WAITING TO BE SHOT
I shall never forget the night of Wednesday, August 5th. After the
excitement of my trial which had left me well nigh exhausted, I threw
myself upon my wooden plank bed to recuperate with a well-earned rest.
But I had just made myself comfortable when a terrible uproar broke out.
The prison trembled and I half feared that it would tumble about our
ears. The emergency bells commenced to clang madly, while the building
was torn with the most terrifying shrieks and howls.
Then the deafening sounds of explosions burst on our ears. At the time I
wondered what was the cause for this din, but the next morning I was
told that during the night the French had made an aerial raid upon
Wesel. From within it sounded as if the whole Allied Army were pounding
the building. On top of the prison anti-aircraft guns were mounted and
when they were discharged, which was continuously and rapidly, they
shook the building violently. Indeed an earthquake could scarcely have
set up a more agitated oscillation of the fabric.
Although the bells rang madly they were not answered. Every gaoler had
left his post; gone no one knew whither. The prisoners thought they had
been deserted. They were haunted by the terror of the prison being set
in flames by the bombardment. The shrieks, cries, howls and wails born
of fright made my blood chill. Outside one could hear the muffled shouts
of officers giving orders, curses, and rapid firing by small arms. The
whole place appeared to have been afflicted with panic, as acute among
the soldiers without as among the prisoners within. For about an hour
pandemonium reigned. Even to me, shut up as I was in a narrow cell, it
was easy to appreciate the terrible and far-reaching undermining effect
which an aerial raid has upon the Teuton mind.
Within the prison next morning it was possible to see the dire effects
which the French aviators had caused. A few cells below me was a
prisoner. When I saw him on the Thursday morning I scarcely recognised
him. As a result of that hour of terror _his hair had gone completely
white!_ Other prisoners were sadly bruised and scarred from frantically
beating their hands and heads against the doors of their cells in the
desperate endeavour to get out. One poor wretch went raving mad.
Notwithstanding the ordeal of the trial, which had deprived me of my
normal span of rest, I was woke up at 5.30 to sweep out my cell. The
strain of the prolonged inquisition of the previous evening upon an
enfeebled physique and brain now commenced to assert itself in an
emphatic manner. I had eaten nothing, not even a crust of the black
bread, for fifty-four hours. Little wonder that I could scarcely keep my
feet. My gaoler observed my condition, but said nothing, although he
modified his customary boorish attitude towards myself.
When I had to make my daily visit to the yard to clean my utensils and
to re-charge my water-jug I staggered down the steps. I stepped out of
the line in my turn and grasped the pump-handle. But I was too weak to
move it. A fellow-prisoner, recognising my plight, dashed forward to
work the pump. As he did one of the guard raised his rifle to club the
man across the head, but thinking better of his action, dropped his
weapon, and permitted him to assist me.
How I crawled back to the cell I can scarcely remember. But I recall
being spurred forward with sundry jabs and prods by the rifle. Reaching
my cell I sank down upon my bed.
How long I lay there it is impossible to say, but presently I became
conscious of some one standing beside me. I wearily sat up to see an
officer. Had he brought me the verdict of the Court? At the thought I
rose to my feet. But no! He had nothing to do with the Tribunal. He eyed
me closely and then turning to the array of basins containing the
untouched food and hunks of black bread he remarked grimly:
"Do you know you will die if you don't eat your food?"
"I shall if I do, so what's the odds? Its smell is sufficient!"
"Do you know we can make you eat it?"
"You try, and I promise you that you will get it back in double quick
time," I retorted significantly and defiantly.
"Well, what would you like to eat?"
"Like to eat?" I repeated. "Why, I could do with a six-course dinner,"
was my sarcastic rejoinder, feeling confident that he had merely asked
the question to tantalise me. But seeing that he really meant what he
said I rattled off a complete menu, not forgetting the cup of black
coffee and an Egyptian cigarette. Feeling that the officer was in
reality the prison doctor I grew reckless and cynical.
