THE AFTERMATH OF THE "BLOODY NIGHT."THE AFTERMATH OF THE "BLOODY NIGHT."
From a rough sketch made on "the field" by the author, September 14, 1914.
My friend and I had scarcely finished our dwelling when along came some officials. They saw what we had done, and then declared that we had taken Government material, in the form of the neglected poles, to which we had no manner of right. Forthwith they demolished the shelter. Intensely disgusted at this turn of events we had another look round for further material and obtained some tree branches. We fashioned these to form the skeleton of a hut. The guard hurried up and ordered us to take it down. For a second time our labour was in vain, but we were grimly persevering and so ran up a third shelter. This shared the self-same fate because we had committed a heinous breach of some one or other official regulation of which we knew nothing.
As we surveyed the ruins of our third attempt to raise something over our heads my South African friend became exasperated. It was merely official spite which had provoked the destruction of our little homes. He gritted his teeth and gave full vent to his innermost feelings which were by no means complimentary to our German oppressors.
"I'm damned if we don't build something to which they cannot take exception," blurted my companion. I concurred, but a survey of the field for materials proving abortive we became somewhat glum. Then I suddenly hit on an idea which I explained. We would build a mud or turf hut. It would take a little time but surely they would not knock that to pieces!
We foraged round and happened upon a spade. With this we cut the sods and built a small square-shaped domicile into which we were able to crawl. We made it sufficiently large, not only to accommodate our two selves but for the reception of company if necessary. It was not a masterpiece by any means, while the interior had the rank aroma of newly-turned earth, but it was preferable to facing the elements, should they decide to be against us once more. Other workers in the camp, who had been foiled similarly in their efforts to fashion a home from poles and sticks, emulated our example. Consequently within a short space of time, diminutive huts, some recalling large beehives, were rising all over the field like mushrooms.
There was keen rivalry in the embellishment of these crude homes. Upon completing ours I decidedupon a "Tradesmen's Entrance" and carved this out, together with a winding approach, the entrance being flanked by two mounds on one of which I planted a small flag improvised from a piece of cardboard which I unearthed. Directly I had set up the little flag I fell foul of authority. The hated emblem was torn up by an officious sentry whom it enraged.
These mud huts were speedily christened with high-falutin names. There were "Sans Souci" villa and the "Haven of Rest" and others equally wildly and inappropriately named. But we considered this an excellent chance "to wax sarcastic," and we let ourselves go, although I do not think that our task-masters, being by nature dense, grasped the purport of our humour. Our residence rejoiced in the unpretentious designation of "Camera Villa,"
If the authorities had gleaned an inkling of the circumstance that this mud hut harboured an incriminating eye they would have spared no effort to discover it, while I as the unfortunate owner—well! I do not know what would have happened to me for such a flagrant breach of official regulations.
It also seemed as if the authorities were going to deprive us of food. At all events noon passed without any sign of dinner. In the afternoon, however, we were informed that we were to receive the mid-day meal, but must go to the cook-house to get it. That was a mile away!
At two o'clock we were lined up, the British at the extreme rear as usual, and marched off. Upon reaching the kitchen we were alarmed to learn that there were insufficient basins. Several would have to use the one utensil successively, and, needless to say, without being washed after each use. Apart from this repulsive method of feeding us as if we were dogs, the time occupied in getting one's ration proved maddening. After one had swallowed the thin cabbagesoup hastily, one had to advance and join the group comprising those who had been served. The result was that by the time the last of the British prisoners had been supplied some three hours had passed. Yet this was the first meal which some of the men had received for three days! I may say that one felt far from satisfied after swallowing the noisome greasy wash.
In the evening, while working upon our hut to impart the finishing touches speedily, because rain was falling, I stumbled across three of the disgraced and disfigured fishermen. They were alone and forlorn. They had no hut and did not know what would happen if another wet night swept over them. One happened to be the skipper of one of the trawlers which had been sunk and he vehemently denied the charge that they had been guilty of laying or sweeping mines. They were attending to their trawls when they were surprised and captured.
The skipper was an interesting, typical sea-dog from the waters of the North Sea, and a thorough God-fearing man. He related a story which made our blood boil. He said his two companions and himself were summoned by the guards at mid-day, and instead of receiving the dinner ration had been taken to a covered hand-cart. The guard told them to push it, and at the same time handed them shovels and picks. Under escort they dragged this mysterious load, which was carefully covered with a tarpaulin, for about three miles to a very lonely spot. At last they came to a deep hole. They were compelled to back the cart to the brink of the pit, and were then curtly bidden to tip it sharply.
