On account of our last experience in crossing a river, we knew a raft to carry our clothes on would keep them dry and make it easier for us. So, failing to find any stuff with which to make a raft, we thought of a gate we had passed a short time back. It was a home-made affair, made of a big log on the top, whose heavy root balanced the gate on the post on which it swung. We went back, found it, and lifted it off, and although it was a heavy carry, we got it to the river, and, making two bundles of our clothes, floated them over on it. I swam ahead, pushing it with one hand, while Ted shoved from behind. Our clothes were kept dry, and we dragged the gate up on the bank. We hope the farmer found it, and also hope he thought it was an early Hallowe'en joke!
That day, August 31st, we took refuge in the broom, which was still showing its yellow blossom, and, as the, sun came out occasionally, we lit our pipes with Ted's sun-glass. The sun and wind dried our tobacco and our socks, and we started off that night feeling rather better.
It was a fine night for our purpose, for there was considerable wind, and we kept going all night, mostly on the roads. At daylight we took refuge in an open wood. The day was cloudy and chilly, and we found it long. At night, we had not gone far when we found three cows in a small field. We used all our blandishments on them, but the lanky one with straight horns was unapproachable and aloof in her manner, and would not let us near her. One of the others was quiet enough, but was nearly dry. The third one was the best, and we filled and drank, and filled and drank, until her supply was exhausted too. On account of the field being near the house, we were careful not to let the stream of milk make a sound in the empty can, so left some milk in the can each time, to deaden the sound. However, the owners of the cows were safe in bed, and asleep. We wondered if they would think the cows were bewitched when they found they would give nothing next morning!
CHAPTER XXII
THE LONG ROAD TO FREEDOM
When we had taken all the milk we could extract from the cows, we moved off quietly to the corner of the field farthest from the buildings, to get back to the road. We were going over the fence as gently as possible, when we saw two men whom we knew from their uniforms to be French prisoners. They were evidently escaping, like ourselves, but had been more fortunate than we, for they had packs on their backs. We tried to get their attention by calling to them, but the French word for "friend" did not come to us, only the German "Kamerad," and when they heard that, they took us for Germans and ran with all speed. We dared not pursue them, or even call, for fear of being heard; so had to see the two big packs, which no doubt had chocolate, sardines, bread, and cheese in them, disappear in the darkness. However, it may have been just as well—two escaping prisoners are enough, for safety.
September 2d was a fine day, with several hours of sunshine. From where we had taken refuge in a high spruce thicket, we could look out across a wide heather moor, all in bloom and a glorious blaze of color, amethyst, purple, mauve, with the bright September sun pouring down upon it. Our spirits always rose when the sun came out, and sank again when the day grew dark.
