He hastily gave some directions in German, and leaving me with one officer and the sergeant, he and the other two officers hurriedly galloped off toward the location I had pointed out. During this little entertainment quite a crowd had gathered around and as the tenseness was relieved, they immediately began ejaculating and mumbling in great fashion, completely surrounding me. Looking through the crowd my gaze was following the horses and surmising what my next move would be when they reached there and found I had deliberately lied.
When they were almost to the spot I had designated, we suddenly heard quite a noticeable scramble over to the left and looking over that way I saw that they had caught Davis and he was being escorted toward town, followed by a portion of the mob. Hearing the same noise, the arrogant Prussian stopped his steed and wheeling around, saw Davis had been caught in just exactly the opposite direction from that to which I had pointed. He knew instantly that I had deliberately pranked him at pistol’s point. In Western cowboy fashion he gave his horse the spurs and drawing his Leugger back over his shoulder came madly galloping toward me. I knew what was going to happen. There was not a chance in the world; and the crowd around me also knew what was going to happen because they made a clearing just as the gamblers miraculously disappear when some one pulls a revolver in the game. Standing alone I awaited the inevitable.
As the fatal moment approached—suddenly there came from somewhere a sharp voice and from the crowd there rode forth another officer with a flowing purplish-gray cloak about him, the kind German officers sometimes wear when mounted, crying “Halte! Halte!” or something similar. It was a voice of command. The onrushing Prussian, riding past at his terrific momentum, dismounted and saluted. In a fast and furious manner this superior officer spoke to him in a well-modulated voice, but with a manner and expression, which, though I could not understand a word of German, I quite well knew was nothing else than a plain balling-out.
After about three minutes, in which our would-be assassin saluted ten or twelve times, he put his gun in its holster, re-mounted his horse and slinkingly rode away. Then this superior officer addressed something generally to the crowd, in reply to which one soldier stepped out, saluted smartly and after some directions by the officer, proceeded to explain to me, in broken English, that the officer wanted to apologize for the uncalled for conduct of the first German officer. After a little hesitation, I was surrounded by a proper German escort and marched over toward Davis—going where and for what I did not know—but trembling like a cur dog with delirium tremens—too afraid to be frightened.
IX
THE COURT OF INQUIRY
Like many other brazen Americans I felt throughout the war that in spite of the loss of my friends all about me, and the precautions repeatedly urged, that I was the one bird, who, alone, was exempt from mishap and misfortune. Undoubtedly the good fortune that always attended me caused me to adopt the viewpoint that my good luck was perpetual. Well, as a matter of fact, I still think that way to-day.
Such a thing as my ever becoming a prisoner of war in Germany was absolutely foreign to me. It had not even interested me, so, I had paid very little attention to the reports on the treatment of prisoners and I honestly did not know whether the prisoners were slowly starved to death or killed for some act which they had or had not individually committed, or what not. It was terrible at best. At any rate, I was convinced that it was bad enough that one could well afford to be desperate in taking chances to escape. So, when I finally, in spite of my confidence in my continued good luck, was taken prisoner on September 30, 1918, I immediately decided that I would escape no matter what the cost.
Upon being captured Davis and I were first marched down to a nearby airdrome—the den of our captors. There they dragged out a German automobile, which had steel, spring wheels. A very young and fat German boy, who, by the way, was an officer, climbed in first and told us to follow. Of course, we did; and soon we were off for somewhere. This youngster was a genuine pighead—he tried to be a Hun but did not know how and reminded me very much of a newly made Second Lieutenant. Like all other German officers he had the Iron Cross, which he wore complete and as he spoke a little English, I decided that the wisest move for me, was to find out just how much.
I had a hunch that the kid had probably just recently gotten his Iron Cross and might be glad to make a few remarks at the proper opening. So, pointing to the Cross and speaking rapidly, I asked, “What does that signify?”
He did not get me. His answer was a cool stare as if I had transgressed sacred laws. So, I again smiled and tried this time very slowly, “What is that?”