My Escape from Germany 5

My Escape from Germany 5

CHAPTER IV

 

PLANNING THE DETAILS

 

 

The outlines of my plan of escape had been conceived almost a year

before in Ruhleben, and had remained unaltered.

 

Generally speaking, the chances of success were so small that I was

convinced it could be achieved only by the elimination of every

unnecessary risk, and with a considerable amount of good fortune thrown

in to make up for the unavoidable balance on the wrong side.

 

It must be remembered that we civilians were interned right in the

center of Germany. There were three neutral countries to make for:

Denmark, Holland, and Switzerland, distant from Ruhleben in that order.

My choice fell upon Holland, which, from information I had obtained,

seemed to offer the best opportunities.

 

Denmark, being only about a hundred and fifty miles away, had at first

appeared very tempting. But the difficulty of crossing the Kiel Canal,

the extraordinarily close watch kept all over Schleswig-Holstein and

the frontier, lack of information about the state of affairs along

the Baltic coast, and the obvious difficulty of making a passage in a

stolen boat to the nearest point on the Danish coast, twenty-five miles

away, decided me against this plan. Switzerland was about six hundred

miles distant, and the railway journey, with its attendant dangers,

correspondingly long. Also, we had heard that part of the Swiss

frontier, at least, was impregnably guarded. There remained Holland,

about four hundred miles away.

 

In view of my thorough knowledge of German, I did not believe the

railway journey an impossible undertaking. It appeared more feasible,

at any rate, than the four-weeks’ tramp to the frontier with what scant

food one could carry. Up to the last moment I tried to get information

as to whether special passports were necessary for traveling on a

train, and whether they would be inspected on taking the ticket, or

during the journey. I had contradictory accounts about this.

 

Having arrived at the sanatorium, I very soon made up my mind to the

following mode of procedure: A stay at the “Linden Allee” until the

30th of March would give me about four weeks in which to recruit my

health, which was none of the best after a grueling winter in camp.

Then, with a new moon on the 1st of April, a succession of dark nights

would be favorable for my purpose. On account of the weather, it might

become advisable to delay the start a day or two; but if exceptionally

wintry conditions should be prevailing then, a postponement until the

moon had again changed through all her phases would become necessary.

Trying to imagine conditions near the frontier, I had come to the

conclusion that with snow on the ground, giving a considerable range of

vision even during the darkest hours of the night, a successful passage

through the sentry lines would be out of the question. On the other

hand, the nights would be much shorter at the end of April, and this

made me nervous lest such a postponement should be forced upon me. The

task of getting out of the sanatorium and making my way into Berlin did

not trouble me at all. It was as easy as falling off a log. Such of my

things as I should deem necessary or very desirable for the exploit, I

was going to take with me in a small leather Gladstone bag.

 

From newspapers I had learned that a train left Berlin for Leipzig at

7 A.M. My absence would probably not be discovered before the first

breakfast, served in bed at 7:45 A.M. Thus I could be a good many miles

away when the alarm reached headquarters.

 

Leipzig was not on my direct route toward the Dutch frontier, but it

appeared very attractive as my first objective, partly for that reason.

It is a big place, and a man could easily pass in the crowd there for

a day, while the shops would allow me to complete my equipment with a

compass and maps.

 

In Berlin the sale of the latter was prohibited except with a permit

from the army corps commander. This ordinance was savagely enforced

and probably strictly observed. Leipzig--the center of the German

printing-trade, and, in the Kingdom of Saxony, not in Prussia--was the

place where one could hope to obtain them, if anywhere.

 

In another way the fact of Leipzig being in a different state was in

my favor. Any efforts of the Berlin police to recapture me would very

likely be retarded if the case had to be handed over to a distinct and

independent police organization.

 

I hoped that when I arrived in Dortmund, some time during the morning

following my escape from the sanatorium, I could make my way by slow

trains to the small town of Haltern.

 

This is situated in the northwestern corner of the province of

Westphalia on the northern bank of the river Lippe. The nearest part

of Holland from there is only twenty-five miles distant as the crow

flies, and no river of any size intervenes, an important consideration

for the time of year I had fixed upon. Moreover, it is nowhere near the

Rhine. As I had lived in the northern part of the Rhine province, the

danger of being accidentally seen by a former acquaintance bade me keep

away from that district.

 

There remained the smaller details of my plan to work out, file, and

put together. Some of them were planned and executed before I left

camp. For example, I had grown a beard during the winter 1915-16. This

altered my appearance and lent itself to another alteration, back to

the original. I bethought myself in the “Linden Allee” that the Germans

would probably expect me to shave it off. A good reason for not doing

so.

 

The universal practice of the Boches in both civil and military camps

was to mark all the clothing of prisoners of war so distinctively

that the status of the wearer could be recognized at a glance, if

ever he got away. These marks consisted at first of stripes of vivid

color painted down the seams of their trousers and around their arms,

and fancy figures, circles, triangles, etc., on their backs. Later,

stripes of brown material were sewn into the trousers and sleeves, the

original material having first been cut away.

