The bridge was a fine iron one without lights. The road which led to it was not much travelled, and it looked as if it might carry us over—without accident. Anyway, it was our only chance.
We walked on to the bridge, taking care to make no noise, and striking a gait that was neither slow nor fast.
We were nine tenths of the way over the bridge, with hope springing in our tired hearts at each step. Away to the west, straight ahead of us, distant lights twinkled. We thought they were in Holland, and they beckoned to our tired hearts like the lights of home.
We were only about ten feet from the other side of the bridge, when... suddenly a light was flashed on us, a great dazzling light that seemed to scorch and wither us. It seemed to burn our prison-clothes into our very souls. I'm sure the rings on my knees showed through my overcoat!
Into the circle of light three German soldiers came, with rifles levelled.
They advanced upon us until their bayonets were touching us. And again we saw our dream of freedom fade!
The soldiers took us in charge and marched us to Lathen, a town near by, where part of the hotel was used as barracks. They showed us no hostility; it was just part of their day's work to gather in escaping prisoners.
There was a map on the wall, and when they asked us where we came from, we showed them Canada on the map of the North American Continent. They were decent-looking young fellows and asked us many questions about Canada.
Although it was about midnight there seemed to be people on the streets, which were brilliantly lighted. A Sergeant Major came in, with a gendarme, who had two women with him. They were well-dressed looking women, but I kept wondering what they were doing out so late.
The Sergeant Major and the policeman lacked the friendliness of the privates, and the former began the conversation by saying, "England ist kaputt." The Sergeant Major repeated his statement, with greater emphasis, and I put more emphasis on my reply, and there we stuck! It did not seem that we could get any farther. It seemed a place to say, "Time will tell."
The gendarme was a coarse, beer-drinking type, and I kept wondering how two such fine-looking women came to be with him. The younger and handsomer one was not his wife, I knew—he was so attentive to her. The other one may have been, though she was evidently his superior in every way. Still, even in our own country very fine women are sometimes careless about whom they marry.
The Sergeant Major poured out a volume of questions in German, to which we replied, "Nix forstand."
Then the gendarme thought something was being overlooked, and he suggested that we be searched. I was afraid of that, and had taken the precaution of hiding the compass as well as I could, by putting it in the bottom of the pasteboard box that held our shaving-stick. The stick had been worn down, leaving room for the compass at the bottom of the box.
The soldier who searched us did not notice the compass, and handed the shaving-stick back to me, and I breathed easier. But the gendarme had probably done more searching than the soldier, and asked me for it. He immediately let the stick fall out, and found the compass, which he put in his pocket, with a wink at the others... and it was gone.
All our little articles were taken from us and put into two parcels, which we were allowed to carry, but not keep, and which were eventually returned to us, and, whether it was done by carelessness or not I do not know, but by some fortunate circumstance my maps were left in my pay-book case and put in the package, but I did not see them until after my punishment was over.
Map Made from Paper Which Came in a Parcel, Wrapped Around a Fruit-cake. Notice the Stain Caused by The Cake. This Is The Map That Was Hidden in the Cigarette-boxMap made from Paper which came in a Parcel, wrapped around a Fruit-Cake. Notice the stain caused by the cake. This is the map that was hidden in the cigarette-box
Map Made from Paper Which Came in a Parcel, Wrapped Around a Fruit-cake. Notice the Stain Caused by The Cake. This Is The Map That Was Hidden in the Cigarette-boxMap made from Paper which came in a Parcel, wrapped around a Fruit-Cake. Notice the stain caused by the cake. This is the map that was hidden in the cigarette-box
My notebook attracted the attention of the gendarme, and he took it from me. I had made entries each day, and these he read aloud, translating them into German as he went, much to the apparent entertainment of the two women, who laughed at him, with a forced gaiety which confirmed my diagnosis of their relationship. I think he was crediting me with entries I had never made, for the central figure seemed to be one "Rosie Fräulein," whom I did not have the pleasure of meeting.
We could see that although the privates were friendly, there was no semblance of friendliness in either the gendarme or the Sergeant Major. I think they would have gladly shot us on the spot—if they had dared. They were pronounced cases of anglophobia.
The gendarme at last broke out into English, cutting his words off with a snarl:
"What do you fellows want to get back for anyway? England is no good! England is a liar, and a thief."
