Servants Of The Guns Part 16

_December 27._--It has been announced that, as a punishment for the escape of Major V----, all smoking will be prohibited from January 2 to 15; all tobacco is to be handed in at 10 a.m. on the 2nd. I wonder if we'll ever see it again. I dread this fortnight's abstention.

_December 28._--Received 5; also parcels containing food, books, clothes, and tobacco.

_January 2, 1915._--Tobacco duly handed in and receipt given for it.

Some mild excitement caused over a letter which I had received from F.

P----, who is in India, part of which had been censored. The commandant here wanted it back again. Fortunately I had destroyed it. I had not been able to read the censored part, but had gathered from the preceding sentence that it was something about the Indian troops. Wonder what the Boches are after. Anyway I was hauled up before the permanent orderly officer, who is an aged subaltern of at least sixty, known to the French as "l'asperge" because he is long and thin and looks exactly like an asparagus stalk when he's got his helmet on; and to us as "the chemist"

because he has rather the air of a suave and elderly member of the Pharmaceutical Society. As a matter of fact, he is a baron! For a German, he was quite polite, believed me when I told him I had destroyed the letter, and seemed relieved when I mentioned that it was dated September 13--which was true.

News gets scarcer and scarcer, German papers emptier and emptier. But there are signs of shortage in the country. No more rolls or white bread for us, for example.

_January 5._--Managed to smuggle through the parcels office a tin of 100 cigarettes which had arrived for me, but resisted the temptation to open it. If any one was caught smoking during this fortnight it would mean no more tobacco for any of us for months if not for ever. All the same, I find the privation hard to bear.

_January 8._--It has become evident that the authorities do not desire to take further steps in the tobacco question. Yesterday "the chemist"

searched various rooms. Entering one he found several Russians smoking--whereupon he left without comment. This was the act of a gentleman. This evening, therefore, we broached my tin of cigarettes.

Crouching round the stove we smoked them very carefully, blowing the smoke up the chimney. Rather like school-days and very ridiculous.

Tobacco never tasted so good to me.

To-day one of the Russians who was implicated in the attempt to escape some weeks ago returned here. His _role_ in the affair had been to stand at the gate and keep watch while the other two slipped out to the motor.

All three of them, he says, have been kept handcuffed, in solitary confinement, ever since, and fed only on black bread and weak coffee--and this _whilst awaiting trial_! Eventually his case was dismissed, as it was not proved that he was attempting to escape. The other two are to undergo imprisonment for six more weeks. They are desperate and want to commit suicide. And this is civilised warfare in the twentieth century!

It is nearly a month since we had any fresh German official _communiques_ posted up in the dining-hall. Perhaps it is a sign that things are going badly for them. From rumours it appears that Turkey is getting a bad time from Russia--and so is Austria.

The quality of the food is rapidly deteriorating. The bread is black, sour, and hard, with a large proportion of potato flour in it. The meat is generally uneatable. Fortunately supplies are coming fairly regularly from home and we subsist almost entirely on potted meats, tongues, etc.

_January 14._--The Russian New Year's Day. Went to their Church service and was greatly impressed by the solemnity of it; also by their beautiful singing. Toasted the Russian army at lunch; much bowing and sc.r.a.ping and a great interchange of compliments.

_January 25._--Heard to-day of the second battle of Heligoland and of the sinking of the _Blucher_--Good. Amused to notice that the German papers claim this fight as a great victory--a Trafalgar, they called it.

Prefer to believe the statement of our Admiralty--quoted by the Crefeld paper with many sneering comments and notes of exclamation interspersed.

There is, I think, no doubt that Germany has begun to feel the pinch.

The altered manner of our "kindly captors" towards us is remarkable.

There is a good deal less of the haughty conqueror about them.

The authorities here are compiling a list of those prisoners who are wounded and unfit for further service. An astonis.h.i.+ng number of officers were brought forward by the doctors of each nationality for examination by the German medico! Particulars of our cases were taken down, to be forwarded to Berlin. I fear that, as far as I am concerned, there is not much chance of getting sent home.

