Spare my life, sir!"
"We will spare you what is worth more than a little thing like your
life," said the Captain. "We'll spare you some of our good food, to show
you that we French do not have to gnaw our finger-nails, like you
miserable Boches. Men, take this animal away and feed it!"
The men obeyed, enjoying the joke. The dazed Kamerad was stuffed with
sardines, meat, bread, and butter (of which he had forgotten the
existence), delicious cheese, and chocolates. At last the magic meal was
topped off with smoking hot black coffee, a thimbleful of brandy, and--a
_cigar_! Tobacco and cognac may have been cheap, but they made the
_feldwebel_ feel as if he had died and gone to heaven.
When he had eaten till his belt was tight for the first time in many
moons, back he was hustled to the Captain.
"Well--you have had something better than potatoes? _Bon!_ Now, out of
this, quicker than you came! Your mother may admire your face, but we
others, we have seen enough of it."
"But, Herr Captain," pleaded the poor wretch, loth to be banished from
Paradise, "I am your prisoner."
"Not at all," coolly replied the officer. "We can't be bothered with a
single prisoner. What is one flea on a blanket? Another time, if we come
across you again with enough of your comrades to make the game worth
while, why then, perhaps we may give ourselves the pain of keeping you.
You've seen that we have enough food to feed your whole trench, and
never miss it.
Pages:
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175