THE AFTERMATH OF THE ELEVENTH
As the day of the 12th advanced without bringing any signs of official
intentions to improve our accommodation upon "the field," several of us
decided to do the only thing possible--to help ourselves. It was
perfectly evident that we were not to be taken back to barracks, even
for the time being, while it was equally apparent that no tents were
going to be set up for us. Also it was quite possible that we should be
exposed to another fearful storm, because the season was advancing.
Consequently it was just as well that we should improvise some kind of
shelter over our heads. The issue was where to discover the materials,
since the authorities were not disposed to extend us any assistance
whatever.
The more energetic among us set to work without delay. My South African
friend, Moresby White, and myself unearthed one or two poles lying
forlorn and forgotten among the grass and slush. We secured these, set
them up, and over them stretched our blankets, the improvised dwelling
thus obtained being a crude kind of wigwam. Others built little
domiciles somewhat reminiscent of an Eskimo igloo, and in this field of
endeavour I may say, striking ingenuity and resourcefulness were
displayed.
[Illustration: THE AFTERMATH OF THE "BLOODY NIGHT."
The prisoners not being provided by the German authorities with any form
of shelter rudely fashioned tiny huts with slabs of earth to secure
slight protection from the fury of the storm. The hut in the foreground
was built by the author and his South African colleague, Moresby White,
who has since been released. An extension was hurriedly made to give
shelter to three Grimsby fishermen.
_From a rough sketch made on "the field" by the author, September 14,
1914._]
My friend and I had scarcely finished our dwelling when along came some
officials. They saw what we had done, and then declared that we had
taken Government material, in the form of the neglected poles, to which
we had no manner of right. Forthwith they demolished the shelter.
Intensely disgusted at this turn of events we had another look round for
further material and obtained some tree branches. We fashioned these to
form the skeleton of a hut. The guard hurried up and ordered us to take
it down. For a second time our labour was in vain, but we were grimly
persevering and so ran up a third shelter. This shared the self-same
fate because we had committed a heinous breach of some one or other
official regulation of which we knew nothing.
As we surveyed the ruins of our third attempt to raise something over
our heads my South African friend became exasperated. It was merely
official spite which had provoked the destruction of our little homes.
He gritted his teeth and gave full vent to his innermost feelings which
were by no means complimentary to our German oppressors.
"I'm damned if we don't build something to which they cannot take
exception," blurted my companion. I concurred, but a survey of the field
for materials proving abortive we became somewhat glum. Then I suddenly
hit on an idea which I explained. We would build a mud or turf hut. It
would take a little time but surely they would not knock that to pieces!
We foraged round and happened upon a spade. With this we cut the sods
and built a small square-shaped domicile into which we were able to
crawl. We made it sufficiently large, not only to accommodate our two
selves but for the reception of company if necessary. It was not a
masterpiece by any means, while the interior had the rank aroma of
newly-turned earth, but it was preferable to facing the elements, should
they decide to be against us once more. Other workers in the camp, who
had been foiled similarly in their efforts to fashion a home from poles
and sticks, emulated our example. Consequently within a short space of
time, diminutive huts, some recalling large beehives, were rising all
over the field like mushrooms.
There was keen rivalry in the embellishment of these crude homes. Upon
completing ours I decided upon a "Tradesmen's Entrance" and carved this
out, together with a winding approach, the entrance being flanked by two
mounds on one of which I planted a small flag improvised from a piece of
cardboard which I unearthed. Directly I had set up the little flag I
fell foul of authority. The hated emblem was torn up by an officious
sentry whom it enraged.
These mud huts were speedily christened with high-falutin names. There
were "Sans Souci" villa and the "Haven of Rest" and others equally
wildly and inappropriately named. But we considered this an excellent
chance "to wax sarcastic," and we let ourselves go, although I do not
think that our task-masters, being by nature dense, grasped the purport
of our humour. Our residence rejoiced in the unpretentious designation
of "Camera Villa,"
[*large gap]
If the authorities had gleaned an inkling of the circumstance that this
mud hut harboured an incriminating eye they would have spared no effort
to discover it, while I as the unfortunate owner--well! I do not know
what would have happened to me for such a flagrant breach of official
regulations.
It also seemed as if the authorities were going to deprive us of food.
At all events noon passed without any sign of dinner. In the afternoon,
however, we were informed that we were to receive the mid-day meal, but
must go to the cook-house to get it. That was a mile away!
At two o'clock we were lined up, the British at the extreme rear as
usual, and marched off. Upon reaching the kitchen we were alarmed to
learn that there were insufficient basins. Several would have to use the
one utensil successively, and, needless to say, without being washed
after each use. Apart from this repulsive method of feeding us as if we
were dogs, the time occupied in getting one's ration proved maddening.
