PLANNING THE DETAILS
The outlines of my plan of escape had been conceived almost a year
before in Ruhleben, and had remained unaltered.
Generally speaking, the chances of success were so small that I was
convinced it could be achieved only by the elimination of every
unnecessary risk, and with a considerable amount of good fortune thrown
in to make up for the unavoidable balance on the wrong side.
It must be remembered that we civilians were interned right in the
center of Germany. There were three neutral countries to make for:
Denmark, Holland, and Switzerland, distant from Ruhleben in that order.
My choice fell upon Holland, which, from information I had obtained,
seemed to offer the best opportunities.
Denmark, being only about a hundred and fifty miles away, had at first
appeared very tempting. But the difficulty of crossing the Kiel Canal,
the extraordinarily close watch kept all over Schleswig-Holstein and
the frontier, lack of information about the state of affairs along
the Baltic coast, and the obvious difficulty of making a passage in a
stolen boat to the nearest point on the Danish coast, twenty-five miles
away, decided me against this plan. Switzerland was about six hundred
miles distant, and the railway journey, with its attendant dangers,
correspondingly long. Also, we had heard that part of the Swiss
frontier, at least, was impregnably guarded. There remained Holland,
about four hundred miles away.
In view of my thorough knowledge of German, I did not believe the
railway journey an impossible undertaking. It appeared more feasible,
at any rate, than the four-weeks’ tramp to the frontier with what scant
food one could carry. Up to the last moment I tried to get information
as to whether special passports were necessary for traveling on a
train, and whether they would be inspected on taking the ticket, or
during the journey. I had contradictory accounts about this.
Having arrived at the sanatorium, I very soon made up my mind to the
following mode of procedure: A stay at the “Linden Allee” until the
30th of March would give me about four weeks in which to recruit my
health, which was none of the best after a grueling winter in camp.
Then, with a new moon on the 1st of April, a succession of dark nights
would be favorable for my purpose. On account of the weather, it might
become advisable to delay the start a day or two; but if exceptionally
wintry conditions should be prevailing then, a postponement until the
moon had again changed through all her phases would become necessary.
Trying to imagine conditions near the frontier, I had come to the
conclusion that with snow on the ground, giving a considerable range of
vision even during the darkest hours of the night, a successful passage
through the sentry lines would be out of the question. On the other
hand, the nights would be much shorter at the end of April, and this
made me nervous lest such a postponement should be forced upon me. The
task of getting out of the sanatorium and making my way into Berlin did
not trouble me at all. It was as easy as falling off a log. Such of my
things as I should deem necessary or very desirable for the exploit, I
was going to take with me in a small leather Gladstone bag.
From newspapers I had learned that a train left Berlin for Leipzig at
7 A.M. My absence would probably not be discovered before the first
breakfast, served in bed at 7:45 A.M. Thus I could be a good many miles
away when the alarm reached headquarters.
Leipzig was not on my direct route toward the Dutch frontier, but it
appeared very attractive as my first objective, partly for that reason.
It is a big place, and a man could easily pass in the crowd there for
a day, while the shops would allow me to complete my equipment with a
compass and maps.
In Berlin the sale of the latter was prohibited except with a permit
from the army corps commander. This ordinance was savagely enforced
and probably strictly observed. Leipzig--the center of the German
printing-trade, and, in the Kingdom of Saxony, not in Prussia--was the
place where one could hope to obtain them, if anywhere.
In another way the fact of Leipzig being in a different state was in
my favor. Any efforts of the Berlin police to recapture me would very
likely be retarded if the case had to be handed over to a distinct and
independent police organization.
I hoped that when I arrived in Dortmund, some time during the morning
following my escape from the sanatorium, I could make my way by slow
trains to the small town of Haltern.
