hid away in cellars and dugouts. Nobody paid any attention to him and he was thus given ample time in which to think matters over and decide upon his next movement.
From the barn Ben moved to the building next door—which was a sort of dwelling and storehouse combined. Here, from the wide open doorway, he gazed at the scene of destruction before him. It was full of horror and made him shiver.
"War is certainly a terrible thing," he thought. He saw some people running for their lives, and beheld one man go down struck in the back by a shell. Then he turned away to shut out the sight.
In one room of the warehouse he found an old overcoat and a slouch hat, and lost no time in donning these, both as a disguise and to keep himself warm. Then he hunted around for something to eat, but could not find a mouthful.
"I might have known there would be no food squandered," he told himself. "Didn't they say at the prison that they were slaughtering the horses just for the meat, and that butter and eggs were worth their weight in gold? I'll be lucky to get bread and soup—especially as I haven't a dollar with which to pay for a meal."
Ben was about to leave the warehouse when he saw a file of Russian soldiers approaching. With