When he said this, I could see Edwards's face grow white and his eyes glitter. He was breathing hard, like a man going up a steep hill, and his hands were opening and closing. He walked over to the gendarme and glared in his face,—"What do I want to get back for?" he repeated in a steady voice, stretched tight like a wire, "I'll tell you—this is not any ordinary war, where brave men fight each other. This is a war against women and children and old men. I have fought with the Boers in Africa, but I bore them no ill-will—they fought like men and fought with men. I've been through Belgium—I've seen what you have done. I have boys of my own—little fellows—just like the ones you cut the hands off—and I will tell you why I want to get back—I want to serve my country and my God—by killing Germans—they're not fit to live!"
The women drew back in alarm, though I do not think they understood the words. Instinctively I drew up beside Edwards, for I thought it was the end; but to our surprise the brutal face of the gendarme relaxed into a broad grin, and he turned to the women and Sergeant Major and made some sort of explanation. We did not know what was coming, and then a controversy took place between the two men as to what should be done with us. The gendarme wanted to take us, but the ladies protested, and at last we were led away by the two privates, carrying our two little packages of belongings.
We went into an adjoining room, where a coal fire burned in a small round heater, whose glow promised comfort and warmth. The privates very kindly brought us a drink of hot coffee and some bread, and pulled two mattresses beside the stove and told us to go to sleep. Then they went out and brought back blankets, and with friendly looks and smiles bade us good-night, incidentally taking our shoes with them.
"The Germans are a spotty race," said Ted, as we lay down. "Look at these two fellows—and then think of those two mugs that any decent man would want to kill at sight!"—He pointed to the room where we had left the gendarme and the Sergeant Major. "Oh—wouldn't I enjoy letting a bit of daylight through that policeman's fat carcass!"
Next morning, when we awakened, our guards came again and brought us some more coffee and bread. It was a bright morning, of sunshine, with a frost which glistened on the pavement and the iron railing surrounding the building we were in.
The streets were full of people, and streamers of bunting festooned the buildings. Children were on the streets, carrying flags, and the place had a real holiday appearance.
"Suppose this is all in our honor, Sim," Ted said as he looked out of the window. "I wonder how they knew we were coming—we really did not intend to."
One of the guards, who had a kodak and was taking pictures of the celebration, asked us if he could take our pictures. So we went out to the front door, which was hung with flags, and had a picture taken.
"What are the flags up for?" we asked him.
"It is the birthday of the All-Highest," he replied proudly.
Ted said to me, so the guard could not hear, "Well, the old man has my sincere wishes—that it may be his last."
During the forenoon we were taken by rail to Meppen. The Sergeant Major came with us, but did not stay in the compartment with the guards and us. On the way the guard who had taken our photograph showed us the proof of it, and told us he would send us one, and had us write down our addresses. He must have been a photographer in civil life, for he had many splendid pictures with him, and entertained us by showing them to us. I remember one very pretty picture of his young daughter, a lovely girl of about fourteen years of age, standing under an apple-tree.
Before the Sergeant Major handed us over to the military authorities at Meppen, he told them what Edwards had said about wanting to go back to kill Germans, but he did not tell all that Edwards had said. However, they treated us politely and did not seem to bear us any ill-will.
In the civil jail at Meppen to which we were taken, and which is a fine building with bright halls and pleasant surroundings, we were put in clean and comfortable cells. There was a bed with mattress and blankets, which in the daytime was locked up against the wall, toilet accommodations, drinking-water, chair, table, wash-basin, and comb. It looked like luxury to us, and after a bowl of good soup I went to sleep.
I wakened the next morning much refreshed and in good spirits. The guard was polite and obliging, and when I said, "Guard, I like your place," his face broke into a friendly grin which warmed my heart. Ted had spoken truly when he said the Germans were a "spotty race." It is a spotty country, too, and one of the pleasant spots to us was the civil jail at Meppen.
Of course, to men who had been sleeping in beds and eating at tables and going in and out at their own pleasure, it would have been a jail; but to us, dirty, tired, hungry, red-eyed from loss of sleep, and worn with anxiety, it was not a jail—it was a haven of rest. And in the twenty-four hours that we spent there we made the most of it, for we well knew there were hard times coming!
