"Officers ready!" ordered the under-officer, returning. "Fall in by twos and march after me to the office."

He marched the little detachment through the larger enclosure, and in through the rear of the office building. Here there was a roll-call. Then the officers, again in twos, were marched outside, where a corporal and four soldiers fell in with them as guard.

Down the road the captured officers were marched for something like a quarter of a mile.

"Halt, but keep your places in the ranks," ordered the corporal.

"Any prisoner disobeying will be shot."

"There is something that promises!" cried Captain Lescault, pointing to the sky.

Southward, over the lines, appeared a squadron of swift French airplanes, coming over the German lines. Almost instantly German aircraft began to rise from the ground, going to meet the invaders of the air.

Over the purring of the engines sounded the sharp, continuous rapping of machine guns as the opposing craft fought each other.

Two German planes came crashing down to earth. More appeared in the air, until the French flyers, outnumbered, turned and flew back over the French lines.

"I believe our flyers got what they wanted," whispered the same French officer to Prescott.

Five minutes later the Frenchman whispered exultingly:

"Ah, I was sure of it! Our airmen were spying for the artillery.

Now you shall see things happen."

In the air sounded a screech. Then, less than three hundred yards further down the road a French sh.e.l.l exploded, overturning a motor truck and killing both Germans on its seat. The truck itself was a wreck.

Crash! Another sh.e.l.l landed in the road, bowling over two officers at the head of a body of oncoming soldiers. The next sh.e.l.l landed in a ma.s.s of marching German infantry, killing and wounding several.

Then, for five minutes a hurricane of sh.e.l.ls descended on that road, wrecking trucks, killing and wounding more than a hundred men in German marching detachments, and chasing all troops from the road.

"That does not win the war!" growled the German corporal in charge of the officer-prisoners. "It is only French mischief!"

Hardly had the sh.e.l.l hurricane ceased when some hundred men, under guard, came marching down from the prison camp. These were halted, at the edge of the field, just behind the officers.

An hour pa.s.sed before another detachment of prisoners was marched down the road and halted. Later more came. Noon had pa.s.sed before the final detachment arrived.

It was wearisome, but d.i.c.k Prescott did not feel that he had wasted his time. Full of the hope of escaping, some day, he had watched covertly everything that he could see of German army life and movements behind the fighting line. Also, from several incidents that he witnessed, he gained a new idea of German military brutality.

One scene that made his blood boil was when a French officer, a wounded man, and suffering also from hunger, let himself slide to a sitting posture on the ground.

"Here, you!" ordered the German corporal advancing threateningly.

"You have been told that you must stand in line."

"But our comrade is weak from loss of blood," interposed another French officer who spoke German.

"Take that for your meddling," retorted the corporal, landing the back of his hand stingingly on his informant's face. It was a humiliating blow, that a prisoner could not resent in kind.

"Get up," ordered the corporal, "or I shall aid you with my bayonet."

Though the words were not understood by the sufferer, the gesture was. He tried to obey, but did not rise fast enough to suit the corporal.

"Here," mocked the fellow. "That will help you!"

His bayonet point pa.s.sed through the seat of the victim's trousers, more than p.r.i.c.king the flesh inside.

"Coward!" hissed Prescott and three of four of the French officers.

"If you don't like it, and are not civil," raged the corporal hoa.r.s.ely, "I shall beat some of you with the b.u.t.t of my gun."

Subsequently a French officer who had stepped a foot further than he was supposed to stand was rebuked by the corporal's gun-b.u.t.t striking him on the knee-cap. After that the prisoner limped.

"These brutes ought to be killed---every one of them!" d.i.c.k muttered disgustedly to a French officer near him.

"Most of them will be, before this long war is over," nodded the Frenchman, "but a soldier's death is too fine for such beasts."

Finally a German officer arrived. Under his crisp orders the now long column of prisoners moved out into the road, forming compactly and guarded by at least forty infantrymen. The order to march was given. With only two halts the prisoners were marched some eight miles, arriving late in the afternoon at a railway yard.

Here the column was halted again for an hour, while the German officer was absent, presumably, in search of his orders. When the march was taken up again its course led across a network of tracks to a long train.

"Why, these are cattle cars," uttered Prescott, disgustedly, when the column had been halted along the length of the foremost part of the train. "And, judging by the odor, these cars haven't been cleaned."

"They won't be until we are through riding in them," returned the French officer at his side. "This is what comes to soldiers who surrender to the German dogs!"

Only one car was given over to the officer-prisoners, who were forced to climb into the unsavory car through a side door. No seats had been provided, but there was not more than room to stand up in the stuffy car. Fortunately the s.p.a.ces between the timbers of the car sides gave abundant ventilation.

Into cars to the rear the enlisted prisoners were packed. To stomachs that had been empty of food all day the odors were especially distressing.

As the officer in charge of the prisoners came to the side door of the first car d.i.c.k made bold to prefer a request.

"We have had no water all day. May we have a bucket of it in here before the train starts?"

"There will not be time," replied the German officer coldly, and moved away. Yet two hours pa.s.sed, and the train did not start.

Suddenly German guns behind the front, along a stretch of miles, opened a heavy bombardment. d.i.c.k and his French friends gazed out at a sky made violently lurid by the reflection of the flashes of these great pieces. Then the French guns answered furiously, nor did all the French sh.e.l.ls fall upon the German trenches or batteries. The French knew the location of this railway yard.

Within twenty minutes five hundred large caliber sh.e.l.ls had fallen in or near this yard. Freight and pa.s.senger coaches were struck and splintered.

Into the forward cattle car bounded the corporal who had tormented them that day. Behind him, in the doorway, appeared the German officer.

"Count the prisoners," ordered the latter, "and make sure that all are there. We are going to pull out of here before those crazy French yonder destroy all our rolling stock."

Fifteen minutes later, though the French sh.e.l.l-fire had ceased coming this way, the train crawled out of the yard. It ran along slowly, though sometime in the night it increased its speed.

d.i.c.k Prescott will never forget the misery of that night. When the train was under way the cold was intense in these half-open cattle cars. No appeal for water to drink was heeded.

Despite their discomforts, most of the prisoners managed to sleep some, though standing up.

In the middle of the night Prescott awoke, stiff, nauseated, hungry and parched with tormenting thirst. Though he did not know it at that moment, the train had halted because of a breakdown in a train ahead.

Along the track came that tormenting corporal. While a soldier held up a dim lantern the corporal unlocked the padlock, sliding the side door back.

At that moment an order was bawled l.u.s.tily in German.