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Title: The Escape of a Princess Pat

Author: George Pearson
        Edward Edwards

Release date: June 3, 2008 [eBook #25683]
                Most recently updated: January 3, 2021

Language: English

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THE ESCAPE OF A PRINCESS PAT

GEORGE PEARSON




    [Illustration: CORPORAL (NOW SERGEANT) EDWARD EDWARDS, PRINCESS
    PATRICIA'S CANADIAN LIGHT INFANTRY.]




THE ESCAPE OF A
PRINCESS PAT

_Being the full account of the capture and fifteen months'
imprisonment of Corporal Edwards, of the Princess
Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, and his
final escape from Germany into Holland_

BY
GEORGE PEARSON




McCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART

PUBLISHERS  ::  ::  ::   TORONTO




COPYRIGHT, 1918,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY




PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




TO THE MEMORY OF
OUR COMRADES WHO FELL
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED




PREFACE


In order to remove all question of doubt in the mind of the reader it
might perhaps be well to state here that the facts as given are the
bona fide experiences of Corporal Edwards, Number 39, Number One
Company, P. P. C. L. I., and as such were subjected to the closest
scrutiny both by the author and others before it was deemed advisable
to give the account to the public. In particular great pains were
taken to do full justice to all enemy individuals who figure in the
story.

Recognizing the seriousness of the charges implied by the recital, all
those concerned with it are extremely anxious that the correctness of
the account should constitute its chief value: In short the intention
has been to make of the story a readable history.

The main facts--having to do with the destruction of the regiment on
the eighth of May, 1915, the identity and activities of the
individuals mentioned and the more important of the later happenings,
including the final escape into Holland--are matters of official
record and as such have frequently been mentioned in the official
dispatches. The more personal details are based on the recollections
of Corporal Edwards' retentive mind, aided by his very unusual powers
of observation and the rough diary which he managed to retain
possession of during his later adventures.

For the events preceding the capture of Corporal Edwards on the eighth
of May the author has relied upon his own recollections; as he too had
the honor of having been "an original Patricia."

                                                   G.P.

Sept. 1, 1917.
Toronto, Canada.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                                           PAGE

    I Polygon Wood                                                  14

   II The Fourth of May                                             20

  III Corporal Edwards Takes up the Tale                            23

   IV Major Gault Comes Back                                        28

    V The Eighth of May and the Last Stand of the Princess Pats     33

   VI Prisoners                                                     45

  VII Pulling the Leg of a German General                           61

 VIII The Princess Patricia's German Uncle                          70

   IX How the German Red Cross Tended the Canadian Wounded          76

    X The Curious Concoctions of the Chef at Giessen                81

   XI The Way They Have at Giessen                                  86

  XII The Escape                                                   104

 XIII The Traitor at Vehnmoor                                      115

  XIV Away Again                                                   123

   XV Paying the Piper                                             140

  XVI The Third Escape                                             158

 XVII What Happened in the Wood                                    177

XVIII The Last Lap                                                 185

  XIX Holland at Last                                              194

   XX "It's a Way They Have in the Army"                           203

The Evidence in the Case                                           210




ILLUSTRATIONS


Corporal (Now Sergeant) Edward Edwards, Princess
  Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry                    _Frontispiece_

                                                                  PAGE

British wounded waiting for transportation to a dressing
  station                                                           26

The Princess Patricias in billets at Westoutre, Belgium             26

German prisoners bringing wounded men down a communication
  trench                                                            42

Wounded Canadians receiving first aid after an attack               64

Recipes from Corporal Edward's Diary                                84

Fellow prisoners at Giessen                                         98

Fellow prisoners at Giessen                                         98

Record of second escape and recapture                              126

German prisoners at Southampton                                    136

High explosives bursting over German trenches                      136

Salient details of the third escape                                170

Private Mervin C. Simmons, C.E.F.                                  192

The cemetery at Celle Laager Z 1 Camp                              206

Corporal Edwards after his escape                                  206

Homeward bound                                                     220




THE ESCAPE OF A PRINCESS PAT




THE ESCAPE OF A PRINCESS PAT




CHAPTER I

POLYGON WOOD

  Ypres and Hill 60--Preparing for the Gas--Why the Patricias
  Cheered--The Retirement--The Thin Red Line.


The Princess Patricias had lain in Polygon Wood since the twentieth of
April, mid-way between the sanguinary struggles of St. Julien and Hill
60, spectators of both. Although subjected to constant alarm we had
had a comparatively quiet time of it, with casualties that had only
varied from five to fifty-odd each day.

By day and night the gun-fire of both battles had beat back upon us in
great waves of sound. There were times when we had donned our water
soaked handkerchiefs for the gas that always threatened but never
came, so that the expectation might have shaken less steady troops.
Quick on the heels of the first news of the gas the women of Britain,
their tears scalding their needles, with one accord had laboured, sans
rest, sans sleep, sans everything, so that shortly there had poured in
to us here a steady stream of gauze pads for mouth and nostril. For
the protection of our lungs against the poison of the gas they were at
least better than the filthy rags we called handkerchiefs. We wore
their gifts and in spirit bowed to the donors, as I think all still
do. We soaked them with the foul water of the near-by graves and kept
them always at our side, ready to tie on at each fresh alarm.

Once there had come word in a special army order of the day: "Our
Belgian agent reports that all enemy troops on this front have been
directed to enter their trenches to-night with fixed bayonets. All
units are enjoined to exercise the closest watch on their front; the
troops will stand to from the first appearance of darkness, with each
man at his post prepared for all eventualities. Sleep will not be
permitted under any circumstances."

The consequence had been that that night had been one of nervous
expectation of an attack which did not materialise. We always carried
fixed bayonets in the trenches but the Germans were better equipped
with loopholes, as they were with most other things, and were forced
to leave their bayonets off their rifles in order to avoid any danger
of the latter sticking in their metal shields when needed in a hurry,
to say nothing of the added attention they would draw in their exposed
and stationary position at the mouth of a loophole. The "Stand-to" had
come as a distinct relief that morning.

And always there had been the glowering fires of a score of villages.
The greater mass of burning Ypres stood up amongst them like the
warning finger of God. Occasionally the roaring burst of an ammunition
dump flared up into a volcano of fiery sound. The earth under our feet
trembled in convulsive shudders from a cannonade so vast that no one
sound could be picked out of it and the walls of dug-outs slid in,
burying sleeping men. But like the promise of God there came to us in
every interval of quietness, as always, the full-throated song of many
birds.

Our forces consisted of the French who held the left corner of the
Ypres salient, then the Canadian division in the centre, next the 28th
Division of the regular British Army and then our own, the 27th, with
Hill 60 on our right flank. The enemy attacked both at Hill 60 and at
the line of the Canadian Division and the French, and we held on to
the horse-shoe shaped line until the last possible moment when one
more shake of the tree would have thrown us like ripe fruit into the
German lap.

So near had the converging German forces approached to one another
that the weakened battery behind our own trenches had been at the
last, turned around the other way and fired in the opposite direction
without a shift in its own position. For our own protection we had
nothing. And later still these and all other guns left us to seek new
positions in the rear so that only we of the infantry remained.

Daily there had come orders to "Stand-to" in full marching order, to
evacuate; at which all ranks expostulated angrily. And then perhaps
another order--to stick it another day; at which we cheered and
slapped one another boisterously on the back so that the stolid
Germans over yonder must have wondered, knowing what they did of our
desperate situation.

But the dreaded order came at last and was confirmed, so that under
protest and like the beaten men that we knew we were not, we slunk
away under cover of darkness on the night of the third of May to
trenches three miles in the rear, and with us went the troops on ten
more miles of British front.

The movement as executed was in reality a feat of no mean importance
on the part of the higher command. Faced by an overwhelmingly superior
force, our badly depleted three divisions had barely escaped being
bagged in the net of which the enemy had all but drawn the noose in a
strategetic surrounding movement.

In detail, the movement had consisted of withdrawing under cover of
darkness with all that we could carry of our trench material, both to
prevent it falling into hostile hands and equally to strengthen our
new position. A small rearguard of fifteen men to the regiment had
held our front for the few hours necessary for us to "shake down" in
the new position. Their task was to remain behind and to give a
continuous rapid-fire from as many different spots as possible in a
given time, thereby keeping up the illusion of a heavily manned
trench. Then, they too had faded quietly away, following us.

Our new trenches were three miles behind those we had just evacuated
in Polygon Wood. Zillebeke lay just to the left and beyond that,
Hooge. We were in the open, with Belle-waarde Wood and Lake behind us.

We continued to face vastly superior forces. To make matters worse the
trenches were assuredly a mockery of their kind and there was even
less of adequate support than before. And at that the drafts arrived
each day--if they were lucky enough to break through the curtains of
fire with which the enemy covered our rear for that very purpose, as
well as for the further one of curtailing the arrival of all necessary
supplies of food and ammunition.

Every camp and hospital from Ypres to Rouen and the sea and from
Land's End to John O' Groat was combed and scraped for every eligible
casualty, every overconfident office holder of a "cushy" job, and in
short, for all those who could by hook or crook hold a rifle to help
stem this threatening tide. And in our own lot, even those wasteful
luxuries, the petted officers' servants were amongst us, doing
fighting duty for the first time, so that we almost welcomed the
desperate occasion which furnished so rare and sweet a sight.




CHAPTER II

THE FOURTH OF MAY

  The Unofficial Armistice--The Clash of the Scouts--"Sticking It"
  on the Fourth.


We suffered cruelly on the Fourth. The dawn had discovered two long
lines of men, madly digging in plain sight of one another. There was
no firing except that one little storm when the stronger light had
shown our rear guard ridiculously tangled up with a screen of German
scouts so that some of each were nearer to foe than to friend and so
had foes on either side. They shot at one another. Some of us in our
excitement shot at both, scarce able to distinguish one from the
other. Others amongst us strove to knock their rifles up. And the
Germans in their trenches shot too. Both of us of the main bodies
continued to respect the tacit truce imposed by the conditions under
which we found ourselves, insofar as we ourselves were concerned, and
fired only at the poor fellows in between.

As for them, I fear the absurd nature of their tragic plight excited
more of wonder than of concern. They merged into hedges and ditches
swallowed them. Their case was only one incident of many, and what
became of them I have never heard, except that Lieutenant Lane who
commanded our rear guard was with us on the Eighth, so I presume that
some must have crawled up to us that night and so saved themselves for
the moment. Anything else would have been a great pity for so brave a
squad.

The digging continued until the better equipped Germans had finished
their task; when they sought their holes with one accord, an example
which we as quickly followed.

This was at nine o'clock on the morning of the fourth of May. From
then on until dusk the intensity of a furious all-day bombardment by
every known variety of projectile had been broken only at intervals to
allow of the nearer approach of the enemy's attacking infantry. The
worst was the enfilade fire of two batteries on our right which with
six-inch high explosive shells tore our front line to fragments so
that we were glad indeed to see the night come. Only once had ours
replied, one gun only. That was early in the morning. It barked
feebly, twice, but drew so fierce a German fire that it was forever
silenced.

Some infantry attacks followed but were beaten off. Only a weak half
of the battalion was in the front line trench. The remainder were in
Belle-waarde Wood, the outer fringe of which was a bare one hundred
yards behind the front line. They were fairly comfortable in pine
bough huts which were, however, with some of their occupants, badly
smashed by shell fire that day.

The outcome was that although all attacks were beaten off, our losses
were well on to two hundred men, most of whom were accounted for in
the more exposed front line.

The order had been that we were to hold this front for several days
more although the regiment had been in the trenches since April the
20th, and, except for a march back to Ypres from Polygon Wood, since
early April. But after such a smashing blow on men who were already
thoroughly exhausted, the plan was changed and our line was taken over
by the King's Shropshire Light Infantry, the "Shrops" we called them,
a sister regiment in our brigade, the 80th.




CHAPTER III

CORPORAL EDWARDS TAKES UP THE TALE

  Amongst the Wounded--Trench Nerves--Resting in Coffins.


It was on this day that I rejoined the regiment. I had been wounded in
the foot at St. Eloi in February and had come up in a draft fresh from
hospital and had lain in the supports at the huts all of the Fourth.

The survivors of the front line fire joined those at the huts shortly
after nightfall. They were stupid from shell fire, too dazed to talk.
I saw one man wandering in half circles, talking to himself--and with
a heavy pack on. There were others in worse plight; so there was no
help for him.

Myself, I was too much engrossed in a search for my comrade Woods to
bother with other men less dear, however much I might sympathise with
them.

He and I had been "mates" since Toronto days, had made good cheer
together in the hot August days of mobilisation at Ottawa and had
rubbed mess tins together under the starry sky at Levis before the
great Armada had taken us to English camps and other scenes.

It was he who had fetched me out of danger at St. Eloi. And now it was
my turn. They told me he was somewhere on a stretcher.

I searched them all. I struck matches--and was met by querulous
curses; I knelt by the side of the dying; I inquired of those wounded
who still could walk, but find him I could not. It appears that a new
and heavy moustache had helped to hide him from me. I was in great
distress, but in the fullness of time and when our small circles had
run their route, I discovered him in Toronto.

The word was that we were to go to Vlamertinghe, where the Zeppelins
had bombed us in our huts. It lay well below threatened Ypres.

We of Number One Company passed Belle-waarde Lake, with its old
dug-outs and its smells, and struck off across the fields, the better
to avoid the heavy barrage fire which made all movement of troops
difficult beyond words. We reached the railroad up and down which in
quieter times the battalion had been wont to march to and fro to the
Polygon Wood trenches.

The fire became heavier here and the going was rough so that what with
the burden of packs which seemed to weigh a ton and all other things;
we moved in a mass, as sheep do. When slung rifles jostled packs, good
friends cursed one another both loud and long. This was trench nerves.

Shortly, we ran into a solid wall of barrage fire. The officer
commanding the company halted us. We were for pushing on to that rest
each aching bone and muscle, each tight-stretched and shell-dazed
nerve fairly screamed aloud for. But he was adamant. We cursed him. He
pretended not to hear. This also was trench nerves.

It was growing late. The star shells became fewer. The search-lights
ceased altogether. In half an hour those keen eyes in distant trees
and steeples would have marked us down--and what good then the agony
of this all-night march? Better to have been killed back there in
Belle-waarde. We were still a good two miles from Ypres town.

The officer literally drove us back over the way we had come. His
orders had anticipated this eventuality so that rather than force
the passage of the barrage fire, merely for a rest, we should rest
here where no rest was to be had. Undoubtedly, if we had been "going
up" it would have been different. We should have gone on--no fire
would have stopped us.

    [Illustration: BRITISH WOUNDED WAITING FOR TRANSPORTATION TO A
    DRESSING STATION.]

    [Illustration: THE PRINCESS PATRICIAS IN BILLETS AT WESTOUTRE,
    BELGIUM. ON TOP OF WAGON IN FOREGROUND IS "KNIFE-REST" TYPE OF
    WIRE ENTANGLEMENTS.]

The half hour limit brought us to a murky daylight and an old and
sloppy support trench which bordered the track and into which we flung
ourselves, to lay in the water in a dull stupor that was neither sleep
nor honest waking.

Later, when the rations had been "dished out" we bestirred ourselves
and so found or dug queer coffin-shaped shelves in either wall. Out of
courtesy we called them dug-outs.

I do not remember that any one spoke much of the dead.

The rain stopped and for a time the unaccustomed sun came out. We
drove stakes in the walls above our coffins, hunted sand-bags and hung
them and spare equipment over the open face and then crawled back into
the water which, as usual, was already forming in the hollows that our
hips made where we lay. Until noon there was little heard but the
thick breathing of weary men. Occasionally one tossed and shouted
blasphemous warnings anent imaginary and bursting shells; whereat
those within hearing whined in a tired and hopeless anger, and, if
close by, kicked him. Trench nerves.

All day the fire of many guns sprayed us. Near by, the well defined
emplacement of one of our own batteries inevitably drew to the entire
vicinity a heavy fire so that one shell broke fair amongst our
sleeping men.




CHAPTER IV

MAJOR GAULT COMES BACK

  "The King Is Dead": "Long Live the King"--Back to
  Belle-waarde--The Seventh of May.


That was on the fifth. In the afternoon young Park came to us. He was
the Commanding Officer's orderly. There was down on his face but he
was full of all that strange wisdom of a trenchman who had experienced
the bitter hardships and the heartbreaking losses of a winter in the
cursed salient of St. Eloi, by Shelley Farm and The Mound of Death.
But just now this infant of the trenches had the round eyes of a
startled child, which in him meant mad excitement.

"The C.O.'s hit."

The word slid up the trench: "The C.O.'s hit."

"Strike me! Cawn't this bleedin' regiment keep a bleedin' Colonel----?
That makes two of them!"

"How did it happen?"

"What the devil are we goin' to do?"

"Who says so?"

"The second in six weeks!"

"Parkie."

"By----! This mob's in a Hell of a fix, Bo'."

Park was leaning on his rifle, trench fashion. "Oh, dry up. You give
me a pain."

And then he launched his thunderbolt, "Gault's back."

The chorus of despair became one of wild delight.

"We're jake!" "He'll see us through." "Where is he?" "How's his arm?"
"The son-of-a-gun! Couldn't keep him away, could they?"

"No fear. Not 'im. Bloody well wanted to be wiv 'is bleedin' boys, 'e
did. 'E ain't bloody well goin' to do 'is bloody solderin' in a
'cushy' job in Blighty--like some of 'em. Not after rysin' us. Do it
wiv 'is bloody self like a man; an' that's wot 'e is."

The speaker glared accusingly; but his declaration agreed too well
with what all thought for any one to take exception to it.

The new Commanding Officer had been wounded at St. Eloi on March 1st
and this was our first intimation of his return.

Park took up his tale. "He's over there with the C.O. now," and
switching: "Shell splinter got him in the eye. Guess it's gone and
maybe the other one too."

"By----!" he burst out passionately: "I hope it don't. He's been damn
good to me--and to you fellows too," he added fiercely, while his
lower lip quivered.

I think all stared anywhere but at Park, in a curious embarrassment.

"Got it goin' from one trench to another to see about the rations
comin' up instead of stayin' in like a 'dug-out wallah.' Got out on
top of the ground, walked across an' stopped one," he added bitterly.

A considerable draft of "old boys," ruddy of face and fresh from
hospital, together with some more new men reached us that night. We
"went up" again with the dusk of the following night and "took over"
our previous trenches in front of Belle-waarde Wood.

We were told that the Shropshires had been rather badly cut up in the
interval of their occupation by a further course of intense
bombardment and some fierce infantry fighting. Nevertheless, the
trenches had been put into much better shape since our earlier
occupancy of them, so that what with our work that night they were by
the morning of the seventh in fairly good shape.

The night was not unusual in any way. There was the regular amount of
shelling, of star shells, of machine gun and rifle fire, and of
course, casualties. Those we always had, be it ever so quiet.

Even the morning "Stand-to" with that mysterious dread of unknown
dangers that it invariably brought gave us nothing worse than an hour
of chilly waiting--and later, the smoke of the Germans' cooking fires.

There were none for us. It was as simple as algebra. Smoke attracted
undue artillery attention--the Germans had artillery; we had not. They
had fires; we had not.

The day rolled by smoothly enough. Except for the fresh graves and a
certain number of unburied dead the small-pox appearance of the
shell-pitted ground about might have been thought to have been of
ancient origin; so filled with water were the shell holes and so large
had they grown as a result of the constant sloughing in of their
sodden banks.

During all these days the German fire on the salient at large had
continued as fiercely as before but had spared us its severest trials.

The night of the seventh passed to all outward appearance pretty much
in the same manner as the preceding one.




CHAPTER V

THE EIGHTH OF MAY AND THE LAST STAND OF THE PRINCESS PATS

  Morning in the Trenches--The Artillery Preparation for the
  Infantry Attack--The P.P's Chosen to Stem the Tide--The Trust of
  a Lady--Chaos--Corporal Dover--The Manner in Which Some Men Kill
  and Others Die.


It seemed as though I had just stepped off my whack of sentry go for
my group when a kick in the ribs apprised me that it was "Stand-to." I
rubbed my eyes, swore and rose to my feet. Such was the narrowness of
the trench that the movement put me at my post at the parapet, where
in common with my mates, I fell to scanning the top for the first
signs of day and the Germans.

The latter lay on the other side of the ravine from us as they had
since the Fourth, except for such times as they had assaulted our
position. The smoke of Ypres and all the close-packed villages of a
thickly populated countryside rose sullenly on every hand.

Over everything there hung the pallor of the mist-ridden Flemish
morning, deadly quiet, as was usual at that time of the trench day
when the tenseness of the all-night vigil was just merging into the
relieving daylight.

At half past six that stillness was punctuated by a single shell,
which broke barely in our rear. And then the ball commenced--the most
intense bombardment we had yet experienced. Most of the fire came from
the batteries in concealed positions on our right, whence, as on the
fourth, they poured in a very destructive enfilade fire which swept up
and down the length of the trench like the stream of a hose, making it
a shambles. Each burst of high-explosive shells, each terrible
pulsation of the atmosphere, if it missed the body, seemed to rend the
very brain, or else stupefied it.

The general result was beyond any poor words of mine. All spoken
language is totally inadequate to describe the shocks and horrors of
an intense bombardment. It is not that man himself lacks the
imaginative gift of words but that he has not the word tools with
which to work. They do not exist. Each attempt to describe becomes
near effrontery and demands its own separate apology.

In addition, kind Nature draws a veil for him over so much of all the
worst of it that many details are spared his later recollection. He
remembers only the indescribable confusion and the bursting claps of
near-by flame, as foul in color and as ill of smell as an addled egg.
He knows only that the acid of the high-explosive gas eats into the
tissue of his brain and lungs, destroying with other things, most
memories of the shelling.

Overhead an aeroplane buzzed. We could even descry the figures of the
pilot and his observer, the latter signaling. No gun of ours answered.
The dead and dying lay all about and none could attend them: A rifle
was a rifle.

This continued for an hour, at the end of which time we poked our
heads up and saw their infantry coming on in columns of mobs, and some
of them also very prettily in the open order we had ourselves been
taught. Every field and hedge spewed them up. We stood, head and
shoulders exposed above the ragged parapet, giving them "Rapid-fire."
They had no stomach for that and retired to their holes, leaving many
dead and grievously wounded.

It was at this time that we saw the troops on our flanks falling back
in orderly fashion. I called that fact to the attention of Lieutenant
Lane, who was the only officer left in our vicinity. He said that the
last word he had received was to hang on.

This we proceeded to do, and so, we are told, did the others. We
learned later that the battalion roll call that night showed a
strength of one hundred and fifty men out of the six hundred and
thirty-five who had answered "Present" twenty-four hours earlier. And
the official records of the Canadian Eye Witness, Lord Beaverbrook,
then Sir Max Aitken, as given in "Canada in Flanders," state that
"Those who survive and the friends of those who have died may draw
solace from the thought that never in the history of arms have
soldiers more valiantly sustained the gift and trust of a Lady,"
referring to the Color which had been worked for and presented to us
by the Princess Patricia, daughter of His Royal Highness the Duke of
Connaught, then Governor-General of Canada.

We were on the apex of the line and were now unsupported on either
side. It was about this time, I believe, that a small detachment of
the King's Shropshire Light Infantry, a sister regiment in our
brigade, fetched to the companies in our rear twenty boxes of badly
needed ammunition and reënforced the Princess Patricias.

Following the beating off of their infantry attack the Germans gave us
a short breathing spell until their machine guns had been trained on
our parapet and a school of light field guns dragged up into place.
The aeroplane came out again, dropping to within three hundred feet of
our trench, and with tiny jets of vari-colored smoke bombs, directed
the terribly accurate fire of the enemy guns, already so close to, but
so well insured against any harm from us that they attempted no
concealment. And the big guns on the right completed the devastation.

