pirited were they when going into battle. With a smile, a shout, or a
song, they went over the top to meet the Huns, ready for anything
except to be taken prisoners into Germany.

This was the one possibility dreaded by the soldiers all along the
front. They knew that the Huns were not a pleasant company to meet;
that they sang only when ordered to do so, and sang only what they were
ordered to sing; that they laughed most and shouted loudest when
cruelly torturing innocent, unprotected, and unarmed people. What life
must be in a German prison at the mercy of German soldiers, they dared
hardly imagine.

It is not strange therefore that our men wished rather to die than to
be prisoners. Nor is it strange that, having been taken, they made the
most desperate attempts to escape.

Naturally the easiest time to break away was while being carried from
the front to the rear of the German lines. Once thrown into prison,
the difficulties were much greater.

Often the captive was handed back from one company of guards to
another, being made to work for the enemy on his way. Private Donahue
was one who was sent back in this manner, after being captured in a
midnight skirmish near Chateau-Thierry.

He was dropped unconscious on the ground outside a German officer's
tent, and when he revived he found that all his belongings,--even
letters and snapshots from home,--had been taken from him. A German
stood over him and began questioning him, hoping to gather important
military information.

When asked how many Americans were at the front, the prisoner said,
"Thirty-two American divisions and forty French."

"Pigs!" shouted the German lieutenant, and the cry was caught up by the
guards, who came at a signal and dragged Donahue away.

From early morning until nightfall, he worked with the camouflage men,
masking the batteries and cutting leafy branches for screening the
stores of ammunition heaped by the roadside.

The Germans gave him no blankets at night, and for food poured out for
him a sort of tasteless gruel and tossed him chunks of coarse black
bread to eat with it. Every day a different soldier took him in
charge. Each night he was closely guarded. He knew from the distant
sounds of the guns that he was being taken back into Germany.

On the seventh night, he lay on the ground with Germans sleeping all
about him. His guard sat beside him, leaning against a tree, his rifle
between his knees. Private Donahue