My Escape from Germany 33

My Escape from Germany 33

During the first part of this last stretch of an hour and a half we

remained alone. Dusk was rapidly changing into total darkness. Soon

it became impossible to distinguish the names of the feebly lighted

stations. I checked them carefully from the open time-table beside me,

lest we should alight too soon or too late.

 

At 8:30 we arrived at Cloppenburg. The first and probably the most

dangerous part of our venture lay behind us.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXII

 

ORDER OF MARCH

 

 

My two companions had entrusted themselves to my leadership for the

tramp to the frontier. My first business was to pilot them out of town

from the right side, if possible, and, what was more difficult, by the

most favorable road. I thought it, under the circumstances, about as

hard a task as could be set me, at the very beginning. If so slight

an undertaking as ours may be spoken of in military terms, I should

compare it to a rearguard action and the successful withdrawal from

touch with the enemy’s advance scouts.

 

It was a very dark night. Only occasional stars glimmered through

the canopy of clouds. I knew nothing of the town, except what little

information could be gleaned from a motor-map, scale 1 to 300,000. The

time-table had taught us that we were to arrive at one station, and

that a train was to start from another about half an hour later. A

number of people were likely to change from the one to the other. To

follow them, as if we were of the same mind, would give us a start

off and carry us beyond the eyes of the railway officials. After that

I should have to do the best I could, without the help of either a

compass, which I could not consult, or the stars, which were not in

evidence.

 

As long as we were likely to meet people the order of march was to be:

I in the van, Tynsdale and Kent in the rear, as far behind as possible

without losing touch.

 

Most of the people who had left the station with us kept on the same

road, thus proving our calculation correct. We walked in their rear,

I carrying the portmanteau, which rapidly grew heavy. Big trees lined

the streets throughout; their shadows made it impossible to see more

than a few steps ahead. I followed behind the other travelers more by

sound than by sight. My companions had to keep within arm’s length of

me. There seemed to be a maze of streets, and, trusting to luck, I

turned into one of them. We found ourselves alone. At another corner,

instinct bade me take a sharp turn to the right. Then the streets lost

their character as such. Houses seemed to be irregularly dotted about

on bare ground underneath towering trees. Again they drew together into

a street, or a semblance of one. Here my friends closed up, and I gave

the leaden-weighted portmanteau to Kent. A furtive peep at the compass

heartened me a little. It seemed as if open country appeared in front,

but it was difficult to tell. Near a lamp, three girls passed us, arm

in arm. Inquisitively they turned their heads.

 

The road ascended and curved, fields were on each side, the silhouette

of a house in front; to the left, perhaps fifty yards away, the ragged

outlines of a wood.

 

“We’re in the open,” I announced, “and on a favorable road, I think.

Let’s go into that wood and pack our knapsacks. What time is it?”

 

“Ten minutes past nine,” answered Kent, who carried the luminous

wrist-watch.

 

It was only a thin belt of trees in whose shelter we arranged our

loads, and discarded the white collars and shirts we were wearing.

From the southward came the barking of a dog and the noise of railway

traffic. The dog was not far away. Whether it was because of his bark,

or because of a light we saw, we sensed a house in the same direction,

near enough to call for careful handling of our electric torches. It

was not necessary to warn my friends. They were squatting cautiously

close to the ground, never rising above a sitting posture, and

screening the light with their bodies. It was I who received a mild

rebuke from the very cautious Kent. I do not think my action deserved

it, but I was so elated that its chastening effect was, perhaps, good.

Not forgetting the fact that we had yet to pass two strongly guarded

lines--the river Ems and the Dutch frontier--I felt, nevertheless, that

our task was more than half accomplished.

 

When we had finished, I bade my friends lie down, one on each side of

me, so that I might use the flashlight for a thorough scrutiny of the

map. I recognized the road on our right without difficulty. It was a

second-class one, and divided the angle between the two highroads. As

to direction it was entirely favorable; as to safety it was preferable

to a first-class highway. A brook was marked on the map as flowing

across it not very far away, and this was of almost greater importance

than anything else, for we had not been able to fill our water-bottles.

We were thirsty, but not uncomfortably so as yet. My experiences had

taught me the paramount necessity of always having sufficient water.