To the utter amazement of the skipper and his two colleagues the action of tipping the cart shot into the hole, with considerable force, the corpse of a Belgian. He was dumped into the hole in this rough and ready manner, head first, and to the disgust of the Britishers the body was clothed merely in a shirt! They were then commanded to refill the hole. Thus, withoutthe slightest burial ceremony, with a brutality which would not have been shown to a dog, and without the slightest expression of regret, save one of silence from the three Britishers, the unknown Belgian was consigned to an unknown grave. Who the Belgian was, or how he came by his death, no one ever knew, but it is surmised that he died from exposure upon the field during the night of the 11th.
These three fishermen being friendless and homeless, my chum and I decided to see what we could do for them. We proposed to attach a lean-to shelter to our hut. Poles were driven into the ground, and to these horizontal members were attached, the latter having the inner ends sunk into our walls. For the roof we used our blankets. It was a primitive shelter, but it protected the three men from the rain which again broke over us and for this expression of camaraderie they were extremely grateful.
Our transference to the field provoked the most spirited bout we had ever witnessed between the Commandant and Dr. Ascher. The doctor could do nothing towards securing us shelters: that was exclusively a matter for Major Bach to decide. But he had control over the sanitary arrangements, and he condemned these unequivocally. The stench rising from the open latrines which swept over the field was indescribable. Dr. Ascher flew into a fierce temper over the shortcomings and detestable arrangements, which he maintained to be a serious menace to the health of the camp. We strove desperately to escape the horrible effluvium, but it could not be avoided unless we buried our heads. Dr. Ascher, by taking up a firm stand, had his way on this occasion, although the nature of the improvement I think caused him to despair of securing the proper amelioration of the conditions. The military authorities did not appear to know even the rudiments of sanitary science, which, as I found for myself, are ever indescribably crude away from the show towns which are patronised by tourists.
I had been hoping that I would be able to shake off my illness. But it was not to be. The exposure and thorough soaking which I had on the terrible night of the 11th completely undid all the benefits I had received from Dr. Ascher's attention and treatment. I cracked up suddenly. The doctor, seeing how badly things were going with me, gave me a "pass" excusing me from all work.
But to me it was obvious that to remain on the field was to die from starvation, especially bearing in mind my precarious health. Yet to get out of the field was no easy matter. I pondered fretfully over this issue, and at last resolved to attempt a desperate solution. I marched boldly to the gate, waved an old, long-since expired "pass" and shouted to the sentry that I had to go to the doctor's office immediately. Taken unawares the guard opened the gate without scanning the "pass" and I walked on to the main road leading to the barracks in which we had lived previously. The little extra exertion demanded to pass the sentry without creating any suspicions in his mind now told on me. Once I had passed out of his sight the reaction set in, and I fell into a clockwork pace. I was determined to fulfil my mission at all hazards, so plodded along slowly. I could see nothing, and heeded nothing, being only conscious of the fact that I was going to get something to eat and to bring food back for my stranded companions on the field. Soon everything seemed to grow darker and darker, then came perfect blackness. I remembered no more.
When I came to my senses I found myself being borne carefully by two fellow-prisoners—Ca—— and a chum—to the hospital. I was put to bed, and looking round I saw that I was surrounded by twenty-five other patients. One and all had dropped down from sheer exhaustion upon the field during the "Bloody Night," and had been found by the guard in the morning in an unconscious condition. I heard that there were seventy such cases brought in—all caused by exposureand the rain. I cannot testify to that number, but I can swear to the twenty-five cases because I saw them in the hospital lying in the ward with me. They were then in a terrible plight, not having recovered from the racking ordeal.
Presently a military doctor came in. I had never seen him before. He approached my cot.
"Civilian or military?" he asked.
"Civilian!" I replied.
"Ach!" and there was intense disgust and unveiled hostility in his voice. "Get up! Outside!"
"But he has been brought in unconscious!" persisted Ca——.
"Ach! No matter. Get up. Outside!" he repeated.
"I'll see you damned first!" exploded Ca——, his Irish temper now roused to bursting point at the inhuman attitude of the military medical official. Fortunately for my friend the individual in question did not understand a word of English, or there would have been trouble.
But feeling somewhat better and realising the uselessness of argument I persuaded Ca—— to obey instructions. Indeed I was bundled out of bed, and hastily assisted in re-dressing, by the doctor's orders. Passing out of the hospital I paused to lean against the door, feeling downright ill and weak. Ca—— ran off to the barrack to fetch Dr. Ascher.
A young medical man came out of the hospital, and seeing my wan and haggard face, came up to me. He was certainly sympathetic.
"Heavens, man! You look downright ill!" was his comment.
"I reckon I don't look worse than I feel!" I replied caustically. "I've just been turned out of the hospital. What is going to happen?"
"Oh! You've got to go to Paderborn. You'll go into hospital there. The van will be up in three hours' time!"