After one had swallowed the thin cabbage soup hastily, one had to
advance and join the group comprising those who had been served. The
result was that by the time the last of the British prisoners had been
supplied some three hours had passed. Yet this was the first meal which
some of the men had received for three days! I may say that one felt far
from satisfied after swallowing the noisome greasy wash.
In the evening, while working upon our hut to impart the finishing
touches speedily, because rain was falling, I stumbled across three of
the disgraced and disfigured fishermen. They were alone and forlorn.
They had no hut and did not know what would happen if another wet night
swept over them. One happened to be the skipper of one of the trawlers
which had been sunk and he vehemently denied the charge that they had
been guilty of laying or sweeping mines. They were attending to their
trawls when they were surprised and captured.
The skipper was an interesting, typical sea-dog from the waters of the
North Sea, and a thorough God-fearing man. He related a story which made
our blood boil. He said his two companions and himself were summoned by
the guards at mid-day, and instead of receiving the dinner ration had
been taken to a covered hand-cart. The guard told them to push it, and
at the same time handed them shovels and picks. Under escort they
dragged this mysterious load, which was carefully covered with a
tarpaulin, for about three miles to a very lonely spot. At last they
came to a deep hole. They were compelled to back the cart to the brink
of the pit, and were then curtly bidden to tip it sharply.
To the utter amazement of the skipper and his two colleagues the action
of tipping the cart shot into the hole, with considerable force, the
corpse of a Belgian. He was dumped into the hole in this rough and ready
manner, head first, and to the disgust of the Britishers the body was
clothed merely in a shirt! They were then commanded to refill the hole.
Thus, without the slightest burial ceremony, with a brutality which
would not have been shown to a dog, and without the slightest expression
of regret, save one of silence from the three Britishers, the unknown
Belgian was consigned to an unknown grave. Who the Belgian was, or how
he came by his death, no one ever knew, but it is surmised that he died
from exposure upon the field during the night of the 11th.
These three fishermen being friendless and homeless, my chum and I
decided to see what we could do for them. We proposed to attach a
lean-to shelter to our hut. Poles were driven into the ground, and to
these horizontal members were attached, the latter having the inner ends
sunk into our walls. For the roof we used our blankets. It was a
primitive shelter, but it protected the three men from the rain which
again broke over us and for this expression of camaraderie they were
extremely grateful.
Our transference to the field provoked the most spirited bout we had
ever witnessed between the Commandant and Dr. Ascher. The doctor could
do nothing towards securing us shelters: that was exclusively a matter
for Major Bach to decide. But he had control over the sanitary
arrangements, and he condemned these unequivocally. The stench rising
from the open latrines which swept over the field was indescribable. Dr.
Ascher flew into a fierce temper over the shortcomings and detestable
arrangements, which he maintained to be a serious menace to the health
of the camp. We strove desperately to escape the horrible effluvium, but
it could not be avoided unless we buried our heads. Dr. Ascher, by
taking up a firm stand, had his way on this occasion, although the
nature of the improvement I think caused him to despair of securing the
proper amelioration of the conditions. The military authorities did not
appear to know even the rudiments of sanitary science, which, as I found
for myself, are ever indescribably crude away from the show towns which
are patronised by tourists.
I had been hoping that I would be able to shake off my illness. But it
was not to be. The exposure and thorough soaking which I had on the
terrible night of the 11th completely undid all the benefits I had
received from Dr. Ascher's attention and treatment. I cracked up
suddenly. The doctor, seeing how badly things were going with me, gave
me a "pass" excusing me from all work.
But to me it was obvious that to remain on the field was to die from
starvation, especially bearing in mind my precarious health. Yet to get
out of the field was no easy matter. I pondered fretfully over this
issue, and at last resolved to attempt a desperate solution. I marched
boldly to the gate, waved an old, long-since expired "pass" and shouted
to the sentry that I had to go to the doctor's office immediately. Taken
unawares the guard opened the gate without scanning the "pass" and I
walked on to the main road leading to the barracks in which we had lived
previously. The little extra exertion demanded to pass the sentry
without creating any suspicions in his mind now told on me. Once I had
passed out of his sight the reaction set in, and I fell into a clockwork
pace. I was determined to fulfil my mission at all hazards, so plodded
along slowly. I could see nothing, and heeded nothing, being only
conscious of the fact that I was going to get something to eat and to
bring food back for my stranded companions on the field. Soon everything
seemed to grow darker and darker, then came perfect blackness. I
remembered no more.