This continued for another half hour, at the end of which time there
remained intact only one small traverse in the trench, which owed its
existence to the fragment of chicken wire that held its sides up. The
remainder was absolutely wiped out. This time there was no rapid fire,
nor even any looking over the top to see if the enemy were coming on.
Instead, the Germans fairly combed the parapet with their machine
guns. Each indication of curiosity from us drew forth from them such a
stream of fire that the top of the parapet spat forth a steady shower
of flying mud, and, which made it impossible for us to defend
ourselves properly, even had there been enough of us left to do so.

The rest was chaos, a bit of pure hell. Men struggling, buried alive
and looking at us for the aid they would not ask for. Soldiers all.
And the Germans now pouring in in waves from all sides, and especially
from our unprotected flanks and rear, hindered only by the desultory
rifle fire of our two weakened companies in the support trenches. We
were receiving rifle fire from four directions and bayonet thrusts
from the Germans on the parapet. Mowed down like sheep. And as they
came on they trampled our dead and bayoneted our wounded.

The machine-gun crew had gone under to a man, doing their best to the
last. I think Sergeant Whitehead went with them, too; at least he was
near there a short time before, and I never saw him or any of the gun
crew again. The only living soul near that spot was Royston, dragging
himself out from under a pile of débris and covered with mud and
blood, his face horribly swollen to twice its normal size, blinded for
the moment.

To quote "Canada in Flanders" again:

"At this time the bombardment recommenced with great intensity. The
German bombardment had been so heavy since May 4th that a wood which
the Regiment had used in part for cover was completely demolished. The
range of our machine-guns was taken with extreme precision. All,
without exception, were buried. Those who served them behaved with the
most admirable coolness and gallantry. Two were dug out, mounted and
used again. One was actually disinterred three times and kept in
action till a shell annihilated the whole section. Corporal Dover
stuck to his gun throughout and, although wounded, continued to
discharge his duties with as much coolness as if on parade. In the
explosion that ended his ill-fated gun, he lost a leg and an arm, and
was completely buried in the débris. Conscious or unconscious, he lay
there in that condition until dusk, when he crawled out of all that
was left of the obliterated trench and moaned for help. Two of his
comrades sprang from the support trench--by this time the fire
trench--and succeeded in carrying in his mangled and bleeding body.
But as all that remained of this brave soldier was being lowered into
the trench a bullet put an end to his sufferings. No bullet could put
an end to his glory."

George Easton was firing with me at the gray mass of the oncoming
horde. "My rifle's jammed!" he cried.

"Take mine." And I stooped to get one from a casualty underfoot. But a
moment later, as I fired from the parapet, my bayonet was broken off
by a German bullet. I shouted wildly to Cosh to toss me one from near
by.

Just then the main body of the Germans swarmed into the end of the
trench.

Of this Lord Beaverbrook says: "At this moment the Germans made their
third and last attack. It was arrested by rifle fire, although some
individuals penetrated into the fire trench on the right. At this
point all the Princess Patricias had been killed, so that this part of
the trench was actually tenantless. Those who established a footing
were few in number, and they were gradually dislodged; and so the
third and last attack was routed as successfully as those which had
preceded it."

His conclusion that we had all been killed was justifiable even
though, fortunately for me, it was an erroneous one. So I am glad for
other motives than those of mere courtesy to be able here to set him
right.

Bugler Lee shouted to me: "I'm shot through the leg." A couple of us
seized him, planning to go down to where the communication trench had
once been. But he stopped us, saying: "It's no good, boys. It's a dead
end! They're killing us."

Cosh swore. "Don't give up, kid! We'll beat the ---- yet!" A German
standing a few yards away raised his rifle and blew his head off.
Young Brown broke down at this--they had just done in his wounded pal:
"Oh, look! Look what they've done to Davie," and fell to weeping. And
with that another put the muzzle of his rifle against the boy's head
and pulled the trigger.

Young Cox from Winnipeg put his hands above his head at the order. His
captor placed the muzzle of his rifle squarely against the palm and
blew it off. There remained only a bloody and broken mass dangling
from the wrist.

    [Illustration: GERMAN PRISONERS AFTER A SUCCESSFUL CANADIAN
    ATTACK, BRINGING WOUNDED MEN DOWN A COMMUNICATION TRENCH.]

I saw a man who had come up in the draft with me on the 4th, rolling
around in the death agony, tossing his head loosely about in the wild
pain of it, his pallid face a white mark in the muck underfoot. A
burly German reached the spot and without hesitation plunged his
saw-edged bayonet through the throat.

Close by another wounded man was struggling feebly under a pile of
earth, his legs projecting so that only the convulsive heaving of the
loose earth indicated that a man was dying underneath. Another German
observed that too, and shoved his bayonet through the mud and held it
savagely there until all was quiet.

This I did not see, but another did and told me of it afterward.
Sergeant Phillpots had been shot through the jaw so that he went to
his knees as a bullock does at the slaughtering. He supported himself
waveringly by his hands. The blood poured from him so that he was all
but fainting with the loss of it.

A big German stood over him.

Phillpots looked up: "Play the game! Play the game!" he muttered
weakly.

The German coolly put a round through his head.

I was still without a bayonet, and seeing these things, said to
Easton: "We'd better beat it."

He swore again. "Yes, they're murdering us. No use stopping here. Come
on!"

And just then he, too, dropped. I thought him dead. There was no use
in my stopping to share his fate or worse. It was now every man for
himself. At a later date we met in England.

The other half of the regiment lay in support two hundred yards away
in Belle-waarde Wood and in front of the château and lake of that
name, where my draft had lain on the fourth. I made a dash for it.
What with the mud and the many shell holes, the going was bad. I was
indistinctly aware of a great deal of promiscuous shooting at me, but
most distinctly of one German who shot at me about ten times in as
many yards and from quite close range. I saw I could not make it. I
flung myself into a Johnson hole, and as soon as I had caught my
breath, scrambled out again and raced for the trench I had just left.
I was by this time unarmed, having flung my rifle away to further my
flight, notwithstanding which another German shot at me as I went
toward him.

As I landed in the trench an angry voice shouted something I could not
understand. And I scrambled to my feet in time to see a German
sullenly lower his rifle from the level of my body at the command of a
big black-bearded officer.




CHAPTER VI

PRISONERS

  A German Version of a Soldier's Death!--The Courage of
  Cox--Robbing the Helpless--Water on the End of a Bayonet--The
  Curious Case of Scott--Prussian Bullies--Why I Was Covered with a
  Fine Sweat.


The Germans were by this time in full possession of this slice of
trench, and for the next few minutes the officer was kept busy pulling
his men off their victims. Like slavering dogs they were.

He did not have his lambs any too well in hand, however. O.B. Taylor,
a lovable character in Number One Company, came to his end here. The
Germans ordered him and Hookie Walker to go back down the trench. He
had no sooner turned to do so than a German shot him from behind and
from quite close, so that it blew the groin completely out, making a
terrible hole. We could not tie up so bad a wound and he bled to
death. Hookie Walker remained with him to the last, five hours later,
when he said: "I'm going to sleep boys," and did so. Fortunately, he
did not suffer. And all the others except young Cox were equally
fortunate, since they were murdered outright.

Taylor's was the most calculated of all the murders we had witnessed
and outdid even those of the wounded because the excitement of the
fight was two hours old and he was doing the bidding of his captors at
the time. The killing of those who resisted was of course quite in
order. Why he was killed while Walker was left unharmed and at his
side to the last we did not know and could only credit to a whimsy of
our captors. No punishment was visited upon his murderer or upon any
of them so far as we were able to learn.

Upon my later return to Canada I found that Taylor's sister there had
received a letter from a German officer enclosing a letter addressed
to her which had been found on her brother's body, together with three
war medals and a Masonic ring. The latter was the key to the incident
since the officer also claimed to have been a Mason. In his letter
this officer said that her brother had met a soldier's death!

Some said that our friendly officer was not a German but an Irishman.
I doubted that but it may have been so, for it was true that his
speech contained no trace of the accent which is usually associated
with a German's English speech. His was that of an English gentleman.
And to him we undoubtedly owed our wretched lives that day.

I in particular have good cause to be grateful. A German, all of six
foot four, who swung a tremendously broad headsman's axe with a curved
blade, tried several times to get at me. Each time the officer stopped
him. Still he persisted. He apparently saw no one else and kept his
eye fastened on me with deadly intention in it. He pushed aside the
others, Prussians and prisoners alike; he whirled the shining blade
high above a face lit up with savage exultation, terrible to see, and
which reflected the sensual revelling of his heated brain in the
bloody orgy ahead. As I followed the incredibly rapid motions of the
blade, my blood turned to water. My limbs refused to act and my mind
travelled back over the years to a little Scottish village where I had
been used to sit in the dark corners of the shoemaker's shop,
listening to him and others of the old 2nd Gordons recount their
terrible tales of the hill men on the march to Kandahar with "Bobs."
And now I felt that same tremendous sensation of fear which used to
send me trembling to my childish pallet in the croft, peering
fearfully through the darkness for the oiled body of a naked Pathan
with his corkscrew kris. Terror swept over me like a springtime flood.
He saw no one else. His eye fastened on me in crudest hate. But as he
stood over me with feet spread wide and the circle of his axe's swing
broadening for the finale, the thread of rabbit-like mesmerism broke
and I sprang nimbly aside as the blade buried itself deep in the mud
wall I had been cowering against. I endeavoured to dodge him by
putting some of my fellow prisoners between us. No use. He followed
me, shoving and cursing his way among them, swinging his axe. My hair
stood on end and I felt rather critical of their much-vaunted Prussian
discipline. Another endeavoured to bayonet Charlie Scarfe. The officer
at last stopped them both.

Our captors belonged to the Twenty-first Prussian Regiment and were,
so far as we knew, the first of their kind we had been up against,
all previous comers on our front having been Bavarians and latterly
of the army group of Prince Ruprecht of Bavaria--"Rupie," we called
him. They wore the baggy grey clothes and clumsy looking leather top
boots of the German infantryman. The spiked _pickelhauben_ was
conspicuous by its absence and was, we well knew, a thing only of
billets and of "swank" parades. In its place was the soft pancake
trench cap with its small colored button in the front.

The enemy were armed for the most part with pioneers' bayonets, as
well adapted by reason of their saw edges for sticking flesh and blood
as for sawing wood; and, if for the former, an unnecessarily cruel
weapon, since it was bound to stick in the body and badly lacerate it
internally in the withdrawal; especially if given a twist.

The trench front had been about-faced since its change of ownership
and the Germans were already casting our dead out of the shattered
trench, both in front and behind, and in many cases using them to stop
the gaps in the parapet; so that they now received the bullets of
their erstwhile comrades.

We were ordered up and out at the back of the parapet and then made to
lie there. The German artillery had ceased. We had none. Odd shots
from the remnant of our fellows still hanging on in the supports
continued to come over, but none of us were hit. In all probability,
they withheld their fire when they saw what was afoot. Some German
snipers in a farmhouse at the rear were less considerate, but
fortunately failed to hit us.

Later we were ordered to take our equipment off and those who had
coats, to shed them. We did not see the latter again and missed them
horribly in the rain of that day. Two of the Prussians "frisked" us
for our tobacco, cigarettes, knives and other valuables.

This was in bitter contrast to our own treatment of prisoners under
similar conditions. True, we had always searched them but had
invariably returned those little trinkets and comforts which to a
soldier are so important. And I think our men had always showered them
with food and tobacco.

We were then marched to the rear, with the exception of one, who, by
permission of the officer, remained with the dying Taylor.

There were ten of us all told. I have only heard of a few others who
were captured that day. Roberts is still in Germany and Todeschi has
been exchanged and is now in Toronto. The latter lay with a boy of the
machine-gun crew for a couple of days in a dug-out, both badly
wounded. A German stumbled on to them. They pleaded for water. The
German said, "I'll give you water" and bayoneted the boy as he lay. He
raised his weapon so that the blood of his comrade dripped on
Todeschi's face.

"All right," Todeschi cried in German, "kill me too, but first give me
water, you----"

The German lowered his rifle in amazement: "What, you schwein, you
speak the good German? Where did you learn it?"

"In your schools. For Christ's sake--give me water--and kill me."

"What! You live with us and then do this? Schwein!"

"All right, I will give you water and I will not kill you; just to
show you how well we can treat a prisoner."

Todeschi was then taken to the field dressing station where according
to his own account his mangled leg was amputated without the use of
any anesthetic. But that may have been because in such a time of
stress they had none. Later he was exchanged.

I met Scott in the prison camp a few days later and he told his tale.
It appears that in the confusion of the earlier fighting he had become
separated from the regiment, became lost and eventually floundered
into an English battalion. He reported to the officer commanding the
trench and told his story. The officer had no idea where the Patricias
lay and so ordered Scott to remain with them until such time as an
inquiry might establish the whereabouts of his regiment.

They were captured, but under less exciting circumstances than
occurred in our own case. And the Germans had word that there was a
Canadian amongst these English troops. It was one of the first things
mentioned. They did not say how they had acquired their information,
but shouted out a request for the man to stand forth. When no one
complied, they questioned each man separately, asking him if he was a
Canadian or knew aught of one in that trench.

They all lied: "No." The Germans were so certain that they again went
over each man in turn, examining him.

Scott was at the end of the line. He began to cut the Canadian buttons
off his coat and to remove his badges. Several men near by assisted
and replaced them with such of their own as they could spare; each man
perhaps contributing a button. They had no thread nor time to use it
if they had, so tacked the buttons into place by all manner of
makeshifts, such as broken ends of matches thrust through holes
punched in the cloth; anything to hold the buttons in place and tide
the hunted Scott over the inspection. He passed. The Germans were
quite furious.

Scott and his companions could only guess at the cause of this strange
conduct, but presumed that the Canadian was wanted for special
treatment of an unfavorable, if not of a final nature.

To return to our own case:

About the middle of the afternoon we were herded by our guards into a
shallow depression a short distance in the rear of the trench and
there told to lie down. The officer and his men returned to the
trench. Until we were taken back to the trench at six we were
continually sniped at by the Germans in the captured trench. We had no
recourse but to make ourselves as small as possible, which we did. And
whether owing to the fact that the hollow we were lying in prevented
our being actually within the range of the enemy vision, or whether
they were merely playing cat and mouse with us, I do not know, but
none were hit. Young Cox suffered stoically. His mangled hand had
become badly fouled with dirt and filth, and the ragged bones
protruded through the broken flesh. So, in a quiet interval between
the sniping periods we hurriedly sawed the shattered stump of his hand
off with our clasp knives and bound it up as best we could. It was not
a nice task, for him nor us, but he did not so much as grunt during
the operation. The nearest he came to complaining was when he asked me
to let him lay his hand across my body to ease it, at the same time
remarking: "I guess when they get us to Germany they'll let us write,
and I'll be able to write mother and then she'll not know I've lost my
hand." He was a most valiant and faithful soldier.

The perpetual rain and mist peculiar to that low-lying land added to
our wretched condition and increased the pain of the wounds that most
of us suffered from.

At six o'clock our guards returned and curtly ordered us to our feet.
We were taken back to the trench, where our officer friend had us
searched again. Here for the first time my two corporal's stripes were
noticed and a mild excitement ensued. "Korporal! Korporal!" they
exclaimed and crowded up the better to inspect me and verify the
report, and jabbering "_Ja! Ja!_" Apparently a captured corporal was a
rarity. Strangely enough, they paid little or no attention to the
sergeant of our party, although he had the three stripes of his rank
up.

As I happened to be in the lead of our party and the first to enter
the trench, I was the first man searched and so had to await the
examination of the others. Worn out by the events of the day and the
wound I had received early in the morning from a shell fragment, I
fell asleep against the wall of the trench where I sat.

I was awakened by a poke in the ribs from Scarfe. "Time to shift,
mate."

I rose to my feet and, following the instructions of the officer, led
the way along the trench. The Germans had already, with their usual
industry, gotten the trench into some sort of shape again, with the
parapet shifted over to the other side and facing Belle-waarde Wood.
And everywhere along its length I noticed the bodies of our dead built
into it to replace sandbags while others lay on the parados at the
rear.

It was not nice. The faces of men we had known and had called comrade
looked at us now in ghastly disarray from odd sections of both walls.
Already they were taking a brick-like shape from the weight of the
filled bags on top of them. In places the legs and arms protruded,
brushing us as we passed. However, this was war and quite ethical.

Naturally we had to crowd by the other occupants of the trench. And
each took a poke at us as we went by, some with their bayonets,
saying: "Verdamnt Engländer" and: "Engländer Schwein,"--pigs of
English. Also quite a number of them spoke English after a fashion.
There was in these men none of the soldier's usual tolerance or
good-natured pity for an enemy who had fought well and had then
succumbed to the fortunes of war. Instead, a blind and vicious rage
which took no account of our helpless condition.

They cuffed us, they buffeted us, they pricked us cruelly with their
saw bayonets and then laughed and sneered as we flinched and dodged
awkwardly aside. Then they cursed us.

Shortly, we were led into the presence of a man whom I shall remember
if I live to be a hundred. He wore glasses and on his upper lip there
bloomed such a dainty moustache as is affected by "Little Willie" as
Tommy calls the German Crown Prince. He had the eye of a rat. It
snapped so cruel a hate that one's blood stopped.

He seized me by the right shoulder with his left hand: "You Corporal!
You Corporal!" as though that fact of itself condemned me, and at the
same time tugging at his holster until he found his revolver, which he
placed against my temple. Then and there I fervently prayed that he
would pull the trigger and end it all. I was fed up. The all-day
bombardment, the last terrible slaughter of helpless men, the rain and
cold, combining with the pain of the raw wound in my side, had gotten
on my nerves. With the revolver still at my head I turned to Scarfe:
"They're going to do us in, Charlie. I only hope they'll do it proper.
None of that bayonet stuff. Bullets for me." Already the Prussians
were crowding round us threateningly again, with their saw-edged
bayonets ready, some fixed in the rifle, others clasped short, like
daggers, for such a butchering as they had had earlier in the
afternoon, when I had been so nearly axed.

"Might as well kill us outright as scare us to death," complained
Scarfe bitterly.

Nevertheless our hearts leaped when a moment later our mysterious
black officer friend hove in sight. Life is sweet.

He asked them what they did with us. The tableau answered for itself
before the words had left his lips. And then we had to listen to our
fate discussed in language and gesture so eloquent and so fraught with
terrible importance to us that our sensitized minds could miss no
smallest point of each fine shade of cruel meaning.

"Little Willie" thought it scarce worth their while to bother with so
small a bag; that it would not be worth the trouble to send a
miserable ten of _Verdamnt Engländer_ back to the Fatherland--Better
to kill them like the swine they were.

Our blood froze to hear the man and to see the poison of that rat soul
of his exuding from his every pore, in every gesture and in each fresh
inflection of his rasping voice. And all his men shouted their fierce
approval and shook in our faces their bloody butcher's bayonets. It
was a bitter draught. If they had killed us then it would have had to
have been done in most cold blood, exceeding even the murder of Taylor
in planned brutality. He at least had not known that it was coming and
had not felt this insane fear which we now experienced and which made
us wonder how they would do it. Would each have to watch the other's
end? And would it be done by bullet or by bayonet? We greatly feared
it would be the latter. We pictured ourselves held down as hogs
are--our throats slit----!

The dark officer thought otherwise and minced no words in the saying.
Our hearts leapt out to him warmly, in gratitude.

He sharply ordered them to desist, at which they slunk sullenly away,
as hungry dogs do from a bone.

I felt an uncomfortable physical sensation and ran my hand uneasily
beneath my shirt. I was covered with a fine sweat.




CHAPTER VII

PULLING THE LEG OF A GERMAN GENERAL

  Polygon Wood and Picadilly Again--German Headquarters--Surprising
  Kitchener--"Your Infantry's No Good"--The Germans Give Us News of
  the Regiment.


We were then escorted under heavy guard out over the fields in the
rear, past the nearby farmhouse, which was simply filled with snipers.
The latter, however, did not shoot at us, presumably because they
might have hit some of our numerous guards. We seemed to be working
right through the heart of the German Army. Everywhere the troops were
massed. Along the road they lay in solid formation on both sides. If
we had had artillery to play on them now they would have suffered
tremendous losses. The whole countryside presented a living target.
All the way they shouted "Schwein" and taunted us in both languages.
Every shell-hole, farmhouse, hut, dugout and old trench on the
three-mile stretch between the Front and Polygon Wood contributed its
quota.

The regiment had evacuated Polygon Wood on the night of the third.
Across the old trail our fatigue parties had tramped new ones in the
mud, up past Regent Street, Leicester Square and Picadilly. We passed
them all.

We were marched over to the little settlement of pine-bough huts which
the regiment had previously taken over from the French. The men with
me greeted them like old friends. Here was the Sniper's Hut, there the
Commanding Officer's. This was the hut in which the brave Joe Waldron
had "gone West," that on the site of one where fourteen of "ours" had
stopped a shell while they slept. Memories submerged us and made us
weak. Even the guiding rope that our men had used to hold themselves
to the trail of nights still held its place for groping German hands.

Beside it lay the fragments of the French signboards, jocular
advertisements of mud baths for trench fever, the _hôtel_ this and the
_maison_ that. One of my companions pointed to a larger hut which he
said our fellows had called the Hotel Cecil. The board was missing
now. And no German signboard took its place. Their wit did not run in
so richly innocent a channel.

The huts lay just off the race track in front of the ruined château,
buried deep in the remnants of what had once been the beautiful park
of a large country estate. These huts were now the German
headquarters.

There was as much English as German talked there that day. Everywhere
there was cooking going on, mostly in portable camp kitchens.

As we came to a halt one big fellow smoking a pipe observed
nonchalantly: "You fellows are lucky. Our orders were to take no
Canadian prisoners."

The man was so casual, so utterly matter-of-fact and there was about
his remark so simple an air of directness and of finality that there
was no escaping his sincerity, unduly interested though we were.

Another officer said "Engländer?"

The big fellow said "Kanadien." The other raised his brows and
shoulders: "Uhh!"

A younger officer came up: "Never mind, boys: Your turn to-day. Might
be mine to-morrow." Turning to the others, he too said:
"Engländer?"

    [Illustration: WOUNDED CANADIANS RECEIVING FIRST AID IN A
    SUPPORT TRENCH AFTER AN ATTACK.]

"No! Canadian."

"Oh!" And he appeared to be pleasantly surprised. He asked me for a
souvenir and pointed to the brass Canada shoulder straps and the red
cloth "P. P. C. L. I.'s" on the shoulders of the others. But I had
already shoved my few trinkets down my puttees while lying back of the
trench that afternoon. Scarfe, however, gave up his "Canada" straps.

The young officer gave him in return a carved nut with silver filigree
work and gave another man a silver crucifix for the bronze maple
leaves from the collar of his tunic. And, more important still, he
gave us all a cigarette, while he had a sergeant give us coffee.

That, the cigarette, was I think much the best of anything we received
then or for some time to come. Since the bombardment and our wounding,
our nerves had fairly ached for the sedative which, good, bad or
indifferent, would steady the quivering harp strings of our nerves.
And a cigarette did that.

The headquarters staff appeared on the scene. They wanted information,
just as ours would have done under similar circumstances, but these
took a different method to acquire it. As before, in the trench, they
selected me for the spokesman. The senior officer, a general
apparently, addressed me: "How many troops are there in front of our
attack?"

I lied: "I don't know."

He shook a threatening finger at me. "I'll tell you this, my man: We
have a pretty good idea of how many troops lay behind you and if in
any particular you endeavour to lead us astray it will go very hard
with all of you. Now answer my question!" His English was good.