At this intelligence I sank on a wooden seat. I felt, and indeed could no longer ward off, the belief that everything for me was rapidly approaching the end. As I sat there a prey to my worst thoughts, a soldier came out of the hospital and sat beside me. I looked up.
"Hullo! old man! From Mons?" I asked.
"Yes! Going to Paderborn. Says I'm sick," nodding towards the hospital. The Tommy certainly looked as if the doctor had diagnosed a case correctly for once in his life.
"What's the matter?"
"Don't know for sure. But I heard the doctor whisper to an assistant that it was typhus!"
Despite my efforts to control myself I could not suppress a low whistle. I looked at the soldier, and although my first inclination was to move away, I felt that, owing to my condition, it really didn't matter, so I spared the Tommy's feelings. In a few minutes another soldier came out. He sat on the other side of me.
"Hullo! You from Mons too? You going to Paderborn?" was my query.
"Sure! Doctor says I've got typhus!"
This was alarming news, and I could not resist a feeling of extreme apprehension. While I was turning things over in my mind a third soldier came out whom I questioned, but he did not reply.
"He was blinded by a shell at Mons," commented one of the soldiers. "Guess he's got it too. 'Strewth, isn't this a hell of a hole? I'd sooner have fifty Mons's for a month than this hell for a day!"
I certainly shared the opinion. But as I sat there I reflected upon the limited carrying capacity of the Paderborn hospital van, and the circumstance that I was likely to be crushed in with a host of typhus cases. I did not like the prospect a little bit. I made up my mind. I would not go to Paderborn at any cost.
Proffering a palpable excuse I sauntered away,finally entering the office in which the files of the registration of the British military prisoners were being prepared. A young German who in pre-war days had been a baker in Battersea, was in charge. I told him I was sick, but enquired, if receiving the requisite permission from the doctor, he would allow me to help him in the office. He agreed. I sought out Dr. Ascher, explained that I had been consigned to Paderborn, but refused to go, and explained that I had the offer to go into the office if he would certify me for such work. After a little deliberation he acquiesced, and I took up the appointment with the result I have explained in a previous chapter. After a good night's rest I felt decidedly better. I returned to the field, only to find that my companions had experienced no improvement in their conditions, and that food was just as scarce as it had been since we were turned out of our barracks. I was successful in getting a little food to them, while another prisoner, now in England, sent up a little.
Strolling across the field I met a fellow-prisoner, Lord J——'s secretary. He looked so ill that I suggested he should take my place in the office, as I was now feeling much better. He refused at first, but at last I prevailed upon him to go. He would get a well-earned rest at all events, while the work was light and easy. The exchange of clerks was effected and with such success that the German in charge never detected the swop, which proves how imperfectly I had been scrutinised, and the laxity of the arrangements when you have learned how to circumvent the pit-falls and red-tape of Prussian organisation.
I was now back upon the field. One night the officers came round bawling out a request for the names of all prisoners who had friends in Germany. Seeing that this question, together with a host of others, had been asked nearly every day, while sheets of papers were filled up at intervals of every few hours with a bewildering array of particulars, I ignored theinterrogation. But one or two fellow-prisoners recalled the fact that K——, upon his release, had invited me to come to his home in Cologne if I ever got the chance. At first I declined to listen to the recommendations, but finally, in response to the incessant pesterings, I consented. Then the matter slipped from my mind.
The following morning my attention was arrested by the guard going round the camp singing at the top of his voice, "Ma-hone-i! Ma-hone-i!"
Surprised, and fearing that trouble was brewing because I had not gone to Paderborn as ordered by the military doctor, I presented myself. I was commanded to attend the office at once.
I sauntered off leisurely, and reaching the building, I supplied the officer in charge with my name and a host of other minute details as requested. Then turning to me, and holding a paper in his hands, he remarked:
"Herr Ma-hone-i! You are a free man!"
"What?" I yapped, scarcely believing I had heard aright, "A free man?" I almost cried with joy at the news. "Free to go home to England?" I asked excitedly.
"Nein! Nein!! Nein!!! But you have friends in Germany?"
My jaw dropped. I thought for a few minutes, and then I replied slowly, "Yes! I'll go provided I do not have to give my parole. That I will never do!"
He glared furiously at me.
"But that is as good as saying you'll try to escape," he went on.
"Exactly!" was my curt retort, and I looked at him defiantly.
The officer informed me that under these circumstances I should be kept back, but at this moment Dr. Ascher, who had been listening to the conversation, intervened, and as a result of his mediation I was toldthat I was free to go to Cologne, saying which a "pass" permitting me to travel to, and to move about that city, was proffered. I took the "pass."
"You've ten minutes to collect your belongings and to get out of the camp!" was his final abrupt remark. Although I pleaded for a little longer time in which to say farewell to my friends he was inexorable.
