This is a day's ration, served out to us the first day in camp, and in

the two months I was there it never varied: for breakfast, a small bowl

of coffee made from dried acorns, and served without milk or sugar. It

was so bitter as to be almost undrinkable, and there was not one morsel

of food given with it. For dinner we were allowed a bowl of stuff they

called soup. It was made by boiling cabbage and turnips with a few dog

bones; when I went there first I wouldn't believe the boys when they

told me that our soup was made of dog bones, but one day I met one of

the French prisoners who had been a doctor, and we went for a walk

around the grounds, so I asked him what kind of an animal went into our

soup and he told me it was just ordinary dog. We argued the question

for several minutes, and I was still unconvinced, so he said, "Go into

the cook house and see for yourself." I went, and the cook (who was a

French prisoner) very obligingly lifted out some bones with his long

spoon and showed me one of Fido's legs. That settled the question,

and, naturally, I enjoyed the soup more than ever. As an extra treat,

to give it a special flavour, sometimes they threw in the bark. The

boys had taken their own way of finding out what they were eating--they

saved all the bones for several days and then they put them

together--the result was a German Dachshund. We had nothing but this

soup for dinner, and for supper we were given a bowl of slop which the

boys called "sand-storm," and a three-pound loaf of Deutschland black

bread to be divided among ten of us. This bread was made from ground

vegetables mixed with rye flour. If you read Gerard's "Four Years in

Germany" you will see that samples of this food were examined by a

specialist and declared to be almost devoid of food value. It was

planned to reduce our numbers by a process of slow starvation.

We used to fight over the garbage cans for the peelings of potatoes,

and cabbage, and when the old prisoners, who were getting their Red

Cross boxes, brought us their German issue of soup, it was not safe for

them to come inside our enclosure. They would place the can inside the

gate and we fought over it like a pack of hungry wolves. If you think

we are exaggerating, see Gerard's new picture film "My Four Years in

Germany." It tells better than I can just how bad things were. Well,

one day when our soup was handed in by the other prisoners a funny

thing happened; we had seen the boys coming and had made a rush to the

huts to get our bowls--a very short fellow reached the soup can first

and before he could get his bowl filled, we had all crowded in on top

of him--poor Shorty had his head and arm in the soup and was almost

drowned before we got him out. He had soup everywhere except in the

bowl. Every British prisoner had to put up with this kind of food for

the first two months; after that, the Red Cross parcels would begin to

arrive. The condition of the Russian prisoners was indeed pitiable.

They received no help from home, and were depending solely on German

food. A Russian can live on much less than a Britisher, but they

literally starved to death on what the Germans gave them. They were

made to work, and when they could go no longer and fell down from sheer

weakness the Guard would beat them till they died. I have seen this

happen again and again, and there was an average of fifteen deaths

every day among the Russians alone. Our parcels came just in time to

save the strongest of us, but scores of the weaker ones died. But just

here let me explain the system used by the Red Cross for getting food

to the boys in the prison camps. As soon as a new prisoner reaches the

camp he is given a card which he fills in and sends to the Red Cross

Headquarters in London. This card contains his name and number, and

the number of the camp that he is in. It takes about two months to get

the first parcel through; after that he received six food parcels and

two of tobacco each month, and once in six months they send him a

complete outfit of clothes, from overcoat to boots, also a parcel of

toilet articles, such as toothbrush, shaving outfit, soap, etc. From

the time these parcels reach the Dutch border, they are handled by a

staff of our own prisoners, so there is no danger of their going

astray. The Germans examine the parcels before they are given out to

make sure that they do not contain maps or compasses for the prisoners;

that is the only time they handle them.

These parcels mean life and a small degree of comfort to the boys, so

you can imagine how they are looked forward to. The Red Cross saved my

life and the lives of thousands of our boys; and they deserve honour

and support from every person who calls himself a loyal citizen of any

Allied country. I shall never forget when my first parcel came; I had

been in camp two months and I had failed eighteen pounds. One of the

boys came into my hut and told me there were two parcels for me. I

told him to stop fooling, that his joke was stale. But he said, "No,

it's straight goods this time, here are the tickets"--so I rushed off

to where the parcel office was and got in line. Pretty soon my turn

came and I handed in my tickets. A big German brought out the parcels,

and while he was censoring them I was figuring on what I was going to

have to eat, but imagine my disappointment when he pushed over the

parcels and I found they contained nothing but clothing. There were

two suits of underwear, two pairs of socks, two shirts and one pair of

blankets, but no food. My clothing was in rags when I reached Germany,

my tunic and cap were lost in the sap the day I was taken, and I needed

socks and underwear very badly, also boots, so this supply was more

than welcome, but I needed food more than anything else. I put all the

stuff into the blankets and started back for the hut. When the boys

saw me coming, they rushed out to meet me, for they were building on a

feed, the same as myself. The unwritten rule of the prison camp is,

whatever one gets the rest all share it, so they were disappointed too.

However, three days later our food parcels arrived, having been delayed

at the border, and we sure had a big feed. My first food parcel

contained one tin of Welsh rarebit, one tin of jam, a large package of

biscuits, three bars of chocolate, and two packages of cigarettes. I

tell you it put new life into us, and we felt like licking all the Huns

in sight.

After our Red Cross parcels came we were able to shave ourselves, and

we had soap to wash with. When we first came to the camp the Germans

asked if there were any barbers in our bunch. Now, there wasn't, but

one of the boys, "Slim" Evans, volunteered for the job. They gave him

an old razor, some soap and a strop, also a small brush, and he was

ready for work. He had no chair of any kind, so he looked around till

he found a bench in one of the huts; he swiped this and turned it

upside down on his table. When the boys came for a shave, they climbed

up on the table and sat in the upturned bench, using the leg of the

bench for a head rest. It sure was some "barber's chair"; I'll bet

there never was another like it. Well, Slim got lots of customers; the

Germans didn't pay him for his work, but the prisoners tried to. Some

had nothing at all, but he did their work just the same; others were

working on farms, and for this they were given what was equal to 2d or

4d in English money. Slim never took anything from those who only

received 2d, but those getting 4d were allowed to pay. Sometimes they

gave him a box of German cigarettes so strong that if you smoked one on

Monday you could taste it on Saturday. I remember my first visit to

Slim; I climbed up into the chair and Slim asked me what I was getting;

I said 4d, so he gave the razor an extra rub-up. Now, I hadn't had a

shave for a month, so I was a pretty hairy-looking customer. Slim

said, "How long since you've had a wash?" I said, "This morning, only

I hadn't any soap." He said, "Never mind, I'll wash you with shaving

soap." So he went to work, and really I didn't know whether he was

shaving or skinning me. As a matter of fact he did a little of both,

for he had six patches of skin off when he finished and the only remark

he made was, "This razor is not quite as sharp as I could wish," but he

told me to be sure and come again.

But I have spoken mostly of food, or rather the lack of it. Now I will

try and give you an idea of how we put in our time. They didn't work

us very hard in this camp; usually we were only taken out three times a

week. When they wanted us, German guards would come in, line up about

twenty of us, and take us out to work in the fields. The first job

they put us at was planting potatoes and we worked faithfully the first

day, but when we came in that night I said to "Snipe," the new pal I

had made, "By golly! Snipe, I don't like the idea of producing food

for these 'square-heads,' let's see if we can't put one over them."

"All right," said Snipe, "I'm game, but how in hell are you going to do

it?" I said, "Well, how would this do? Next time we are sent out,

I'll take the hoe and you the bucket of potatoes; as soon as we get a

little piece away from the guard, I'll keep on making holes, but you

just go through the motions of dropping in potatoes, then when we reach

the centre of the field I'll make an extra large hole and you can dump

in all the potatoes except a few that must be saved for the other end

of the row." "Gee, that sounds all right," said Snipe; "we'll have a

try at it anyway, and I believe it will work." The field we had been

working in was a long narrow strip containing about five acres, and

there was an armed guard stationed at each end. Well, next day we were

called out again and we tried our new plan. It worked splendidly; the

other boys saw what we were doing and they all did the same, so the

whole field was planted that way, and I wish you could have seen those

potatoes when they came up.

The next thing we were given to do was putting out cabbage plants (of

course they had not yet discovered the trick we had played with the

potatoes). In planting cabbages the first man was given a small sharp

stick instead of a hoe, and man number two had a box of young plants.

A hole was made, but before the plant was put in the roots were nipped

off. In three days the cabbages were all wilted or dead and the

Germans could not make out what was wrong, so they sprinkled the ground

with some kind of stuff thinking the damage was caused by worms in the

soil. But some one happened to pull up a plant, and they realized then

what had been done. Of course they were very angry, but no one would

tell who did it, and they couldn't very well punish the whole camp.

However, they didn't give us any more farm work to do.

Shortly after this, I was out on a working party with some of the old

prisoners and one of them began telling me about a man who had made an

escape from the camp some months before. He had gotten as far as the

Holland Border, but was caught there. The word "escape" thrilled me as

nothing else ever had, and from that time on the idea was never out of

my head. I questioned the man and got all he knew about the distance

to the border, direction, etc., and I could hardly wait till night to

get telling the other boys about it. Finally we got back to the

bunkhouse and I told Snipe and two or three other Canadians what I had

heard. They were just as excited as I was, and we decided that if that

fellow could get out of the camp, why we could too, and we made up our

minds to keep working on it till we did find a way out.