I cogitated. It would not do to tell him the terrible truth. That was
certain. So I took a chance. "Three divisions." He appeared to be
satisfied. The fact was, there were none behind us. We were utterly
without supporting troops.

"And Kitchener's Army? How many of them are there here?"

"Why, they haven't even come over yet, sir."

"Don't tell me that: I know better. They've been out here for months."

"But they haven't," I persisted. I told the truth this time.

"Yes," he shouted angrily.

"No," I flung back.

"Well, how many of them are there?"

The division yarn had gone down well. And perhaps I was slightly
heated. My spirit ran ahead of my judgment. "Five and a half to seven
million," I said.

He exploded. And called me everything but a soldier. I could not help
but reflect that I had overdone it a bit. And I certainly thought that
I was "for it" then and there.

To make matters worse he asked the others and they, profiting by my
mistake and following the lead of the first man questioned, put
Kitchener's army at four and a half million; which was only a trifle
of four million out. So I determined to be reasonable. When he came to
me again I confirmed the latter figure, explaining my earlier
statement by my lack of exact knowledge. And so that particular storm
blew over.

The general came back to me again. "You Canadians thought this was
going to be a picnic, didn't you?" He was very sarcastic.

"No, we didn't, sir."

"Well, you thought it was going to be a walk through to Berlin, didn't
you?"

"Why, no. We thought it was the other way about, sir," I ventured.

He shifted: "Well, what do you think of us anyhow?"

"Your artillery was all right but your infantry was no good." I began
to feel shaky again. However, he took that calmly enough.

"Oh! So our infantry was no good."

"We could have held them all right, sir."

He ruminated on that a moment, rumbled in his throat and abruptly
changed the subject, in an unpleasant fashion, however.

"You're the fellows we want to get hold of. You cut the throats of our
wounded."

I denied it and we argued back and forth over that for several
minutes, and very heatedly. He referred to St. Julien and said that
this thing had occurred there. I said and quite truthfully that we had
not been at St. Julien, that we were in the Imperial and not the
Canadian Army and had been spectators in near-by trenches of the St.
Julien affair. I even went into some detail to explain that we were a
special corps of old soldiers who, not being able to rejoin their old
regiments, had at the outbreak of war formed one of their own and had
been accepted as such and sent to France months ahead of the Canadian
contingent. I added that I myself had just rejoined the regiment,
having got my "Blighty" in March at St. Eloi and as proof of my other
statements I further volunteered that I was one of the 2nd Gordons and
after the South African War had gone to Canada where I had finished my
reserve several years since.

He listened but was plainly unconvinced. Another officer broke in: "I
can explain it, sir. These men were in the 80th Brigade and the 27th
Division. Colonel Farquhar was their Commanding Officer and Captain
Buller took command when Colonel Farquhar was killed." We stared at
one another in amazement, for it was all quite true.

This finished that examination. We did not tell them that Colonel
Buller had been blinded a few days before and had been succeeded by
that Major Hamilton Gault who had been so largely instrumental in
raising us.

None of our wounds had received the slightest attention. Cox in
particular suffered cruelly but refused to whimper. Royston's head was
swollen to the size of a water bucket and he was in great pain. We
left them here and never saw them again. Cox died two weeks later of a
blood poisoning which was the combined result of our rough surgery and
the wanton neglect of our captors. I do not think he was ever able to
write his mother as he wished. At least she wrote me later for
information. There was no need of his dying even though it might have
been necessary to have amputated his arm higher up. Royston was
exchanged to Switzerland and recovered from his wounds except for the
loss of an eye.




CHAPTER VIII

THE PRINCESS PATRICIA'S GERMAN UNCLE

  Roulers--The Old Woman and the Gentle Uhlans--Billeted in a
  Church--Quizzed by a Prince.


We were marched to Roulers, which we reached well after dark. A
considerable crowd of soldiers and civilians awaited our coming. The
Belgian women and children congregated in front of the church while we
waited to be let in, and threw us apples and cigarettes. The uhlans
and infantrymen rushed them with the flat side of their swords and the
butts of their muskets; and mistreated them. They knocked one old
woman down quite close to where I stood. So we had to do without and
were not even permitted to pick up the gifts that lay at our feet,
much less the old woman.

The church had been used as a stable quite recently and the
stone-flagged floor was deep with the decayed straw and accumulated
filth of men and horses. We lay down in it and got what rest we could
for the remainder of the night. There were about one hundred and fifty
prisoners in all--Shropshires, Cheshires, King's Royal Rifles and
other British regiments--all from our division and mostly from our
brigade. Other small parties continued to come in during the night,
but there were no more P.P.'s. In the morning a large tub of water was
carried in and each man was given a bit of black bread and a slice of
raw fat bacon. The latter was salty and so thoroughly unappetizing
that I cannot recall that any one ate his ration, for in spite of the
fact that we had been twenty-four hours without food, we were so upset
by the experiences we had undergone, so shattered by shell fire and
lack of rest that we were perhaps inclined to be more critical of our
food than normal men would have been.

Shortly afterward a high German officer came in with his staff. He was
a stout and well-built man of middle age or over, typically German in
his general characteristics but not half bad looking. His uniform was
covered with braid and medals. Every one paid him the utmost
deference. He stopped in the middle of the room.

"Are there any Canadians here?"

I stepped forward. "Yes, sir."

"I mean the Princess Patricia's Canadians."

"Yes, sir. I am. And here's some more of them," and I pointed at the
prostrate figures of my companions, where they sprawled on the
flagstones.

"Princess Patricia's Regiment?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, the Princess Patricia is my niece--awfully nice girl. I hope it
won't be long before I see her again."

I grinned: "Well, I hope it won't be long before I see her, too, sir."

The other fellows joined us, the straw and the smell of it still
sticking to their clothes as they formed a little knot about the
Prince and his staff.

The scene was incongruous, the smart uniforms of the immaculately kept
staff officers contrasting strangely with our own unkempt foulness. We
occupied the centre of the stage. Around us were grouped the men of
our sister regiments, most of them lying on the floor in a dazed
condition. There were few who came forward to listen. They were too
tired, and to them at least, this was merely an incident--one of a
thousand more important ones. Odd parts of clothes hung on the ornate
images and decorations of the room. A German rifle hung by its sling
from the patient neck of a life-sized Saviour, while further over, the
vermin-infested shirt of a Britisher hung over the rounded breasts of
a brooding Madonna, with the Infant in her lap.

At the door a small group of guards stood stiffly to a painful
attention and continued so to do whilst royalty touched them with the
shadow of its wings.

The Prince questioned us further and I told him that I had been on a
guard of honor to the Princess when she had been a child and when her
father, the Duke of Connaught had been the General Officer Commanding
at Aldershot.

He laughed back at us and was altogether very friendly. "You'll go to
a good camp and you'll be all right if you behave yourselves."

Scarfe shoved in his oar here, grousing in good British-soldier
fashion: "I don't call it very good treatment when they steal the
overcoats from wounded men."

"Who did that?" He was all steel, and I saw a change come over the
officers of the staff.

"The chaps that took us prisoners," said Scarfe.

"What regiment were they?" The Prince glanced at an aide, who hastily
drew out a notebook and began to take down our replies.

"The 21st Prussians, sir."

"Do you know the men?"

"Their faces but not their names."

"Of what rank was the officer in charge?"

We did not know, but thought him a company officer of the rank of
captain perhaps. He asked for other particulars which we gave to the
best of our knowledge.

"I'll attend to that," he said. However, we heard no more of it. We
refrained from complaining about the actual ill-treatment and
indignities we had been subjected to, the murder of our unoffending
comrades, or the lack of attention to our wounds, as we rightly judged
that we should only have earned the enmity of our guards.

"May I have your cap badge?" the Prince asked, decently enough.

I lied brazenly: "Sorry, sir; I've lost mine."

The fact was I had shoved it down under my puttees while lying back of
the trench the previous afternoon.

Scarfe said: "You can have mine, sir."

He took it. "Thanks so much." He glanced at the aide again; rather
sharply this time, I thought. The latter blushed and hastily extracted
a wallet, from which he handed Scarfe a two-mark piece, equal to one
and ten pence, or forty-four cents. He gave us his name before
leaving, and my recollection is that it was something like Eitelbert.
Evidently he was a brother of the Duchess of Connaught, whom we knew
to have been a German princess whose brothers and other male relatives
all enjoyed high commands among our foes.




CHAPTER IX

HOW THE GERMAN RED CROSS TENDED THE CANADIAN WOUNDED

  "Come Out Canadians!"--The Crucifixion--"Nix! Nix!"--Civilian
  Hate--"Engländer Schwein!"


We remained in the fouled church all of that day and night and until
the following morning. No more food appeared. We were marched down to
the railroad under heavy escort, crowded into freight cars and locked
in. The guards were distributed in cars of their own, alternating with
ours. Our wounds remained unattended to.

At every station they thundered: "Come out, Canadians!" They lined us
up in a row while a staff officer put the same questions to us in
nearly every case. They were particularly interested in the quality of
our rations and asked if it was not true that we were starving and if
our pay had not been stopped. The guards invariably explained to the
civilians that these were the Canadians who had cut the throats of the
German wounded.

We did not know how to explain the prevalence of this impression. On
the contrary, we were aware of the story of the crucifixion of three
of the Canadian Division during Ypres. The tale had come smoking hot
to our men in the Polygon Wood trenches during the great battle. It
gave in great detail all the salient facts which were that after
recapturing certain lost positions, the men of a certain regiment had
discovered the body of one of their sergeants, together with those of
two privates, crucified on the doors of a cowshed and a barn. German
bayonets had been driven through their hands and feet and their
contorted faces gave every appearance of their having died in great
agony. This story was and is generally believed throughout all ranks
of the Canadian Army. For its truth I cannot vouch.

We knew that our own men had never mistreated any prisoners and had in
fact usually done quite the reverse. How far other regiments may have
gone in retaliation for what was known as "The Crucifixion," it is
impossible to say. That prisoners may have been killed is possible,
for such things become an integral part of war once the enemy has so
offended. But we could not believe that there had been any cutting of
throats as that would imply a sheer cold-bloodedness that we could not
stomach.

The mob surged around and reviled us, while the guards, in high good
humour, translated their remarks, unless, as was frequently the case,
they were made to the officials in English for our benefit. The other
British soldiers were left in their cars.

Our wounded were getting very badly off by this time. It was
impossible to avoid trampling on one another as the car was very dark
at best and the one small window in the roof was closed as soon as we
drew into a station. When taken out we were under heavy escort and
were allowed no opportunity to clean up the accumulated filth of the
car. We suffered terribly for food and water, and some of the wounds
began to turn, so that what with exhaustion and all, we grew very
weak.

At one station the guards took us out and made us line up to watch
them eat of a hearty repast which the Red Cross women had just brought
them. And we were very hungry. When, we too, asked for food they said:
"Nix! Nix!" The crowds met us at every station and included women of
all classes, who called us _Engländer Schwein_ and who at no time gave
us the slightest assistance, but, instead, devoted themselves to the
guard.

Other men told us later that Red Cross women had spat in their
drinking water and in their food. There was no opportunity for this in
our case as we did not receive any of either.

We did not receive any food during this trip, which lasted from the
morning of one day until the night of the next. We had gone since the
day of our capture on the coffee received at headquarters in Polygon
Wood and the single issue of bread, water and bacon received in the
church, the latter of which we could not eat; a total of three days
and nights on that one issue of rations.

We pulled into Giessen at eleven, the night of May tenth. The citizens
made a Roman holiday of the occasion and the entire population turned
out to see the _Engländer Schwein_. There was a guard for every
prisoner, and two lines of fixed bayonets. The mob surged around,
heaping on us insults and blows; particularly the women. With hate in
their eyes, they spat on us. We had to take that or the bayonet.
These were the acts not only of the rabble, but also of the people of
good appearance and address.

One very well-dressed woman rushed up. Under other circumstances I
should have judged her to have been a gentlewoman. She shrieked
invectives at us as she forced her way through the crowd. "Schwein!"
she screamed, and struck at the man next me. He snapped his shoulders
back as a soldier does at attention. Then, drawing deep from the very
bottom of her lungs, she spat the mass full in his face. The muscles
of his face twitched painfully but he held his eyes to the front and
stared past his tormentor, seeing other things.




CHAPTER X

THE CURIOUS CONCOCTIONS OF THE CHEF AT GIESSEN

  Oliver Twist at Giessen--Acorn Coffee and Shadow Soup--Chestnut
  Soup--Fostering Racial Hatred.


We had a mile-and-a-half march to the prison camp. Those who were past
walking were put in street cars and sent to the laager, where upon our
arrival we were shoved into huts for the night, supperless, of course.
This was our introduction to the prison camp of Giessen.

The next morning we each received three-quarters of a pint of acorn
coffee, so called, horrible-tasting stuff; and a loaf of black
bread--half potatoes and half rye--weighing two hundred and fifty
grams, or a little more than half a pound, among five men. This
allowed a piece about three by three by four inches to each man for
the day's ration. The coffee consisted of acorns and four pounds of
burned barley boiled in one hundred gallons of water. There was no
sugar or milk. My curiosity led me later to get this and other recipes
from the fat French cook.

All that day and for several following, official and guards were busy
numbering and renumbering us and assigning us to our companies. They
were hopelessly German about it, and did it so many times and very
thoroughly. There were twelve thousand men in the camp and eight
hundred in the laager. The majority were Russian and French with a
fairish sprinkling of Belgians. There were perhaps six hundred British
in the entire camp. The various nationalities were mixed up and each
section given a hut very similar to those American and British troops
occupy in their own countries. A number of smaller camps in the
neighbouring districts were governed from this central one.

For dinner we had shadow soup, so named for obvious reasons. The
recipe in my diary reads: "For eight hundred men, two hundred gallons
of water, one small bag of potatoes and one packet of herbs."

To make matters worse the vegetables issued at this camp were in a
decayed condition and continued to come to us so.

Another staple dinner ration was ham soup. This was the usual two
hundred gallons of water boiled with ten pounds of ham rinds, ten
pounds of cabbage and twenty pounds of potatoes. The ham rind had hair
on it but we used to fish for it at that and considered ourselves
lucky to get a piece. Oatmeal soup, another meal, consisted of two
hundred gallons of water, two pounds of currants and fifty pounds of
oatmeal; chestnut soup, two hundred gallons of water, one hundred
pounds of whole chestnuts and ten pounds of potatoes. It was a
horrible concoction and my diary has: "To be served hot and thrown
out."

Meat soup was two hundred gallons of water, ten pounds of meat, one
small bag of potatoes and ten pounds of vegetables. This was the most
nutritious of the lot. Unfortunately for us, the small portion of meat
and most of the potatoes were given to the French, both because the
cook and all his assistants were Frenchmen and because the authorities
willed it so.

This was usually managed without any apparent unfairness by serving
the British first and the French last, with the result that the one
received a tin full of hot water that was too weak to run out,
while the Frenchmen's spoons stood to attention in the thicker mess
they found in the bottom. This, with other things, contributed to make
bad blood between the two races. A great show was made of stirring up
the mess, but it was a pure farce.

    [Illustration: RECIPES FROM CORPORAL EDWARD'S DIARY.]

Rice soup consisted of two hundred gallons of water, fifty pounds of
rice, twenty pounds of potatoes and one pound of currants; bean soup,
two hundred gallons of water, fifty pounds of beans, and twenty pounds
of potatoes; pork soup, two hundred gallons of water, ten pounds of
pork and fifty pounds of potatoes. Porridge was made of two hundred
gallons of water, fifteen pounds of oatmeal and two pounds of barley.
The diary states: "To be served hot as a drink."

Once in two months a ration of sausage was dished out. For breakfast
once a week there was one pint of acorn coffee without sugar or milk
and one and a half square inches of Limburger cheese. To quote from
the diary: "Before serving, open all windows and doors. Then send for
the Russians to take it away."

The Germans discriminated against the British prisoners. When there
was any disagreeable duty; the cry went up for "der Engländer." The
much-sought-for cookhouse jobs all went to the French, who waxed fat
in consequence. No Britisher was ever allowed near the cookhouse. The
French had for the most part been there for some time, and, their
country lying so close by; they were receiving parcels. We were not,
and this made the food problem a very serious one for us. Their
supplies were received through Switzerland which was the one anchor to
windward for so many of us in this and other respects.

At first the French used to give us a certain amount of their own
food, but eventually ceased to do so. Most of them worked down in the
town daily and could "square" the guard long enough to buy tobacco at
twenty-five pfennigs--or two and a half pence--a package, which they
sold to us later at eighty pfennigs--until we got on to their
profiteering.




CHAPTER XI

THE WAY THEY HAVE AT GIESSEN

  "Raus!"--The Strafe Barracks--The Appeal for Casement--Why
  Parcels Should Be Sent--A Hell on Earth--That Brickyard
  Fatigue--Gott Strafe England--Slow Starvation--Merciless
  Discipline--Canadian Humor--The Debt We Owe--Inoculating for
  Typhoid?--Joseph's Coat of Many Colors--The Russian Who Unwound
  the Rag--The Monotony of the Wire--Teaching the Germans the
  British Salute.


Except for the starving, as I look back now, Giessen was not such a
bad camp as such places go. At least it was the best that we were to
know. The discipline, of course, was fairly severe, but on the other
hand the Commandant did not trouble us a great deal. The petty
annoyances were harder to endure. Frequently we would get the "Raus!"
at half-hour intervals by day or night; "Raus out!" "Raus in!" and so
on.

We never knew what our tormentors wanted but supposed it to be a
systematic attempt to break our spirit and our nerve by the simple
expedient of habitually interfering with our sleep so that we would
become like the Russians. They were mostly utterly broken in spirit
and had the air of beaten dogs, so that they cringed and fawned to
their masters.

The least punishment meted out for the most trifling offense was three
days' cells. Some got ten years for refusing to work in munition and
steel factories, particularly British and Canadians.

There are large numbers of both who are to-day serving out sentences
of from eighteen months to ten years in the military fortresses of
Germany under circumstances of the greatest cruelty.

The so-called courts-martial were mockeries of trials. The culprit was
simply marched up to the orderly room, received his sentence and
marched away again. He was allowed no defence worthy of the name.

Some of the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry were "warned" for work
in a munitions factory. When the time came around they were taken away
but refused to work and so they were knocked about quite a bit. One
was shot in the leg and another bayoneted through the hip, and all
were sent back to camp, where they were awarded six weeks in the
punishment camp, known as the strafe barracks.

This was a long hut in which were two rows of stools a few paces
apart. The _Raus_ blew for the culprits at five-thirty. At six they
were marched to the hut and made to sit down in two rows facing one
another, at attention--that is, body rigid, head thrown well back,
chest out, hands held stiffly at the sides and eyes straight to the
front--for two hours! Meanwhile the sentries marched up and down the
lane, watching for any relaxation or levity. If so much as a face was
pulled at a twinkling eye across the way, another day's strafing was
added to the penalty. At the end of the two hours one hour's rest was
allowed, during which the prisoners could walk about in the hut but
could not lie down! This continued all day until "Lights out." For six
weeks. No mail, parcels, writing or exercise was permitted the
prisoners during that time, and the already scanty rations were cut.

During good behavior we were allowed two post cards and two letters a
month, with nine lines to the former and thirteen to the page of the
latter. No more, no less. Each letter had four pages of the small,
private-letter size. The name and address counted as a line. Mine was
Kriegsgefingenenlaager, Kompagnie No. 6, Barackue No. A. The writing
had to be big and easily read and, in the letters, on four sides of
the paper. No complaint or discussion of the war was permitted. Fully
one-half of those written were returned for infringements, or fancied
ones, of these rules. Sometimes when the censor was irritated they
were merely chucked into the fire. And as they had also to pass the
English censor it is no wonder that many families wondered why their
men did not write.

We were there for three months before our parcels began to arrive. We
considered ourselves lucky if we received six out of ten sent, and
with half the contents of the six intact. In the larger camps the
chances of receipt were better. The small camps were merely units
attached to and governed by the larger ones, which handled the mail
before giving it to the authorities at the smaller ones.

Thus, a man who was "attached" to Giessen camp, although perhaps one
hundred miles away from it, had to submit to the additional delay and
chance of loss and theft included in the censoring of the parcel at
Giessen as well as at the actual place of his confinement.

This doubled the chances of fault-finding and of theft. Knowing this
to be true, I most earnestly recommend the sending of parcels. True, a
large proportion of them are not received, but those that are
represent the one salvation of the prisoner-of-war in German hands. So
terribly true is this that when we began to receive parcels at
irregular intervals, we used regularly to acknowledge to our friends
the receipt of parcels which we had never received. This was the low
cunning developed by our treatment. If advised that a parcel of tea,
sugar or other luxuries had been sent and it did not appear after
weeks of patient waiting, we knew that we should never see that
parcel. Nevertheless, we usually wrote and thanked the donor and
acknowledged the receipt, fearful otherwise that he or she should say:
"What's the use?" and send no more. And we were not allowed to tell
the truth--that it had been stolen.

The first three months of our stay at Giessen were probably the worst
of all, including as they did the transition period to this life. It
seemed then a hell on earth. The slow starvation was the worst. Once,
in desperation, I gave a Frenchman my good boots for his old ones and
two and a half marks, and then gave sixty pfennigs of this to the
French cook for a bread ration. Again, in going down the hut one day,
I espied a flat French loaf cut into four pieces, drying on the window
sill. Seizing one piece, I tucked it under my tunic and passed on
before the loss was discovered. Some of the British could be seen at
times picking over the sour refuse in the barrels. This amused the
Germans very much. We endeavoured to get cookhouse jobs for the
pickings to be had, but could not do so. At a later date, when the
Canadian Red Cross, Lady Farquhar, Mrs. Hamilton Gault and our
families were sending us packages regularly, we made out all right.

Some English societies were in the habit of sending books, music and
games to the prisoners but none of these ever reached the group with
whom I associated, even before our later actions put us quite beyond
the German pale.

The appeal for Casement and the Irish Brigade was made to us. A
number of prisoners were taken apart and the matter broached privately
to them. Pamphlets on the freeing of Ireland were also distributed. I
did not see any one go over, and an Irishman who was detailed with
another Canadian and myself on a brickyard fatigue said that they had
recruited only forty in the camp. The whole thing turned out to be a
failure.

There were twelve of us all told on that brickyard job. Three or four
shoveled clay into the mixing machine, two more filled the little car
which two others pushed along the track of the narrow-gauge railroad.
We were guarded by four civilian Germans of some home defense corps,
all of whom labored with us. The two trammers used to start the car,
hop on the brake behind and let it run of its own momentum down the
incline to the edge of the bank where it would be checked for dumping.
Sometimes we forgot to brake the car so that it would ricochet on in a
flying leap off the end of the track, and so on over the dump. The
guards would rage and swear but could prove nothing so long as our
fellows did not get too raw and do this too frequently.

One day we shovelers decided to add to the gaiety of nations. While
one attracted the guards' attention elsewhere we slipped a chunk of
steel into the mess. There was a grinding crash, and a large cogwheel
tore its way through the roof. In a moment, the air was full of
machinery and German words. It was a proper wreck. The guards ran
around gesticulating angrily, tearing their hair and threatening us,
while we endeavoured to look surprised. It is reasonable to suppose
that we were unsuccessful, for we were hustled back to camp and drew
five days' cells each from the Commandant. There was no trial. He
merely sentenced us.

United States Ambassador Gerard only came to Giessen once in my time
there, and that was while I was off at one of the detached camps, so I
had no opportunity of observing the result.

