES A SURPRISE
After a while the monotony was broken by two soldiers coming to take his brother away. Tom did not know where they were taking him; it might be to court martial and death. He knew nothing about court martial, whether it was a matter of minutes or hours or days, only he knew that everything in military administration was quick, severe and thorough. He wanted to speak to his brother, but he did not dare, and after the grim little procession was gone he listened to the steady, ominous footfalls, as they receded along the deck.
Soon they would come forhim, and he made up his mind that he would be master of himself and at the last minute he would hold his head up and look straight at them, just like the statue of Nathan Hale which he had seen....
He realized fully now that he had been caughtin the meshes of his brother’s intrigue, and that there was no hope for him. To have saved himself he would have had to spare his brother and allow the intriguing to go on. Well, it made no difference—here he was. “And it ain’t so much, anyway,” he said, “if one boy like me does get misjudged, as long as the ship is saved and those papers about the motor were found.”
So he tried to comfort himself, sitting there alone, twisting his fingers and gulping now and then. All his fine, patriotic memories of the Slades were knocked in the head, but even in these lonely hours he was stanch for Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam might make a mistake—a terrible mistake, as he presently would do—“but anyway he’s more important than I am,” he said.
Occasionally he listened wistfully to the sounds outside and they made him wish he could see as well as hear. He heard the creaking of the busy pulleys, the men calling “Yo-o-ho!” as they handled the winch-ropes, the dull thud of the heavy bales upon the quay, the cheerful, lusty calls of the workers, the loud voices of the French people, and that incessant accompaniment of all, the clatter, clatter, clatter, of wooden shoes.
Sometimes he would lose his mastery of himselfand regain it only to listen again, wistfully, longingly. He hoped those German prisoners who walked as if they were wound up with a key, noticed all this hurry and bustle. They would soon see what it meant for Uncle Sam.
There were voices outside and Tom’s heart beat like a hammer. Could it be over so soon? The door opened a little and he could see that someone was holding the knob, talking to a soldier. He breathed heavily, his fingers were cold, but he stood up and looked straight before him, bravely. They had come to get him.
Then the door opened wider and a familiar voice greeted him.
“H’lo, Tommy. Well, well! Adventures never cease, huh?”
Tom stood gaping. Through dimmed eyes he saw a cigar (it seemed like the same cigar) cocked up in the corner of Mr. Conne’s mouth and that queer, whimsical look on Mr. Conne’s face.
“Mr. Conne——” he stammered. “I didn’t know—you was—here.Youdon’t believe it, do you?”
Mr. Conne worked his cigar leisurely over to the other side of his mouth.
“Believe what?”
“That—I’m—a—a spy and—and a traitor.” He almost whispered the words.
Mr. Conne smiled exasperatingly and hit him a rap on the shoulder. “Anybody accuse you of being that?”
“That’s what they think,” said Tom.
“Oh, no, they don’t, Tommy. But they’ve got to be careful. Don’t you know they have?”
“I got to go and—get shot—maybe.”
“So? Fancy that! Sit down here and tell me the whole business, Tommy. What’s it all about?”
“I—got to admit it looks bad——”
“They wouldn’t have done anything with you till they saw me, Tommy. Even if they had to take you back to New York. Trouble was, Wessel’s dying. How could they prove what you said about me getting you the job?”
He put his arm over Tom’s shoulder as they sat down upon the leather settee, and the effect of all the dread and humiliation and injustice and shame welled up in the boy now under that friendly touch and he went to pieces entirely.
“Did you think I didn’t know what I was doing when I picked you, Tommy?”
Tom could not answer, but sat there with his breast heaving, his hand on Mr. Conne’s knee.
“Did you just find your brother there by accident, Tom?”
“I—I got to be—ashamed——”
“Yes,” Mr. Conne said kindly; “you’ve got to be ashamed ofhim. But you see, I haven’t got to be ashamed of you, have I? How’d you find out about it? Tell me the whole thing, Tom.”