When I came to my senses I found myself being borne carefully by two
fellow-prisoners--Ca---- and a chum--to the hospital. I was put to bed,
and looking round I saw that I was surrounded by twenty-five other
patients. One and all had dropped down from sheer exhaustion upon the
field during the "Bloody Night," and had been found by the guard in the
morning in an unconscious condition. I heard that there were seventy
such cases brought in--all caused by exposure and the rain. I cannot
testify to that number, but I can swear to the twenty-five cases because
I saw them in the hospital lying in the ward with me. They were then in
a terrible plight, not having recovered from the racking ordeal.
Presently a military doctor came in. I had never seen him before. He
approached my cot.
"Civilian or military?" he asked.
"Civilian!" I replied.
"Ach!" and there was intense disgust and unveiled hostility in his
voice. "Get up! Outside!"
"But he has been brought in unconscious!" persisted Ca----.
"Ach! No matter. Get up. Outside!" he repeated.
"I'll see you damned first!" exploded Ca----, his Irish temper now
roused to bursting point at the inhuman attitude of the military medical
official. Fortunately for my friend the individual in question did not
understand a word of English, or there would have been trouble.
But feeling somewhat better and realising the uselessness of argument I
persuaded Ca---- to obey instructions. Indeed I was bundled out of bed,
and hastily assisted in re-dressing, by the doctor's orders. Passing out
of the hospital I paused to lean against the door, feeling downright ill
and weak. Ca---- ran off to the barrack to fetch Dr. Ascher.
A young medical man came out of the hospital, and seeing my wan and
haggard face, came up to me. He was certainly sympathetic.
"Heavens, man! You look downright ill!" was his comment.
"I reckon I don't look worse than I feel!" I replied caustically. "I've
just been turned out of the hospital. What is going to happen?"
"Oh! You've got to go to Paderborn. You'll go into hospital there. The
van will be up in three hours' time!"
At this intelligence I sank on a wooden seat. I felt, and indeed could
no longer ward off, the belief that everything for me was rapidly
approaching the end. As I sat there a prey to my worst thoughts, a
soldier came out of the hospital and sat beside me. I looked up.
"Hullo! old man! From Mons?" I asked.
"Yes! Going to Paderborn. Says I'm sick," nodding towards the hospital.
The Tommy certainly looked as if the doctor had diagnosed a case
correctly for once in his life.
"What's the matter?"
"Don't know for sure. But I heard the doctor whisper to an assistant
that it was typhus!"
Despite my efforts to control myself I could not suppress a low whistle.
I looked at the soldier, and although my first inclination was to move
away, I felt that, owing to my condition, it really didn't matter, so I
spared the Tommy's feelings. In a few minutes another soldier came out.
He sat on the other side of me.
"Hullo! You from Mons too? You going to Paderborn?" was my query.
"Sure! Doctor says I've got typhus!"
This was alarming news, and I could not resist a feeling of extreme
apprehension. While I was turning things over in my mind a third soldier
came out whom I questioned, but he did not reply.
"He was blinded by a shell at Mons," commented one of the soldiers.
"Guess he's got it too. 'Strewth, isn't this a hell of a hole? I'd
sooner have fifty Mons's for a month than this hell for a day!"
I certainly shared the opinion. But as I sat there I reflected upon the
limited carrying capacity of the Paderborn hospital van, and the
circumstance that I was likely to be crushed in with a host of typhus
cases. I did not like the prospect a little bit. I made up my mind. I
would not go to Paderborn at any cost.
Proffering a palpable excuse I sauntered away, finally entering the
office in which the files of the registration of the British military
prisoners were being prepared. A young German who in pre-war days had
been a baker in Battersea, was in charge. I told him I was sick, but
enquired, if receiving the requisite permission from the doctor, he
would allow me to help him in the office. He agreed. I sought out Dr.
Ascher, explained that I had been consigned to Paderborn, but refused to
go, and explained that I had the offer to go into the office if he would
certify me for such work. After a little deliberation he acquiesced, and
I took up the appointment with the result I have explained in a previous
chapter. After a good night's rest I felt decidedly better. I returned
to the field, only to find that my companions had experienced no
improvement in their conditions, and that food was just as scarce as it
had been since we were turned out of our barracks. I was successful in
getting a little food to them, while another prisoner, now in England,
sent up a little.
Strolling across the field I met a fellow-prisoner, Lord J----'s
secretary. He looked so ill that I suggested he should take my place in
the office, as I was now feeling much better. He refused at first, but
at last I prevailed upon him to go. He would get a well-earned rest at
all events, while the work was light and easy. The exchange of clerks
was effected and with such success that the German in charge never
detected the swop, which proves how imperfectly I had been scrutinised,
and the laxity of the arrangements when you have learned how to
circumvent the pit-falls and red-tape of Prussian organisation.
I was now back upon the field. One night the officers came round bawling
out a request for the names of all prisoners who had friends in Germany.
