The Washington times., 1919-01-28

not keep up the pace. Monica was
firing visibly, and / had had about
enough: Francis, too. seemed done
up. We slackeded to q walk. We
were toiling painfully up one OF
these steep banks when Francis,
who was leading, held up his hands.
'Charlemagne's Ride" he whis-
pered as we came up. We looked
down from the top of the bank and
saw before US q broad forest glade,
csnopied by the thick branches OF
the ancient trees that met over
head, and leading up q slope, mar
rowing as II went. to q path that
lost itself among the shadows that
were falling fass upon the forest.
Francis c1ambered down the bank
and We followed. Twilight reiEned
below In the glade under the lofty
roof OF branches and our feet
rustled softly as We trod the leaves
underfoot. II was q ghostly place,
and Monica clutched my arm as we
went quickly after Francis, who,
striding rapidly ahead. threatened
to be swallowed up in the shadows
OF the autumn evening.
He led Us up the slope and along
the narrow path 4 path struck
on II, and he took II. It led US
into q thicker part OF the forest
than we had yet struck. where
there were great boulders protrud-
ing from the dripping bushes, and
brambles grew so thick that In
places they obscured the track.
The forest sloped up again, and
IN 'front.' OF US was q steep bank,
its sides dotted with great rocks
and a tangie OF hrambles and un-
dergrowth. Francis stopped be-
tween two boulders at the, foot Of
the slope, then turning and beck
oning US to follow, disappeared.
We were In q kind of q narrow en-
trance, scooped out OF the earth
between the rocks. and II led down
to q broad chamber, which had ap-
parently been dug beneath some
OF the boulders, for, stretching out
my hand, I found the roof was
rock and damp to the touch.
Francis and Monica were stand
ing in this chamber as I came
down. Directly entered knew
why they stood SO still. A xlim-
rner of light came from the farther
end Of the cave. and a strange
sound. q sort OF strangled sob
hing, reached our ears.
L crept forward in the dark in
the direction of the lights. Ny
outstretched hands came upon q
low opening. i stopped and, crawl
ing round q rock, saw another
chamber illuminated by q guttering
candle stuck by its wax to the
earthen wall. On the floor q man
was lying. sobbing as though his
heart would break. He was wear
ing some kind of a military great
coat with a yellow stripe running
down the back.
"Pst" I called to him. drawing
my pistol from my pocket. As
did so, Francis behind me touch
ed my arm to let me know he was
there.
'Pst!" ] called again louder.
The man swung round on his
spring. When he saw my pistol,
he jerked his hands above his
head. Dirty and unshaven, with
the tears all wet on his face, he
looked q woe-begone and tragic
figure.
"Kamerad! Kamerad" he NUT
tered stupidity at me. "Napoo!
Kaput! Englanderr'
gazed at the stranger. hardly
able to believe my ears. That
trench jargon In this place!
Are you EngIisn?' I asked him.
At the sound OF my voice he
stared about him wildly.
y "Ay, / be English, zur." he re-
piled. with a strong West Country
burr, God help me-" And. heedless
Of me and my pistol. he covered his
face with his hands and burst into
. wild At OF sobbing again, rock
ing himself to and fro in his grief.
go back to Monica 1 whisper
ed to Francis. "rll see to this fell
low"
/ managed to pacify him present
ly. Habit Is a tenacious ruler and.
grotesQue figures though we were,
the ''zur'' he had addressed to me
brought out the officer in me.
talked to him as I would have done
to one OF my own men,. and he
quietened down at last and looked
up at me.
He was only a lad could tell
that by the clearness of his skin
and the brightness Of his eyes
but his face was wan and wasted.
and at the first glance he looked
like a man OF forty. Under his
great-coat, which was German, he
was clad in filthy rags which once
had been a khaki uniform. as the
cut-and nothing else-revealed.
He told ne his simple story in
his soft So onersetshire accent. just
the plain tale OF the fate that has
overtaken thousands OF our fell
IoE-countrymen since the war be-
gan. His name was Maggs, Sap
per Eoenezer &aggs, OF the Royal
Engineers, and he was captured
near Mons in August, 1914, when
out laying a line with a party.
With a long train of British pris-
oners-"zum of EN- was terrible
bad, EUR, dying. as you might
say"-he had been marched of to
a town and paraded to the railway
station through streets thronged
with jeering German soIdiery. In
cattle trucks. the fit, the wounded,
the dying and the dead herded to-
gether. without food or water, they
had made their journey into Ger
many with hostile mobs at every
station, once the frontier was past,
brutal men and shrieking women,
to whom not even the dying were
sacred
1t was a terrible tale, that lost
nothing OF its horror from the SIM
pie. unadorned style OF this West
Country farmers son. He had