My Escape from Germany 20

My Escape from Germany 20

At two o’clock, with a tremendous noise and without warning, a key

turned in the lock and Wallace came into the room in his stocking-feet,

carefully fastening the door on the inside by a little wooden latch.

The latch was a strictly unofficial attachment of our own making.

 

We were up and around him before he had done with the door. “No use.

We’re up against it,” he whispered.

 

We were not absolutely unprepared for this. We had been alarmed at

something during the afternoon of that day. I forget now precisely

what it was. It had been somewhat intangible. Yet it had puzzled us a

good deal. As Wallace had needed some assistance in getting into the

library, we had been forced to take one or two of our comrades into the

secret. We felt, of course, as sure of their trustworthiness as we were

of our own, but it is always possible to make a mistake.

 

“I’m certain they have a suspicion that something is afoot,” Wallace

explained, “and are merely lying low in order to catch us in the act.

They may not know who it is. When I came out of the library I passed

X.’s cell. The door was a quarter open. There was a light inside and

they were talking. That pig Doran [one of the N.C.O.’s] was in there.

I then sneaked down to the clerk’s room in order to open the door. I

couldn’t. Has none of you noticed that there is a countersunk screw

through the bolt? Has any one of you ever seen that door used? Now,

what are we to do?”

 

We decided not to go that night. We were unanimous. Briefly, Wallace

told us the rest of his adventures while we crept between our blankets.

I personally felt of a sudden very, very tired. But before I fell

asleep I reasoned with mixed feelings that we might have pushed the

attempt a little further.

 

We were up at an unusually early hour in order to remove all traces of

our fell intent. We unpacked the two small grips we had wanted to take

with us and put our extra clothes away. The cell, to appear as usual,

required general tidying up.

 

Hoch, our N.C.O., thrust a startled face in upon us when he came to

unlock the door at seven o’clock. As usual, L., wrapped in blankets up

to his chin and over his ears, was placidly puffing clouds of smoke

toward the ceiling. As usual, C. and I were performing our morning

ablutions in front of the sink. As usual, Wallace was watching us

sleepily from his elevated bunk next the door, waiting for his turn,

and hoping that it might be long in coming.

 

Hoch, after his first swift survey while still in the corridor, had

quickly advanced to the center of the room and looked immensely

relieved when he had counted his chickens.

 

“Why, your door was unlocked!” he exclaimed. Wallace nodded sleepily.

 

“Yes, one of your fellows came in and disturbed us at six o’clock.”

 

“Who was it?”

 

“Don’t know. We were asleep and he woke us up. Very rude of him. He

just looked in and walked away, and forgot to lock the door.”

 

Hoch laughed loud and long, like a man who has had a bad jolt and finds

himself unhurt. He was an Alsatian and as such was always more or less

suspected of disloyalty. In order to shield him as much as possible we

had chosen a night when he would not be on duty, but even so, he would

have found himself in difficulties had we got away.

 

Friend Hoch was a smart man, however. Nothing further was said about

the open door, but he didn’t believe us; of that I’m certain. Nothing

had happened, so he let sleeping dogs lie, but he made up his mind that

nothing should happen. He was uncomfortably vigilant from then on. He

never locked up, after that, until he had made sure that we were all in

our cell.

 

 

 

 

PART II

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV

 

A FRESH ATTEMPT

 

 

The failure of our attempt had a stimulating effect upon us. Wallace,

always ready to do anything at any time and under any circumstances,

the more romantic and adventurous the better, nosed around on his own

hook. C. and L. said little, but would have required no persuasion

to do things which a person like me would have called foolhardy. I,

myself, had been only too well aware of the many flaws in our previous

plan to take its failure to heart. The biggest of these flaws was our

intended procedure after we had broken prison. In the absence of a good

opening I cogitated mainly upon the best way of action, once the start

lay behind us. I will give here some of my reflections, because they

shed light upon our subsequent proceedings.

 

To escape from the prison, a small amount of help from outside was more

than desirable. To break out was not impossible; to do so carrying

the necessary food and equipment meant minimizing our chances very

considerably, and they were slender indeed, at the best. Once outside,

what were we to do? Was it possible to walk through the streets of

Berlin at night carrying bundles and hand-bags? It must be remembered

that crime was rife in Germany, and the police as inquisitive as

monkeys. Could one go to a hotel and wait there for an early train on

which to get away? To walk out of the capital appeared impossible, for

we had heard that a considerable number of military police, with power

to stop anybody, were always about, looking for deserters and watching

the roads to the country. None of us knew a friendly soul in Germany

of whom we could ask assistance, nor had we a knowledge of the capital

and its seamy side, which would have enabled us to disappear in the

under-world of criminals and to purchase assistance there.