A special guard was sent from Vehnemoor to bring us back, and we had to leave our comfortable quarters at Meppen and go back with him.
The guard took a stout rope and tied us together, my right wrist to Edwards's left, and when we were securely roped up, he tried to enlighten us further by dancing around us, shouting and brandishing his gun, occasionally putting it against our heads and pretending he was about to draw the trigger. This was his way of explaining that he would shoot us if we didn't behave ourselves.
We tried to look back at him with easy indifference, and when he saw that he had not succeeded in frightening us, he soon ceased to try. However, from the wicked looks he gave us, we could see that he would be glad to shoot us—if he had a reasonable excuse.
At the station in Meppen, where he took us fully an hour before train time, as we stood in the waiting-room with the guard beside us, the people came and looked curiously at us. The groups grew larger and larger, until we were the centre of quite a circle. We did not enjoy the notoriety very much, but the guard enjoyed it immensely, for was he not the keeper of two hardened and desperate men?
We noticed that the majority of the women were dressed in black. Some of them were poor, sad, spiritless-looking creatures who would make any person sorry for them; and others I saw whose faces were as hard as the men's. The majority of them, however, seemed to be quite indifferent; they showed neither hostility nor friendliness to us.
We changed cars at Leer, where on the platform a drunken German soldier lurched against us, and, seeing us tied together, offered to lend us his knife to cut the cord, but the guard quickly frustrated his kind intention.
At Oldenburg we were herded through the crowded station and taken out on the road for Vehnemoor, the guard marching solemnly behind us. He knew we had no firearms, and we were tied together, but when Ted put his free hand in his pocket to find some chocolate, as we walked along, the guard screamed at him in fear. He seemed to be afraid we would in some way outwit him.
But he was quite safe from us; not that we were afraid of either him or his gun, for I think I could have swung suddenly around on him and got his gun away from him, while Edwards cut our cords with the knife which was in my little package. I think he knew that we could do this, and that is why he was so frightened.
But there was one big reason which caused us to walk quietly and peaceably forward to take our punishment, and that was the river Ems, with its cruel sweep of icy water and its guarded bridges. We knew it was impossible to cross it at this season of the year, so the guard was safe. We would not resist him, but already we were planning our next escape when the flood had subsided and the summer had come to warm the water.
He had a malicious spirit, this guard, and when we came to Vehnemoor and were put in our cells, he wanted our overcoats taken from us, although the cells were as cold as outside. The Sergeant of the guard objected to this, and said we were not being punished, but only held here, and therefore we should not be deprived of our coats. Several times that night, when we stamped up and down to keep from freezing, I thought of the guard and his desire that our coats should be taken from us, and I wondered what sort of training or education could produce as mean a spirit as that! Surely, I thought, he must have been cruelly treated, to be so hard of heart—or probably he knew that the way of promotion in the German army is to show no softness of spirit.
But the morning came at last, and we were taken before the Commandant, and wondered what he would have to say to us. We were pretty sure that we had not "retained his friendship."
He did not say much to us when we were ushered into his little office and stood before his desk. He spoke, as before, through an interpreter. He looked thin and worried, and, as usual, the questions were put to us—"Why did we want to leave?" "What reason had we? Was it the food, or was it because we had to work?"
Friedrichsfeld Prison-camp in WinterFriedrichsfeld Prison-Camp in Winter
Friedrichsfeld Prison-camp in WinterFriedrichsfeld Prison-Camp in Winter
We said it was not for either of these; we wanted to regain our freedom; we were free men, and did not want to be held in an enemy country; besides, we were needed!
We could see the Commandant had no interest in our patriotic emotions. He merely wanted to wash his hands of us, and when we said it was not on account of the poor food, or having to work, I think he breathed easier. Would we sign a paper—he asked us then—to show this? And we said we would. So the paper was produced and we signed it, after the interpreter had read and explained it to us.
In the cells the food was just the same as we had had before, in the regular prison-camp. They seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of that soup. We wondered if there was a flowing well of it somewhere in the bog. The food was no worse, but sometimes the guards forgot us. The whole camp seemed to be running at loose ends, and sometimes the guards did not come near us for half a day, but we were not so badly off as they thought, for we got in things from our friends.
