BREAKING PRISON
Before I made a move I was going to wait until the probability of a
surprise visit should have passed. Such a visit I expected at about
eleven o’clock, for at that time the Amtmann would probably go home
from wherever he was drinking beer, and on his way would have a look at
me. To give my jailers an extra hour to surprise me in, was again only
ordinary precaution.
Once in the loft, I was going to take off as many tiles as I must to
get through the roof into the garden, from there into the street, and
out of the village in any direction. In the country it would most
likely prove necessary to work round the village at a safe distance
in order to strike a certain turnpike. Several miles along it a brook
crossing the road was an indication that I should have to look out for
a third-class cart track. Some distance along this a railway, and,
shortly after, a first-class road, could be taken as evidence that the
frontier was within four miles, and that I had entered the danger zone.
When it was too dark to continue the study of the scrap of map, I
lay down, but was too excited to go to sleep. Slowly the hours and
quarter-hours, chimed by the church, dragged past. As I expected, just
after eleven o’clock the Amtmann entered with the warder. “Why! aren’t
you asleep yet?” he asked. I protested that the rattle of the key had
awakened me. They left. Half an hour after the warder came in again,
said something, and disappeared. At 12:15 I burst into action.
Feeling for the sweater and oilsilks, which lay ready to hand, I rolled
them into a bundle. I did the same with my jacket, waistcoat, and
underclothes, after having stripped to the waist, the better to get
through the narrow opening in the ceiling. Next, I folded the paillasse
and propped it against the wall at the foot of the bed. Standing on it,
I lifted the loose board and with a jerk of my wrists flung it free. I
shoved the two bundles of clothes up, first feeling for an unencumbered
space of floor, then levered myself after them.
Arms extended, and with a careful shuffle of my feet, lest I should
step on some glass or metal object, I gained the spot where one or two
stars glimmered through the hole in the roof.
Grasping the remaining half of the broken tile, I twisted it out as
carefully as I could, not without causing a grating noise, which
sounded loud in the absolute silence. After some difficulty I drew it
through the enlarged hole and, again making sure that the floor was
clear, deposited it carefully. The next tile gave greater trouble. It
being entire, the ends of the superimposed ones had to be lifted to
allow of its withdrawal. When I straightened up, in order to attack
the third in the row, I was startled by the sound of a low-voiced
conversation close to me and apparently on the same level.
The natural impulse was to keep quiet, which I did. I waited. The even
voices went on. Carefully I pushed my head outside and looked about.
In the gable of the house on the right, and only about ten yards away,
was a small window. The sound of murmured speech floated through the
open panes directly toward me from the dark room behind. I took it
to be the bedroom of the farmer and his wife, and remembering their
complaint about my having been noisy the night before, I cursed the
ill chance which had made this one German farmer--one, surely, in ten
thousand--fond of fresh air in his sleeping-chamber.
The bitterly cold night air was streaming over my naked shoulders while
I stood waiting for the people to go to sleep. Soon the talk ceased,
but I gave them a liberal amount of time before I continued my labors.
When I had taken out three tiles in the first row, those in the
next and the next again were quickly removed. The opening was now
sufficiently large, but the two exposed laths running through it did
not leave too much space between them for a man of my size to clamber
through.
Stepping back to get my clothes, I misjudged the distance, which was
small--a step or two only--and almost fell through the hole in the
floor. I saved myself only by quickly shifting my weight from one
foot to the other, which touched something soft. With a thud one of
my bundles fell back into the cell. Fortunately it was the oilsilks
and sweater; unfortunately the piece of map was in the pocket of the
former. I did not go after them, but left them where they had fallen,
and slipped into my clothes as quickly as the want of light and space
would permit. This done, it was only a matter of great care and unusual
contortions to get my somewhat bulky person through the laths.
At last I stood on the lower of the two I had exposed, with the night
wind soughing over me. Doubtfully, I surveyed the expanse of roof
at my feet. How to get across it was the question. Sliding over the
tiles meant making a tremendous noise, quite apart from the danger of
possible injury. If they were removed one by one, what was to be done
with them? Should I chuck them into the garden as they came off the
laths? I had it! Why not repair the roof above me as I demolished it in
my descent?
My sense of humor was rather tickled at the idea. To imagine the faces
of the Amtmann and the warder when they were trying to reconstruct “the
crime” was exceedingly funny. It made me use some extra and unnecessary
care as I replaced the tiles on the laths above me, taking them, always
two and two, from those below.
