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.