The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne

A PROMISE KEPT

The room in which John was confined contained only a bed, a chair and a table.  It was lighted by a single window, from which he could see numerous soldiers below.  He also heard the distant mutter of the cannon, which seemed now to have become a part of nature.  There were periods of excitement or of mental detachment, when he did not notice it, but it was always there.  Now the soldiers in the grounds were moving but little, and the air pulsed with the thud of the great guns.

He recalled again his promise, or rather threat, to Auersperg that he would escape.  Instinctively he went to the narrow but tall window and glanced at the heavens.  Then he knew that impulse had made him look for Lannes and the Arrow, and he laughed at his own folly.  Even if Lannes knew where they were he could not slip prisoners out of a house, surrounded by watchful German troops.

He heard the heavy key turning in the lock, and a silent soldier brought him food, which he put upon the table.  The man remained beside the door until John had eaten his supper, when he took the dishes and withdrew.  He had not spoken a word while he was in the room, but as he was passing out John said: 

“Good-bye, Pickelbaube!  Let’s have no ill feeling between you and me.”

The German—­honest peasant that he was—­grinned and nodded.  He could not understand the English words, but he gathered from John’s tone that they were friendly, and he responded at once.  But when he closed the door behind him John heard the heavy key turning in the lock again.  He knew there was little natural hostility between the people of different nations.  It was instilled into them from above.

Food brought back new strength and new courage.  He took his place again at the window which was narrow and high, cut through a deep wall.  The illusion of the Middle Ages, which Auersperg had created so completely, returned.  This was the dungeon in a castle and he was a prisoner doomed to death by its lord.  Some dismounted Uhlans who were walking across the grounds with their long lances over their shoulders gave another touch to this return of the past, as the first rays of the moonlight glittered on helmet and lance-head.

He was not sleepy at all, and staying by the window he kept a strange watch.  He saw white flares appear often on a long line in the west.  He knew it was the flashing of the searchlights, and he surmised that what he saw was meant for signals.  The fighting would go on under steady light continued long, and that it would continue admitted of no doubt.  He could hear the mutter of the guns, ceaseless like the flowing of a river.

He saw the battery drive out of the grounds, then turn into the road before the château and disappear.  He concluded that the cannon were needed at some weak point where the Franco-British army was pressing hard.

Then a company of hussars came from the forest and rode quietly into the grounds, where they dismounted.  John saw that many, obviously the wounded, were helped from their horses.  In battle, he concluded, and not so far off.  Perhaps not more than two or three miles.  Rifle-fire, with the wind blowing the wrong way, would not be heard that distance.

The hussars, leading their horses, disappeared in a wood behind the house, and they were followed presently by a long train of automobiles, moving rather slowly.  The moonlight was very bright now and John saw that they were filled with wounded who stirred but little and who made no outcry.  The line of motors turned into the place and they too disappeared behind the château, following the hussars.

Two aeroplanes alighted on the grass and their drivers entered the house.  Bearers of dispatches, John felt sure, and while he watched he saw both return, spring into their machines and fly away.  Their departure caused him to search the heavens once more, and he knew that he was looking for Lannes, who could not come.

Now von Arnheim passed down the graveled walk that led to the great central gate, but, half way, turned from it and began to talk to some sentinels who stood on the grass.  He was certainly a fine fellow, tall, well built, and yet free from the German stoutness of figure.  He wore a close uniform of blue-gray which fitted him admirably, and the moonlight fell in a flood on his handsome, ruddy face.

“I hope you won’t be killed,” murmured John.  “If there is any French shell or shrapnel that is labeled specially for a prince and that must have a prince, I pray it will take Auersperg in place of von Arnheim.”

It was a serious prayer and he felt that it was without a trace of wickedness or sacrilege.  Evidently von Arnheim was giving orders of importance, as two of the men, to whom he was talking, hurried to horses, mounted and galloped down the road.  Then the young prince walked slowly back to the house and John could see that he was very thoughtful.  He passed his hand in a troubled way two or three times across his forehead.  Perhaps the medieval prince inside was putting upon the modern prince outside labors that he was far from liking.

John’s unformed plan of escape included Julie Lannes.  He could not go away without her.  If he did he could never face Lannes again, and what was more, he could never face himself.  It was in reality this thought that made his resolve to escape seem so difficult.  It had been lurking continuously in the back of his head.  To go away without Julie was impossible.  Under ordinary circumstances her situation as a prisoner would not be alarming.  Germans regarded women with respect.  They had done so from the earliest times, as he had learned from the painful study of Tacitus.  Von Arnheim had received a deep impression from Julie’s beauty and grace.  John could tell it by his looks, but those looks were honest.  They came from the eyes and heart of one who could do no wrong.  But the other!  The man of the Middle Ages, the older prince.  He was different.  War re-created ancient passions and gave to them opportunities.  No, he could not think of leaving without Julie!

