# Little Comrade (Munsey's Magazine)/Chapter 10

pp. 871–876

### CHAPTER X
#### Fortune Frowns

One look at that horribly disfigured face imprinted it indelibly upon Stewart's memory—the blue eyes staring upward, the hair matted with blood, the sprawling body, the gleaming knife caught up in what moment of desperation!
Shaking with horror, he seized his companion's hand and led her away out of the desecrated house, out of the silent yard, out into the narrow lane, where they could breathe freely.
“The Uhlans have passed this way,” said the girl, staring up and down the road.
“But,” stammered Stewart, wiping his wet forehead, “but I don't understand. Germany is a civilized nation—war is no longer the brutal thing it once was.”
“War is always brutal, I fear,” said the girl sadly; “and, of course, among a million men there are certain to be some—like that! I am no longer hungry. Let us press on.”
Stewart, nodding, followed along beside her, across fields, over little streams, up and down stretches of rocky hillsides, always westward. But he saw nothing; his mind was full of other things.
This was war! A thousand other women would suffer the same fate as the murdered peasant in the farmhouse. Thousands and thousands more would be thrown, stripped and defenseless, on the world, to live or die as chance might will. A hundred thousand children—perhaps many more than that—would be fatherless; a hundred thousand girls, now ripening into womanhood, would be denied their destiny of marriage and children of their own.
Stewart shook the thought away. The picture his imagination painted was too horrible; it could never come true—not all the emperors on earth could make it come true!
Gradually the country grew rougher and more broken, and ahead of them they could see steep and rocky hillsides, broken by deep valleys and covered by a thick growth of pine.
“We must find a road,” said Stewart at last; “we can't climb up and down those hills. And we must find out where we are. There is a certain risk, but we must take it. It is foolish to stumble forward blindly.”
“You are right,” his companion agreed.
Presently, far below them, at the bottom of a valley, they saw a white road winding; and to this they made their way. Almost at once they came to a house, in whose door stood a buxom, fair-haired woman, with a child clinging to her skirts.
The woman watched them curiously as they approached, and her face seemed to Stewart distinctly friendly.
“Good morning,” he said, stopping before the door-step and lifting his hat an unaccustomed salutation at which the woman stared. “We seem to have lost our way. Can you tell us—”
The woman shook her head.
“My brother and I have lost our way,” said his companion, in rapid French. “We have been tramping the hills all morning. How far is it to the nearest village?”
“The nearest village is Battice,” answered the woman in the same language. “It is three kilometers from here.”
“There is a railway station there?”
“But certainly. How is it you do not know?”
“We come from the other direction.”
“From Germany?”
“Yes,” answered the girl, after an instant's scrutiny of the woman's face.
“Then you are fugitives? Ah, do not fear to tell me,” she added, as the girl hesitated. “I have no love for the Germans.”
“Yes,” assented the girl, “we are fugitives. We are trying to get to Liège. Have the Germans been this way?”
“No; I have seen nothing of them, but I have heard that a great army has passed along the road through Verviers.”
“Where is your man?”
“He has joined the army.”
“The Germany army?”
“Oh, no; the Belgian army. It is doing what it can to hold back the Germans.”
The girl's face lighted with enthusiasm.
“Oh, how splendid!” she cried. “How splendid for your brave little country to defy the invader! Bravo, Belgium!”
The woman smiled at her enthusiasm, but shook her head doubtfully.
“I do not know,” she said simply. “I do not understand these things. I only know that my man has gone, and that I must harvest our grain and cut our winter wood by myself. But will you not enter and rest yourselves?”
“Thank you. And we are very hungry. We have money to pay for food, if you can let us have some.”
“Certainly, certainly!”
The good wife bustled before them into the house.
An hour later, rested, refreshed, with a supply of sandwiches in their pockets, and armed with a rough map drawn from the directions of their hostess, they were ready to set out westward again. She told them that they could probably pass safely through Battice, which was off the main road of the German advance, and that they might find there a vehicle of some sort to take them onward. The trains, she understood, were no longer running.
Finally they thanked her for the twentieth time and bade her good-by. She wished them Godspeed, and stood watching them from the door until they disappeared from view.
They pushed forward vigorously, and presently, huddled in the valley below them, caught sight of the red roofs of the village. A bell was ringing vigorously, and they could see the people—women and children, for the most part—gathering in toward the church, a small building marked by a gilded cross. Evidently nothing had occurred to disturb the inhabitants of Battice.
Reassured, the two were about to push on down the road, when suddenly, topping the opposite slope, they saw a squadron of horsemen, perhaps fifty strong. They were clad in blue-gray, and each of them bore a long lance upright at his right elbow.