One night when we were discussing the question, Snipe suggested that we

cut a hole through the floor of the hut and tunnel our way out. We

could make the hole under one of the bunks so it would not be easily

seen by the guards. The plan seemed good to us and we began

immediately to put it into operation. Snipe happened to be occupying

one of the lower bunks, so we started there to cut the hole in the

floor--we had only a couple of old jack-knives to work with--but after

we got through the floor, we did the digging with our hands. While two

of us worked the other lay on the top bunk where we had a small window,

and kept watch. The floor of the shack in which we lived was two and a

half feet from the ground, so there was plenty of room for the earth

that we took out of the tunnel. We worked away for eight nights and by

that time we had passed the inner fence, the guard and the electric

wires, so we thought it was safe to come to the surface. When we got

within a foot of the top we decided it was too late to attempt to get

away that night, so planned to start at 11.30 the following night and

that would give us time to get quite a distance away from the camp

before daylight. So we went back to our bunks, and all that night we

lay planning and dreaming of what we would do when we got out.

Next morning I was too excited to sleep, so very early I got up and

took a walk around the fence. When I reached the place I thought our

tunnel should be I took a look in that direction, and to my horror, I

discovered a big hole between the two fences. I knew in an instant

what had happened: when the Germans were changing guards, their weight

had broken through the tunnel--I smile now as I think of the surprise

it must have given them, but at the time it was a bitter

disappointment. I hustled back to tell the boys, and Snipe moved into

another bunk so that they couldn't fasten the blame on him. Of course

we knew that the tunnel would be traced to our hut, and sure enough in

about half an hour a bunch of guards came in, lined us up, and tried to

make us tell what ones had attempted to escape. We all denied it, so

after making a thorough search of the hut for maps and compasses they

let us go. Thus ended my first attempt at escape.

Shortly after this the guard came in one morning, lined up about fifty

of us, and said they were taking us away to work on farms. We were

taken to the railway station, loaded on trains, and taken farther into

Germany. When the train stopped and we got out, we found that we were

in the centre of a coal mine district. With their usual regard for the

truth they had taken us to work in the coal mines instead of on farms,

and this mine where we were was well known among the prisoners of war

as the "Black Hole of Germany" and it has maintained its evil

reputation up to the present time.

The other camp we were in was a paradise in comparison with this.

Owing to the fact that the train came up to the mines, there were no

wire fences except just in the centre where the prisoners' huts were

located. But there seemed to be guards everywhere. The first thing

that struck us was the dirt of everything, the smoke of the coke ovens

covered the whole place with a layer of soot.

It was five o'clock in the evening when we arrived, and we were this

time turned loose with the other prisoners; there must have been five

hundred at this camp--Russian, French, and English. We were the first

Canadians to go there.

We found the barracks and every other place in a filthy condition, the

beds were dirty and crawling with the largest fleas I have ever seen;

these fleas are as large as ordinary mosquitos, they breed in the mine

and are carried up on the men's clothes. Often these pests were so bad

that the men lay out in the yard at night instead of going to

bed--anyway, in the hot weather the stench from the beds is almost

unbearable.

We walked out among the prisoners, and they were glad to get news of

the war and of the outside world. Among other questions, they asked if

London was still standing. The Germans had told them it had been

levelled to the ground. Some of the men had been in the mines for two

years and the stories they told were almost incredible. The Germans

who guard this camp are always savage and cruel and they are urged on

by the owners and operators of the mine. We talked with some of the

first British prisoners who arrived there, and this is what they told

us: At first they refused to work, knowing that it was contrary to

international law to force prisoners of war to work in the mines. For

refusing to work they were given a week of the most brutal abuse and

torture possible. The weather was bitterly cold and there was a foot

of snow. These men were stripped of everything but their shirt and

pants and made to stand "at attention" out of doors. Any man moving

hand or foot was knocked down with the butt of a rifle, and those who

fainted from cold and exhaustion were dragged away and put back in

their places as soon as they became conscious--while those whose

strength enabled them to hold out the longest were stood in front of

the cokery ovens until they were utterly exhausted by the terrific

heat, and had to consent to work. The first shift that went down into

the mines were driven into the cage with rifle butts and bayonets, and

some of them went down unconscious. Oh, when this war is over, there

will be a long day of reckoning with the German people.

After listening to such stories as these, and after seeing the poor

wrecked bodies of the prisoners, you can imagine how we felt as we were

marched off to work the next morning. When we were taken out, we were

given our first suit of prison clothes--this consisted of overalls and

smock and cap. The overalls had a four-inch stripe of red down each

leg, the jacket had six inches of red down the centre of the back, and

the cap had a wide red band across the top. After we got into these,

we looked like a bunch of robins.

When we reached the pit-head we found a line of German civilians

waiting to go down into the mines--as we waited for the cages to come

up we overheard some of their conversation--of course we could not

understand it, but one of the old prisoners translated it for me. The

Germans had noticed that we were new men and they asked the guard what

nationality we were. The guard told them we were Canadians, but the

civilians said, "Oh nix! the Canadians are 'Swas'"--meaning black.

They argued with the guard for fifteen minutes and then were not

convinced. Finally the cage came, we were loaded in, and it started

down. I shall never forget the feeling I had; I thought that we would

never strike bottom. I asked an old prisoner how deep the mine was,

and he said two thousand feet, and I believed him.

Well, at last the cage reached the bottom and I had my first view of a

coal mine; even to my inexperienced eye things seemed to be in very bad

shape. Owing to the great demand for coal, they did not take time to

properly timber their mine, and the tunnels were caving in all the

time--I am safe in saying that there was an average of three men killed

there every week. There was never an inquiry made into these deaths.

Well, they started me to work and my job was to load up cars with the

coal that the civilians hacked out. These cars held just a ton, and I

had to push the loaded car onto the main tunnel or road; an engine took

it the rest of the way. This was very heavy work, and often I thought

my back would surely break, and it hurt me to think that the Germans

were getting so much out of me. However, as the days went on we found

little ways of getting back at them. For instance, the civilians were

paid according to the number of tons they got out, and each man had

tags with his number on them. When a car was loaded we were supposed

to put one of these tags on the top, and when it reached the top of the

shaft it was credited to the man whose number was on it. Well,

sometimes, instead of putting the tag on the top of the load, we put it

inside and piled the coal on it. At the top of the shaft, when no tag

was found, the car was not credited to any one, and when pay day came

and those old Germans found the paymaster did not give them credit for

all the coal taken out, there surely was some fun; it did our hearts

good to hear the row they made. Of course we would not have been able

to play any tricks if there had been any guards around, but once we

were down in the mine we were out from under military rule and working

under the mine management, but the latter were just as cruel in their

way as the military; they not only got every ounce of work possible out

of each prisoner, but they inflicted the most terrible punishment for

every slight offence. A few days after I went there, a splendid young

Canadian boy from Toronto was found dead with the back of his head

smashed in. He had been on night shift, and he had not been hurt in a

cave-in, for our own boys found him. We asked for an investigation,

but we were told to go to work and mind our own business; so we

Canadians went on strike. A German who spoke a little English asked us

what was the matter, and we said we wanted to find out what had killed

our comrade. He laughed in our faces and said, "You are prisoners, you

must do as you are told." We told him where he could go, and against

the advice of all the old prisoners refused to go to work, and this was

our punishment; we were stood "at attention" in fifteen-minute periods,

with five minutes "at ease," until ready to go back to work. This was

indeed torture--the five minutes' rest made it possible to prolong the

agony. Men faint if made to stand "at attention" for many hours, but

doing it this way we never lost consciousness. Guards marched up and

down behind us; if we moved hand or foot we were knocked down and

kicked; though they kicked us on the ankles whether we moved or not--my

right ankle was so swollen I was not able to do up my boot for three

weeks. Well, we stood this without food for two days and nights, and

then we were so exhausted that we had to give in. The old prisoners

had all been through this kind of thing, that was why they warned us

not to go on strike. But no matter what the punishment was, we could

not let the murder of one of our number go unnoticed.

Shortly after this we had another lesson of the same kind. An

Englishman on night shift was found sleeping and the foreman who found

him knocked him down a shaft and killed him. Another Britisher, who

saw the murder, reported the foreman, and accused him of the murder,

but when the trial came off the Britisher was given six months in

prison for perjury.

But to go back to our work. We were supposed to be on eight-hour

shifts--only sometimes they would make us do a double shift, or sixteen

hours. When this was required they gave us an extra bread ration. The

German in charge of the camp thought himself very smart because he

could speak a few words of English and also write a little; so, instead

of telling us that we were to come to his office for an extra ration of

bread, he wrote the order on a piece of cardboard and hung it in our

barracks. Seeing him hanging something up we all gathered round, and

this is what we read: "You Englishmen, before going on shift, will draw

your _Breath_ at my office." Of course we all shouted and laughed at

this; and the officer stood there looking as though he had been kicked

and didn't know who had done it. He tumbled that there was something

wrong with the notice, but all he said was "You Engländer,

Schweinhunds," and went out.

It was while we were working on one of these long shifts that we

thought of another way of getting even with our slave-drivers, for this

is really what they were. They worked us to the last ounce of our

strength; the food given us was not sufficient to keep body and soul

together. We were living on our Red Cross parcels, and we ate none of

the German food except the bread. It's the only time I ever worked for

nothing and boarded myself. We were punished for every offence, real

and imaginary, and when a man is driven harder than he can bear, and

refuses to work any more, the methods used to force him to work would

put any slave-driver to shame; and we were ready to do anything to try

and even up the score. This is one plan that worked well.

