My Escape from Germany 13

My Escape from Germany 13

CHAPTER X

 

CAUGHT AGAIN!

 

 

“Halt!” The command came like a thunderclap and shook me from head to

foot. Yet I did not believe that it could mean anything but a Dutch

sentry. I stopped and tried to locate the man, who, from the sound of

his voice, must be very close. I could not see him.

 

“Come here, and hold up your hands!”

 

I did so and stepped forward.

 

“Here, here!” The voice was almost at my elbow. Then I saw the white

patch of a face above a bush. He came up to me, putting his pistol

muzzle in my stomach.

 

“Who are you?”

 

I was a bit dizzy and shaken, but not quite done yet.

 

“Who are _you_?” I asked.

 

“I’m a frontier guard.”

 

“Dutch or German?” I could not see his uniform.

 

“German!”

 

I groaned aloud; then: “What the ---- are you stopping me for? What are

you doing here, anyway? Leave me alone; I’m on Dutch soil.”

 

For answer he stepped back, saw the cudgel in my upraised hand,

and said sharply, “Drop that stick.” I obeyed. He whistled, and

got an answer from close by, followed by the breaking of branches

and footsteps, as somebody else moved toward us. My captor put his

automatic into his pocket, keeping his hand on it.

 

“Who are you?” he demanded again.

 

“That has nothing whatever to do with you. I crossed the frontier about

fifty yards down there. Good night!”

 

“Stop! You’re over an hour from the frontier yet.”

 

For a moment I wondered whether I could get my weight into a blow on

his jaw and make a break for it; but, as I swung slightly forward,

lowering my left a little at the same time, I reflected that I could

not possibly tell whether he was in reach; it was too dark. Now I

believed that I was still far from the frontier. Even if I could down

him, there was the second man close by. And if a bullet did not bring

me down, they could easily catch me in a race, knowing the country as

I did not, or bring any number of soldiers about my ears. If I were

caught after having struck him, it would merely mean a blank wall and a

firing party. Not good enough!

 

All this passed quickly through my mind, the ideas being only half

formed. In the long days of solitary confinement, by which I expiated

my offense, I sat in judgment upon myself again and again, every time

condemning myself for a slacker. But I knew much more about the actual

position later than at the moment of capture, and when one is brooding

in cells, ready to barter half one’s remaining life for a glimpse of

the open, it is difficult to come to a just judgment. To-day I cannot

see that I could have done anything but give in. Had I had money on me

I should have tried offering a bribe, but I had not even a farthing

piece in my pocket. The “noes” had it.

 

My two captors took me between them and marched me off for some time

along wood-paths. The reaction had set in now, and my senses were

dulled. I kept stumbling and falling until they took my arms, when we

made better progress.

 

“Did I come straight toward you or what?” I asked dully, after a time.

 

“No. We were close to the place we got you at. I heard something, and

walked toward the sound. Then I saw you,” was the reply of the first

man.

 

After an indefinite time, we struck the railway and turned down it

toward Germany. We walked and walked. I was beginning to collect my

thoughts, and with them my suspicions of foul play were returning, when

we were challenged.

 

A sentry flashed his torch over us. In its light I perceived for the

first time that my captors were in civilian clothes, without badge or

any sign of officialdom. This, and the fact that we had picked up the

sentry only after walking some time in the direction toward Germany,

increased my perplexity.

 

I had been dully aware of a strong light in front of us. It was from

the headlights of a train standing in a small station. In front of it

we passed over a level crossing, and approached an inn opposite.

 

They took me into a bar-room. At a table on one side of the

bar sat a soldier in the uniform of what the Germans call “a

sergeant-major-lieutenant,” a Catholic priest, and a civilian, who

turned out to be mine host. The sentry reported to the soldier while

the old priest made me sit down at their table. The officer did not

seem to like this arrangement at first, but the padre took no notice

of him. He asked me in English whether I was hungry and thirsty. I

pleaded guilty to both counts, and the nice old man forthwith ordered

beer and sandwiches for me, telling me the while in bad English that

he had been to the Jesuit College in Rome, where he had picked up his

knowledge of the language from Irishmen.