We knew very little of what was going on in the outside world. The
guards were not allowed to converse with us, and if one was known to
speak English he was removed. However, they were more or less curious
about us so that a certain amount of clandestine conversation
occurred. Some were certain that they were going to win the war.
Others said: "England has too much money. Germany will never win."
They used frequently to gather the Russians, Belgians and French
together and lecture them on England's sins. They said that England
was letting them do all the fighting, bleeding them white of their men
and treasure so as to come out at the end of the war with the balance
of power necessary for her plan of retaining Constantinople and the
Cinque Ports of France. Many were convinced, and this did not add to
the pleasantness of our lot.

The notorious _Continental Times_ was circulated amongst us freely in
both French and English editions. It regularly gave us a most
appalling list of German victories and it specialised in abuse of the
English. We counted up in one month a total of two million prisoners
captured by the Germans on all fronts.

As I have said, Giessen was the best camp of all, barring the
starvation. But the discipline there was merciless. The laager was
inclosed by a high wire fence which we were forbidden to approach
within four feet of. A Russian sergeant overstepped that mark one day
to shout something to a friend in an adjoining laager. The sentry
shouted at him. He either failed to hear or did not understand. The
sentry killed him without hesitation.

A Belgian started over one day with some leftover soup which he
purposed giving to the Russians. The sentry would not let him pass. He
went back and told his mate. The latter, a kindly little fellow,
thinking that the sentry had not understood the nature of the mission,
decided to try himself. The sentry stopped him. He attempted to argue.
The sentry pushed him roughly back. He struck the German. The latter
dropped him with a blow on the head, and while he lay unconscious
shoved the bayonet into him. It was done quite coolly and
methodically, without heat. He was promoted for it. We were told that
he had done a good thing and that we should get the same if we did not
behave.

A Canadian who was forced to work in a munitions plant and whose task
included the replacing of waste in the wheel boxes of cars enjoyed
himself for a while, lifting the greasy waste out and replacing it
with sand. He got ten years for that.

The German in charge of our laager hated the _verdamnt Engländer_ and
lost no opportunity of bulldozing and threatening us. One of the
Canadians who had been in the American Navy was unusually truculent.
The German purposely bunted him one day. "Don't do that again!" The
German repeated the act. The sailor jolted him in the jaw so that he
went to dreamland for fifteen minutes. The prisoner was taken to the
guardroom and we never heard his ultimate fate, but at the ruling rate
he was lucky if he got off with ten years.

It is men like this to whom our Government and people owe such a debt
as may be paid only in a small degree by our insistence after the war
that they be given their liberty. A greater glory is theirs than that
of the soldier. They wrought amongst a world of foes, knowing their
certain punishment, but daring it rather than assist that foe's
efforts against their country.

One day we were told that we must be inoculated in the arm against
typhoid. We thought nothing of that. But the next day men began to
gather in groups so that the guards shouted roughly at them, bidding
them not to mutter and whisper so.

Where the word came from I know not. It may have emanated in the
fears of some active imagination on the chance and truthful word of a
guard, flung in derision at some desperate man, or in a kindlier mood
and in warning. The word was that we were to be inoculated with the
germs of consumption. I understand that it appeared also in the papers
at home. It seemed horrible beyond words to us. The idea appeared
crazy but was equally on a par with the events we witnessed daily.
Myself, I planned to take no chances; if it were humanly possible.

We were all ordered to parade for the inoculation. I hid myself with a
few others and so escaped the operation. Nothing was said so I could
only suppose that they failed to check us up as it was not in keeping
with the German character as we had come to know it to miss any
opportunity of corrective punishment even though the inoculation had
been for our own good.

It is true that some of the men so inoculated fell prey to
consumption. On the other hand one of them had had a well defined case
of it before, and it was almost certain that the living conditions
prevailing amongst us would insure the appearance of the disease so
that we had no proof that any man was so inoculated. Some of the men
so affected were sent to Switzerland for the benefit of the mountain
air through an arrangement made by the Red Cross with the Swiss
authorities.

    [Illustration: FELLOW PRISONERS AT GIESSEN. FROM LEFT TO RIGHT:
    A CHESHIRE REGIMENT MAN, A SIBERIAN RUSSIAN, AN EAST YORKSHIRE
    LIGHT INFANTRYMAN AND A GORDON HIGHLANDER.]

    [Illustration: FELLOW PRISONERS AT GIESSEN. THREE HIGHLANDERS
    AND A YORKSHIRE LIGHT INFANTRYMAN.]

One of our guards was subject to fits and habitually ran amuck amongst
us, abusing some of the prisoners in a painful fashion. We made
complaint of this through the proper channels, for which crime the
officer in charge stopped our fires and other privileges for the time
being.

Most of the men wore prison uniforms or in some cases, suits sent from
England which were altered by the authorities to conform to their
regulations. These required that if one was not in a distinctive and
enemy uniform that broad stripes of bright colored cloth be set into
the seam of the trousers; not sewed on, but into the goods. A large
diamond shaped piece or else a square of such cloth was set into the
breast and back of the tunic. I preferred my uniform, dilapidated
though it was. We were permitted the choice, probably less out of
kindness than because of the saving involved.

There was a big simple giant of a Russian here who was badly sprung
at the knees. He had been forced to work during the winter in an
underground railway station near Berlin. He had had no shoes and had
stood in the water for weeks, digging. He was very badly crippled in
consequence.

Some four hundred Russians came to us after the fall of Warsaw. They
were mostly wounded and all rotten. On the three months' march to
Giessen the wounded had received absolutely no attention other than
their own. Here we had a crazy German doctor, a mediocre French one
and Canadian orderlies. If an Englishman went to the hospital for
treatment it was "Vick!"--Get out. These Russians were treated
similarly. The French fared better. One big, fine-looking Russian,
with a filthy mass of rags wound round his arm, reported for
attention. They unwound the rag and his arm dropped off. He died, with
five others, that afternoon, and God only knows how many more on the
trip they had just finished.

They were buried in a piano case, together. Usually they were placed
in packing cases. We asked for a flag with which to cover them as
soldiers should be. They asked what that was for and there it ended.

Another Russian had a foul arm which leaked badly so that it was not
only painful to him but offensive to the rest of us. Nothing was done
for him.

They were all thoroughly cowed, as are dogs that have been illtreated.
And they jumped to it when a German spoke--excepting two of their
officers, who refused to take down their epaulets when ordered to do
so. We did not learn how they fared. These were the only captive
officers of any nationality whom we saw.

We became sick of the sight of one another as even the best of friends
do under such abnormal conditions. For variety I often walked around
the enclosure with a Russian. Neither of us had the faintest idea what
the other said, but it was a change!

The monotony of the wire was terrible--and just outside it in the lane
formed by the encircling set of wire, the dogs, with their tongues
out, walked back and forth, eyeing us.

There was so little to talk about. We knew nothing and could only
speculate on the outcome of the commonest events which came to us on
the tongue of rumour or arose out of our own sad thoughts.

The authorities were not satisfied with our recognition--or lack of
it--of their officers and took us out to practice saluting drill--a
thing always detested by soldiers, especially veterans. The idea was
to make us salute visiting German officers properly, in the German
fashion and not in our own. Theirs consisted of saluting with the
right hand only, with the left held stiffly straight at the side,
while our way was to salute with the hand farthest from the officer,
giving "Eyes left" or "Eyes right" as the case might be, and with the
free hand swinging loosely with the stride.

So a school of us were led out to this. The very atmosphere was tense
with sullen rebellion. The guards eyed us askance. The officer stood
at the left awaiting us; beyond him and on the other side of the road,
a post.

An _unteroffizier_ ordered us to march by, one by one, to give the
_Herr Offizier_ "Augen Links" in the German fashion, and to the post,
which represented another officer, an "Augen Rechts" when we should
come to it.

"I'll see him in hell first," I muttered to the man next me. I was in
the lead of the party. I shook with excitement and fear of I knew not
what.

As the command rang out I stepped out with a swing, and with the
action, decision came to me. As I approached the officer he drew up
slightly and looked at me expectantly.

I gave him a stony stare, and passed on.

A few more steps and I reached the post. I pulled back my shoulders
with a smart jerk, got my arms to swinging freely, snapped my head
round so that my eyes caught the post squarely and swung my left hand
up in a clean-cut parabola to "Eyes right," in good old regimental
order.

A half dozen shocked sentries came up on the double. It was they who
were excited now. I was master of myself and the situation. The
_unteroffizier_ ordered me to repeat and salute. I did so--literally.
The officer was, to all outward appearances, the only other person
there who remained unmoved. My ardour had cooled by this time, and his
very silence seemed worse than the threats of the guard. Nor was I
exactly in love with my self-appointed task. Nevertheless, I saw my
mates watching me and inwardly applauding. I was ashamed to quit. I
did it again. That won me another five days' cells.




CHAPTER XII

THE ESCAPE

  Picking a Pal for Switzerland--Cold Feet--The Talk in the
  Wood--Nothing Succeeds Like Success and--!--Simmons and Brumley
  Try Their Hand.


Mervin Simmons of the 7th, and Frank Brumley of the 3rd Battalion,
Canadian Expeditionary Force were planning to escape. Word of it
leaked through to me. This added fuel to the fire of my own similar
ambition. They, and I too, thought that it was not advisable for more
than two to travel together. I began to look around for a partner. I
"weighed up" all my comrades. It was unwise to broach the subject to
too many of them. I bided my time until a certain man having dropped
remarks which indicated certain sporting proclivities, I broached the
subject to him. He was most enthusiastic. We decided on Switzerland as
our objective and awaited only the opportunity to make a break.

There were few if any preparations to make. We were not yet receiving
parcels and our allowance of food was so scanty that it was impossible
to lay any by. We had a crude map of our own drawing. And that was our
all.

In the interval we discussed ways and means of later travel and
endeavoured to prepare our minds for all contingencies, even capture.
We talked the matter over with Simmons and Brumley at every
opportunity, so as to benefit also by their plans. This required
caution so we were careful at all times that we should not be seen
together; rather that we should even appear unfriendly. We developed
the cunning of the oppressed. Once we even staged a wordy quarrel over
some petty thing for the benefit of our guards and others of the
prisoners whom we distrusted. At other times we foregathered in dim
corners of our huts as though by chance. We conversed covertly from
the corners of our mouths and without any movement of the lips, as
convicts do. This avoidance of one another was made the easier because
of the arrangement of the personnel of each hut. The various
nationalities were pretty well split up in companies, presumably to
prevent illicit co-operation and each company was separated from the
others by the wire.

Our chance came at last. We were "warned" for a working party on a
railroad grade near by. As compliance would enable us to get on the
other side of the wire, we made no protest. This work was a part of
the authorities' scheme of farming prisoners out to private
individuals and corporations who required labour. In this case it was
a railroad contractor. As a rule the contractors fed us better than
the authorities, if for no other reason than to keep our working
strength up.

We were marched out of the laager without any breakfast each morning
to the work and there received a little sausage and a bit of bread for
breakfast. At noon we received soup of a better quality than the camp
stuff. It was cooked by a Russian Pole, a civilian; one of many who
was living out in the town on parole. These had to report regularly to
the authorities and had to remain in the local area.

We were on the job a week before things seemed favourable. We had only
what we stood in, excepting the rough map, which was drawn from
hearsay and our scanty knowledge of the country. We planned to travel
at night, lay our course by the stars and perhaps walk to Switzerland
in six weeks.

We worked all morning, grading on the railroad embankment. At noon we
knocked off for soup and a rest. We were on the edge of a large wood.
Some of the men flung themselves on the bank; others went to see if
the soup was ready. A few went into the wood. The solitary guard was
elsewhere. We said good-bye to the few who knew of our plans. They
bade us God-speed and then we, too, faded into the recesses of the
wood.

We had no sooner set foot in it than I noticed a curious change come
over my companion. He said that it was a bad time, a bad place, found
fault with everything and said that we should not go that day.
However, we continued, half-heartedly on his part, to shove our way on
into the wood. Occasionally he glanced fearfully over his shoulder and
voiced querulous protests. I did not answer him. A little further on
and he stopped. A dog was barking.

"There's too many dogs about, Edwards. And just look at all those
houses." He pointed to where a village showed through the trees.

"Sure thing, there'll be houses thick like that all the way. It's our
job to keep clear of them."

"Yes, but look at the people. There's bound to be lots of them where
there's so many houses."

"Of course there are," I replied: "Germany's full of houses and
people. That's no news. Come on."

"Oh! They'll see us sure, Edwards--and telegraph ahead all over the
country. We haven't got any more show than a rabbit."

With that I lost patience and gave him a piece of my mind. We stood
there, arguing it back and forth.

It was no use: He fell prey to his own fears; saw certain capture and
a dreadful punishment. He conjured up all the dangers that an active
imagination could envisage: Every bush was a German and every sound
the occasion of a fresh alarm. He was like to ruin my own nerves with
his petty panics.

It was in vain that I pleaded with him: He could not face the dangers
that he saw ahead. The laager seemed to him, by comparison, a haven
of refuge. When all else failed, I appealed to his pride. He had none.
I warned him that we should meet with nothing but scorn from our
comrades, excepting laughter, which was worse. I begged and pleaded
with him to go on with me. No use. All his courage was foam and had
settled back into dregs.

And so we returned. I was heart-broken. But there was no use in my
going on alone. To travel by night we must sleep in the day time and
that required that some one should always be on watch to avoid the
chance travellers of the day--which was obviously impossible for any
one who travelled alone.

We had been gone only an hour and a half and the guard was just
beginning to look around for us. Otherwise we had not been missed nor
seen, for the wood was a large one and we had not yet gotten out of
its confines. The guard was too relieved to find us, when we stepped
out of the wood and picked up our shovels, to do more than betray a
purely personal annoyance. He asked where we had been and why we had
remained for so long a time. We gave the obvious excuse. He was too
well pleased at his own narrow escape from responsibility to be
critical, so that the affair ended in so far as he or his kind were
concerned. Which made what followed the harder to bear.

For it was not so with our own comrades. My prognostication had been a
correct one. A few of them had known that we were going; some had bade
us good-bye. They rested on their picks now and stared at us, lifting
their eyebrows, with a knowing smile for one another and a half-sneer
for us. My companion had already plumbed the depths of fear and so was
now lost to all shame. Myself, I found it very hard. Soldiers have,
outwardly at least, but little tenderness, except perhaps in bad
times, and they showed none now. Nor mercy. The situation would have
been ridiculous had it not been so utterly tragic--to have failed
without trying! Edwards's escape became camp offal. We became the butt
and the byword of the camp, so that I honestly regretted not having
pushed on alone. I felt sure that the almost certain capture and more
certain punishment would have been more bearable than this. There was
nothing that I could say in my own defense except at the other man's
expense--which would have been in questionable taste and would have
been deemed the resort of a weakling. So I kept my counsel and
brooded. The ignorance of the guards made the tragedy comic. It was
very humiliating. I gritted my teeth and swore that I at any rate
should go again in spite of their incredulous jeers. But it was all
terribly discouraging and made me most despondent.

And that finished that trip to Switzerland.

A few days later Simmons and Brumley disappeared. There was no
commotion. One day they were with us and the next--they were not. The
guards said nothing and we feared to ask. I longed ardently to be with
them.

In a few days the camp was thrown into a mild turmoil. The poor
fellows were escorted in under a heavy guard. And very dejected they
looked too--in rags, very wet and evidently short of food, sleep and a
shave. Nevertheless, I envied them.

They disappeared for a long time. We were told they got two weeks'
cells and six weeks of sitting on the stools in strafe barracks. I
remembered the Yorkshiremen and my envy was tempered.

I spent most of my time casting about for the means for a real
escape. Quite aside from my natural desire for freedom I felt that my
good name as a soldier was at stake. However, I waited for an
opportunity to converse with Simmons and Brumley before doing anything
as I felt that their experience might contain some useful hints for
me.

They appeared at the end of two months, quite undismayed. They told me
of what had happened to them and Simmons approached me on the subject
of making another try of it with them. I readily consented. They were
now convinced that three or four could make the attempt with a better
chance of success than two men. I would have agreed to go an army! All
I wanted was an opportunity to prove my mettle and retrieve my lost
reputation.

They told me their story. It seems that they had been sent out as a
working party to a near by farm. They were locked in the room as usual
at nine o'clock that night after the day's work and then waited until
they had heard the sentry pass by a couple of times on his rounds. The
window was covered with barbed wire which they had no difficulty in
removing. By morning they were well on the way to Switzerland. They
figured that they, too, could do it in six weeks' of walking by
night, laying their course by the stars. They had no money and were
still in khaki.

They were four days' out and lying close in a small clump of bushes
adjoining a field in which women were digging potatoes when a small
boy stumbled on them. They knew they had been seen the day before and
chose this exposed spot rather than the near-by wood, thinking that it
was there the hue and cry would run. But he was a crafty little brat
and pretended that he had not seen them. They were not certain whether
he had or not and hesitated to give their position away by running for
it.

The boy walked until he neared the women, when he broke into a run and
soon all gathered in a little knot, looking and pointing toward the
fugitives. Some of the women broke away and evidently told some
Bavarian soldiers who had been searching. The latter had already been
firing into the woods to flush them out so that if the boy had not
seen them the soldiers would in all likelihood have passed on, after
searching the main wood.

It was just four o'clock with darkness still four hours off. Simmons
and Brumley were unarmed. There was no use in running for it. So they
surrendered with what grace they could. There was the usual
_verdamning_, growling and prodding but no really bad treatment. For
this they were sentenced to two weeks cells and six weeks of strafe
barracks.

They had been much bothered by the lack of a compass on their trip; so
when they finished their strafing and were once more allowed the
privileges of the mail, Simmons took a chance and wrote on the inside
of an envelope addressed to his brother in Canada: "Send a compass."
He was not called up so we hoped that it had gone through.




CHAPTER XIII

THE TRAITOR AT VEHNMOOR

  The Swamp at Cellelaager--Seven Hundred Men and Two Small
  Stoves--Taking the Stripes Down--The Recreant Sergeant Major--"Go
  Ahead an' Shoot--!"


Giessen is in Hesse. Shortly after this we were all sent to
Cellelaager in Hanover. This was the head camp of a series reserved
for the punishment or the working of prisoners. Each unit retained the
name of Cellelaager and received in addition a number, as Cellelaager
1, Cellelaager 2 and so on. There were grounds here providing a lot
for football, and a theatre run by the prisoners, for which there was
an entrance fee, and other like amusements. These, however, were only
for those prisoners who were on good behaviour and who were employed
there. As such they were denied such desperadoes as ourselves.

We remained there for two weeks and were then sent to the punishment
camp known as Vehnmoor or Cellelaager 6. This was a good day's ride
away and also in Hanover, fifteen kilometres from the big military
town of Oldenburg. Here we were turned out to work on the moors with
four hundred Russians, one hundred French and Belgians and two hundred
British and Canadians. We were housed in one large hut built on a
swamp and were continually wet. There were only two small stoves for
the seven hundred men and we had only a few two pound syrup tins in
which to cook. A poor quality of peat was our only fuel. As only five
men could crowd round a stove at a time, one's chances were rather
slim in the dense mob, every man-jack of whom was waiting to slip into
the first vacant place that offered.

We slept in a row along the wall, with our heads to it. Overhead a
broad shelf supported a similar row of men. Above them were the
windows. At our feet and in the centre of the room, there was a two
foot passage way and then another row of men, with two shelves housing
two more layers of sleepers above them. Then another two foot
passageway, the row of men on the floor against the other wall and the
usual shelf full above them. The vermin were bad and presented a
problem until we arranged with the Russians to take one end to
themselves, the French and Belgians the middle and we the other end.
By this means we British were able to institute precautionary measures
amongst ourselves so that after feasting on the Russians and finishing
up upon the French, our annoying friends usually turned about and went
home again.

The swamp water was filthy, full of peat and only to be drunk in
minute quantities at the bidding of an intolerable thirst. There was
no other water to be had and we simply could not drink this. The
Russians did, which meant another fatigue party to bury them. The only
doctor was an old German, called so by courtesy; but he knew nothing
of medicine. As a corporal, I was held responsible for twenty men.
That implied mostly keeping track of the sick and I have seen nineteen
of my twenty thus. But that made no difference. It was "Raus!" and out
they came, sick or well.

Every morning an officer stood at the gate as we marched out to the
moor, to take "Eyes right" and a salute, for no useful purpose that we
could see except to belittle a British soldier's pride. As corporal I
was supposed to give that command to my squad but rather than do so I
took my stripes down, although that ended my immunity as a "non-com"
from the labour of cutting peat. Others, I am sorry to say, were glad
to put the stripes up and at times went beyond the necessities of the
situation in enforcing their rule on their comrades. It was one of
these who was found to be trading in and selling his packages to his
less fortunate comrades and who was ostracized in consequence.

There were here at Vehnmoor, as there had been at Giessen, a certain
few of our own men who traded on the misfortunes of their own
comrades. This man was the worst of them all. He was a sergeant-major
in a certain famous regiment of the line in the British Army. He was a
fair sample of that worst type which the army system so often
delegates authority to--and complains because that authority does not
meet with the respect it should on the part of its victims.

He excelled in all the arts of the sycophant: The pleasure of the
guards was his delight, their displeasure, his poignant grief. He
assumed the authority of his rank with us, he reported the slightest
of misdemeanours amongst us to the guards and was instrumental in
having many punished. These and other things gave him and others of
his kidney the run of the main grounds so that they could stretch
their legs and have some variety in their lives. Such liberty was
there for any man who would do as they did.

None of us were safe from these traitors. The sergeant major in
particular, spied on us, reporting all criticisms of our guards and
other things German. We raged. He had for his virtue a small room to
himself in a corner of the hut. When parcels came from England,
addressed to the senior non-commissioned officer of his regiment, for
him to distribute; he called the guards in. Shortly they went out with
their coats bulging suspiciously. We were then called to receive ours
whilst he stood over, bullying us with all the abusive "chatter" which
the British service so well teaches. And afterward we watched
covertly, with all the cunning of the oppressed, and saw him receive
other stealthy favours from the guards that were not within his
arrangement with the Commandant.

So one of his own men who had a certain legal learning took down all
these facts as I have recited them and calling us together, bade us
sign our names in evidence of so foul a treachery. Which we gladly
did. And it was and is the prayer of all that when the gates of the
prison camps roll back this document will get to the War Office and
there receive the attention it deserves.

My comrades in misfortune here told me of another such a man who had
gone away just before my arrival at this camp. He, too, was a
sergeant-major of a line regiment in the old army. I had known him in
the old days in India. In his own regiment he was never known by his
own name, but instead by this one: "The dirty bad man." No one ever
called him anything else when referring to him. That was his former
record and this is what he did here to keep the memory of it green.

He was instrumental in having fixed on us one of the most terrible of
army punishments. It appears that some time before one of our men had
broken some petty rule of discipline and the Germans had asked the
sergeant-major what the punishment was in our army for such a "crime,"
as all offences are termed in the army.

"Number One Field Punishment or Crucifixion," had been his lying
reply. That meant being spread-eagled on the wheel of a gun limber,
tied to the spokes at wrist and ankle, with the toes off the ground
and the entire weight of the body on the outraged nerves and muscles
of those members.

Lacking a gun limber, the Germans used a post with a cross-bar for
this man's case. After that, this was a recognized mode of punishment
for many petty offences in this camp.

It is true that this form of punishment is a part of the so-called
discipline of our army. But it was not meted out for offences of the
nature of this man's and if it had been, the obvious thing for the
sergeant-major to have done would have been to have lied like a man;
instead of which he piled horror on horror for his own countrymen. I
have the facts and names of these cases.

There will be many strange tales to come from these camps in the
fulness of time. No doubt some will go against us, but the truth must
be told at all costs, else the evil goes on and on.

