He knew that he had nothing to do but
stand close while the men pulled themselves out of the river and the
remaining boats made their passage. For further protection he moved into
water deep enough to reach to his neck, while he still retained the
cover of the willows and bushes. Here he watched the German troops pass
over, and listened to the heavy cannonade. He soon noted that the
Germans, after crossing, were taking up strong positions on the other
side. He could tell it from the tremendous artillery fire that came from
their side of the Marne.
John now found that his position, while safe from observation, was far
from comfortable. The chill of the water began to creep into his bones
and more shells struck unpleasantly near. Another fell into the river
and he was blinded for a moment by the violent showers of foam and
spray. He began to feel uneasy. If the German and French armies were
going to fight each other from the opposing sides of the Marne he would
be held there indefinitely, either to be killed by a shell or bullet or
to drown from cramp.
But time passed and he saw no chance of leaving his watery lair. The
chill went further into his bones. He was lonesome too. He longed for
the companionship of Fleury, and he wondered what had become of him. He
sincerely hoped that he too had reached a covert and that they should
meet again.
No rumbling came from the bridge below, and, glancing down the stream,
John saw that it was empty.
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