Bretherton

by Morris, W. F. ;

  On the hillside beyond the road the woods began again and extended for some miles beside it. They decided to cross to the woods opposite and move through them parallel with the road until they deemed it safe to venture on to the road itself.

  It was a moonless night, but the sky was studded with stars. They crouched in the ditch beside the road while three men walked by, and then ran across it, ascended the opposite slope, and gained the shelter of the woods in safety. It was difficult going in the woods. The undergrowth was thick, and they made slow progress; but several times they heard voices below them, and were consoled by the thought that though their progress was slower and more laborious than it would have been on the road, it was sure.

  About midnight they reached the end of the woods. The moon had now risen, and they saw a village lying below them in a little valley and the road running through it. Hop-gardens surrounded the village and appeared to extend for some distance on both sides of the road. These would be difficult to move through, and Melford was for going straight down to the road. Bretherton, however, thought that they were still too close to Ebenthal to make road tramping safe, and since another of the old escapers’ maxims had been “of two counsels always choose the more cautious,” his advice was followed. They sat down under a bush, and with a coat over his head, Bretherton struck a match and examined the map. Beyond the village the road curved steadily for several miles, swinging round gradually almost to south-west, so that by marching west-south-west across country, one should reach the road again and shorten the march by two or three miles. This they decided to do.

  They took a compass bearing and then marched by the stars. Almost immediately they became entangled in hop-gardens. Every ten minutes or so they came to a house which entailed a detour, and when, as happened on two or three occasions, they came upon one suddenly dogs began to bark and kept up their clamour long after the wayfarers had passed. Fortunately all the dogs were tied up, and in only one place was a window opened and a head thrust out. But this part of the march was very nerve-racking, and Melford swore mighty oaths against the whole canine tribe.

  They reached the road at last, though their short cut had proved expensive in the matter both of speed and of fatigue. Now, however, they were able to step out. They made a detour of the first village, but this led them through a muddy swamp and took so long that they determined to march boldly through the next one. This they did and met no one, though lights were burning in one or two cottages and the dogs kept up a chorus of barking long after they had passed. They met only two parties on the road: an old man who called “Good night” and to whom Bretherton replied, and three youths who passed without speaking.

  Just before dawn they found a suitable place to lie up in, a wood upon the side of a hill with a stream below. The undergrowth was thick, there was water close at hand, and there were no neighbouring villages from which lovers or sportsmen might wander and discover them. They sat on the margin of the wood and ate their ration of meat tablets and chocolate; and then Melford slept for an hour whilst Bretherton kept watch. At eight o’clock when the sun was up they returned to their hiding-place among the undergrowth, and Bretherton slept whilst Melford kept guard. The day passed uneventfully. They slept by turns all the morning and some of the afternoon. Occasionally they went to the edge of the wood and sunned themselves, for they found it tiring lying hour after hour among the undergrowth, and it was with difficulty that they restrained themselves from wandering about. But no one came near them. For some hours a shepherd sat upon the opposite hillside watching his sheep grazing upon the slopes; and once a girl driving a cow passed along the side of the wood.

  They made another meal soon after dusk, and at ten o’clock the march was resumed. Their objective was the Rhine, where, they had been told, Dutch bargees could be found who, for a consideration, would smuggle one across the frontier.

  On the fifth night they reached the little River Sieg, which flows into the Rhine near Bonn. They were now less than fifty miles from the great river, in hilly, thickly wooded country, and had but to follow the road and stream which meandered side by side between the hills. For two nights it had rained hard, and although drenched to the skin, they had no alternative during the day except to lie up in the dripping woods in their sodden clothes. On the fourth day the rain stopped, and they were fortunate in finding an open glade among the woods. There by turns they risked taking off their clothes and drying them in the sun.

  They had grown accustomed to the dogs, and now they marched boldly through the villages to a chorus of barking. The night marches had become second nature to them. As they tramped hour after hour through the darkness, they seemed to have become part of the night like the trees and the unseen creatures that made bustling little noises in the darkness near them. Their feet fell rhythmically upon the pale ribbon of road that led between dark, forest-clothed slopes, through sleeping villages, across streams and rivers, among fields, and over windy open spaces. On they tramped like men condemned to march through darkness to the end of time; and often as they marched they sang German songs that Bretherton knew and even English airs, for there was little risk of anyone hearing them.

  Food was running short, and they had cut down their already inadequate ration. They had hoped to find food as they went along, turnips or potatoes, and they had found a few; but a diet of raw potatoes is neither very appetising nor very sustaining to men with healthy appetites, leading a strenuous life in the open air and subjected to all the rigours of cold, wet, and fatigue.

  III

  Sunday morning found them in the neighbourhood of Eitorf; and soon after dawn they halted among the woods which extend for many miles around the village. They ate a portion of their now almost exhausted rations and some raw potatoes they had dug up in the course of the night’s march, and then they slept by turns.

