make sure that the sentries behind could see nothing; then, when we had put a good distance between us, we began to quicken the pace, until we were almost running on our hands and knees. But the effort of crawling for such a long period was quickly robbing us of what strength we had left. Every ten or twenty yards we were forced to sink down into the heather for a few moments’ rest, in order to gather a little more energy to go on with, and also to stretch our legs out straight; for we were now suffering agonies with cramp, brought about by the unwonted exercise of the muscles utilised in crawling—even our tongues, were curling back into our mouths; but we set our teeth and crawled on, in spite of the cramp.
“We must succeed, we must beat the Boches! Gad! how sick they’ll be if we get over! But shall we? Thank God, the people at home don’t know we are hunted beasts, and they can’t see the danger weare in; but you see it all, you old moon up there—you can see the dangers in front—you who see all the doings of the night, what does fate hold in store?—you with the tantalising smile, so cold and aloof! I’d swear at you, if I wasn’t afraid of you. Please don’t stare so.”
Presently the moon sank behind a big cloud, and my friend and I were able to rise to our feet and walk slowly forward. The relief of being able once more to stretch our legs was intense. This did not last very long, however, as we suddenly caught the sound of a man’s footsteps pacing evenly upon some hard and ringing substance. Instantly we were on our knees in the heather. Where on earth could the man be? There was no road of any sort, as far as we had been able to see before the moon had sunk behind the clouds. On every side of us was an unbroken expanse of heather, yet the sound of somebody walking was unmistakable, and grew more distinct as we crawled nearer.We were absolutely puzzled, when, looking to our right, I saw another beacon light, perhaps one hundred yards away. Somebody was smoking, and the smoker was moving. At first he seemed to be coming towards us; but as our position could not be bettered by advancing or retreating, we decided to stay where we were, cowering down amongst the heather.
After a little while we decided that the light was moving away from us, to suddenly disappear altogether. Cautiously we crawled forward again, the sound of pacing growing so distinct that it seemed as if it could not be more than a few feet away. Suddenly, without any warning, the two of us found ourselves looking down into a sunken road, about forty feet deep and perhaps one hundred and twenty feet across, into which we must descend, down a steep sandy bank, to the hard surface of the road beneath. The sound of some one pacing puzzled us no longer; for there, not ten yards away,was a small hut, right in the middle of the sunken road, on the other side of which somebody was pacing up and down. We could not see the man, but we could distinguish when he was walking towards us, when he stopped, and when he was walking in the opposite direction.
Again we were disturbed by the sound of something moving roughly through the heather behind us. We were now threatened on both sides, so that immediate action was necessary. To slide down into the road, we waited till the sentry was apparently walking away from us, and then let ourselves head-first down the sandy slope. I dug my nails and toes into the sand, but the descent was too steep. Swish! and I found myself lying by the side of the road, waiting for my partner to follow suit. Swish! and he too lay beside me. For a moment we listened to hear if the sentry was on his return beat—we could not be sure. In that moment of waiting the moon cameout again clear and bright, and the steps of the sentry were coming nearer and nearer. He could not fail to see us; our dark bodies against the glistening white of the road must stand out in relief. We lay still, hardly breathing. In a moment he would see us—perhaps he had done so already; he was taking aim, and we waited for the bullet. Oh the suspense of the moment! Slowly—it seemed ages—he advanced, and then we heard him swing round, and he was walking away again. Immediately we wormed our way on our stomachs across the road, and attempted to climb the other side in silence; but it was steep and sandy, similar to the side we had just come down, and for every two feet we went up we came down one.
Once more the sentry was on his return journey, which forced us to be silent again; but this time it was not so easy, as we were on the slope. In vain we dug our hands and feet into the sand; weslipped down slowly but surely, inch by inch. He could not fail to hear the slipping sand, or so we thought; but he didn’t, and on his again walking away from us we scrambled up, regardless of the noise we made. Still he seemed to hear nothing, but we gained the top in safety.
As soon as we got our breath, and had time to survey our new position, we found, to our surprise, that we were lying beside a new railway track under construction. Directly up against us was a large heap of flint-stones, evidently for use on the track. To pass over this, without dislodging a single flint, would be impossible. However, get over it we must, and we finally managed to cross without making very much disturbance; but it was no joke for me, without any boots on. Once over the other side, we hurried across the track. In front of us was a large shed, evidently used for stores and tools, as there were several wheelbarrows about. Fearing there might be a night watchman
of some sort, we started to skirt round it to the right, and had not cleared the track more than a few feet when we practically ran into the arms of a sentry. Whether he saw us first or we him I do not know. He wasn’t more than forty yards away, only a small hedge separating us from him.
