My Escape from Germany 7

My Escape from Germany 7

Walking as briskly as my limp would permit, I wandered about the

streets, diving into a factory yard here and the hall of an office

building there, as if I were a commercial traveler, taking good care

not to linger long enough for other people to become interested in me.

 

All the time I felt uncomfortable and dissatisfied with my performance

at the station and the pretense I was putting up, and thus it came

about that the photograph of a friend of mine in Ruhleben disintegrated

under my fingers in my pocket, to be dropped bit by bit into the road,

lest, if I were arrested, the original should get into trouble.

 

It was a relief when ten o’clock was past and train-time approached.

I got my portmanteau from my friend in the cloak-room, who was

fortunately busy with other people, and got into an empty compartment.

Between stations, during the twenty-minute run, I looked at my maps, to

form an idea of how best to get out of Haltern in the right direction.

 

This small town is about half a mile from the station, which is an

important railway junction. I was quite unacquainted with this part

of the province of Westphalia. The maps showed it as not too thickly

populated, with plenty of woods dotted all over it, and plenty of water.

 

The train thundered over the big railway bridge crossing the river

Lippe and drew into the station, and I, feeling pretty good, landed on

the platform with something like a skip and a jump, until I recollected

my leg. Then slowly I limped after the other people the train had

disgorged. In front of me I could see the church steeple rising above

the roofs of the compact little town in the middle distance. Half-way

toward it I passed a detachment of English Tommies sitting on top of a

fence, smoking pipes and cigarettes. About an equal number of Poilus

were standing close to them, laughing and criticizing the appearance of

the passing women. The only guard I could discover was leaning sleepily

against a tree on the opposite side of the road. I suppressed an almost

overwhelming desire to exchange greetings, and passed them instead with

a stony stare.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

IN HIDING

 

 

It was a sunny, warm day, and there was no difficulty about finding

one’s bearings. In the market-place a sign “To Wesel” directed me up a

narrow street of humble dwellings on my left. Just outside the town a

number of roads met. Without looking at the directions on a mile-stone,

I surveyed the country before me for suggestions as to my next move.

The most important thing was to get to cover as quickly as possible,

and to withdraw from the sight of man. Never mind about striking the

right route now. That could wait until a thorough study of the maps

gave me a better grasp of the situation. The most favorable-looking

road led past a number of cottages and then ran in a northwesterly

direction between a low range of hills. A footpath branching off toward

a copse on my left seemed to offer the double attraction of a solitary

walk and a short cut to a hiding-place. It took me about a hundred

yards along the rear of the cottages, and then rejoined the parent

road at a point where the woods came down to it.

 

As soon as a corner of the copse sheltered me, I gave a last look up

and down the deserted road, and a moment later the branches of the

half-grown firs closed crackling behind me.

 

Loaded as I was with a thick overcoat and a heavy bag, I was fairly

bathed in perspiration before I had penetrated sufficiently far into

the thicket to feel safe. The branches were so interlaced that only the

most realistic wormlike wriggle was effective as a means of propulsion,

and even then progress was accompanied by a crackling noise which I was

anxious to avoid.

 

Satisfied at last, I stood up and looked about me. From the pin-pricks

of light toward the east, I concluded that the spot I stood on was

not far from the margin of the copse where it bordered upon a plowed

field. On all other sides was a dead wall of brown and green. Underfoot

the ground was sopping wet, for the spring sun had no power as yet to

penetrate down to where the brown needles and a tangle of black and

moldering grass of last year’s growth would soon be covered by the

shoots of the new spring. Wet and black, the lower branches of the

young trees were things of the past, but higher up they stretched their

arms heavenward clothed in their dark green needles. The tops of the

firs were glistening like green amber where they swayed slightly in the

clear sunlight, forming delicate interlacing patterns beneath the pale

spring sky.

 

Resting and preparing for my night’s walk, or poring over my maps, I

spent the day there. A mouthful of food now and again was all I could

swallow, for I was parched with thirst. The fast walk in the warm sun

had started it, and the knowledge that there was no chance of assuaging

it before the small hours of the next morning made it worse. I had not

dared to fill my water-bottle at any of the stations for fear of being

seen and arousing suspicion.

 

Most of the day my ears were continually on the alert, not so much from

fear of discovery as for sounds which might convey useful information.

The road leading past my hiding-place seemed little used; the rumble

of a cart reached me only very occasionally. From the shrill cries of

playing children, and the cackling of hens, I surmised the existence of

several farmhouses farther along.

 

Before lying down I had put on my second set of underwear and discarded

my white shirt, collar, and tie, for a green woolen shirt and a dark

muffler, which did away with any but neutral colors on my person.

Oilskins, oilsilks, overcoat, food, etc., were to be packed in the

knapsack on breaking camp. Whatever would be wanted during the march,

such as compass, maps, electric torch, and a small quantity of biscuits

and chocolate, I stowed away in convenient pockets. The maps I cut into

easily handled squares, discarding all the superfluous parts. When the

sun had disappeared and gloom was gathering under the trees, I slung

the water-bottle from my belt, the binoculars from my neck, and then

crept to the edge of the copse, there to wait for the night.

 

Concealed behind some bushes, I watched the road, which gradually grew

more indistinct. The roofs of the town, huddled in the hollow, lost

their definite outlines. One after another lights sprang up behind the

windows. The children’s voices became fewer, then ceased. Sound began

to carry a great distance; the rumble of a railway train, the far-away

barking of a dog. Twinkling stars came out in the heavens. It was time

to start.