“Uhlans!” cried the girl, and they stopped short, watching with bated breath.
The troop swung down the road toward the village at a sharp trot. Then suddenly it drew rein, and waited in the shadow of some trees until the bell ceased ringing and the last of the congregation entered the church. At the word of command the horsemen touched spur to flank and swept down upon the defenseless town.
A boy saw them first and shouted; then a woman, hurrying toward the church, heard the clatter of hoofs, cast one glance behind her, and ran on, screaming wildly. The screams penetrated the church, and the congregation came pouring out, only to find themselves surrounded by a semi-circle of lowered lances.
The lieutenant shouted a command, and three or four of the Uhlans threw themselves from the saddle and disappeared into the church. They were back in a moment, dragging between them a white-haired priest and a rosy-faced old man—the burgomaster, who, even in this situation, managed to retain his dignity. The two were placed before the lieutenant, and a short conference followed, with the townspeople pressing anxiously around.
Suddenly there was an outburst of protest and despair; women were wringing their hands.
“What is it the fellow wants?” asked Stewart.
“Money, perhaps, or supplies. He is evidently demanding more than the village can furnish. But come; we must be getting on.”
Stewart would have liked to see the end of the drama, but he followed his companion over the wall at the side of the road, and then around the village along the rough hillside. Suddenly, from the houses below, arose a hideous tumult—shouts, curses, the smashing of glass. In another moment a flood of people, wailing, screaming, shaking their fists in the air, burst from the town and swept along the road in the direction of Herve.
“They had better have given the supplies,” said the girl, looking down at them. “Now they will lose everything—even their houses—see!”
Following the direction of her pointing finger, Stewart saw a black cloud of smoke bulging up from one end of the village.
“But surely,” he gasped, “they're not burning it! They wouldn't dare do that!”
“Why not?”
“Isn't looting prohibited by the rules of war?”
“Certainly—looting and the destruction of property of non-combatants.”
“Well, then—”
But he stopped, staring helplessly. The cloud of smoke grew in volume, and below it could be seen red tongues of flame.
The fugitives dared not linger. They pushed on, keeping the road, with its rabble of frenzied fugitives, at their right. It was a wild and beautiful country, and under other circumstances Stewart would have gazed in admiring wonder at its rugged cliffs, its deep, precipitous valleys, its thickly wooded hillsides; but now these appeared to him only as so many obstacles between him and safety.
At last the valley opened out, and below them they saw the clustered roofs of another village, which could only be Herve. Around it were broad pastures and fields of yellow grain. Suddenly the girl caught Stewart by the arm.
“Look!” she said, pointing to the field lying nearest them.
A number of old men, women, and children were cutting the grain, tying it into sheaves, and piling the sheaves into stacks, under the supervision of four men. Those four men were clothed in blue-gray and carried rifles in their hands. The invaders were stripping the grain from the fields in order to feed their army!
They worked their way around this village, keeping always in the shelter of the woods along the hillsides. After a weary journey they came out on the other side above the line of the railroad. A sentry, with fixed bayonet, stood guard over a solitary engine; except for him the road seemed quite deserted. The fugitives followed along it for half a mile without seeing any one else.
“We can't keep this up,” said Stewart, flinging himself upon the ground. “We shall have to take to the road to make any progress. Do you think we'd better risk it?”
“Let us watch it for a while,” the girl suggested.
They sat and watched the road, munching their sandwiches and talking in broken snatches. Ten minutes passed, but no one came in sight.
“It seems safe enough,” she said at last, and together they made their way down to it.
“The next village is Fléron,” said Stewart, consulting his rough map. “It is about four miles from here, apparently. Liège is about ten miles further. Can we make it to-night?”
“We must!” said the girl fiercely. “Come!”
The road descended steadily along the valley of a pretty river, closed in on either side by densely wooded hills. Here and there, among the trees, they caught glimpses of a white château; below them, along the river, there was an occasional cluster of houses; but they saw few people. The inhabitants of this district either had fled before the enemy, or were keeping carefully indoors, out of his way.
Once the fugitives had an alarm, for a hand-car manned by a squad of German soldiers came spinning past; but fortunately Stewart heard it singing along the rails in time to pull his companion into a clump of underbrush. A little later, along the highway by the river, they saw a patrol of Uhlans riding. Then they came to Fléron, and took to the hills to pass around it.
Here, too, clouds of black smoke hung heavy above certain of the houses, which, for some reason, had been made the marks of German reprisals; and once, above the trees to their right, they saw a column of smoke drifting upward, marking the destruction of a château.
The sun was sinking toward the west by the time they again reached the railroad, and they were both desperately weary; but neither had any thought of rest. The shadows deepened rapidly among the hills, but the darkness was welcome, for it meant added safety.