In a very short time I was standing on the last lath. I was in the
denser shadow of the roof now, and the eight feet from the ground
might have been eight thousand for all I could see of it. This made
me hesitate, since a miscalculation of the distance might easily have
meant a jar or a sprain. Without a sound, however, I landed on a soft
garden bed.
A few moments after I was at the gate, and over, and in the street.
A solitary street lamp was burning here and there; not a soul was in
sight. In the shadow of the wall I stooped to take off my boots and
socks. As far as I recollect, I got out of the village like a streak of
greased lightning. In reality I probably walked with due caution. I did
not stop until I found myself in a dark lane outside, where I put on my
boots. It was now 1:15.
The news of my escape would spread, I was sure, like wildfire through
the country, and a hue and cry would soon be raised. Every man Jack
who could spare the time would make one of a searching party. For
such a thing to happen in a small community was bound to create a far
greater stir than among the more sophisticated inhabitants of even a
middle-sized town. I had received a hint that police dogs were kept in
Vehlen. This might have been bluff, but it was not safe to bet on it.
To put as much distance between me and the pursuers was my only chance.
To do that I had to find the turnpike I have spoken of. As far as I
knew, it entered Vehlen from the west. South of and parallel to it was
a secondary railway track.
As soon as a sufficient expanse of sky was visible for me to take
bearings, which was impossible in the lane on account of big trees on
each side, I found that I should have to pass around the southern side
of Vehlen to get to the desired point. This would prove difficult and
wasteful of my most precious commodity, time, as an extensive copse
and generally unfavorable country intervened. The seemingly bolder
course of walking back through the village had decided advantages and
was at this hour hardly dangerous. Off came my boots again, and at a
dog-trot, which increased to a fast sprint in front of a public house
with a drunken voice issuing through the window, I crossed the southern
part of the village. I did not happen to come upon the turnpike as I
had hoped. On taking bearings after this second traverse of the village
I found it lying northeast of me and therefore concluded that both
railway and road were to be looked for in a northerly direction.
“Northwest now, and damn the wire fences.” It was difficult going at
first, the country, criss-crossed by fences and ditches, enclosing
swampy meadows. Due north was easier walking and would do nearly as
well. A path gave me a rest. It was so heavenly easy to follow. Bang! I
stumbled over a rail. “Hurrah, the railway! Now for the road!”
Again across-country, I pushed on as fast as I could in my favored
direction. It was not very fast, for the difficulties were enough
to drive one crazy. Swampy meadows, ditches, barbed-wire fences,
woods, copses, but never a bit of easy ground. Soon I was wet to the
hips. Branches plucked at my garments or slashed me across the face;
barbed-wire fences grasped and retained pieces of cloth as I got over
them; the sides of ditches caved in under my feet and, having jumped
short in consequence, I landed half in the water; and ever and anon the
village church tolled another quarter of an hour.
It was an absolute nightmare. Panting and breathless, I got up
after one of my many tumbles. It was in an open kind of wood. My
soaked clothes were dripping, yet I felt warm with the speed of my
flight. Then the sensation of being utterly lost came over me, the
danger-signal that the nerves are giving way. Luckily I had sense
enough to recognize it as such, and promptly sat down in half an inch
of water, pretending that I was in no hurry whatever.
I tried to reason out the situation. If the road were where I sought
it, I should have come to it long before. My maps were unreliable in
small details. Suppose the road crossed to the south of the railway,
some distance outside Vehlen, instead of in the village as marked. In
that case I had started from a point north of the road and south of the
railway. Better go back to the railway and follow it west until I came
to the point of intersection.
I turned due south, feeling better for the rest, and ten minutes later
jumped the ditch along the turnpike. The night was very fine, the road
hard and smooth. My footsteps rang so loudly that it was difficult to
tell whether anybody was coming up behind me or not. For the third time
I took off my boots and socks, and walked the rest of the night with
bare feet. It was simply glorious to be able to step out. The exercise
soon sent the blood tingling and warming through my body, which had
become chilled during my rest in the woods. My clothes were drying
apace; I hardly knew now that they were wet. My toes seemed to grip the
ground and lever me forward. It was good to be alive.
After I had traversed the considerable belt of isolated farms
surrounding a village, the country became quite uninhabited for a time,
until a solitary inn appeared on my right. Here another road joined
from the north, and at the point of meeting stood a big iron sign-post.
