My Escape from Germany 14

My Escape from Germany 14

He eyed me doubtfully.

 

“You can spit across the frontier from here,” he made slow answer.

 

That, I knew, was meant metaphorically, but it sufficed for me.

 

The examination did not amount to much. I was considered with grave

suspicion by the sergeant-major, because at that time I could not tell

him the name of the village I had escaped from. Also, the British

officer was haunting their minds still. If he and I were not identical,

I might have met and helped him, was their beautifully logical

argument. “See that he is taken to Bocholt on the two-thirty train and

handed over to a man from Company Headquarters. Now take him back to

the guard-room.”

 

When we got back there, they put a sentry in the yard, who sat on a

chair with a rifle across his lap, and went to sleep. It must have been

a strictly unofficial sentry. Nobody took the slightest notice of him,

and he was quite superfluous, because most of the soldiers off duty

were in the yard all the time enjoying the warm sunshine. Dinner-hour

came and went. I, of course, received nothing officially, but the man

who had talked with me in the morning gave me several of his sandwiches.

 

After dinner I was alone in the guard-room with a fresh N.C.O. in

charge, who was writing up some reports. The window in the next room

where the men slept at night, and which was now deserted, was not

latched. I wondered whether I could get it open and make a dash for it

down the road into the next cover. I had been fidgeting about, and when

I changed to a steady tramp into the kitchen, through the guard-room,

and then several steps into the dormitory, it attracted no attention. I

doubt whether the N. C. O., intent on his task, was aware of me at all.

The window was hinged, as all windows are in Germany. Twice I visited

it and got it ajar. The third time I pulled it open, and had placed my

hands on the sill to get out, when a patrol came into view. He saw me

at the same time. The movement of his rifle could not be misunderstood.

I closed the window and stepped back. The patrol came into the room and

gave me some good advice: “Don’t be a fool! We’ll get you sure. Can’t

afford not to. What do you think would happen to us, if you escaped?

Last night, a Frenchman wouldn’t stand on challenge. He’s dead now.

This is in the daytime.” He never reported me, though; or, if he did, I

never heard of it.

 

I talked with the soldiers now and then. It appeared that fugitives

were caught virtually every night. They would not admit that many got

over. About one in ten was killed, so they said; but I think that is

exaggerated.

 

They laughed when I told them of the punishment I was expecting. “You

to be punished, a civilian?--nonsense! You have a right to try for it,

if you care to take the risk. Why, military prisoners of war get only a

fortnight cell in camp for escaping. We’ve had a Frenchman here three

times in eight weeks.”

 

Two soldiers took me to the train and to Bocholt. There I was handed

over to another N.C.O., and after a tedious journey on a steam tram we

arrived at Company Headquarters in Vreden, where I was again examined,

this time very thoroughly and with great cleverness.

 

That evening I was lodged in prison. Also, the weather broke, and it

was to the music of dripping eaves and gurgling spouts that I fell

asleep.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI

 

UNDER ESCORT

 

 

On the fourth morning, when it seemed to me I had spent about a year

in Vreden prison, the warder informed me that my escort had arrived. I

had plenty of time to get over the excitement produced by this piece of

news, for I was not called for until four o’clock, which caused me to

miss my evening bowl of skilly, a dire calamity.

 

The soldier was waiting in the gateway. Walking down the passage toward

him, I had to pass by a big burly N.C.O. of the German Army, who had a

tremendous sword attached to him. I felt that something was going to

happen when I approached him. As I was squeezing past him in the narrow

corridor, he suddenly shot out a large hand, with which he grasped

mine, limp with surprise. Giving it a hearty shake, he wished me a

pleasant _Auf Wiedersehen!_ (Au revoir!) I was almost past utterance

with astonishment, and could only repeat his words stammeringly. “Not

on your life, if I can help it,” I murmured when I had turned away and

was recovering from the shock. Still, I suppose it was kindly meant.

 

My escort, a single soldier, went through the usual formalities of

loading his rifle before my eyes and warning me to behave myself. The

cord for special marksmanship dangled from his shoulder.

 

He was strictly noncommittal at first, and only assured me again,

apropos of nothing, during our walk to the station, that he did not

intend to have me escape from him. Afterward he thawed considerably,

but always remained serious and subdued, talking a good deal about his

wife and children, what a hard time they had of it, and that he had not

seen them for eighteen months.