And so, sitting there with this shrewd man who had befriended him, Tom told the whole story as he could not have told it to anyone else. He went away back into the old Barrel Alley days, when he had “swiped” apples from Adolf Schmitt and his brother Bill had worked in Schmitt’s grocery store. He told how it used to make him mad when his brother “got licked unfair,” as he said, and he did not know why Mr. Conne screwed up his face at that. He told about how he “had to decide quick, kind of,” when the officers confronted him in his brother’s stateroom, and how the thought about Uncle Sam being his uncle had decided him. He told how he had had to keep his face turned away from his brother so that he “wouldn’t feel so mean, like.” And hereagain Mr. Conne gave his face another screw and Tom did not understand why. That was one trouble with Tom Slade—he was so thick that he could not understand a lot of things that were perfectly plain to other people.
CHAPTER XVIIIHE TALKS WITH MR. CONNE AND SEES THE BOYS START FOR THE FRONT
“What—what do you think they’ll do with him?”
It was the question uppermost in Tom’s mind, but he could not bring himself to ask it until his visitor was about to leave.
“Why, that’s hard to say, Tommy,” Mr. Conne answered kindly but cautiously; then after a moment’s silence he added, “I’ll strain a point and tell you something because—well, because you’re entitled to know. But you must keep it very quiet. They hope to learn much more from him than he has told, but they found in his luggage a lot of plans and specifications of the ‘Liberty Motor.’”
“I’m glad,” said Tom simply.
“Of course, we suspected from the letters sent to Schmitt that somebody had such plans, but wehad no clue as to who it was. You grabbed more than the dish when you put your hand through that transom, Tommy. You got hold of the plans of the ‘Liberty Motor’ too.”
“I didn’t take your advice,” said Tom ruefully; “I got a good lesson.”
“That’s all right, my boy. You’ve got a brain in your head and you did a good job. It’ll all go to your credit, and the other part won’t be remembered. Soyoutry not to think of it.”
“They won’t kill him, will they?”
“They won’t do anything just at present, my boy. Now put your mind on your work and don’t think of anything else——”
“Have I got my job yet?”
“Why, certainly,” Mr. Conne laughed; “I’ll see you again, Tommy. Good-by.”
And Tom tried this time to follow his advice. He was soon released and the officer, whom he had so feared, was good enough to say, “You did well and you’ve had a pretty tough experience.” The captain spoke kindly to him, too, and all the ship’s people seemed to understand. The few soldiers who had not yet been sent forward to billets near the front, did not jolly him or evenrefer to his detective propensities. They did not even mimic him when he said “kind of,” as they had done before.
He had little to do during the ship’s brief stay in port and Mr. Conne, who was there on some mysterious business, showed him about the quaint old French town and treated him more familiarly than he had ever done before. For Tom Slade had received his first wound in the great war and though it was long in healing, it yielded to kindness and sympathy, and these everyone showed him.
And so there came a day when he and Mr. Conne stood upon the platform amid a throng of French people and watched the last contingent of the boys as they called back cheerily from the queer-looking freight cars which were to bear them up through the French country to that mysterious “somewhere”—the most famous place in France.
“So long, Whitey!” they called. “See you later.”
“Good-by, Tommy, old boy; hope the tin fish don’t get you going back!”
“Hurry up back and bring some more over, Whitey!”
“Bon voyage!”
“Au revoir!”
“Give my regards to Broadway, Whitey.”
“Cheer up, Whitey, old pal. Kaiser Bill’ll be worse off than you are whenweget at him.”
“N’importe, Whitey.”
“I’ll be there,” called Tom.
“Venez donc!” some one answered, amid much laughter.
The last he saw of them they were waving their hats to him and making fun of each other’s French. He watched the train wistfully until it passed out of sight.
“They seem to like you, Tommy,” Mr. Conne smiled. “Is that a new name, Whitey?”