There was a great deal of rock among the coal, and we were supposed to

have two cars always on hand, and fill one with rock and the other with

coal; but we thought as nature had mixed them in the mine that they

should go up the same way, so we would half fill a car with stones, and

then cover it over with coal. When this car reached the top it looked

all right, so it was put into the dumping machine; once there it could

not be stopped, and when those big rocks went rolling down into the

machinery and over the sieves, there was one hell of a smash-up. Those

old Germans would tear their hair with rage, but of course they

couldn't tell who had done it. Finally, like everything else that went

wrong, it was blamed on the "Engländers," as we were called, and the

old German who spoke English took the case in hand. One night, after

coming off shift, he lined us up and said, "I have been notified that

you Englanders are putting stones in between the coal, and if I hear

any more of this you shall be punished _severely_." Some one started

to laugh and we all took it up, so he stood us "at attention." No

matter what was done to us we never gave them the satisfaction of

letting them know it hurt. I have seen our boys die under slow

torture, and always they had that _grin_ on their faces.

This was one thing the Germans never could understand, for, as a

nation, they have no spirit at all; I have seen big men blubber like

children over the slightest hurt. Working with civilians, we often had

the satisfaction of a scrap. We dared not touch one of the military,

no matter what they said or did, for it would mean instant death; but

when the civilians were extra-brutal or insulting, as they often were,

we got even if we did not happen to be too greatly out-numbered. The

smallest Britisher that ever went into the mine could lick the biggest

Hun in a fair fight. But that was just the trouble--the Germans know

nothing about the first principles of fair play. At school, instead of

being taught to defend themselves with their fists, they fight with

sticks or anything they can lay their hands on, and once they get their

opponent down, they kick him until he gives in. So when they ran up

against English-speaking people and there was a scrap in sight, they

were astounded to see the Englander lay down the shovel or whatever he

happened to have in his hands. They would stand and stare with their

weapon half raised as they saw their opponent laying aside his only

means of defence. They did not know what to expect, and while they

were in this uncertain condition the Englander got in his first blow.

We became quite notorious for our methods of fighting, and when we

would be put to work with any new men, their first question would be,

"What did you do before joining the Army?" and we always said, "We were

boxers." They would smile and say, "Ich nix boxer--nice Engländer,

good Engländer"--this amused us immensely and their fear of us made

them use us more decently.

After I had been in the mine about six months, Snipe and I planned out

a scheme by which we hoped to escape doing any work for awhile. In

going through the mine, we had come across many abandoned tunnels from

which the coal had been taken--in many cases these tunnels were

partially caved in and were considered unsafe, and for this reason they

were avoided by the miners. The idea came to us this way;--one night

when Snipe and I were coming off work, we passed these tunnels, and I

said to Snipe, "Say, old boy, I'm fed up with this everlasting work for

these brutal Huns; let's think up some scheme for getting out of it for

awhile." Snipe said, "All right. But how can we get away from these

blamed 'square-heads'?" Just then we noticed one of the tunnels, and I

said, "Hully gee! Snipe, what's the matter with hiding in one of these

tunnels? No one ever comes here." "Golly! I believe it would work,"

says Snipe, pounding me on the back. We were very much excited, and

when we reached our bunkhouse we told some of the other boys. They

asked to come in too, so six of us laid our plans. We went down on

shift as usual and followed the other miners till we came to the tunnel

in which we had planned to hide. When there was no one looking, we

would dodge in, and when we were missed the miners thought we had gone

to work in another part of the mine; each mine boss thought we were

taken to work for some one else, so no one hunted us up; of course we

were in constant danger of being buried alive, but we gladly took the

risk for the sake of getting a rest.

We would lie round chatting and sleeping all day, and at night, blacken

our faces and join the other miners on their way to the main shaft. We

worked this game for eight weeks, not always staying in the same hole,

but changing around whenever we saw a likely looking place. We had a

splendid rest, and it put us in better condition for what was to

follow. A funny thing happened after this had been going on a few

weeks. One morning two of our boys, Barney and Raeside, did not come

down in the same cage with us, and as we didn't dare wait, for fear of

being set to work, we were out of sight before they arrived. So they

hunted up a place for themselves, and the spot they chose was between

the timbers and the roof of the main tunnel. It was a good place, and

they would never have been discovered if they hadn't gone to sleep and

snored. But they did, and a fire boss happened to be passing at the

time, so he located their hiding-place. Of course he couldn't see who

was there, but he tried to poke them out with his stick. They soon

woke up, but Barney whispered, "To hell with him, Mac, we won't go," so

they lay still. Finally the fire boss went for help, and as soon as he

left the boys came out. But they had to come out one at a time.

Barney got down first; and he beat it to locate another hole. When

Raeside struck the tunnel, he saw a light not far away, and he thought

it must be the returning boss, so off he went in the opposite

direction. Barney had the light, and was looking for a place large

enough to hold them, when he heard Raeside running. He at once jumped

to the conclusion that Raeside had spotted a "square-head"--and he

started off to his assistance--Raeside heard some one coming on the

run, and he thought it must be the boss, so he went still faster. They

chased each other like this for about a mile. Then Raeside gave out:

and hiding his lamp, he hid in the first hole he came to. In a moment

along came Barney, puffing and blowing like a whale, and as he passed

Raeside saw who it was. Then the joke of it struck him, he called

Barney back, and the two of them sat down in the tunnel and laughed

till they were sore. The boss never found them, and I can imagine how

angry he was when he went back with his reinforcements and found his

prey gone. That night the boys told us the joke they had played on

themselves.

But our good time ended abruptly one Saturday when a mine inspector, or

"fire-stager" as he is called, came around on his tour of inspection,

and he found us hiding in a hole about three hundred yards from the

main road. We put out our pit lamps when we saw him passing, and he

didn't let on having seen us, so we couldn't tell whether he had or

not. He was too big a coward to tackle us alone, and we knew that if

he had discovered us he would go for help. We didn't know whether to

run or risk staying where we were, and while we were talking about it,

we heard the tramping of a lot of feet in the tunnel leading to our

hiding-place. It was too late to go now, we would have to face the

music. There were six of us, and Snipe suggested that if no more than

ten came we would stand and fight, but if there were more we had best

make a running fight and escape to some other part of the mine. We

decided to do this, and while we were waiting for them to come in we

filled our pockets with stones.

But the foreman had no intention of bringing his men in--he lined them

up, ten on a side, opposite the hole through which we must come

out--they were armed with sticks, pieces of heavy rubber hose, and

anything they could lay their hands on. After lining them up he made

them hide their lamps under the jackets so that we wouldn't be able to

see them when we came out. Then, when he got them fixed to his liking,

he very bravely marched in where we were and said, "Alle Engländer?"

We said, "Yes." He said, "You Schweinhunds!" At that one of our boys

jumped and made a pass at him, crying, "You big square-headed German,

I'll knock your head off, I wouldn't take that from your Kaiser Bill."

The German backed up and avoided the blow, saying tauntingly, "Ah, nix,

Engländer." Then he asked us why we were not working, and we said we

had got tired and were taking a rest. He said "Komm' mit." We said,

"Oh no." When he saw we had no intention of going he began to make

promises. He said that if we would only go back to work he would not

report us and we would not be punished in any way.

We did not believe him, and we trusted his promises about as long as it

took him to make them; but, as Snipe said, we might as well take a

chance on it, for we had to get out, and there was only one road to go.

Of course he couldn't understand us, but we had picked up enough German

to make out everything he said. Well, we pretended to believe him and

we started out, walking in couples. When the first two reached the

main road two lights flashed out, and the clubs commenced to whistle

through the air. The boys shouted "duck!"--and, believe me, we did.

We started down between those two lines of Germans, and seeing there

were so many we thought it best just to make a run for it. In going

through, three of our boys got knocked down, and the rest of us got

some bad whacks over the head and back but we kept our feet. The last

two Germans on the line got scared when they heard us coming and

started to run. They were on the road just ahead of us, and we made a

dash after them. They were a considerable distance from the main body

when we overtook them, and I remember one of the boys saying, "We'll

make these square-headed devils pay for what we've received"--and

believe me, we did. Instead of going home to their supper that night,

I'll bet they went to the doctor.

Well, when this scrap was all over and we got to the top of the shaft,

the mine inspector that had caught us reported us to the military

authorities, and their punishment was five hours "at attention." When

we had put this in, they allowed us to go to our bunks. The next day

was Sunday, and we were peacefully sleeping when a big German came in

and called out our numbers. We asked him what he wanted, and he said

we had to go on the Coke-o-roy. We certainly knew what this meant.

The coke ovens were attached to the mine, and most of the coal taken

out was made into coke. Work on the ovens was so hard and so trying on

account of the great heat, that they used this as a punishment for

anything that was done wrong in the mines. This is what the German who

could speak English told us. The morning we were put on, he lined us

up and read this to us, "If you Engländers does not do your work right

beneath the mine, we put you on coke ovens, and there, if you shall not

work, you shall die." We all laughed at this, and he said, "You

England Schweinhunds!" and went away.

But it was sure a punishment. The regular hours through the week was a

twelve-hour shift, and each man was obliged to shovel thirty-two tons

of coke, wheel it from ten to twenty yards along the platform, and dump

it into railway cars. On Sunday the shift was twenty-four hours long,

and each one had to handle sixty-four tons of coke. If you were not

through when your time was up, you must keep at it till you did the

required number of tons and then start back to work again with your

shift.

It was on the twenty-four-hour shift that we started our work. We went

on at 7 A.M. on Sunday, and we worked from that until 7 Monday morning.

Almost as soon as I went on the ovens I met two of my old pals,

Nickelson and Macdonald. They had been put here for attempting to

escape from the mine, and had been at this job for a week before we

arrived. We were mighty glad to see each other, for we all belonged to

the same "school." But a "school" in a German prison camp does not

mean the same as it does in America. We got the idea from the British

Tommy, only he calls it "mucking it." It is made up of a bunch of boys

who put all their parcels in together and go fifty-fifty on everything.

