CAUGHT AGAIN!
“Halt!” The command came like a thunderclap and shook me from head to
foot. Yet I did not believe that it could mean anything but a Dutch
sentry. I stopped and tried to locate the man, who, from the sound of
his voice, must be very close. I could not see him.
“Come here, and hold up your hands!”
I did so and stepped forward.
“Here, here!” The voice was almost at my elbow. Then I saw the white
patch of a face above a bush. He came up to me, putting his pistol
muzzle in my stomach.
“Who are you?”
I was a bit dizzy and shaken, but not quite done yet.
“Who are _you_?” I asked.
“I’m a frontier guard.”
“Dutch or German?” I could not see his uniform.
“German!”
I groaned aloud; then: “What the ---- are you stopping me for? What are
you doing here, anyway? Leave me alone; I’m on Dutch soil.”
For answer he stepped back, saw the cudgel in my upraised hand,
and said sharply, “Drop that stick.” I obeyed. He whistled, and
got an answer from close by, followed by the breaking of branches
and footsteps, as somebody else moved toward us. My captor put his
automatic into his pocket, keeping his hand on it.
“Who are you?” he demanded again.
“That has nothing whatever to do with you. I crossed the frontier about
fifty yards down there. Good night!”
“Stop! You’re over an hour from the frontier yet.”
For a moment I wondered whether I could get my weight into a blow on
his jaw and make a break for it; but, as I swung slightly forward,
lowering my left a little at the same time, I reflected that I could
not possibly tell whether he was in reach; it was too dark. Now I
believed that I was still far from the frontier. Even if I could down
him, there was the second man close by. And if a bullet did not bring
me down, they could easily catch me in a race, knowing the country as
I did not, or bring any number of soldiers about my ears. If I were
caught after having struck him, it would merely mean a blank wall and a
firing party. Not good enough!
All this passed quickly through my mind, the ideas being only half
formed. In the long days of solitary confinement, by which I expiated
my offense, I sat in judgment upon myself again and again, every time
condemning myself for a slacker. But I knew much more about the actual
position later than at the moment of capture, and when one is brooding
in cells, ready to barter half one’s remaining life for a glimpse of
the open, it is difficult to come to a just judgment. To-day I cannot
see that I could have done anything but give in. Had I had money on me
I should have tried offering a bribe, but I had not even a farthing
piece in my pocket. The “noes” had it.
My two captors took me between them and marched me off for some time
along wood-paths. The reaction had set in now, and my senses were
dulled. I kept stumbling and falling until they took my arms, when we
made better progress.
“Did I come straight toward you or what?” I asked dully, after a time.
“No. We were close to the place we got you at. I heard something, and
walked toward the sound. Then I saw you,” was the reply of the first
man.
After an indefinite time, we struck the railway and turned down it
toward Germany. We walked and walked. I was beginning to collect my
thoughts, and with them my suspicions of foul play were returning, when
we were challenged.
A sentry flashed his torch over us. In its light I perceived for the
first time that my captors were in civilian clothes, without badge or
any sign of officialdom. This, and the fact that we had picked up the
sentry only after walking some time in the direction toward Germany,
increased my perplexity.
I had been dully aware of a strong light in front of us. It was from
the headlights of a train standing in a small station. In front of it
we passed over a level crossing, and approached an inn opposite.
They took me into a bar-room. At a table on one side of the
bar sat a soldier in the uniform of what the Germans call “a
sergeant-major-lieutenant,” a Catholic priest, and a civilian, who
turned out to be mine host. The sentry reported to the soldier while
the old priest made me sit down at their table. The officer did not
seem to like this arrangement at first, but the padre took no notice
of him. He asked me in English whether I was hungry and thirsty. I
pleaded guilty to both counts, and the nice old man forthwith ordered
beer and sandwiches for me, telling me the while in bad English that
he had been to the Jesuit College in Rome, where he had picked up his
knowledge of the language from Irishmen.
In the meantime my captors were regaling themselves at the bar. Turning
to them, the padre suddenly asked, “Where did you get him?” “Near
----,” was the answer from the first man. “But--but--but that’s _very_
near the frontier,” stammered the priest, with a look of astonishment
on his face. “No, no,” chorused the assembled company, as if acting on
instructions, “that’s still an hour from the frontier,” using exactly
the words my captors had used in the woods. I stopped eating for a
time. I felt physically sick. Only to imagine that I had won through,
actually got over the frontier, as I began firmly to believe now, to be
tricked back!
The food and the beer had given me fresh strength. When I was told that
it was time to go, I felt more or less indifferent. We passed along
a road, the two civilians in front, the soldier behind, and I in the
middle, occupied with my own thoughts and only answering with a grim
cheerfulness such questions as were addressed to me.
Here I made my second grave mistake, counting the attempt at passing
through Vehlen as the first. Had I kept alert for “something to turn
up,” I could not have failed to see that we were marching along the
road which I had crossed some time before, and passing the same shed.
Had I noticed it then, instead of the next morning, I should have
known where the guard-room was in which I spent the night. Instead of
that--but that is anticipating events.
Presently we arrived at the guard-house, an ordinary farmhouse the
ground floor of which had been cleared for the sterner duties of war.