We were sent out one day to dig potato trenches on the moors in a
terrible rain. We stuck our spades in the ground and refused. The
guards had French rifles of the vintage of 1870 which carried
cartridges with bullets that were really slugs of lead. They began to
load. A little _unteroffizier_ tugged excitedly at his holster for the
revolver.

A big Canadian stepped up: "Wait a minute, mate." He reached down to
the little man's waist and drew the gun.

He offered it to its owner, butt forward, "Now go ahead and shoot, and
we'll chop your damned heads off."

The rest of us confirmed our leader's statement by gathering around
threateningly and making gruesome and suggestive motions with our
spades. There were two hundred of us and only forty guards. We meant
business and they knew it. They took us back to the laager and locked
us up.

The following night, that of January 22nd, our guards were reinforced
by thirty more.




CHAPTER XIV

AWAY AGAIN

  Why the Prisoners Walked--Cold Feet Again--The Man Who Turned and
  Fled--Brumley's Precious Legs--The Wait in the Wood--The Cunning
  of the Hunted--Bad Days in the Swamps--Within Four Miles of
  Freedom--The Kaiser's Birthday--Another Trip to Holland.


Simmons and Brumley, together with my companion of the first escape,
had determined to make a break for it with me. And although we were
not quite ready at this time the addition to the guards forced our
decision. We had a scanty supply of biscuits saved up and I had
wheedled a file from a friendly Russian; Simmons got a bit of a map
from a Frenchman; and we secured a watch from a Belgian. With this
international outfit we were ready, except that we lacked a sufficient
store of food. However, there was no help for that.

The laager was a twelve-foot-high barbed wire enclosure, eighty feet
wide by three hundred long, with the hut occupying the greater part of
the central space. There was sufficient room below the bottom wire to
permit the trained camp dogs to get in and out at us.

They patrolled the four-foot lane that enclosed the laager and
wandered up and down it, their tongues out, always on the alert. They
were as well confined as we were, since the outer wall of wire was
built down close to the ground. They were very savage and seemed
instinctively to regard us as enemies; as all good German dogs should.

The sworn evidence of prisoners exchanged since my escape mentions
that in one case an imbecile Belgian was daily led out to the fields,
wrapped up in several layers of clothes and then set upon by the dogs
under the guidance of their guards; this was for the better
instruction of the dogs.

At each corner of the laager there hung an arc light. The sphere of
light from those at the end did not quite meet and so left a small
shadow in the center of the end fence.

As soon as night came we arranged that six other men should walk to
and fro from the end of the hut to the shadow at the wire, as though
for exercise. Others, ourselves included, clustered round the end of
the hut. I watched my chance, and when the moment seemed favorable,
fell into step beside the promenaders.

We swung boldly out, intent apparently, on nothing. Our arrival at the
inner wire synchronized with that of one of the guards beyond the
outer wire. We turned about without appearing to have seen him. Still
walking briskly, we reached the hut and turned again. The guard's back
was now turned; he was walking away. At his present rate of travel he
should be twenty yards off when we next reached the wire. We dared not
chance suspicion by slackening our gait. My heart stopped.

As we reached the shadow I fell prone and lay motionless. No dogs were
in sight. Niagara pounded in at my ears but no hostile sound indicated
that I had been observed. I dragged myself carefully through and under
the clearance left for the dogs, until my cap brushed the lower wires
of the main and outer fence. My feet still projected beyond the inner
wire into the main enclosure so that on their next trip one of my
comrades inadvertently touched my foot, startling me.

    [Illustration: RECORD OF SECOND ESCAPE AND RECAPTURE.]

I held the strand in my left hand and fell to filing with my right so
that at the snap there should be no noisy rebound of the spring-like
wire. A post was at my right, and, the wire having been nailed to it,
I was safe from this danger on that side.

The sound of the tramp of those faithful feet receded but the sound of
them came strongly back to me like a message of hope.

By the time they were back once more I had cut through three strands
and was crawling cautiously toward my objective, a pile of peat two
hundred yards distant, which seemed to offer cover as a breathing spot
and starting point. On the signal from the promenaders that I was
through the wire, Simmons followed, and after him, Brumley. The other
man lived up to the example he had previously set himself. He drew
back in alarm and refused to make the attempt.

With twenty-five guards all about and some only thirty feet away, the
very impudence of the plan offered our only hope of success. I still
lacked fifty yards of the peat heap when I heard three shots, next
the dogs, and then the general outcry which followed the detection of
Brumley.

I rose to my feet and ran. We had already mapped out our course in
advance by daylight, for just such a contingency; so I struck boldly
out. I was still in the swamp to my knees, and under those conditions
even the short start we had might prove sufficient, since our pursuers
would also bog down. The swamp was intersected by a series of small
ditches and scattered bushes, which added to the difficulty of the
passage. I heard Brumley floundering and swearing behind and went back
to pull him out of a bottomless ditch. Simmons joined us while I was
still struggling with him. In another hour Brumley's legs played out.
We could still make out the lights of the laager. It was vitally
necessary to push on; so we encouraged him as best we could and
managed, somehow, to reach the edge of the swamp by daylight. We put
ourselves on the meagre rations our store allowed, one biscuit for
breakfast and another for supper, with a bit of chocolate on the side.
We had apparently outdistanced the pursuit. We prayed that our friends
might not be too severely punished for their part in our escape.

We lay in the heather all day, soaked to the skin with the brackish
water of the swamp, the odor of which still hung to our clothes. It
was January and very cold and sleep was impossible under such
conditions. We nibbled our tiny rations and struck out as soon as
darkness came. Our plan was to go straight across country, but Brumley
could not navigate the rough going of the fields; although on the
level roads he made out fairly well. So we chanced it on the latter.

Brumley was struggling along manfully but his legs caused him great
suffering. At about two o'clock in the morning we lay to in the shadow
of a clump of trees at the roadside, thinking to ease him a bit. He
flung himself down. Simmons massaged Brumley's legs whilst I watched.

We had just said: "Come on," and they were rising to their feet, when
another figure stepped off the road and in amongst our trees. It was
so dark where we stood that he probably would not have seen us had not
Brumley at that very moment been rising to his feet. He appeared as
much surprised as we were and started back as though in amazement. And
then without more ado, he turned and fled the way we had come whilst
we made what haste we could in the opposite direction, all equally
alarmed.

Who he was or what he wanted, we could only surmise. If he was not
also an escaped prisoner then he must have been badly wanted by the
authorities to have been travelling in such a fashion at such an hour;
and above all, to have been so alarmed by this chance meeting with
fugitives. In any event we wished him luck and promptly forgot all
about him.

Later on in the night our road led us directly into a village. We
hesitated as to what we should do. Brumley was for pushing through.
The alternative was to go round and through the fields, lose valuable
time and play out Brumley's precious legs. It was past midnight, so we
decided on the village route, and started on.

We passed through without being molested, but just as we were leaving
the other side some civilians saw us and shouted "Halt!" and other
words meaning "to shoot." We paid no attention. Espying a wood in the
distance, we struck out for it. Brumley was in misery and threw up the
sponge. We stopped to argue with him, at the same time dragging him
along, and while doing so saw two more civilians rushing up and
shouting as they came. Lights began to spring up all over the village.
Brumley stopped dead and refused to go farther. We had previously
agreed that if anything should happen to any one of us the others were
to push on, every man for himself. No good could be gained by fighting
when we were so hopelessly outnumbered, so Simmons and I rushed into
the wood, swung around and out again and lay down on the edge of it,
in time to see them take Brumley and come sweeping by us in hot
pursuit. The main body stopped only a moment to inspect their capture,
gathering around poor Brumley so that we could not at first see what
had happened to him. Then several of them started back toward the
village, with him limping along at their side. Ten yards away a knot
of them gathered and assisted another up into a tree to watch for us.
One handed him a rifle and the pursuit went on into the wood.
Occasionally we heard the sentinel stirring.

We scarcely breathed. It seemed impossible that he could not hear the
pounding of our hearts. We grew quite stiff in our cramped positions,
but feared to shift a limb and waited for three-quarters of an hour
before we dared to worm our way cautiously in the other direction. The
snap of a twig was like that of a rifle on the stillness of the night.

Once we stopped, thinking that certainly he had heard us. It was only
the beat of a night bird's wings. We dared take only an inch at a
time, sliding forward on our bellies and then--waiting.

We met another sentry farther up, but worked around him in safety and
with more of ease, as we were by this time on our feet.

Arriving at the end of the small wood, we walked boldly across the
intervening fields to another one, large enough to afford cover for an
army corps, and there felt comparatively safe.

We were, however, very wet and cold and altogether miserable, buoyed
up only by the liberty ahead. As it was only two o'clock, we pushed on
for several hours before stopping to lie by for the day.

For days we carried on thus without discovery. Each night was a
repetition of the preceding one, an interminable fighting of our way
through dark forests, into and out of sloppy ditches, over fields and
through thorny hedges, dodging the lights of villages.

We went solely by the stars, which Simmons understood after a fashion,
and, aided by our map, we held fairly well to our general direction.
We had no other sources of information than our own good sense. We
watched the sky ahead at night for the glow which might indicate to us
the size of the community ahead; and aided by a close observation of
railroads, telegraph wires and the quality of the wagon roads and the
quantity of travel on them, were able to form fairly accurate
estimates of where we were and which places to avoid. Except on
unfrequented byways we travelled by the fields, hugging the road from
a distance. This made travel arduous but safer.

At that, we were sometimes spoken to in neighborly greeting. We
grunted indifferently in reply, as an unsociable man might. When, as
sometimes happened, people rose up in front of us from gateways or
hidden roads, it was very disconcerting. On such occasions only the
darkness saved us, for we took no chances, wherever there were lights.

It was really harder in the day time; when, try as we might, we could
not count on avoiding for our hiding place the scene of some
labourer's toil or perhaps the covert of some child's play. We slept
by turns with one always on guard. It was difficult indeed for the
guard not to neglect his duty, so utterly weary were we. The lying
position we needs must retain all day long aided that tendency, and
yet we were always so wet and cold that real sleep was difficult to
secure.

In this district the swamps were numerous and difficult to cross. The
small ditches and canals that drained them or the almost equally
swampy fields added to our grief. The feet slipped back at each muddy
step: We fell into ditches: Dogs barked: And we almost wept.

Once a dog helped us by his barking. It was night and we were crossing
a very bad swamp, an old peat bog which was full of the ditches and
holes that the peat had been taken from. These were full of black
water which merged so naturally into the prevailing darkness that we
repeatedly fell into them. We floundered out of one only to fall into
another, uncertain where we were going and lost to all sense of
direction. There was no vestige of track or road. It was then that
the dog barked. We stopped to listen, conversing in low tones.
Certainly, we thought, the dog must be near a house and that meant dry
land and a footing. So we advanced in the direction of the sound,
stopping to listen to each fresh outburst so as to make certain that
we should not approach too closely. Apparently he had smelt us on the
wind.

Before we reached the dog we felt the solid ground under foot and were
off once more at a tangent from the sound of his barking.

The swamps were a great trouble to us, as were also some of the
fields, so cut up by ditches and hedges were they, and yet, in order
to avoid the roads and the wires, we frequently had to lay a
circuitous route to avoid these obstacles or else chance the road,
which we would not do. Often, when we could see our course lying
straight ahead on the road, we put about and tacked off and away from
it because a parallel course was impossible on account of the swampy
nature of the ground. With these bad places passed we could perhaps
pull back to our true course again, but only after double the travel
that should have been necessary.

However, we did not mind that so much. Nor did we greatly mind the
short rations we were on. The other privations were too severe for us
to notice these minor ones.

The worst was the continual state of wetness and the resultant
coldness of our bodies. It was not so bad at night when we were
walking and so kept our blood circulating, but by day it was very bad.
We used to pray for night and the end of our enforced rest. We were
never dry or warm but were always very cold and miserable. The sun, on
those rare occasions when it came forth, did not appear until ten or
eleven in the morning. By mid-afternoon it was again a thing of the
past. At best it was very weak and we had to hide in the bushes where
it could not reach us. All we could do was to take off one garment at
a time and thrust it cautiously out near the edge of our hiding-place
to some spot on which the sun shone. Under these conditions we grew
steadily weaker on our allowance of two biscuits a day; for the time
of year precluded the possibility of there being any crops for us to
fall back upon for food, and it was too risky a proceeding to attempt
to steal from the householders.

    [Illustration: GERMAN PRISONERS MARCHING THROUGH GOOD NATURED
    ENGLISH CROWDS AT SOUTHAMPTON.]

    [Illustration: HIGH EXPLOSIVES BURSTING OVER GERMAN TRENCHES.
    BRITISH DEAD IN FOREGROUND.]

On the eighth day we reached the River Ems. We had no difficulty in
recognising it, as it was the only large one on our map that lay on
the route we had chosen, and we had passed nothing even faintly
resembling it, with the exception of some large canals, which were
easily recognizable as such and which we had swum. We made out trees
which appeared to be on the other shore.

We regretfully decided that it was too late to attempt the crossing
that night. The daylight proved the line of trees to be merely the
tops of a flooded woodland. The shore was a good quarter of a mile
away. It was January; the water was cold and full of floating ice, and
very swift. Fording was out of the question. For two days and nights
we wandered up and down the bank, vainly seeking a boat or raft with
which to make the crossing. We finally discovered a large bridge,
which was submerged except for its flood-time arches. There was no
sign of life and it looked safe, so we proceeded to cross. We
discovered, however, that we had not reached the bridge proper, but
were merely on the approach to it. We dropped off onto the main steel
portion. The wind beat the cold rain against us so that we could
neither see nor hear. However, we went on and were nearly across when
suddenly a light flashed on us and we heard a startled "Halt!"

We could barely make out the mass of buildings that indicated the line
of the shore. It seemed too bad to throw up the sponge so easily.

I said under my breath to Simmons: "We'll push right on," and loudly:
"Hollander!" thinking we might perhaps get far enough away to make a
run for it. But there was no show: It was too far to the shore.

There was a shouted command and the clatter of rifle-bolts striking
home. It was no use. We stopped and shouted that we would not run, and
then waited while they advanced toward us.

The elderly Landsturmers guarding the bridge gathered us in and took
us over to their guardroom at the hotel. We judged the incident to be
an epoch in the monotony of their soldierly duties. They were very
good to us. Two of them moved away from the fire to make room for our
wet misery and they gave us a pot of boiling water, two bivouac cocoa
tablets and a loaf of black bread. The news spread, and civilians
dropped in to stare at and question us. In the morning the entire
population came to see the _Engländer_ prisoners. We learned that we
were only four miles from Holland, and cursed aloud. The town was
Lathen and when, the next morning, we discovered that it was gayly
bedecked with flags and bunting we decided that we were indeed
personages of note if we could cause such a celebration. However, it
was only the Kaiser's birthday.

In the afternoon they took us by rail to Meppen and shoved us in the
civilian jail, where we were allowed a daily ration of two ounces of
black bread, one pint of gruel and three-quarters of a pint of coffee
for two days, until, on January thirtieth, an escort came from
Vehnmoor. They roped us together with a clothes-line, arm to arm, and
marched us through the principal streets by a roundabout route to the
station so that all might see.

We were unwashed, unshaven and so altogether disreputable as to
satisfy the most violent hatred--such for instance as we found here.
It did not require our pride to keep our hearts up or to keep us from
feeling the humiliation of so cruel an ordeal. We simply did not
experience the painful sensations that such a proceeding would
ordinarily arouse in the breast of any man; just as after heavy
shell-fire no man feels either fear or courage; he is too dazed and
stupid for either. Many spat at us and good old _Engländer Schwein_
came to us from every side. It seemed like meeting an old friend,
after our few days away from it. The faces of these people were
different from those we had left at camp but their hearts were the
same. They lined the streets and jeered at us. But we were too tired
and hungry to care.

And that ended that trip to Holland.




CHAPTER XV

PAYING THE PIPER

  Sheer Starvation--Slipping It Over the Sentry--The Court
  Martial--Thirty Days Cells--No Place for a Gourmand--In
  Napoleon's Footsteps--Parniewinkel Camp--"Like Father, Like
  Son"--The Last Kind German--Running Amuck--The Torture of the
  Russians--The Continental Times--"K. of K. Is Gone!"


Upon arrival at camp, we were put in cells for eleven days while
awaiting our court-martial.

During that period we suffered terribly from sheer starvation. The
daily rations consisted of a poor soup and a small quantity of black
bread. Hungry though I was, there was only one way by which I could
eat it--hold my breath and swallow. I am aware that the Germans
consider this food quite palatable but that may be because they are
accustomed to it. It was to us the resort of starving men. The cells
were quite dark--four-by-eight-foot wooden boxes. The confinement and
short rations on top of our arduous journey, during which we had had
nothing but the two biscuits a day, caused us to grow weaker daily.

Our friends, however, contrived occasionally to get portions of their
food to us. They maintained a sentry of their own, whose duty it was
to watch for and report our trips to the latrine. It was unsafe for us
to ask for this permission more than once a day with the same guard.
As the latter was frequently changed, however, we were enabled to work
the scheme to the limit.

At the worst, this let us out of our cells for a few minutes; and, if
we were lucky, enabled us to get a handful of broken food. Seeing us
come out, the prisoner on watch would stroll into the hut and pass the
word. Shortly, another would come out to us and in passing frequently
manage to slip us something. On one long-to-be-remembered occasion, a
man of the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, managed to "square"
the guard, a pleasant-faced young German, in some manner we could
never fathom, so that the latter actually brought to us two spoons and
a wash basin full of boiled barley, which we ate in the latrine. That
was the most humane act experienced from German hands during my
fifteen months' sojourn in Germany.

On the eleventh day we were marched out to what would be the Germans'
orderly room. A Canadian who had picked up a smattering of German
acted as interpreter. He did what he could for us, which was little
enough.

Asked why we had tried to escape, we feared to tell the truth, that we
had been forced to it by ill-treatment; so merely stated that we were
tired of Germany and wanted to go home. The presiding officer said:
"Well, you fellows have been a lot of trouble to us. I've been told to
tell you that if you give us any more; we'll have a little shooting
bee." We were sentenced to thirty days' dark cells. That was our
court-martial.

One lucky thing happened to us here: When they took our map away it
fell in two, as a result of having been folded in our pockets. The
officer crumpled one piece up, made a handful of it and tossed it
away, at the same time shoving the other half at me, which I eagerly
clutched. That piece showed the portion of Germany adjoining the
Holland border.

Our thirty days' dark cells were spent in the military prison at
Oldenburg. As before, they were four-by-eight feet in size, but with a
high ceiling which gave me room to stand on my hands for exercise.
Each of us was confined alone. The walls and floor of the cells were
of stone; the shutters, of steel which were always closed. There was
no furniture other than the three boards which served as the mockery
of a bed and which were chained up to the wall every morning. A small
shelf which held the water pitcher was the only other furnishing. No
ray of light was permitted to enter the place. The month was February
but there were no blankets, and the place was unheated. The rations
consisted of half a pound of black bread and a pitcher of water, which
were thrust in to us every morning, so that except for the guard who
unchained the boards at night we had no visitation in the twenty-four
long, long hours.

I cannot remember that I brooded much. Rather, I let my mind run out
as a tired sleeper might, which was no doubt fortunate for me. My
family were greatly in my thoughts. I wondered how my wife was making
out and if she was receiving her separation allowance all right, for
I had heard of many cases where the reverse had happened; and whether
the boys were well and going to school. I hoped that all was well with
them and that they did not worry too much over my lot.

As I was not permitted either to send or receive letters during the
period of my trial and incarceration, my wife was in fact in great
distress of mind about me as she received no word for many weeks and
imagined the worst. And when at last I could write it was only to say
that although I had been well I had been unable to write, leaving her
to draw her own conclusions.

The cell door opened promptly at five o'clock every morning. We were
allowed ten minutes in which to clean our cell, go to the lavatory and
wash up, all under guard. These were the only occasions during which
we had an opportunity of seeing one another or the other prisoners.
These rites were all performed in silence, and communication of any
description was forbidden and so keenly watched for as to be
impossible. However, Simmons and I got what small comfort we could out
of seeing one another frequently, and by this time there had grown up
between us such a mutual respect as to make us value this highly. The
other prisoners included Germans as well as our allies and there were
some civilian German prisoners. The German soldier prisoners were
mostly in for committing the various crimes of soldiering which in the
British Army would have put them under the general head of defaulters.
That classification, however, had been done away with in the German
Army. The slightest infringement of discipline was punished with
cells. Noncommissioned officers received the same punishment as the
men, without, however, losing their rank, as would have been the case
in our army.

Upon finishing the ten minutes allotted to us we were forced to
re-enter our cells and stand against the wall, at the back, so that we
could neither see nor communicate with one another until the guard got
around a few minutes later and looked in to see that all was as it
should be before slamming the door.

There was no use in trying to stretch the ration out for two meals. I
tried to and gave it up. And after that I ate the bread, filled up on
water and sat down on the cold stone floor for another twenty-four
hours of waiting.

My thoughts dwelt greatly on food. We were supposed to receive soup
every fourth day, but we did not. The prisoners of other nationalities
did, and in addition were exercised regularly. At least we could hear
the rattle of their spoons against their bowls and the tramp of their
feet. The slow starving was, to my mind, the worst. And after that the
loss of sleep. If one did drop off, the cold soon caused a miserable
awakening. I tried not to think, and did all the gymnastic drill I
knew, even to standing on my hands in the darkness of the cell. I knew
that if I gave up it would be all off, for I could daily feel myself
getting wabbly as the confinement and starvation, added to my already
enfeebled and starved condition when I entered, began to tell on me.
It must be borne in mind that I had already served eleven days'
solitary confinement on insufficient food, after several days of jail
on ditto, and eight days while escaping, during which I had been
continually wet and without food, other than the two biscuits daily,
before beginning to serve this sentence. Simmons, of course, was in
the same plight.

The last day, that of February 22nd, rolled around finally. We were
taken from our cells at nine o'clock and marched out for an unknown
destination which we knew only as a stronger punishment camp than the
others we had been in. Ahead of us we saw poor Brumley; but were
unable to communicate with him, and I do not know whether he saw us or
not. That was all we ever learned directly of his fate. His wife, in
Toronto, has since informed me that he is still in Germany and has
only lately been recaptured after another attempt at escape.

At eleven that night we arrived at our destination. This was the
strong punishment camp of Parniewinkel, in Hanover, on the road over
which Napoleon had marched to his doom at Moscow. We wondered if we,
too, were going to ours.

We had had no food that day, nor did we get any that night, but were
shoved into a hut full of Russians, who did not know what to make of
us. We were so long of hair and beard, so ragged, so emaciated and so
altogether filthy that they must have thought us anything but British
soldiers.

Later we found that there were, in all, between four and five hundred
Russian, eighty French and Belgian, and, including ourselves, eleven
British prisoners, of whom Simmons and I were the only Canadians, all
shoved into two huts in the middle of the usual barbed-wire laager.

As Giessen was the best camp, so this one was the worst of all those
we were to know. It was not so wet as the swamp at Vehnmoor, but the
drinking water was even worse than the brackish, peat-laden water
there. The general sanitary arrangements were terrible and the food
was worse than at Giessen, the camp in which that lack had been the
worst feature among many bad ones. And on top of it all the treatment
was very bad, much worse than any we had previously known.

A soup, made from a handful of pickled fish roe and a few potatoes,
was a stock dish, and terrible to taste. On one night a week we
received a raw herring fresh from the brine barrel, which we were
supposed to eat raw and uncleaned, but could not. On one day in seven
there was a weak cabbage soup and of course, a small daily ration of
potato-and-rye bread. Fortunately, our parcels were beginning to
arrive by this time, so that, in fact, we fared better than at any of
the better camps, in the matter of food. With the Russians it was
different, and we used to give our soup to them in exchange for their
share of boiling water, which we used in conjunction with the contents
of our parcels and which they had no use for anyway, especially for
washing purposes.