Sharing with each other brought us a little closer together than we

otherwise would have been.

Well, these were in our little "school" and had also shared in our

rest-cure up to the time of their attempted escape. So when they saw

us come on the ovens, they knew exactly what had happened. As I passed

Nick, he said, "Which would you rather do, Jack, work on the coke oven

or go to church?" I laughed and said, "Well, I guess, the church has

it this time." After awhile I happened to be beside Mac, and I said,

"Speaking of baseball, Mac, do they serve afternoon tea here?" He

said, "Well, they used to, but you know tea has gone up, and as a

substitute they serve out a little hell." And believe me, I hadn't

been there long before I found that this was literally true.

I was feeling fairly fit after my two months' rest; and this rest was

all that saved my life. But during that first day I didn't mind the

work so much, I could stand it anyway, but when night came it was awful

beyond description. The heat of the closed ovens was bad enough, but

at night, when the coke in the ovens was sufficiently baked, they

opened the huge doors and the burning mass was pushed out by machinery.

It came out a solid lump just the shape of the oven, and the heat it

threw off was terrific. Two or three big "square-heads" stood near

with iron forks fourteen feet long, and with these they prodded the

mass until it broke into pieces. When it first broke it burst into

flames, but gradually it cooled, and finally they finished it by

turning the water hose on it. But the Germans who attended to this

looked like skeletons--the gas and heat seemed to have eaten the flesh

from their bones and they seemed scarcely human. I was working near

and the fumes of gas and the awful heat was almost more than a human

being could stand. I looked around at the prisoners; and such a

sight--they were toiling like galley slaves, their faces were streaked

with soot and sweat till you couldn't tell whether they were black or

white. I'll never forget the horror of that first night on the ovens,

I was almost dead long before I had finished shovelling my sixty-four

tons of coke, but the awfulness of the scene was harder to bear than

the pain of my body. I said to Mac, "What does this remind you of,

Mac?" He said, "Jack, it's more like hell than anything that was ever

imagined or painted."

We were almost insensible when at last our work was finished; but we

had to keep at it as long as our brains were strong enough to force our

bodies to move. I saw what the weaker ones got, and that was enough

for me. Those inhuman devils with their boasted German culture--a

disgrace to everything that God has created--would drag these poor

quivering, fainting creatures, pleading for mercy--right up to those

red-hot ovens, and at the point of a bayonet force them to stand in

that withering heat till they fell unconscious. Then the guard would

drag them away and make two of the other prisoners carry them back to

the barracks.

What I have described is a sample of what my days and nights were like

on the coke ovens, till I made my final escape two months later. I

played out several times, and each time I was roasted alive before the

ovens. Once I backed away to escape the heat, and the guard knocked me

unconscious with his rifle. The strongest men are being crippled and

broken down in health in this work (of course the weak ones die very

soon), but the treatment accorded our prisoners in other places is not

much better. A young lad belonging to the Gordon Highlanders told me

that he was wounded when he was taken prisoner, and he lay in the

hospital for three days before they even looked at his leg. Then, when

he finally got attention, everything was done in the roughest kind of

way, and when the nurse had finished the dressing she _spit in his

face_.

Another man who belonged to the Irish Fusiliers told me that when he

was captured they kept him four days in the front lines doing fatigue

duty under our shell fire, and in that time he had scarcely anything to

eat. On the fourth night he and three other prisoners were quartered

in a small room of a Belgian house, and they were taken down and lined

up against the wall, while the German officers amused themselves by

pelting them with green apples. One of the prisoners attempted to eat

one of the apples and was beaten almost to death.

What we endured was the special torture that was reserved for Camp K

47; they had different methods at other camps. I remember an old

prisoner telling me of the torture they had where he was before coming

to the mines. It was an ammunition factory, and they had taken a bunch

of English prisoners there and tried to make them work. Now, this is

where our men drew the line, and though they knew it would mean

punishment, and perhaps death, they absolutely refused to go to work.

Of course the German officials were raging, and they resorted to their

special line of torture to compel obedience. The boys were taken to

where boxes were placed against large trees, they were forced to mount

these and extend their arms full length about their heads. Then their

wrists were strapped together and fastened to the tree--the box was

kicked away and they hung by their arms often for hours. Every little

while an officer would go around and ask them if they were ready to go

to work. On their refusing he would give them a few kicks and pass on.

This was kept up as long as the men could stand the agony, and the

prisoner who told me this showed me the marks on his wrists, and said

he knew at least six of their boys who died as a result of this torture.

The only thing that kept them from killing the prisoners outright was

the fact that all the German prison camps were visited every few weeks

by American Ambassador Gerard or some of his staff. He passed around

among the boys, asked questions, and received complaints, and it is

undoubtedly true that Ambassador Gerard saved hundreds of lives in the

prison camps.

I had been working on the ovens for something like a month when a fresh

bunch of prisoners were brought up from the mine. They had followed

our example and were caught taking a rest. With this group was a young

Canadian called Toby, and he was certainly "some boy." He was only

eighteen at the time, really just a kid, but he had spirit enough for

two ordinary men. They put him shovelling coke, and he got along all

right till he finished the dump he was working on. Then, after the

large chunks were gone, the dust and cleanings should have been put

into wheelbarrows and taken over to a crusher. Toby had not been told

this, and naturally he loaded it all into the cars. The boss caught

him at it, and he stormed and shook his ugly fist in Toby's face. But

Toby had learned to take a good deal, so he paid no attention. But the

German manager had seen him too, so he came up when the boss had

finished, and of course he could afford to be more insulting than his

inferior. So after ranting for several minutes and wiggling his finger

under Toby's nose he finished up by giving the lad a couple of brutal

kicks with his iron-shod boots. This was more than Toby's spirit could

stand, and Toby wheeled around and landed him a blow on the jaw; the

man staggered back, and before he could recover Toby gave him another

that sent him sprawling. The platform boss saw it all, and drawing his

revolver he threatened to shoot, but Toby defied him and dared him to

go ahead. The bully was afraid to do it, and he contented himself with

reporting the case to the guard. Of course the guard came up, and with

a great show of force dragged the youngster to the coke ovens and made

him stand "at attention." But he hadn't been there long when lunch

time came, and as they dared not leave him alone Toby was marched off

to the platform with the other prisoners. During lunch he told me

about the scrap he had gotten into, and I warned him to be on his

guard--I knew the kind of brutes he was up against and I felt sure that

they would try to get even if they could get him at a disadvantage. We

were drinking pop at the time, and I made him hide the empty bottle

under his jacket to use as a weapon in case he was attacked. Well, we

went on duty again and Toby was put before the ovens to finish his

punishment, but he had only been there a few minutes when the boss came

along with a shovel on his shoulder and made Toby understand that he

was to go to work under the long platform which held the ovens. So he

marched Toby down the stairs and into the darkness under the platform.

Suddenly Toby felt his arms gripped from behind and strong hands pinned

them to his side, while out of the darkness in front loomed up the

burly figure of the manager. He carried a short whip and this he

proceeded to lay on to poor Toby, any place at all that he could hit.

The lad wriggled with all his might, and finally succeeded in getting

his arms free; then grabbing the whip in his left hand, he planted the

manager one between the eyes with his right, and down he went. Then,

quick as a cat, he wheeled on the other German, smashing at him with

his pop bottle. The man tried to protect his face, but Toby's rage

gave him the strength of madness, and the first blow broke the German's

arm. Toby followed this up with another, and this time gave him a

beauty just over the eye. He went down as if he was shot, and Toby

started to walk away. By this time the manager had come to a little,

and he called on Toby to "Halt!" but Toby paid no attention and the

manager fired two shots after him. What he had been through possibly

affected his aim; at any rate, he missed and Toby walked quietly back

to his place and began work again. The Germans were too proud to let

their comrades know how the lad had beaten them up, so they contented

themselves with reporting him privately to the guard and giving him

seven days' close confinement. Next day, as I passed the prison, I

called and asked him how he was, and he said, "Fine! I could beat up

half a dozen more 'square-heads' if I had them here; this is better

than working on a coke oven, anyway." After Toby got out of jail the

boys gave him a great ovation. They cheered him, carried him round on

their arms, and fed him with everything they could lay their hands on.

Nothing could keep down a boy with a spirit like his, and he made his

escape about two months after I did. He was to have come with me, but

had a sore foot, so we had to leave him behind. Poor kid, it's the

only time I ever saw tears in his eyes.

The only redeeming feature of my work on the coke ovens was that I was

out of doors and could get a glimpse of the surrounding country.

Spring had come, and the fine weather made me long for freedom.

Three of us got together one night and figured out a way of escape; one

chap known as Blackie, another called Sammy, and myself. Now, as I

said before we worked in shifts, one week at night, the next during the

day. It was during the night shift that we planned to get away; but

there were two things we needed badly--namely, a map and a compass. We

were talking this thing over one night when Sammy said, "I have a

scheme." We told him to get it off his chest. "Well," he said, "I

think I know where I can get a map and a compass; I work with a German

civilian whom I think could be easily bribed." Blackie said, "What

makes you think so?" Sammy answered, "I have worked with this fellow

for three nights, and I have been treating him to some of my lunch, and

he seems to be pretty hungry." Then he said, "We will all save food

from our next parcel issue--chocolate, bully-beef, and biscuits--and I

will take them and see what I can get for them." We all agreed, but we

hadn't much hope of getting what we wanted. In two days along came a

parcel issue and we saved out all we could spare and handed it over to

Sammy. Next day Sammy took it with him, but brought it back when he

came from work. When I saw him I said, "No luck, Sammy." He said,

"Sure--come here and I'll tell you all about it." He said, "I got him

going fine, and he'll bring the map and compass tomorrow." "Then, why

did you bring back the food?" "Oh," he said, "I just showed it to him,

and his eyes stuck out a mile," but I said, "No, Fritzie, this is for

you when you bring the map and compass; so I think I have him." Sure

enough, Sammy went off the next day with his little bag of rations.