 

In August, two Englishmen, who had escaped from Ruhleben and who had

managed to live in different towns of Germany for several weeks,

had joined our band of prisoners. They had had false passports, an

absolute knowledge of the German language, and had been caught only

through their own carelessness. Both were awaiting trial on a charge

of traveling with false papers, and on one other count. G., a tall,

distinguished-looking man with a drawling voice and stately manners,

had nothing to lose and everything to gain by another attempt. C. was

approaching his forty-fifth birthday, and hoped for an exchange.

 

In September, S., another man from Ruhleben, had turned up. He said

he was an escaper, but I had my doubts. I don’t think he was British,

even technically speaking, although the Germans considered him so. He

was daring and clever, however, and had friends in Berlin, and there

was no doubting his sincerity when he swore that he would not stay in

the Stadtvogtei at the pleasure of the Germans, even if an attempt to

escape cost him his life.

 

G. and S. chummed up with each other. A German with an English name, of

doubtful calling in civil life but of powerful physique, joined them.

Toward the end of October, Wallace found out definitely that something

was afoot, S. being the leading spirit.

 

Without conceit I believe I can say that my friends and I were regarded

by all who knew us as “dead safe.” Nothing on earth, not excepting

faithlessness on the part of those we trusted, or had to trust, would

have made us squeal. We must naturally have appeared an easy prey for

any unscrupulous man, since he would have nothing to fear. Private

vengeance would have been far too costly for us.

 

This being so, Wallace’s questions received ready answers. S. was about

to obtain a key for the main gate of the prison. A blank was being

filed right then by one of his friends outside, to an approximate fit,

according to a rough drawing he (S.) had made after a chance inspection

of the key in the hands of the gatekeeper. When the rough key was

delivered he would have to file it to a working fit. This done he and

his party would wait for an opportune moment on a dark evening and walk

out of the prison by the front door.

 

The scheme was an excellent one, as far as it went, and S. had no

objections to our joining his party. On the contrary, he seemed to my

liking far too pleased. Why should he receive us with open arms, when

it was patent that the danger of discovery increased with numbers?

Without promising definitely to join his party we agreed to help him

in fitting his key and getting away. Almost three weeks went by before

everything was ready, and this brought us into the middle of November.

 

This was another serious drawback. For a long tramp the weather was

decidedly too cold. We could not hope to be able to take along even

an inadequate equipment. Under these circumstances the hardships would

be such as to make sleeping in the open for a week, or a fortnight,

impossible. The use of the railway would be imperative, which was

against C. and L.’s chances. Neither of them spoke a word of German,

and both were so striking in appearance as to make their arrest almost

a foregone conclusion. C. was about six feet tall, broad out of

proportion, and the picture of well-nourished health; while L., with

black hair, black bushy eyebrows on overhanging bone ridges, a mustache

the like of which had never been seen in Germany, and a typical

seaman’s roll, could have passed about as well for a full-blooded

Chinaman as for a son of the “Fatherland.” A word from Wallace or me

would make them withdraw, but that word we could not easily bring

ourselves to speak.

 

Wallace, on the other hand, did his utmost to convince me that we

must not let this opportunity slip by. The other conspirators would

certainly go, and their escape would close this one avenue forever.

 

“If you stay behind, I’ll go with the others.” Another quandary. He

would not get through, I felt sure, for he proposed to throw in his

lot with S., looking to him for help, which he would get only as

long as it suited S. and no longer. As we had no maps, and Wallace on

his first escape had walked only a few miles, and those with a guide,

our only chance lay in striking my old route. On this second trip we

might cover the distance in two nights, which meant spending only one

day in hiding. My knowledge of the disposition of sentries along that

stretch of frontier might possibly get us across, even under adverse

circumstances.

 

I had never felt so uncomfortable in my life as I felt when I had to

explain to C. and L., that it appeared impossible to take them along

with us, and my feeling of utter shamefacedness was only intensified by

their immediate and good-humored withdrawal.

 

To take anything with us beyond what we could put in our pockets was

not to be thought of. Could we send out a parcel or two and have them

deposited at a station cloak-room? Neither Wallace nor I could. We had

never sent parcels from the prison. S.? Yes. He was eternally sending

them away. He proffered his services, which were accepted. A parcel was

handed over to him to be deposited at a certain station, the cloak-room

ticket to be handed to us. When the ticket came--there was only one--he

showed it to me, but explained that he could not give it up, as some

of his own luggage was booked on it. He would go with us for our

parcel, or get it for us in another way. We were to meet him in Berlin

anyhow, for we had accepted his offer to procure us quarters where we

could stay a day or two in safety. His further assistance, which was to

make our “getting through” a moral certainty, I had declined both for Wallace and myself.