* * * * * A barbed wire, behind it a deep, wide ditch, beyond that a plowed field, were in front of us. The human mind is a queer contrivance. We had just negotiated some rather ugly ground. We had not bothered about, hardly become aware of, the risks we had taken. Now we were hesitating for a few moments in front of a ditch with firm sides which, at the worst, we could easily have waded. At last we jumped, landing in the water half-way up to our knees. I lost my precious aluminium water-bottle there. Then across the field, across another ditch, and so four times. On the way I asked Tynsdale: “Nothing to remark about our course?” “I thought you altered it, and swung due west at one point.” “Yes, after the shots.” “Intentional?” “Sure!” “Thought so.” A canal, seemingly in course of construction, was crossed on a large tree-trunk, which bridged it. Kent and I did it astride. Tynsdale walked. Two hundred yards farther we stood on the banks of another full-grown canal. “We must be in Holland,” I remarked. “I wouldn’t like to say so,” replied Kent. “You know there’s a canal parallel and close to the frontier on the German side, forty or fifty miles farther south.” “Yes, and it’s marked on our map, and this isn’t.” “A river, not a canal, was to show us we were in Holland!” “True, but they may have turned the river into a canal. Man, the frontier runs across the swamp. We’re off the swamp. We’re in Holland, I bet you what you like.” “I don’t think you ought to be so cock-sure.” “But I am. Here, do you want to swim across?” “No.” “All right! We’ll turn south along its banks!” Soon we came abreast of a house which lay a hundred yards or so to the east, toward Germany. “Let’s go have a look,” I suggested. We did so. The whole character of the cottage, for such it was, struck me as un-German. I pulled out my torch: “This isn’t German. Look at that front door. Decorated with painted flowers!” Kent arrived breathlessly from somewhere: “This can’t be Germany! There is a big dish, full of potatoes, on the table in the front room!” “Let’s knock!” We knocked. We had no time to ask questions, for, before the last rap had sounded, “Holland! Holland!” called a male voice from within. Holland! We stood and looked at one another silently, then retreated a few steps. “Cheers, boys,” I said. “Hip, hip, hip--” Three feeble cheers seemed to be immediately swallowed up in the darkness. How thin, weak, and far away our voices sounded! Then we turned, to make our way to the nearest village. CHAPTER XXVI FREE AT LAST We had only gone a few steps when a man came running after us. His Dutch and our German made conversation possible. Kent was rather good at understanding and imparting his meaning. “Orlog gefangenen?” the man asked. “Yah, yah!” “Roosland?” “Nay, nay; Engelsch!”