We were fairly caught. Immediately I grabbed my friend’s arm, and walked him straight up to the tool-shed, knocking at the door. The sentry was walking rapidly towards us. At the moment I knocked he called “Halt!” at which the two of us doubled round the shed on the other side, putting it between him and us. Twice we heard him frantically yell “Halt!” but we had seen a tall hedge to our left, running in the direction we were making for. To this we sprinted, and kept on running under its shadow, till we dropped for want of breath. Every moment we expected to hear the whiz of a bullet, but evidently we had shaken him off.
It was now pitch-dark, the moon having disappeared for good, for which we were very thankful. But before we had recovered our breath sufficiently to press on again, the silence of the night was rudely broken by the sound of six shots, fired in quick succession. This firing must have been half a mile to our right, but in the stillness of the early morning it sounded very much nearer. Alas! in our own extremity of the moment, we had forgotten the other pair of escapers. Fortunately we never connected these shots with our late comrades, or the knowledge would certainly have caused us great anxiety for their safety.
Very soon we felt sufficiently recovered to go on, also we were anxious to get farther away from the sentry who had so nearly taken us, fearing that he might be putting dogs on our track, although we calculated that we must now be out of danger, even if we were not actually over the frontier, since we had passed twolines of guards in the broom, and now this last line which we had just got through. The Germans could not possibly have more than three lines, as they were too badly in need of men at the front, or so we thought, to be able to waste them guarding the frontier.
Slowly and painfully—for we were very nearly at the end of our tether—we made our way eastward through a thinly planted wood, on the other side of which we traversed a large area of plough. We felt so certain that we were over and safe that we actually began to discuss the fact, without troubling to lower our voices very much. Suddenly a man called “Halt!” Looking to our left, we saw a figure bearing down on us. He could not have been more than twelve yards away, or we should not have seen him in the darkness. “Come on!” and we were running over plough for dear life. “Halt!” On we raced. Then his first shot rang out. What a wicked crack it made, as thebullet struck the ground somewhere by my feet! I was doing better time than I had ever done on the wing in my footer days, and then the second bullet came just under my nose. I could feel the rush of air on my mouth. His third shot passed a foot or two above my head.
Where was my companion? A fourth shot and a heavy fall some distance behind me. “My God! they’ve got him!” Should I stop? No! it is each for himself now—that was understood. Then another shot rang through the night, somewhere a long way behind. The sentry was finishing my friend. Horrible! Still on I flew, to suddenly fall head over heels into a ditch. I was too done up to go any farther, and lay gasping for breath; but the spirit of self-preservation is a hard one to break, and before long I was calculating what I must do next. The light of dawn would soon be upon me. I must get to a better hiding-place for the coming day.
What’s that moving towards me? Is it my fancy? No. By gad! it’s a man, and he’s moving so slowly it must be the sentry; he is looking for me. He will walk almost on top of me. All right, my friend; if you miss me by a foot, I’ll strangle you from behind. The figure came on, was beside me; in a flash I was on his back and had laid him out. A familiar groan. Good heavens! it was my companion. I almost cried over him, but his temper had gone with the blow I had given him, and it was some time before he would have anything to do with me.
“I followed you as best I could,” he gasped, “and I thought I had lost you, and I haven’t the faintest idea where I am. That brute turned on to me after he had given you the first three. The first one hit me just under the heel and laid me flat, but I got up and rushed in the direction I thought you had taken. Then he fired again, but it was miles behind me.”
When my friend had sufficiently recovered his breath we started off again, and after a few hundred yards entered a region of decayed woods. Here we experienced great difficulty in advancing, owing to our exhausted condition, caused by the lack of food and the extreme cold. Continually we tripped over the stumps of trees in our path, to go sprawling full length over the other side, only to pick ourselves up in a dazed determination to press forward as long as any strength remained in us. Time after time we crashed to the ground in our blind progress, until finally the two of us fell over at the same spot, where we eventually decided to rest till the coming of dawn, which was just about to break.
Whilst we were resting it was gradually borne in upon us that we were not alone in the wood, as we could hear something rustling up to us through the undergrowth. As yet it was some distance away. Instinctively we got to our feet and stumbled on again, a little refreshedby our short rest. Once or twice we stopped in order to find out if we were being pursued, and discovered that every time we halted the person behind did the same. Evidently he must be trying to get our position by the noise we were making as we passed through the undergrowth, the fact of which he seemed to have taken full advantage, for it appeared to us that he was very much nearer than when we had first heard him.
