The first thing that the Barclays did, after reporting themselves, was to settle themselves in a lodging--no very easy thing to find, for the town was crowded with troops, and prisoners. However, as they were able to pay a higher sum than the great majority of French officers, in their position, they had no very great difficulty in finding a place to suit them. The rooms were purposely taken in a large house, with a staircase common to a number of families living on different floors; so that anyone going in or out would be less likely to be noticed than in a smaller house. They were also careful in choosing rooms so placed that they could go in and out of the door on to the staircase, without being noticed by the people with whom they lodged.
Ralph's arm was now extremely painful, the long march having inflamed the wound. He had, therefore, on reporting himself, begged that a surgeon might attend him; and had also asked, as a great favor, that his servant--the hussar Doyle--might be allowed to remain with him; stating that, in that case, he would pay for his lodgings and provide him with food. As the prison in which the private soldiers were confined was, at the time, crowded; the request was complied with.
For the next week Ralph suffered greatly with his arm, and had to keep his room. After that the inflammation subsided; and in another fortnight he was able to dispense, for the first time since he received his wound, with a sling. In the meantime he had made the acquaintance of the people with whom he lodged; who were very kind to their wounded lodger, and whose hearts he completely won by being able to chat to them in their native tongue, like one of themselves. The family consisted of a father, who was away all day at the railway station, where he was a clerk; the mother, a garrulous old woman; and a daughter, a pretty blue-eyed girl of about Ralph's age, who assisted her mother to wait upon them. She had a lover, away as a soldier in the army besieging Paris; and the thought that he might be wounded, or taken prisoner, made her very pitiful to the young officers.
Ralph Barclay had--for some days--been intending to sound her as to her willingness to aid them when she, herself, began it one day. She had cleared away their dinner, and was standing--as she often did--talking with them, when she lowered her voice, so as not to be overheard by her mother in the next room:
"I wonder you don't try to get away. Lots of French officers have done so."
"That is just what we are thinking of, Christine. We have only been waiting till my arm was out of a sling, and we want you to help us."
"How can I help you?" the girl asked.
"In the first place, you can buy us clothes. It would excite suspicion if we were to buy them, ourselves. Percy and I were thinking of going as girls--not pretty girls, of course, like you, Christine--but great, rough peasant girls."
Christine laughed, and colored
"You would be too tall," she said.
"We should be rather tall," Ralph said, ruefully. "We have grown so horribly, in the last few months. Still, some women are as tall as we are."
"Yes, some women are," Christine said, "but men look after them and say, 'What big, gawky women!' and you don't want to be looked after. If people did so, they would see that you didn't walk one bit like a woman, and that your shoulders were very wide, and your arms very strong, and--
"Oh no! It wouldn't do at all. I must think it over.
"I suppose you want that great blue-coated bear to go?" and she nodded at Tim Doyle who--not being able to speak a word of her language--was always indulging in the most absurd pantomime of love and devotion; causing screams of laughter to the merry German girl.
"Yes, Tim must go too, Christine."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the girl. "Fancy him as a woman."
"What is she saying about me, Mister Percy?"
"She says you would make a very pretty woman, Tim."
"Tare and ages, Mister Percy," Tim said, taking it quite seriously, "how could I do it, at all? I'd have to shave off all my beautiful beard and mustaches and, even then, I doubt if you would mistake me for a woman."
The boys screamed with laughter, and translated the Irishman's speech to Christine; who laughed so that her mother came into the room.
"Look here, children," she said, smiling, "I don't want to know what you are talking about. If anything of any sort happens, I may be asked questions; and I don't want to have to tell stories. I can't help hearing, if you leave the door open, and laugh so--indeed, all the neighborhood might hear it; so please shut the door, in future."
So saying, she again went back to her work in the next room.
"Goodbye, I'm going, too," Christine said. "I will think it over, by tomorrow morning, and tell you what you are to do."
The next morning, the boys were very anxious to hear Christine's proposals; for although they had quite made up their minds to try their own plan, if hers was not feasible, still they felt that, with her knowledge of the country, she was likely, at any rate, to give them good advice.
Until she had cleared away breakfast, Christine said nothing. Then she took out her knitting, and sat against the window.
"Now," she began, "I will tell you what I have thought of. It would be easy enough, if it was not for him. He's so big, and so red, and he doesn't speak German.
"Oh dear, he's very tiresome!" and she shook her head at Tim; who smiled, laid his hand on his breast, and endeavored to look affecting.
Christine laughed.
"The only thing I can think of, for him, is that he shall go out as a Jew peddler; with one of their broad hats, and a tray of little trinkets. He might pass, if none of the soldiers took it into their heads to buy."
The proposition was translated to Tim Doyle.
"Is it me, your honor--me, Tim Doyle, a good Catholic, and come of honest people--that's to turn myself into a haythin Jew?" the Irishman burst out, with great indignation. "It was bad enough that I should be made into a woman, but a haythin Jew! I put it to your honors, it's nayther sinsible nor dacent."
The boys went off in screams of laughter. Christine laughed for a moment, too, when they translated Tim's speech to her; and then looked indignant that the proposition, which had cost her so much thought, should be so scornfully rejected.
