Fortunately for me, there was a hollow space beneath the whole expanse
of flooring. Quietly I began to dig in the soft soil, pushing it
beneath the floor as my hole grew bigger. The first night I kept at my
task for two or three hours, and then, leaving my board and shovel
in the cavity, I returned to my bed, carefully replacing the lengths
of flooring which I had removed, and obliterating all traces of my
pleasant evening's occupation.
It seemed a forlorn hope upon which I had entered--half a chance in ten
million. Yet I was prepared to seize it, ready to risk imprisonment and
punishment on discovery rather than not make the attempt.
For six weary weeks I worked at my tunnel, and so secretly was the
job carried on that only one man in the hut shared the knowledge with
myself. I often told this man off to keep watch and ward and give me
the signal should any too-inquisitive sentry or guard take it into his
head to depart from his wonted custom and visit the place at night.
The sharer of my secret decided that when I had burrowed clear of the
sentries he would escape with me, but at the last moment his nerve
forsook him and he "cried off."
As I have said before, I was thoroughly "fed up"; I had reached that
condition of mind when we believe the ills we are enduring cannot be
equalled by anything that is to follow. Nothing save force, I decided,
should deter me from pursuing my plan to the bitter end.
Thus, night after night, I dug and delved, distributing the _débris_
as best I could. I took precautions with diabolical cunning, for I was
not going to throw away my chances by any eleventh-hour recklessness.
Six weeks--forty-two nights, to be exact--I played B'rer Fox in my
"dug-out," six feet down, until my tunnel was fifteen or twenty yards
long and big enough for me to crawl through. The sounds above and the
distance that I knew the wire fence to be from the rear of the hut told
me when my burrowing had gone far enough.
It was a fortnight before Christmas, 1915, that I broke out from my
burrow. I timed my exit for the change of sentries, at seven-thirty in
the evening. Of food I had virtually none, with the exception of an odd
biscuit or so. I possessed, however, what I deemed to be more important
than food--a compass, bought from a Frenchman, which I had guarded far
more jealously than Hun ever guarded Englishman.
After the preparations I have described, the actual escape seemed as
easy as falling off a log. I emerged from the hole, saw that the coast
was clear, and made off towards the north-west. Walking throughout the
night, keeping to the fields and the woods, and continually crossing
ditches and other obstacles, I put as much distance between me and
Münster Laager as was humanly possible. It was really very uneventful.
In the day-time I kept to the woods, sleeping and resting; at
night-time when compelled to cross a road I slung my boots across my
shoulder and flitted by like a shadow. The weather was wet, my clothing
was well-nigh soaked, hunger gripped me--and then came Nemesis.
As a matter of fact, I had met very few people. Three nights I tramped,
three days I lay hid. It was during the third night that all my plans
went wrong, all my fond visions were dissipated like a pricked bubble.
And I believe it was my over-cautiousness in walking a road without
boots that proved my undoing.