 

The preliminary jolt of the small engine of the narrow-gage train gave

me the sinking sensation usually caused by the downward start of a fast

lift, and for a time my heart seemed to be getting heavier with every

revolution of the wheels, which put a greater distance between me and

the frontier. Had I cherished hopes in spite of all? I don’t know.

 

With several changes the journey to Berlin lasted through the night. I

was very hungry, and the soldier shared with me what little food he

had. Two incidents are worth mentioning.

 

At the time of my escape a political tension between Holland and

Germany had caused rumors of a threatened break between the two

countries. The soldier who arrested me in Vehlen had alluded to

it. My escort and I were alone in a third-class compartment of the

east-express, about midnight, when a very dapper N.C.O. entered. He

took in the situation at a glance.

 

“Prisoner’s escort?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What is he?”

 

“An Englander.”

 

“Trying to escape to Holland?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, I only hope the trouble with Holland will come to a head. We’ll

soon show those damned Dutchmen what German discipline means. We’ll

sweep the country from end to end in a week. Did he get far?”

 

“Close to the frontier.”

 

“However did he manage that in that get-up?” and he sniffed disgustedly.

 

The other incident was interesting in case of future attempts to

escape. About an hour before the train entered Berlin, detectives

passed along the corridors asking for passports. I began to wonder how

I had managed to get as far as I had.

 

We arrived in Berlin about 9 A.M. Before we proceeded to the prison,

the soldier compassionately bought me a cup of coffee and a roll at the

station buffet. I had had nothing to eat since 11:30 A.M. the previous

day, except a roll the soldier had given me about midnight.

 

This was at Alexander Platz Station, fairly in the center of Berlin. As

we left the station, Alexander Platz was in front of us with the façade

of the Polizei Präsidium on our right. Turning in this direction, we

entered a quiet street along the right side of which the arches of the

railway accommodated a few small shops and storage places underneath

them. On the other side a wing of the Polizei Präsidium continued for a

hundred yards or so. The next building was plain, official-looking but

of no very terrible aspect, for the four rows of large windows above

the ground floor were not barred on the outside. In its center a large

gateway was closed by a heavy wooden double door. “Here we are,” said

my escort, as he pressed the button of the electric bell.

 

One half of the door was opened by an N.C.O. of the army. Inside the

gateway on the left a corridor ran along the front of the building,

terminating at a door bearing the inscription “Office,” on an enameled

shield. A motion of the hand from the N.C.O. directed us toward it. We

entered. Another N.C.O. was sitting at a table, writing. My soldier

saluted, reported, then shook hands with me and departed.

 

“Your name, date of birth, place of birth, and nationality?” said the

N.C.O. at the table, not unkindly.

 

I looked at the plain office furniture of the irregular room before

answering, feeling very downhearted. Having given him the information

he wanted, I asked apprehensively: “What are you going to do with me?”

 

“We’ll put you in solitary confinement.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“Couldn’t tell you.”

 

“And what then?”

 

“You’re going to stay with us so long that you needn’t bother yet about

the ‘what then.’”

 

“But aren’t you going to send me back to Ruhleben when I’m through with

my punishment for escaping?”

 

“I’ve nothing to do with it and don’t know. But I’m pretty sure you’ll

have to stay here till the end of the war.”

 

“That’s hard punishment for an attempt to get home!”

 

“Bless my soul, you’re not going to be locked up all the time! There

are a number of Englanders here. Most of them are up and down these

stairs the whole day.” With this he went out and shouted for some one.

Another N.C.O. appeared. “Take this man to Block Twenty-three and lock

him up. Here’s his slip.” The slip, I saw later, was a piece of paper

stating my name and nationality, and marked with a cross which stood

for “solitary confinement.” It was to be fastened to the outside of my

cell door.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII

 

THE STADTVOGTEI AND “SOLITARY”

 

 

In its original meaning _Stadtvogtei_ denotes the official residence

of the _Stadtvogt_. This was an official appointed in feudal times by

the overlord of the territory, as keeper of one of his castles, around

which an early settlement of farmers and a few artisans had grown into a medieval town or _Stadt_.