Tim saw the look, and at once went on, persuasively:
"Sure now, darlint Miss Christine, don't be angry wid me, out of your bright blue eyes! But is it raisonable--is it natural to ask a Christian man to make a haythin Jew of himself? Would you like it, yourself?"
When the boys could stop laughing, they translated Tim's appeal.
"Did you ever see such an absurd man?" she said, laughing. "As if it could make any difference to his religion. Tell him I am a good Catholic, too, but I should not mind dressing up as a Jewess."
"Sure, thin, darlint," Tim exclaimed, when her speech was translated, "I will go as a Jew, directly, if you'll go with me and be my Jewess."
Christine laughed, blushed, shook her head and said, "Nonsense!" upon hearing Tim's proposition.
"But seriously, Christine," Ralph said, "the objection which you mention to the Jew pedlar's disguise is important. Full as the streets are of soldiers looking about, he could hardly hope to go from here through the streets, and out at the gate, without someone asking him about the contents of his box."
Christine allowed--a little pettishly, at the failure of her plan--that it certainly was likely.
"The real difficulty is to get outside the gate," Ralph said, thoughtfully. "After that, I should have no fear."
"What are you thinking of doing, then?" Christine asked.
"I was thinking of dressing Percy, and myself, in the clothes of young peasants; and putting Tim into something of the same sort, with a great bandage round his face. Then I should say that we were two lads, from some place near the frontier, who had come here to meet our uncle; who had had his jaw shattered, in battle. That would explain Tim's not being able to talk at all; and as to looks, he is red enough for a German, anywhere."
"Yes," Christine said, "that would do, very well; but of course, you would be liable to be asked for papers."
"Of course," Ralph said, "but we must risk something."
"I have an idea," Christine said, suddenly, clapping her hands. "I have some cousins living at Wiesbaden. These are three boys, and I am sure they would do anything for me. I will go out to Wiesbaden, tomorrow, and ask them to lend me their papers, just for one day. Wiesbaden is not your way, at all; but for that very reason you would get out more easily there, and be less likely to be suspected, or followed. You could cross the Rhine somewhere near Saint Goar.
"I shall have to tell some sad stories to my cousins, and coax them a great deal. Still, I daresay I shall succeed; and then you can go boldly across the bridge, and into the railway station, and take a ticket for Wiesbaden. You can have an envelope, ready directed, and put the papers into the post there."
"The very thing, Christine. You are a darling!" Ralph exclaimed, catching her by the waist and kissing her, before she had time to think of resistance.
"I shan't do anything at all for you," Christine said, laughing and blushing, "if you misbehave in that way."
"I couldn't help it, Christine--not even if your mother had been looking on.
"And now, about our clothes."
"I couldn't buy them," Christine said. "I never could go into a shop and buy men's clothes."
The thing was so evident that, for a moment, the boys' looks fell. Then Christine said, coloring very much:
"There is a box, in my room, of Karl's things. He is my cousin, you know; and he was working as a gardener, here, till he had to go out in the Landwehr--so, of course, he left his things here, for us to take care of. He is about your size. I will take out one suit--it won't hurt it--and you can put it on, and go out into the town, and buy the things for all three of you."
"Capital!" the boys exclaimed. "It couldn't be better."
Ten minutes afterwards, Ralph went down the stairs and out into the street, dressed as a German laborer in his best suit. He was a little uneasy, at first; but no one noticed him, and he was soon in a shop, haggling over the price of a peasant's coat--as if the matter of a thaler, one way or other, was a thing of vital importance to him. He bought the three suits at three different shops--as he thought that it would look suspicious, if he were to get them all at the same--and in an hour was back again. An hour afterwards, Christine started for Wiesbaden.
The Barclays had reason to congratulate themselves that they had not longer deferred their preparations for escape; for when presenting themselves, as usual, that afternoon at the roll call, they were told that they must hold themselves in readiness to leave for one of the eastern fortresses, upon the following evening; as another large batch of prisoners, from Metz, was expected to arrive upon the following day.
In the evening, Christine returned from Wiesbaden; which is distant only a quarter of an hour, by rail, from Mayence.
"I have got them," she said, "but if you only knew the trouble I have had! What a bother boys are, to be sure!"
"Especially cousins--eh, Christine?"
"Especially cousins," Christine said, demurely.
After thanking her very warmly for her kindness, the Barclays started out, and bought a variety of things which they thought might be useful. They also bought a pretty gold watch and chain, to give to Christine as a parting present.
The next morning they answered, as usual, to their early roll call; and then, returning at once to their lodgings, changed their clothes for those which Ralph had purchased. It was agreed that they should not say goodbye to Christine's mother; in order that, whatever she might suspect, she might be able to say that she knew nothing of any idea, on the part of her lodgers, to make their escape. Then Christine herself came in, to say goodbye; and went half wild with delight, at the present. Then she said goodbye, kissed the boys--without any affectation of objecting to it--and then went to a window, to watch if they went safely down the street.
The boys had no uneasiness, whatever, upon their own account--for they had before passed so easily, among the Prussian troops, that they felt quite confident in their disguise--but they were uncomfortable as to Tim, whose inability to answer questions would have at once betrayed them, had anyone addressed him. They had not ventured to bandage up his face, as if wounded; as he would have naturally, in that case, had a military pass. As the best thing they could think of, they had shoved a lar............