About two hours after we got started to work Sammy came along to where

I was working and said, "Jack, I have it." We wanted to have a look at

it right then, for it seemed too good to be true, but when we were

looking at it we were nearly caught by one of our guards who happened

to be passing. We curbed our curiosity, and did not bring out our

treasures again until we were safe in our huts.

Every night we pored over our map and laid plans for our escape the

following week when we would be put on night shift; but before the week

was up I was put on a different job. Instead of shovelling coke I was

set to filling small cars with coal. This took me away from the boys,

and at first I was very much discouraged. But the new place where I

worked was a large coal shed and quite dark; right at the back I found

an unused door which was unlocked. Opening it, I discovered an iron

ladder leading to the ground, and I said to myself, "This is just the

chance we've been looking for." That night I told the boys of my find,

and they said, "Yes, but how are we going to get there?" for between

this coal house and the platform where the boys worked was a distance

of one hundred yards. But I told them how I thought it could be

managed, and we made our plans to try it that way.

We planned to make our "getaway" on the Tuesday of the following week,

so we set about collecting provisions for our journey. All our pals

were willing to contribute, and they gave us bully-beef and biscuits

from their scanty stores. We could hardly wait for the time set for

our starting, but at last the night came.

Every night at twelve o'clock the guards left their posts and marched

the prisoners back to a hut for lunch. It was on our way back from

this lunch that we hoped to get away. The guards always left us at the

foot of the stairs leading up to the coke ovens, and they stayed at the

foot of the ladder until the last prisoner was mounted. This night we

had made up our minds that we should be the first ones up the ladder,

for time meant everything to us. A guard was stationed at the foot of

the ladder leading from the coal shed, and we had to make the distance

before he did. Our path lay past the coke ovens, across a bridge to

the coal house, through it and down the ladder. We didn't dare run,

for we were surrounded by German civilians, but I assure you the time

we made wasn't slow.

Blackie and Sammy came with me instead of stopping at their ovens, and

we trusted to the friendly darkness to keep them from being detected.

We won our race and reached the bottom of the ladder a full minute

before the guard reached his post; so we were off on the run for a

small wood which was about six hundred yards away. We reached it in

safety and congratulated each other on our escape. We stayed there

only long enough to get our wind, then we started off at a good brisk

walk; as far as we knew we had not been missed, for there was no

pursuit. We walked until 4 A.M. across the country, then we came to a

large wood where we hid for the day.

Next night we started out about 9 P.M., and after a short walk we came

to a large river. By consulting our map, we found it was the River

Lippe, and we scouted along its banks in search of something to take us

across. Unfortunately there was no boat in sight, and just when we had

made up our minds to swim it I discovered an old bridge. It had been

condemned and was no longer in use, but we were only too glad to try

it; crawling carefully across in case there should be a guard at the

other end. Just as we reached the centre we encountered a barbed wire

entanglement. This made us feel quite at home, and we fancied we were

back in the trenches. By the time we got through the wire, our clothes

were in rags, but nothing could dampen our spirits, not even the rain

that was falling, now that we were really getting away. We reached the

end of the bridge in safety and found that it was not guarded, so we

kept right on. The first thing we knew we came in sight of a village,

and as it lay right in our way we decided to risk going through it. It

was 2 A.M., and we marched through the main street of the town and not

even a dog barked. We continued marching as long as it was dark, and

just at daybreak we were fortunate enough to come to a small forest.

It had been planted, and there were roads on every side; and although

it was only three miles from a large military training camp, we decided

to risk the day there.

We were very tired and two of us slept while the other kept watch.

About 10 A.M. we were awakened by the sound of music, and on

investigation found that a German battalion was coming our way. My

heart was in my mouth as they came nearer and nearer, and I dreaded

lest they might stop for a rest. They came within fifty yards of our

hiding-place, and we could hear the officer's commands:

"Right--left--right--left," but to our intense relief they passed us

by. Just as they passed we heard the order given, "Alle singen," for

the German troops do not sing because they feel like it but because

they are commanded to. I had found this out from a German civilian who

worked beside me in the mines.

All that day people passed up and down the roads, and we had some

narrow escapes. One man came swinging along through the bush, and he

passed within ten yards of us. We thought that day would never end,

and longed for night and the friendly darkness. It was 10 P.M. before

it was safe for us to leave our cover, but at last we were on the tramp

again. About 2 A.M. we came in sight of the big prison camp at Dulmen.

It was only about one and a half miles from us, and we could see the

sentries making their rounds on the outskirts. We had all been there

when we first entered Germany, so it looked quite familiar; but still I

cannot say we had any desire to get back.

Travelling on, we came to a large swamp, and had either to wade through

or go six miles round. We decided on the former plan, and soon were up

to our waists in water. It was early in May and the nights were still

very cold, and the water was like ice; but there was nothing to do but

go through, now that we were wet, and as Blackie said, "It was bad luck

to turn back." For two hours we waded, and at last, chilled to the

bone, we reached the other side. Here we found ourselves in a farming

district, and we looked eagerly for a safe warm place to hide in for

the day. A deserted-looking building off by itself caught our eye, and

it proved to be an implement shed with a small quantity of hay in the

loft. This looked good to us, and taking off our wet clothes we buried

ourselves in the hay. After a good sleep and our daily ration of one

biscuit and a small piece of bully-beef, we felt better but still very

hungry. All round us German farmers were working in their fields, but

fortunately none of them came near us, and that day we had a good rest.

Night came on and we started out once more; this was our fourth night.

About midnight we came to a farmhouse, and Blackie asked us how we

would like a chicken. We said, "It would look good to us," and so we

proceeded to hunt one up. Leaving Sammy on guard, Blackie and I made a

tour of all the outbuildings, but there was no sign or sound of a

chicken. We were about to give up when we noticed a small building at

the end of the house. We went around one side, but failed to find an

entrance; and coming to the end of the building, we turned the corner,

when all at once a terrific howl arose, and our hair stood on end.

Blackie had stepped on a big dog that was chained to the house. We did

not wait to make the acquaintance of our newly found friend, but threw

ourselves over fences, making the best time possible. The dog barked

furiously and we ran half a mile before we felt safe to stop and get

our breath. We kept to the roads for the remainder of the night and

made good time. We struck some bush coming up to morning, and it

looked so quiet that we decided to lay up there for the day. Nothing

happened that day, and our greatest trouble was a growing hunger.

Night came, and we were all excited, for this was our fifth night and

we judged that we were close to the Holland border. As soon as

darkness fell we made our way cautiously out, and after a short walk,

came in sight of a good-sized town. Our map showed two towns, one on

either side of the border, but as the map was not scaled, we could not

tell which one was on the border. As near as we could figure, the

German town was a night's travelling from the border, and we decided we

couldn't make the Holland town that night, so we took the first cover

we came to and laid up for the day. Everything seemed very quiet, and

the only disturbance came from some wild birds on a slough nearby.

We had come to the end of our rations. The day before we had only one

biscuit among the three of us, and we were in a quandary to know how to

divide it. It was hardtack and it would neither break nor cut; so

finally we marked it off into thirds with a pencil and each one ate up

to his line. We had nothing for a morning meal, and as we lay there,

thinking how hungry we were, Blackie surprised us by taking from his

pocket a small tin of cocoa. He had been keeping it for emergency

rations, and we almost ate him in our joy at seeing anything eatable.

The can was quickly opened, and the three of us proceeded to munch down

dry cocoa. It stuck in our throats and we looked like greedy chickens

that had taken pieces larger than they could swallow. We finished our

tin of cocoa and everything seemed so quiet that we thought it might be

safe to get up and try to warm our feet. So we each chose a large tree

and, keeping behind it, we stamped around in our endeavour to work up a

circulation. We had only been at this a few minutes, when to our great

astonishment a voice behind us said "Guten Morgen!" We wheeled around

and found ourselves covered by a double-barrelled shotgun. It was in

the hands of a military policeman who was guarding the border. There

was no use resisting, and our feelings are better imagined than

described as we were marched back to the nearest town. It was two

miles away, and in all that distance he kept us covered every second.

I said to Blackie, "Gee, I wish this son of a gun would take his gun

off us for a minute," and Blackie said, "No chance of his risking that,

but I'm afraid that the crazy nut will pull those triggers, the way he

is trembling," so we had to march along, not knowing what minute we

would be shot in the back.

Reaching the town, which we found to be Stadtlohn, we were handed over

to the military staff, and to our amazement the officer pulled a paper

out of his desk and read out our names: Blacklock, Woods, and O'Brien.

It was evident that word had been sent to the border towns warning them

to be on the lookout for us. Even after we got into the room that fool

M. P. kept us covered with his gun, and being in the presence of his

superior officer made him more nervous, and his hand shook worse than

ever. With six other men in the room, he wasn't in much danger of

losing his six hundred marks. One of the boys said, "Isn't that fool

ever going to put down his gun?" and the officer must have understood

what he meant, for he gave a command in German, and the man not only

put down his weapon, but he took out the shells. We breathed easier

after that. The officer in charge asked the policeman where he caught

us, and he answered, "Twenty minutes' walk from the Holland border."

