"I told you I'd see you to blazes first," said the prisoner. "And I'll stand by what I've said."
"Very good," rejoined von Loringhoven. "I trust that you will enjoy yourself in the sulphur mines of Ostrovornik."
CHAPTER XXVIII
"A SECOND KOPENICK HOAX"
SNOW was descending in large flakes upon the southern slopes of the rugged Riesen Gebirge, the lofty range of mountains forming part of the national and political boundary between the German Empire and its vassal state—the dual monarchy of Austro-Hungary. At three kilometres beyond the diagonally striped post marking the limits of Saxony a thin-faced, emaciated man, clad in garments little better than a collection of rags, was sheltering on the lee-side of a gaunt pine tree. From his features one would guess his age at anything between thirty to thirty-five, although his actual years were short of twenty. Privation, lack of sufficient nourishment, and hardships untold had prematurely aged him, yet there was a certain self-confidence in his bearing that refused to be smothered by adversity.
After stepping from under the trailing branches and glancing dubiously at the dark, snow-laden clouds, the wayfarer returned to his place of shelter, drew a small piece of black bread from his pocket and began to munch it ravenously.
"The Lord only knows where the next meal is coming from," he soliloquised—not flippantly, but with a sense of deep and reverent feeling. Although he had spoken nothing but German for the last sixteen days—and he spoke it with an accent that defied criticism—he thought in his mother-tongue, which was English.
For longer than he cared to think he had been a prisoner of war, one of those luckless civilians who on the outbreak of the Great War found themselves trapped within the limits of the German Empire; and up to a little more than a fortnight ago he had eked out a dismal and precarious existence in the vast detention camp at Ruhleben.
And now he was tasting of the sweets of freedom. He could walk, eat, and sleep without being under the constant surveillance of German guards. He had to walk stealthily; eating was reduced to a fine art—that of making a little of doubtful nutritious powers go a long way; sleeping consisted of dozing fitfully—often in the open and occasionally in the welcome shelter of a more than half-empty barn. But these discomforts were as naught compared with the drab monotony and depressing surroundings of Ruhleben. He bore them with an equanimity bordering upon exuberance, counting present vicissitudes as stepping stones towards his ultimate goal—his homeland.