My Escape from Germany 36

My Escape from Germany 36

At 3:45 a very large, solitary building on our right lured me toward

it in search of the precious liquid. It was an enormous sheep stable,

the packed occupants of which set up a terrified bleating when the ray

of my torch struck accidentally through a hole in the wall. A motion

to get into the loft for a good day’s sleep was negatived on Kent’s

determined opposition, as too dangerous.

 

Half an hour later we dragged ourselves into a thick pine copse,

pitched camp in impenetrable darkness, moistened our lips with some

vapid rain-water, and fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIV

 

CROSSING THE EMS

 

 

It was still dark when I opened my eyes. A steady sound was all around

me, and close at hand a more definite one: Tap-tap-tap-tap. I was only

half awake.

 

I stretched out my hand and put it into a pool of water which had

formed on the oilsilk covering us. It was raining heaven’s hardest.

 

Half an hour of disjointed thinking brought me to the conclusion

that we had better do something. As yet the overcoats underneath the

oilsilks were hardly wet. The first gray light of dawn was beginning to

filter through the close-standing trees.

 

“Wake up! Wake up! It’s raining,” I called. “We’ll get soaked, and we

don’t want to carry an extra thirty pounds of water on our backs.”

 

I got on my feet. With the heavy clasp-knife bought in Hanover I

lopped off the branches just over our heads and stretched an awning of

oilsilks three feet above the ground, attempting ineffectually to make

them shed the water over the edge of the shelter, instead of letting it

accumulate on us. For a time it was all right; then the rain ceased.

 

By now the light showed that we had camped far too near the road for

proper concealment. But the awning had found approval in the eyes of my

friends, and I felt such pride in the contrivance that I hesitated to

advise moving camp farther into the thicket. Instead, I set to work to

camouflage it with a screen of branches and young trees, which I cut

off and stuck in the ground. I got myself much wetter by doing all this

than if I had taken things quietly. So did Tynsdale, who was infected

by my passion for work.

 

When a cart creaked along the road, its wheels plainly visible from

our hiding-place, we resolved to move. In the heart of the thicket

the trees were much smaller--only a little taller than ourselves--and

more widely spaced. This and the open sky above us gave us a sensation

of freedom and fresh air. I constructed another shelter. Occasional

showers during the morning filled the sagging places of the awning with

water, and this we drank in spite of the bitter taste imparted to it by

the oiled fabric.

 

Sleep, even in the intervals between the showers, was almost out of

the question. With the day, thousands of mosquitoes had come to life

among the grasses covering the ground. They rose in clouds wherever

we went, and attacked the rash beings who unexpectedly had penetrated

into their fastness. Soon our hands and faces were red and swollen with

their bites.

 

About noon the last clouds disappeared. The sun began to pour down from

a deep blue sky, its rays falling hot and scorching into the windless

space between the trees. We divested ourselves of our wet upper

garments, and spread them on the firs around us to dry in the sun.

 

The only sounds that came to us were the occasional tooting of a tug

on the river Ems, now not more than three miles to the west. The

rarer and nearer shriek of a railway engine on a line parallel to its

bank interrupted every now and again the zzzz-ping, zzzz-ping, of the

hovering mosquitoes. A dog barked near by. A slow cart rolled and

creaked past the copse.

 

The road in front of the thicket was converging toward the railway,

which it met three to four miles to the north of us at the village and

station of Kluse, a little more than two miles to the east of Steinbild

and the river Ems. Two and a half miles to the north of this last

village a wood was indicated on the map. This was our next objective.

 

From information received, we supposed the Ems to be strongly guarded

by sentries and patrols. The five-mile-wide ribbon of country between

its western bank and the Dutch frontier was _Sperrgebiet_ (closed

territory). Nobody was allowed to enter it except by special military

permit. A day’s observation from the shelter of the forest was to

show us how best to cross the river--whether we could swim it, with

or without luggage, and if necessary, to permit the construction of a

small raft to ferry the latter across. Perhaps we could steal a boat!

 

Near the station of Kluse we intended to cross the railway line, sneak

through the village, and then walk across-country to the river and the

forest.

 

Dusk found us behind some bushes by the deserted roadside, awaiting the

night.