_February 3._--Permission granted to us to write eight letters a month instead of two. Perhaps this is due to pressure brought to bear since the arrival home of V----. We knew he'd reached England safely some time ago, but have heard no details as to how he did it. Women conductors on the trams in Crefeld now; and Carl, a German waiter, late of the Grosvenor Hotel and at present underling here to the canteen manager, is under orders for the front. Both facts are significant, especially the latter, seeing that the aforesaid Carl is as good a specimen of the physically unfit as one could wish to see.

_February 7._--Marked improvement of German manners continues unabated.

Carl still here. The civilian who heats the furnace for the bathroom (doubtless an authority!) confesses quite openly that Germany is beaten, that he has been convinced of it for months and believes nothing he sees in the papers.

Our hosts having now condescended to allow us to hire musical instruments, and having even granted us a garret to play them in, we enjoyed quite a pleasant concert this evening. But the crowd and the atmosphere were awful. The orchestra surprisingly good, considering its haphazard formation: and a Russian peasant chorus beautifully rendered.

_February 8._--Fine day with a grand feeling of spring in the air.

Heading in a German paper: "The enemy takes one of our trenches near La Ba.s.see." But what an admission! Am convinced that at last the German _people_ are beginning to realise what their Government must have known from the time when the first great rush on Paris failed--namely, that there can only be one end to this war for them--defeat.

_February 10._--Received a second 5 from c.o.x within three weeks. He must have lost his head on finding me with a balance credit for about the first time in my career.

_February 11._--There was a rumour to-night, apparently with some foundation in it, that the first batch of wounded to be exchanged (two English and nine French) are to go on Monday. I continue to hope that I may get away later on, but can't really feel there is much chance, as there is so little permanently wrong with me.

_February 12._--The incredible has happened. I'm to be sent home! I hardly dare believe it. This afternoon Major D----, R----, and myself were sent for by the commandant and told to be ready to start at 9 o'clock to-morrow. He further informed us that the authorities knew that our wounds were not very serious, so that he hoped we would realise the clemency of the Imperial Government. We were made to give our word of honour not to take any letters, etc., from prisoners with us. Finally, after an interview with the paymaster, who squared up our accounts, we went through a ceremonious leave-taking with the commandant and "the chemist." Felt quite sorry for the latter; he looks so old and careworn and has lost two sons in the war, I believe. Spent the evening packing my few paltry possessions in a hamper I managed to buy in the canteen.

Found it very difficult to conceal my elation from all the poor devils we will leave behind to-morrow. Far too excited to sleep.

_February 13, Sat.u.r.day._--The Germans evidently have been instructed to make things as pleasant as possible for us. A taxi provided at 8.30 and a most suave N.C.O. to accompany us. A large crowd of fellow-prisoners a.s.sembled at the gate to see us off. In spite of the depression they all must have felt at watching us go, not one of them showed a sign of it.

They were just splendid--French, Russians, and English--and wished us "Good luck," "Bon voyage," and whatever the Slavonic equivalent may be, as though they themselves might be following at any date, instead of having to look forward to months and months more of that awful dreary life.

At 8.35 turned out of the gate for ever.

At the station H---- joined us from the hospital; being partially paralysed he was carried on a stretcher. R.'s kilt caused considerable interest, but the onlookers, evidently knowing our circ.u.mstances, were not in the least offensive--very different from four months ago. We were taken charge of by an N.C.O. whom we knew well, as he was employed at the barracks. He became most friendly, aired his small knowledge of English, and continually asked us if we were glad to be going home. What a question! When we changed trains and had about an hour to wait he ordered our lunch for us and saw that we had everything that we wanted.

Travelling via Munster we reached Osnabruck at about 4 p.m. and were conveyed in a motor to the hospital. Had thought, ever since last night, that I could never be depressed again, but the sight of the ward with nearly fifty empty beds in it, the smell of iodoform and the whole atmosphere of the place had that effect on all of us for a bit. Found another English officer here, wounded in the head months ago, and still partially paralysed, but recovering. He is to join us. Gathered from listening to his experiences that one might have been in much worse places than Crefeld. No information as to when we are to move on. Later in the evening another officer arrived--one leg shorter than the other as the result of a broken thigh. Found the soft, comfortable hospital bed most pleasant after the hard mattresses of the prison.

