IN HIDING
It was a sunny, warm day, and there was no difficulty about finding
one’s bearings. In the market-place a sign “To Wesel” directed me up a
narrow street of humble dwellings on my left. Just outside the town a
number of roads met. Without looking at the directions on a mile-stone,
I surveyed the country before me for suggestions as to my next move.
The most important thing was to get to cover as quickly as possible,
and to withdraw from the sight of man. Never mind about striking the
right route now. That could wait until a thorough study of the maps
gave me a better grasp of the situation. The most favorable-looking
road led past a number of cottages and then ran in a northwesterly
direction between a low range of hills. A footpath branching off toward
a copse on my left seemed to offer the double attraction of a solitary
walk and a short cut to a hiding-place. It took me about a hundred
yards along the rear of the cottages, and then rejoined the parent
road at a point where the woods came down to it.
As soon as a corner of the copse sheltered me, I gave a last look up
and down the deserted road, and a moment later the branches of the
half-grown firs closed crackling behind me.
Loaded as I was with a thick overcoat and a heavy bag, I was fairly
bathed in perspiration before I had penetrated sufficiently far into
the thicket to feel safe. The branches were so interlaced that only the
most realistic wormlike wriggle was effective as a means of propulsion,
and even then progress was accompanied by a crackling noise which I was
anxious to avoid.
Satisfied at last, I stood up and looked about me. From the pin-pricks
of light toward the east, I concluded that the spot I stood on was
not far from the margin of the copse where it bordered upon a plowed
field. On all other sides was a dead wall of brown and green. Underfoot
the ground was sopping wet, for the spring sun had no power as yet to
penetrate down to where the brown needles and a tangle of black and
moldering grass of last year’s growth would soon be covered by the
shoots of the new spring. Wet and black, the lower branches of the
young trees were things of the past, but higher up they stretched their
arms heavenward clothed in their dark green needles. The tops of the
firs were glistening like green amber where they swayed slightly in the
clear sunlight, forming delicate interlacing patterns beneath the pale
spring sky.
Resting and preparing for my night’s walk, or poring over my maps, I
spent the day there. A mouthful of food now and again was all I could
swallow, for I was parched with thirst. The fast walk in the warm sun
had started it, and the knowledge that there was no chance of assuaging
it before the small hours of the next morning made it worse. I had not
dared to fill my water-bottle at any of the stations for fear of being
seen and arousing suspicion.
Most of the day my ears were continually on the alert, not so much from
fear of discovery as for sounds which might convey useful information.
The road leading past my hiding-place seemed little used; the rumble
of a cart reached me only very occasionally. From the shrill cries of
playing children, and the cackling of hens, I surmised the existence of
several farmhouses farther along.
Before lying down I had put on my second set of underwear and discarded
my white shirt, collar, and tie, for a green woolen shirt and a dark
muffler, which did away with any but neutral colors on my person.
Oilskins, oilsilks, overcoat, food, etc., were to be packed in the
knapsack on breaking camp. Whatever would be wanted during the march,
such as compass, maps, electric torch, and a small quantity of biscuits
and chocolate, I stowed away in convenient pockets. The maps I cut into
easily handled squares, discarding all the superfluous parts. When the
sun had disappeared and gloom was gathering under the trees, I slung
the water-bottle from my belt, the binoculars from my neck, and then
crept to the edge of the copse, there to wait for the night.
Concealed behind some bushes, I watched the road, which gradually grew
more indistinct. The roofs of the town, huddled in the hollow, lost
their definite outlines. One after another lights sprang up behind the
windows. The children’s voices became fewer, then ceased. Sound began
to carry a great distance; the rumble of a railway train, the far-away
barking of a dog. Twinkling stars came out in the heavens. It was time
to start.
At 8:30 I scrambled out of my hiding-place and gained the road, where
I set my face toward the west after a last glance at Haltern with its
points of light. Two farmhouses, perfectly dark even at this early hour
of the night, soon lay behind me. Here the forest came down to the
road on my left while fields bordered it on the right, and, perhaps
eighty yards distant, the wooded hills arose. Whether it was a sort of
sixth sense which gave me warning, I do not know, but a strong feeling
that I was not safe on the road made me walk over the fields into the
shadow of the trees, from where I could watch without being seen. My
figure had hardly merged into this dark background, when silently a
shadowy bicycle rider flitted along the road, going in my direction. He
carried no lamp, and might have been a patrol.