By the time they reached Bois de Breux night had come in earnest, so they made only a short détour, and were soon back on the railroad again, with scarcely five miles more to go. For an hour longer they plodded on steadily through the darkness, snatching a few minutes' rest once or twice; too weary to talk or even to look to right or left.
Then, as they turned a bend in the road, they drew back in alarm; for just ahead of them, close beside the track, a bright fire was burning, lighting up the black entrance of a tunnel, before which stood a sentry leaning on his rifle. Five or six other soldiers were lolling about the fire, smoking and talking in low tones.
Stewart looked at them curiously. They were big, good-humored-looking fellows, fathers of families, doubtless, and honest men with kindly hearts. It seemed absurd to suppose that such men as these would loot villages and burn houses and outrage women; it seemed absurd that any one should fear them or hide from them. Stewart, with a feeling that all this threat of war was a chimera, had an impulse to go forward boldly and join them beside the fire. He was sure they would welcome him, make a place for him—
“Wer da?” a voice behind him called sharply.
Stewart spun round to find himself facing a leveled rifle, behind which he could see dimly the face of a man wearing a spiked helmet—a patrol, no doubt, who had seen them as they stood carelessly outlined against the fire, and who had crept upon them unheard.
“We are friends,” Stewart answered hastily.
The soldier motioned them forward to the fire. The men there had caught up their rifles at the sound of the challenge, and stood peering anxiously out into the darkness; but when the two captives came within the circle of light cast by the fire they stacked their guns and sat down again. Evidently they saw nothing threatening in the appearance of either Stewart or his companion.
Their captor added his gun to the stack, then motioned them to sit down, and sat down opposite them, looking at them closely.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded in German.
“We are trying to get through to Brussels,” answered Stewart, in the best German he could muster. “I have not much German. Do you speak English?”
“No. Are you English?” and the blue eyes glinted with an unfriendly light which Stewart was at a loss to understand.
“We are Americans.” Stewart saw with relief that the man's face softened perceptibly. On the chance that, if the soldier could not speak English, neither could he read it, he impressively produced his passport. “Here is our safe-conduct from our Secretary of State,” he said. “You will see that it is sealed with the seal of the United States. My brother and I were passed at Herbesthal, but could find no conveyance and started to walk. We lost our way, but stumbled upon the railroad some miles back, and decided to follow it until we came to a village. How far away is the nearest village?”
“I do not know,” said the man curtly.
He took the passport and stared at it curiously. Then he passed it around the circle, and it finally came back to its owner, who placed it in his pocket.
“You find it correct?” Stewart inquired.
“I know nothing about it. You must wait until our officer arrives.”
Stewart felt a sickening sensation at his heart, but he managed to smile.
“He will not be long, I hope,” he said. “We are very tired and hungry.”
“He will not be long,” answered the other shortly.
The soldier got out his pipe and filled it with tobacco. Stewart glanced at his companion. She was sitting hunched up, her arms about her knees, staring thoughtfully at the fire.
“This man says we must wait here until their officer arrives,” he explained in English. “My brother does not understand German,” he added to the men.
“How stupid!” said the girl. “I am so tired and stiff!”
“It is no use to argue with them, I suppose?”
“No. They will refuse to decide anything for themselves. They rely wholly upon their officers.”
She rose wearily, stretched herself, stamped her foot as if it were asleep, and then sat down again and closed her eyes. She looked very young and fragile, and was shivering from head to foot.
“My brother is not strong,” said Stewart to the attentive group. “I fear all this hardship and exposure will be more than he can bear.”
One of the men, with a gesture of sympathy, rose, unrolled his blanket, and spread it on the bank behind the fire.
“Let the young man lie down there,” he said.
“Oh, thank you!” cried Stewart. “Come, Tommy,” he added, touching the girl on the arm. “Lie down till the officer comes.”
She opened her eyes, saw the blanket, nodded sleepily, and, still shivering, followed Stewart to it. Lying down, she permitted him to roll her in it, and apparently dropped off to sleep on the instant.
Stewart returned to the circle about the fire, nodding his satisfaction. They all smiled, as men do who have done a kind deed.
But Stewart, though doing his best to keep a placid countenance, was far from easy in his mind. One thing was certain—they must escape before the officer arrived. He, no doubt, would be able both to read and speak English, and the passport would betray them at once. Without question, a warning had been flashed from headquarters to every patrol to arrest the holder of that passport, and to send him and his companion, under close guard, back to Herbesthal. But how to escape?