He kept his place at the tall, narrow window, and the night was steadily growing brighter.  A full, silver moon was swinging high in the heavens.  The stars were out in myriads in that sky of dusky, infinite blue, and danced regardless of the tiny planet, Earth, shaken by battle.  From the hills came the relentless groaning which he knew was the sound of the guns, fighting one another under the searchlights.

Then he heard the clatter of hoofs, and another company of Uhlans rode up to the château.  Their leader dismounted and entered the great gate.  John recognized von Boehlen, who had taken off his helmet to let the cool air blow upon his close-cropped head.  He stood on the graveled walk for a few minutes directly in a flood of silver rays, every feature showing clearly.  He had been arrogant and domineering, but John liked him far better than Auersperg.  His cruelty would be the cruelty of battle, and there might be a streak of sentimentalism hidden under the stiff and harsh German manner, like a vein of gold in rock.  As von Boehlen resumed his approach to the house he passed from John’s range of vision, and then the prisoner watched the horizon for anything that he might see.  Twice he beheld the far flare of searchlights, but nobody else came to the château, and the night darkened somewhat.  No rattle of arms or stamp of hoofs came from the hussars in the grounds, and he judged that all but the sentinels slept.  Nor was there any sound of movement in the house, and in the peaceful silence he at last began to feel sleepy.  The problems of his position were too great for him to solve—­at least for the present—­and lying down on the cot he was fast asleep before he knew it.

Youth does not always sleep soundly, and the tension of John’s nerves continued long after he lapsed into unconsciousness.  That, perhaps, was the reason why he awoke at once when the heavy key began to turn again in the lock.  He sat up on the cot—­he had not undressed—­and his hand instinctively slipped to his belt, where there was no weapon.

The key was certainly turning in the lock, and then the door was opening!  A shadow appeared in the space between door and wall, and John’s first feeling was of apprehension.  An atmosphere of suspicion had been created about him and he considered his life in much more danger there than it had been when he was first a prisoner.

The door closed again quickly and softly, but somebody was inside the room, somebody who had a light, feline step, and John felt the prickling of the hair at the back of his neck.  He longed for a weapon, something better than only his two hands, but he was reassured when the intruder, speaking French, called in a whisper: 

“Are you awake, Mr. Scott?”

It was surely not the voice and words of one who had come to do murder, and John felt a thrill of recognition.

“Weber!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s Weber, Mr. Scott.”

“How under the sun did you get here, Weber?”

“By pretending to be a German.  I’m an Alsatian, you know, and it’s not difficult.  I’m doing work for France.  It’s terribly dangerous.  My life is on the turn of a hair every moment, but I’m willing to take the risk.  I did not know you were here until late tonight, when I came to the château to see if I could discover anything further about the numbers and movements of the enemy.  You must get away now.  I think I can help you to escape.”

There was a tone in Weber’s voice that aroused John’s curiosity.

“It’s good of you, Weber,” he said, “to take such a risk for me, but why is it so urgent that I escape tonight?”

“I’ve learned since I came to the château that the Prince of Auersperg is much inflamed against you.  Perhaps you spoke to him in a way that gave offense to his dignity.  Ah, sir, the members of these ancient royal houses, those of the old type, consider themselves above and beyond the other people of the earth.  In Germany you cannot offend them without risk, and it may be, too, that you stand in his way in regard to something that he very much desires!”

Although Weber spoke in a whisper his voice was full of energy and earnestness.  His words sank with the weight of truth into John’s heart.

“Can you really help me to escape?” he asked.

“I think so.  I’m sure of it.  The guards in the house are relaxed at this late hour, and they would seem needless anyhow with so many sentinels outside.”

“But, Weber, Julie Lannes, the sister of Philip Lannes, is here a prisoner also.  She was taken when I was.  She is a Red Cross nurse, and although the Germans would not harm a woman, I do not like to leave her in this château.  Your Prince of Auersperg does not seem to belong to our later age.”

“Perhaps not.  He holds strongly for the old order, but the young von Arnheim is here also.  His is a devoted German heart, but his German eyes have looked with admiration, nay more, upon a French face.  He will protect that beautiful young Mademoiselle Julie with his life against anybody, against his senior in military rank, the Prince of Auersperg himself.  Sir, you must come!  If you wish to help Philip Lannes’ sister you can be of more help to her living than dead.  If you linger here you surely disappear from men tomorrow!”