Somehow we managed to move forward at a faster pace than we had done hitherto, and in doing so we passed through a small clearing, in which we noticed some bundles of cut faggots, and the idea struck me that they might possibly help us to evade our pursuer. Hurriedly seizing one or two of these faggots, we plunged into the undergrowth on the far side of the clearing; then stopped to get the direction of the man behind, who in his turn stood still, as soon as he discovered we were not moving. I then swung one of the heaviestfaggots to our left, right over the top of the bushes. Immediately it landed the man started off in the direction of the noise it had made as it fell through. In the meantime we remained silently crouching in the bushes. Eventually we heard the man, or whatever it was, pass us to the left in the direction where I had thrown the faggot, and we heard no more of him.
It was broad daylight before we moved on again, and found that we had been resting within a few yards of the edge of the wood. In front of us there was an expanse of plough, but quite different to what we had previously seen. Here the fields were neatly trimmed; hedges divided one field from another; also the furrows were more regular, and not so far apart. My companion and I discussed the fact, and decided that it did not look at all like the work of the Boche, which led us to believe that we were really over at last. So we were, and had been for a couple of miles past, though of course wehad no means of knowing it. We heard afterwards that the man in the wood to whom we had given the slip was a Dutch sentry. Oh! if we had only known it, we should most certainly have hugged him round the neck, and probably asked him for something to eat: not that we were in the least hungry; we had long ago passed that.
At the end of one of these ploughed fields we were brought to a halt by a broad ditch about thirty feet across, on the other side of which was a railway line. How on earth were we to get over this? Personally I sat down in despair, wondering in a dazed sort of way who put the beastly ditch there. My friend scouted to right and left for a bridge, but found nothing. On returning to me, he noticed that I was sitting on a long pole.
“Buck up, old man! that’s the very thing we want,” he said. “We can pole-jump it.” And so we did.
On the far side of the railway track wereached a small village, situated on a big main road. Crossing the road, we saw a line of trees running north and south as far as eye could see—beyond the trees a long white line, of what appeared to be mist. As we approached we discovered it to be a river. When we reached its margin, it was found to be about three hundred yards across.
“It’s the Meuse!” I shrieked, “and we’re over, man. We have been over three miles, and didn’t know it. Do you understand, you blockhead? We’re over! we’re free! we’ve escaped!”
Then I for one sat down and cried like a child. Very soon my companion decided that we must swim to the other side.
“Swim over that, in our condition! You must be mad! I tell you the Meuse does not run into Germany anywhere within a hundred miles of where we are.”
“Well,” he replied, “it will be safer the other side,” and he started to take his coat off.
“Don’t be a blithering idiot; you couldn’t swim that even if you were fit and strong. However, go ahead, old thing! I’ll watch you drown. I’m perfectly content to lie here for ever and ever.”
Andso the two of us lay and wondered at it all, until we heard the bells of some church far up the river strike the hour of seven.
“Look here, old man, we’re getting stiff again; we must push on to some place or other.”
Accordingly we walked northwards, hugging the river-bank, and after about an hour’s tramp we came to the outskirts of V——. Passing through that part of the town which lies on the east bank, we arrived at the great bridge. Over this we started to make our way, feeling that we should like to put the river between ourselves and the enemy. In the middle of the bridge we were halted and questioned by the Dutch guard. When we declaredthat we were two British officers just escaped from Germany, the Dutch N.C.O. looked rather doubtful. As he did not speak either German or French we had some difficulty in convincing him. Certainly our appearance was not very reassuring. My companion did not look so bad, though his clothes were badly torn, and he was covered with slime from head to heels; but his field-boots were field-boots, and should have commanded attention. As for myself, I was a horrible-looking sight; and, to make things worse, my socks were worn through, disclosing cut and bleeding feet.
After about ten minutes’ wait on the bridge one of the sentries was told off to take us to the Casern, or barrack-room; so we were conducted back to the east side of the bridge. Here we were told that the officer in charge was not up, but he would be immediately informed of our arrival. Within a minute or two the officer himself came to welcome us, andushered us into his bedroom, where he was completing his toilet.