It was difficult to get an opportunity to boil water for the making of
tea or cocoa, even when parcels furnished the essentials, as there
were so many men and so few stoves that it was a constant struggle to
get near the latter.

However, as we had refused to work, we did not require very much food.
We used also to give our black bread to the Russians, for which they
insisted on doing our washing, though it was little enough of that
they did for themselves. They were very good and simple men.

Ours was a good bunch of fellows and gave freely to one another and to
the unfortunate Russians, who rarely received parcels. There was no
selling or trading on misfortune here, as in some of the other camps
we had been in. The Germans themselves were short of necessities here.
They hated to come to the _Engländers_ to buy, so used to send the
Russians to beg for soap which they would not use in any event, and in
this case simply sold to the guards. Discovering this, we shut down on
indiscriminate giving. Soap or any other fatty substance was by that
time very scarce in Germany, amongst the lower classes at least. I was
the only "non-com" in our lot, and so put up the stripes I had taken
down to avoid giving _Augen Rechts_ at Vehnmoor. I used that authority
now to persuade my fellow Britishers to give to the unfortunate
Russians rather than to the French, who, like ourselves, were
receiving parcels.

A boy of five years or thereabouts used to come regularly to the wire,
upon which he would climb and hang like some foul spider on its web.
Grasping it in both small hands and kicking vainly at it and us, he
would scream: "Engländer Schwein," and I know not what other names,
spitting venom like a little wildcat. This was not the riffraff of the
camp. The boy was the son of the camp Commandant, and the apple of his
father's eye and the thing was often done under that eye and amid the
vicious applause of the young father and his terrible crew.

The Commandant was a young chap, a lieutenant. What he lacked in years
he made up in hate. He was known as an England hater. We were poison
to him. The latrine, a mere shallow pit, was just outside the door of
our hut and the Commandant saw to it that the latrine fatigue was
always wished off on to the British. We were made to bail it out daily
with buckets, which we then carried to the surrounding fields, on
which we spread the contents while the Commandant and guards laughed.
The _unteroffizier_ in immediate charge of us, if left alone would not
make us do this. He was the last kind German I remember, and I have
mentioned all whom I can recall as having performed the slightest act
of kindness to us, even of the most negative quality. He used to say
that it was a pity to treat us so; that such a job was good enough for
the Russians, who were no soldiers, anyhow, and who smelled bad and
would not wash; but for us who were soldiers it was a great shame.

The vermin were so bad here that we chanced further trouble by writing
on post cards as though to friends in England, and complained. We knew
that they would be intercepted and go to the Commandant. They did. We
were marched to Cellelaager to go through the fumigating machine. We
went into a large hut, stripped, tied our clothes in a bundle and
shoved them into the large oven to bake for five hours while we sat
round with nothing on but a smile. In the interval we were made to
run the clippers closely over our heads and bodies. There were sores
on some of the Russians as big as a hand, eaten deep into by the
vermin and the bones threatened to break through the skin of some as
we sat about naked, shivering. Uncleanly at best and denied soap here,
the lower class of them neglected all the rules of cleanliness. Their
"non-coms" were the reverse, being almost without exception men of
some education and general attainments.

Upon our return to this camp we were told by a friendly Russian in the
orderly room that the post cards were being held there as evidence
against us. We begged him to give them to us. He did so, and we had
barely finished destroying them when a German officer, accompanied by
a file of men, entered and demanded them. We explained that they had
been destroyed. He would not believe us. We pointed to the charred
ashes. He searched our bodies, our beds and the scanty furnishing of
the hut, naturally without avail. The Russian orderly was severely
admonished and our fire was cut off as punishment.

The treatment at this camp was uniformly bad. The next morning the
_Raus_ blew at four-thirty instead of five, as was customary. While we
were still engaged in dressing the guards rushed in, some with fixed
bayonets, others with them gripped short, as with daggers. The leader
wore a button, the insignia of non-commissioned rank. He gave a
berserker roar of rage and charged furiously at an inoffensive Russian
and stabbed the poor fellow in the neck; while his victim lay back in
pleading terror, with outstretched arms. And then, still roaring, he
slashed a Frenchman who was walking past, on the back of the head.
Going down the hut, he espied Harckum, of the East Lancashire
Regiment, tying his shoes. Without warning he plunged at him, and,
striking, laid open the entire side of the man's face, splitting the
ear so that it hung in two pieces. This was all quite in order because
we were slow in dressing.

The Russians, with the exception of a lucky few who received some from
a Russian society in England, got no parcels, and suffered
accordingly. They were more amenable to discipline than we were, and
perhaps because of their hunger used to go out daily to work on the
moors from daylight until dark. They were a cheerful lot, considering
everything, little given to thinking of their situation and not
blessed by any great love of country nor perhaps the pleasantest
recollections of it; and to that extent at least appeared to be
comparatively satisfied, even under ill treatment. Ill fed as they
were, they used frequently to fall out at their work from sheer
exhaustion, which the Germans said was only laziness and malingering
and for which they would be returned to a point near the laager, where
we were, for their punishment. By the Commandant's orders this
consisted of forcing them to run the gauntlet of two lines of soldiers
who jabbed them with bayonets if they fell into a walk--until the
victims could run no more and dropped in their tracks. The Germans
would then roll their eyelids back for signs of shamming, and if any
such indications were shown, they were jabbed again--and usually were,
anyhow--until their failure to respond proved that they were really
unconscious.

This happened with alarming frequency on a regular schedule, forenoon
and afternoon, to all Russians who refused to work. On one occasion we
saw six or eight of them laid out unconscious at one time in this
manner. We wished to do something for them, but were refused
permission, and one man who was thought to be a ring leader was
selected to make an example of; he was awarded seven days' cells.

We had previously agreed that if we were awarded this punishment; we
should refuse to run the gauntlet and should let them do their worst.
There was no more heard of all this, but after that the Russians were
punished on the other side of a belt of trees just outside the laager,
where we could not see them, though their piteous cries could plainly
be distinguished.

Three of the Russians broke away from this camp, and finding
themselves near the stores, crawled in the window and stole a half of
a pig. They were recaptured, and, after doing thirty days' cells, were
forced to work out the price of the pig at the rate of thirty
pfennigs--or six cents--a day, which ordinarily would have been
credited to them for the buying of necessities. And pork came high in
Germany.

There was one kind of pill for all ailments. That however, may have
been only stupidity. At least the practice is not confined to the
prison camps nor the army of Germany, as all British soldiers know.
But even these were not for the British.

On another occasion a party of Russians arrived from another camp
twelve miles away.

They said that some Englishmen there who had refused to work had been
shot at until all were wounded in the legs.

We continued to receive our old friend, the _Continental Times_, here,
and through it first learned of the Skager-Rack or Jutland battle, in
which, the paper claimed, over thirty major British ships had been
sunk, in addition to a larger number of smaller ones. The _Times_ said
it was a great victory for the Germans. The last we doubted and the
first we knew to be untrue, since some of the ships they claimed to
have sunk had been destroyed previous to our capture, nine months
before. It was in the _Times_, too, that we first heard of Kitchener's
end. We could not believe it, and for a month laughed at the guard's
insistence on the story, until one day a post card arrived from
England, saying: "K. of K. is gone." That was a terrible blow to us,
for to the British soldier; Kitchener was the tangible expression of
the might of his Empire.

Some of our party of eleven British had been prisoners since Mons and
they were in a very bad way. The poor food, the lack of the
fundamental necessities of the human frame, the terrible monotony of
the continual barbed wire, the same faces round them, mostly
unfriendly, all combined to have a most depressing effect, not only
upon their bodies, but upon their minds. Many of them will never be of
any use again. Compared to Ladysmith, when that place was besieged in
the South African War, the latter, terrible though it was, was far and
away better than this, even if we did live on horse meat at the last
in Ladysmith.

There was a certain amount of vice here, induced by the life. A kilted
Highlander was accused of having fathered a child in a German family,
where he had been employed. We did not learn the facts of the case;
but such, at least, was camp gossip and it served to detract
materially from the habitual despondency of our lot.




CHAPTER XVI

THE THIRD ESCAPE

  Saving Up for the Day--A Special Brand--Watchful Waiting--Off
  Again--Why the Man in the Moon Laughed--A German Idyll--The
  Narrow Escapes.


Simmons and I had been planning on another escape ever since our
recapture. So we kept on our good behaviour, while we saved up food
for _Der Tag_. We had hitherto refused to work, as had the remaining
Britishers, but in order to keep ourselves fit; we finally volunteered
to carry the noon ration of soup out to the Russians who worked on the
moor. Our job consisted of carrying an immense can of soup, swung high
on a pole from our shoulders, out to the workers, under guard of
course. Starting at eleven each day and, by permission of the guard,
occasionally resting, we were usually back by one o'clock. Each day we
saved a portion of our food. We wanted twenty days' rations each,
estimating that it would take us that long to walk to Holland. We
specialised on concentrated foods from our parcels--biscuits, tinned
meats, and so on. We had our cache in a hole, dug under cover of
night, under the flooring of the hut. It was unsafe to keep food on
our bodies or near our beds, as the guards were in the habit of
calling the _Raus_ at all hours, and sometimes, several times during
the night. It might be at twelve, two or four, although it was never
alike on any two nights in succession, except that they always
searched us. We could see no reason for this; other than to break our
rest and perhaps our spirits, as at Giessen Camp. Certainly, no one
would carry any forbidden thing on his person, under such
surveillance, and they well knew we could hide anything we wished in
other places; as we did.

Each Saturday morning, Simmons and I paraded for paint. We stood,
while a big Russian, with a brush and bucket, painted large red and
green circles on our breasts, backs and knees. Thin stripes were also
painted down the seams of our trousers and sleeves and around the
stiff crowns of our caps. This was to mark us as dangerous characters.
As such we received more of the unwelcome _Raus_ attentions than the
others and were the more wary in consequence.

We were busy opening our mail on one of those rare occasions, when
Simmons gave a startled exclamation. I looked up and saw him gazing
curiously at a small cheese which he turned slowly around in his hand.
As I stepped to his side, a guard came in. He hastily shoved the cause
of the strange behaviour into his pocket. When the guard had gone; he
passed me a letter to read. It was from his brother in Canada. "I
received your letter all right and am sending you a special brand of
cheese," I read--and understood.

We waited on tiptoe until night, to open the cheese. It was one of the
cream cheeses, so popular in Canada, no bigger than my closed hand. We
gingerly unwrapped the tin foil and broke it open. To our great joy,
in the hollow heart of it there was tucked away the tiny compass
Simmons had written for from Vehnmoor just before our second escape.
With it were four American quarters.

Not anticipating this good luck, we had exercised our ingenuity to
construct a rude compass of our own out of a safety-razor blade and an
eyelet from my boot. It was within fifteen to twenty degrees of the
true north. In addition we had a safety lamp, which one of the guards
had long been looking for under the impression that he had lost it.

We now had our twenty days' rations saved up and so took turns sitting
up at night, awaiting our chance. We spent two months in this watchful
waiting, watching the wire and the sentries. But no opportunity
offered. We took turn about, one man on watch all night long, every
night. He could not seem to watch but must lie in his place, observing
all movement in the hut and listening carefully for any indicative
noises outside. Occasionally, he might step outside and ostentatiously
walk about as though sleepless, and, if spoken to, say that he was not
well.

But always there were the shining eyes of the watching dogs, growling,
if one came too near, and outside the stodgy sentries; and above all,
much light.

So we determined to volunteer for work, figuring that they were so
short of men that they would not lightly refuse us. It so happened
that ten men were asked for that Saturday to hoe turnips on a near-by
farm. The pay was thirty pfennigs--or six cents--a day. We
volunteered and were accepted without cavil. They thought our spirit
gone and that we had accepted the inevitable. We reasoned that if we
worked hard while we studied the lie of the land we might be asked for
again, could go prepared, and make a break for it.

And so it fell out. We worked hard all that day, at the same time
impressing the topography of the country upon our minds. At the close
of the day we were taken to the farm for our supper of potatoes and
buttermilk and then marched off to the laager, four miles distant. On
the following Monday we were ordered to go out to the same place.
Unfortunately we could not take our store of food as its bulk would
have meant our detection. In addition to the equipment already
mentioned I carried two packages of tobacco, a shaving brush and a box
of matches. Simmons had a terrible razor which would not shave, four
boxes of matches and a small piece of soap. These were all our worldly
possessions. It will be seen that, true to our British tradition, the
shaving outfit constituted the most formidable part of our
impedimenta.

We worked all day. And so did the rain. We knocked off for supper at
eight o'clock. The three guards escorted us to the farmhouse, but
after locking the front door, went into an adjoining room with the
farmer for their own meal. The back door was forgotten. We were
famished, so fell to on the supper of buttermilk and potatoes. I
finished first and strolled lazily over to the door. Besides Simmons,
there were seven Frenchmen and an Englishman, all of whom were still
at table and none of them aware of our plans. I carelessly opened the
door and stood on the sill a moment. Still pouring. "Come here,
Simmons, and see this. We're going to get wet before we get back."
Simmons shoved his chair back and joined me. We both stepped outside
and gently shut the door.

Once more we were on our way! We found ourselves at the edge of the
village in which the farmers hereabouts had their homes. We worked our
way carefully round the outskirts and made for a bit of a wood a mile
and a half away. We were only half way to our objective when the
village bells began to ring. Once more the hue and cry was on!

When the deep baying of the dogs joined in we said "Ataboy!" cast
aside all concealment and began to run for it. We reached the wood
safely enough, but it turned out to be only a thin fringe of trees,
offering no concealment whatever. We dashed through them. On the other
side a village opened up. Back to the wedge of wood we went. A
good-sized ditch with a foot or so of water in it ran along the edge
of the wood. Its sides were covered with heather, which drooped far
down into the water. We flung ourselves into it, after first shoving
the tin box containing our precious matches into the heather above.
Pitch darkness would not come until ten o'clock. During the
intervening two hours we lay on our backs in the water with only the
smallest possible portion of our faces projecting. Once the guard
jumped over the ditch less than four yards away. We suffered
intensely, for, although it was late August, the water was very cold.

When things had become quiet and daylight had passed we withdrew
ourselves from the muck, and after rubbing our numbed bodies to
restore the circulation, struck out across the country, intent on
shoving as much distance as possible between ourselves and the camp
before another day rolled round. We knew that the alarm would be out
and the whole country roused, with every man's hand against us. We
were getting used to that. I, for one, had determined not to be taken
alive this time. But I certainly did not want to be put to the test.
So we plowed our way through oat and rye fields and over and through
ditches--many of them. Once we stripped our soggy clothes off to swim
a river that faced us. In no place did the water come above our knees;
but what it lacked in depth, it made up for in coldness. We saw none
of the humour in that, so we cursed it and stumbled on, two very tired
men. We pulled handfuls of oats and chewed dryly on them as we plunged
up to our waists through the crops. We reckoned that we had made
thirty miles by morning and apparently had outdistanced our pursuers.

One night early in our pilgrimage, we espied some cows in a field.
Simmons had been a farmer in Canada and so was our agricultural and
stock authority here. He plunged through the hedge to see if he could
not capture a hat full of milk whilst I stood guard outside. I stepped
into the shadow of some trees, and occasionally I could hear a
guarded "Soo--Cow!" footsteps--and then as like as not, a muffled
curse. I smiled.

Two figures came hurriedly down the road. I pressed back against the
hole of the tree, holding my breath. It was fairly light on the road
and to my amazement I saw two men who wore French uniforms. Also they
had heavy packs on their back. That last meant but one thing--food.

I rose to my feet: "Kamerad!"

One of them stopped short. The other pressed on. He muttered something
under his breath and the other broke into a trot to catch up.

I edged along, trying desperately to be friendly. That made them the
more timid. They would have none of me. No further word was exchanged
just then except for a repetition of my "Kamerad."

I whistled softly to Simmons. That alarmed them the more. They
lengthened their stride. So did I mine.

One said something I could not catch. They half halted and made a
brave attempt to pose as Germans, to judge by their guttural talk and
brassy front.

I could not explain, although I tried in the half light to show my
friendliness, and Simmons, now a few rods away, did likewise. I
endeavoured to address them in French--and could not. I tried German.
That was worse and the final result--chaos.

All I could think of was "Kamerad." I kept on like a parrot, foolishly
repeating it.

All this took but a moment and then they were gone and we after them.

So there were they, walking hurriedly, fearful of us for Germans no
doubt and casting uneasy glances back. I followed slowly, at a loss to
know what to do, my eyes glued on the inviting squareness of their
heavy packs. Simmons jogged behind, endeavouring to catch up. The moon
laughed at all four of us.

"Come on," I said. "They're Frenchmen. We'll follow them. They have
two packs on their backs! Grub! And maybe we can bum them for a bit."

Simmons needed no second invitation but set out as eagerly as I in
cautious pursuit; so fearful were we of alarming our quarry. Our eyes
were glued on their packs.

Just then the road opened up into a broad expanse of heather. And
there we lost them. We beat about in the heather for a long time, and
called loudly, but without avail. They were no doubt lying down,
hiding.

We found some potatoes in a field that night, dug them up with our
bare hands and ate them raw. We were very sad when we thought of those
packs.

It was, I remember, on the day following that we saw some of the
lighter side of German life. The woods thereabouts were cut up into
big blocks, as city streets are. We were laying to in one of them,
thankful for the thickness of our shelter when we heard laughing
voices and then a gust of laughter as a flying group of girls and boys
romped past. They played about for half an hour, causing us great
alarm by their youthful fondness for sudden excursions into unlikely
spots, after nothing in particular. The oldest of the group, a sizable
boy of seventeen or thereabouts and a pretty girl of near that age,
hung back long after the younger children had passed on. We had little
to fear from them. They were quite evidently engrossed in one another.
He argued earnestly, while she listened with a half-smile. Once, he
made as if to take her hand but she drew back and stiffened. He
ignored the rebuff. A moment afterward he said something that pleased
her so well that the last we saw of them his arm was about her waist
as they went down the path together.

Parniewinkel lay forty to fifty miles northeast of Bremen, which in
turn was one hundred and fifty miles from the Holland border. We
reckoned on having to walk double that in covering the stretch, and
figured on twenty-one days for the trip.

My diary for that day, August 22, 1916, reads: "Still raining. Soaked
and cold. Breakfast, dinner and supper: turnips and oats." The night
was a repetition of the preceding one, and made worse by the number of
small swamps we had to struggle through. The next day's diary reads:
"Rain stopped and not so cold. Fair cover; still soaked but
confident."

We had our first narrow escape that day. We were lying in the corner
of a hedge. It was so misty as to give almost the effect of night, but
so long past day as to make travelling unduly dangerous. When the mist
lifted we found ourselves within fifty yards of a thickly populated
village with just a narrow strip of field between. We could hear
all the early morning bustle of any village, the world over. This was
about three o'clock. An old man followed by a dog made straight for
us. I had just come off the watch, which we took turn about. Simmons
whistled cautiously to me, the very sound a warning to be quiet.

    [Illustration: SALIENT DETAILS OF THE THIRD ESCAPE.]

I looked up. The old man wandered along the hedge and stood over him
for several minutes.

It was very trying but he lay motionless, for fear of the dog. A blow
would have sufficed for the old man. The latter remained so for a
couple of minutes, standing over him, busy.

The meals for that day were peas and oats. It was a slow way of making
a meal. We liked the oats the best and pulled some whenever we came to
them, if our pockets were not already full, so that they should always
be so. We ate them as we went, from the cupped hand, spilling some and
spitting out the husks of the others which sometimes stuck in our
throats, making them very raw.

For August twenty-fourth the diary reads: "Very hard night. Crossed
about five kilometres of swamps and numerous canals. Bad accident.
Clothes went to the bottom, but recovered. We are soaked, as usual,
and only made about eleven kilometres. Are outside town of Bremen.
Cover very poor. Meals for the day: Nix. Still confident." The cover
ranked before the food as an item of interest to us. Knowing the
general direction of Bremen from the camp, and that it was much the
largest town in the vicinity, we experienced no difficulty in locating
it by the reflection of its lights against the sky.

"August twenty-fifth: More rain and cold. Hiding on the bank of the
Weser. Better going last night. Going to look for boat to-night. River
two hundred yards broad. Socks played out. Made pair out of a shirt.
Met a cow. Meals for day: turnips, carrots and milk."

"August 26th: More rain. Found boat and crossed river. Hedges grown so
close and so many of them, we have to go around them. Takes a lot of
time. Otherwise going good. Meals for the day: turnip, peas and oats.
Met another cow. Frisked her. Cover none too good. Trying to dry our
clothes in sun. More confident." We always became more confident at
the slightest semblance of warmth.

The socks we made out of a shirt which came from the clothes-line of
some _haus-frau_. We made "dutch" socks in Western fashion by cutting
out large diamond shaped pieces of the cloth, which when the foot was
placed on it, folded up nicely into a sock of a kind.

The cow, or rather, her milk, was the greatest treat of all.

It required some searching before we found a boat. We finally
discovered a boat house which we broke into and by great good luck
found inside it a boat which answered our purpose. Our chief concern
was lest the owners might raise a hue and cry against the theft.
However, when we reached the further shore we gave the boat a good
push out into the stream so that if they attempted to follow our trail
they might find the boat a long ways down stream.

"August twenty-seventh: Rain left off. Trying to dry ourselves in sun.
Had a hard night keeping clear of town. Good cover in a wood. Meals:
turnips and another obliging cow. Feet pretty sore. No socks. Still in
the best otherwise."

The town in question was the second one we passed after leaving
Bremen. We saw the reflection of its lights in the sky and thought
that we should easily miss it. But suddenly from some high ground we
found ourselves working directly down on the streets so close below us
that we could discern people going to and fro. We turned and fled.

Swinging well round to the south we thought at last to clear the town
easily, instead of which we again came up against it, in the outskirts
this time. And we repeated that disheartening performance a couple of
times before we cleared the obstacle and once more swung on our way.

It was such occurrences as this that disheartened us more than
anything else, even the great hardships. To labor and travail, to do
the seemingly impossible, night after night and then in the snap of a
finger to find all our pains, all our agony gone for nothing, reacted
on us terribly at times.

On the following morning we met with our second narrow escape, under
much the same circumstances as the first. We had crawled into a hedge
toward the heel of the night, and rather earlier than usual on account
of a thick mist which prevented us from holding to our course. When it
lifted we made out the slope of a house roof shoving itself out of
the grey fog directly in front of us. Our hedge divided two fields,
in both of which labourers were already cutting the crops. In this
hedge, on each side of us, were gateways so close together that when,
as occasionally happened, people passed through one, we were forced to
crawl up to the other to avoid detection. We had done so again when,
without warning, a drover came plodding up behind his sheep. We had no
time in which to go back up the hedge. The sheep crowded from the rear
and overflowed at the narrow gateway into the hedge where we lay and
so ran over our bodies. We remained quiet, thinking he would pass on;
but what with the frightened actions of his sheep and the yelping of
the dog his attention was inevitably attracted to the spot where we
lay. He came over, looked down at us, but said nothing and stalked on.
We were uncertain as to whether he had seen us or not. Numerous
incidents of a similar nature had made us overconfident. We had
previously escaped detection in some very tight corners by simply
lying quiet. Casual travelers had all but walked on us upon several
occasions, and at night we ourselves passed many people and thought
nothing of it.