This was the hardest blow of all, for we could have made it easily had

we only known. Well, they searched us, and yet they failed to find our

map and compass. These were hidden in a knitted belt made for me by

one of our prisoners. It contained a secret pocket, the entrance to

which was carefully concealed. Not finding anything, we were lodged in

the town jail, and there we stayed until the following day. We were

almost starved, but all we had was a piece of bread and a bowl of soup.

Next morning two guards came to take us back to the mine--we went by

train and arrived about 6 P.M. Of course they gave us a warm

reception. As soon as we entered the gates we were met by German

boots--_with feet inside_--and in this way were escorted to our

quarters. Once there we were made to stand "at attention" for seven

hours, with a guard behind ready with his boot in case you moved. At 1

A.M. they allowed us to go to our barracks, and we were staggering from

hunger and weakness. Here a pleasant surprise awaited us. Our pals

had collected all the food they could find and had put it in our bunks.

I assure you it tasted good.

The next morning we were brought up for trial and closely questioned as

to _why_ we wanted to escape. Sammy told them we wanted a change, that

was all. After this we were conducted by two officers and an

interpreter back to our coke ovens, and from there we were taken, one

at a time, to show them where we had gotten through their lines.

Blackie was taken first and he led them down a ladder and past three

sentries. Sammy and I took them over the same route; and they were

quite convinced that we escaped that way. That night we laughed when

we saw they had an extra sentry stationed there. Already we were

planning to make another attempt at getting away, and we hoped to go

the same road. But instead of night duty we were put on day shift, so

we had to wait another week. Before the week was out I had a narrow

escape. The prisoners working in the mines were under the supervision

of the large prison camp at Münster, and once or twice a week they

would send out an officer to look us over and see how we were behaving.

The one chosen to look after our camp was a big burly brute, who showed

his teeth and snarled like a cross dog. Even the guards were scared to

death of him, and you could see them tremble and shake when he

approached. No doubt they were afraid that they might lose their job

if he could find any reason for reporting them. He seemed to hate the

English even more than the other Germans did, and that wasn't

necessary, but his chief aim in life seemed to be to catch an Englisher

disobeying any of the camp rules, and as soon as he came inside our

yard he would always make a bee-line for our hut. He paid no attention

to the French and Russians. It was against the rules to smoke in the

bunkhouse and half the time we were not allowed in the yard, so of

course we broke the rule and smoked, only some one always stayed on

guard and gave warning if they saw a "square-head" coming.

Well, this day I was on guard when I saw our friend coming on the run.

I was standing just in the doorway, and I called out "Nix!" and the

boys put their fags out of sight in a hurry. An instant later the old

jay reached the door, and he stood sniffing like a dog. It didn't

require any imagination to smell tobacco smoke, for the air was thick

with it, but there wasn't a cigarette or pipe in sight. The old

"square-head" knew that he was fooled, that some one had given them

warning, and he snarled like a dog. I was standing beside the door

because we were supposed to freeze whenever or wherever he appeared.

He must have blamed me for warning the boys, for he whipped out his

short sword, and wheeling quickly made a slash at me. That sword

whizzed through the air like a bullet; and its point went an inch and a

half into the frame of the door. I had ducked just in time or it would

have been all off with me. I didn't wait to give him another chance,

but made a bolt out of the door and over to Ruskie's hut. He went away

raging, for he knew that I had slipped one over him.

While we were waiting two Russians were brought back; they had seen us

go and made their escape the same way. They had neither map nor

compass, and they were soon caught. The day they were brought back we

saw them being conducted over to the coal shed; and I said, "I bet

those dubs won't know any better than to show them how they escaped,"

and sure enough that is just what they did, so our chances in that

direction were cut off, the door was securely locked and iron bars put

across.

After we had been at work a little more than a week the Germans decided

we needed further punishment for our attempted escape; so we were

called up and the following sentences read to us by an officer who

spoke a little English:

"You shall be put in a dungeon for ten days."

"You shall not see no daylight."

"You shall not have no blankets."

"You shall not take your coats."

"You shall live on bread and water."

"If you shall try to get away you shall have to die."

We couldn't keep from smiling at his attempt to write commandments. We

were taken to the little prison that was in the centre of our yard. It

was a tiny brick building containing only six cells; it had neither

light nor ventilation, and the sanitary conditions were simply awful.

It was worse than the filthiest pigpen you ever saw; and even pigs have

straw to lie on, but we had nothing but the cold wet ground. The cells

were more like coffins than anything else--they were just six feet by

three and contained no furniture of any kind. Well, this was where we

were put, and I assure you we didn't enjoy the prospect of spending ten

days there. We tried to pass the time by calling to each other through

the walls, but even this was forbidden, and our guard would stop it

whenever he happened to overhear us. Old Blackie was very fond of good

things to eat, and he always had the last of everything in sight; so

Sammy and I amused ourselves by planning menus for him now that we had

nothing but bread and water. We pretended that we were his servants

and whenever we thought that it was getting near a mealtime we would

read the menu to him. We suggested everything we had ever seen or

heard of--roast turkey, frogs' legs, oysters, fruit of all kinds, etc.,

etc. Blackie would criticize our bill of fare, call us down for not

getting something nicer, and usually ended up by ordering something

entirely different. Often when we were in the midst of this nonsense,

our old jailer would come knocking at our door and order us to stop

talking. Blackie would say, "Boys, you could keep all your fine

dinners if I could only get at that square-headed son of a gun out

there. I'd make a meal out of him."

Of course none of the other prisoners were allowed to talk to us; but

sometimes they would bring a book or paper and sit down with their

backs against the prison wall. As long as the sentry was in sight they

pretended to read, but when he was out of hearing they would tell us

the camp news, and they took a special delight in telling us the good

eats they had gotten in their last parcels. Of course we hadn't

anything but one piece of black bread and a drink of water once a day,

and we could only keep track of the days by the number of times our

jailer had been in. Well, one day a chap slipped a knife blade under

my door and I proceeded to make a hole in the wall. I carefully picked

out the mortar until I had a hole large enough to peek through. The

first one I made was too high; I didn't want to stand every time I

looked out, so I plugged it up with a piece of my black bread and made

another near the floor. Here I could lie down and see what was going

on in the yard; and when Blackie had his imaginary breakfast he would

call for the "Continental Times," and I would take the plug out of the

wall and give him the morning news--what shifts were going out, who was

on them, etc.

But we came near losing even this little bit of pleasure, and this is

what happened: Some of the prisoners were planning an escape, and they

dug a hole through the wall of their hut--the bricks were loose, ready

to take out, and on the night they were to go my friend Macdonald, who

was the ringleader, began to carefully remove the bricks--he took out

two, and then it occurred to him that he had better take a peek out,

and make sure that no one was watching, so he did; and there, only a

few feet away, was a sentry, with his rifle pointed at the hole ready

to blow the head off the first man who appeared. Needless to say, Mac

did not go any farther; he warned the others, and they all crawled back

to their bunks, and went to sleep. Next morning there was a big row

made, and the guards tried to make the prisoners tell what ones were

planning to escape, but no one squealed; and they were all stood "at

attention" for two hours. Then a civilian was brought in with a pail

of plaster, and he fixed up the hole that the prisoners had made, and

with two of the officers he made the round of all the huts looking for

more loose bricks. Finally he came to the prison, and one of the

officers pushed the little stick he carried through the first hole I

had made. This started them swearing at us, calling us English

Schweinhunds and everything else they could think of. We lay there

trying to keep from laughing, but at last Blackie exploded; and gee!

they did rave. Finally they found the second hole, but I held my hand

over it so the stick didn't come through--they could feel something

soft, but had no idea what it was. Just then the officers were called

away and the old civilian stopped up the top hole and moved on--no

doubt the lower one is there still.

They took us out on Monday morning and we were almost too weak to walk.

The boys had a meal prepared for us, and we rested all that day. Next

day they put us to work again, but instead of putting us all on the

same shift they separated us. I was given night duty and the other

boys were on day shift. I was feeling pretty blue the first day I went

off to work alone, but was surprised and delighted to find an old pal

of mine was on the same shift. This man was Macdonald, who had already

made three attempts to escape, and when I met him he said, "Well, Jack,

are you ready to try it again?" I said "Sure," and he said, "Well, I

have everything ready and we will try and get away tonight." He had a

good map and compass, so I told another prisoner to give mine to Sammie

in case I got away. We knew the number of sentries and had them all

located except one. It was very necessary that we should find out

where he was.

Neither Mac nor I were allowed off the platform, so I asked another

prisoner to let his hat blow off and then look round for a guard while

he was down after it. He did this, but owing to the darkness under the

platform he couldn't see anything, and he was just coming up when the

gleam of a bayonet caught his eye; and here was our missing-link--with

his back up against a pillar at the very spot where we had intended

going over. That night at lunch hour one of the old prisoners came to

us and told us to be careful, for he had heard two of the sentries

planning to shoot the first one they found trying to escape. They

figured that if they made an example of one, all the others would be

afraid to make an attempt. We were not frightened, but they watched

Mac and me so closely that we had no chance to get away. This was kept

up for five nights, but on the fifth our opportunity came.

But first I must tell you what preparation we made in regard to

clothes. It would not do for us to get away with only our prison garb,

for it was grey, with wide red stripes down the centre of the coat, on

the trouser legs, and on our caps. The only other clothes in our

possession were those furnished by the Red Cross; namely, a brown

sweater coat and black trousers. Now, each night before going to work,

we were lined up and the officers looked us over to make sure no one

had any Red Cross clothing on him. But this is how we fixed it. The

black trousers had brown stripes, because the Germans insisted on our

wearing stripes of some sort. When the Red Cross sent over the first

parcels the Germans cut open the trouser legs and inserted red stripes.