"Well, I'm damned!" was his ejaculatory comment when I had finished. And
he gave a loud, long laugh.
My temper was rising, and I think my face must have betrayed my wish to
strangle him, because he continued, "You've got money, and you can buy
one meal a day from outside if you like. I'll grant you your gluttonous
feed to-day--except the cigarette--seeing that you've eaten nothing for
three days. The cigarette is impossible: it is quite against the rules
and regulations of the prison. But to-morrow you'll have to rest content
with a plate of meat and vegetables."
After he had left the cell I came to the conclusion that he had been
merely having a huge joke at my expense. But ten minutes later the
gaoler entered bearing two big trays upon which were arrayed the six
courses. My eyes glittered with a wolfish greed, but I restrained
myself. I sat down to the meal and proceeded with it very leisurely,
getting up now and again to pace a little while to assist my weakened
digestion. Indeed, by the time I had swallowed the last morsel the
gaoler entered with my tea. But that meal put new life into me.
Afterwards I easily subsisted upon the dinner from without; that was
adequate for the twenty-four hours. I think I paid sufficient for the
privilege seeing that the six-course dinner and three subsequent plates
of meat and vegetables cost me twenty-six marks.
While I was denied all conversation with any of the prisoners I saw them
at least once a day. But if I did not see much of them I heard them
frequently, especially when punishment was being dealt out. Then the
corridor would ring with dull thuds as blows by the rifle were
administered, followed by violent shrieking and wailing. The prison, at
least the precincts of the Avenue of the Damned, was ruled with a rod of
iron, and various brutalities were practised and often upon the
slightest pretext. It is only necessary to relate one revolting episode
which I witnessed with my own eyes. On Friday morning, August 7, my
cell-pacing was rudely interrupted by the appearance of the gaoler who
curtly ordered me to stand outside my cell door. I found that all the
cells--except one--along the corridor were wide open, and with their
occupants similarly standing at the entrances. Between each two cells
stood a soldier with his rifle ready to jab his bayonet to right or left
at an instant's notice.
I wondered what was the matter, and was told that we were to witness and
to profit from the punishment which was to be dealt out to a prisoner
who had broken one of the prison rules. Lying in the centre of the
corridor was the prone groaning form of a prisoner--a Frenchman, I
believe--who had been dragged from the cell before the open door of
which no one was standing. He was terribly weak and ill. Beside him
stood four hulking, burly and heavily-booted Prussians.
At the word of command these four men rushed forward and commenced to
kick the hapless prisoner for all they were worth. The man shrieked,
groaned and howled. We all shivered at the sight and at his terrible
cries. It sickened me. But the brutes never relented. The more he
writhed and the louder he howled the harder they kicked, face, body and
head receiving the blows indiscriminately. In a minute or so the man lay
still upon the floor, literally kicked into insensibility. Whatever any
of the prisoners around may have felt none could extend assistance or
interfere. Some strove to shut out the terrible sight by covering their
faces with their hands, but the bayonet point speedily induced them to
look as commanded. If any one of us had moved a step to proceed to the
poor wretch's aid we should certainly have been run through without the
slightest compunction.
The unconscious prisoner was picked up and thrown into his cell, while
we were likewise rushed in upon the conclusion of the disgusting
exhibition. Subsequently I enquired the reason for such a ferocious
outburst. Then I found that the prisoner, who was so ill that he really
ought to have been in hospital, had rung his bell, to summon the gaoler
for permission to respond to one of the calls of nature, but that he had
been unable to contain himself until the dilatory official arrived. I
might mention that I had heard the bell ringing for fully ten minutes
but without avail. Although scrupulous cleanliness is demanded from each
cell I know from experience that the gaolers are ever reluctant to reply
to a call of the emergency bell, and think nothing of causing the
hapless wretch terrible misery. It serves to bring home to the prisoner
that he is under confinement and not in a hotel to be waited on hand
and foot. Such is the German argument.
Next morning on our going into the yard the unfortunate prisoner who had
been punished so diabolically was not to be seen. More significant still
his cell was empty, and the door was wide open. I could only surmise
that his worldly troubles were over. If so he would be officially
declared to have "died in prison!"