_February 14._--Spent a long dull day confined to the ward; occasionally we were visited by some of the German wounded, of whom there were many, more or less convalescent, in the hospital. They were quite agreeable.

Have noticed that the hate and malice engendered by the authorities against the English manifests itself more amongst those Germans who have not been to the front. Men who have actually been there and have come back wounded are far more inclined to sympathise with fellow-sufferers than to make themselves offensive. Moreover, I take it that by this time the front line troops have acquired a wholesome respect for the British army.

About midday we were all examined by a German doctor. This was nervous work, especially for R---- and myself--we both being far from permanently disabled. However, we seemed to satisfy his requirements. In the evening an aged Teuton in shabby waiter's evening dress came and informed us that we could order anything we liked to eat or drink if we chose to pay for it. Evidently he was acting under instructions to make himself pleasant. Anyway we ordered a good dinner but confined ourselves to beer. Still no news of when we are to start, but presumably it will be soon because of the "blockade," which starts on the 18th.

_February 15._--This morning a board of four German doctors made a careful examination of all of us. They came in so unexpectedly that I was obliged surrept.i.tiously to withdraw the plug from the hole in my palate and swallow it! However, I managed to convince them that I could neither eat, drink, nor speak properly, and they pa.s.sed me without demur. Am sure that I went pale with fright at the prospect of being dragged back to prison again, and perhaps this fact was of a.s.sistance to me. There was a long consultation over R----. He was asked if he was capable of instructing troops in musketry; whereupon he proceeded to explain that, in spite of his three years' service, he himself was still under instruction! In the end we were all pa.s.sed as incapacitated.

We were told this afternoon that we might start to-night, but nothing definite. At 7 p.m. were ordered to be ready in half an hour. Hurried on our specially ordered dinner and split three bottles of wine amongst us.

At 7.45 started for the station in motors and were then put on board an ambulance train. The "sitting-up" cases had distinctly the best of it here; we were in comfortable second-cla.s.s carriages, whereas the others were put in slung-stretchers in cattle trucks. As this same train is to fetch back the exchanged German wounded from Flus.h.i.+ng, there was evidently no malice aforethought in this rough-and-ready accommodation; presumably it is the best they can produce. On the train are seven officers, 200 or so N.C.O.'s and men, a few German nurses and Red Cross men, and one civilian doctor. Started at 8.45 and reached the Dutch frontier just after midnight.

_February 16._--Had dozed off but woke up when we reached the frontier and was much amused when the Dutch Customs officials came and asked us if we had anything to declare! They even pretended to search our few miserable belongings. Can never forget the kindness of the Dutch both here and everywhere we stopped all through the journey to Flus.h.i.+ng. They crowded into the carriages; they showered food, tobacco, cigarettes, sweets, fruit, even English books and papers on us; they forgot nothing.

If they'd been our own personal friends they could have done no more for us. Dutch doctors and guards boarded the train at the frontier, and also an English newspaper correspondent with whom we talked for a couple of hours, gradually picking up the thread of all that had happened since we were cut off from the outer world. An exhilarating feeling to have left Germany behind and to be amongst friends again.

Reached Flus.h.i.+ng about 10.30 and were welcomed by the British Consul and by several English people over there in connection with Belgian relief work. Their hospitality was unbounded. Had a merry lunch with them in the hotel, and then strolled out to see the town--followed by a large and noisy crowd of school children. But what a joy to be a free man, to be able to go where one likes and do what one likes! Wired home.

