I was more afraid of them and their shotguns than of the Germans, and I never entered a village unless German soldiers were entering or leaving it.

And the Germans gave me no reason to feel free from care.

Every time they read my pass they were inclined to try me all over again, and twice searched my knapsack.
After that happened the second time I guessed my letter to the President of France might prove a menace, and, tearing it into little pieces, dropped it over a bridge, and with regret watched that historical document from the ex-President of one republic to the President of another float down the Sambre toward the sea.

By noon I decided I would not be able to make the distance.

For twenty-four hours I had been without sleep or food, and I had been put through an unceasing third degree, and I was nearly out.