How to get it began to occupy a great part of my thoughts from now on.

 

“It’s quite obvious,” I remarked. “We’ll follow this road through

Vahren village. We’ll find water at about twelve o’clock. At about

one-thirty we’ll turn at right angles into this road, which will lead

us to water again, and then into the northern high-road.” I went in

detail over the prospective night’s march. “And now,” I finished,

putting map and torch into my pocket and getting up, “good luck to us!

Come on. I’ll be in front till further orders.”

 

Once on the road, starting at a good pace, we turned our faces toward

the west, toward Holland, and toward freedom.

 

* * * * *

 

When I recall the events of my first two escapes, I am astonished at

the clearness with which every minute’s happenings are imprinted on my

mind. I need only close my eyes to see the sights, hear the sounds,

and, in a measure, be under the influence of the same emotions which I

then experienced.

 

It is somewhat different with my recollections of this last escape.

For the greater part they are as bright as they can be. But there are

blurred patches in the pictures of my memory. A number of them seem

wholly obliterated.

 

Soon after everything was over we wrote down the course of events.

These notes and our maps are helping me now in my efforts to recall the

next five days. But even at the time of fixing our recollections with

pencil and paper, while they were not yet a week old, our joint efforts

proved inadequate in filling a blank of about six hours in the second

night of our walk.

 

It was a glorious sensation to feel a road under our feet, and to have

the open country about us. It was about the time of the new moon. The

rain had ceased hours before, but the clouds were still obscuring the

stars, and the night was exceedingly dark.

 

In due course the first village was indicated by a few scattered

houses--the outposts, as it were. We slowed up.

 

A dense mass of black shadow lay in front of us. Not a light was to

be seen anywhere. Slowly we advanced, until the faint outlines of a

roof here and a gable there detached themselves from the overshadowing

groups of enormous trees, which embowered the village completely in

dimly seen masses of foliage. With stealthy steps, almost groping, we

entered the blackness, which seemed to close behind us. Nothing broke

the silence except the rattle of a chain once or twice, and the muffled

lowing of a cow. By contrast it seemed light when we emerged into the

open again.

 

“We ought to get to water in half an hour now. Look out for it. It’ll

be a small stream. We might miss it,” I counseled. Kent was close

behind me with Tynsdale.

 

Half an hour--three-quarters of an hour--but no water. Instead we

entered another village, not marked on the map. Among the houses a road

branched off to the north. I was awfully thirsty. My tongue lay heavy

in my mouth.

 

“Let’s try to cut off that corner,” said I. “The other branch of the

brook may exist in reality. I think this road will curve round to the

northwest or west, and get us there quicker. It’s not marked on the

map.”

 

My friends were always willing to follow my suggestion, and we tried it.

 

The road curved west, then west-by-south.

 

“Stop a moment! We had better go back to the old route. I don’t like

this very much now.”

 

Again Tynsdale and Kent followed obediently.

 

This was the first instance of many in which I did not allow myself to

be guided by my instinct, as I should have done if I had been alone. I

felt so strongly my responsibility toward my friends that I disliked

taking any move I could not fully explain by cold reasoning. Instinct

is generally unreasonable. Besides, it does sometimes lead one

astray. In our case it might compel us to walk across-country, and the

cross-country stretches in this part of Germany looked forbidding on

the map, being mostly marked as heather, moors, and swamps.

 

Having regained the former road, I discovered after a while that it was

turning too much to the south. I was still musing about this when we

entered a smooth, broad, first-class highway.

 

“Let’s rest for a spell,” I suggested.

 

We sat down, with our feet in the ditch, close to the trunk of one of

the enormous trees lining the roadside.

 

“Do you know where we are?” asked Kent, after I had consulted the map

and sat blinking again to accustom my eyes to the night.

 

“Of course I do,” I snorted irritably. “We’re on that beastly southern

highway I wanted to avoid. I wish I hadn’t been such a fool as to

abandon the other road. I don’t know how we got here. The map shows no

connecting road down to here at all. The only damage done, as far as

I can see, is that we have increased our distance from water. We can

hit the by-road leading north, if we follow the _chaussée_. Oh, I’m thirsty! I’ll try a cigarette.” We all lit up.