Stewart glanced carefully about him, cursing the carelessness that had brought them into this trap, the imbecility which had held them staring at the German outpost, instead of taking instantly to the woods, as they should have done. They deserved to be captured!
The sentry was pacing slowly back and forth at the tunnel entrance, fifteen yards away; the other men were lolling about the fire half asleep. It would be possible, doubtless, to bolt into the darkness before they could grab their rifles; so there was only the sentry to fear, and the danger from him would not be very great. But it would be necessary to keep to the track for some distance, because, where it dropped into the tunnel, its sides were precipices impossible to scale in the darkness.
The danger, then, lay in the fact that the men might have time to snatch up their rifles and fire down the track before the fugitives would be able to leave it. But it was a danger which must be faced—there was no other way. Once in the woods they would be safe.
Stewart, musing over the situation with eyes half closed, recalled dim memories of daring escapes from Indians and outlaws, described in detail in the blood-and-thunder reading of his youth. There was one ruse which never failed. Just as the pursuers were about to fire the fugitive would fling himself flat on his face, and the bullets would fly harmlessly over him; then he would spring to his feet and go safely on his way.
Stewart smiled to remember how religiously he had believed in that stratagem, and how he had determined to practise it if ever need arose. He had never contemplated the possibility of having to flee from a squad of men armed with magazine rifles, who could fire not one volley, but five!
Then he shook these thoughts away; there was no time to be lost. He must warn his companion, for they must make the dash at the same instant.
He glanced toward where she lay in the shadow of the cliff, and saw that she was turning restlessly from side to side, as if fevered. With real anxiety Stewart hastened to her, knelt beside her, and placed his hand gently on her forehead. At the touch she opened her eyes and stared up at him
“Ask for some water,” she said weakly; and then, in the same tone: “We must make a dash for it at the moment, they salute their officer.”
Stewart turned to the soldiers, who were listening with inquiring faces.
“My brother is feverish,” he explained. “He asks for a drink of water.”
One of the men was instantly on his feet, unscrewing his canteen and holding it to the sick boy's lips while Stewart supported his comrade's head. She drank eagerly, dropped back with a sigh of satisfaction, and closed her eyes.
“He will go to sleep now,” said Stewart. “Thank you!”
He himself took a drink from the flask. He was surprised to find how cool and fresh the water tasted. When he looked at the flask more closely he saw that it was made like a Thermos bottle, with outer and inner shells. He handed it back to its owner with a nod of admiration.
“That is very clever,” he said. “Everythings seems to have been thought of.”
“Yes, everything,” agreed the other. “No army is equipped like ours. I am told that the French are in rags.”
“I don't know,” said Stewart cautiously. “I have never seen them.”
“And their army is not organized; we shall be in Paris before they can mobilize enough men to stop us. It will be 1870 over again. The war will be ended in two or three months.”
“I certainly hope so,” Stewart agreed. There was a moment's silence. “How much longer shall we have to wait?” he asked at last.
“Our officer should be here at any moment.”
“It is absolutely necessary that we wait for him?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“We are very hungry,” Stewart explained.
The soldier pondered for a moment, and then rose to his feet.
“I think I can give you food,” he said. “It is permitted to give food, is it not?” he asked his comrades.
When they nodded he opened his knapsack and took out a package of hard, square biscuits and a thick roll of sausage. While Stewart watched with watering mouth he cut the sausage into generous slices, placed a slice on each of the biscuits, and passed them over.
“Splendid!” cried Stewart. “I don't know how to thank you; but at least I can pay you.”
He dived into his pocket and produced a ten-mark piece—his last. The soldier shook his head.
“It is for the whole squad,” added Stewart persuasively. “You will be needing tobacco some day, and this will come in handy.”
The soldier smiled, took the little coin, and placed it carefully in his pocket.
“You are right about the tobacco,” he said. “I thank you.”
He sat down again before the fire, while Stewart hastened to his companion and dropped beside her.
“See what I've got,” he said. “Food!”
She opened her eyes, struggled to a sitting posture, and held out an eager hand. A moment later they were both munching the sausage and biscuits as if they had never tasted anything so delicious—as, indeed, they never had.
“Oh, how good that was!” she said when the last crumb was swallowed. She waved her thanks to the watching group about the fire. “Remember,” she added in a lower tone, as she sank back upon her elbow, “the instant—”
She stopped, staring toward the tunnel, one hand grasping the blanket.
Stewart, following her look, saw the sentry stiffen, turn on his heel, and hold his rifle rigidly in front of him as a tall figure, clad in a long gray coat and carrying an electric torch, stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel. At the same instant the men about the fire sprang to their feet.
“Now!” said the girl, and threw back the blanket.
In an instant, hand in hand, they had glided into the darkness.