On the first morning, when we were taken to the lavatory, we saw some of the boys. They were very sorry to know we had been caught, and told us Bromley had been sent to Oldenburg a few days before, for his punishment. They also told us that the night we escaped, no alarm had been given, although the guards may have noticed the hanging wires. Several of the boys had had the notion to go when they saw the wires down, but they were afraid of being caught. The general opinion was that the guards knew we had gone, but did not give the alarm until morning, because they had no desire to cross the bog at night.
Our method of getting stuff to the cell was simple. I wore my own overcoat to the lavatory, and hung it up inside. When I went to get it, I found another coat was hanging beside it, which I put on and wore back to the cell. In the pocket of the "other coat" I found things—bread, cheese, sardines, biscuits, and books. The next day I wore the other coat, and got my own, and found its pockets equally well supplied. It was a fellow called Iguellden, whose coat I had on alternate days. He watched for me, and timed his visit to the lavatory to suit me. Of course, the other boys helped him with the contributions. Edwards was equally well supplied. In the prison-camp the word "friend" has an active and positive quality in it which it sometimes lacks in normal times.
On the second night in the cell I suffered from the cold, for it was a very frosty night, and as the cells were not heated at all, they were quite as cold as outside.
I was stamping up and down, with my overcoat buttoned up to the neck and my hands in my pockets, trying to keep warm, when the new guard came on at seven o'clock. He shouted something at me, which I did not understand, but I kept on walking. Then he pounded on the wall with the butt of his rifle, crying, "Schlafen! schlafen!"
To which I replied, "Nix schlafen!" (I can't sleep!)
I then heard the key turn in the door, and I did not know what might be coming.
When he came in, he blew his breath in the frosty air, and asked, "Kalt?"
I did not think he needed to take my evidence—it certainly was "kalt."
Then he muttered something which I did not understand, and went out, returning about twenty minutes later with a blanket which he had taken from one of the empty beds in theRevier. I knew he was running a grave risk in doing this, for it is a serious offense for a guard to show kindness to a prisoner, and I thanked him warmly. He told me he would have to take it away again in the morning when he came on guard again, and I knew he did not want any of the other guards to see it. My word of thanks he cut short by saying, "Bitte! bitte! Ich thue es gerne" (I do it gladly); and his manner indicated that his only regret was that he could not do more.
I thought about him that night when I sat with the blanket wrapped around me, and I wondered about this German soldier. He evidently belonged to the same class as the first German soldier I had met after I was captured, who tried to bandage my shoulder when the shells were falling around us; to the same class as good old Sank at Giessen, who, though he could speak no English, made us feel his kindness in a hundred ways; to the same class as the German soldier who lifted me down from the train when on my way to Roulers. This man was one of them, and I began to be conscious of that invisible brotherhood which is stronger and more enduring than any tie of nationality, for it wipes out the differences of creed or race or geographical boundary, and supersedes them all, for it is a brotherhood of spirit, and bears no relation to these things.
To those who belong to it I am akin, no matter where they were born or what the color of their uniform!
Then I remembered how bitterly we resented the action of a British Sergeant Major at Giessen, who had been appointed by the German officer in charge to see after a working party of our boys. Working parties were not popular—we had no desire to help the enemy—and one little chap, the Highland bugler from Montreal, refused to go out. The German officer was disposed to look lightly on the boy's offense, saying he would come all right, but the British Sergeant Major insisted that the lad be punished—and he was.
I thought of these things that night in the cell, and as I slept, propped up in the corner, I dreamed of that glad day when the invisible brotherhood will bind together all the world, and men will no more go out to kill and wound and maim their fellow-men, but their strength will be measured against sin and ignorance, disease and poverty, and against these only will they fight, and not against each other.
When I awakened in the morning, stiff and cramped and shivering, my dream seemed dim and vague and far away—but it had not entirely faded.
That day the guard who brought me soup was a new one whom I had not seen before, and he told me he was one of the twenty-five new men who had been sent down the night we escaped. I was anxious to ask him many things, but I knew he dared not tell me. However, he came in and sat down beside me, and the soup that he brought was steaming hot, and he had taken it from the bottom of the pot, where there were actual traces of meat and plenty of vegetables. Instead of the usual bowlful, he had brought me a full quart, and from the recesses of his coat he produced half a loaf of white bread—"Swiss bread" we called it—and it was a great treat for me. I found out afterwards that Ted had received the other half. The guard told me to keep hidden what I did not eat then, so I knew he was breaking the rules in giving it to me.
