Little comrade: a tale of the great war

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

She rose wearily, stretched herself, stamped her foot as if it were asleep, and then sat down again and closed her eyes. She looked very young and fragile, and was shivering from head to foot.

“My brother is not strong,” said Stewart to the attentive group. “I fear all this hardship and exposure will be more than he can bear.”

One of the men, with a gesture of sympathy, rose, unrolled his blanket, and spread it on the bank behind the fire.

“Let the young man lie down there,” he said.

“Oh, thank you!” cried Stewart. “Come, Tommy,” he added, touching the girl on the arm. “Suppose you lie down till the officer comes.”

She opened her eyes, saw the blanket, nodded sleepily, and, still shivering, followed Stewart to it, lay down, permitted him to roll her in it, and apparently dropped off to sleep on the instant. Stewart returned to the circle about the fire, nodding his satisfaction. They all smiled, as men do who have performed a kind action.

But Stewart, though doing his best to keep a placid countenance, was far from easy in his mind. One thing was certain—they must escape before the officer arrived. He, no doubt, would be able both to read and speak English, and the passport would betray them at once. For without question, a warning had been flashed from headquarters to every patrol to arrest the holder of that passport, and to send him and his companion, under close guard, back to Herbesthal. But how to escape!

Stewart glanced carefully about him, cursing the carelessness that had brought them into this trap, the imbecility which had held them staring at this outpost, instead of taking instantly to the woods, as they should have done. They deserved to be captured! Nevertheless——

The sentry was pacing slowly back and forth at the tunnel entrance, fifteen yards away; the other men were lolling about the fire, half-asleep. It would be possible, doubtless, to bolt into the darkness before they could grab their rifles, so there was only the sentry to fear, and the danger from him would not be very great. But it would be necessary to keep to the track for some distance, because, where it dropped into the tunnel, its sides were precipices impossible to scale in the darkness. The danger, then, lay in the fact that the men might have time to snatch up their rifles and empty them along the track before the fugitives would be able to leave it. But it was a danger which must be faced—there was no other way. Once in the woods, they would be safe.

Stewart, musing over the situation with eyes half-closed, recalled dim memories of daring escapes from Indians and outlaws, described in detail in the blood-and-thunder reading of his youth. There was always one ruse which never failed—just as the pursuers were about to fire, the fugitive would fling himself flat on his face, and the bullets would fly harmlessly over him; then he would spring to his feet and go safely on his way. Stewart smiled to remember how religiously he had believed in that stratagem, and how he had determined to practice it, if ever need arose! He had never contemplated the possibility of having to flee from a squad of men armed with magazine rifles, capable of firing twenty-five shots a minute!