What a splendid welcome that Dutch officer gave us! With his own hands he took off my socks and washed my feet, smearing the sore cuts with some stuff which he seemed to have great faith in. Finding that my friend’s boots were too much for him, he called in a couple of his orderlies, who managed, after a great deal of pulling, to remove them from his swollen feet. Then the Dutch officer bustled about, ordering breakfast for us. What would we like? Eggs and bacon, of course! All the English liked that.
“Yes, my cook does them beautifully; you shall see.”
Then he made us take off our clothes and wash; clean shirts and vests were supplied from the officer’s wardrobe; and, finally, he rang up the military doctor, and informed him that he had a couple of bad cases. All the time he bustled about helping us here and there, andnever seemed tired of informing us what fine fellows we were, to which of course we both agreed. When the breakfast arrived, he hovered around us like a hen with her chicks, but we were hardly able to eat anything. With great difficulty we managed to swallow an egg, more to please the good fellow than anything else.
Soon after breakfast the doctor arrived, and we were hustled off to the hospital in a cab. Here we were treated like princes. Nothing was too good for us. It was nice to be fussed over and taken care of, after being neglected so long, and we thoroughly appreciated their kindness. First we had a very hot bath. Oh the luxury of having a real bath once more! After the bath we went off to bed and slept the clock round. Another bath, heaps to eat, and more sleep! The doctor said we must stay until we felt strong enough to make the journey to Rotterdam. When was the next train, we asked. Oh, in a few hours. Well, we felt strong enough nowfor Rotterdam, and as soon as may be England, and then home.
And so that morning we left V—— and all the kind friends we had made, and journeyed to Rotterdam, accompanied by another Dutch officer, travelling in first-class Pullman carriages. On our arrival we were handed over to the British Consulate. Everybody there was kindness itself; arrangements were made for us to buy civilian clothes, and before very long we were completely fitted out.
From Rotterdam we were removed to The Hague (pending a British boat to take us to England), where the British Ambassador and his wife made us welcome at the Embassy. Here again nothing was too good for us, and we shall always remember the great kindness they showed us, which affected me deeply after our terrible experience.
And then the great day arrived when we actually set our feet in England once more!
But what would England be like? How had she stood the strain of nearly three years’ war, with an expenditure of nearly eight millions a day? That such a stupendous sum had been gathered from the resources of our Empire, without the fear of immediate bankruptcy, only filled us with a joyous pride for the race to which we belonged. But what of the toll of blood and bone? Was that as frightful as it had been represented to us? Not that we had been really influenced byThe Continental Times, or any other paper which the German Government propagated amongst the allied prisoners of war, as part and parcel of their general system of persecution; for the German is a master of mental as well as physical agony. But these papers, which were our only source of regular news, had laid the foundation of a doubt, deep down within our hearts, that perhaps all was not quite so well with those at home; for when day followed day, and weeks grew into months,and months into years, and no appreciable advance had been made by the Entente, it would take a very hero of optimism, if not a fool, to remain absolutely free from the canker of doubt. In existing circumstances it was impossible to calculate how long we must continue to live as exiles, under these apalling conditions. We dare not look for the speedy return of peace, for an early peace would mean the cause of the Entente was lost, the triumph of wrong over right, which must surely be impossible; and so the prisoners made it their duty to laugh, and say “Oh! three or four years longer,” when asked surreptitiously by some German soldier or other as to how long the war would go on.
I wonder if the people at home ever realise that the prisoners in Germany number amongst their ranks some of the greatest heroes of this war. On the battlefield the heroes, or at least some of them, are recognised, and rewarded accordingly; but the exile is never known, though hefights against far more hopeless odds; for him there is no chance—all is at an end. Fine deeds are done in the heat of action, when the excitement of the moment gives the spur to many a noble act; but it takes a braver and more steadfast spirit to pass smiling and cheerful through the endless stunted and hopeless days of a prisoner’s life, to cheer up those of our comrades who have for the moment fallen into the slough of despondency, and to harass the German guards at every turn in the matter of attempted escape, since if the prisoners were peaceably quiescent the number of their guards would be reduced, thus freeing so many more men to go and fight against their brothers on the front. The more escapes, the more guards necessary to prevent them, the more electric lights or oil lamps to show up the designs of the escapers by night, the continual supply of coal and oil necessary to feed these lights, slowly but very surely help to drain the resources ofthe Boches. This can be more easily seen when it is realised that the combined allied prisoners in Germany run into millions.