He sat with his gun between his knees, muzzle upwards, and while I ate the soup he talked to me, asking me where I came from, and what I had been doing before the war.
When I told him I had been a carpenter, he said he was a bridge-builder of Trieste, and he said, "I wish I was back at it; it is more to my liking to build things than to destroy them."
I said I liked my old job better than this one, too, whereupon he broke out impatiently, "We're fools to fight each other. What spite have you and I at each other?"
I told him we had no quarrel with the German people, but we knew the military despotism of Germany had to be literally smashed to pieces before there could be any peace, and, naturally enough, the German people had to suffer for having allowed such a tyrant to exist in their country. We were all suffering in the process, I said.
"It's money," he said, after a pause. "It is the money interests that work against human interests every time, and all the time. The big ones have their iron heel on our necks. They lash us with the whip of starvation. They have controlled our education, our preachers, government, and everything, and the reason they brought on the war is that they were afraid of us—we were getting too strong. In the last election we had nearly a majority, and the capitalists saw we were going to get the upper hand, so to set back the world, they brought on the war—to kill us off. At first we refused to fight—some of us—but they played up the hatred of England which they have bred in us; and they stampeded many of our people on the love of the Fatherland. Our ranks broke; our leaders were put in jail and some were shot; it's hard to go back on your country, too.
"But I don't believe in nationalities any more; nationalities are a curse, and as long as we have them, the ruling class will play us off, one against the other, to gain their own ends. There is only one race—the human race—and only two divisions of it; there are those who represent money rights and special privileges, and those who stand for human rights. The more you think of it, the more you will see the whole fabric of society resolving itself into these two classes. The whole military system is built on the sacrifice of human rights."
I looked at him in astonishment.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I am just a bridge-builder," he answered, "but I'm a follower of Liebknecht... We can't do much until the Prussian system is defeated. There are just a few of us here—the guard who got you the blanket is one of us. We do what we can for the prisoners; sometimes we are caught and strafed.... There is no place for kindness in our army," he added sadly.
"I must go now," he said; "I heard one of the guards say we were going to be moved on to another camp. I may not see you again, but I'll speak to a guard I know, who will try to get the good soup for you. The Sergeant of the guard is all right, but some of them are devils; they are looking for promotion, and know the way to get it is to excel in cruelty. We shall not meet, but remember, we shall win! Germany's military power will be defeated. Russia's military power is crumbling now, the military power of the world is going down to defeat, but the people of all nations are going to win!"
We stood up and shook hands, and he went out, locking me in the cell as before.
I have thought long and often of the bridge-builder of Trieste and his vision of the victory which is coming to the world, and I, too, can see that it is coming, not by explosions and bombardments, with the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying—not that way will it come—but when these have passed there shall be heard a still, small voice which will be the voice of God, and its words shall be—
"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself!"
It was on February 3d that we were taken from Vehnemoor to Oldenburg, and when we started out on the road along the canal, roped together as before, Ted and I knew we were going up against the real thing as far as punishment goes, for we should not have Iguellden and the rest of the boys to send us things. We came out of the Vehnemoor Camp with somewhat of a reluctant feeling, for we knew we were leaving kind friends behind us. Ted had received the same treatment that I had in the matter of the blankets and the good soup—thanks to the friendly guard.
It was in the early morning we started, and as Vehnemoor was almost straight west of Oldenburg, we had the sun in our faces all the way in. It was good to be out again—and good to look at something other than board walls.
Our road lay along the canal which connected Vehnemoor with Oldenburg. Peat sheds, where the peat was put to dry after it was cut, were scattered along the canal, and we passed several flat-bottomed canal-boats carrying the peat into Oldenburg. They were drawn by man-power, and naturally made slow progress.
The canal furnished a way of transportation for the small farmers living near it, too, whose little farms had been reclaimed from the bog, and their produce was brought into Oldenburg on the canal-boats. We could see better-looking buildings back farther, where the land was more fertile. At one place we saw a canal-boat with sails, but as the day was still it lay inactive, fastened to an iron post.