Above the table of the N.C.O.[1] in charge a large scale map hung
against the wall. I was not permitted to go near it, but its scale,
being perhaps three or four inches to the mile, allowed me to see
pretty much all there was to be seen from the other side of the room,
where I had to spend the night on a chair. I recognized the road I
had crossed (the ditch was marked on it); and, where the three narrow
ditches ought to have been, there began the blank space with the name
“Holland” written across it.
[1] N.C.O.: non-commissioned officer.
I could not see the guard-house marked, probably because I did not
know where to look for it. Consequently I had not the faintest idea of
what to do provided I could get away. This uncertainty made me miss a
chance. Of course I was never alone in the room, but once during the
night the N.C.O. took me out. He had no rifle with him; I doubt whether
he had a pistol. Naturally he kept close to me; yet, had I only known
where to turn, a break might have been possible, without entailing
unreasonable risks.
At last the morning came, and with it the usual stir and bustle. One
of the soldiers cursed me up and down for an Englishman. I concluded
he had never been to the front. We prisoners had the same experience
over and over again: the fellows with the home billets were the brutes
and bullies. I was right, for my antagonist was stopped short in his
peroration by a small man with a high treble voice, the result of a
brain wound.
“Shut up, you! You make me tired. You’ve never seen the enemy. If any
cursing of Englanders is to be done, I’ll do it. I had three English
bullets in my body. T’other side’s doing their duty same as we.”
“Yes,” broke in another, “I’ve fought against the English. As long as
we say nothing, keep your mouth shut. I’ll tell you as soon as your
views are wanted, Mr. Stay-at-home.”
These two latter shared their breakfast with me, otherwise I should
have had nothing. The second one took me outside: “Sorry, old man,
hard luck! Sure you weren’t in Holland when these ---- [a nasty name]
dropped on you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Only this--strictly between you and me and the doorpost, mind!--my
friend and I would have liked you to get home. We can imagine what it
means--‘prisoner of war.’ Make no mistake, we’d have stopped you, if
you’d come across us. If only you’d been caught by soldiers instead of
these ---- agents! Don’t let anybody hear it, but from what I heard you
were in Holland all right.”
At about ten o’clock I was taken to the inn to be examined by the
“sergeant-major-lieutenant.” On the way we passed, and I recognized,
the shed.
“How far is it from here to the frontier?” I asked my escort.
He did not answer.
“Look here, I can’t get away from you, can I, with no cover within
two hundred yards and you having five in the magazine and one in the
barrel? Can’t you understand that I want to know?”
He eyed me doubtfully.
“You can spit across the frontier from here,” he made slow answer.
That, I knew, was meant metaphorically, but it sufficed for me.
The examination did not amount to much. I was considered with grave
suspicion by the sergeant-major, because at that time I could not tell
him the name of the village I had escaped from. Also, the British
officer was haunting their minds still. If he and I were not identical,
I might have met and helped him, was their beautifully logical
argument. “See that he is taken to Bocholt on the two-thirty train and
handed over to a man from Company Headquarters. Now take him back to
the guard-room.”
When we got back there, they put a sentry in the yard, who sat on a
chair with a rifle across his lap, and went to sleep. It must have been
a strictly unofficial sentry. Nobody took the slightest notice of him,
and he was quite superfluous, because most of the soldiers off duty
were in the yard all the time enjoying the warm sunshine. Dinner-hour
came and went. I, of course, received nothing officially, but the man
who had talked with me in the morning gave me several of his sandwiches.
After dinner I was alone in the guard-room with a fresh N.C.O. in
charge, who was writing up some reports. The window in the next room
where the men slept at night, and which was now deserted, was not
latched. I wondered whether I could get it open and make a dash for it
down the road into the next cover. I had been fidgeting about, and when
I changed to a steady tramp into the kitchen, through the guard-room,
and then several steps into the dormitory, it attracted no attention. I
doubt whether the N. C. O., intent on his task, was aware of me at all.
The window was hinged, as all windows are in Germany. Twice I visited
it and got it ajar. The third time I pulled it open, and had placed my
hands on the sill to get out, when a patrol came into view. He saw me
at the same time. The movement of his rifle could not be misunderstood.
I closed the window and stepped back. The patrol came into the room and
gave me some good advice: “Don’t be a fool! We’ll get you sure. Can’t
afford not to. What do you think would happen to us, if you escaped?
Last night, a Frenchman wouldn’t stand on challenge. He’s dead now.
This is in the daytime.” He never reported me, though; or, if he did, I
never heard of it.
I talked with the soldiers now and then. It appeared that fugitives
were caught virtually every night. They would not admit that many got
over. About one in ten was killed, so they said; but I think that is
exaggerated.
They laughed when I told them of the punishment I was expecting. “You
to be punished, a civilian?--nonsense! You have a right to try for it,
if you care to take the risk. Why, military prisoners of war get only a
fortnight cell in camp for escaping. We’ve had a Frenchman here three
times in eight weeks.”
Two soldiers took me to the train and to Bocholt. There I was handed
over to another N.C.O., and after a tedious journey on a steam tram we
arrived at Company Headquarters in Vreden, where I was again examined,
this time very thoroughly and with great cleverness.
That evening I was lodged in prison. Also, the weather broke, and it
was to the music of dripping eaves and gurgling spouts that I fell
asleep.