Shells were now screaming high overhead, but nobody was in sight.  He judged that it was now an artillery battle, with the foes perhaps three or four miles apart, and, leaving the willows, he crept out upon the bank.  It was the side held by the Germans, but he knew that if he attempted to swim the river to the other bank he would be taken with cramps and would drown.

There was a little patch of long grass about ten yards from the river, and, crawling to it, he lay down.  The grass rose a foot high on either side of him, but the sun, bright and hot, shone directly down upon his face and body.  It felt wonderfully good after that long submersion in the Marne.  Removing all his heavy wet clothing, he wrung the water out of it as much as he could, and lay back in a state of nature, for both himself and his clothing to dry.  Meanwhile, in order to avoid cold, he stretched and tensed his muscles for a quarter of an hour before he lay still again.

A wonderful warmth and restfulness flowed back into his veins.  He had feared chills and a serious illness, but he knew now that they would not come.  Youth, wiry and seasoned by hard campaigning, would quickly recover, but knowing that, for the present, he could neither go forward nor backward, he luxuriated in the grass, while the sun sucked the damp out of his clothing.

Meanwhile the battle was raging over his head and he scarcely noticed it.  The shells whistled and shrieked incessantly, but, midway between the contending lines, he felt that they were no longer likely to drop near.  So he relaxed, and a dreamy feeling crept over him.  He could hear the murmur of insects in the grass, and he reflected that the smaller one was, the safer one was.  A shell was not likely to take any notice of a gnat.

He felt of his clothing.  It was not dry yet and he would wait a little longer.  Anyhow, what was the use of hurrying?  He turned over on his side and continued to luxuriate in the long grass.

The warmth and dryness had sent the blood pulsing in a strong flood through his veins once more, and the mental rebound came too.  Although he lay immediately between two gigantic armies which were sending showers of metal at each other along a line of many miles, he considered his escape sure and the thought of personal danger disappeared.  If one only had something to eat!  It is curious how the normal instincts and wants of man assert themselves even under the most dangerous conditions.  He began to think of the good German brown bread and the hot sausage that he had devoured, and the hot coffee that he had drunk.  One could eat the food of an enemy without compunction.

But it was folly to move, even to seek dinner or supper, while the shells were flying in such quantities over his head.  As he turned once more and lay on his back he caught glimpses as of swift shadows passing high above, and the whistling and screaming of shells and shrapnel was continuous.  It was true that a missile might fall short and find him in the grass, but he considered the possibility remote and it did not give him a tremor.  As he was sure now that he would suffer no bodily ill from his long bath in the Marne he might remain in the grass until night and then creep away.  Blessed night!  It was the kindly veil for all fugitives, and no one ever awaited it with more eagerness than John Scott.