CHAPTER XX
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 French
Army 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.
I will not weary the reader with Bob's experiences during the next few hours. In the letter he wrote to me about them, he gave but few details. Nevertheless, he told me enough to make me realise that for hours he was within an ace of detection and death.
All around him shot and shell were falling, for although night had come, a continuous bombardment was taking place. Each army was sending forth its missiles of death; the guns of each were pounding to the other's trenches.
Before daylight came Bob had, in the darkness, passed the advance lines of the enemy, and was making his way towards his own people. But even yet his danger was not at an end; indeed, he was in more immediate peril than when he was a prisoner in the German camp. Clad as he was in the enemies' uniform, he knew that at first sight he would be shot down. Still he must take his risk and press forward.
Moreover, he knew that anything like hesitation must end in disaster.
Daylight had just begun to appear when he heard the murmur of voices. He felt sure he was some distance from the main line of the English, and yet he thought he heard some English voices. "It will be some men on outpost duty," he thought; "at any rate, I will have a try." Hiding behind some bushes, he listened intently. "Yes," he thought, "they are our own chaps."
"Who goes there?"
Bob knew it was a question which must be answered promptly.
"I say, you fellows," he cried, "wait a minute."
A dozen rifles were pointed towards him. Evidently the men who held the rifles waited for the word of command to fire.
"It's some German spy," he heard some one say.
Bob threw up his arms as a sign of surrender, and immediately he was seized. A few minutes later he told his story, which at first was not believed; but when he told who he was, and asked to be taken immediately to either General Fortescue or Colonel Sapsworth, the sergeant in command of the little company of Englishmen opened his eyes wide with astonishment.
"By George, he talks like an Englishman, anyhow!" said the puzzled sergeant; "and I did hear some talk three days ago about a Lieutenant Nancarrow giving the alarm to his own soldiers at the risk of his own life; anyhow, we've got him."
Hours later Bob found himself in the presence of his own superior officers.
"Talk about miracles," said Colonel Sapsworth; "but you're about the biggest miracle of this war. Nancarrow, we had all mourned for you as dead, although your name was sent to England as missing. I never knew the General so cut up as when he was told what had taken place; he seemed to think it mean of Providence to allow you to be taken when you had acted in the way you did. By gad, man, do you mean to tell me that you escaped from those infernal Germans?"
"You see, I robbed the poor beggar of his uniform," was Bob's answer, "and I knew their lingo; I had a near shave several times, but it was bluff that did it."
"You're a plucky young beggar, anyhow," and the Colonel laughed almost merrily as he spoke. "Yes, yes, my boy, you'll get mentioned in despatches. It was a great thing you did, and Sir John French will hear of it."
As may be imagined, Bob was questioned closely concerning his experiences in the German lines, and when he told of his conversation with the Kaiser, they listened to him with opened mouths.
"Good, good!" they cried again and again, as he repeated what he had said to the Kaiser. "By George, Nancarrow, if you could get back to England now, you would be interviewed by all the newspapers in the country. You would be a God-send to the English Press."
But times were too stirring for more than a passing notice to be taken of the young Cornishman's experiences.
A little later he was back at his post of duty again, little realising that although a man might be fortune's favourite on one day, the next might bring him dire disaster.
The next day it was evident, as appeared in Sir John French's despatches, which we read in England later, that the German Army were determined to throw all their strength into one crushing blow, for a phase of the battle began, which was continued night and day, in that part of the British Army where Bob was situated, with scarcely any intermission.
During these four days and nights, Bob, with thousands of others, had scarcely time to eat or sleep.
Weary hour after weary hour our men lay in the trenches, amidst pain which amounted to torture, incessantly firing, or again, at the word of command, ready to rush forward to meet the onset of the enemy.
Hundreds upon hundreds were killed; thousands upon thousands were wounded. Never did Bob realise, as he realised then, the meaning of the Prime Minister's words that "war was hell let loose." On his right hand and on his left his comrades fell—some never to speak again; others groaning in agony; others still laughing amidst their pain. Strange as it may seem, when the carnage was at its most awful stage, and when the heavens were rent with the booming of guns and the clashing of arms, Bob could not help picturing this same France, as he had passed through it years before.