I rushed back to the field to communicate the news to my companions, and the hand-shaking which ensued was extremely fervent. All the boys congratulated me upon my good luck, but the tears were in their eyes. The sympathy moved me, and I felt half-disposed to tear up my "pass" and stay with them to see it through. But they pushed me off. I had a hearty hand-shaking with Dr. Ascher, who wished me the best of luck, and expressed the hope that I would soon get home. Although he never admitted it I found out for a fact that he had been primarily responsible for my release. It certainly was characteristic of him. He cracked a parting joke, which restored the good humour and cheerfulness of the camp, and with my few parcels under my arm I left the ill-famed field.
The boys cheered like mad, but I was stirred more particularly by the roar of cheers which burst from the Tommies, with whom I had fraternised freely, and with whom a curious chumminess had sprung up. We were all companions in misfortune, and when the news of my release reached their field, they clustered along the fence to give me a parting rouser, which they certainly let go for all they were worth.
I regained the office within the stipulated ten minutes and then to my intense disgust learned that I had three hours to wait for a train. I sold my watch to secure a little ready money, and as I moved across the camps to be abruptly challenged by the sentries I was surprised to see them change their demeanour when I showed my "pass." They shook hands heartily and warmly congratulated me upon my goodfortune. It was a strange metamorphosis and it affected me strangely.
Before I left the camp I was ushered into the presence of our arch-fiend, Major Bach. He rose from his desk and with a suavity and civility which made my blood surge, he remarked:
"Herr Mahoney, good-bye! I trust you will not think our treatment in the camp has been unduly severe!"
"I shall certainly not speak well of it," I retorted somewhat cynically. "I shall never forget my experiences and I shall not omit to relate it to others. But there! I think my looks are sufficient. I must have lost three stone in weight during the past two months!"
"Well, I trust you will make allowances," he went on unctuously. "You must remember the times; that we are at war, and that our arrangements have not been organised for adequate accommodation!"
He extended his hand.
Shaking my head in a manner which he could not misunderstand I refused to take it.
He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his work. I left his office without another word.
Two minutes later I was striding rapidly towards the station, accompanied by another prisoner, a schoolmaster named E——, who had also been released on a "pass" and whom I have to thank for much assistance subsequently offered.
At last I was free from the torment and brutality of Sennelager Camp. But as I watched the incoming train on that morning of September 16th, 1914, I could not refrain from dwelling upon the lot of the many hapless friends I had left behind, the agonies, miseries, the hopelessness of their position, and their condemnation to unremitting brutal travail which would doubtless continue until the clash of arms had died away. As Sennelager vanished from sight my companion and I gave deep sighs of relief. We felt that we had left Hell behind.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon when I saw the last of Sennelager Camp as the train swung round a curve which blotted the Avernus over which Major Bach reigned supreme from sight if not from memory. The train in which we were travelling, of course, was wholly occupied by Germans. I found it impossible to secure a seat owing to the crowded character of the carriages, and as misfortune would have it I was compelled to stand until I reached my destination.
Naturally being thrown among so many of the enemy I was regarded with a strange interest by my fellow-travellers. They could see I was not a German, and although they did not resort to any provocative word or deed, it would have needed a blind man to have failed to detect their uncompromising hostility towards me. We travelledviaSoest, and my position was rendered additionally unnerving because train after train labelled with the flaming Red Cross thundered by, bearing their heavy loads of the German battered and maimed from the battlefields. It was easy to see that the number of the train-loads of wounded was exercising a peculiar effect upon the passengers, for was not this heavy toll of war and the crushed and bleeding flower of the German army coming from the front where the British were so severely mauling the invincible military machine of Europe and disputing effectively their locust-like advance over the fair fields of Belgium and Northern France? Is it surprising under the circumstances that they glowered and frowned at me in a disconcerting and menacing manner?
Facsimile of the Pass issued by the German authorities to the author on his leaving Sennelager for Cöln-on-Rhein.Facsimile of the Pass issued by the German authorities to the author on his leaving Sennelager for Cöln-on-Rhein.
As the hours rolled by I began to feel fainter and hungrier. I had had nothing since the usual cup of acorn coffee at seven in the morning. Although I became so weak that I felt as if I must drop, I buoyed up my flagging spirits and drooping body by the thought that I should soon meet and enjoy the company of K——. But I was aboard a fourth-class train and it appeared to be grimly determined to set up a new record for slow-travelling even for Germany. The result was that I did not reach Cologne, or Köln, as the Germans have it, until one o'clock the following morning, having stood on my feet for eleven hours and without a bite to eat.