This work was so roughly done that the garments were spoiled, so the

Red Cross put in brown stripes.

Now, in preparing for escape we cut this stripe out and sewed up the

trousers so that they were all black. Then we cut the sweater coat up

to the size and shape of our prison jacket and sewed it in. And when

we lined up for examination, instead of throwing open our coats we

thrust our hands in our pockets, and this opened our coats without

turning back the corners. We had pulled on the prison overalls over

our black trousers, so if we got away all we had to do was wear our

prison jacket inside out, drop our overalls, and we were in civilian

clothes. Still, each night as we lined up our hearts almost stopped

beating lest they should discover our preparation. We couldn't lay in

a supply of food, for just at this time there was a movement of troops

at the border and the Germans were not bringing any parcels, so if we

got away we must trust to what we could pick up in the fields.

But now to go back to the fifth night. As we went to lunch at twelve

o'clock Mac said, "Now, Jack, we must make it tonight, for tomorrow we

go on day shift." I said, "All right, Mac, I'm game; and we shall try

for it just as soon as we go on duty again." We had an hour off for

lunch, and as it didn't take long to eat a small piece of bread and sup

a bowl of soup, we usually had a good sleep, but now we were too

excited to either sleep or eat, and sat together and made our plans.

The platform on which we worked was situated in the centre of the

railway yards and was as brightly lighted as the main street of a city.

But this night we noticed two box-cars on a track about two hundred

yards away, and Mac said, "If we can make them, we are safe." So when

our hour was up and they marched us back, Mac and I were the first two

up the ladder. We followed about three feet behind the first sentry

until we got halfway down the platform, and while he went dreaming on

his way to the end of the platform we dropped quietly to the ground.

We were running when we struck, and we certainly beat the record in our

two-hundred-yard dash to the box-cars, and from there to a small bush

another two hundred yards away. Evidently no one noticed us, for there

was not a shot fired. Once in the cover of the bush we felt safe, and

we congratulated one another on having made at least a successful

start. We carried our prison overalls with us, as we planned to make

use of them later on.

Of course our first job was to get rid of our prison clothes, and while

we were doing this we heard a great commotion in the camp. The

prisoners were being lined up and counted, and we knew that we had been

missed. The German rule was that if any prisoners escaped the officer

in charge of the guard at that time was sent to the front lines, and

this was the most dreaded of all punishments. This night a big bully

was in charge, and he was hated by all the men. One of the prisoners

had said early in the night, "Now, Jack, if you intend to get away, for

goodness' sake go while this brute is in charge, for we want to get rid

of him." We thought of this while we listened to him shouting out his

orders in a voice that could be heard a mile. We knew the first thing

they would do would be to put the bloodhounds on our track. They took

them to our bunkhouse and let them get the scent from there. But we

had a little plan to get rid of them; as soon as we heard them coming

we scattered some pepper on our trail. We walked all that night, and

although we heard the hounds occasionally we saw nothing of our

pursuers. Morning found us on the edge of about two acres of scrub.

The bushes were only about five feet high, but they were very thick and

well-leaved, so we decided to lay up there for the day. Nothing

happened until about four o'clock in the afternoon, when we were

startled by hearing some one coming crashing through the bushes. We

hugged the ground as closely as we could and hardly breathed, as the

footsteps were coming nearer. The bushes were so thick that we

couldn't see the person, but it sounded as though he was coming

straight for us. We determined to sell our liberty dearly in case we

were discovered, but to our intense relief he passed about two yards

from us. We could see his feet and legs and could easily have reached

out and tripped him. He was a German patrol, and he was looking for

us. We watched him after he got past to make sure we wouldn't go the

direction he had taken. We hadn't anything to eat that day except one

piece of German black bread that each of us saved out of our rations

the day before.

At 10 P.M. we started on the march again, and after about two hours'

walking we came to the River Lippe. We lost no time looking for a

boat, but made straight for our old bridge. It was easier getting

through the wire this time, and we had no difficulty in getting across.

Travelling on, we came to the little town of Haltern, but we didn't

dare risk going through this time, in case some one was on the lookout

for us. So we skirted around the edge, and on the way came across a

few early gardens. It was early in June and nothing was very far

advanced, but we found some young beets, which we ate, tops and all,

also some seed potatoes. Of the latter we dug up almost the whole

patch and we filled our pockets and big red handkerchiefs which each of

us carried. I assure you these raw vegetables tasted as good to us

then as any turkey dinner we would have at home. After our hasty lunch

we started off across country. It was much rougher travelling, but we

thought it was safer. Just at dawn we came to what we thought was a

fair-sized bit of woods, and we decided to spend the day there. But

when daylight had fully come, we found that our bush was a very small

one and right at its edge was a German farmhouse. It was too late to

go any farther, so we crawled along looking for a secluded spot in

which to hide. Pretty soon we came to some low bushes over which a

running vine had spread itself, so we crept in and lay down. Pretty

soon we heard voices and the barking of a dog, and peeking out we saw

an old farmer ploughing just at the edge of the bush. He was followed

by two children and a dog, and as these played around we expected every

minute they would land in on top of us. There was no sleep for us that

day, so we lay there munching our potatoes and waiting for the darkness.

At 10 P.M. we started out, and soon we came in sight of Dulmen Camp.

Once more we skirted around it, keeping as far away as possible. After

a couple of hours we reached the swamp that came so near to being the

death of us on our former trip. This time we went around, and though

it took longer it was a vast deal more comfortable. It was too early

in the night to make use of our old friend, the implement shed, but I

passed it with real regret as I remembered the comfortable rest I had

there. But we felt we must push on and run the risk of striking

something good later in the night. We were now in the midst of a good

farming district, and we decided we must lay in our rations for the

following day. So, the next potato field we came to, we set to work

and dug up about half of it. Potatoes were very scarce in Germany at

this time. They were issued out to the farmers by the Government and

could only be used for seed; and it tickled us to think how angry the

old farmer would be when he discovered the damage done to his crop.

It was now getting on towards morning and we were very tired and weak,

so the first bit of woods we came to looked good to us, and we decided

to camp there for the day. On the way we picked up a tin pail and we

decided to try boiling some potatoes if we got the chance. Everything

seemed very quiet and it was still too early for any one to be around,

so we gathered some wood and made a fire. I got some water from a

nearby slough and we soon had the potatoes on; after they had been

boiling for twenty minutes we tried them to see if they were nearly

ready, but they seemed as hard as ever. So we waited another fifteen

minutes, and still they were not soft. It was hard work waiting, for

we were almost starved, but we let them boil for an hour, and Mac said

we had better take them up before they got too tough to chew; so we

started at them, but they were almost as tough as leather. We had

nothing to eat with them but some pepper, and they had nothing to

recommend them except that they were hot. After breakfast we crawled

under some bushes and tried to sleep, but our nerves were too tightly

strung to give us any rest.

However, we lay there all day, and nothing disturbed us. Towards

evening a heavy thunderstorm came up, and it rained for two hours. Of

course we were soaked to the skin, and we didn't look forward with much

pleasure to our night's walk. Owing to the storm, darkness came on

earlier than usual, so we got started in good time. We started out

across country, and after travelling for two or three hours we came to

a pasture field. We saw some cows in the distance, and Mac asked me if

I could milk. I said, "It is a long time since I tried, but I would

make a good stab at it for the sake of having a drink right now." Mac

stayed on guard at the fence while I took our potato pail and went over

to make the acquaintance of Bossy. There were three cows in the bunch,

and choosing the one that looked most friendly I went up and introduced

myself. I'm not sure she understood all the nice things I said to her,

but her feminine vanity seemed to be pleased with the patting I gave

her. At last I broached the subject of my visit, and taking "silence

for consent," I took my pail and set to work; but the old lady showed

her disapproval by walking away. Of course I followed, and once more

resorted to flattery. When I thought I had her worked up sufficiently,

I tried again for milk, but with the same result. This was repeated

several times, and at last my patience was exhausted, so I hailed Mac,

and when he came I urged him to continue the petting business while I

tried for milk. He did this, and it worked splendidly; we got

sufficient milk to give us both a good drink. It seemed to put new

life into us. This was our fourth day out, and we were almost

famished. After we finished our drink we thanked our old cow and

started on the march again. This seemed to be our lucky night, for

soon we came across a garden, and we laid in another supply of

potatoes. Continuing on our way, we came to a fine road. It was

bordered on each side by the most beautiful elm trees, and as it was

leading in the right direction we determined to follow it. After

walking about a mile we came to a farmhouse and right beside the road

was a milk-stand. It held three cans of milk, and we couldn't make up

our minds whether the farmer had intended them for the milkman or for

us. We preferred to think the latter, so we proceeded to help

ourselves.

We sat there and drank milk until we felt that we must look like

"observation balloons." Then we filled our potato pail and went on.

But we didn't feel much like walking and decided to lay up in the first

likely-looking place that we came to. The whole country is beautifully

wooded, so it was not long before we came to a nice bluff. It looked

nice and quiet, and we settled ourselves for the day. We were very

tired, and we both fell asleep, but I woke with a start, for I heard

something coming through the bush. I wakened Mac, and we grasped our

heavy walking sticks and lay still. The sound came nearer and nearer,

and just when our nerves were at breaking point two bright eyes looked

down at us over the edge of the little hollow we were in--it was a

hedgehog. We couldn't keep from laughing at the scare it had given us.

I wanted to take revenge, but Mac said, "No, let the little devil

alone, it's a sign of good luck." Nothing else happened that day, and

we chewed away at our raw potatoes and drank milk as we waited for

darkness. When it came we started out again across country.