“Dangerous corner ahead! Motors to slow down,” I managed to decipher,
clinging to the pointing arm. Soon after, the brook was crossed on
a stone bridge. Not being thirsty, I did not stop, but went forward
until I came to a track on my right. Posts were planted across it at
measured intervals, as if it had been closed to wheeled traffic some
time before, yet there were fresh cart ruts running parallel to it.
The country was flat, with plenty of cover, and empty. I kept checking
the direction of the path, which meandered about a little, and found
it one or two points more westerly than I had expected. This worried
me a little. Its angle with the road shown on the map was so small,
however, that I could not attach undue importance to it. At the worst,
it meant striking the frontier ultimately a mile or two farther south,
increasing the distance by that much from the point the soldier had so
triumphantly warned me against the night before.
In due course I came across another railroad and a turnpike. A quarter
of a mile to the north a church steeple was faintly outlined against
the sky, indicating a village. This tallied fairly well with my
expectations. When crossing over the line of rails I had entered the
danger zone, where sentries and patrols might be expected anywhere.
Probably the frontier was no more than three miles ahead, and might be
nearer.
Instead of proceeding along the road, I walked at about two hundred
yards to one side over plowed fields. It hurt my feet until I thrust
them hastily into my boots without troubling about the socks.
The sky was paling faintly in the east. It was high time to disappear
into some thicket, like the hunted animal I was.
Behind a windmill and a house on my right the outline of dark woods
promised cover. There was no possibility now of picking and choosing;
I had to take what I could find. What there was of it was the reverse
of satisfactory. Most of the ground was swampy. The trees and bushes,
which seemed to offer excellent places for concealment while it was
dark, moved apart with the growing light, while I grew more anxious.
At last I found a wood composed of small birches and pines, and some
really magnificent trees. Several paths ran through it. Fairly in the
center they left a sort of island, a little more densely studded with
trees than the rest, and with plenty of long heather between them. This
must have been about five o’clock.
The heather was sopping wet with dew, and I did not care to lie down in
it just then. Instead, although it was already fairly light, I scouted
around, trusting for safety to the early hour and my woodcraft.
At the northern end of the woods I found signs of recent clearing
work, warning me to keep away from there. Farther on, a dense patch of
saplings would have made an excellent lair, had it not been for the
ground, which was almost a quagmire. On its farther side a cart road
would give me a start on the following night. I did not lie down in the
wet heather when I had returned to my lair, but pressed myself into a
small fir-tree. I was tired, and soon very cold. Yet I had rather a
good time. I was a little proud of myself, and picturing the faces of
my late captors in Vehlen when they found the bird flown, which would
happen about this time, was the best of fun. I chuckled to myself about
the joke whenever my head, falling forward, awoke me from a semi-stupor.
The sun took some time to clear the morning mist from the face of the
country. After that, it grew warmer quickly. It must have been a rare
morning, but I was past appreciating it. Ere yet the heather was near
being dry, I let myself fall forward into a nice, springy tuft which my
dim vision had been gloating over for some time. I believe I was asleep
before I reached the ground.
My sleep was so profound that I had no sense of the lapse of time
when I awoke. As far as the temperature went, it might have been a
day in the latter part of May, instead of the 5th of April. From the
altitude of the sun it appeared to be between ten and eleven o’clock.
Children and chickens kept up their usual concert not far away. The
sound of axes came from the clearing close by. I felt quite warm and
comfortable, particularly after I had taken off my boots and placed
them and my socks in the sun to dry. Neither hunger nor thirst assailed
me during the day, although the afternoon coffee and bread and butter
of the previous day had been the last food to pass my lips. Sleep stole
over me softly now and again, so softly, indeed, that wakefulness
merged into slumber and slumber into wakefulness without sensation.
Awake, I was as alert as ever; asleep, utterly unconscious. I am quite
unable to say when or how often this happened, so swiftly did the one
change into the other.
Nevertheless, the day appeared intolerably long. When the sun was still
some distance above the horizon, I became so restless that I had to
move about in the confined space I permitted myself. The breaking and
trimming--with fingers, nails, and teeth--of a stout sapling into a
heavy staff, jumping-pole and, perhaps, weapon, occupied part of the
time. Then the fidgeting started again. I was eager to do something.