  During the afternoon they heard the sound of guns in the woods and the barking of dogs; and remembering that many escapers had been recaptured through falling in with Sunday sportsmen, they were a little uneasy. But they could only lie still and trust that the shooting parties would not wander in their direction; to attempt to change their position might attract the attention of the dogs. The afternoon dragged away slowly, and now that they were approaching the end of their journey on foot, they were very impatient of this enforced inactivity. They were less than fifteen miles from the Rhine, which they hoped to reach in the course of that night’s march.

  Late in the afternoon they heard the sound of a gun close at hand; whereupon they hurriedly packed their haversacks and lay ready to crawl away at the first alarm. But they heard no more shots fired, and they were congratulating themselves on the fact that the sportsmen must have moved off to another part of the woods, when suddenly they heard a rustling behind them and turned their heads to see a large dog regarding them from the shelter of the undergrowth. Neither moved, and dog and men regarded each other silently. Seconds sped by, but the dog did not trot off as they had hoped it would do. They attempted to crawl away, but at the first movement the dog set up such a barking as to make them hurriedly desist. They threw sticks at the animal; they enticed it with morsels of their precious food; but the brute refused to be either bullied or cajoled. And then they heard a trampling in the undergrowth near by and saw between the trees two men carrying sporting guns. Bretherton whispered to Melford to pretend to be asleep.

  The Germans walked slowly to the two tramps lying on the ground, and halted. Bretherton sat up with his hands clasped around his knees and murmured “Good day.” The Germans returned the salutation, and one, who by his manner and bearing seemed to be a person of some importance, asked what he was doing here. Bretherton answered that he and his companion were from Cassel on a walking tour. The German listened to the story and then asked somewhat peremptorily to see their pass. Bretherton produced the pass; and while the German was examining it, two more sportsmen arrived with another dog. The German handed back the pass and said, with rather more civility, that
it would be necessary for Bretherton and his companion to accompany him to Eitorf to report to the authorities there.

  Bretherton saw that he had gained a point by the pass, but he had no wish to go to the village and be questioned by some conscientious German official who might possibly telegraph to Cassel to verify the story. He replied that he had every intention of going down to the village, since that was where he intended to stop the night, but he was very comfortable where he was and intended to remain there for the present.

  The German said that he must insist. “Insist!” echoed Bretherton. “I have as much right to be in these woods as you have. I have proved to you who I am, and I have told you that I am spending the night in Eitorf. Am I then to trot backwards and forwards on this hot afternoon just to please every stranger that comes along?” And he lay back and closed his eyes to show that the matter was settled.

  The German was obviously uncertain what to do, and he drew aside to confer with his companions. Bretherton strained his ears to catch what they were saying, and he gathered that one of them intended to go down to the village and bring back an official. And presently one of them went off, followed by one of the dogs. The remaining three sat down a few yards away, and the dog lay down beside them.

  Bretherton pretended to doze. He lay close beside Melford with his hat tilted over his eyes, and they held a whispered consultation. It would be nearly two hours, they estimated, before the man could return from the village. By then it would be within an hour of dusk, a point of some importance. For an hour they would pretend to sleep, and then they would try the plan they had concocted. Melford was to get up and stroll off as if to fill his water-bottle at the stream which was hidden in the undergrowth some fifty yards away; and to make this appear the more reasonable he was to leave his hat, coat, and haversack behind. These would have to be abandoned. Meanwhile Bretherton was to pretend to doze and so support the pretence that Melford was only going to the stream. The Germans would thus be compelled either to shoot at Melford—which it was very unlikely they would dare to do—or divide their forces. Then Melford and Bretherton were to make a dash for it independently and meet after dark outside Meteren, the next village.

  Melford managed to transfer his small stock of food from his haversack to his pockets without being observed by the Germans. His maps and compasses were in an inner pocket. Then they both pretended to doze and lay listening to the murmur of the Germans’ conversation and watching the minute-hand creep round towards the hour chosen for the attempt.

  At last it was time. Bretherton whispered, “Good luck,” and Melford turned over sleepily, yawned, stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes. The Germans watched him silently. He picked up his water-bottle and applied it to his lips. Then he shook it, turned it upside-down, and eyed with disgust the few drops that trickled from it. He mumbled something unintelligible and with a sigh rose to his feet. The Germans, who had been lying back watching, sat up quickly. With one hand in his trouser pocket and the other carelessly swinging the water-bottle he sauntered towards the stream. The Germans called on him to stop, but he took no notice of them. The three men scrambled to their feet and again called on him to stop. One of them raised his gun; but another laid his hand upon the barrel. Melford continued unconcernedly upon his way. Bretherton rolled over sleepily and called testily, “All right: he’s only going to fill the water-bottle.”

  Melford’s kit that lay upon the grass and Bretherton’s lazy attitude reassured the Germans, for after a hurried consultation one of them picked up his gun and followed Melford. The remaining two sat down again, and the dog remained with them.

  These were big odds against Bretherton, two men armed with sporting guns and a dog. But he feared the dog more than the guns. Fortunately he had cut himself a stout stick in the woods, and as he lay now upon his side with the stick hidden by his body, he found the grip of it comforting. His food, map, and compass were in his pockets. He would have to sacrifice his overcoat and haversack, but with luck he would reach the Rhine that night. He watched the Germans through half closed lids, awaiting an opportunity to bolt and listening for the sounds that would tell him that Melford had got away.