 

At 8:30 I scrambled out of my hiding-place and gained the road, where

I set my face toward the west after a last glance at Haltern with its

points of light. Two farmhouses, perfectly dark even at this early hour

of the night, soon lay behind me. Here the forest came down to the

road on my left while fields bordered it on the right, and, perhaps

eighty yards distant, the wooded hills arose. Whether it was a sort of

sixth sense which gave me warning, I do not know, but a strong feeling

that I was not safe on the road made me walk over the fields into the

shadow of the trees, from where I could watch without being seen. My

figure had hardly merged into this dark background, when silently a

shadowy bicycle rider flitted along the road, going in my direction. He

carried no lamp, and might have been a patrol.

 

The going on the plowed fields being rather difficult, I soon grew

impatient of my slow progress and returned to the road, proceeding

along it in perfect serenity henceforth. It rose gradually. Checking

its direction by a glance at the stars now and again, I soon noticed a

decided turn to the northwest. This proved beyond doubt that it could

not be the turnpike to Wesel, which throughout its length ran due west.

 

After perhaps an hour of hard going, a sign-post loomed ghostly white

through the darkness, to spring into sharp relief in the light from the

torch. “Klein Recken 2½ hours,” it read. A consultation of the map then

showed that I was on a far more favorable road than I had anticipated,

and that a brook flowing close to the hither side of the village of

Klein Recken might be reached at about midnight, if I kept my speed. I

needed no further inducement.

 

I was now ascending the last spur of the hills which had fronted

me on coming out of Haltern. My way lay mostly through woods, with

occasional clearings where the dark outlines of houses and barns showed

against the sky. Only occasionally was a window feebly lit as if by

a night-light. Often dogs gave warning of my approach and spread the

alarm far and wide.

 

It was a most glorious night, the sky a velvet black, the stars of a

brilliancy seldom seen in western Europe. Their luster seemed increased

when I found myself hedged in by a tall forest through which the road

wound as through a cañon. A bright planet hung fairly low just in front

of me, and in the exuberance of my feelings I regarded it as my guiding

star.

 

On the ascent the night air was deliciously cool, not cold, with

occasional warmer puffs laden with the scent of pines, the unseen

branches and sere leaves of which whispered softly. Seldom have I felt

so great a sense of well-being as I had during the first hours of that

night. Never again while I was in Germany--whether in camp, in prison,

or on other ventures--did I feel quite so happy, so free from all

stress, so safe.

 

Just before coming to the top of the ridge I found another sign-post

pointing one arm into the forest as the shortest route to Klein Recken.

The light of the torch revealed a narrow footpath disappearing into

impenetrable blackness. I eased myself of my knapsack and rested for

ten minutes, eating some biscuits and chocolate, which made me more

thirsty than ever. It must have been colder than I thought, for on

resuming my burden I found it covered with a thin sheet of ice.

 

Striking into the footpath, I found a rather liberal use of the torch

necessary. The path descended steeply at first, then more gradually.

The tall timber changed to smaller trees and thickets. An occasional

railway train rumbled in the distance; yet for over an hour the country

was empty of human dwellings. Then several houses, widely apart,

announced the neighborhood of a village. A tinkling sound made me

lengthen my already swinging stride until I stood on a stone bridge.

The low murmur of water below was very pleasant in my ears. But that

was not the only sound. Something was stirring somewhere, but my dry

tongue and throat would not be denied any longer. Clambering over a

barbed-wire fence into a meadow, I looked for a place from which I

could reach the stream, which had steep banks. Engaged in tying my

water-bottle to my walking-stick to lower it into the water, I heard

footsteps approaching. The darkness was sufficient concealment, and

I merely kept motionless as two men crossed the bridge, one of whom,

from the scraps of talk I could distinguish, appeared to be the village

doctor, who was being fetched to a patient.

 

When they had gone, I lowered my water-bottle. It seemed a very long

time filling, the bubbles breaking the surface with a wonderfully

melodious sound. And then I drank and drank, filled it again, and

almost emptied it a second time. When I turned away, it was hanging

unwontedly heavy against my hip.

 

In front of me was Klein Recken. The road I had been following up to

now terminated here. It was miles to the north of where I expected

to be at this time, when I started out, but that much nearer to the

frontier. My plans for the night had been upset by my getting on this

favorable road, nor could I look at my maps. The use of the torch so

near to habitations was out of the question. I had a pretty good idea,

however, of what I should have seen, had I dared.

 

A railway line ran through the village. After crossing this, I

should have to trust to my guiding star and to my ability to work

across-country.

 

Instead of the level crossing I was looking for, I came unexpectedly

upon a tunnel in a very high embankment. With bated breath I tiptoed

through, more than half expecting to meet a sentry on the other side.

The footpath which emerged from it proved an unreliable guide. It soon

petered out and left me stranded in front of a barbed-wire fence and a

ditch. The cross-country stretch was on.

 

The going over plowed fields was easy in comparison, but they formed

only a part of the country I was traveling over. Frequent patches

of forest forced me to skirt them, with time lost on the other side

to make the necessary corrections. Repeatedly I sank half-way to my

knees into slough and water. Several casts were often necessary to get

round these places, for, overgrown with weeds, and in the darkness,

the swampy pieces looked like firm meadows. For a time, a sort of wall

formed of rough stones accompanied me, with marshy ground on one side

and forest on the other. It seemed to run in all directions. As soon

as I lost it, I came upon it again. I kept going as fast as possible

all the time; yet hour after hour passed, and still the bewildering

procession of woods and fields, swamps and meadows continued.