He, apparently, was the least-concerned
person in that hole.
The night before, by chance, we had heard that Gerbeaux and Stevens were
under detention, but until this moment of meeting we did not know their
exact whereabouts. They--the Frenchman, the American and the Belgian--
had started out from Brussels in an auto driven by the African, on
Monday, just a day behind us. Because their car carried a Red Cross
flag without authority to do so, and because they had a camera with
them, they very soon found themselves under arrest, and, what was worse,
under suspicion. Except that for two days they had been marched afoot
an average of twenty-five miles a day, they had fared pretty well,
barring Stevens. He, being separated from the others, had fallen into
the hands of an officer who treated him with such severity that the
account of his experiences makes a tale worth recounting separately and
at length.
We stayed in that place half an hour--one of the longest half hours I
remember. There was a soldier with a fixed bayonet at the door, and
another soldier with a saw-edged bayonet at the window, which was
broken.
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