Favoured prisoners are granted a sack of straw to serve as a mattress. I
had been denied this luxury but secured it later through the good
offices of the lieutenant who visited me on Tuesday night. I was lucky
enough to get new straw. Apparently the sacks are never renewed during a
prisoner's incarceration. He merely replenishes his stock when another
cell becomes vacant, irrespective of the period the straw therein has
been in use. There is a mad rush for the empty cell, and the prisoners
fight like wolves among themselves for the possession of the derelict
straw, each bearing away triumphantly the small dole he has obtained
from the struggle.
As may be supposed, under such conditions, the straw is not very
inviting. It soon becomes verminous, and this deplorable state of
affairs becomes worse the longer the straw is in use. In fact it becomes
alive with lice. In one instance I saw a dropped wisp so thickly
encrusted with the parasites that it actually moved along the ground
under the united action of the insects.
There is one inflexible law in German prisons. Under no pretence
whatever must one prisoner enter the cell of another while it is
occupied. This regulation is not to prevent conversation or
communication between prisoners, but is for reasons which it is not
necessary to describe. When one recalls the utter depravity which
prevails in German military centres the wisdom of the ordination is
obvious. The punishment is severe, the easiest being a spell of
confinement upon a black bread and water diet, but generally and
preferably clubbing into insensibility.
A few cells above me was a prisoner who had been incarcerated for
fifteen years. Whether the whole of this time had been spent in Wesel or
not I could not say, but when I came face to face with him for the first
time he gave me a severe shock. He was a walking skeleton. Every bone in
his body was visible, while his skin was the colour of faded parchment.
He looked more like an animated mummy than a human being. I stood beside
him one day in the corridor, and a bright ray of sunshine happened to
fall across his face which was to me in profile. I started. His face was
so thin that the cheek and jawbones were limned distinctly against the
light, producing the effect of the X-ray photograph, while the sun shone
clean through his cheeks. You could have read a paper on the off side of
his face by the light which came through.
This prisoner unnerved me. From morning to night, as he paced his cell,
he groaned dismally: not fitfully but continually. It was like the wail
of a dog suffering excruciating agony, only a thousand times more
irritating and nerve-racking. Even during the night he groaned,
apparently in his sleep. Another day, when similarly paraded beside him,
I asked if he would like a piece of black bread. He made no reply, but
turned such a wolfish look upon me that I hastily told him to dive into
my cell--No. 11. He watched the guard for a second, and while all backs
were turned he was gone and back beside me with the prize which he
clutched in his hand. I have never seen such a rapid movement. He slid
into the cell like a shadow and as stealthily and as quickly returned.
This poor wretch doubtless enjoyed this unexpected addition to his
quantity of food, since he was apparently being given just enough to
keep him alive, and no more. Otherwise he could never have become so
fearfully thin.
Once again I was to receive another shock from my mysterious prisoner
who had acted as interpreter. On Thursday he came to my cell in the
uniform of a warder. Consequently I saw a good deal of him, and, he
being friendly, we had many brief snatches of surreptitious
conversation. He was highly intelligent, well-educated and sympathetic.
I enquired as to how he happened to be in our unsalubrious avenue. He
informed me that he was awaiting the Kaiser's pardon. His offence was
not heinous. He had not responded to his country's call, upon
mobilisation, with the celerity which the officials declared he should
have shown. As a punishment he was committed to the cells for three
days. Upon the expiration of this sentence he had been made
under-gaoler. His name was M----, and he told me he had a prosperous
business outside Germany.
I was on the tip-toe of anticipation and suppressed excitement
throughout Thursday and Friday, hoping for news concerning the decision
of the Tribunal. But when Friday passed without my receiving any tidings
I commenced to get fidgety and anxious. My feelings were not assuaged by
hearing volleys ring out every morning, followed by a death-like
stillness. These reports appeared to stifle the cries and groans of the
prisoners a little while. To me the sounds presaged serious news.