The going on the plowed fields being rather difficult, I soon grew
impatient of my slow progress and returned to the road, proceeding
along it in perfect serenity henceforth. It rose gradually. Checking
its direction by a glance at the stars now and again, I soon noticed a
decided turn to the northwest. This proved beyond doubt that it could
not be the turnpike to Wesel, which throughout its length ran due west.
After perhaps an hour of hard going, a sign-post loomed ghostly white
through the darkness, to spring into sharp relief in the light from the
torch. “Klein Recken 2½ hours,” it read. A consultation of the map then
showed that I was on a far more favorable road than I had anticipated,
and that a brook flowing close to the hither side of the village of
Klein Recken might be reached at about midnight, if I kept my speed. I
needed no further inducement.
I was now ascending the last spur of the hills which had fronted
me on coming out of Haltern. My way lay mostly through woods, with
occasional clearings where the dark outlines of houses and barns showed
against the sky. Only occasionally was a window feebly lit as if by
a night-light. Often dogs gave warning of my approach and spread the
alarm far and wide.
It was a most glorious night, the sky a velvet black, the stars of a
brilliancy seldom seen in western Europe. Their luster seemed increased
when I found myself hedged in by a tall forest through which the road
wound as through a cañon. A bright planet hung fairly low just in front
of me, and in the exuberance of my feelings I regarded it as my guiding
star.
On the ascent the night air was deliciously cool, not cold, with
occasional warmer puffs laden with the scent of pines, the unseen
branches and sere leaves of which whispered softly. Seldom have I felt
so great a sense of well-being as I had during the first hours of that
night. Never again while I was in Germany--whether in camp, in prison,
or on other ventures--did I feel quite so happy, so free from all
stress, so safe.
Just before coming to the top of the ridge I found another sign-post
pointing one arm into the forest as the shortest route to Klein Recken.
The light of the torch revealed a narrow footpath disappearing into
impenetrable blackness. I eased myself of my knapsack and rested for
ten minutes, eating some biscuits and chocolate, which made me more
thirsty than ever. It must have been colder than I thought, for on
resuming my burden I found it covered with a thin sheet of ice.
Striking into the footpath, I found a rather liberal use of the torch
necessary. The path descended steeply at first, then more gradually.
The tall timber changed to smaller trees and thickets. An occasional
railway train rumbled in the distance; yet for over an hour the country
was empty of human dwellings. Then several houses, widely apart,
announced the neighborhood of a village. A tinkling sound made me
lengthen my already swinging stride until I stood on a stone bridge.
The low murmur of water below was very pleasant in my ears. But that
was not the only sound. Something was stirring somewhere, but my dry
tongue and throat would not be denied any longer. Clambering over a
barbed-wire fence into a meadow, I looked for a place from which I
could reach the stream, which had steep banks. Engaged in tying my
water-bottle to my walking-stick to lower it into the water, I heard
footsteps approaching. The darkness was sufficient concealment, and
I merely kept motionless as two men crossed the bridge, one of whom,
from the scraps of talk I could distinguish, appeared to be the village
doctor, who was being fetched to a patient.
When they had gone, I lowered my water-bottle. It seemed a very long
time filling, the bubbles breaking the surface with a wonderfully
melodious sound. And then I drank and drank, filled it again, and
almost emptied it a second time. When I turned away, it was hanging
unwontedly heavy against my hip.
In front of me was Klein Recken. The road I had been following up to
now terminated here. It was miles to the north of where I expected
to be at this time, when I started out, but that much nearer to the
frontier. My plans for the night had been upset by my getting on this
favorable road, nor could I look at my maps. The use of the torch so
near to habitations was out of the question. I had a pretty good idea,
however, of what I should have seen, had I dared.
A railway line ran through the village. After crossing this, I
should have to trust to my guiding star and to my ability to work
across-country.
