Barney came to the conclusion that he had dropped into a sewer.  To get out the way he had entered appeared impossible.  He could not leap upward from the slimy, concave bottom the distance he had dropped.  To follow the sewer upward would lead him nowhere nearer escape.  There remained no hope but to follow the trickling stream downward toward the river, into which his judgment told him the entire sewer system of the city must lead.

Stooping, he entered the ill-smelling circular conduit, groping his way slowly along.  As he went the water deepened.  It was half way to his knees when he plunged unexpectedly into another tube running at right angles to the first.  The bottom of this tube was lower than that of the one which emptied into it, so that Barney now found himself in a swiftly running stream of filth that reached above his knees.  Downward he followed this flood—­faster now for the fear of the deadly gases which might overpower him before he could reach the river.

The water deepened gradually as he went on.  At last he reached a point where, with his head scraping against the roof of the sewer, his chin was just above the surface of the stream.  A few more steps would be all that he could take in this direction without drowning.  Could he retrace his way against the swift current?  He did not know.  He was weakened from the effects of his wound, from lack of food and from the exertions of the past hour.  Well, he would go on as far as he could.  The river lay ahead of him somewhere.  Behind was only the hostile city.

He took another step.  His foot found no support.  He surged backward in an attempt to regain his footing, but the power of the flood was too much for him.  He was swept forward to plunge into water that surged above his head as he sank.  An instant later he had regained the surface and as his head emerged he opened his eyes.

He looked up into a starlit heaven!  He had reached the mouth of the sewer and was in the river.  For a moment he lay still, floating upon his back to rest.  Above him he heard the tread of a sentry along the river front, and the sound of men’s voices.

The sweet, fresh air, the star-shot void above, acted as a powerful tonic to his shattered hopes and overwrought nerves.  He lay inhaling great lungsful of pure, invigorating air.  He listened to the voices of the Austrian soldiery above him.  All the buoyancy of his inherent Americanism returned to him.

“This is no place for a minister’s son,” he murmured, and turning over struck out for the opposite shore.  The river was not wide, and Barney was soon nearing the bank along which he could see occasional camp fires.  Here, too, were Austrians.  He dropped down-stream below these, and at last approached the shore where a wood grew close to the water’s edge.  The bank here was steep, and the American had some difficulty in finding a place where he could clamber up the precipitous wall of rock.  But finally he was successful, finding himself in a little clump of bushes on the river’s brim.  Here he lay resting and listening—­always listening.  It seemed to Barney that his ears ached with the constant strain of unflagging duty that his very existence demanded of them.