I fell rather than stepped from the train and turned out of the station. Again my spirits sank. The city was wrapped in a darkness which could be felt. There was not a glimmer of light to be seen anywhere. To pick one's way through a strange city in a strange land and without more than a bare smattering of the language under conditions of inky blackness was surely the supreme ordeal. At every few steps I blundered against a soldier with his loaded rifle and fixed bayonet, ready to lunge at anything and everything which, to a highly strung German military mind, appeared to assume a tangible form in the intense blackness. Since my return home I have experienced some striking specimens of British darkened towns, but they do not compare with the complete darkness which prevailed in Cologne that night. Not a single faint gleam of light came from a window. I am confident that if I had dared to strike a match I should have been surprised by a volley of bullets from all directions.
Cologne was indeed a city of darkness and of the dead. Only the footfalls of the guard and the clank of rifles were to be heard. To proceed was impossible. I concluded that before I had gone very far in my wanderings I should be arrested and find myself in theprivacy of a prison cell. Moreover I was absolutely exhausted. Sore at heart I returned to the station, and walking up to the first officer I saw, introduced myself as "Mahoney, late of Sennelager Camp."
At this revelation the officer stared as if confronted by an apparition and sternly demanded my authority for being at large. I drew out my "pass," together with the address of K——, for which I was searching so vainly.
Thrusting my "pass" into his pocket the officer gruffly ordered me to follow him. I demanded the return of the small piece of paper which constituted my sole protection, but he rudely declined to accede to my request. I followed him and we turned into a room at the station which happened to be the sleeping quarters of the night guard.
Here I was again interrogated somewhat sharply, but taking the bull by the horns I boldly declared that I was an Englishman and had been arrested and imprisoned upon the charge of being a spy!
My candid statement amazed the officer, who appeared to consider that he had made a most fortunate capture. An interpreter, who understood only a little English, was summoned to my assistance, and we contrived to understand one another. He was visibly impressed by my distressed and sickly appearance and enquired if I were in need of something to eat. I said I was famished and he explained the situation to the officer. The upshot was that a few of those present gave me some bread and cold rice, which I devoured ravenously.
I was handed over to a guard who was instructed to take me—somewhere? We set out through the dark streets, and it was an eerie journey. Sentries were stationed at intervals of a few yards and in crossing the bridge we were frequently stopped and not permitted to proceed until my guardian, although in uniform and armed, had given the password. In due course we reached a towering building which Idiscovered to be the Polizei Prasidium. Here I was handed over to the official in charge, my military guard evidently explaining the whole circumstances.
The official scrutinised me closely. Bidding me to follow him he again plunged into the darkness. After taking me to the address of K——, which I had produced, and finding no one there, he led me to a restaurant. The proprietor was roused and ordered to take me in for the night. When he learned that I was an Englishman on "pass" he commenced to swear and curse in a fearful manner, finally declaring he would not shelter any such swine in his house. The official had a short way with this individual. He drew his sword, drove the awakened and enraged German into his restaurant, and in a tone which could not be misconstrued demanded that accommodation and meals should be found for me. The threatening attitude of the officer completely cowed the proprietor, but I, fearing that the latter would round on me once I was at his mercy, intimated to the guard that I was not going to spend the night in this hotel.
There was a brief altercation, but at last we returned to the Prasidium. Here I intimated that I was perfectly willing to sleep upon the floor of the guard-room, but the official explained that this was a flagrant breach of the rules and the idea could not be entertained for a moment. We haggled for a few minutes and then a solution of the distracting problem occurred to the officer. He would lodge me for the night in a cell! I accepted the suggestion with alacrity and thereupon passed below where I made myself comfortable, the official assisting me as much as he could.
It seemed as if I had only just dropped off to sleep when I was rudely awakened. It was six o'clock when prisoners had to be roused, and although I was not a prisoner, but had slept in the cell from my own choice, I had to conform with the regulations. I was turned out into the street, without a bite of food, needless to say, to kick my heels about for some twohours until the business offices opened. I seized the opportunity to have a shave and hair-cut as well as a thorough wash and brush up.
About 8.30 I presented myself at my friend's office. To my surprise he responded to my ring himself and at once introduced me to his wife, who had come into the city with him that morning. I was warmly greeted but my thin and wan appearance affected them, especially Mrs. K——. I then discovered why I had failed to rouse him in the early hours of the morning when accompanied by the officer from the police station. He did not live in Cologne but in a pretty and quiet little residential village overlooking the Rhine some three miles out.
Taking pity upon me they insisted that I should at once proceed to their home, but before this could be done certain formalities demanded attention. My "pass" was only applicable to the city of Cologne and did not embrace the outlying places. We had to return to the police headquarters, corresponding to our Scotland Yard, for this purpose. Here my papers were turned out and subjected to the usual severe scrutiny, while I myself was riddled with questions. At last, through the good offices of K——, who was well-known to the officials, I received permission to proceed to his residence. This necessitated our being accompanied to his home by two detectives who furthermore were to see that I received the necessary local "pass" for the villa in question.