Instead of the level crossing I was looking for, I came unexpectedly
upon a tunnel in a very high embankment. With bated breath I tiptoed
through, more than half expecting to meet a sentry on the other side.
The footpath which emerged from it proved an unreliable guide. It soon
petered out and left me stranded in front of a barbed-wire fence and a
ditch. The cross-country stretch was on.
The going over plowed fields was easy in comparison, but they formed
only a part of the country I was traveling over. Frequent patches
of forest forced me to skirt them, with time lost on the other side
to make the necessary corrections. Repeatedly I sank half-way to my
knees into slough and water. Several casts were often necessary to get
round these places, for, overgrown with weeds, and in the darkness,
the swampy pieces looked like firm meadows. For a time, a sort of wall
formed of rough stones accompanied me, with marshy ground on one side
and forest on the other. It seemed to run in all directions. As soon
as I lost it, I came upon it again. I kept going as fast as possible
all the time; yet hour after hour passed, and still the bewildering
procession of woods and fields, swamps and meadows continued.
A phenomenon of which I was ignorant at the time, but which is well
known to sailors, kept me busy conjecturing. It is an impression one
gets at night, on level ground, or at sea, that one is going decidedly
up-hill. In my case this introduced a disturbing factor into my
calculations as to my position.
After tacking through a forest over checker-board clearings the meaning
of which was hidden from me, for they were hardly paths or roads, I
came out upon a path, and heard water bubbling out of the bank on my
right. “More haste less speed. Take it easy,” I murmured to myself,
dropping the haversack. Then I bent down to the spring and, having
drunk as much as I needed, and eaten a mouthful of food, I did some of
the hardest thinking of my life.
So far as I recollect, my watch showed just 3:20 A.M. I went minutely
over all my movements since leaving Klein Recken. Although the road,
which I expected would lie across my course, had not yet materialized,
I was confident that I had kept my direction fairly well. It was the
impossibility of calculating one’s speed across-country which caused
the uncertainty as to my whereabouts.
Fortunately, there was no doubt that a turnpike was not many miles to
the north of me. To reach it, and thus ascertain my position, meant
leaving the present route to the frontier. With less than two hours of
darkness before the dawn, which would force me into hiding, the former
factor was of far greater importance than the latter.
My nerves had been getting a little shaky under the stress. I had to
press my hands to my head in order to think logically, and to exert all
my will-power to keep my heart steady. Oh, for a companion! The effort
cleared my brain and soothed me. I was almost cheerful when I went on.
Opposite a farmhouse, the path divided and my way became a miry and
deeply rutted cart track. Past another farm, it entered a swampy meadow
through a gate and disappeared. Savage at being tricked again, I
wheeled round to look for the other fork of the track, but was arrested
by seeing a light in the window of the farmhouse where a big dog had
given the alarm when I passed. This was the last straw. Clenching my
teeth, I crouched behind the hedge, an insensate fury making my ears
sing. For the moment, having lost all control of myself, I was more
than ready to meet man or dog, or both, and fight it out on the spot.
But that feeling passed quickly.
The noise of a door being opened came to my ears. A lantern was borne
from the house and obscured again. Another door opened, and the
footsteps of a horse sounded on cobbles, followed by the jingling of
harness. Then a cart started out into the dark. Where a cart could go
there must be a road; so I followed after, stumbling over ruts and
splashing through puddles, and running when the horse broke into a trot.
The cart drew up in front of a building, of which I could see only
patches of the front wall where the lantern light struck. Followed
the noise of heavy things dumped into the vehicle. Then it started
again--back toward where I was standing. Thoroughly exasperated, I
turned on my heel and walked back over the road I had come, careless
whether I was seen or not. I soon drew away, tried to work round in a
circle, and presently came upon a road once more.
What a relief it was to feel even ground under my feet! A little way
farther on, and a sign-post pointing in opposite directions along the
road, read: “Klein Recken 8 Km., Heiden 2 Km.” Out with the map. There
was the road, which I had overlooked entirely so far, as it was very
faintly marked. With satisfaction I saw that I had kept my direction
admirably; but it was annoying to perceive that my course had lain
parallel to it all the time, probably never more than a mile away.
