HOPE DEFERRED
It was in the month of May, 1916. I had then been a prisoner at the
Stadtvogtei for one year. Repeated requests made by myself, through the
American Embassy, and made on my behalf by the Canadian and British
Governments to secure my freedom, had been of no avail. Sometimes my
requests were not even acknowledged. I began to fear I might remain a
prisoner until the end of the war.
One evening, about seven o’clock, after all prisoners had been locked
up for the night, a non-commissioned officer employed in the office of
the jail opened my cell and stated that he had good news for me.
“What news?” I asked.
“You are to be liberated,” he answered.
“When?”
“The day after to-morrow–Saturday. This news was telephoned a moment
ago from the Kommandantur, and I have been instructed to inform you of
the fact.”
I could not resist shaking the non-commissioned officer’s hand to
thank him for the good news he brought to me. My door was hardly
closed before I was standing on my chair at the window calling to my
companions in captivity–that is to say, the men with whom I was in
daily contact. I shouted to them the good news. They called back their
congratulations and were sincerely happy at my good fortune.
The following day we appointed a real feast day when all the British
prisoners should take part in celebrating the promise of my liberation.
We decided to hold a reunion in my cell. We even resolved to organize
a dinner! Remember, this was in 1916, when everybody in Berlin was
subjected to food rationing. Our only diet was the prison menu. This
meant that we had a real problem on our hands if we were to prepare an
acceptable meal.
Invitations had been sent to all the British prisoners requesting the
pleasure of their company to lunch that same day, “in Parlor No. 669,
in the International Hotel of the Stadtvogtei, to meet Mr. Beland and
celebrate his approaching departure for England.”
The invitation cards bore the following instructions: “Each guest is
requested to bring his plate, knife, fork, tea-cup, glass, and his own
bread. Salt will be supplied on the premises.”
My table was placed in the centre of the cell. We had covered it with
paper napkins, and had succeeded in obtaining some canned meat. At that
time this was a marvelous accomplishment, believe me.
The dinner was a very joyful one. Toasts were proposed and
congratulatory speeches were made. The following afternoon I was
granted leave to go to the city. For the first time, after twelve
months’ incarceration, I was allowed to walk the streets! It was late
in May. The vegetation was luxuriant and for the first time in a
year I enjoyed the liberty of walking among the verdant foliage and
flowerbeds of the square adjoining the prison. Never before had nature
appeared so wonderfully beautiful. I was tempted to smile even at the
Germans who walked about the streets.
Two hours later I returned to the jail, and learned that my departure,
which had been fixed for the next day, would be delayed owing to the
fact–so I was told–that a certain document had not yet been signed by
the high command. It was represented to me that the signing of this
document was a mere formality, and my release was a thing decided and
assured. I was to be allowed to leave on the following Wednesday.
On the Tuesday, I was ready to start. My baggage was packed. Then I was
advised once more that the missing document had not yet arrived; that I
must wait a few days longer. Of course, I was very much distressed at
this repeated delay, but I tried to be patient through the ensuing two
weeks, which appeared centuries to me.
One day I was called into the office of the jail. Major Schachian had
come to explain that the Kommandantur in Berlin had really decided to
give me my liberty, to allow me to go back to my family in Belgium, and
particularly to be near my wife, who had been ailing for six months–but
a superior authority had now over-ridden this decision.
One can conceive my disappointment. I remarked to that officer that
being a physician I was being detained contrary to international laws;
that, moreover, I had on several previous occasions received assurances
from the military authorities in Antwerp that I should not be molested;
that I had practised my profession, not only in a hospital, before the
fall of Antwerp, but since that date among the civil population of
Capellen. The officer did not attempt to deny all this, but he said:
“You practised medicine for charity; you did not practise it regularly.”
Was it conceivable that a man of his position and intelligence could
make such a remark? I was astounded, and dared to reply: “I always
understood the liberty of physicians in time of war was guaranteed by
international conferences, because physicians are in a position to
relieve the physical sufferings of humanity, and not because they may
be allowed to make money.”
The officer saw he had made a bad break, as the popular expression has
it. He attempted to effect a retreat in the best order he could. He was
really embarrassed, and left me, while I returned to my cell, my heart
bowed down by deception and disappointment.
A full year elapsed before any substantial change was made in my life
of captivity.