This is situated in the northwestern corner of the province of
Westphalia on the northern bank of the river Lippe. The nearest part
of Holland from there is only twenty-five miles distant as the crow
flies, and no river of any size intervenes, an important consideration
for the time of year I had fixed upon. Moreover, it is nowhere near the
Rhine. As I had lived in the northern part of the Rhine province, the
danger of being accidentally seen by a former acquaintance bade me keep
away from that district.
There remained the smaller details of my plan to work out, file, and
put together. Some of them were planned and executed before I left
camp. For example, I had grown a beard during the winter 1915-16. This
altered my appearance and lent itself to another alteration, back to
the original. I bethought myself in the “Linden Allee” that the Germans
would probably expect me to shave it off. A good reason for not doing
so.
The universal practice of the Boches in both civil and military camps
was to mark all the clothing of prisoners of war so distinctively
that the status of the wearer could be recognized at a glance, if
ever he got away. These marks consisted at first of stripes of vivid
color painted down the seams of their trousers and around their arms,
and fancy figures, circles, triangles, etc., on their backs. Later,
stripes of brown material were sewn into the trousers and sleeves, the
original material having first been cut away.
This practice never obtained in Ruhleben, where we were allowed to wear
what we liked. During two winters in camp I had made use of a very
strong and warm suit of Manchester cord. It was now considerably the
worse for wear, bleached by sun and rain and darkened again by mud and
grease, rather conspicuous in its state of dilapidation, and, in camp,
very distinctly connected with me. For months I had kept hidden in my
trunk an inconspicuous gray jacket suit. When I went to the sanatorium
it was packed away under other things at the bottom of my hand-bag. All
the time at the villa I wore my cord suit, explaining that I had no
other clothes, but was waiting for some on the way from England. I must
have cut a very queer figure among my companions, but any one among
them could conscientiously swear, after my departure, that I must have
left in a brown cord suit, for, obviously, I had no other. The good
ulster overcoat I intended to make use of could hardly give me away.
Probably half a million similar ones were being worn in Germany at that
time.
* * * * *
After the first week in March, winter set in again and held the land
for a fortnight. Then, abruptly, spring burst upon us--that glorious
early spring of 1916 with its long succession of sunny, warm days and
crisp, starlit nights.
A change in the number and distribution of the inmates had left me with
only one companion in our bedroom. He was confined to bed with heart
disease. I became rather nervous lest my unexpected disappearance and
the following inevitable investigation should upset him. To minimize
this possible shock I took him into my confidence.
As “the day” approached I got my things ready as unobtrusively as I
could, gradually packing my small grip and finally destroying letters
and private papers. It was then that my room-mate showed the first
signs of unfeigned interest.
“Why,” he exclaimed, suddenly, “so you meant it, after all! Pardon my
having been incredulous so far, but I’ve heard so many fellows talk
about what they intended to do, without ever seeing anybody doing it
that I didn’t quite realize you were the exception that proves the
rule. Don’t worry about me, and the best of luck to you.”
The limp with which I had arrived at the sanatorium I had gradually
relinquished as I announced improvements in my condition. It was
to be resumed on the journey as a sort of disguise, an unasked-for
explanation for my not being in the army.
I had put aside some food, namely, a big German smoked sausage, still
obtainable though very expensive, and containing a considerable amount
of nourishment, a tin of baked beans, some biscuits, some chocolate,
and a special anti-fatigue preparation. A green woolen shirt, a thick
sweater, two pairs of socks, an extra set of underclothing, a stout
belt, and a naval oilskin, filled the bag almost to the bursting-point.
Watch, electric torch, knife, and money were to be carried on my person.
About this time my first monthly account was due from the sanatorium. I
dared not ask for it, neither could I leave without paying. Apart from
the moral aspect of vanishing and leaving an unsettled bill behind,
such an act would certainly have resulted in criminal proceedings
against me for theft or larceny, in the event of my being captured,
and, according to the German application of the law where Englishmen
were concerned, as certainly in conviction with a maximum sentence. So
I decided to leave enough money in a drawer of my dressing-table to
cover my bill.