When we had bound and gagged the obstreperous captain of the _Anna_ we
completed our work as stokers, and, with infinite care, lest we should
attract the attention of the sentinels of a neighbouring lock, began to
manoeuvre the boat along the canal. It was necessary to pass through
this lock in order to reach the channel which leads into the Meuse.
The _Anna_, with its crew of over forty fugitives, drew more than two
metres of water, so we were confronted with the problem of the depth of
the water in this channel. Was it sufficiently deep to accommodate us?
Please remember that amongst the members of our improvised crew there
was not a single boatman, not a single _homme du métier_. And remember,
too, that we knew that if we were caught in the act we should all of us
be ranged in line against a wall and shot without mercy!
I must confess that at this juncture the situation began to look very
black indeed; and a certain amount of panic reigned among our flock.
Yet no one asked to be put ashore. On the contrary, when, after a
little plain speaking, the German pilot and engineer (who had come to
their senses and begged to be released from their bonds) consented
to throw in their lot with ours and go to their respective posts,
willing hands were ready on all sides to assist in opening the lock and
measuring the water in the channel leading to the Meuse. The depth was
found to be a little over two metres, and the lock was opened without
difficulty.
Slowly and without any untoward incident the _Anna_ entered the lock.
When it was being closed behind her, however, the gates were worked
too rapidly, with the result that the water was thrown into violent
commotion. The tug began to roll from side to side, as if on an angry
sea, and two of the three boats moored alongside her were smashed to
matchwood against the walls of the lock. This accident, however, was
actually in our favour, since it prevented the sides of the tug itself
from being stove in and helped to propel her into the free water of the
channel.
There was now a very faint glimmering of daylight, and the two German
sentries stationed on the towpath approached a little nearer to look
on at our strange manoeuvres. Luckily, however, their curiosity did
not lead them to utter a word of comment or even to make a gesture.
When we got into the channel (known as the Canal de la Sucrerie) and
began the second part of our long and difficult work--the steering of
the _Anna_ into the river--these sentinels were joined by three or
four other German soldiers, attracted by the unusual commotion at that
early hour of the morning. They looked on, evidently quite amused at
our efforts. Fortunately for us, it never occurred to them to put any
questions to the singular _feldgrauen_ with spiked helmets who were
busily handling boat-hooks and ropes; and thus it was that the good
tug-boat _Anna_, flying the German flag, slowly floated in safety into
the Meuse, between two Boche sentries with fixed bayonets.
What a relief it was to find ourselves in the river! The battle, we
thought, was practically over. All we had got to do was to forge ahead
at full speed towards Holland and liberty. But, as events proved, we
were slightly mistaken in our calculations.
The boilers of the _Anna_ were now heated to fourteen atmospheres, and
away we went at as great a speed as was prudent in the semi-darkness.
After we had proceeded for several miles, Baldens, who had been making
sure that the captain was in a more reasonable state of mind, joined me
on deck, and, with a grave face, said:--
"Prost, we're not out of the wood yet. The captain's still inclined to
foam at the mouth and make trouble, though I've granted him the favour
of ungagging him. No sooner had I done that than he began to 'strafe'
me and you and everybody, and swore we'd get caught yet, because of the
electric cable which the Boches have stretched across the Meuse between
Lanaye and Eysden. We must now be getting pretty near the danger zone.
Keep your weather-eye open, Prost, for I'm told there's a motor-boat
there with machine-guns aboard."
And, sure enough, a quarter of an hour later I spotted this electric
cable. Instructions were at once given to the engineer to put on his
utmost speed, and everybody save the man at the rudder, was ordered off
the deck. The only thing to do was to try to cut through the obstacle.
There was no resisting the heavy weight of the _Anna_. She snapped
the wire easily, but as it broke, with an immense flash like summer
lightning, one end, unfortunately, got entangled with our screw and
rudder, which broke as though it had been made of glass. However, the
dreaded motor-boat did not put in an appearance (I suppose the men were
still fast asleep), and the tug drifted slowly onwards.
The _Anna_ was now completely helpless, and before we had drifted
very far she stuck in the mud--fortunately well within Dutch waters.
Needless to say we lost no time in utilizing our third and last boat,
and in about an hour everybody, including the still unruly Boche
captain, whom Baldens disembarked last of all, was ashore. Meanwhile,
the four German sentries in charge of the cable had awakened and,
finding the line broken, had got their electric searchlights to work
and ultimately located us. It was too late then, however, for them to
think of capturing us. They dare not come on to Dutch territory, nor
was it prudent for them to fire a shot in our direction. As to their
searchlights, they were actually of use to us, since they lit up, here
and there, the still dark and unknown ground on which, for a time, we
wandered, ere we came to a friendly Dutch dwelling house, where we
inquired our way to the nearest village.
After such an exciting and lucky adventure as this, Christmas, 1916,
was the happiest I ever experienced. Baldens and I and a number of
others who had shared in our dangers spent the day together. I will
leave you to imagine the heartiness with which we toasted each other
and our mental congratulations on our fortunate meeting in that Liége
_café_.