Three Times and Out Part 20

We brought the three poor fellows, pale and trembling, to our end of the hut, and gave them as good a meal as our parcels would afford.

One of them had a bayonet wound in his neck, which the N.C.O. had given him. He had jabbed him with the point of his bayonet, to quicken his speed. In spite of their exhaustion, they ate ravenously, and fell asleep at once, worn out with the long hours of working as well as by the brutal treatment they had received.

But there was no sleep for the poor victims--until the long, black sleep of unconsciousness rolled over them and in mercy blotted out their misery--for the N.C.O.'s came for them and dragged them away from us, and the sickening spectacle began again.

There were just eleven of us, British and Canadians, in the camp at this time, twelve of the British having been sent away; and it happened that this was the day, July 4th, that we wrote our cards. We remembered that when the men had written cards about the lice it had brought results: we had no other way of communication with the world, and although this was a very poor one, still it was all we had. We knew our cards would never get out of Germany; indeed, we were afraid they would never leave the camp, but we would try.

We went to the place where the cards were kept, which was in charge of a Polish Jew, who also acted as interpreter. He had been in the Russian Army, and had been taken prisoner in the early days of the war. There was a young Russian with him who did clerical work in the camp. They were both in tears. The Jew walked up and down, wringing his hands and calling upon the G.o.d of Abraham and of Isaac and of Jacob! Sometimes he put his hands over his ears... for the cries of his countrymen came through the window.

When we got our cards, we wrote about what had happened. Some of the cards were written to John Bull; some to the British War-Office; some to the newspapers; some to friends in England, imploring them to appeal to the United States Government at Was.h.i.+ngton, to interfere for humanity's sake. We eased our minds by saying, as far as we could say it on a card, what we thought of the Germans. Every card was full of it, but the subject was hardly touched. I never knew before the full meaning of that phrase, "Words are inadequate."

Words were no relief!--we wanted to kill--kill--kill.

The running of the Russians went on for days. Every one of them who came in from the farm got it--without mercy.... Different N.C.O.'s performed the gruesome rites...

We had only one hope of quick results. The Commandant of the camp at Celle--that is the main Cellelager--had an English wife, and had, perhaps for that reason, been deprived of his command as an Admiral of the fleet. We hoped he would hear of our cards--or, better still, that his wife might hear.

The first indication we had that our cards had taken effect was the change in the soup. Since the first day of the trouble, it had been absolutely worthless. Suddenly it went back to normal--or a little better.

Suddenly, too, the running of the Russians stopped, although others of them had come in. A tremendous house-cleaning began--they had us scrubbing everything. The bunks were aired; the blankets hung on the fence; the windows cleaned; the yard was polished by much sweeping.

Evidently some one was coming, and we hoped it was "the Admiral." At the same time, the N.C.O.'s grew very polite to us, and one of them, who had been particularly vicious with the Russians, actually bade me "good-morning"--something entirely without precedent.

Every day, I think, they expected the Admiral, but it was two weeks before he came. His visit was a relief to the Germans, but a distinct disappointment to us. Apparently, the having of an English wife does not change the heart of a German. It takes more than that. He did not forbid the running of the Russians; only the bayonet must not be used. The bayonet was bad form--it leaves marks. Perhaps the Admiral took this stand in order to reinstate himself again in favor with the military authorities, and anxious to show that his English wife had not weakened him. He had the real stuff in him still--blood and iron!

The running of the Russians began again--but behind the trees, where we could not see them... but we could hear...

There are some things it were well we could forget!

The running of the Russians ceased only when no more came in from the farms. Those who had been put out came out of the _Revier_ in a day or so--some in a few hours--pale and spiritless, and were sent back to work again. They had the saddest-looking faces I ever saw--old and wistful, some of them; others, gaping and vacant; some, wild and staring. They would never resist again--they were surely broken! And while these men would not do much for the "Fatherland" in the way of heavy labor, they would do very well for exchanges!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Friedrichsfeld Prison-Camp in Summer]

CHAPTER XX

ONCE AGAIN!