“Everybody kinder always seems to give me nicknames,” said Tom. “I’ve had a lot of people jolly me, but never anybody so much as those soldiers—not even the scouts. I’ll miss ’em going back.”
“The next lot you bring over will be just the same, Tom. They’ll jolly you, too.”
“I don’t mind it,” said Tom. “But one thing I was thinking——”
Mr. Conne rested his hand on Tom’s shoulderand smiled very pleasantly at him. He seemed to be going out of his way these days to befriend him and to understand him.
“It’s about how you get to know people and get to like them, kind of, and then don’t see them any more. That feller, Archibald Archer, that worked on the other ship I was on—I’d like to know where he is if he’s alive. I liked that feller.”
“It’s a big world, Tom.”
“Maybe I might see him again some time—same as I met my—my brother.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Conne, cheerily. “It’s always the unexpected that happens, you know.”
“I sawyouagain, anyway.”
“Yes, you can’t get away from me.”
“And Frenchy—maybe I’ll never see him any more. He’s got people that live in Alsace; he told me all about them. He hasn’t heard from them since the war first began.—Gee, I hope Germany has to give Alsace back to France—just for his sake!”
Mr. Conne laughed.
“Most of the people there stick up for France in their hearts, only they dasn’t show it. He gaveme this button; it’s made out of a cannon, and it means the French people there got to help you.”
“Hmm—hang on to it.”
“You bet I’m going to. But maybe he wouldn’t like now, even if I met him again—after what he knows——”
“Look here, Tom. You’ll be sailing in a day or so and when you come back I’ll probably be in Washington. Perhaps you’ll wish to enlist over here soon. I’m going to give you a little button,kind of, as you would say—to keep in your head. And this is it. Remember, there’s only one person in the world who can disgrace Tom Slade, and that is Tom Slade himself.”
He slapped Tom on the shoulder, and they strolled up the dingy, crooked street, past the jumble of old brown houses, until it petered out in a plain where there was a little cemetery, filled with wooden crosses.
“Those poor fellows all did their bit,” said Mr. Conne.
Tom looked silently at the straight rows of graves. He seemed to be getting nearer and nearer to the war.
“How far is the front?” he asked.
“Not as far as from New York to Boston, Tom. Straight over that way is Paris. When you get past Paris you begin to see the villages all in ruins,—between the old front and the new front.”
“I’ve hiked as far as that.”
“Yes, it isn’t far.”
“Do you know where our boys are—what part of it?”
“Yes, I know, but I’m not going to tell you,” Mr. Conne laughed. “You’d like to be there, I suppose.”
For a few moments Tom did not answer. Then he said in his old dull way, “I got a right to go now. I got a right to be a soldier, to make up for—him. The next time I get back here I’m going to join. If we don’t get back for six weeks, then I’ll be eighteen. I made up my mind now.”
Mr. Conne laughed approvingly and Tom gazed, with a kind of fascination, across the pleasant, undulating country.
“I could even hike it,” he repeated; “it seems funny to be so near.”
But when finally he did reach the front, it was over the back fence, as one might say, and after such an experience as he had never dreamed of.
CHAPTER XIXHE IS CAST AWAY AND IS IN GREAT PERIL
“They’re more likely to spill the cup when it’s empty,” said the deck steward, who was a sort of walking encyclopedia to Tom.
“I suppose that’s because we haven’t got such a good convoy going back,” Tom said.
“That and high visibility. You see, the less there is in the ship, the higher she sets up in the water, and the higher she sets the better they can see her. We’re in ballast and floating like a balloon. They get better tips about westbound ships, too. All the French ports are full of German agents. They come through Switzerland.”
The first day out on the voyage homeward was very rough. At about dusk Tom was descending the steps from the bridge with a large tray when he saw several of the ship’s people (whose time was pretty much their own on the westward trip) hurrying to the rail. One of them called to him,“We’re in for it;” but Tom was not alarmed, for by this time he was too experienced a “salt” to be easily excited.
“You can see the wake!” someone shouted.