The settlement seemed to be comparatively recent, judging by the small apple-trees around the buildings, and it looked as if this section of the country had all been waste land until the canal had been put through.
When we arrived at Oldenburg, which we did early in the morning, we were marched through its narrow streets to the military prison. We could see that the modern part of the city was very well built and up to date, with fine brick buildings, but the old part, which dates back to the eleventh century, was dirty and cheerless.
The prison to which we were taken was a military prison before the war, where the German soldiers were punished, and from the very first we could see that it was a striking example of German efficiency—in the way of punishment. Nothing was left to chance!
We were searched first, and it was done by removing all our clothing. Then, piece by piece, the guard looked them over. He ran his hand under the collar of our shirts; he turned our pockets inside out; he patted the lining of our coats; he turned out our stockings and shook them; he looked into our boots. As he finished with each article, it was thrown over to us and we dressed again. Our caps, overcoats, braces, belts, and knives were taken away from us. They were careful to see that we should not be tempted to commit suicide.
When I saw my cap go, I wondered if my maps, which I had sewed in the pasteboard, would escape this man's hawk eyes. I thought I had lost my other maps, and wondered how we should ever replace them. But it would be time enough to think of that—when we got out.
The guard's manner was typical of the management at Oldenburg. It had no element of humanity in it. It was a triumph ofKultur. The men might as well have been dummies, set by a clock and run by electricity.
There was a blackboard on the wall which told how many prisoners were in the institution and what they were getting. The strongest and worst punishment given is called "Streng Arrest," and the number who were getting it was three. The guard, while we were there, rubbed out the 3 and put in a 5.
Ted and I looked at each other.
"That's us," he said.
Our two little parcels were deposited in a locker downstairs, where other parcels of a like nature were bestowed, and we were conducted up a broad stair and along a passage, and saw before us a long hall, lined with doors sheeted with steel.
The guard walked ahead; Ted and I followed. At last he unlocked a door, and we knew one of us had reached his abiding-place.
"I always did like a stateroom in the middle of the boat," Ted said, as the guard motioned to him to go in. That was the last word I heard for some time, for the guard said not a word to me. He came into the cell with me, and shut the iron door over the window, excluding every particle of light.
I just had time to see that the cell was a good-sized one—as cells go. In one corner there was a steam coil, but it was stone cold, and remained so all the time I was there. There was a shelf, on which stood a brown earthen pitcher for drinking-water—but nothing else. Our footsteps rang hollow on the cement floor, which had a damp feeling, like a cellar, although it was above the ground floor.
Without a word the guard went out, and the key turned in the lock with a click which had a sound of finality about it that left no room for argument.
Well, it has come, I thought to myself—the real hard German punishment... they had me at last. The other time we had outwitted them and gained many privileges of which they knew nothing, and Malvoisin had cheered me through the dark hours.
Here there was no Malvoisin, no reading-crack, no friends, nothing to save us.
They had us!
We had staked the little bit of freedom we had on the chance of getting full freedom. It was a long chance, but we had taken it—and lost!
I knew the object of all their punishment was to break our wills and make us docile, pliable, and week-kneed like the Russians we had seen in the camps—poor, spiritless fellows who could give no trouble.
Well—we would show them they could not break ours!
The eight-mile walk had tired me, and I lay down on the platform to try to sleep, but it was a long time before I could close my eyes: the darkness was so heavy, so choking and horrible. If there had been even one gleam of light it wouldn't have been so bad, but I couldn't even see a gleam under the door, and every time I tried to sleep the silence bothered me—if I could only hear one sound, to tell me some one was alive and stirring about! Still, I kept telling myself, I must put it in, some way—I must—I must—I must.
When I awakened, my first thought was that it was still night! Then I remembered it was all night for me, and the thought set me shivering. My hands were stiff and cold, and I missed my overcoat.
The waking-up was the worst time of all, for my teeth chattered and my knees trembled, so it was hard to stand. But when I had stamped up and down for a while, I felt better. It must be near morning, I thought. I should know when it was morning, because the guard would come and let me have ten minutes to sweep my cell, and then I should see Ted. I should perhaps get a chance to speak to him—even a wink would help!
