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.