Notwithstanding the depressing company of the detectives I thoroughly enjoyed that ride along the banks of the Rhine. It was a glorious morning and the countryside was at the height of its alluring autumnal beauty. Reaching the village I was taken before the Burgermeister, a pompous individual, to undergo another searching cross-questioning, but ultimately the "pass" was granted. At the same time my "pass" for Cologne was withdrawn. I had either to live, move, and have my being in one place or theother—not both—and was not to be permitted to travel between the two places.
I must digress a moment to explain one feature of German administration and the much vaunted Teuton organisation, which is nothing more nor less than a huge joke, although it is unfortunately quite devoid of humour for the luckless victim. In times of war, Germany is subdivided into districts, each of which receives the specific number of an Army Corps. Thus there is Army Corps No. 1, Army Corps No. 2, and so on. It is just as if, under similar exigencies, the names of the counties in Great Britain were abandoned for the time being in favour of a military designation, Middlesex thus becoming Army Corps No. 1, Surrey No. 2, and so on, the counties being numbered consecutively.
Each Army Corps has its commanding officer and he has absolute control over the territory assigned to him, the movement of its inhabitants, strangers and visitors. But the strange and humorous fact about the whole system is that each commanding officer is a little autocrat and extremely jealous of his colleague in the adjacent Army Corps. The commander of Army Corps No. 1 issues a "pass" which entitles you to move about freely in his district.
When Major Bach presented me with my "pass," he gravely warned me always to have it upon my person, to show it upon demand, but never to allow it out of my possession even for a minute, and if it should be taken for inspection to insist upon its return at once. He assured me that the mere production of the "pass" and the signature would permit me to go wherever I liked, and to move to and fro throughout Germany. I firmly believed his statement until I received my first rude shock to the contrary. As a final warning he stated that if I happened to be stopped by a soldier or anyone else and had not my "pass" with me, I should find myself in an extremely serious position. Naturally I hung on to that little piece ofpaper as tenaciously as if it had been a million pound bank-note.
The Commanding Officer of an Army Corps always iterates this little speech, I discovered. Naturally you leave the official, completely relieved, thinking yourself virtually free. But the moment you cross the boundary into another Army Corps you are held up. The official demands to know why you are walking about a free man. You flourish the "pass" signed by "A" in triumph, and with a chortle, point to the signature. The official scans the "pass," shakes his head sagely, and with a curt "Come with me!" orders you to follow him. You protest energetically, and point to the signature. He shakes his head emphatically as he growls "No! No!" and continues, referring to the owner of the signature on your "pass," "we know nothing about him! You must see my Commanding Officer." Reaching this official, who regards you as a criminal who has escaped, you suddenly learn that the "pass" is not a passport for your movement through Germany, but is valid only for the Army Corps in which it was issued!
Consignment to prison is the inevitable sequel. You may protest until you are black in the face, but it makes no difference. The papers which you signed day after day until you became sick at the sight of them, but which were necessary to secure your first "pass," commence their lengthy and tedious trip through the German Circumlocution Office, the trip occupying weeks. During this time you are kept in prison and treated as if you were a common felon, until at last, everything being declared to be in order, you receive a new "pass" for the Army Corps in which you have been arrested. The moment you venture into another Army Corps, even if you return into that from which you were first released, arrest follows and the whole exasperating rigmarole has to be repeated. The Army Corps are as arbitrarily defined as anything to be found in tape-tied Germany.
I do not think that such a wildly humorous feature of organisation to compare with this is to be found in any other part of the world. Had it not been for the deliberate misleading, or to term it more accurately, unblushing lying, upon the part of the respective commanding officers of the respective Army Corps, the British tourists who happened to be in Germany when war broke out would have got home safely. Being ignorant of German manners, customs, and military idiosyncrasies, and placing a blind faith in German assertion and scraps of paper, the unfortunate travellers fell into the trap which undoubtedly had been prepared to meet such conditions.
The British tourists who were caught in eastern Germany, after their first arrest and release upon one of these despicable and fraudulent passes, being reassured by the intimation that they were free to go where they pleased, naturally thought they would be able to hurry home, and straightaway moved towards the coast. But directly they entered the adjacent Army Corps they suffered arrest and imprisonment until their papers were declared to be in order to permit another "pass" to be issued. Thus it went on, the tourists being successively held up, delayed, and released. Under these conditions progress to the coast was exasperatingly slow, and finally was summarily prevented by the drastic order of the German Government demanding the internment of every Britisher in the country. It was this senseless and ridiculous manifestation of German scientific organisation gone mad which contributed to the congested nature of the civilian internment camps in the country, and one cannot resist the conclusion that the practice was brought into force with the deliberate intention of hindering the return of Britishers who happened to be in the country when war was declared.