“How do you know these things, Weber?”

“I have been in the house three or four hours and there is talk among the soldiers.  I pray you, don’t hesitate longer!”

“How can you find a way?”

“Wait a minute.”

He slipped back to the door, opened it and looked into the hall.

“The path is clear,” he said, when he returned.  “There is no sentinel near your door, and I’ve found a way leading out of the château at the back.  Most of these old houses have crooked, disused passages.”

“But suppose we succeed in reaching the outside, Weber, what then?  The place is surrounded by an army.”

“A way is there, too.  One man in the darkness can pass through a multitude.  We can’t delay, because another chance may not come!”

John was overborne.  Weber was half pulling him toward the door.  Moreover, there was much sense in what the Alsatian said.  It was a commonplace that he could be of more service to Julie alive than dead, and the man’s insistence deciding him, he crept with the Alsatian into the hall.  They stood a few minutes in the dark, listening, but no sound came.  Evidently the house slept well.

“This way, Mr. Scott,” whispered Weber, and he led toward the rear of the house.  Turning the corner of the hall he opened a small door in the wall, which John would have passed even in the daylight without noticing.

“Put a hand on my coat and follow me,” said Weber.

John obeyed without hesitation, and they ascended a half dozen steps along a passage so narrow that his shoulders touched the walls.  It was very dark there, but at the top they entered a room into which some moonlight came, enough for John to see barrels, boxes and bags heaped on the floor.

“A storeroom,” said Weber.  “The French are thrifty.  The owner of this house had splendor below, and he has kept provision for it above, almost concealed by the narrowness of the door and stair.  But we’ll find a broader stair on the other side, and then we’ll descend through the kitchen and beyond.”

“This looks promising.  You’re a clever man, Weber, and my debt to you is too big for me.”

“Don’t think about it.  Be careful and don’t make any noise.  Here’s the other stair.  You’d better hold to my coat again.”

They stole softly down the stair, crossed an unused room, went down another narrow, unused passage, and then, when Weber opened a door, John felt the cool air of the night blowing upon his face.  When the attempt at escape began, he had not been so enthusiastic, because he was leaving Julie behind, but with every step his eagerness grew and the free wind brought with it a sort of intoxication.  He did not doubt now that he would make good his flight.  Weber, that fast friend of his, was a wonderful man.  He worked miracles.  Everything came out as he predicted it would, and he would work more miracles.

“Where are we now?” asked John.

“This door is by the side of the kitchens.  A little to the left is an extensive conservatory, nearly all the glass of which has been shattered by a shell, but that fact makes it all the more useful as a path for us.  If we reach it unobserved we can creep through the mass of flowers and shrubbery to a large fishpond which lies just beyond it.  You’re a good swimmer, as I know—­and you can swim along its edge until you reach the shrubbery on the other side.  Then you ought to find an opening by which you can reach the French army.”

“And you, Weber?”

“I?  Oh, I must stay here.  The Prince of Auersperg is a man of great importance.  He is high in the confidence of the Kaiser.  Besides his royal rank he commands one of the German armies.  If I am to secure precious information for France it must be done in this house.”

“Come away with me, Weber.  You’ve risked enough already.  They’ll catch you and you know the fate of spies.  I feel like a criminal or coward abandoning you to so much danger, after all that you’ve done for me.”

“Thank you for your good words, Mr. Scott, but it’s impossible for me to go.  Keep in the shadow of the wall, and a dozen steps will take you to the conservatory.”

John wrung the Alsatian’s hand, stepped out, and pressed himself against the side of the house.  The breeze still blew upon his face, revivifying and intoxicating.  The lazy, feathery clouds were yet drifting before the moon and stars.

He saw to his right the gleam of a bayonet as a sentinel walked back and forth and he saw another to his left.  His heart beat high with hope.  He was merely a mote in infinite night, and surely they could not see him.

He walked swiftly along in the shadow of the house, and then sprang into the conservatory, where he crouched between two tall rose bushes.  He waited there a little while, breathing hard, but he had not been observed.  From his rosy shelter he could still see the sentinels on either side, walking up and down, undisturbed.  Around him was a frightful litter.  The shell, the history of which he would never know, had struck fairly in the center of the place, and it must have burst in a thousand fragments.  Scarcely a pane of glass had been left unbroken, and the great pots, containing rare fruits and flowers, were mingled mostly in shattered heaps.  It was a pitiable wreck, and it stirred John, although he had seen so many things so much worse.