As the days began to shorten, Edwards and I began to plan our escape.

We had the maps, the one he had bought at Vehnemoor and the one I had made. We had the compa.s.s, which we had kept hidden in a very small crack in the sloping roof of the hut, and the Red Cross suits had come, and were dark blue and quite unnoticeable except for the piece of brown cloth sewed on the sleeve. Mine had Russian b.u.t.tons on it, which I had put on to have for souvenirs--and which I have since had made into brooches for my sisters.

On the map which Edwards had bought at Vehnemoor, the railways were marked according to their kind: the double-tracked, with rock ballast, were heavily lined; single-tracked with rock ballast, were indicated by lighter lines; single-tracked, with dirt ballast, by lighter lines still. I knew, from the study of maps, every stream and ca.n.a.l and all the towns between us and the border. On the map which I had drawn myself, from one I got from the Canadian artist at Giessen, I had put in all the railways and the short spur lines of which there are so many in northern Germany.

We knew that when a railway line ended without reaching another line, it was a good indication that the soil was valueless, and therefore there would be no settlement of any account. Through such districts we would direct our way.

We began to prepare for our flight by adopting a subdued manner, such as becomes discouraged men. We were dull, listless, sad, rarely speaking to each other--when a guard was present. We sat around the hut, morose and solemn, sighing often, as men who had lost hope.

But we were thinking, all the time, and getting ready.

I had a fine toffee tin, with a water-tight lid, which had come to me in a parcel from Mr. Robert McPherson, Aberdeen, Scotland, whose brother-in-law, Mr. Alec Smith, of Koch Siding, was a friend of mine.

This can, being oval in shape, fitted nicely into my pocket, and we decided to use it for matches.

Edwards had a sun-gla.s.s, which we thought we would use for lighting our pipes when the sun was s.h.i.+ning, and thus conserve our supply of matches.

Our first plan was to cut our way through the wires, as we had done at Vehnemoor, but, unfortunately, three Russians, early in the spring, did this--and after that no cat ever watched a mouse-hole with greater intentness than the guards at Parnewinkel watched the wires. We saw this was hopeless!

We then thought we would volunteer for work on farms as we had done before at Rossbach, but although French and Russians were taken, "Englanders" were not wanted! The Englishmen in the camp not wanting to work had given themselves a bad name, hoping that the Russians and French would carry it on to the farmers for whom they were working, so that they would be afraid to employ such desperate characters. One of them had "et an ear off'n" the last man he worked for. Another one never took orders from any one--"the last man that tried it, woke up in the middle of a long fit of sickness!--and had since died."

Another one admitted he had a terrible temper, but he had had it "from a child and couldn't help it--he turned blind when he was mad, and never knew where he was. .h.i.ttin'!"

This all worked well for them, but when Ted and I wanted to get out, we were refused. "Englanders" were not wanted!

The first working party that was made up to go out and work with a guard did not give either Ted or me a chance, although we wanted to go, but four other Englishmen volunteered. They were not anxious to have us go with them, for they knew we were thinking of escaping, and when there is an escape, those who were present at the time have embarra.s.sing questions asked them and various privileges are likely to be curtailed afterwards.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, at roll-call, a working party was asked for, and Ted and I volunteered, and with a Welshman and some Frenchmen, we walked out to a small village called Seedorf, about four miles away, where we were turned loose in a field of turnips from which the weeds had not been taken out since the turnips were planted. There were about a dozen of us, and we were taken into the house at noon to be fed. The farmhouse was one of the best I had seen in this section of the country, for the pig-pen, chickens, and cow-stable were in a separate building.