 

This practice never obtained in Ruhleben, where we were allowed to wear

what we liked. During two winters in camp I had made use of a very

strong and warm suit of Manchester cord. It was now considerably the

worse for wear, bleached by sun and rain and darkened again by mud and

grease, rather conspicuous in its state of dilapidation, and, in camp,

very distinctly connected with me. For months I had kept hidden in my

trunk an inconspicuous gray jacket suit. When I went to the sanatorium

it was packed away under other things at the bottom of my hand-bag. All

the time at the villa I wore my cord suit, explaining that I had no

other clothes, but was waiting for some on the way from England. I must

have cut a very queer figure among my companions, but any one among

them could conscientiously swear, after my departure, that I must have

left in a brown cord suit, for, obviously, I had no other. The good

ulster overcoat I intended to make use of could hardly give me away.

Probably half a million similar ones were being worn in Germany at that

time.

 

* * * * *

 

After the first week in March, winter set in again and held the land

for a fortnight. Then, abruptly, spring burst upon us--that glorious

early spring of 1916 with its long succession of sunny, warm days and

crisp, starlit nights.

 

A change in the number and distribution of the inmates had left me with

only one companion in our bedroom. He was confined to bed with heart

disease. I became rather nervous lest my unexpected disappearance and

the following inevitable investigation should upset him. To minimize

this possible shock I took him into my confidence.

 

As “the day” approached I got my things ready as unobtrusively as I

could, gradually packing my small grip and finally destroying letters

and private papers. It was then that my room-mate showed the first

signs of unfeigned interest.

 

“Why,” he exclaimed, suddenly, “so you meant it, after all! Pardon my

having been incredulous so far, but I’ve heard so many fellows talk

about what they intended to do, without ever seeing anybody doing it

that I didn’t quite realize you were the exception that proves the

rule. Don’t worry about me, and the best of luck to you.”

 

The limp with which I had arrived at the sanatorium I had gradually

relinquished as I announced improvements in my condition. It was

to be resumed on the journey as a sort of disguise, an unasked-for

explanation for my not being in the army.

 

I had put aside some food, namely, a big German smoked sausage, still

obtainable though very expensive, and containing a considerable amount

of nourishment, a tin of baked beans, some biscuits, some chocolate,

and a special anti-fatigue preparation. A green woolen shirt, a thick

sweater, two pairs of socks, an extra set of underclothing, a stout

belt, and a naval oilskin, filled the bag almost to the bursting-point.

Watch, electric torch, knife, and money were to be carried on my person.

 

About this time my first monthly account was due from the sanatorium. I

dared not ask for it, neither could I leave without paying. Apart from

the moral aspect of vanishing and leaving an unsettled bill behind,

such an act would certainly have resulted in criminal proceedings

against me for theft or larceny, in the event of my being captured,

and, according to the German application of the law where Englishmen

were concerned, as certainly in conviction with a maximum sentence. So

I decided to leave enough money in a drawer of my dressing-table to

cover my bill.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

A GLIMPSE OF FREEDOM

 

 

Contrary to my expectations, I hardly felt any excitement during

my last day at the “Linden Allee.” My mental attitude was rather a

disinterested one, as if I were watching somebody else’s escape.

 

When I got into bed at the usual time, I immediately fell asleep,

having first made up my mind to wake at 3:30 A.M. I awoke an hour

sooner, and went to sleep again. It was close on four o’clock when

I opened my eyes for the second time. Getting up noiselessly, I

carried the Gladstone and a big hand-bag containing my clothes, boots,

etc., into the bath-room on the first floor. There I lathered my

shaving brush and shaved a few hairs off my left forearm, leaving the

safety-razor on the washstand, uncleaned, to create the impression that

I had shaved off my beard. I dressed as rapidly as I could, throwing my

pajamas on the floor and leaving generally a fair amount of disorder

behind me. A breathless trip to the loft of the house to conceal my

cord suit behind some beams was executed with as much speed and

caution as I could manage. With my bag in one hand and my boots round

my neck, I descended again by the light of the electric torch, slipped

into my overcoat in the hall, and, snatching my hat from the rack,

entered the dining-room. From there a French window gave upon a porch

to which a few steps led up from the garden. The window offered no

resistance and, fortunately, the protecting roller-blind was not down.

A few women, probably ammunition workers, passed the house, and when

they were out of hearing I stepped out.

 

It was still dark, though the dawn was heralded in the east. In a spot

previously selected for the reason that it was screened by bushes, and

from which I could survey the street without being seen, I got over the

fence. I had barely done so when a cough sounded some distance behind

me. With a chill racing up and down my spine, I walked on. Turning the

near corner, I threw a hasty glance over my shoulder, but could see no

one. Nevertheless, I thought it wise to walk back on my tracks around

several blocks, before I made for the big thoroughfare which led toward

Berlin.

 

A number of people were about, men and women, going to work. Keeping

on, I came after a lapse of about fifteen minutes to a station of the Elevated. It was now five o’clock.