with them.

Thoughts of escape returned. Crossing a river in battle was a perilous
operation, entailing much confusion, and the chance might come at the
Marne. They could see too that the Germans were now being pressed
harder. The French shells were coming faster and with more deadly
precision. Now and then they exploded among the masses of German
infantry, and once or twice they struck close to the captives.

"It would be a pity to be killed by our own people," said Fleury.

"And at such a time as this," said John. "Do you know, Fleury, that my
greatest fear about getting killed is that then I wouldn't know how this
war is going to end?"

"I feel that way myself sometimes. Look, there's the Marne! See its
waters shining! It's the mark of the first great stage in the German
retreat."

"I wonder how we're going to cross. I suppose the bridges will be
crowded with artillery and men. It might pay the Germans just to let us
go."

"They won't do that. There's nothing in their rules about liberating
prisoners, and they wouldn't hear of such a thing, anyhow, trouble or no
trouble."

"I see some boats, and I fancy we'll cross on them. I wonder if we
couldn't make what we call in my country a get-away, while we're waiting
for the embarkation."

"If our gunners become much more accurate our get-away, as you call it,
will be into the next life."

Two huge shells had burst near, and, although none of the flying metal
struck them, their faces were stung by fine dirt. When John brushed the
dust out of his eyes he saw that he was right in his surmise about the
crossing in boats, but wrong about probable delays in embarkation. The
German machine even in retreat worked with neatness and dispatch. There
were three boats, and the first relay of prisoners, including John and
Fleury, was hurried into them. A bridge farther down the stream rumbled
heavily as the artillery crossed on it. But the French force was coming
closer and closer. A shell struck in the river sixty or eighty feet from
them and the water rose in a cataract. Some of the prisoners had been
put at the oars and they, like the Germans, showed eagerness to reach
the other side. John noted the landing, a narrow entrance between thick
clumps of willows, and he confessed to himself that he too would feel
better when they were on the farther bank.

The Marne is not a wide river, and a few powerful pulls at the oars sent
them near to the landing. But at that moment a