At the peaceful residence of my friend overlooking the Rhine, of the full beauties of which I still cherish a vivid and warm appreciation, I mended very rapidly.To Mr. and Mrs. K—— I owe a debt of gratitude which I shall never be able to repay. I entered their home half-starved, extremely weak, and practically at death's door, but under the careful nursing and unremitting attention of Mrs. K—— and her husband I speedily recovered. I had been suffering considerable mental worry, having received news that my wife at home was seriously ill, but I received a letter, the first since I had left home on August 1st, which communicated the glad tidings that she had completely recovered her health. The receipt of that letter banished all anxiety and fretfulness from my mind. Indeed at the end of a month I felt capable of tempting fate upon my own initiative once more. I felt that I was encroaching upon the generosity and hospitality of my newly-found friends, and this feeling commenced to harass me.
One morning I expressed to K—— my intention to go into Cologne to look for work. He endeavoured to dissuade me, pointing out that my "pass" would not permit me to move beyond the limits of the little village, but I was not to be gainsaid. I felt I could not show sufficient appreciation for what they had done on my behalf, or discharge the debt of obligation which I owed to them.
I started off one morning, full of hope and energy, determined to get a job at all hazards. But that search for work proved to be the most heart-breaking quest I have ever attempted. I realised that my limited knowledge of German would bowl me out. All that I knew I had picked up colloquially while interned at Sennelager, and although it was adequate to enable me to hold a general conversation, it was hopelessly insufficient for commercial purposes. Consequently I decided to pretend to be deaf and dumb.
I entered every shop in the main thoroughfare of Cologne in succession. I was ready and willing to accept any position, irrespective of its character. I blundered into an undertaker's premises, which Isubsequently learned to be the largest firm in this line in the city, and patronised by the rank and fashion of Cologne. I endeavoured to explain the object of my visit to the proprietor by mimicking nail-hammering and pointing to a coffin. He invited me into his inner office where, to my alarm, I descried an officer's uniform hanging behind the door, and evidently belonging to the proprietor who was about to join the colours. I decided to make myself scarce with all speed, but I had to act warily to avoid suspicion.
The proprietor trotted out an elaborate catalogue. He thought I had come to order a coffin! Being arrayed in a frock coat and somewhat burnished up, I suppose I had the appearance of a possible customer. I had led him to believe that I could not speak, but now I assured him that my real infirmity was very acute stammering. I glanced through the catalogue carefully so as to arouse no suspicions, to alight upon a specimen of the handicraft which cost 1,000 marks—£50—and with apparent effort stuttered that I would consult my brother upon the matter. I left the shop with my heart in my mouth, but gaining the street in safety, I put as great a distance between the shop and myself as I could.
I offered my services indiscriminately to a boot-maker, grocer, confectioner—in fact I can scarcely recall what trade I did not strive to enter, but always in vain. Finally I entered a fashionable hairdresser's establishment. By signs and with considerable labour I finally made my mission known, and at last ascertained that an assistant was required, and I could present myself the following morning. I went off treading on air, absolutely delighted with my success. In fact I was so elated as to omit to notice that this shop was in one of the three streets forming a triangle and an island in a "Y" formed by the two main thoroughfares.
The next morning I returned to the city with my solitary razor in my pocket—I had been instructedto bring my own kit. I entered the shop but was decidedly puzzled at the sight of strange faces. This I attributed to the rush which was prevailing having brought men to the front whom I had not seen the day before. I proffered my razor to explain that I had come to start work as arranged. The assistant took it, and told me it would be ready on the following morning. He thought I wanted it to be ground and set! Not being able to make myself understood I went outside, looked at the facia, and found I had gone to the wrong address. The shop for which I had been engaged was on the other side of the triangle. I hurried in, to be received with a scowl by the proprietor, who pointed significantly to the clock to intimate that I was very late.
However, the proprietor donned his hat and coat and took me to another shop in a distant part of the city. It was one of his branches. I was to be employed here, but I knew no more about hair-dressing than about the fourth dimension. Still I thought I could fulfil the rôle of lather-boy very effectively.
To my consternation, after lathering one or two customers, I was ordered to complete the shaving operation. My heart thumped because I wondered how the unfortunate German client would fare in my unskilled hands. Bracing myself up I completed the task without a hitch, although I do not think the customer looked any better after I had finished with him than he did before.
But the succeeding customer encountered disaster. The razor made a slip, inflicting a terrible gash in the man's ear.