A moment later the shepherd walked off directly toward the labourers,
glancing back over his shoulder at us as he did so. We struck out at
once, before the crowd could gather. We had, at the beginning of this,
our third escape, agreed not to be taken alive to go through a
repetition of the torture of mind and body which we had already
undergone, and, perhaps for this time, worse. And it was understood
that if one played out the other should carry on. Each of us had a
stout club and could have made a tidy fight.

Concealment was useless and, furthermore, impossible. We passed close
by a group of the harvesters and headed for a wood that lay on the
other side of them. They could not mistake either the vermilion
circles on our khaki tunics, faded though they were, nor our wild and
dilapidated appearance, which was not made more reassuring by the
clubs we carried. Glancing back, we saw them gathering hurriedly in
little knots.

We reached the wood, flung ourselves down and watched them until dark,
during which time they made no attempt to follow us. Nor did we see
any sign of other pursuers, though we kept on the _qui vive_ all
night, as we trudged through the interminable fields, forcing our way
through tight hedges and plunging waist deep into the water of small
canals.




CHAPTER XVII

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WOOD

  Weather Bad but Hopes High--Primitive Dressmaking--The Woman at
  the Farm--The Zeppelin--The Fight in the Wood.


The only roads we habitually used were side ones, and especially did
we avoid any with telegraph wires which might be used against us. It
was a flat and swampy country, full of mist, and the nights were few
in which it did not rain. And we were always very wet and very cold.
The latter was worse than the lack of food. Sometimes we struggled for
hours at a time, knee-deep in desolate stretches of mist-covered
morasses which gave no promise of firm footing but which often dropped
us in to the waist instead. In addition, the country was cut up by
numerous small ditches, six to eight feet wide, which along toward
morning presented so much of an effort in the jumping that we usually
plunged into the water by preference. Our feet were adding to our
misery by this time. On one occasion, as we dragged ourselves out of
the water, two dogs came rushing at us and then followed, yelping. It
was nearly daylight and a woman came down to see what was going on. We
remained motionless near a hedge. She failed to see us, which was
perhaps good luck for both her and us.

The diary for that period reads: "August 28th: Rain worse than ever.
Not a piece of our clothes dry and too much water to lie down. Good
going last night. Cover in a wood outside village. Good. Meals: Nix.
Ought to reach the Hustre river to-night. In good spirits."

"August 29th: Rain stopped and a bit of sun came out. Feeling much
more cheerful. Just had a shave and clean-up. Going last night very
bad. Swamps and canals. Had to leave our course. Feet feeling better.
Meals for the day: turnips, peas and green apples. Did not reach the
river. All's well. No complaints." That shave was a terrible torture.

"August thirtieth: Rain, thunder and lightning most of last night. Got
a bit of shelter in a cowshed in a field. We are wet and cold as
usual, with no sun to dry. Fair cover in a small wood. Going good
last night. Haven't struck the Hustre yet. Meals: green apples and
brambles. Feet pretty sore. Made a needle out of wood and did a bit of
sewing. Best of health."

We had been ploughing through the mist, confused by it and the
numerous hedges, when at the side of a small field we had run into
this cowshed, a tumbledown affair of sods, caved in at the sides and
partly covered by a thatched roof. We built up the side from which the
wind came the worst, hung a rotting canvas we found at the other end
and then snuggled up together to exchange warmth.

The mist had scarcely lifted when we heard a slight noise. We looked
up. A woman was at the entrance to our hovel, looking down full at us.
She turned and walked away. We rose, still dazed with sleep, and found
that we were quite close to a farmhouse which owing to the mist we had
failed to observe before, and from which our visitor had evidently
observed the result of our building operations. "She saw us," I said,
and we regretted not having seized her. She appeared to be signalling.

A good-sized wood lay well up ahead. "Come on," I said. "Let's beat
it. We can handle a few of 'em better than the whole mob." We could
see the farm labourers gathering in a knot. The rain came on just then
and perhaps assisted in dampening their ardour. At any rate they did
not follow us into the wood. We spent rather an uneasy time though,
when, late that day, some men approached our hiding place in a clump
of bushes and for half an hour shot their fowling pieces off all
around where we lay.

They did not seem to be after us; more likely they were hunters. The
same thing had happened in a lesser degree several times before. None
the less it was very uncomfortable to have the buckshot rattling all
around us in the bushes where we lay and we felt much better when they
had gone.

As for the wooden needle: That was of course the result of our
necessity. It was a long thorn--first, a punch in the cloth and like
as not a stab in the finger in the bargain, then a withdrawal of the
crude needle and a careful threading of the hole with our coarse
string, after the fashion of a clumsy shoemaker. Some sewing! Some
needlewoman!

The green apples and the berries which we got here proved a most
welcome change in our diet.

"August thirty-first: Not much rain but very cold. Too dark to travel
last night. No stars out to go by. Crossed the river this morning, at
last. Good cover in bushes. Feet are badly peeled. Hope for better
luck to-night. Meals: apples and turnips. Cold and rain are putting us
in bad state. But still confident." We were daily growing weaker and
prayed only that our strength would last to put us over the border.

"September first: No rain and a little sun. Feeling much better. Going
last night much the best we have had. Good cover in a thicket. Will
soon be going over the same country we did last time we escaped.
Meals: peas and beans. Still in good health."

"September second: No rain, but cold out of the sun. Pretty fair going
last night. Feet still sore. Cover on straw stack in middle of field.
Warmer than the woods. Zeppelin just passed overhead going north.
Meals: turnips, carrots, apples and peas."

"September third: Fine weather. Good going last night. Feet still
pretty bad. Had to cut my boots. Fine cover in the wood. Meals: baked
potatoes. Feel fuller." This was our first cooked meal and the
pleasure it gave us was beyond all words. We lit it under cover of
night so that by the time day had come there was nothing but glowing
coals in which the potatoes roasted while we slept.

My feet were badly swollen by this time so that I was faint with the
pain of them.

The Zeppelin, strange though it was under the circumstances, was only
a small incident in many others of vaster importance which were
happening daily to us but it was flying so low that we deemed it best
not to move until it had passed. We wondered if it were going to
England, and envied it.

"September fourth: More rain. Hard going half the night. Crossed large
peat bog and wet to the waist. Very cold. Cover in wood. None too
good. Got scared out of our first cover. Meals: Milk, apples and peas.
Feet not so sore. Still raining and cold. We should soon be at the
River Ems."

On the evening of this day we walked out to the edge of the wood we
were in and stood there sizing up the near-by village. It was about
seven o'clock and wanted about an hour to darkness and our usual time
for hitting the trail. Without any warning, a burly farmer confronted
us. He was as badly startled as we were. Our remnants of painted
uniforms and our ragged, soaked and generally filthy condition no
doubt added to our terrible appearance. We had long since lost our
caps and our hair was matted like a dog's. The German was armed with a
double-barreled shotgun, and at his heels a powerful-looking dog
showed his teeth to us, so that I marked the red of his tongue. If he
raised the alarm we were done for. We still had our cudgels.

I do not know whose was the offensive. But I do know that the three of
us came together with one accord in a wild and terrible medley of
oaths in two languages and of murderous blows that beat like flails at
the threshing. Simmons and I struggled for the gun which he tried so
hard to turn on us, the dog meanwhile sinking its teeth deep in our
unprotected legs and leaping vainly at our throats; while we felt with
clutching fingers for his master's, intent only that he should not
shout.

In those mad moments there sped through our brains the reel of that
whole horrid film of fifteen months' torture of mind and body; the
pale, blood-covered faces of our murdered comrades of the regiment,
the cries of the patient Russians behind the trees, and our own slow
and deadly starvation and planned mistreatment. All these, and God
only knows what else, should be ours again if we should be recaptured.

We were near to Holland. In fancy and by contrast we saw the fair
English fields and the rolling beauty that is Ontario's; we heard the
good English tongue and beheld the dear faces of our own folk. We bore
that farmer no ill will. And his dog was to the last a very faithful
animal, as our clothes and limbs bore true witness. We had no ropes.
And we were two very desperate men, badly put upon.

We dropped his gun in the bushes, together with the body of his dog;
and passed on. It had not been fired and we had no desire to have the
charge of carrying firearms added to the others against us if, in
spite of all, we should be so unfortunate as to be recaptured.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE LAST LAP

  Crossing the River--The Terrible Swamp--Valuable Apples--Safe
  Across the Border--Real Walking at Last--Barbarous Barbering.


"September fifth: Stopped raining and a little warmer. Got our clothes
dry once more. Cover in a wood outside a small town. Going last night
good, after we had crossed another peat bog. Meals: milk, baked
potatoes and apples. Hope to reach the river to-night. Bad feet. Best
of health otherwise."

"September sixth: No rain and warmer. Heavy dew. Fairly good going.
Best of cover. Had a fire. Pretty comfortable. Milk, potatoes,
apples."

"September seventh: Still fine weather. Very poor cover in a hedge.
Good road to go on. Made pretty good time last night. Feet feeling
better. Running out of tobacco. Otherwise in the best and still hope
the same. Meals: potatoes and beets."

We spent a great deal of time discussing ways and means of adding to
our stock of tobacco. Any smoker knows what it is to want the weed.
Consider then our half famished, wet and utterly weary condition. It
was a real necessity to us. We discussed waiting at the roadside until
a man with a pipe appeared; when we should rob him. We dismissed that
as too hazardous. It would be necessary to kill him and that seemed a
bit thick for a pipe of tobacco. So we did the only thing that was
left to do--cut down our already scanty rations of tobacco and took
scrupulous care to smoke to a clean ash every vestige of each heel of
old pipe, but in spite of that our supply became exhausted.

"September eighth: Lovely weather to-day. Good going last night in
small swamp. Good cover in a forest on the banks of the Ems. We will
try to cross to-night. Meals: potatoes and mangels. Our final try for
liberty. Feel good for it."

We had arrived at the river at two o'clock that morning, too played
out to attempt the crossing then. We retraced our steps to a potato
field, dug some of the tubers and, when daylight came, lit a fire and
roasted them. We were in a dense forest of young trees, so that by
lighting the fire before the mist lifted, the latter hid our smoke.
We remained unperceived, though we could hear voices and footsteps on
every side.

"September ninth: Swam the river and two canals. Crossed a large
swamp. No rain but very cold. Think we are over the border. Very poor
cover in a hedge. Wet to the skin. Clothes got soaked but in best of
spirits and confident."

We went down to survey the river shortly before dusk and found it both
broad and swift. We went back again and tore a gate from its hinges,
carried it the five hundred yards down to the river and then stripped
for the crossing. The gate was not big enough to carry us but answered
for our clothes. Simmons swam ahead, guiding it, while I shoved from
behind. We made the crossing without mishap but straightway fell into
one of the worst experiences of the entire trip. We plunged into a
swamp which took us five hours to get through. There were moments when
we all but gave up and thought we should never get out. At times we
sank in it up to our waists, particularly after leaping at the
numerous tufts of grass which seemed to promise a footing that they
never realised and which sometimes sent us in it to the armpits, so
that we were sure we were doomed to be sucked down for good in the
filthy mess.

The fearful odour that our plunging around stirred up, naturally aided
our nervous imaginings and it was undoubtedly the worst trial we had
yet met with on the journey. I cannot convey the black despair which
took possession of our hearts at the seeming hopelessness of all our
efforts to find firm footing or a break in the landscape which might
indicate a change in the nature of the country, a light, a voice,
anything that would help to lift from our hearts the feeling of utter
isolation from all human assistance and the seeming certainty that a
few bubbles would be the only indication that we had struggled there.
The darkness of the night intensified these thoughts. The rain did not
matter. In fact it helped; for we were covered with the worse than
water of the morass.

We looked at one another. We dared not speak. Anyhow, to do so was not
our custom at such times as these. But each knew. A dull anger took
possession of us at the thought of so inglorious an end after all that
we had suffered to attain our freedom. With a prayer in our hearts we
cast ourselves forward and somehow, sometime, found at last that we
were safe and so flung ourselves down in our stinking clothes to lie
like dogs in a drunken stupour that recked not of time or of our
enemies.

We discovered an apple orchard here, in which the fruit was ripe. All
the apples we had had up to date had been of the small and green
variety. And even they, with the occasional milk, represented our all
of luxury, so that these seemed indeed the food of the gods. We
proceeded to fill up and after eating all that we thought we could,
filled our pockets until they bulged, and started off, each carrying
an armful of the fruit. At every step we dropped some. We stopped
again and ate our surplus to make room. We refused to lose any of
them. We came to a river, stripped, tied our clothes up in a bundle
and proceeded to swim across, shoving the clothes ahead. I lost
control of mine and they sank. I dived repeatedly in the darkness
before I found them. The cargo of apples in the pockets made a bad
matter worse. I should rather have drowned than have lost my apples.
The possible loss of the clothes worried us very little. We had
already decided in that event to waylay some German Michel rather
than to go naked into Holland. However, by alternately dragging the
bundle behind and swimming on our backs with it held high on the chest
with one hand, we made the crossing, apples and all.

We were sitting in the shadow preparing to dress and wondering whether
we were really over the border and if we could safely walk abroad,
when we heard men walking toward us. We knew them to be Germans by the
clank of the hobnailed boots which all our guards had worn. We had not
a stitch on and our hearts were in our mouths. The patrol of six men
stopped within five yards of us and then passed on within five feet
and did not see us. We dressed quickly and went on, only to find a
canal, for which we had to strip again.

Arriving at the other side; we dressed in the shadow of the bank,
crawled to the top and plunged through the heather on to a road which
we had almost crossed, when there came a cry of "Halt!" The patrol
must have been standing in the trees where we had broken out from the
heather, and very quietly, too, for we had lain for five minutes to
make certain that all was safe. Evidently we were on or near the
border if the number of patrols was any indication. We were not
certain whether these were Hollanders or Germans. We made one big buck
jump. "Fire, Gridley, when ready!" I left the entire knee of one
trouser leg on a clutching thorn. But the patrol did not fire.

And then another canal. "I'm fed up with swimming to-night."

"So am I," agreed Simmons. "There are houses over there. There must be
a bridge."

We slunk along the bank and to our joy found a small bridge. We dashed
across it and debouched safely into a tiny village. Here we saw a
difference, especially in the houses and the roadway. It was in the
very atmosphere, a result no doubt of instincts made keen by the
hunted lives we had led. On either side the fields stretched out,
criss-crossed by a perfect network of small canals and ditches, which
also served as fences.

We knew we were in Holland.

We deemed it unwise to show ourselves as yet, distrusting the
sympathies of the Hollanders and fearful that they might give us up;
and continued this policy until the next day. However, we took a
chance and stuck to the road, a treat, indeed, to feel a firm footing
after our weeks of travelling across country fields. This enabled us
to shove thirty miles between us and Germany by morning.

    [Illustration: PRIVATE MERWIN C. SIMMONS OF THE 7TH BATTALION,
    1ST DIVISION, CANADIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.]

It was not quite daylight when we espied a cow in a field at the
roadside and gave chase. There was no other food in sight, so when our
quarry threw up its tail and bounced off; we set out grimly to run our
breakfast down. It was half an hour later that we corralled it in a
corner between two broad ditches and were already licking our chops in
anticipation; when we discovered that our cow was only a big heifer.
Twenty-four hours earlier it would have been a tragedy. As it was, we
only laughed. Such is liberty.

At this distance from the border we felt that we were safe from the
Germans but were very much afraid that we might be interned. So we
holed up in a farmhouse which had been partly burned down and built a
roaring fire out of the remains of the charred furniture, placed some
of the potatoes that were lying about in the fire, made a rough bed
and went to sleep. Awakening later in the day, we raked the blackened
potatoes out of the ashes and filled up on them. We were a fearful
team; absolutely filthy, uncombed, unwashed, unshaven, and with the
Russian's paint still thick upon us. Afterward we went down to the
canal and endeavoured to knock the worst of it off. All danger was
past now. We seemed to walk on air. We were once again British
soldiers. And so fell to abuse of one another, finding fault and
grousing; as all good British soldiers do when they are well off. I
made out to shave Simmons. The terrible razor had never been sharp and
lately had rusted from its travels. Simmons swore lustily and
threatened me, ordering me at the same time and in no uncertain terms;
to desist from the torture.

"Well, we want to go into Holland lookin' respectable. What'll they
think of British soldiers if they see us? Have a heart!" I
expostulated.

"Don't give a damn! I've had enough for being a Canadian; but I won't
stand for this." I left him with his beard still on in patches and the
bare spots bleeding angrily. As I had already committed myself, I had
to bear in silence his purposely clumsy handling of that hack-saw. It
was terrible, and Simmons, the scoundrel, laughed like a demon.




CHAPTER XIX

HOLLAND AT LAST

  "No Intern"--Real Bread--Tipperary--A Real Time--The Splendid
  Hollanders--The Hague.


The diary summarizes the later events of that day:

"September tenth: Fine weather and in Holland. All our troubles are
over. We struck a small town called Alboom where the people did
everything they could for us. Plenty of food. Slept in a house!"

A man smoking a big pipe and wearing baggy breeches and wooden shoes
came up and surveyed us with kindly amusement, as Simmons scraped at
me with infinite gusto. He was a Hollander; not a "Dutchman." We soon
learned that the latter was a term of contempt applied by the former
to the Germans.

I asked him for some tobacco, which he readily gave to us from a
capacious pouch. He waved his pipe at us in friendly fashion and said
something which we took to be a question as to our identity.

"English," we said, and in desperation turned to our scanty stock of
French: "_Soldats; prisoniers._"

"Engelsch!" he boomed. We nodded. He simply threw his arms round first
one and then the other, so that I wiped the ashes from his pipe out of
my eyes. He lumbered off and shortly returned with a counterpart of
himself. He talked rapidly to his companion and waved his pipe. We
made out the words "Duitsch," "Engelsch," and enough of others to know
that he was telling our tale as he imagined it.

Our fears coming uppermost, we gave voice to them: "Intern?"

"No intern. Engelsch." The other took up the cry: "Engelsch goot!
Frient." However our suspicions would not down.

The first man pointed out to the canal where a barge lay and made us
understand that it was his. He wanted us to work our passage on it
down the canal with him. They invited us by signs to go on board the
barge for breakfast, an invitation which we joyfully accepted. We
rowed out to the barge and sat down in the tiny cabin. The meal was
plain. On the centre of the table was a loaf of brown bread, quite
good enough it was true, but so reminiscent of the perennial black
ration of the Germans that my gorge rose at the sight. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw a white loaf on the shelf, the first in fifteen
months. I caught Simmons eyeing it. We exchanged guilty looks but were
ashamed to ask for it. They offered us the brown loaf and delicious
coffee. I thought perhaps that if we exhausted the brown loaf the
other might be forthcoming. I kicked Simmons on the shins and fell to
on it, and, as opportunity offered, thrust pieces in the pockets of my
tunic until, to our relief, they brought out the white bread, which we
devoured to the last crumb. It was very good.

We filled our pipes in high contentment and went ashore, where a
procession of enthusiastic villagers waited to escort us to the
village. Men, women and children, wooden shoes and all, there were
four hundred of them. The men all shook hands and pressed money on us.
The women cried and one white-haired old lady kissed us both. The
quaint little roly-poly children ran at our sides, a half dozen of
them struggling to hold our fingers in their chubby fists.

The procession started off, the burgomaster leading, the two sailors
and ourselves coming next. Some one behind dragged out a mouth organ
and struck up Tipperary, and men, women and children all joined in. It
was glorious. We sang, too, in English, and they in their tongue. The
result was so ridiculous a medley that I smiled myself; but it made no
difference. The spirit was there; we were happy.

Arriving at the village the burgomaster took us to his home and sat us
down to a steaming breakfast, while a few of the chosen were invited
in to watch us polish it off. The crowd remained outside, choking the
road. Some of the bolder of the children crept slyly in the door,
others peered shyly at us from the crack of it. And one little chap,
braver than his comrades, clumped sturdily up to my knee, where he
stood clutching it in round-eyed wonder and saying never a word for
the rest of the meal, envied of his mates.

Not until we had leaned back, not contented, but ashamed to ask for
more, did our hosts give vent to the curiosity that was eating into
their vitals. An interpreter was found and they led us out to the
road so that all might hear. The crowd flocked around while the
officials questioned us. Many were the smothered interjections that
went up from the men and exclamations of pity from the women as our
tale unfolded. And the warm sympathy of their honest faces warmed our
hearts like a good fire.

We started off on our triumphal course again. We were repeatedly
invited into houses for something to eat. We accepted seven such
breakfast invitations during the next two and a half hours and stopped
only out of shame. We were still hungry. Every one gave us cigars,
immense things, which projected from every pocket and which we carried
in bundles under our arms. There was no refusing them. They were the
insignia of the entente. And the coffee! The good, honest, Holland
coffee with no acorns in it! I doubt if our starving bodies could have
carried us many days more on the uncooked roots we had been living on.
The motherly housewives, in their Grecian-like helmets of metal and
glass that fit closely over their smoothed hair like skull-caps,
bustled merrily about, intent only on replenishing our plates and
cups, full of a tearful sympathy which was as welcome as their food.

Later in the day the officials took us to the police station at ----.
We became very much alarmed again. They read our thoughts and a
subdued murmur of: "No intern, no intern," swelled up. The local
burgomaster came to us. His first words, and in good English, too,
were: "Have something to eat." We did. And then more cigars. The
police were a splendid lot of men. They loaded us down with gifts and
asked perfunctory questions for their records. One of them, H. Letema,
of ----, took us to his home, where his comely wife and daughter
loaded the table with good things; while he brought out more cigars.
He showed us to a bed-room before we understood where he was taking
us. We refused, for reasons of a purely personal nature. "Nix," we
said, and when he would not accept our refusal we tried it in
Niederländer. "No, no." Still he persisted, and his good wife too. So
we led him firmly aside and showed him the indescribably verminous
condition we were in. That convinced him. They appreciated that little
touch and gave us a deep pile of blankets, flung down on three feet of
sweet-smelling straw in an outhouse, where we slept as we had not
slept for many months.

In the morning Letema escorted us down to Aaschen, which was the
nearest large town. A Belgian and a Holland lady, hearing of the
escaped English prisoners, met us within twenty minutes of our
arrival, took us in hand and loaded us down with kindnesses. We ate
only five full sized meals that day, not counting the extras we
absorbed between them. And there were more cigars. The raw oats and
potatoes seemed a long way off.

Our day at Aaschen was a repetition of the previous one at Alboom and
Borger, but on a grander scale. The ladies took us down to Rotterdam
and did not leave us until they had turned us over to the British
consul there, whose name I have forgotten but who, with the vice
consul, Mr. Mueller, was very kind indeed; in fact, all whom we met,
irrespective of their nationality, age or sex placed us under eternal
obligations to them. In particular Mr. Neilson, the rector of the
English church and in charge of the Sailors' Institute there, seemed
to live only for us.

Mr. Henken at the American consulate was equally kind. They lodged us
at the Seaman's Rest, took our painted rags away and clothed us in
blue "civvie" suits which seemed to us the height of sinful luxury.
We were shaved, clean and could eat everything in sight, at any time
of the day or night. And did so. The meals we used to shift! We were
very glad to get rid of our waterproof suits--for that is what they
had become, from the paint.

Mr. Neilson took us sight seeing every day. Once we went out to Mr.
Carnegie's Peace Palace which had been closed on account of the war
but which we were permitted to inspect. I had not thought such
buildings were done, except in dreams. It made our own bitter past
seem unreal. The Italian room, in particular, seemed like a delicate
canvas in marble and done in a fashion the memory of which gripped me
for days and still haunts me. We spent days thus; supremely happy.

We were joined here by Jerry Burke of the 8th Battalion of Winnipeg.
He was a nephew of Sir Sam Hughes, the then Canadian Minister of
Militia and had just made his escape from some other camp.