 

In the meantime my captors were regaling themselves at the bar. Turning

to them, the padre suddenly asked, “Where did you get him?” “Near

----,” was the answer from the first man. “But--but--but that’s _very_

near the frontier,” stammered the priest, with a look of astonishment

on his face. “No, no,” chorused the assembled company, as if acting on

instructions, “that’s still an hour from the frontier,” using exactly

the words my captors had used in the woods. I stopped eating for a

time. I felt physically sick. Only to imagine that I had won through,

actually got over the frontier, as I began firmly to believe now, to be

tricked back!

 

The food and the beer had given me fresh strength. When I was told that

it was time to go, I felt more or less indifferent. We passed along

a road, the two civilians in front, the soldier behind, and I in the

middle, occupied with my own thoughts and only answering with a grim

cheerfulness such questions as were addressed to me.

 

Here I made my second grave mistake, counting the attempt at passing

through Vehlen as the first. Had I kept alert for “something to turn

up,” I could not have failed to see that we were marching along the

road which I had crossed some time before, and passing the same shed.

Had I noticed it then, instead of the next morning, I should have

known where the guard-room was in which I spent the night. Instead of

that--but that is anticipating events.

 

Presently we arrived at the guard-house, an ordinary farmhouse the

ground floor of which had been cleared for the sterner duties of war.

 

Above the table of the N.C.O.[1] in charge a large scale map hung

against the wall. I was not permitted to go near it, but its scale,

being perhaps three or four inches to the mile, allowed me to see

pretty much all there was to be seen from the other side of the room,

where I had to spend the night on a chair. I recognized the road I

had crossed (the ditch was marked on it); and, where the three narrow

ditches ought to have been, there began the blank space with the name

“Holland” written across it.

 

[1] N.C.O.: non-commissioned officer.

 

I could not see the guard-house marked, probably because I did not

know where to look for it. Consequently I had not the faintest idea of

what to do provided I could get away. This uncertainty made me miss a

chance. Of course I was never alone in the room, but once during the

night the N.C.O. took me out. He had no rifle with him; I doubt whether

he had a pistol. Naturally he kept close to me; yet, had I only known

where to turn, a break might have been possible, without entailing

unreasonable risks.

 

At last the morning came, and with it the usual stir and bustle. One

of the soldiers cursed me up and down for an Englishman. I concluded

he had never been to the front. We prisoners had the same experience

over and over again: the fellows with the home billets were the brutes

and bullies. I was right, for my antagonist was stopped short in his

peroration by a small man with a high treble voice, the result of a

brain wound.

 

“Shut up, you! You make me tired. You’ve never seen the enemy. If any

cursing of Englanders is to be done, I’ll do it. I had three English

bullets in my body. T’other side’s doing their duty same as we.”

 

“Yes,” broke in another, “I’ve fought against the English. As long as

we say nothing, keep your mouth shut. I’ll tell you as soon as your

views are wanted, Mr. Stay-at-home.”

 

These two latter shared their breakfast with me, otherwise I should

have had nothing. The second one took me outside: “Sorry, old man,

hard luck! Sure you weren’t in Holland when these ---- [a nasty name]

dropped on you?”

 

“What do you mean?” I asked.

 

“Only this--strictly between you and me and the doorpost, mind!--my

friend and I would have liked you to get home. We can imagine what it

means--‘prisoner of war.’ Make no mistake, we’d have stopped you, if

you’d come across us. If only you’d been caught by soldiers instead of

these ---- agents! Don’t let anybody hear it, but from what I heard you

were in Holland all right.”

 

At about ten o’clock I was taken to the inn to be examined by the

“sergeant-major-lieutenant.” On the way we passed, and I recognized,

the shed.

 

“How far is it from here to the frontier?” I asked my escort.

 

He did not answer.

 

“Look here, I can’t get away from you, can I, with no cover within

two hundred yards and you having five in the magazine and one in the barrel? Can’t you understand that I want to know?”