There are those who might say that the amount of coal and other things used for the exterior lighting of camps could not be a serious item. Very true. But, however small, it all counts, and it is the only way that a prisoner can help to do his bit. If he tries to escape he is punished, sometimes very severely; but he accepts it as part of his lot, because he feels that the more men placed to guard him, the less men there will be to fill active positions. I have met many people in this country since my return who don’t believe—or more probably don’t want to believe—that the life of a prisoner is as bad as some of us make out. All I can say is, I wish they could try it for themselves. Let them put up with the pestilential insanitary filth and the nauseating stench of camps without any sort of drainage;the bitter cold of the long winter without adequate warmth; the daily slaving of cooking tinned food and washing up greasy plates in freezing water afterwards; the difficulty of cleansing underlinen without the necessary utensils to wash it in; the mental torment of being without any authentic information of the fortunes of war or of the fate of those dear to us, whilst the flag-posts with which every camp is fitted are periodically gaily beflagged with enormous military banners flaunting some great German victory which the Boche sentries seldom lose the opportunity of sarcastically pointing out! Lucky indeed is the town or village which boasts of aKriegsgefangenen—prisoners’ camp! To be inspected on Sundays as curious and despicable animals behind a wire cage by the German populace, decked out in holiday attire for the occasion, who mock and gaze through field-glasses at one’s face or the legs of those wearing kilts, shouting lewd remarks asthe animals march up and down their confined exercise-ground; to have one’s precious letters from home the subject of offensive remarks from German officers attached to the camp,—these are only a few of the more outstanding troubles that a prisoner must bear with a smiling face.
Had the Boche in the beginning started by treating his prisoners with the respect and honour which is their due according to The Hague Convention, it would still be the duty of every prisoner to make his escape, if possible; but then the offensive spirit would have ended, for a holder of the King’s Commission must carry out the spirit in which that commission is given—the path of duty, even unto death, in whatever circumstances that path may lie. But taking into consideration the unscrupulous character of the enemy, as shown by the treatment of his prisoners, it is the duty of each able-bodied officer and man to carry out the offensive spirit in every way possible. Some of the menhave been magnificent, and have carried this spirit to the highest possible heroism.
But to return to our impressions as the train gradually bore us to London from the port at which we had disembarked from Holland. Everything seemed to be as of yore. The long rolling fields bounded by broad hedges, the picturesque farms nestling in hollows, with fat cattle grazing over every hill-top, the wonderful soothing green of the general landscapes, brought a heavy sigh of content to be back in it all again. Everything seemed as if we had just left it. On the platform we saw numbers of men of military age. Surely things must be going pretty well, or all these men would be in uniform, they would have been called up long ago; or were they still playing at conscription in the matter of exemptions? Perhaps all these were shirkers, who did not know of or did not care for the great need of the Motherland in her dire distress, who hadpitted herself in her unreadiness, in the cause of honour and right, against the greatest military nation on earth, organised to the last man, and beyond that again.
Soon we arrived in London, to report ourselves immediately to the War Office. But London amazed and appalled us. She was so vast. Taxi-cabs, motor-buses, and pedestrians thronged the streets as never before, or so it seemed to us. We hesitated to cross the street, the traffic seemed so dangerous and formidable. We were hustled off the pavement by constant streams of people going this way and that, none of whose faces seemed to spell war. One saw practically no people in mourning, whilst in Germany one sees them everywhere. Men in uniform passed by in thousands. Tommies looking at the sights and standing in groups at the street corners—why, there must be enough men in uniform here to form an army! Surely, if we were in need, these fellows would allbe out at the front. Things must be going very well, and we had heard nothing but a piece of colossal impertinence. And so we more or less found it to be.
Every hotel seemed crammed; it was impossible to get in anywhere. The theatres, too, were running at high pressure; one must book seats weeks beforehand. In fact, everything looked as if there was no war going on at all, and yet organisation relative to war was evident at every turn; and we began to feel a great relief. The Old Country was big enough to give her utmost to the war and yet carry on her life of business and gaiety at the same time. This was our proud but foolish idea when we first returned to London.
In conclusion, I would like to add that there is not a word in the whole of these experiences which can harm in any way whatsoever the prisoners still remaining in Germany. In the few descriptions of escapes, attempted escapes, or other instances contrary to enemy regulations which I have recorded, and in which others have participated, there is not a single one of them left in Germany. They are mostly in Holland or Switzerland, and a good many of them are actually at home here in England. I could have made my tale vastly more interesting and exciting if the war were at an end.
If I have given the reader an interesting half-hour, and have satisfied his or her curiosity as to the real conditions under which a prisoner of war labours in Germany, I shall feel that I have been justified in writing these experiences.
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