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Page 93
"Unless we could drar the patrol's attention away!" said Sapper Maggs.
But Francis ignored the interruption.
"... We can at least try it. Come on, we must be starting! Thank God,
there's no moon; it's as dark as the devil outside!"
We roused up Monica and groped our way out of the cave into the black
and dripping forest. Somewhere in the distance a faint glare reddened
the sky. From time to time I thought I heard a shout, but it sounded far
away.
We crawled stealthily forward, Francis in front, then Monica, Maggs and
I last. In a few minutes we were wet through, and our hands, blue and
dead with cold, were scratched and torn. Our progress was interminably
slow. Every few yards Francis raised his hand and we stopped.
At last we reached the gloomy glade where, as Francis had told us,
according to popular belief, the wraith of Charlemagne was still seen on
the night of St. Hubert's Day galloping along with his ghostly
followers of the chase. The rustling of leaves caught our ears;
instantly we all lay prone behind a bank.
A group of men came swinging along the glade. One of them was singing an
ancient German soldier song:
"Die V�glein im Walde
Sie singen so sch�n
In der Heimat, in der Heimat,
Da gibt's ein Wiederseh'n."
"The relief patrol!" I whispered to Francis, as soon as they were past.
"The other lot they relieve will be back this way in a minute. We must
get across quickly." My brother stood erect, and tiptoed swiftly across
Charlemagne's Ride, and we followed.
We must have crawled for an hour before we came to the ravine. It was a
deep, narrow ditch with steep sides, full of undergrowth and brambles.
Now we could hear distinctly the voices of men all around us, as it
seemed, and to right and to left and in front we caught at intervals
glimpses of red flames through the trees. We could only proceed at a
snail's pace lest the continual rustle of our footsteps should betray
us. So each advanced a few paces in turn; then we all paused, and then
the next one went forward. We could no longer crawl; the undergrowth was
too thick for that; we had to go forward bent double.
We had progressed like this for fully half an hour when Francis, who
was in front as usual, beckoned us to lie down. We all lay motionless
among the brambles.
Then a voice somewhere above us said in German:
"And I'll have a man at the plank here, sergeant: he can watch the
ravine."
Another voice answered:
"Very good, Herr Leutnant, but in that case the patrols to right and
left need not cross the plank each time; they can turn when they come to
the ravine guard."
The voices died away in a murmur. I craned my neck aloft. It was so
dark, I could see nothing save the fretwork of branches against the
night sky. I whispered to Francis, who was just in front of me:
"Unless we make a dash for it now that man will hear us rustling along!"
Francis held up a finger. I heard a heavy footstep along the bank above
us.
"Too late!" my brother whispered back. "Do you hear the patrols?"
Footsteps crashing through the undergrowth resounded on the right and
left.
"Cold work!" said a voice.
"Bitter!" came the answer, just above our heads.
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