It was a larger cell than the one at Giessen, and after sitting still for a while I got up and walked up and down. I could take four steps each way, by not stepping too far. My steps echoed on the cement floor, and I quite enjoyed seeing how much noise I could make, and wondered if anybody heard me. But when I stopped and leaned up against the wall, I could hear nothing. Then I sat down again and waited.
I remembered how, after the cells, the Strafe-Barrack did not seem too bad, for we could see people and talk occasionally; and after the Strafe-Barrack the prison-camp was comparative freedom, for we could get our parcels and read, and see the boys, so I thought I will pretend now that my punishment was sitting still.... I can't move a muscle; the cut-throat guard that was over us in the Strafe-Barrack is standing over me with his bayonet against my chest—I must not move—or he'll drive it in.... I wish I could change my position—my neck is cramped....
Then I jumped up and walked up and down, and tried to tell myself it was good to be able to move! But I caught myself listening all the time—listening for the guard to come and open the door!
It seemed a whole day since we came, and still there was no sound at the door. The guard must have forgotten us, I thought.... The guards at Vehnemoor forgot to bring us soup sometimes.... These mechanical toys may have run down; the power may have gone off, and the whole works have shut down. Certainly the lights seem to have gone out. I laughed at that. Well, I would try to sleep again; that was the best way to get the time in.
I tried to keep myself thinking normally, but the thought would come pushing in upon me, like a ghostly face at a window, that the guard had forgotten us. I told myself over and over again that we had come in at noon, and this was the first day; it was bound to be long, I must wait! They—had—not—forgotten us.
I knew exactly what I should look like when they found me. My hair would be long, falling over my shoulders, and my beard—not red, but white—would be down to my waist,—for people live for weeks on water, and my nails would be so long they would turn back again... and my hands would be like claws, with the white bones showing through the skin, and the knuckles knotted and bruised. I remembered seeing a cat once that had been forgotten in a cellar... It had worn its claws off, scratching at the wall.
Then a chill seized me, and I began to shiver. That frightened me, so I made a bargain with myself—I must not think, I must walk. Thinking is what sends people crazy.
I got up then and began to pace up and down. Twelve feet each way was twenty-four feet. There were five thousand two hundred and eighty feet in a mile—so I would walk a mile before I stopped—I would walk a mile, and I would not think!
I started off on my mile walk, and held myself to it by force of will, one hundred and ten rounds. Once I lost the count and had to go back to where I did remember, and so it was really more than a mile. But when it was done, and I sat down, beyond a little healthy tingling in my legs I did not feel at all different. I was listening—listening just the same.
Ted and I had agreed that if we were side by side, we would pound on the wall as a sign. Four knocks would mean "I—am—all—right." I pounded the wall four times, and listened. There was no response.
Then, for a minute, the horror seized me—Ted was dead—every one was dead—I was the only one left!
If the authorities in our prisons could once feel the horror of the dark cell when the overwrought nerves bring in the distorted messages, and the whole body writhes in the grip of fear,—choking, unreasoning, panicky fear,—they would abolish it forever.
After an eternity, it seemed, the key sounded in the lock and the guard came in, letting in a burst of light which made me blink. He came over to the window, swung open the iron door, and the cell was light!
"What time is it?" I asked him in German.
He knew his business—this guard. He answered not a word. What has a prisoner to do with time—except "do" it. He handed me a broom—like a stable broom—and motioned me to sweep. It was done all too soon.
He then took me with him along the hall to the lavatory. At the far end of the hall and coming from the lavatory, another prisoner was being brought back with a guard behind him. His clothes hung loose on him, and he walked slowly. The light came from the end of the hall facing me, and I could not see very well.
When we drew near, a cry broke from him—
"Sim!" he cried. "Good God!... I thought you were in Holland."
It was Bromley!
Then the guard poked him in the back and sent him stumbling past me. I turned and called to him, but my guard pushed me on.
I put in as much time washing as I could, hoping that Ted would be brought out, but I did not see him that day or the next.
At last I had to go back, and as the guard shoved me in again to that infernal hole of blackness, he gave me a slice of bread. I had filled my pitcher at the tap.
This was my daily ration the first three days. I was hungry, but I was not sick, for I had considerable reserve to call upon, but when the fourth day came I was beginning to feel the weariness which is not exactly a pain, but is worse than any pain. I did not want to walk—it tired me, and my limbs ached as if I hadla grippe.I soon learned to make my bread last as long as it would, by eating it in instalments, and it required some will-power to do this.