Pandemonium was let loose. The blood spurted out, smothering my shirt cuff. The customer raved and swore like a Fury, while the manager, losing his head, dashed up with a handful of powdered alum which he strove to apply to the wound, but made a sorry mess of the effort, because it fell in a shower over the customer's immaculate clothes, causing himto present the appearance which would have ensued had he fouled a bag of flour. I surveyed the scene of the disaster for a few seconds, but observing the customer to be absorbing the complete attention of the manager I unconcernedly invited the next customer to take the chair, which he politely declined.
In the course of a few minutes an unsuspecting individual entered and took the empty seat. I lathered him well, and picked up a razor. But my hand was now exceedingly unsteady. I caught a glimpse of my soiled shirt cuff and decided to incur no further risks. I seized my hat and bolted from the shop.
In my haste I inadvertently infringed another rigid regulation—I boarded a tram-car in motion. For this misdemeanour I was rated severely by the conductor. But as I emphasised my deaf and dumb infirmity he ceased, doubtless feeling that his energy was being wasted. To my consternation a friend of mine boarded this car, which was proceeding toward his home, and he at once commenced a conversation. I was on my guard, and by a surreptitious whisper, I told him of my deaf and dumb subterfuge. When we reached our destination I related my adventure, revealing my soiled and blood-stained shirt cuff as corroboration. As I described the incident he burst into uncontrollable laughter, but then his face became grave. He felt convinced that a complaint would be lodged, and that investigation would follow. If I were detected in the street trouble would ensue, so he urged me to return to my new home and to lie low for a few days to permit things to blow over.
Another day I was alighting from a tram, when I heard a voice calling quietly but firmly, "Mein Herr! Mein Herr!" There was no mistaking the tones. They were so palpably official as not to raise a moment's doubting. I refrained from looking round, proceeding as if I had not heardthe hail, although I did not quicken my step. But the "Mein Herr!" continued to ring out persistently, and at last the speaker touched me on the arm. I turned and, as I had anticipated, was confronted by an officer.
He demanded to know why I was walking about Cologne. He saw that I was a Britisher and so responded to the call of his inquisitorial duty. I produced my "pass" without a word of comment. He looked at it and gave me a queer glance, but I never turned a hair, and while he was looking at me I calmly withdrew the "pass" from his hands and slipped it into my pocket.
At this action there was an excited outburst, but I firmly and resolutely told him that I could not surrender my "pass." I had been told to keep it at all hazards, and I intended to do so. It was my sole protection. Not being able to dispute the truth of my assertions, he merely told me to come with him. I did not like the turn of events but had to obey. He stopped short before a box, possibly a telephone, outside which a sentry was standing. He said something to the sentry, told me to wait outside, and disappeared within the box.
I waited patiently for a few minutes, thinking hard to discover some ruse to get away, but retaining a perfectly calm and collected demeanour. If I moved I feared the sentry would raise the alarm. Yet as I stood there it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps the sentry, with typical Teuton denseness of thought, might consider that I was a friend of the officer, and that I was only waiting for him. I glanced anxiously up and down the street, listened at the box, and fidgeted with papers as if fearing that I should miss an appointment unless my friend soon re-appeared.
The sentry appeared to consider my actions quite natural. Emboldened I withdrew a piece of paper from my pocket and hurriedly scribbled, as if jotting down a hurried note. But I knew little German and far less how to write it. After finishing the note I slipped it into the sentry's hand, telling him to take it to my friend theofficer in the box.
He laughed "Ja! Ja!" and I moved off to the tram which was just starting in the direction I desired. I have often wondered what happened when the officer came out and discovered that I had vanished! The sentry must have experienced a rough five minutes, because the officer could not have been mollified by what I had written, which was simply the two words "Guten Tag!" (Good-day!).
I dismissed the incident from my mind but the following night I received a terrible fright. I had promised some friends to accompany them to the Opera. We boarded a car. As I entered the vehicle I nearly sank through the floor. There, sitting on the seat, was the officer whom I had left so abruptly and discourteously the previous day. In a low voice I related my alarming discovery to my companions, but urged them to proceed as if nothing had happened, so they maintained a spirited conversation in German, discreetly monopolising all the talking. The officer was glaring at me fiercely but I saw that he was in a quandary. To him my face was familiar but he was cudgelling his brains as to where he had seen me before. His inability to place me proved my salvation. When we got up, both my companions and myself wished him "Good-night," to which he responded cheerfully. Whatever his thoughts concerning myself might have been, my "Good-night" completely removed all his suspicions.
About three weeks after my arrival at Cologne, K—— and I were surprised to hear familiar voices in the hall of his home. We came out and to our astonishment there were two fellow-prisoners from Sennelager. They were R——, a British bank manager, and F——, both of whom at the time of writing are still languishing in Ruhleben. They had been granted libertyon a "pass," having mentioned K——'s name. He was delighted they had accepted his outstanding invitation and gave them a hearty welcome.