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Page 54
John had no doubt that a long life in the trenches and intense anxiety
had made an equal change in himself. The glass had told him that he
looked more mature, more like a man of thought and experience. Moreover,
he was in the dress of a peasant. After the first painful heartbeat he
awaited von Boehlen with confidence.
"Whence do you come?" asked the colonel of Uhlans--colonel he now was.
John pointed back over his shoulder and then produced his passport,
which Colonel von Boehlen, after reading, handed carefully back to him.
"Did you see anything of the French?" he asked glancing again at John,
but without a sign of recognition.
"No, sir," replied John in his new German with a French accent, "but I
saw a most unpleasant messenger of theirs."
"A messenger? What kind of a messenger?"
"Long, round and made of steel. It came over a mountain and then with a
loud noise divided itself into many parts near the place where I stood.
One messenger turned itself into a thousand messengers, and they were
all messengers of death. Honored sir, I left that vicinity as soon as I
could, and I have been traveling fast, directly away from there, ever
since."
Von Boehlen laughed, and then his strong jaws closed tighter. After a
moment's silence, he said:
"Many such messengers have been passing in recent months. The air has
been full of them. If you don't like battles, Castel, I don't blame you
for traveling in the direction you take."
John, who had turned his face away for precautionary measures, looked
him full in the eyes again, and he found in his heart a little liking
for the Prussian. Von Boehlen seemed to have lost something of his
haughtiness and confidence since those swaggering days in Dresden, and
the loss had improved him. John saw some signs of a civilian's sense of
justice and reason beneath the military gloss.
"May I pass on, sir?" he asked. "I wish to reach Metz, where I can
obtain more horses for the army."
"Why do you walk?"
"I sold my last horse and the automobiles and trains are not for me. I
know that the army needs all the space in them and I ask nothing."
"Fare on then," said von Boehlen. "Your papers are in good condition and
you'll have no trouble in reaching Metz. But be sure you don't lose your
passport."
The injunction was kindly and John, thanking him, took up the road. Von
Boehlen and his Uhlans rode on, and John looked back once. He caught a
single glimpse of the colonel's broad shoulders and then the long column
of horsemen rode by. There was no military pomp about them now. Their
gray uniforms were worn and stained and many of the men sagged in their
saddles with weariness. Not a few showed wounds barely healed.
The cavalry were followed by infantry, and batteries of guns so heavy
that often the wheels sank in the paved road. Sometimes the troops sang,
pouring forth the mighty rolling choruses of the German national songs
and hymns. The gay air as of sure victory just ahead that marked them in
the closing months of summer the year before had departed, but in its
place was a grim resolution that made them seem to John as formidable as
ever. The steady beat of solid German feet made a rolling sound which
the orders of officers and the creaking of wagons and artillery
scarcely disturbed. The waves of the gray sea swept steadily on toward
France.
John showed his passport twice more, but all that day he beheld marching
troops. In the afternoon it snowed a little again and the slush was
everywhere, but he trudged bravely through it. Having escaped from the
trenches he felt that he could endure anything. What were snow, a gray
sky and a cold wind to one who had lived for months on a floor of earth
and between narrow walls of half-frozen mud? He was like a prisoner who
had escaped from a steel cage.
Toward dark he turned from the road and sought refuge at a low but
rather large farmhouse, standing among trees. He modestly made his way
to the rear, and asked shelter for the night in the stable, saying that
he would pay. He learned that the place was occupied by people bearing
the German name of Gratz, which however signified little on that
borderland, which at different times had been under both German and
French rule.
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