About 1 A.M. we came to a railroad track and after looking carefully in

case there should be a sentry on guard, we crossed and came up on a

carefully graded road. It was difficult travelling this night because,

owing to the clouds, we had to depend entirely on our compass. We were

not sure how the road ran, so while Mac got out his searchlight and

endeavoured to read the compass I kept watch. If it was only getting a

drink, one was always on guard. A moving figure in a field at the edge

of the grade caught my attention, and at first I thought it was an

animal. So it was, but of the two-legged German variety. He had seen

our light, and suspecting that we were prisoners he determined to get a

good shot at us. I suppose he could almost see the four hundred marks

offered by the Government as a reward for a prisoner, dead or alive.

He was coming in a stooping position, and the night was so dark that I

wasn't sure it was a man until he raised his rifle and straightened up.

Then I grabbed my chum and said, "A man, Mac," and we made a bolt for

cover. The shot rang out, but he did not get us, and before our

pursuer could climb the grade we were safely hidden in the bush. This

was a warning that we were getting into the "danger-hole" district, for

the man who shot at us was a police patrol.

Let me explain how the Holland border is guarded. It is well known

that the border between Belgium and Holland is protected by a fence of

_live wires_; but the Holland and German border is looked after by a

wonderful system of patrols. This patrol system begins on a road two

miles back from the border and running parallel with it. On this road

there are three different kinds of patrols--men on horseback, on

bicycles, and on foot--and instead of going singly, they were in

parties of from three to ten. This is typical of the German at war and

at home; he is much too cowardly to attempt anything single-handed.

That's why their officers continue to send them over in massed

formation; though sometimes it almost made our gunners sick the way

they had to mow them down. Well, as I said, they patrolled their beats

in parties; and this outside beat is well looked after. Crossing this

first patrol, and leading into the border, there is a road every

half-mile, and of course each road has its own special patrol--also

another patrol has his beat in between these roads; while close to the

border are two more lines of guards: one of these is stationary and the

men are placed two hundred yards apart, and right in front of these

guards, on each quarter-mile beat, walked a man, having two immense

bloodhounds on leash.

Now, all this elaborate guard system was not put there for the sole

purpose of catching a few escaping prisoners. But at this time the

German soldiers were deserting in such large numbers, and getting over

into Holland, that the Government took this method of stopping them.

Now, this was what Mac and I were up against in attempting to cross the

Holland border, and we realized the difficulties only too well, for Mac

had learned it all by bitter experience. One stormy night, some weeks

previous, he had crossed the border into Holland, only to lose his way,

and stray back into Germany. He was captured by the guards and sent

back to the mines. This was his third attempt as well as mine, and we

knew it would go hard with us if we were caught again. So, after our

brush with one of these game wardens who also acted as police patrol,

we were doubly careful. We kept in the shadow of the trees and watched

every step. When suddenly, right before us, shone out the whiteness of

a graded road and we knew that we were in the line of the outside

patrol. We crouched in the darkness at the edge of the wood and

listened, but not a sound came to our ears, and in a moment or two Mac

whispered "Now, Jack," and we made a dash across, when to our utter

amazement three figures sprang up right in front of us and we found

ourselves looking into three rifle barrels. A gruff German voice

called, "Halt! Who goes there?" and we threw up our hands and grunted

a reply. Immediately the guns were lowered and the men came toward us,

but instead of finding two helpless prisoners, they were met by good

hard blows delivered in true British fashion. We had taken them

completely by surprise, and in a few minutes we were able to break

through. We didn't wait to see what condition they were in, but made

the best time possible to a place of safety. We heard one of them blow

his whistle, just after we got away, and a couple of shots were fired,

but if reinforcements came we did not see them. We kept on going until

we thought we were safe from pursuit, and we began looking for a place

in which to lay up for the day. This was our seventh day without food

excepting raw vegetables, and our strength was almost exhausted.

This encounter with the patrols had used us up pretty badly owing to

our weakened condition, and we knew that the supreme test was still

ahead. Presently, right in the centre of the bush, we came to a place

where the slough grass was very long and thick, and we decided to risk

spending the day there. We were now in the centre of the patrol

district, and there was no _safe_ place; but we hoped to be fortunate

enough not to be too close to the beat of the nearest patrol. We

pulled a quantity of long grass and buried ourselves in it. Although

very tired, sleep was out of the question, and we lay there planning

how we could get through the last two lines of guards.

About 8 A.M. we were alarmed by the noise of some one crashing through

the bushes, and our hearts beat like hammers as we listened to the

sound growing nearer. Of course we were sure it was a patrol, and we

began to fear our little game was up. We lay there scarcely breathing,

and all at once voices reached us, and Mac whispered to me, "Gee! they

must have women in this patrol." We peered through the grassy cover,

and there, coming straight towards us, were two young German girls.

The wooden shoes they wore accounted for the great racket they made,

but I assure you we felt very much relieved, though our danger was

still very great, for they could give the alarm, and we did not know

who might be near.

A short distance from us they took off their coats, and we saw they had

come to work. All through this part of the woods were scattered

bundles of small sticks for firewood, and the girls' job was to collect

these and carry them to a road some three hundred yards distant. The

young ladies kept up a continual chatter, and perhaps it was this that

kept them from discovering our hiding-place, for they came within two

or three yards of us. At twelve o'clock they started home, and as soon

as they were out of sight we got up and stretched ourselves. It was so

good to move after lying still for four hours. However, we didn't dare

stay up very long, and we were "tucked in" once more when the girls got

back. This time there were three, and they worked away until about

four o'clock. We had to lie like mice, and we were in constant terror

lest one of us should sneeze or cough. Just about four we heard one

girl say "Fertig" (or "finished"), and the three went out and sat on

the side of the wood to continue their chat. We felt very much

relieved and were congratulating ourselves on another escape when we

heard a man's voice, and looking out of our hiding-place we saw an old

man in conversation with the girls. He had evidently counted the

bundles and was insisting that there were still some left in the bush.

They argued for quite a while, and then to please the old man the girls

came back. But it was evident they felt sore over having to come, for

instead of searching for wood, they walked right through the bush and

out to the road on the other side. There they sat down and after

awhile moved on home, or at any rate out of sight. We were glad to be

able to move again and to be relieved of our uninvited company. As

soon as we were sure they were not coming back we got up and moved

around to get the ache out of our bones. We also had some preparations

to make for our final effort that night. As I mentioned before, we had

carried our prison overalls with us, and now we were to put them to

use. Our only chance of getting over the border lay in our being able

to move so quietly that the sentry could not hear us. So we started to

make moccasins out of our discarded overalls. We had neither scissors,

needles, nor thread, but our experience had taught us that in all

circumstances we must make _what we did have_ serve our purpose. Our

jackknife cut out our moccasins, and it also made a small stick into an

implement that could punch holes, while some pieces of cord that we

happened to have did fine in place of thread. It took quite a while to

get our moccasins made, working with poor tools, and they were

fancy-looking articles when we at last had them finished. The red

trimming was very fetching, but we thought it quite appropriate, for

there is always a lot of _red tape_ necessary in getting out of a

country that is _At War_. It was almost dark when we had our moccasins

finished, so we put them on and made ready for our start. Our boots

were securely fastened to our belts, and we took a final look at our

map. We were almost famished, but two raw potatoes was all that

remained in "the larder." However, we disposed of these, and just at

11 o'clock we started out.

The direction to the border was straight west, and we figured it must

be a mile and a half to the nearest point. But we had to keep under

cover as much as possible, so we couldn't tell just when we might be

near it. We crossed the wood at the side of our bush, and a few

minutes' walk brought us in sight of a small pasture field in which

there were three or four cows. The sight of these brought to our minds

the dandy drink of milk we had two nights before, and though we took an

awful risk, going out into the open, we thought it worth while. Once

more Mac stood on guard, and I crawled out to where the cows were

grazing. I tried them, one after another, but not a drop of milk could

I get. They had evidently been milked a short time previous. I made

the trip back in safety, and we started out, not knowing what minute we

might happen on a sentry's beat, which made our going exceedingly slow.

About 12.30 we came to the edge of a swamp, and here and there all

through it we saw dark objects that looked like men. We lay in the

long grass and watched to see if we could notice any movement.

Sometimes we thought there was, and then again we were sure they were

stationary. However, we had to pass them, so we crawled carefully

forward, and made our way close to where one of these objects was

standing, and when we thought we were near enough we raised up and took

a look. It was a stack of peat piled to just about the size of a man.

We had a good laugh, and I assure you we felt very much relieved. We

made our way safely across the swamp and had just reached the other

side when we heard the hounds. We listened, and noted that the sound

came from across the swamp, just the direction we had come. Mac said,

"Jack, they are on our track; we had better put out some pepper;" so we

sprinkled it on our tracks and, crouching as low as possible, moved

along. The sound was getting nearer, and suddenly, to our right, we

heard a sentry call "Halt!" But instead of stopping we ran for all we

were able. We heard the sentry call three times, and then a shot rang

out. There was no attempt at concealment now, we were running for our

lives, or what was dearer still--our _liberty_. There was a grove of

trees just ahead, and we knew that we still had a chance if we could

reach that. One more spurt and we were there, and had thrown ourselves

down with our faces toward the open country we had just left. We were

pretty well out of breath, but we dared not stay longer than was

necessary to get our wind, so we pushed on, for we were anxious to get

across the border in the darkest part of the night. We stole along

like ghosts, for we did not know what moment we might run up against

the border guards. We decided that the shot we had heard on our right

had come from a passing patrol.