“If you really want to hear it. I’ve spent hours devising it, but I’ll cut the telling short. First, you’ll have to pretend that I’m outside the bars—for getting out is beyond me.”
“All right. You are here where I am.”
“And it’s about ten at night; but no moon, or at least a clouded one. Starlight would be much better. I creep along the streets to the eastern edge of the town—for I don’t dare cross it straight west—until I reach the meadows. These I skirt, gradually getting westward and nearer their lines, until I come out behind the château hill, the south-western point of the town. This far I’m pretty confident of success. The place is too deserted for me to be discovered, short of villainous ill-luck.”
“Now you’re behind the château hill,” Lucy prompted.
“Getting up the hill through the wood is not very dangerous—past the stream, you know the place? I’m not likely to meet a soul there, for the guards probably go up by the trenches. Now I’m at the top, with the château in front of me, also the trench line and the sentries. But we can take it that the trench isn’t held, or they wouldn’t have sentries.
“To right and left stretches the German line. This part is ticklish. Some nights I make it easily enough; others I’m challenged at the second step. I turn left, around the park, avoiding the open lawns, where the artificial lake and the fountains are, and, keeping well under the trees, cross the trenches at an unguarded point. But by the time I’m on the left of the château the cover ends, and, to avoid coming out on to the grass in full sight of a sentry, I have to climb down the side of the hill—a regular precipice just here, if I remember right, but it can’t be helped. It’s dark, mossy rock—no one from the trenches below could see a moving figure against it—and with care I get down to the foot safely and find myself at the edge of the swamp. The trenches are behind me, on the left of the hill, and they are strongly occupied here. The Allies’ lines are a mile away, beyond the swamp and pond and a stretch of level ground. My back aches at thought of covering it, though my khaki is good protection—nearly earth color in the dark.”
“But the swamp—can you get through that?”
“Oh, it’s not a real bog. You don’t go in above your ankles, but every step is likely to make a squelching sound. This is the place where the chances are I would be seen or heard. I have to walk bent almost double among the long grass and reeds. My only hope is that the big night-birds in the marsh have accustomed the soldiers’ ears to strange noises—for the trenches are only a hundred yards behind me on this side of the hill. Once safely through the marsh, I drop down at the edge of the pond to get my breath and reconnoitre. The pond extends so far that to avoid it would mean a long détour in the open. It’s not wide, though, scarcely two hundred feet. The castle hill is a quarter of a mile behind me. I’m well on my way, if a stray bullet from one side or the other doesn’t find me about this time. If not, I guarantee to slip into that pond without a sound and swim across undiscovered, provided the moon doesn’t shine upon it to show me climbing out on the far bank. Star-shells, too, would be my finish. I can only trust there won’t any fall my way. Once I’ve slipped out of the pond and started crawling forward again, barring bullets—and I have faced a lot and missed them—I’m pretty near success.”
“But when you get to our trenches—won’t they shoot? How will you prove who you are?” Lucy asked with breathless eagerness.
“I’ll call out, and show that I’m alone. I’d convince them, right enough. Wish I had the chance! They won’t shoot without a look at me. Too many of their own men are likely to be out on listening post.”