Then it was fair and smiling and peaceful; now it was the scene of untold tragedies, such as he had never dreamt of before. Around him was the smoke of burning villages. Homesteads, which a few months before had been peaceful and prosperous, were now laid waste by the grim horrors of war. Mile after mile of fair country-side were made a vast cemetery. Every man fought his duel to the death. These men had no personal enmity against each other, and yet they rejoiced to see the enemy fall.
As Bob thought of it all, even in the midst of the fever of war which possessed him, he became almost mad. Those Germans in whose camp he had been, were, many of them, brave, patient, kindly men. They had their homes and their loved ones just as the English and the French had. They had left behind them sweethearts, wives, children, just as our men had; but because they were overruled by a vast military system, which had at its head the German Emperor, all this had taken place.
To this man, his own ambition was everything. What cared he for the lives of a million men, as long as his power could be extended and his ambitions, satisfied?
France was in the way of his advancement, therefore France must be crushed.
England was his great rival, and therefore England must be swept aside.
Germany must be a World Power, and nothing must stop her in fulfilling her destiny. To this end he had made the country a great war-camp, and for this the gospel of war had been preached. Mercy—love—brotherly kindness—peace, must all be sacrificed for the overwhelming ambitions and vain-glory of this man and his followers; this caused hell to be let loose upon earth.
That was why he and millions of others were fighting; that was why tens of thousands of the flower of young English manhood; as well as the best life of France, were being crushed in the dust. That was why homes were being made desolate—hearts broken.
Still the carnage went on; still fire and flame; still the boom of cannon; the groanings of dying men. Fight, fight; slay, slay, and no quarter.
Towards the evening of the fourth day after Bob's escape from the German lines, came a cry which had become almost familiar to him, and he found himself with his company making a bayonet charge on the enemy.
To a distant spectator, not knowing the meaning of the war, this charge must have seemed like some mad Bedlam let loose. Strong men lunging, stabbing, fighting, with only death in their hearts—and this was war!
All around was the crack of rifle shots, the boom of cannon, and still they pressed on, fighting their way inch by inch.
Suddenly Bob found himself bereft of his sword; his revolver was in his left hand, but in the mad struggle his sword had been stricken from the right.
Words of command could scarcely be heard amidst the din and clamour; on his right hand a soldier fell with the bayonet in his chest of a German, who at the same time fell from a wound which the Englishman had inflicted on him. Scarcely had the Englishman fallen, when he saw the bayonets of the enemy directed towards himself.
Seizing the Englishman's rifle—the bayonet fixed at the end of which was red with blood—he sought to defend himself. Directing his attention to the man who rushed upon him, he fought with all the strength he possessed: "I have mastered him," was the thought which came into his mind, as the German staggered back, but before he could make his victory sure, a blow, whence he did not know, struck him on the collar-bone; a hot, burning pain passed through his side, as he felt himself falling; a moment later there was a stampede over his body.
"It's all over with me," he said, and then he felt himself becoming unconscious.
In a hazy kind of fashion he thought our men were pressing forward, and that the Germans were falling back from them; but this was an impression rather than a thought. Presently it seemed to him that silence reigned. He felt very weary, but suffered no pain. He thought he heard the sound of distant guns; but they were no longer guns, they were the waves which beat upon the great rocks around Gurnard's Head, while he and Nancy sat in the shade, under the cliff, while he told her the story of his love. He was repeating to her the resolves which had been so suddenly born in his mind.
"Yes, Nancy," he said aloud, "I've found my mission; I am going in for war—war against war; that is the noblest work a man can do."
It was all very unreal; all far, far away. "The night is falling fast; how can Nancy and I get home?" he reflected. Then he heard some one singing close by him; it was the song popular amongst the soldiers—a song in which he himself had joined a hundred times:
"It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long, long way to go."
He turned his head, and saw a soldier at his side. He too, had been stricken down in the battle; he, too was unconscious of what he was doing.
"Yes, it's a long, long way to Tipperary," he murmured, and that was all, . . . a great darkness fell upon him.