There was a sudden order on the bridge, somebody rushed past him and then the tray, with all its contents, went crashing upon the steps and Tom staggered against the stair-rail and clung to it.
The ship was struck—struck as if by a bolt out of the sky.
He had been through this sort of thing before and he was not scared. He was shocked at the suddenness of it, but he kept his head and started across the deck for his emergency post, aft. Everyone seemed to be running in that direction.
He knew that however serious the damage, there was but small danger to life, since the convoy was at hand and since there were so very few people upon the ship; there were life-boats enough, without crowding, for all on board.
But the impact, throwing him down the steps, as it did, had caused him to twist his foot and he limped over to the rail for its assistance in walking. Men were now appearing in life-preservers, and hovering impatiently in the vicinity of the lifeboat davits, but he heard no orders for manning the boats and he was distinctly aware of the engines still going.
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He hobbled along, holding the rail, intent upon reaching the davits astern, where the third officer would give him orders, when suddenly there was a splitting sound, the rail gave way, he struggled to regain his balance and went headlong over the side, still clutching the piece of rail which he had been leaning on.
He had the presence of mind to keep hold of it and to swim quickly away from the vessel, trying to shout as he swam; but the sudden ducking had filled his mouth with water and he could do little more than splutter.
He could see as he looked up that one of the upright stanchions which at once strengthened the rail and supported the deck above, was in splinters and it was this that had weakened the rail so that it gave way. Vaguely he remembered reading of a submarine which, after despatching a torpedo, had tried by gunfire to disable the steering apparatus of a ship, and he wondered if that was the cause of the shattered stanchion.
He would not have believed that one could be carried out of hearing so rapidly, but before herealized it, he was thrown down into the abysmal depths of a great sea with only a towering wall of black water to be seen, and when he was borne up on the crest of another great roller he saw the ship and her convoy at what seemed a great distance from him.
The vessels had seemed far apart from his viewpoint on deck, but now, so great was his distance from them, that they seemed to form a very compact flotilla and the hurried activities on the stricken vessel were not visible at all.
He shouted lustily through the gathering dusk, but without result. Again and again he called, till his head throbbed from the exertion. He could see the smoke now, from his own vessel he thought, and he feared that she was under way, headed back to France.
Later, when he was able to think connectedly at all, it was a matter of wonder to him that he could have been carried so far in so short a time, for he was not familiar with the fact known to all sailors that each roller means a third of a mile and that a person may be carried out of sight on the ocean in five minutes.
He could discover no sign now of the flotilla except several little columns of smoke and herealized that the damage to theMontaukcould not be serious and that they were probably making for the nearest French port.
Tom was an expert swimmer, but this accomplishment was, of course, of no avail now. He was nearly exhausted and his helplessness encouraged the fatal spirit of surrender. With a desperate impulse he all but cast the broken rail from him, resigned to struggle no more with its uncertain buoyancy, which yielded to his weight and submerged him with every other motion which he made.
Then he had an idea. Dragging from the wood was part of the rope network which had been the under part of the ship’s rail. It was stiff with paint. Grasping it firmly in his mouth he managed to get his duck jacket off and this he spread across the stiff network, floating the whole business, jacket underneath, so that the painted rope netting acted as a frame to hold the jacket spread out.
To his delight, he found this very buoyant, and with the strip of wood which he lashed across it with his scarf and belt it was almost as good as a life-preserver. He had to be careful to keep itflat upon the water, for as soon as one edge went under the whole thing acted like the horizontal rudders of a submarine. But he soon got the hang of managing it and it was not half bad.
CHAPTER XXHE IS TAKEN ABOARD THE “TIN FISH” AND QUESTIONED
And then he saw it. Whether it had been near him all the time he did not know. It was in the same wave-valley with himself and seemed to be looking at him. Even before there was any sign of human life upon it, it seemed to be standing off there just looking at him, and there was something uncanny about it. It looked like the little flat cupola of the town hall at home, only it was darker, and on top of it two long things stood up like flagpoles. And it bobbed and moved and just stood there—looking at him.