Seeing that this question, together with a host of others, had been
asked nearly every day, while sheets of papers were filled up at
intervals of every few hours with a bewildering array of particulars, I
ignored the interrogation. But one or two fellow-prisoners recalled the
fact that K----, upon his release, had invited me to come to his home in
Cologne if I ever got the chance. At first I declined to listen to the
recommendations, but finally, in response to the incessant pesterings, I
consented. Then the matter slipped from my mind.
The following morning my attention was arrested by the guard going round
the camp singing at the top of his voice, "Ma-hone-i! Ma-hone-i!"
Surprised, and fearing that trouble was brewing because I had not gone
to Paderborn as ordered by the military doctor, I presented myself. I
was commanded to attend the office at once.
I sauntered off leisurely, and reaching the building, I supplied the
officer in charge with my name and a host of other minute details as
requested. Then turning to me, and holding a paper in his hands, he
remarked:
"Herr Ma-hone-i! You are a free man!"
"What?" I yapped, scarcely believing I had heard aright, "A free man?" I
almost cried with joy at the news. "Free to go home to England?" I asked
excitedly.
"Nein! Nein!! Nein!!! But you have friends in Germany?"
My jaw dropped. I thought for a few minutes, and then I replied slowly,
"Yes! I'll go provided I do not have to give my parole. That I will
never do!"
He glared furiously at me.
"But that is as good as saying you'll try to escape," he went on.
"Exactly!" was my curt retort, and I looked at him defiantly.
The officer informed me that under these circumstances I should be kept
back, but at this moment Dr. Ascher, who had been listening to the
conversation, intervened, and as a result of his mediation I was told
that I was free to go to Cologne, saying which a "pass" permitting me
to travel to, and to move about that city, was proffered. I took the
"pass."
"You've ten minutes to collect your belongings and to get out of the
camp!" was his final abrupt remark. Although I pleaded for a little
longer time in which to say farewell to my friends he was inexorable.
I rushed back to the field to communicate the news to my companions, and
the hand-shaking which ensued was extremely fervent. All the boys
congratulated me upon my good luck, but the tears were in their eyes.
The sympathy moved me, and I felt half-disposed to tear up my "pass" and
stay with them to see it through. But they pushed me off. I had a hearty
hand-shaking with Dr. Ascher, who wished me the best of luck, and
expressed the hope that I would soon get home. Although he never
admitted it I found out for a fact that he had been primarily
responsible for my release. It certainly was characteristic of him. He
cracked a parting joke, which restored the good humour and cheerfulness
of the camp, and with my few parcels under my arm I left the ill-famed
field.
The boys cheered like mad, but I was stirred more particularly by the
roar of cheers which burst from the Tommies, with whom I had fraternised
freely, and with whom a curious chumminess had sprung up. We were all
companions in misfortune, and when the news of my release reached their
field, they clustered along the fence to give me a parting rouser, which
they certainly let go for all they were worth.
I regained the office within the stipulated ten minutes and then to my
intense disgust learned that I had three hours to wait for a train. I
sold my watch to secure a little ready money, and as I moved across the
camps to be abruptly challenged by the sentries I was surprised to see
them change their demeanour when I showed my "pass." They shook hands
heartily and warmly congratulated me upon my good fortune. It was a
strange metamorphosis and it affected me strangely.
Before I left the camp I was ushered into the presence of our
arch-fiend, Major Bach. He rose from his desk and with a suavity and
civility which made my blood surge, he remarked:
"Herr Mahoney, good-bye! I trust you will not think our treatment in the
camp has been unduly severe!"
"I shall certainly not speak well of it," I retorted somewhat cynically.
"I shall never forget my experiences and I shall not omit to relate it
to others. But there! I think my looks are sufficient. I must have lost
three stone in weight during the past two months!"
"Well, I trust you will make allowances," he went on unctuously. "You
must remember the times; that we are at war, and that our arrangements
have not been organised for adequate accommodation!"
He extended his hand.
Shaking my head in a manner which he could not misunderstand I refused
to take it.
He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his work. I left his office
without another word.
Two minutes later I was striding rapidly towards the station,
accompanied by another prisoner, a schoolmaster named E----, who had
also been released on a "pass" and whom I have to thank for much
assistance subsequently offered.
At last I was free from the torment and brutality of Sennelager Camp.
But as I watched the incoming train on that morning of September 16th,
1914, I could not refrain from dwelling upon the lot of the many hapless
friends I had left behind, the agonies, miseries, the hopelessness of
their position, and their condemnation to unremitting brutal travail
which would doubtless continue until the clash of arms had died away. As
Sennelager vanished from sight my companion and I gave deep sighs of
relief. We felt that we had left Hell behind.
PRISON THREE--KLINGELPUTZ