Making for the village, only about twenty minutes ahead, I could in
good time reach a desolate, high plateau, where cover very likely could
be found.
In Heiden, a compact little village, my footfalls rang loudly in the
cobbled streets. There was no sign of life about the place, and special
precautions seemed entirely superfluous. I walked past the church and
struck right into the high road I was looking for, which was easily
recognizable by its direction and the fact that it began immediately to
ascend the plateau.
The worst of my troubles over for the night, the fact that I was tired,
not so much muscularly as mentally, became only too apparent as I
trudged along. I started talking to myself, imitating tricks of speech
of my late companions at the sanatorium, and making up whole dialogues.
This continued as long as I followed the turnpike mechanically,
although I was perfectly aware of the absurdity of my behavior and
tried to stop it.
The sky was now paling in the east, and about two miles out of Heiden I
started to look for cover. For three quarters of an hour I kept leaving
the road for likely-looking woods, always to find farmhouses concealed
behind them.
Several times, while I was standing among the trees, and peering
anxiously about me, white-robed figures appeared to execute weird
dances between the trunks, only to dissolve into nothing on my approach
to investigate them. Friends of mine had similar experiences to relate,
when later on we met in prison and swapped yarns about our adventures.
The light was increasing apace, when a tall pine wood loomed up on my
left. Bursting through the bushes fringing it, I proceeded a little way
in, until I came to a deep, dry ditch marking its margin, and fairly
effectively concealed by bushes. I had the fir woods on my left; on my
right was a patch of land bounded by a wire fence and grown over by
small firs and thornless furze. A little farther up, some of the furze
had been cut and was lying on the ground. An examination of the stumps
showed them black and weathered; there was no sign of recent work.
Beyond the wire fence, and across a plowed field, a farm lay more than
half concealed in its orchard.
Gathering as much as I could of the furze in my arms, I carried it to
a place where the ditch was particularly deep and well concealed. Two
trips sufficed to provide me with the necessary amount. Arranging the
furze in the approved fashion, lengthways and across, I soon had an
excellent spring-mattress in the bottom of the ditch. Undressing, I
donned the dry sweater next my skin, and put all the garments I had by
me over it, for the air was bitingly cold.
A last deep draft from the water-bottle, a careful wriggle to get on my
couch, and I fell asleep instantly.
* * * * *
I awoke without a start, and with every sense alert, after barely
two hours, wonderfully refreshed and not in the least stiff. The sun
was low in the sky and shone like a big red disk through the morning
mist. Pale-golden shafts of light penetrated into the pillared hall
underneath the dark green dome of the majestic firs. It was very cold,
but to me it appeared only like the refreshing sting of a cold bath.
Without going to sleep again, I lay motionless, every muscle relaxed,
while the sun climbed higher. As it did so, the air grew warmer, the
scent of the pines became stronger, while the earthy smell of the
ground suggested the new life of spring and the stirring of sap in the
growths around me.
Toward eleven, an early bumble-bee paid me a visit of inspection, and
took himself off again after the bungling fashion of his tribe. The
cooing of wood-pigeons close to me assured me of my perfect solitude.
Once a kestrel flashed across the ditch and disappeared with a startled
twist of wings and tail on catching sight of me. The roar of guns miles
away seemed louder and louder, but the sound was not near enough to
merit any attention on my part.
When the ditch was in the full light of the sun, I rolled out of my
coverings to spend a most glorious day in perfect contentment, eating a
little, husbanding my water as well as I could, smoking, and looking at
my maps. The next night I hoped would see me across the border. I meant
to pass through a village about four miles down the road, and--but
that does not matter. What mattered was that I forgot that the day was
Saturday, and that people would be likely to remain about much longer
than on ordinary week-days.
The shadows were meeting in the shelter of the woods when I worked
my way back to the road. Tiny night-prowlers were already following
their business and either scampered noisily away, or froze into the
immobility of fear, as my clumsy feet crashed through their domain.
From behind some bushes close to it I watched the white ribbon of the
road until it was almost blotted out by the darkness, and then set
forth.