A life boat might have a name instead of a number but it could not look at him like that.
Then he saw that it was nearer to him, although he could not exactly see it move. On top of it were two persons, one of whom appeared to be looking at him through a long glass. Tom wished that he could see the rest of it—the part underneath—for then it would not seem so unnatural.
Then one of the men called to him through a megaphone and he was possessed by an odd feeling that it was the thing itself speaking and not the man upon it.
“Speak German?”
“No,” Tom called, “I’m American.”
He waited, thinking they would either shoot him or else go away and leave him. Then the man called, “Lift up your feet!”
This strange mandate made the whole thing seem more unreal, and he would not have been surprised to be told next to stand on his head. But he was not going to take any chances with a Teuton and he raised his feet as best he could, while the little tower came closer—closer, until it was almost upon him.
Suddenly his feet caught in something, throwing him completely over, and as he frantically tried to regain his position his feet encountered something hard but slippery.
“Vell, vot did I tell you, huh?” the man roared down at him.
Tom was almost directly beneath him now, walking, slipping, and scrambling to his feet again, while this grim personage looked down at him like Humpty Dumpty from his wall. Thewhole business was so utterly strange that he could hardly realize that he was standing, or trying to stand, waist deep, at the conning tower of a German submarine. By all the rules of the newspapers and the story books, his approach should have been dramatic, but it was simply a sprawling, silly progress.
Of course, he knew how it was now. The U-boat was only very slightly submerged, and evidently the removable hand rail had not been stowed and it was that on which his feet had caught and which had caused his inglorious aquatic somersault. He had walked, or stumbled, over the submerged deck and now stood, a drenched and astonished figure, beneath his rescuers—or his captors.
The man lowered a rope which had something like a horse’s stirrup hanging to it and into this Tom put his foot, at the same time grasping the rope, and was helped up somewhat roughly.
Upon the top was a little hatch in which the man was standing, like a jack in the box, and now he went down an iron ladder with Tom after him.
“You off derMontauk, huh?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Tom, “I fell off.”
“Vell, you haf’ good loock.”
Tom did not know whether to consider himself lucky or not, but it occurred to him that the domineering manner of his captors might not be an indication of their temper. And the realization of this was to prove useful to him afterward for he found that with the Germans a not unkindly intention was often expressed with glowering severity. He made up his mind that he would not be afraid of him.
The iron ladder descended into a compartment where there was much electrical apparatus, innumerable switches, etc., and two steering gears. In front of each of these was a thing to look into, having much the appearance of a penny in the slot machine, in which one sees changing views. These he knew for the lower ends of the two periscopes. There was an odor in the place which made him think of a motorcycle.
A door in the middle of this apartment, forward, led into a tiny, immaculate galley, with utensils which fitted into each other for economy in space, like a camping outfit. Here a parrot hung in a cage—strange home for a bird of the air!
Another door, midway in the opposite side of the galley, opened into a narrow aisle which ranforward through the center of the boat, with berths on either side, like the arrangement of a sleeping-car. In one of these squatted two men, in jumpers, playing a card game.
The length of this aisle seemed to Tom about half the length of a railroad car. Through it his rescuer led him to a door which opened into a tiny compartment, furnished with linoleum, a flat desk, three stationary swivel chairs and a leather settee. It was very hot and stuffy, with an oily smell, but cosy and spotlessly clean.
Directly across this compartment was another central door with something printed in German above it. The man knocked, opened this door, spoke to someone, then came back and went away in the direction from which they had come.
Tom stood in the little compartment, not daring to sit down. He seemed to be in a strange world, like that of the Arabian Nights. He did not know whether the boat had descended or was still awash, or had come boldly up to the surface. He knew that the tower through the hatch of which he had descended was about in the middle, and that he had been taken from that point almost to the bow. He thought this cosy little room must be the commander’s own privatelair, and that probably the commander’s sleeping quarters lay beyond that door. Forward of that must be the torpedo compartments. As to what lay astern, he supposed the engines were there and the stern torpedo tubes, but the Teutons were so impolite that they never showed him and all Tom ever really saw of the interior of a German U-boat was the part of it which he had just traversed, and which in a general sort of way reminded him of a sleeping-car with the odor of a motorcycle.
