My Escape from Germany 21

My Escape from Germany 21

On the morning of the 16th of November I said I would not go. At four

o’clock I said I would, and meant it. Between five and six we went.

 

* * * * *

 

It was already dark at this time. On the ground floor and next to

the stairs was the office of the prison. From its door one had an

unobstructed view of the whole length of the corridor and of that part

of the gateway connecting the street with the yard, nearest to the

front gate. Fortunately the door was always kept shut at this time of

the year on account of the cold.

 

The gatekeeper had his office in one of the cells off the corridor. He

could not see the gateway without leaving the cell. The gateway was at

right angles with the corridor, and not very well lighted. Two steps

led down to its level. In passing from the corridor into the yard the

front door was to the immediate right of the steps.

 

At this period of our imprisonment the prisoners had access to the

yard at any moment during recreation time. It was cleared for the day

at half-past six o’clock. Wallace and I went there at the appointed

time--five o’clock--wearing our overcoats, as usual, but our best

clothes underneath. The others were already there.

 

A sixth man had been admitted to the party, a German stockbroker. This

upset Wallace so much that the slightest attempt at persuasion on my

part would have made him give up the venture altogether. But now that I

had made up my mind I rather urged him on.

 

That morning an N.C.O. had come on duty at the gate who some months

before had insisted upon being armed while on duty, and who had

declared his intention of preventing any one from leaving the building

alive, if an attempt should be made. Since he was bound to discover the

open gate almost at once, we had a fair chance of getting hurt, which

greatly perturbed G.

 

At length the moment of action came. S., followed by the rest of the

conspirators, made as if to return to his cell. Once inside, he went

straight to the front gate, while the powerful German put his back

against the gate we had just passed through, to prevent anybody from

following us. Wallace and I walked up the steps into the corridor and

stood there, chatting, to screen S. while he unlocked the door. He

failed in his first attempt. The second time he was successful.

 

We slipped through the door and found ourselves in the deserted street

in front of the prison. The others, contrary to agreement, broke into a

run and disappeared around a corner on the left. Wallace and I walked

leisurely until we turned underneath a railroad bridge to the right.

 

We felt somewhat relieved when we had turned the corner. During the

walk up the street we had expected every moment to hear the crackle of

automatics beginning behind us. It is one thing to face a gun; it is

another to expect to be shot in the back.

 

We were to meet S. and G. at a certain café close to the railway

station where our parcel had been deposited, but it took us a long time

to get there, as we did not know our way about Berlin, and were unable

to hire a taxi or droshky. They had almost given up hope when we

arrived.

 

We sat down at their table in a well-lighted, large room. Everybody

seemed at ease except me. I felt nervous, but tried to hide it. During

the next half-hour S. left us several times to telephone, as he said,

to the house where Wallace and I were to stay. Each time he came back

saying he could not get the connection.

 

“Let us go and get our luggage, then,” I suggested.

 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to buy some things?” S. queried.

 

“Yes; we want to see whether we can get a couple of oilsilks,

two water-bottles, a portmanteau, and, if possible, a couple of

sleeping-bags.”

 

“You’d better hurry up, then. The shops will be open only for another

hour. We’ll meet you at Café ---- at ten o’clock. In the meantime I’ll

arrange for your lodgings.”

 

I was doubtful, but we had trusted him so far; it seemed foolish and

impolitic to show suspicion now. Moreover, to have to carry the parcel

would be a nuisance if not a danger. So we agreed and left them.

 

In a big department-store we bought the articles mentioned. The

sleeping-bags were thin, by no means waterproof and almost useless,

but better than nothing. Clothed as we were, in ordinary town clothes

only, I was much concerned to get what extra protection from the cold

we could.

 

While I was completing this purchase, a shop-walker addressed me and

followed up his introductory remarks with a reference to the latest air

raid on London and a pious wish as to the fate of the d----d English.

I heartily endorsed his sentiments, while Wallace, with dancing eyes,

grinned facetiously at me. Just at closing time we left the store and

took the hand-bag to the station cloak-room.

 

Walking about the streets to wile away the time until ten o’clock, we

met S. and G. carrying their luggage. “Hullo, what the ----! It’s all

right, boys; be at the place at ten.”