Thoughts of food came to torture me—when I slept, my dreams were all of eating. I was home again, and mother was frying doughnuts.... Then I was at the Harvest-Home Festival in the church, and downstairs in the basement there were long tables set. The cold turkey was heaped up on the plates, with potatoes and corn on the cob; there were rows of lemon pies, with chocolate cakes and strawberry tarts. I could hear the dishes rattling and smell the coffee! I sat down before a plate of turkey, and was eating a leg, all brown and juicy—when I awakened.
There is a sense in which hunger sharpens a man's perceptions, and makes him see the truth in a clearer light—but starvation, the slow, gnawing starvation, when the reserve is gone, and every organ, every muscle, every nerve cries out for food—it is of the devil. The starving man is a brute, with no more moral sense than the gutter cat. His mind follows the same track—he wants food...
Why do our authorities think they can reform a man by throwing him into a dark cell and starving him?
There was a hole in the door, wide on the inside and just big enough on the outside for an eye, where the guards could spy on us. We could not get a gleam of light through it, though, for it was covered with a button on the outside.
On the fourth day I had light in my cell, and it was aired. Also, I got soup that day, and more bread, and I felt better. I saw Ted for a few seconds. He was very pale, but bearing it well. Though the sunburn was still on his face, the pallor below made it ghastly; but he walked as straight as ever.
I climbed up to the window, by standing on the platform, and could just see over. Down below in the courtyard soldiers were gathering for roll-call, and once I saw recruits getting their issue of uniforms.... Sometimes the courtyard was empty, but I kept on watching until the soldiers came. At least they were something—and alive! During the light day, probably as a result of the additional food, I slept nearly all day.
When I awakened, the cell was getting dark. I have heard people say the sunset is a lonely time, when fears come out, and apprehensions creep over them... and all their troubles come trooping home. I wonder what they would think of a sunset which ushered in eighty-four hours of darkness!... I watched the light fading on the wall, a flickering, sickly glow that paled and faded and died, and left my eyes, weakened now by the long darkness, quite misty and dim.
And then the night, the long night came down, without mercy.
On one of my light days the guard forgot to bring my soup. He brought the coffee in the morning, and went out again at once. I thought he had gone for the bread, but when he did not come, I drank the coffee—which was hot and comforting. He did not come near me all day. It may have been the expectation of food, together with the hot coffee, which stimulated my stomach, for that day I experienced what starving men dread most of all—the hunger-pain. It is like a famished rat that gnaws and tears. I writhed on the floor and cried aloud in my agony, while the cold sweat dripped from my face and hands. I do not remember what I said... I do not want to remember...
That night when I saw the light growing dim in the cell, and the long black night setting in, I began to think that there was a grave possibility that this sentence might finish me. I might die under it! And my people would never know—"Died—Prisoner of War No. 23445, Pte. M. C. Simmons"—that is all they would see in the casualty list, and it would not cause a ripple of excitement here. The guard would go back for another one, and a stretcher... I shouldn't be much of a carry, either!
Then I stood up and shook my fist at the door, including the whole German nation! I was not going to die!
Having settled the question, I lay down and slept.
When I awakened, I knew I had slept a long time. My tongue was parched and dry, and my throat felt horribly, but my pain was gone. I wasn't hungry now—I was just tired.
Then I roused myself. "This is starvation," I whispered to myself; "this is the way men die—and that's what—I am not going to do!"
The sound of my own voice gave me courage. I then compelled my muscles to do their work, and stood up and walked up and down, though I noticed the wall got in my road sometimes. I had a long way to go yet, and I knew it depended now on my will-power.
My beard was long and my hair tangled and unkempt. I should have liked a shave and a hair-cut, but this is part of the punishment and has a depressing effect on the prisoner. It all helps to break a man down.
I kept track of the days by marking on the wall each day with my finger-nail, and so I knew when the two weeks were drawing to a close. The expectation of getting out began to cheer me—and the last night I was not able to sleep much, for I thought when the key turned next time I should be free! I wondered if we could by any chance hear what had happened on the battle-front. Right away I began to feel that I was part of the world again—and a sort of exultation came to me...
They—had—not—broken me!