Presently, the forward door opened, and a young man with a very sallow complexion entered. He wore a kind of dark blue jumper, the only semblance of which to a uniform was that its few buttons were of brass. He was twirling his mustache and looked at Tom with very keen eyes.
“Vell, we are not so pad, huh? Ve don’d kill you!”
Tom did not know exactly what to say, so he said, “I got to thank you.”
The man motioned to the settee and Tom sat down while he seated himself in one of the swivel chairs.
“Vell, vot’s der matter?” he said, seeing Tom shiver.
“I’m wet,” said Tom; adding, “but I don’t mind it.”
The man continued to look at him sharply. His questions were peremptory, short, crisp.
“You had a vite jacket?”
“Yes, sir. I made a kind of a life preserver out of it.”
Tom suspected that they had seen him long before he had seen them and that they had watched his struggles in the water.
“Steward’s poy, huh?”
“I was captain’s mess boy. The railing was broke and I never noticed it, so I fell overboard. I don’t think anybody else got hurt,” he added.
The man twirled his mustache, still with his keen eyes fixed on Tom.
“You bring ofer a lot of droops?” It was a question, but he did not keep his voice raised at the end, as one asking a question usually does. In this sense a German never asks a question. He seemed to be making an announcement and expecting Tom to confirm it.
“Quite a lot,” said Tom.
“Two thousand, huh?”
“I couldn’t count them, there were so many.”
“How many trips you make?”
“This was my first on a transport,” said Tom.
“Huh. You make Brest? Vere?”
“It wasn’t Brest,” said Tom, “and I ain’t supposed to tell you.”
“Vell, I ain’t supposed to rescue you neither.”
“If you’d asked me before you rescued me, even then I wouldn’t of told you,” said Tom simply.
“Huh. You talk beeg. Look out!”
And still he twirled his mustache.
“Dey catch a spy, huh?”
“Yes, they did,” said Tom, feeling very much ashamed and wondering how his questioner knew. Then it occurred to him that this very U-boat had perhaps been watching for the signal light, and it gave him fresh satisfaction to remember thathehad perhaps foiled this man who sat there twirling his mustache.
The commander did not pursue this line of inquiry, supposing, perhaps, that a mess boy would not be informed as to such matters, but he catechised Tom about everything else, foiled at every other question by the stolid answer, “I ain’t supposed to tell you.” And he could not frighten or browbeat or shake anything out of him.
At length, he desisted, summoned a subordinate and poured a torrent of German gibberish at him,the result of which was that Tom’s wet clothes were taken from him and he was ushered to one of the berths along the aisle, presumably there to wait until they dried.
He was sorry that they would not let him accompany his wet clothing aft where the engines were, but he was relieved to find that he was evidently not going to be thrown back into the ocean.
CHAPTER XXIHE IS MADE A PRISONER AND MAKES A NEW FRIEND
It was just another German mistake in diplomacy or strategy or browbeatery, or whatever you may call it. Tom had been rescued for the information which he might give, and he gave none. It was not that he was so clever, either. A fellow like Frenchy could have squeezed a whole lot out of him without his realizing it, but Captain von Something-or-other didn’t know how to do it. And having failed, perhaps it was to his credit that he did not have Tom thrown back into the ocean.
Tom would have liked to know whether the boat was still awash or completely submerged. Above all, he was anxious to know what they intended to do with him. The fact that the boat did not pitch or roll at all made him think that it must be far below these surface disturbances, but he did not dare to ask.