He walked a little distance in a stooping position, and then stood up among some shrubs, tall enough to hide him.  He noticed a slight dampness in the air, and he saw, too, that the feathery clouds were growing darker.  The faint quiver in the air brought with it, as always, the rumble of the guns, but he believed that it was not a blended sound.  There was real thunder on the horizon, where the French lay, and then he saw a distant flash, not white like that of a searchlight, but like yellow lightning.  Rain, a storm perhaps, must be at hand.  He had read that nearly all the great battles in the civil war in his own country had been followed at once by violent storms of thunder, lightning and rain.  Then why not here, where immense artillery combats never ceased?

Near the end of the conservatory he paused and looked back at the house.  Every window was dark.  There must be light inside, but shutters were closed.  His heart throbbed with intense gratitude to Weber.  Without him escape would have been impossible.  He would make his way to the French.  He would find Lannes and together in some way they would rescue Julie, Julie so young and so beautiful, held in the castle of the medieval baron.  In the lowering shadows the house became a castle and Auersperg had always been of the Middle Ages.

The wind freshened and a few drops of rain struck his face.  He stood boldly erect now, unafraid of observation, and picked a way through the mass of broken glass and overturned shrubbery toward the end of the conservatory, seeing beyond it a gleam of water which must be the big fishpond.

He turned to the left and reached the edge of the pond just as four figures stepped from the dusk, their raised rifles pointing at him.  The shock was so great that, driven by some unknown but saving impulse, he threw himself forward into the water just as the soldiers fired.  He heard the four rifles roaring together.  Then he swam below water to the far edge of the pond and came up under the shelter of its circling shrubbery, raising above its surface only enough of his face for breath.

As his eyes cleared he saw the four soldiers standing at the far edge of the pond, looking at the water.  Doubtless they were waiting for his body to reappear, as his action, half fall, half spring, and the roaring of the rifles had been so close together that they seemed a blended movement.

He was trembling all over from intense nervous exertion and excitement, but his mind steadied enough for him to observe the soldiers.  Undoubtedly they were talking together, as he saw them making the gestures of men who speak, but, even had he heard them, he could not have understood their German.  They were watching for his body, and as it did not reappear they might make the circle of the pond looking for it.  He intended, in such an event, to leap out and run, but the elements were intereceding in his favor.  Thunder now preponderated greatly in that rumble on the western horizon, and a blaze of yellow lightning played across the surface of the pond.  It was followed by a rush of rain and the soldiers turned back toward the house, evidently sure that they had not missed.

John drew himself out of the water and climbed up the bank.  His knees gave way under him and he sank to the ground.  Excitement and emotion had been so violent that he was robbed of strength, but the condition lasted only a minute or two.  Then he rose and began to pick a way.

The rain was driving hard, and it had grown so dark that one could not see far.  But he felt that the German sentinels now would seek a little shelter from the wrath of the skies, and keeping in the shelter of a hedge he passed by the stables, where many of the hussars and Uhlans slept, through an orchard, the far side of which was packed with automobiles, and thence into a wood, where he believed at last that he was safe.

He stopped here a little while in the lee of a great oak to protect himself from the driving rain, and he noticed then that it was but a passing shower, sent, it seemed then to him, as a providential aid.  The part of the rumble that was real thunder was dying.  The yellow flare of the lightning stopped and the rain swept off to the east.  The moon and stars were coming out again.

John tried to see the château, but it was hidden from him by trees.  They would miss him there, and then they would know that it was he whom the soldiers had fired upon at the edge of the pond.  All of them would believe that he was dead, and he remembered suddenly that Julie, who was there among them, would believe it, too.  Would she grieve?  Or would he merely be one of the human beings passing through her life, fleeting and forgotten, like the shower that had just gone?  It was true that he had escaped, but he might be killed in some battle before she was rescued from Auersperg—­if she was rescued.

These thoughts were hateful, and turning into the road by which they had come to the château he ran down it.  He ran because he wanted motion, because he wished to reach the French army as quickly as he could, and help Lannes organize for the rescue of Julie.

He ran a long distance, because his excitement waned slowly, and because the severe exercise made the blood course rapidly through his veins, counteracting the effects of his cold and wetting.  When he began to feel weary he turned out of the road, knowing that it was safer in the fields.  He had the curious belief or impression now that the black shower was all arranged for his benefit.  Providence was merely making things even.  The soldiers had been brought upon him when the chances were a hundred to one against him, and then the shower had been sent to cover him, when the chances were a hundred to one against that, too.

He saw far to the south a sudden faint radiance and he knew that it was the last of the lightning.  The little feathery clouds, which looked so friendly and pleasant against the blue of the sky, came back and the moaning on the western horizon toward which he was traveling was wholly that of the guns.