Apparently there were several prisoners condemned for spying, and each
volley, I was told, signified the flight of one or more hapless souls.
My spirits were not revived by noticing the cells on either side of me
rapidly emptying, while the little party which went down into the yard
in the morning began to dwindle in numbers very rapidly.
When the head-gaoler came round on Friday night I decided to tackle him.
The suspense was becoming intolerable. By this time he had become
somewhat more friendly towards me, and if in the mood would talk for a
brief while.
"Were any other prisoners tried on Wednesday as spies?" I asked
innocently.
"Jah! All day!"
"How many?"
"May-be twenty-three!"
"How many have been shot?"
"Ach! I cannot give prisoners news of that kind. But I can tell you that
there are three left, and you are one of them!"
I smiled to myself at the gaoler's rigid observance of the letter of
German prison law to refuse news to prisoners, yet giving the desired
information in an indirect manner.
"When shall I hear the result of my trial?"
"Trial? You have not been tried yet!"
"What? You must be mistaken. I was tried on Wednesday night!"
"That wasn't the trial. That was the enquiry!"
"Then when will the trial come off?"
"You'll learn the _result_ of the trial soon enough!" and he slammed the
door to prevent further discussion.
I was completely flabbergasted. I scratched my head and endeavoured to
collect my thoughts. Surely I could not have heard aright. Yet the man
must know what he was talking about. The more I pondered the more
perplexed I became. Then the head-gaoler's stress upon the word
"_result_!" What did that portend? New fears crept into my mind. So when
M----, the under-gaoler, came round next morning, I badgered him, but he
would say no more than that the trial had not yet come off.
I was completely unnerved and now commenced to fear the worst. If the
ordeal I experienced on the Wednesday night was not the trial, then what
on earth was it? I made up my mind to find out. I rang the bell wildly
and demanded to see the Commandant. He sent down word to say he could
not see me. But I was insistent, and at last, to avoid further worry, he
conceded an audience.
As I entered the office of the Commandant I was surprised to see him
handling my little camera. At my entrance he slipped it into his desk.
He looked at me curiously, and then grunted,
"What do you want?"
"I wish to know when my trial is coming off. I thought I was tried last
Wednesday night."
"No! That was the enquiry. We'll let you know the _result_ of the trial
pretty quickly," and he grinned complacently, in which little pleasantry
at my expense the officer of the guard joined in.
"I don't want to know the _result_! I want to be there!"
"That is impossible. You gave all your evidence before the enquiry!"
"Then don't I appear at my trial?"
"Certainly not!"
I was completely non-plussed at this confirmation of the head-gaoler's
statement. It was a new way, to my mind, of meting out justice to a
prisoner to deny him the right to appear at his own trial. Truly the
ways of Teuton jurisprudence or military court procedure were strange.
"Then when will my trial be held?" I asked, determined to glean some
definite information.
"Ach! We cannot be bothered with a single case whilst mobilisation is
going on. We are too busy. You must wait," and with that he dismissed
me.
"But surely you can give me some idea when it will be held," I
persisted.
"Ach!" and he fumed somewhat. Seeing that I was not to be turned away
without satisfaction he continued, "Your trial will be on Monday. Get
out!"
My reflections upon gaining my cell may be imagined. I could not resist
dwelling upon the methods of German justice, and I commenced to conjure
up visions of the trial from which I was to be absent, and to speculate
upon the final result. What would it be? I saw the heavy disadvantage
under which I was labouring, and as may be supposed my thoughts turned
to the blackest side of things. I had another forty-eight hours of
suspense in solitary confinement to bear.
To take my mind off the subject I set to work sketching an ornate design
upon the prison wall with a safety pin which I had picked up unobserved.
In the perpetual twilight which prevailed during the day in my cell I
drew, or should it be engraved? a huge Union Jack intertwined with the
Royal Standard, surmounted by the crown of Great Britain and the Royal
Arms. It occupied considerable time, but I took a quaint delight in it.