 

We were there at half-past nine. We were still there at eleven. Nobody

came. Several times I made the round of the café, even though we sat

close to the only entrance and could not miss them if they came. At

half-past eleven we left, but returned in twenty minutes. Then we gave

up hope.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVI

 

FROM BERLIN TO HALTERN

 

 

The night was bitterly cold. The extraordinarily mild weather of the

last weeks had changed at the most inopportune moment. A few hard

flakes of snow were now and again driven into our faces by a searching

wind. We were without shelter, without food for the walking part of

our enterprise, without adequate clothes. In Wallace’s case a year

and a half, in mine seven months, of prison life had not improved the

condition of our health. We were decidedly too soft to stand a number

of days of cold weather without at least some fatty nourishment.

 

I pictured us sleeping in ordinary townish winter clothes on a freezing

day, perhaps with snow on the ground, in thin sleeping-bags consisting

of an outer cover of canvas and a light lining of shoddy. We should be

wet through in half an hour. The moisture would freeze on our garments

as the generation of body heat, already at a low ebb for want of food,

decreased. Then, we would go to sleep.

 

I imagined us trying to slip through between two sentries, five hundred

yards apart, with patrols in between, and over bare fields, while the

snow-light gave tolerable vision up to a mile.

 

I was so disheartened that I proposed that we should walk to the prison

and give ourselves up. We could plead that we had gone away for a

lark. Our punishment would almost certainly be light. There had been

precedents which warranted this view. It was not impossible that the

German authorities might come to the conclusion that one escape apiece

had been enough for us. In this way we might get another chance under

more favorable circumstances. If we persisted now, we had not one in

ten thousand, and we firmly believed that after capture we should

be sent to a penitentiary prison and guarded beyond hope of another

attempt.

 

With splendid pluck and determination Wallace talked me round. No, he

was not going to do anything of the sort. Let them catch him, if they

could, but no voluntary surrender for him. I could do as I liked, but

we might find it easier than we thought.

 

“All right! Let’s go to a hotel!”

 

“That isn’t safe. We must try to get somewhere else.”

 

I intended to have my way now. “No fear! From what S. told us, it is

safe enough. We both speak German pretty well. If we leave the place

before eight o’clock we’ll be all right. Look at C. and G.! They never

had to show their passports at the hotels. This way to the station for

our luggage! Say, do you know a small hotel hereabouts?”

 

“Yes, there is the ----. I stopped there once. But it is a good long

way from here.”

 

“Let’s try it, anyway.”

 

I had pocketed the luggage-ticket. At the station I could not find it.

An agitated search through my pockets failed to reveal the square thin

paper. We were standing in front of the cloak-room, and I was still

hunting through my pockets when a man approached us.

 

I had caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye while he was

still some yards away. If ever there was a detective in plain clothes,

he was one. Deliberately I half turned my back toward him. He stepped

up close to my shoulder and peered over it, listening to what we were

saying. I dared not take any notice. Wallace’s eyes, boring for a

moment into mine while he lolled against a counter, are still clear

before me.

 

A few months earlier I had received an answer to one of our petitions,

in a fine official envelop with a huge blue seal on the back. With an

indefinite idea that the seal might be used as an effective camouflage,

I had kept the envelop by me. I drew out my pocket-book, and while

searching through it, held the back of the envelop conveniently exposed

to the eyes of the detective.

 

“I must have left it at the hotel. Let’s go there and send for the

luggage,” I said aloud in German. The detective turned away. So did we.

 

A single cab stood in front of the station. I turned toward the station

police-office to get the brass disk, but was met half-way by the

policeman, who had been watching us. He handed it to me without a word.

 

The hotel at which we wished to stay was full. After some palaver cabby

took us to one near by, where we got a room. It was a very small place.

The night-porter seemed to be the only servant on duty. He appeared

somewhat suspicious, but said nothing about it.

 

The double-bedded room we were shown into looked very nice. We thought

it ridiculously luxurious, but Wallace went to bed at once. It was

about one o’clock. While undressing I found the luggage-ticket in an inner waistcoat pocket.