When his clothes were returned to him he wasgiven a piece of rye bread and a cup of coffee, which greatly refreshed him, and he lay in one of the bunks along the long aisle watching two of the Germans who were playing cribbage. Once the commander came through like a conductor and as he passed Tom he said, “Vell, you haf’ more room soon.”
He said it in his usual gruff, decisive tone, but Tom felt that he had intended to be agreeable and he wondered what he meant.
After a while he fell asleep and slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. When he awoke there was no one about, but he heard voices outside, talking in German. Presently a soldier in one of the familiar German helmets came in and beckoned to him.
Tom followed him up the iron ladder, out through the hatch and down another little ladder which was leaning against the outside of the conning tower. The deck was quite free of the water and already it was cluttered with tanks and cases ready to be stowed aboard. On either side, ranged sideways in a long row, as if they were ready to start on a race, were other U-boats, as many as thirty Tom thought, their low decks the scene of much activity.
On the wharf was a long line of hand trucks, each bearing what he supposed to be a torpedo, and these looked exactly like miniature submarines, minus the conning tower.
These things he saw in one hurried, bewildered glance, for he was allowed no opportunity for observation. Scarcely had he stepped off the deck when two lame soldiers took him in hand. Another soldier, who was not lame, stepped in front of him and he was directed by an officer who managed the affair and spoke very good English, to keep his eyes upon the little spire of that soldier’s helmet. What he saw thereafter, he saw only through the corners of his eyes, and these things consisted chiefly of German signs on buildings.
In this formation, with Tom’s eyes fixed upon the little shiny spire before him, a lame soldier limping on either side and an officer in attendance, they marched to a stone building not far distant. Here he was ushered into a room where two men in sailor suits and three or four in oilskins sat about on benches. Two crippled soldiers guarded the door and another, who stood by an inner door, wore a bandage about his head.
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“Blimy, I thought I was ’avin’ me eyes tested,” said one of the sailors. “It’s a bloomin’ wonder they don’t clap a pair o’ blinders on yer and be done with it!”
Tom had not expected to hear any English spoken and it had never sounded so good to him before. The sailor did not seem to be at all awed by the grim surroundings, and his freedom from restraint was comforting to Tom who had felt very apprehensive. He was soon to learn that the most conspicuous and attractive thing about a British sailor or soldier is his disposition to take things as he finds them and not to be greatly concerned about anything.
“Hi, Fritzie,” he added, addressing one of the soldiers, “are we for Wittenberg or carn’t yer s’y?” The guard paid no attention.
“It’s no difference,” said one of the men in oilskins.
“It’s a bloomin’ lot o’ difference,” said the sailor, “whether you’re civilian or not, I can jolly well tell you! It’s a short course in Wittenberg—there and Slopsgotten, or wotever they calls it. And the Spanish Ambassador, ’e calls to inquire arfter yer ’ealth every d’y. Hi there, Fritzie, ’ave we long to wite, old pal?”
As there seemed to be no objection to this freedom of speech, Tom ventured a question.
“Is this Germany?”
“Germany? No, it’s the Cannibal Islands,” said the sailor, and everyone except the guard laughed.
“You’re not from Blighty,[3]eh?” the sailor asked.
“I’m American,” said Tom; “I was ship’s boy on a transport and I fell off and a U-boat picked me up.”
“You’re in Willlamshaven,” the sailor told him, expressing no surprise at his experience.
“He’s civilian,” said one of the men in oilskins. “He’s safe.”
“Mybe, and mybe not,” said the sailor; “’ow old are yer?”
“Seventeen,” said Tom.
“Transports aren’t civilian,” said the sailor.
“Ship’s boys are not naval in American service.”
“It’s the ige of yer as does it,” the sailor answered. “I’ll wiger you me first package from ’ome ’e goes to Slopsgotten.”
“What is Slopsgotten?” Tom asked.
“It’s the ship’s boys’ ’eaven.”
“I guess it ain’t so good,” said the man.
“It’s a grite big rice track,” said the sailor. “Me cousin was there afore the Yanks came in. Mr. Gerard ’e got him exchinged. They got a ’ole army o’ Yanks there now—all civilian.”