  Suddenly a shout broke the stillness of the woods. The two men sat up quickly; the dog barked. The shout was repeated a few minutes later, farther off, and was followed by a shot. The two Germans sprang to their feet and stood looking in the direction from which the shot had sounded. The dog started off into the woods, but was angrily recalled by one of the men and stood behind its masters gazing into the undergrowth with cocked ears.

  Bretherton cautiously drew in his legs. He rose swiftly and noiselessly to his feet; he took a stealthy step forward. The men heard nothing, but the dog did and turned its head. Bretherton brought the stick down upon the animal’s skull with all his strength, and as it crumbled beneath the blow, he turned and dived into the undergrowth.

  CHAPTER XVI

  I

  Behind him the Germans were shouting, and one of them loosed off his gun. Bretherton heard the pellets spattering through the leaves close to him, but he was hidden by the thick undergrowth. He heard the men crashing after him, and he realized thankfully that the dog was not with them.

  He ran hard for a hundred yards, and then dropped into a walk and moved with extreme caution. The report of the gun had made him anxious about Melford, though he told himself that in this close country it was unlikely that the German could have had much of a shot, and at the worst a few pellets in the back of a running man were not likely to cause any serious damage.

  The sportsmen were shouting to each other, and he could hear them beating the bushes as though they were undecided whether he was hiding in the close undergrowth or had gone on. He set his course westward by the setting sun, the direction of Meteren, near which village he was to meet Melford. Presently he heard the sound of someone moving cautiously through the undergrowth to his right. The noise grew louder, and he hid among the bushes and waited. The rustling of branches and leaves continued intermittently and drew nearer. Beyond the bush where he lay hid was a small glade almost free from undergrowth, and beyond it thick bushes began again. The rustling reached these bushes and ceased.

  Bretherton lay on the ground with his stick gripped in his hand and his eyes fixed on the bushes beyond the glade. They swayed slightly, and then a branch was drawn partly aside, and a man’s face peered out. It was Melford. Bretherton called to him softly and crawled from his hiding place.

  “So you’ve diddled ’em, G. B.,” said Melford. “Stout feller. Let’s get a move on. They are still running round in circles back there. I let out a few realistic groans after that chap blazed off at me, and he thinks I’m wounded and lying doggo somewhere.”

  They went on cautiously at first, and then with greater speed and boldness as no sounds of pursuit reached them. The sun had set, and already dusk was falling in the woods. They forced their way through a thick belt of undergrowth and found themselves unexpectedly in a ride. Bretherton grasped Melford’s arm and jerked him backwards. But it was too late, for as he glanced down the long straight woodland lane, he saw coming towards them the German sportsman who had gone to the village. And with him was a soldier carrying a rifle on his shoulder.

  The Germans were less than forty yards away. Melford cried, “Run!” and they dashed into the woods across the ride. But here the undergrowth had been recently cut and was not more than a foot or two in height. The Germans shouted to them to stop, but they sped on.

  “Better separate,” cried Melford, and he swerved to the right. Bretherton swerved to the left. A few seconds later came the sharp crack of a rifle. A cloud of frightened birds rose noisily from the trees. Melford pitched head-first into the low undergrowth.

  He was holding his left arm with his right hand and trying to struggle to his feet when Bretherton reached him. “All right, G. B.,” he said. “I tripped over something, but that swine got me in the arm—it’s all numb. Cut along: I can run all right.”


  Bretherton hooked his arm round his comrade’s body and dragged him to his feet. And then again the crack of a rifle echoed through the woods. Something warm splashed stingingly on Bretherton’s face and trickled down his cheek; the strong, sinewy body in his arms jerked convulsively, sagged suddenly, and slid limp and heavy from his grasp.

  For a fraction of a second he gazed stupidly at the little hole behind the left ear; and then a great gust of rage swept over him. Melford had been murdered, murdered: Melford, the C.O. of the old divisional company, who had so often sat in the little company office on the banks of the Ancre, who had brought the company out to France and led it across the hills of Picardy and the Somme swamps by Vaux; Melford, the cheery companion of the prison-camp at Ebenthal and the night marches through the silent woods and villages, Melford murdered on the eve of success. He leapt to his feet and started towards the Germans, who were approaching through the trees. With his bare hands he would choke the life out of the murderer.

  He had gone only three or four paces before his habitual calm and presence of mind reasserted themselves. Melford was dead, and he himself would be shot down long before he could take vengeance on the slayer. To attempt to do so would be madness, useless suicide. He swerved sharply and ran swiftly between the trees. Thirty yards ahead he saw that the undergrowth rose again to a height of ten or twelve feet. A shout sounded behind him, but he ran on, dodging this way and that among the trunks. He was only a few yards from the shelter of the bushes when again the crack of a rifle echoed through the woods and sent the birds flying with a beating of wings. Something kicked him hard in the thigh, and he sprawled head-first into the shelter of the undergrowth.