We pressed forward, full of curiosity, and there beheld the tiredest, dustiest, most woe-begone figure of a man, whose clothes were in rags, and whose boots were so full of holes they seemed ready to drop off him.  He was handcuffed and walked wearily, with downcast eyes—­

It was George Clerque!

[Illustration:  German Prison Stamp]

CHAPTER VI

ROSSBACH

It was September 25th that we left the prison-camp and came to Rossbach—­eighteen miles south on the railway.  The six of us, with the German guard, had a compartment to ourselves, and as there was a map on the wall which showed the country south of Rossbach, over which we hoped to travel, I studied it as hard as I could without attracting the attention of the guard, and afterwards entered on my map the information I had gained.

It was rather a pretty country we travelled through, with small farms and fairly comfortable-looking buildings.  The new houses are built of frame or brick, and are just like our own, but the presence of the old stone buildings, gray and dilapidated, and old enough to belong to the time of the Crusaders, kept us reminded that we were far from home.

However, we were in great humor that morning.  Before us was a Great Adventure; there were dangers and difficulties in the way, but at the end of the road was Liberty!  And that made us forget how rough the going was likely to be.  Besides, at the present time we were travelling south—­toward Switzerland.  We were on our way.

At Wetzlar, one of the stations near Giessen, a kind-faced old German came to the window and talked to us in splendid English.

“I would like to give you something, boys,” he said, “but”—­he shrugged his shoulders—­“you know—­I daren’t.”

The guard pretended not to hear a word, and at that moment was waving his hand to a group of girls—­just the regular station-goers, who meet the trains in Canada.  This was, I think, the only place I saw them, for the women of Germany, young and old, are not encouraged to be idle or frivolous.

“I just wish I could give you something,” the old man repeated, feeling in his pocket as if looking for a cigar.

Then Clarke, one of our boys, leaned out of the window and said, “I’ll tell you what we would like best of all, old man—­if you happen to have half a dozen of them on you—­we’ll take tickets to Canada—­six will do—­if you happen to have them right with you!  And we’re ready to start right now, too!”

The German laughed and said, “You’d better try to forget about Canada, boys.”

* * *

The guards who brought us to Rossbach went straight back to Giessen, after handing us over to the guards there, and getting, no doubt, an official receipt for us, properly stamped and signed.

Rossbach has a new town and an old, and, the station being in the new town, we were led along the road to the old town, where the farming people live.  It is an old village, with the houses, pig-pens, and cow-stables all together, and built so close that it would be quite possible to look out of the parlor window and see how the pigs are enjoying their evening meal or whether the cow has enough bedding.