We were to have left on the fifth with a fleet of boats which sailed
then. By the time we had got on board, however, the sailors from the
first boat were returning. They had been torpedoed. And that stopped
us.

We got away on the S.S. _Grenadier_ on the sixteenth, and after
hugging the length of the English Coast, arrived safely at
Newcastle-upon-Tyne on the eighteenth.

Here our troubles began!




CHAPTER XX

"IT'S A WAY THEY HAVE IN THE ARMY"

  Red Tape in the Army--A Disgruntled Soldier--"Old Soldier, Old
  Fox"--A Touch for Twenty Quid--_Augen Rechts_ at Seaford--Canada!


My family in Canada have since remarked that although my letters had
invariably been cheerful throughout my imprisonment, from the time I
set foot on English soil they reflected the deepest despondency. That
could be explained in part by the fact that uncheerful letters could
not pass the German but could pass the British censor. But more
particularly it was due to the fact that I became entangled in the
interminable red tape of the army system, and, instead of meeting with
the warm sympathy that an exile longs for, met, on the part of the
army, with cold suspicion; however kind some individuals were to me.

Simmons and I were not permitted to leave the boat until the military
came for us. So far so good. We were taken to the headquarters of the
General Officer Commanding that district. He briefly examined us and
good-naturedly gave us some money out of his own pocket and tickets to
London, where we were ordered to report at the War Office.

Arriving in "The Smoke," as the army has named that city, we proceeded
the next morning to 14 Downing Street and sent our names in to the
official we had been directed to by the general. He was in mufti,
whoever he was, and received us kindly enough. We were closely
questioned about our experiences, particularly in relation to our
guards, food, treatment, and so on. He also asked us as to the amount
of sickness among the prisoners, the condition of the country, and so
on.

Dismissed, we made a dash down past Big Ben and the Parliament
Buildings for the Canadian Pay and Record Office, where at Millbank it
overlooked the Thames. A sergeant took our names and after a time took
us, too, in to the paymaster. Simmons drew his money without
difficulty but I found that I was fifteen months dead and was told
that I could get no money until my identity was reëstablished. I
protested; so much so in fact that I fully expected to land in the
"clink." No use. I was sent out on the street talking to myself.

We next called on Lady Rivers-Bulkeley and Lady Drummond to thank them
for the very great kindness of themselves and the Canadian Red Cross
in sending us our parcels regularly, and without which we would
assuredly have been too weak to have made our escape. Lady Farquhar,
the wife of our late commanding officer, was out of town, so we did
not see her, much as we desired to thank her for similar kindnesses.

Simmons was single. He was sent to Canada at once and was promptly
discharged. I had a wife and family awaiting me there and I wanted
badly to go to them by the next boat. My wife had been receiving
letters from me during my fifteen months' imprisonment; she had
regularly received her separation allowance; the Canadian Red Cross
and many kind friends in London had been sending me prisoner-of-war
parcels for a year; the authorities admitted my identity and my former
comrades recognised me; I had fifteen months' pay at $1.20 a day,
besides a subsistence allowance of sixty-five cents a day, coming to
me; but could not draw a cent of it. I was dead. And continued so
for three months. There is no explanation. "It's a way they have in
the Army"; or so the army says.

    [Illustration: THE CEMETERY AT CELLE LAAGER Z 1 CAMP.]

    [Illustration: CORPORAL EDWARDS (SECOND FROM LEFT) AFTER HIS
    ESCAPE. THE TWO GOLD BARS ON HIS LEFT COAT SLEEVE INDICATE THAT
    HE HAS BEEN TWICE WOUNDED.]

In the end it was only through the active intervention of Sir George
Perley, the Canadian High Commissioner in London that my case was
righted. He, I believe, cabled the Ottawa authorities, who in turn got
in touch with my wife, who produced the necessary documentary evidence
to prove that I had been alive and a prisoner all this time.

I went to the depot at Seaford. I borrowed from my old friends. I hung
round the pay office. The paymaster said I was not on the strength of
the regiment. I was old soldier enough to profit by that calamity at
least. The bitter injustice of such miscarriage of justice blinded me,
as I think it eventually does most soldiers, to the accepted code of
civil life. I refused to attend roll call or do drills, fatigues, or
any other part of my regimental duties other than certain interesting
and thrice-daily rites not unconnected with the kitchen.

It is the commonness, the constant repetition of such stupidity and
such lack of action that so much injures the reputation for
intelligence of the army in the minds of those who have served in it;
so that those who know it best, like it least--and put up with it only
because it is the poor instrument of a good cause.

The paymaster fell sick. A young subaltern was acting for him. My
sergeant pal tipped me off. As I have said, I was an old soldier with
all that that implies. He marched me up to the officer, already more
or less at sea about his new duties. I asked for money. He was aware
of my history but not of the tangle I was in:

"How much?"

I wondered how much the traffic would bear.

"Twenty quid, sir," I ventured. He went up in the air.

"Impossible! I'll give you ten."

I O. K'd that while the words were yet warm on his lips. Fifty dollars
is a great deal of money to a soldier. He gave it to me with a pass
for Scotland--where I had relatives--to which I had long been entitled
but which had been useless to me as long as I had no money.

I quickly gathered my cronies together and we packed into the canteen
to celebrate the occasion fittingly, in the only fashion a good
soldier knows, in army beer so thick and strong that the hops floated
on the tops of the mess-tins. While searching for the bottom of one of
these I heard the orderly shouting: "Corporal Edwards! Corporal
Edwards!" The other men gathered round me in the corner, drinking,
while I scrunched down so that the orderly passed on and out still
shouting my name.

I fled to the tent and was hastily getting my things together when a
corporal came hot-foot saying that the officer wanted me at once. I
went in, gave him my very best regimental salute and stood at
attention.

"I find that you are not on the strength, corporal, and are not
entitled to any money, so I'll trouble you to return that money I gave
you."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said sadly, "but it's gone."

"Gone? How?"

"Debts, sir," I said firmly. "My mates have been keeping me going."

"Well, you must get it back from them at once and return it to me.
It's most irregular. Push on now and see that you're back here in an
hour's time with that money before those fellows spend it all in the
canteen."

"Very good, sir." I gave him a smashing good _Augen Rechts_ to cheer
him up against the time he should discover that I was well on my way
to Scotland.

And I remained there until I received notice that my regimental bones
had been officially exhumed; after which I had no difficulty in
getting my back pay and three months' furlough for Canada and home!


    AUTHOR'S NOTE.--An amusing and at the same time gratifying
    sequel to this story developed immediately upon the heels of its
    publication in a considerably smaller form in the _Saturday
    Evening Post_. Sergeant Edwards, who had not previously been
    consulted by the authorities, was at once offered his choice
    between doing "duty" in Canada or taking a discharge from the
    army, instead of going overseas again. He chose the discharge.

    An interesting fact in connection with Brumley, the man who was
    the first to be recaptured on the second attempt to escape, is
    that according to a post card received from him by his wife, he
    has since made two other unsuccessful attempts at escape.
    Scarfe, who was exchanged to Switzerland, reports that he has
    married a Swiss girl there. Stamper, another Patricia who was
    captured at the same time as Edwards, has recently been
    exchanged and is now in England. Scott, who was captured with
    the men of an English regiment, was exchanged to Switzerland
    and recently returned to Toronto and has been in hospital, in a
    serious condition, ever since. The fate of the others is
    unknown.




THE EVIDENCE IN THE CASE


In order to remove any vestige of doubt in the reader's mind as to the
authenticity of Corporal Edwards' tale, it has been deemed advisable
to present reproductions of certain newspaper articles and
correspondence which bear directly on some of the points touched upon
in the story.

It will be noticed that quite aside from the major fact of the escape
itself having been brought out here, there is the equally important
one of the bringing out of a great number of lesser points which tally
to a hair with such references to them as are made in the story, such
for instance as the references to the delay in England, the references
in their post cards of those fellow-prisoners who remain in Germany
and other facts of a similar nature.

The following are exact reproductions in every case, except for the
explanatory note which prefaces each item.


_Extract from Toronto Daily Star, May 30, 1915._

WAS BACK ONLY THREE WEEKS

    CORP. EDWARDS, REPORTED MISSING, WAS WOUNDED SHORT TIME AGO.

    Lance-Corp. Edward Edwards of the Princess Pats who is reported
    missing to-day, has only been back at the trenches for three
    weeks, after having been wounded and in England for a month with
    a bullet in his foot. He lived at 70 Standish Avenue, Rosedale,
    where his wife and three young sons now live. He is 38 years of
    age and has been in Canada ten years. Previous service in Africa
    and India with the Gordon Highlanders is to his credit.


_Letter from Corporal Edwards to His Wife in Toronto._


    Mon Adress exacte:
  GIESSEN (Allemagne)
Compagnie No. 6 Baraque No. A.
Nom et Prénom: E. Edwards. Oct. 2nd, 1915.

    MY DEAREST EM: A few more lines, hoping they find all in the
    best of health and everything going on all right. I received
    your parcels all right. They were a treat and came in good
    condition. How are the boys getting along? Awfully sorry about
    Hector but hope he is all right again, poor chap's been having a
    hard time of it. How are Gordon and Frank. Tell them I was
    asking for them. I guess the Beastie has grown quite a big chap.
    Thanks for J. Birnies' address. I will drop him a card some time
    but you see I can only send two letters a month. Jack wanted me
    to write to the lodge but I can't see how I can manage it. Em,
    lass, don't send me any clothing as I will manage all right.
    Col. Farquhar's wife is going to send me out some and Major
    Gault is sending tobacco and cigarettes so I will be all right.
    I had a parcel from Bob with a shirt and some eatables; also one
    from Jean at Blacktop and one from home. We are always on the
    lookout for them. Have you had any word from Mina? I've had
    letters from them all. We are having rather cool weather. I sent
    a post card to G. Nelson; I don't know if he ever got it but you
    can ask him when he comes up. Em, what are you doing about the
    house? Are you getting it fixed up or are you coming over home?
    It would be rather late this year to come over but please
    yourself; only let me know what you are doing. Is George still
    in Canada? Jean was expecting him to drop in any time. He has
    been very good to me ever since I landed first in England. I
    will never be able to pay her back. I can't give you any news
    as I don't know it myself. Don't wait on a letter from me before
    you write but write often and tell me all about yourself and the
    boys. Tell Jack to write and I will drop him a card when I can.
    Keep your heart up and look after yourself. Tell Miss Holmes I
    was asking for her; also Mrs. Arlow. Tell her I got her letter;
    also tell all my friends I was asking for them. If Mr. Skerrow
    comes up again tell him I am doing fine but would sooner be
    working up in N. Toronto--but am making the best of it. I think
    I will stop Em; I have really nothing to tell you, only write
    soon and often. Give the boys a tight one for me. Best love to
    you all. Good bye.

                                  Your Affect. Ed.

  149 Corpl. E. Edwards,
    Barrack A.,
      Company 6,
        Prisoner of War.
          Giessen, Germany.

    P.S. Just received your letter Sept. 3rd. Tell Mrs. Bownie not
    to bother sending anything. I have got all I want. Can't send a
    long letter. This is all we are allowed. Ed.


_Extract from Montreal Gazette, Sept. 21, 1916._

    EDWARD EDWARDS ESCAPES FROM FOE

    TORONTO SOLDIER WITH TWO OTHERS MAKE GET-AWAY. WANDER FOR THREE
    WEEKS.

    BRASS BAND ESCORTS THEM TO MAYOR OF TOWN IN HOLLAND.

    London, Sept. 21.--Registered as dead by the Canadian Pay and
    Record office, which was about to authorise distribution of
    their effects, Lance-Corp. Edward Edwards of the Princess
    Patricias, 70 Standish Avenue; Pte. James Jerry Burke (1216)
    Eighth Battalion, Winnipeg and Pte. M.C. Simmons (23445) of
    Seventh Battalion, Port Arthur, have arrived in London after
    having escaped from a German prison camp. They experienced some
    strenuous adventures. For three weeks they were at large; slowly
    and cautiously wending their way to the Holland frontier, they
    covered the distance of 150 miles. In Holland the fugitives to
    their surprise, found a warm welcome. In fact, a local band
    headed them in procession to the Mayor, who in turn communicated
    with the British Consul, with the result that they were shipped
    to England.


_Extract from Toronto Daily Star, Sept. 22, 1916._

    MRS. EDWARDS IS REJOICING

    CAN HARDLY BELIEVE THAT HUSBAND ESCAPED FROM GERMAN PRISON.

    HEARD SO MANY DIFFERENT TALES.

    COMRADES WHO HAVE RETURNED ASSURED HER HE WOULD GET AWAY.

    "I cannot believe it until I hear from him. But I do hope it is
    true. I am glad I never kept him back, and never told him not to
    go. He is a soldier to the backbone."

    Mrs. Edward Edwards, 70 Standish Avenue, Rosedale, was
    discussing the report that her husband, Lance-Corp. Edward
    Edwards of the Princess Patricias, had escaped from a prison
    camp in Germany and after travelling over 150 miles of country
    arrived with two others on Dutch territory whence they were
    shipped to England after being fêted by some of the people in
    Holland.

    "I have heard so many different stories. At first I was told he
    was killed, but later he sent me a letter from Germany telling
    me he was in a prison camp there. Only last Saturday I had a
    letter from him in which he asked me to send him on a box of
    soap to wash his clothes. He said in that letter that he had
    enough tobacco, cocoa and coffee to last him for some time but
    he needed soap."

    Lance-Corporal Edwards, who was connected with the Royal
    Grenadiers, in Toronto, was formerly a member of the Gordon
    Highlanders, and fought with the 2nd Battalion of that regiment
    throughout the South African War. Stationed in India at the
    outbreak of that war the regiment was sent to South Africa and
    was shut up in Ladysmith. He is the possessor of three medals
    and five clasps. He took part in the great Delhi Durbar.

    "Over a year ago my husband was shot in the foot," said Mrs.
    Edwards. "He returned to the trenches and was just three weeks
    back when he was posted as missing. That was a year ago last
    May. For a long time I had no word of what had happened to him
    until I had a letter from him."


    VISITS FROM COMRADES.

    "Many of the returned Princess Patricias come to see me. Only
    last Sunday one of them said to me when talking of my husband:
    'He will be escaping from the Germans some of these days.' And
    it is just like him to do that. But he and the two with him must
    have suffered terribly in the time they were hiding through 150
    miles of the enemy's country. I wish I had him home now."

    "I heard from him regularly every six weeks by letter.
    Occasionally he would send me a postcard between the letters. He
    never discussed the war, except in the phrase that it could not
    last for ever. He always wrote bright and cheerful letters."

    At No. 68 Standish Avenue lives the widow of Private Percy
    Edwards, brother of Lance-Corporal Edwards. Private Edwards was
    a reservist of the Gordon Highlanders and at the outbreak of the
    war was called home to join his regiment. He was killed in the
    first action in which the Gordons were engaged. His widow and
    three young sons live next door to Mrs. Edwards, who also has
    three young sons. Both of the Edwards brothers and their wives
    are natives of Aberdeenshire, Scotland.


_Postal Card to Mrs. E. Edwards, 70 Standish Ave., N. Rosedale,
Toronto, Ont., Canada._

    12th Sept. 1916. Assen, Holland. Dear Em: I guess you will get
    my letter along with this card explaining things. You will know
    that I have escaped from Germany and am on my way to England but
    will write you every chance I get. Give my love to the boys and
    I hope all is well at home. I am feeling pretty good. This is
    where I am just now. Yours ever, Ed.


_Postal to Mrs. E. Edwards, 70 Standish Ave., N. Rosedale, Toronto,
Canada._

    Sept. 8th, Newcastle-on-Tyne, England.

    Dear Em: Hope you have received all my letters that I have
    written you from Holland. They will tell you all about my
    escape. I leave here for London to-night. Will write you from
    there. Love to the boys. Write me Bulter address. Ed.


_Postal Card to Mrs. E. Edwards, 70 Standish Ave., N. Rosedale,
Toronto, Canada._

    Sept. 22nd, 1916. Folkestone, England. Dear Em: Hope you got the
    cable all right, also some of the letters and cards I sent you.
    What do you think of my escape? Not so bad, eh? Write me at
    Bulter. How are the boys? Give them my love. Am back at
    Shornecliffe with the regiment. Will be going on leave. Trying
    to get over to see you. Will write you to-morrow. Write as soon
    as you can. Ed.


    [Illustration: HOMEWARD BOUND. CORPORAL EDWARDS IN CENTER.]


_Post Card to Cpl. E. Edwards, 7 St. Mary's Place, Cuttor,
Aberdeenshire, Scotland, from Cpl. E. Hardy, a fellow prisoner._


Mon Adress Exacte:
Nom et Prénom: Cpl. E. Hardy
No. matricule: 1906
No. de la Compagnie: 8
Lettre de la baraque: "E"
  GIESSEN (Allemagne)

                            Giessen, le 25-9-1916.

    Dear Ted: I received your P.C. quite safe. I did a little dance
    on my own. Charlie Walker is away somewhere. How are Dennie and
    Nobler going on. You may be sure I was pleased to hear of you
    getting in port safe. Sorry to hear you got wrecked on your
    first trip but you have no worry now. Good Luck. Ted.


_Post Card to Cpl. E. Edwards, Number One Company P. P. C. L. I., St.
Martins Plains, Shornecliffe, England. Via Holland, from Hookie
Walker, a fellow prisoner._


Mon addresse exacte:
Nom et prénom: C. Walker,
No. matricule:
No. de la compagnie: 6, Baraque: B.
No. du detachement: 1
    Giessen (Allemagne) Oct. 1st, 1916.

    Dear Old Ted: I received your P.C. God Bless you and good Luck
    be with you always. I have been on the water and got wrecked
    also but I have not given up by any means. I am in the best of
    health. Remember me to all and God be with you. Hookie.


_Undated Post Card to Mr. E. Edwards Jun, 7 St. Mary's Place, Cutter,
Aberdeenshire, Scotland. Via Holland, from Cpl. Hardy._


        Mon Adresse exacte:
Nom et prénom: Cpl. E. Hardy
No. matricule: 1906
No. de la compagnie: 8, Baraque "E"
No. du detachement:

                               Giessen (Allemagne)

    Dear Ted: I am very glad everything went on A1. I am sorry I was
    not with you. I am not wanting anything, thanks. I hope you have
    a good time when you go to Canada. I have not seen anything of
    Hookie for about 12 months, nor Stamper. I have still got a few
    things safe for you when I come home. I will close with best
    respects, Ted.


_Undated Card to Mrs. Edwards, Rotterdam, Holland._

    Dear Em. Hope you are getting my letters all right and that all
    is well at home. I am still feeling and getting treated pretty
    good and will be in England in two or three days. Since it all
    goes well write me c/o of Bulter address and I will be sure to
    get them. How are the boys? Is the wee chap still holding my
    place? Tell Gordon when I get to England I will help him get a
    bicycle so that he can be the same as Hector. This is where I am
    just now but will be on my way in a few hours. I have sent you
    Tinnie's photo. How will she do? It might be all we can get. Ed.


_Postal to Mrs. Edwards, 70 Standish Ave., N. Rosedale, Toronto,
Canada._


26-10-16.      From Folkestone.

    Dear Em: Arrived back in Folkestone all right. Called on Mrs.
    Cawthra. Had a long talk with her. Can't get any word of when I
    am to get over to Canada but will let you know as soon as
    possible. Might be some time yet. Got the letter with Hector's
    and will bring the things with me when I come home. How are the
    boys getting along? Wish I was there. Good-bye. Ed.


_Extract from Toronto Daily Star, December, 1916._

    HOME ON LEAVE AFTER ESCAPE FROM THE HUNS

    SGT. EDWARD EDWARDS TELLS GRAPHIC STORY OF 100 MILE FLIGHT.

    WIFE HAD TO PROVE HUSBAND WAS ALIVE.

    SENT HIS PHOTO AND LETTERS BEFORE WAR OFFICE WOULD BELIEVE IT.

    No bands played and no Reception Committee extended the welcome
    hand to Sergt. Edward Edwards when he stepped off the train at
    the Union Station and walked to the home of his wife and family
    one day last week, after two years and seven months' absence at
    the front with a storehouse of thrilling experiences that rival
    even the exploits of the Three Musketeers. That he was one of
    only 49 left of the crack Princess Patricias who were mown down
    at the Ypres Salient on May 8, 1915, was wounded twice, missing
    and officially declared dead and escaped twice from German
    prison camps in company with two companions are only incidents
    in a long chapter of events which surpass in thrilling interest
    Dumas' most daring fiction. Tom Brumley, another member of a
    Toronto regiment, and Mervin Simmons, a Canadian from Trail,
    B.C., were the two friends of the modern D'Artagan, but
    unfortunately Brumley was recaptured by the Huns during the
    first escape and Sergt. Edwards has not heard from him since.

    Sergt. Edwards is now on ten weeks' furlough and is due to
    report in England on May 10, when he expects to go into the
    fighting again. "We went to the Ypres salient in May. I was one
    of ten in my company to get through," said he.


    TRIBUTE TO COL. BULLER

    Here Sergt. Edwards paid a tribute to his late commanding
    officer, Col. Buller, who was killed on the 2nd of June of this
    year. "It was the Germans, too, who told us of our old Colonel's
    death. They knew everything, it seemed, about our commanders and
    could tell the regiment and division that we belonged to."

    We were taken to Roulers, Belgium. After a brief stay there we
    were taken to Giessen. There were 1,200 prisoners, mostly
    Russian and French. The food we got was awful.


    REFUSED TO WORK

    "After a stay here of about six months I was sent with my two
    friends, Brumley and Simmons, to a punishment camp for refusing
    to work in a steel factory to make munitions. Three hundred
    British and Canadians also refused in spite of threats, and
    ill-treatment, and all were sent on to Celle Laager, the main
    punishment camp. We were there two weeks and then we were split
    into small parties and I was slated with my two friends for a
    place called Oldenburg. Here they wanted us to go into a moor
    and drain the place to grow potatoes. It was from this place
    that we made our first serious attempt to escape.

    We made a dash for the shelter of the moor. In a few minutes we
    heard the baying of a vicious pack of dogs they had sent in
    pursuit, but we managed to elude them and struck out for the
    Dutch border more than 100 miles distant. We came to the River
    Ems four miles from the border of Holland. We could not find a
    boat or raft and were recaptured."


    MADE FINAL ESCAPE

    After undergoing this sentence, Sergt. Edwards and Simmons were
    taken to another punishment camp at Salsengen and it was from
    here that they made their successful escape on August 21.

    The British Consul at Rotterdam arranged the wanderers' passage
    to England, where they arrived on the 18th of September. When he
    reported in London, Sergt. Edwards had to prove he was alive,
    because the records of the War Office had him marked up as dead.
    A lot of red tape had to be untangled before the gallant soldier
    could be officially brought back from the dead, but at that time
    he was still writing to his wife, so that, when she saw her
    husband's name in the casualty list, she at once contradicted
    the officials by sending her husband's letters and his pictures.


_Postal card to No. 39 Cpl. E. Edwards, P. P. C. L. I. Depot, South
Camp, Seaford, Sussex, England, from Charles Scarfe, who was also
captured on May 8th._

    Manor Farm, Interlaken, Switzerland, Jan. 3rd, 1917.

    Dear Old Pal Teddy:

    Just a card hoping to find you well as it leaves me A-1. Hope
    you had a good Christmas. Had a fairly good one myself but hope
    we are in Canada next one. Have had enough of being a prisoner
    of war. Remember me to all the boys and write soon. From your
    old pal, Charlie.


_Postal card to 39 Cpl. E. Edwards, P. P. C. L. I. Depot, South Camp,
Seaford, Sussex, England, from his comrade in the escape._


       *       *       *       *       *

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