It successfully moved my thoughts from my awkward position, although at
nights I kept awake for hours on end turning over in my mind my chances
of acquittal and condemnation, more particularly the latter.
On Sunday I applied for permission to attend church, but after a long
official discussion the request was refused. The prison had no
facilities for administering spiritual pabulum to a British prisoner.
This was a mere excuse, because several of the other prisoners attended
church. How I passed that day it is difficult to record. I paced my cell
in a frenzy until I could pace no longer. I completed my design on the
wall, fumbled with my fingers, and dozed. But the hours seemed to drag
as if they were years. By now I was so overwrought that I declined to
send out for my dinner.
Monday was worse than Sunday. Throughout the day I was keyed to a high
pitch of nervous expectancy. I could scarcely keep a limb still. Every
sound made me jump, and I kept my eyes glued to the door, momentarily
expecting to gain some tidings of how my trial had gone. When the gaoler
entered with my meals and stolidly declined to enter into conversation,
I grew more and more morose, until at last I can only compare my
feelings with those of an animal trapped and at bay, waiting and ready
to land some final, fearful blow before meeting its fate.
Early in the evening of the Monday I was pacing my cell, a bundle of
twitching nerves, when the door opened to admit an officer. I almost
sprang towards him. I was to learn the truth at last. But he had not
come from the Court.
"Do you feel hungry?" he asked, not unkindly.
"No." I answered feebly, my heart heavy within me. As a matter of fact I
was so overwrought with anxiety that I failed to feel the pangs of
hunger.
"Well," he went on, "you can have what you like."
Thump went my heart again. The verdict had certainly gone against me.
For what other reason had I been offered what I liked to eat? It sounded
ominous. It recalled our practice in Britain where a condemned man is
given his choice of viands on the morning of his execution. Most
assuredly I was going to be shot on the following morning, and daybreak
was not far distant.
"I should certainly have something to eat if I were you," suggested the
officer.
"Oh, very well," I replied resignedly, "I'll have a roll, butter, and a
black coffee."
Directly the officer had gone I rang the emergency bell. M----, the
under-gaoler, answered it. With a tremendous effort I pulled myself
together.
"So I'm going to be shot in the morning," I ventured, in the hope of
drawing some comment.
"Ach! What? Lie down and keep quiet!" was his stolid retort.
"Look here! I want to write to my wife. Can you get me a pencil and a
sheet of paper?"
"Impossible!"
"But I must write. She does not know where I am, and she will not know
what has become of me!"
[*large gap]
German military prisons hold their secrets tightly.
But the time crept on and no guard appeared as I had been dreading. My
drooping spirits revived because the hour of the day when prisoners were
customarily shot had passed. When I went out into the yard on the
Tuesday morning I chanced to meet the two Hindoos who had been arrested
with me. Then I realised that they were two out of the three remaining
spies. I was the third. They were in high spirits. When the guard was
not looking they told me they had been acquitted of the espionage
charge, and expected soon to be taken as far as the frontier to be
released.
I was the only one left, and I had not been told the result of my trial.
Yet these two Hindoo students who also had been before the Court on the
Wednesday had learned the verdict in their cases. But I had been denied
all communication. I regained my cell in a kind of stupor. To me it
seemed that all was lost, and I fell into the depths of despair. When
the friendly M---- came with my breakfast I pestered him with
questions.
"Has the court been sitting?"
"Yes, all day Monday and all last night."
"Have you heard the result of my trial?"
"No."
"But the two Hindoos have been acquitted. Have I?"
"I cannot say," he replied sullenly.
The manner in which he avoided my eager look served to confirm my worst
fears. I strove hard to draw something further from him, but he briefly
remarked that he was forbidden to speak to prisoners.
I scarcely knew what to think. To me it was extraordinarily strange that
the two Hindoos should have heard of their acquittal and yet no one
seemed to know anything about my case. No! There was only one
construction to be placed upon the situation. The Court had gone against
me. My thoughts throughout that day were most unenviable. I fretted and
fumed, wondering when it would all be over. My nerves started to twitch
and jump, and within a short while I could not keep a limb still. The
fearful suspense was certainly driving me mad.