“Is it a prison camp?” said Tom.
“A bloomin’ sailors’ ’ome.”
“Were you captured?” Tom asked.
“We’re off a bloomin’ mine l’yer,” the sailor answered, including his companion; “nabbed in the channel—’i, Freddie?”
“An’ I ’ad tickets in me pocket to tike me girl to the pl’y in Piccadilly that night. Mybe she’s witing yet,” responded Freddie.
“Let ’er wite. Hi, Fritzie, we’re a-goin’ to add four shillins’ to the bloomin’ indemnity, to p’y fer the tickets!”
Further conversation with this blithesome pair elicited the information that they had been taken by a German destroyer while in a small boat in the act of mine inspecting, and that the men in oilskins (the one who had spoken being an American) were captives taken from a sunken British trawler.
One by one these prisoners were passed into aninner room where each remained for about five minutes. When the sailor came out, he held up a brass tag which had been fastened with a piece of wire to his buttonhole.
“I got me bloomin’ iron cross,” he said, “and I’m a-goin’ to mike me ’ome in Slops! Kipe yer fingers crossed w’en yer go in there, Yank; tike me advice!”
“I hope I go there too if you’re going,” said Tom, “’cause you make it seem not so bad, kind of, bein’ a prisoner.”
“Hi, Fritzie!” the sailor called. “I got me reward for ’eroism!”
But apparently the German soldier could not appreciate these frivolous references to the sacred iron cross, for he glowered upon the young Englishman, and turned away with a black look.
“Hi, Fritzie, cawrn’t yer tike a joke?” the sailor persisted.
Tom thought it must be much better fun to be an English soldier than a German soldier. And he thought this good-natured prisoner would be able to hold his own even against a great Yankee drive—of jollying.
[3]England.
[3]England.
CHAPTER XXIIHE LEARNS WHERE HE IS GOING AND FINDS A RAY OF HOPE
It seemed to Tom that the two German officials who sat behind a table examining him, asked him every question which could possibly be framed in connection with himself. And when they had finished, and the answers had been written down, they made a few informal inquiries about American troops and transports, which he was thankful that he could not answer. When he returned to the ante-room he had fastened to his buttonhole a brass disk with a number stamped upon it and a German word which was not “Slopsgotten,” though it looked as if it might be something like it.
“Let’s see,” said the sailor; “didn’t I jolly well tell yer? Congratulations!”
“Does it mean I go to Slopsgotten?” Tom asked.
“They’ll keep us there till the war’s over, too,”said the one called Freddie. “We’ll never get a good whack at Fritzie now.”
Tom’s heart fell.
“We’ll be wittling souveneers out o’ wood,” Freddie concluded.
“We’ll have plenty o’ wood,” said his comrade. “The old Black Forest’s down that w’y.”
“It’s just north of Alsice,” Freddie said.
“A pair o’ wire nippers and a bit o’ French——”
“Shh,” cautioned Freddie.
“We m’y be ible to s’y ‘Owdy’ to General ’Aig yet.”
“Shh! We aren’t even there yet.”
Tom listened eagerly to this talk and thought much about it afterward. For one whole year he had longed to get into the war. He had waited for his eighteenth birthday as a child waits for Christmas. He had gone on the transport with the one thought of its bringing him nearer to military service. He was going to fight like two soldiers because his brother was—was not a soldier.
And now it appeared that his part in the great war, his way of doing his bit, was to lie in a prison camp until the whole thing was over. That wasworse than boring sticks in Bridgeboro and distributing badges. Tom had never quarreled with Fate, he had even been reconciled to the thought of dying as a spy; but he rebelled at this prospect.
Instinctively, as he and his two philosophical companions were placed aboard the train, he reached down into his trousers pocket and found the little iron button which Frenchy had given him. He clutched it as if it were a life preserver, until his hand was warm and sweaty from holding it.
It seemed his last forlorn hope now.