The decision was so near. It had to come that night. The weather, still
fine, was breaking. I felt it in my bones. Without the stars nothing
could be done; without food, and particularly without water, and with
only the clothes I stood up in, I should not last through a period of
wet weather.
I did not feel apprehensive. On the contrary, I had a splendid
confidence that all would go well. The Dutch border could not well
be more than three miles away. I had to proceed across-country, of
course, away from roads, certainly never on them, to pass successfully
the sentries and patrols, who very likely would concentrate the
greater part of their attention upon them. However, it would not do to
depend on being safe anywhere. As a good deal of my time would have
to be devoted to avoiding them, I might find it difficult to keep an
accurate course, even if other circumstances did not force me to alter
it considerably. All this had to be considered and certain safeguards
planned. For those of my readers who are interested in the technique of
my endeavors I would add that I expected to find a railroad track which
ran parallel to my proposed course on my left, presumably a mile or
two off, and a road entering Holland about three miles to the north of
me, which in an extreme case would prevent my going hopelessly astray.
At last the sun touched the sky-line. Before it was quite dark, but
after the voices of children and fowls and the sounds of work in the
woods had ceased, my restlessness forced me to do something. I sneaked
along the paths and into the thicket of saplings I had discovered
in the morning, there to ensconce myself close to the road. Once a
girl and a soldier in animated conversation passed me, while ever so
gradually twilight deepened into darkness.
When the night was as black as could be hoped for, I walked a hundred
yards or so along the road, bent double and with every sense alert.
Then a path on my right led me through tall woods. Coming into the
open, I corrected my course, and not long after I was stopped by a
deep ditch, almost a canal. Its banks showed white and sandy in the
starlight; on the side nearest me was a line of narrow rails. Some
tip-over trucks were standing on them, and a few lay upturned on the
ground. I remember bending down, in order to feel whether or not the
rails were smooth on top, a sign of recent use, but straightened
immediately. Since I should be either in Holland, or a prisoner, or
dead before the morning, these precautions seemed superfluous.
The ditch threw me out of my course. Walking along it, I noticed a
triangular sheen of light in the sky bearing northwest. It looked as if
it were the reflex of a well-illuminated place miles ahead. I took it
to be the first station in Holland on the railway from Bocholt. Later I
was able to verify this.
When I got to the end of the ditch, I struck out across the flat
country toward the light. It took me some time to extricate myself
from a swamp. In trying to work around it, with an idea of edging in
toward a railway line which I knew to be entering Holland somewhere
on my left, I suddenly came upon a road running northwest. I left it
quicker than I had got on it, walking parallel to it over plowed land
and keeping it in sight. Shortly after, I passed between two houses, to
see another road in front of me running at right angles to the former.
I crouched in the angle between the two roads, trying to penetrate the
darkness, and listening with all my might. I could see no living thing,
and all was silent. Just across from me a structure, the nature of
which I could not make out, held my gaze. I waited, then jumped across
the road into its shadow. It now resolved itself into an open shed,
with a wagon underneath. Again I listened and looked, with my back
toward Holland, watching the two houses I had passed, and nervously
scanning the road.
Far down it a small dog began to bark. Not taking any notice of it at
first, I was in the act of starting across a field covered knee-high
with some stiff growth, when it occurred to me that the barking sounded
like an alarm, of which I could not be the cause.
Gaining the shelter of the shed again, and straining my ears, I became
aware of distant and approaching footsteps, regular and ominous. I
ducked into the ditch, crawling half under the floor of the shed, and
waited. When the sound was only about a yard from me, the helmet, the
head, the up-slanting rifle muzzle, and the shoulders of a patrol
became outlined against the sky. He walked on and was swallowed up by
the darkness. His footsteps grew fainter, died away.
“Splendid!” I thought. “This road must be close to the border. It runs
parallel to it. Maybe I am through the sentry lines.” I pushed on, very
much excited, yet going as carefully as I could. A barbed wire and
ditch were negotiated. A patch of woodland engulfed me. Going was bad
on account of holes in the ground; my instinct was for rushing it, and
difficult to curb.
Three shallow ditches side by side! I felt them with my hand to make
sure they were not merely deeply trodden paths. “This must be the
frontier!”
I was shaking with excitement and exultation when I started forward
again. My leg went into a hole, and I fell forward across a dry piece
of wood, which exploded underneath me with a noise like a pistol shot.
I scrambled to my feet, listened, and walked on.