 

We started early, walking slowly at first, to squander time. As

darkness thickened, we increased our pace. But it is difficult to

speed up when one has started slowly. Perhaps the village and station

were farther away than we thought. Anyhow, it seemed an age before we

caught sight of the first signal-lights on the railway. As during the

previous night, the road lay through perfectly flat, desolate swamp

land, crossed by ditches of stagnant water. A wood accompanied us

on our right for some time. The stars were occasionally obscured by

drifting clouds.

 

Suddenly we saw a cluster of red signal-lights over the dim shape of a

signal bridge, the lighted station building a hundred yards beyond, and

a level crossing turning out of our road at right angles. “This is it,”

I said.

 

We stepped across the metals. Just beyond them, a small building on our

left, its windows lighted, cast a glimmer over the road. Apprehensively

glancing round I passed into the deep shadow of the avenue beyond it.

 

A little later we were standing on a bridge in the small village. A

considerable brook rushed gurgling underneath.

 

“When we passed that house,” Tynsdale said casually, “a large dog of

the police type came after me. I was walking last, you know. The brute

pushed his nose into the back of my knee and turned away without a

sound!”

 

We had a good drink at the brook, then proceeded along the cut-up road,

tree-lined and dark. In a likely spot, perhaps five hundred yards

behind the village, I stopped. “Here’s where our cross-country work

starts; keep close behind.”

 

As nearly as possible we proceeded in a northwesterly direction. The

going was bad. The country was divided by wire fences, deep ditches and

hedges, into small fields, most of them swampy meadows. Half the time

we waded through water over the tops of our shoes. This continued for

an indefinite period, and terminated when we reached a road where it

curved from a northerly direction toward the southwest. Here I had what

proved to be an inspiration.

 

I had seen the beginning of the road marked on the map farther north.

On paper it terminated nowhere. Actually it was here, in a spot where

it ought not to be. Its deeply rutted surface showed that it was

frequently used. The village of Steinbild, to the south of us now, was

obviously its destination.

 

I explained to my companions: “I’m as certain as I can be that this

road enters Steinbild close to the water’s edge and avoids the main

street. The curve seems to show that. I’d like to follow it. To lie in

the woods, away from anywhere, and watch the river, may not gain us

anything. In the village we may find a boat. We’ve any amount of time,

anyway, and can always come back. It’ll not be so very dangerous, with

due caution, if the place is as dark as the villages we have seen so

far. Will you chance it and follow me?”

 

“We’ll follow wherever you lead,” said Kent heartily. Tynsdale’s nod I

took for granted; I couldn’t see it.

 

In a quarter of an hour we were among scattered houses. Again, five

minutes later, we stood in the shadow of tremendous trees, in such

darkness that we were aware of one another’s presence only from the

sound of breathing and small movements.

 

In front of us the mirage of a few stars danced uncertainly on the

smooth surface of a fairly wide river. A fish splashed noisily while we

stood listening for suspicious sounds.

 

We moved carefully along the river path, upstream, to the south. The

trees continued in unbroken, stately procession. A barge of the large

German steel type lay half-way toward midstream. A boat was tied to its

stern. Something, I forget now what it was, made us go on--I have a dim

recollection of a light in its cabin. Another barge, with a boat by her

side, loomed up, riding high on the water and without cargo, opposite

a tiny pier of earth, which ended perhaps twenty yards from the boat.

In a house, some distance farther up, one lighted window winked in the

night.

 

We were standing on the pier.

 

“Who’s to get that boat?” asked Tynsdale.

 

“Draw lots for it,” I suggested. The shortest piece of match remained

in my hand. Off came my knapsack.

 

“Going in all standing?” inquired Kent.

 

“No fear; nothing like doing things comfortably. Get out that towel,

will you, and be ready.”

 

My clothes were off. Cautiously I slipped into the water. I remember

distinctly, even at this moment, that my toes gripped the sticks

forming the foundation of the pier. The bank fell vertically beyond my

depth. Bracing myself against the cold shock, I pushed off, to be taken

into a delicious tepid embrace by the kindly river. Two long strokes. I

paused to feel the current. There was none. Three more. The boat loomed

above me. Shooting up, I caught the gunwale at the stern with the tip

of my fingers. “Bump, bump, bump,” went the bows against the lighter’s

side in feeble movement. “Bump, bump, bump.” I had drawn myself up, and

clambered in. “Bump.” I stood in the bows, fumbling with the painter,

which was big enough to serve a young White Star liner for a hawser.

“Bump.” The gap between lighter and boat widened as I shoved off carefully.