He heard a noise over his head, a mixture of a whistle and a scream, and he knew that a shell was passing high.  He walked on, and heard another.  But they could not be firing at him.  He was still that mere mote in the infinite darkness, but, looking back for the bursting of the shells, he saw a blaze leap up near the point from which he had come.

A cold shiver seized him.  The range was that of the château, and Julie was there.  The French gunners could have no knowledge that their own people were prisoners in the building, and if one of those huge shells burst in it, ruin and destruction would follow.  The conservatory had been a silent witness of what flying metal could do.  He stopped, appalled.  He had been wrong to leave without Julie, and yet he could have done nothing else.  It was impossible to foresee a shelling of the château by the French themselves.

The screaming and whistling came again, but he did not see any explosion near the château.  One could not tell much from such a swift and passing sound, but he concluded that it was a German shell replying.  He had seen a German battery near the house and it would not remain quiet under bombardment.

He had no doubt that the French gunners, having got the range, would keep it.  Somebody, perhaps an aeroplane or an officer with flags in a tree, was signaling.  It was horrible, this murderous mechanism by which men fired at targets miles away, targets which they could not see, but which they hit nevertheless.  Every pulse beating hard, John shook his fist at the invisible German guns and the invisible French guns alike.

Then he recovered himself with an angry shake and began to run again.  He knew now that he must go forward and secure a French force for rescue.  But no matter how much he urged himself on, a great power was pulling at him, and it was Julie Lannes, a prisoner of the Germans in the château.  Often he stopped and looked back, always in the same direction.  Twice more he saw shells burst in the neighborhood of the house, and then his heart would beat hard, but after brief hesitation he would always pursue his course once more toward the French army.

He did not know the time, but he believed it to be well past midnight.  He had his watch, but his immersion in the fish pond had caused it to stop.  Still, the feel of the air made him believe that he was in the morning hours.  Shells continued to pass over his head, and now they came from many points.  He had seen or heard so much firing in the last eight or ten days that the world, he felt, must be turned into a huge ammunition factory to feed all the guns.  He laughed to himself at his own grim joke.  He was overstrained and he began to see everything through a red mist.

His clothing was drying fast, but his throat was very hot from excitement and exertion.  He came to a little brook, and kneeling down, drank greedily.  Then he bathed his face and felt stronger and better.  His nerves also grew steadier.  There was not so much luminous mist in the atmosphere.  Ahead of him the crash of the guns was much louder, and he knew that he had already come a long distance.  It seemed that the passing of the storm had renewed the activity of the gunners.  The mutter had become rolling thunder, and both to north and south the searchlights flared repeatedly.

He heard the beat of hoofs, and he hoped that they were French cavalry on patrol, but they proved to be German Hussars, Bavarians he judged by the light blue uniforms, and they were coming from the direction of the French lines.  They had been scouting there, he had no doubt, but they passed in a few moments, and, leaving his hedge, he resumed his own rapid flight, continually hoping that he would meet some French force, scouting also.

But he was doomed to a long trial of patience.  Twice he saw Germans and hid until they had gone by.  They seemed to be scouting in the night almost to the mouths of the French guns, and he admired their energy although it stood in the way of his own plans.  He came to a second brook, drank again, and then took a short cut through a small wood.  He had marked the reports of guns from a hill about two miles in front of him, and he was sure that a French battery must be posted there.  He reckoned that he could reach it in a half hour, if he exerted himself.

Half way through the wood and human figures rose up all about him.  Strong hands seized his arms and an electric torch flashed in his face.

“Who are you?” came the fierce question in French.

But it was not necessary for John to answer.  The man who held the torch was short, but very muscular and strong, his face cut in the antique mold, his eyes penetrating and eager.  It was Bougainville and John gave a gasp of joy.  Then he straightened up and saluted: 

“Colonel Bougainville,” he said, “I see that you know me!  I have just escaped from the enemy for the second time.  There is a house in that direction, and it is occupied by the Prince of Auersperg, one of the German generals.”

He pointed where the château lay, and Bougainville uttered a shout: 

“Ah!”

“He holds there a prisoner, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the great Philip Lannes, the aviator; and other Frenchwomen.”

“Ah!” said Bougainville again.

“You will help rescue them, will you not?”

Bougainville smiled slightly.

“An army can’t turn aside for the rescue of women,” he replied, “but it happens that this brigade, under General Vaugirard is marching forward now to find, if possible, an opening between the German armies, and you’re the very man to lead it.”

John’s heart bounded with joy.  He would be again with the general whom he admired and trusted, and he would certainly guide the brigade straight to the château.

“Is General Vaugirard near?” he asked.

“Just over the brow of this hill, down there where the dim light is visible among the trees.”

“Then take me to him at once.”