The two daughters of the house were true daughters of Germany and did not eat the bread of idleness; the biggest one, bare-legged and with sleeves rolled up, was attending to the stock, without pausing for anything. She looked as strong as a man, and was absorbed in her work--not even stopping a second to look at us. The other one worked in the house at meal-times, but no doubt joined her sister afterwards.

The dinner consisted of soup, potatoes, bread, and coffee, and the soup was a real treat, entirely different from the kind we were used to. After dinner we went back to the field and put in a fine afternoon's work. We were anxious to establish a good record before we left there.

We had saved up a lot of things from our parcels, thinking that our manner of escape might be such that we could take them with us.

A working party such as we were on made it impossible to carry anything, for we were in great danger of being searched. Whenever the Commandant thought of it, he ordered a search. Just as the Commandant at Giessen was keen on rings, so this one went in for searching. We were searched at unexpected times--going out to work or coming in--at meal-times or at bedtime.

The following day--Sunday--we sat around with our saddest, most dejected air, like two men in whose hearts all hope had died. We had everything ready--razor, tobacco, matches, toffee tin, toothbrush, comb, pocket-knife, watch, soap, strong safety-pins, and some strong string. Edwards had the sun-gla.s.s, shaving-soap and brush, and other things to correspond with mine.

It was quite a grief to us to have to leave behind us all the things we had been saving from our parcels. The people of Trail, British Columbia, had sent parcels to all their prisoners, and one of mine had followed me from Giessen to Vehnemoor and from Vehnemoor to Parnewinkel, and at last had found me. It contained, among other things, hard-tack biscuits, just the thing for carrying in our pockets, and my aunts in Ontario had sent me some line dried beef and tins of jam. At this time, also, an exceptionally good box came from Miss Ray, of London, England, and home-made candy from Miss Dorothy Taylor, of New Westminster, British Columbia. We had a regular blow-out on Sunday, but were too much afraid of being searched to risk taking anything with us beyond the necessary things, and so had to leave our precious stores behind. Oh, well--they wouldn't go to waste!

Monday morning we dragged our tired feet along the four miles to the turnip-patch--with every appearance of complete submission. I had the compa.s.s in the middle of a package of tobacco; my maps were still in the pay-book case in my pocket.

We gave ourselves up to the joy of labor, and pulled weeds all day with great vigor. We wanted to behave so well that they wouldn't notice us. Of course we were not sure that any chance would come. We might have to carry our stuff for several days before we should get a chance.

That night we came into the kitchen again and sat down at the long table. Every one was hungry and fell to eating without a word. No wonder the guard thought he had a quiet, inoffensive gang whose only thought at that moment was fried potatoes. The potatoes were good, hot from the frying-pan, and we ate as many as we could, for we believed it might be a long time before we again sat at a table.

The guard, at last, satisfied that we were all right, strolled into the next room--a sort of dining- and living-room, where the family were eating. We could hear fragments of conversation and some laughter, and it seemed a good time to slip away! We crowded down a few more fried potatoes, and then leisurely left the table and looked out of the window.

A big black cloud had come up from the west, and although it was still early in the evening it was beginning to grow dusk. Outside there was no one stirring but the young lady feeding the pigs, and she was not taking any notice of any one. She was a fine example of the absorbed worker. We lit our pipes and strolled out to enjoy the cool of the evening.

The pigs were gathered about the trough, protesting the distribution of their evening meal, squealing "Graft" and calling for a commission to settle it. The lady took no notice of them. They could settle it among themselves. They did not need to eat at all if they didn't want to. She should worry. It was take it or leave it--for all she cared!

She had gone as far as she was going to, in bringing it to them.

We looked back at the kitchen. Fried potatoes still held the attention of the prisoners, and the guard was not to be seen.

We turned around the front of the house and found ourselves on the shaded street. There was a row of trees along each side of the street and the houses were built well back. It was not the main street of the village and had more the appearance of a lane. We had concluded that even if the alarm were given, we should only have the one guard to deal with, for the prisoners would not pursue us, neither would the farmer.