About two o’clock in the morning we reached the Ems.  It is a big river in normal times, but it was now in flood, as we could see by the trees which stood in the water, as well as by the uprooted ones that floated down the stream.  Swimming was out of the question.

We hunted along the bank that morning, but could find nothing, and as daylight was coming, we had to take cover.

All day we remained hidden in a clump of spruce and looked out upon the cruel sweep of water that divided us from liberty.  The west wind came softly to us, bringing sounds from the Holland border, which we knew from our map was only four or five miles away!  We heard the shunting of cars and the faint ringing of bells.

We discussed every plan.  We would search the riverbank for a boat, though we were afraid the German thoroughness would see to it that there was no boat on this side of any of their border rivers.  Still, they could not watch everything, and there might be one.

Failing that, we would make a raft to carry our clothes, and swim it.  We had a knife, but no rope.  I remember in “Swiss Family Robinson” how easily things came to hand when they were needed, and I actually looked in the dead grass at my feet to see if by any chance I might find a rope or wire—­or something.

But there were no miracles or fairies—­no fortunate happenings for us; and when night came on again we scoured the bank for a boat, but in vain.  Never a boat could we see.

We then drew together some of the driftwood that lay on the shore, but when we tried it in the water it would hardly float its own weight.  I felt the hopelessness of this plan, but Ted worked on like a beaver, and I tried to believe he had more hope than I had.  But suddenly he looked at me, as he stopped, and I felt that our last plan was gone!

“It’s no use,” he said.

There was only the bridge left, and that, we knew, was very dangerous.  Still, there was a chance.  It might not be guarded—­the guard might be gone for a few minutes.  And all the time the murmurs came to us on the wind from the Holland border, and sounded friendly and welcoming.

We started out to find the bridge.

We were better dressed than Bromley and I had been, for we had on the dark blue overcoats, but not being able to speak the language was dead against us.

“Even if they do get us, Sim,” Ted said, “we’ll try it again—­if we live through the punishment.”

“All right,” I said, “I’m game.”

CHAPTER XV

CAUGHT AGAIN

The bridge was a fine iron one without lights.  The road which led to it was not much travelled, and it looked as if it might carry us over—­without accident.  Anyway, it was our only chance.

We walked on to the bridge, taking care to make no noise, and striking a gait that was neither slow nor fast.