Later in the day an escort arrived, and to my surprise and intense
relief the officer informed me that I was not going to be shot. I took
this for an acquittal, but I was speedily disillusioned. I was taken to
the office of the Commandant.
Reaching this official I was surprised to see among a stack of other
baggage my own belongings. The Commandant sharply ordered me to sort my
things out, and to run through them to see that everything was intact. I
could have danced for joy. Like an excited child I fell upon the
baggage, disentangled my belongings, and ran through the contents. Two
purses and a camera were missing. I reported my loss, and there was a
terrific hullaballoo. Who had touched a prisoner's goods? The purses
were brought in by the gaoler, who declared to me that, finding they
contained money, he had put them in his pocket for safety. I smiled at
his ingenuous excuse. Now I worried about the missing camera, but this
defied discovery. Suddenly I remembered where I had seen it last and
kept quiet.
After I had gathered my luggage together I was marched back to my cell.
Again my spirits drooped upon being asked to give my English address. I
saw it all! In my highly strung condition I took this latest expression
of Teuton methods to mean that my goods were to be sent home, but that I
would have to suffer some dire penalty. I nursed this dark imagining
because the prison treatment was not relaxed one iota. I passed a
restless half-hour. I was heavy-eyed from want of sleep, while my face
had assumed a sickly, revolting pallor from rapidly collapsing health.
Again I was summoned to the Commandant's office. My goods were exactly
as I had left them thirty minutes before.
[*large gap]
I was busily strapping up my goods when the door opened to admit the
Commandant, guard and four other prisoners, whom I had not seen before.
One tall, good-looking, sprucely dressed fellow impressed me. He looked
like a fellow-countryman. I went up to him.
"Are you English?" I asked.
"Holy smoke! What a treat to hear an Englishman. 'Put it there,'" and he
extended his hand. I proffered mine which he shook as if it were a pump
handle. He with others had been arrested, not as spies, and had been
detained in Wesel Arresthaus. But being wealthy he had experienced an
easy time.
"What are they going to do with us?" I enquired.
"Why, haven't you heard? They're going to send us to a hotel and then it
won't be long before we strike good old England once more!"
[*large gap]
The party were in high spirits. But I was not so elated. I had every
occasion to be suspicious of German bluff and inwardly would only
believe we were going home when I was safely out of the country. My
fellow-countryman, F---- K----, who is a well-known figure in City
commercial circles, was wildly excited, and was discussing his future
arrangements very keenly.
An escort appeared to accompany us to the mysterious "hotel" about which
the Commandant had been talking so glibly. We swung out of the prison.
Glancing at the clock I saw the time was 8.30 p.m. As the main gate
clanged behind me I pulled myself together, a new man. My eight days'
solitary confinement had come to an end.
We tramped the street, the people taking but little notice of us.
Presently we met a big party of tourists advancing and also under
escort. They proved to be the passengers of the pleasure steamer
_Krimhilde_, who had been detained. When they saw me, unkempt, ragged,
blood-stained, and dirty they immediately drew away. They took me for an
excellent specimen of the genus hobo. Within a few seconds however they
learned something about my experiences and became very chummy. F----
K---- communicated the fact that we were bound for an hotel, and the
spirits of one and all rose.
The escort who had accompanied us from the prison here handed us over to
that accompanying the tourists and we marched to the station. A train
was waiting and we stepped aboard at nine o'clock. There appeared to be
as many soldiers as passengers. The members of my party confidently
thought the train was bound for a point near the frontier or a
restricted area by the seashore. But I was not to be lulled into a false
sense of security. I questioned one of the officers and ascertained our
destination. Returning to the party I laughingly asked, "Do you know for
what hotel we're bound?"
"No! What is it? Where is it?" came the eager request.
"The military camp at Sennelager!"
PRISON TWO--SENNELAGER
THE BLACK HOLE OF GERMANY