In the afternoon the boat which is to take us back arrived from England with the German wounded. The two batches of men were close together on the platform. What a contrast! the Germans, clean, well-cared for, dressed either in comparatively serviceable uniform or new civilian clothes; the English, white-faced, pinched and careworn, in threadbare khaki (some even in tattered French or Belgian uniform) with no b.u.t.tons, most of them with no hats or badges. At first our men were indignant--they had suffered much, and it was evident to them that the treatment of prisoners in the two countries was very different. But soon the inherent chivalry of the British private soldier overcame his other feelings. The Germans were enemies but they were wounded--cripples for life most of them--and they too were going Home. It formed a bond between the two groups. In five minutes cigarettes were being exchanged and conversation (aided by signs) in full swing.

There was an English corporal, paralysed, lying on a stretcher in the waiting-room. I helped one of the English ladies to take him some tea.

She knelt beside him, put the cup to his lips, and, when he had drunk, asked him how he felt. For a moment he didn't answer but merely stared at her with great dark wondering eyes. Then he said slowly: "Are you English?" That was all, just those three words, but they expressed everything--the misery of all the months he had been in foreign hands, his patience, his suffering, and now at long last his infinite content at finding one of his own country-women bending over him. His head dropped wearily back on to the pillow and he closed his eyes; he was happy.

Had dinner at the hotel where we met the doctors who had come over with the Germans and who were to go back with us. Afterwards went on board the boat which, however, was not to start till the morning. To my dying day I shall remember sitting in the saloon and watching the sad procession of two hundred crippled N.C.O.'s and men being brought on board. There were paralysed cases on stretchers, blind men, deaf men, men with an arm or a leg gone, dozens hopelessly lame manoeuvring their crutches with difficulty, helping each other, laughing at each other--happy enough for the moment. But oh! the pity of it. What of the future of these maimed and broken men? They are happy now because they're thinking only of to-morrow, but what of the day after? what of the thousands of days after? England is proverbially ungrateful to her lesser kind of heroes as well as to her greater kind of poets. Geniuses have been known to starve in garrets--and so have Balaclava survivors.

These men deserve well of their country. Will they be remembered or forgotten?

Went to bed late, again too excited to sleep. Feel at last that it's a reality and not a dream.

_February 17._--Woke to find that the boat had started, that it was blowing half a gale, raining hard and that we were in for a vile crossing. Too happy to be ill, however. A large number of Belgian refugees on board. Talked to several of our men. All their stories tallied in essentials. They had been underfed, under-clothed, singled out for all the disagreeable work and all the abuse--_because they were English_. Watched them playing cards, helping anxious Belgian mothers with their sea-sick children. Listened to their talk and laughter and choruses, of which the most popular was a version of "Tipperary" which stated that the Kaiser would have a long way to go to St. Helena. At intervals, every half-hour or so, a mighty shout would go up, "Are we downhearted?" and all the crutches would rattle on the deck before the cras.h.i.+ng answer, "No!"

Disembarked at Folkestone Pier at about six p.m. No fuss, no worry, everything done in perfect order. A buffet on the platform provided us with English tea and English buns (there can be great joy in a common penny bun) served by English ladies. The rain streamed down out of the inky sky as the long ambulance train puffed its way out of the station at 8 p.m. Even the weather was typically English, as if to welcome us!

Everything for our comfort had been thought of. In our saloon were flowers, great bunches of violets, and a gramophone. And so at last, just before eleven, we rolled over the darkened Thames and drew up in Charing Cross--Home!

HENRY

His real name was Henri Roman, but we called him Henry because it was easier to p.r.o.nounce. His status in the French army was not high--he was a private in the 1st Territorial Regiment; it was his custom, however, when in conversation with unsuspecting strangers, to omit the word Territorial and by merely pointing to the "1" on his _kepi_ lead them to suppose that he belonged to the First Regiment of the Line--a rather more distinguished unit than his own. Like ourselves, he was a prisoner of war, and in his capacity of _valet de chambre_ he was, if not perfect, at any rate unusual. We first became conscious of his possibilities as a source of merriment when, owing to the arrival of a fresh batch of prisoners, we were ordered to change our room.

"Je viens avec messieurs," Henry announced simply, and proceeded to help us pack our things. It is a fact that my hair brushes and razor made the journey in one of his trouser pockets, G----'s pipes, a half-empty pot of jam and a face towel in the other.