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Page 63
There was a little patch of long grass about ten yards from the river,
and, crawling to it, he lay down. The grass rose a foot high on either
side of him, but the sun, bright and hot, shone directly down upon his
face and body. It felt wonderfully good after that long submersion in
the Marne. Removing all his heavy wet clothing, he wrung the water out
of it as much as he could, and lay back in a state of nature, for both
himself and his clothing to dry. Meanwhile, in order to avoid cold, he
stretched and tensed his muscles for a quarter of an hour before he lay
still again.
A wonderful warmth and restfulness flowed back into his veins. He had
feared chills and a serious illness, but he knew now that they would not
come. Youth, wiry and seasoned by hard campaigning, would quickly
recover, but knowing that, for the present, he could neither go forward
nor backward, he luxuriated in the grass, while the sun sucked the damp
out of his clothing.
Meanwhile the battle was raging over his head and he scarcely noticed
it. The shells whistled and shrieked incessantly, but, midway between
the contending lines, he felt that they were no longer likely to drop
near. So he relaxed, and a dreamy feeling crept over him. He could hear
the murmur of insects in the grass, and he reflected that the smaller
one was, the safer one was. A shell was not likely to take any notice of
a gnat.
He felt of his clothing. It was not dry yet and he would wait a little
longer. Anyhow, what was the use of hurrying? He turned over on his
side and continued to luxuriate in the long grass.
The warmth and dryness had sent the blood pulsing in a strong flood
through his veins once more, and the mental rebound came too. Although
he lay immediately between two gigantic armies which were sending
showers of metal at each other along a line of many miles, he considered
his escape sure and the thought of personal danger disappeared. If one
only had something to eat! It is curious how the normal instincts and
wants of man assert themselves even under the most dangerous conditions.
He began to think of the good German brown bread and the hot sausage
that he had devoured, and the hot coffee that he had drunk. One could
eat the food of an enemy without compunction.
But it was folly to move, even to seek dinner or supper, while the
shells were flying in such quantities over his head. As he turned once
more and lay on his back he caught glimpses as of swift shadows passing
high above, and the whistling and screaming of shells and shrapnel was
continuous. It was true that a missile might fall short and find him in
the grass, but he considered the possibility remote and it did not give
him a tremor. As he was sure now that he would suffer no bodily ill from
his long bath in the Marne he might remain in the grass until night and
then creep away. Blessed night! It was the kindly veil for all
fugitives, and no one ever awaited it with more eagerness than John
Scott.
The sun was now well beyond the zenith, and its golden darts came
indirectly. His clothing was thoroughly dry at last, and he put it on
again. Clad anew he was tempted to seek escape at once, but the sound of
a footstep caused him to lie down in the shelter of the grass again.
His ear was now against the earth and the footsteps were much more
distinct. He was sure that they were made by a horse, and he believed
that a Uhlan was riding near. He remembered how long and sharp their
lances were, and he was grateful that the grass was so thick and tall.
He longed for the automatic revolver that had been such a trusty friend,
but the Germans had taken it long since, and he was wholly unarmed.
He was afraid to raise his head high enough to see the horseman, lest he
be seen, but the footsteps, as if fate had a grudge against him, were
coming nearer. His blood grew hot in a kind of rebellion against chance,
or the power that directed the universe. It was really a grim joke that,
after having escaped so much, a mere wandering scout of a Uhlan should
pick him up, so to speak, on the point of his lance.
He pressed hard against the earth. He would have pressed himself into it
if he could, and imagination, the deceiver, made him think that he was
doing so. The temptation to raise his head above the grass and look
became more violent, but will held him firm and he still lay flat.
Then he noticed that the hoofbeats wandered about in an irregular,
aimless fashion. Not even a scout hunting a good position for
observation would ride in such a way, and becoming more daring he
raised his head slowly, until he could peep over the grass stems. He saw
a horse, fifteen or twenty feet from him, but without rider, bridle or
saddle. It was a black horse of gigantic build like a Percheron, with
feet as large as a half-bushel measure, and a huge rough mane.
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