THE PRINCESS PATRICIA'S GERMAN UNCLE
Roulers--The Old Woman and the Gentle Uhlans--Billeted in a
Church--Quizzed by a Prince.
We were marched to Roulers, which we reached well after dark. A
considerable crowd of soldiers and civilians awaited our coming. The
Belgian women and children congregated in front of the church while we
waited to be let in, and threw us apples and cigarettes. The uhlans
and infantrymen rushed them with the flat side of their swords and the
butts of their muskets; and mistreated them. They knocked one old
woman down quite close to where I stood. So we had to do without and
were not even permitted to pick up the gifts that lay at our feet,
much less the old woman.
The church had been used as a stable quite recently and the
stone-flagged floor was deep with the decayed straw and accumulated
filth of men and horses. We lay down in it and got what rest we could
for the remainder of the night. There were about one hundred and fifty
prisoners in all--Shropshires, Cheshires, King's Royal Rifles and
other British regiments--all from our division and mostly from our
brigade. Other small parties continued to come in during the night,
but there were no more P.P.'s. In the morning a large tub of water was
carried in and each man was given a bit of black bread and a slice of
raw fat bacon. The latter was salty and so thoroughly unappetizing
that I cannot recall that any one ate his ration, for in spite of the
fact that we had been twenty-four hours without food, we were so upset
by the experiences we had undergone, so shattered by shell fire and
lack of rest that we were perhaps inclined to be more critical of our
food than normal men would have been.
Shortly afterward a high German officer came in with his staff. He was
a stout and well-built man of middle age or over, typically German in
his general characteristics but not half bad looking. His uniform was
covered with braid and medals. Every one paid him the utmost
deference. He stopped in the middle of the room.
"Are there any Canadians here?"
I stepped forward. "Yes, sir."
"I mean the Princess Patricia's Canadians."
"Yes, sir. I am. And here's some more of them," and I pointed at the
prostrate figures of my companions, where they sprawled on the
flagstones.
"Princess Patricia's Regiment?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, the Princess Patricia is my niece--awfully nice girl. I hope it
won't be long before I see her again."
I grinned: "Well, I hope it won't be long before I see her, too, sir."
The other fellows joined us, the straw and the smell of it still
sticking to their clothes as they formed a little knot about the
Prince and his staff.
The scene was incongruous, the smart uniforms of the immaculately kept
staff officers contrasting strangely with our own unkempt foulness. We
occupied the centre of the stage. Around us were grouped the men of
our sister regiments, most of them lying on the floor in a dazed
condition. There were few who came forward to listen. They were too
tired, and to them at least, this was merely an incident--one of a
thousand more important ones. Odd parts of clothes hung on the ornate
images and decorations of the room. A German rifle hung by its sling
from the patient neck of a life-sized Saviour, while further over, the
vermin-infested shirt of a Britisher hung over the rounded breasts of
a brooding Madonna, with the Infant in her lap.
At the door a small group of guards stood stiffly to a painful
attention and continued so to do whilst royalty touched them with the
shadow of its wings.
The Prince questioned us further and I told him that I had been on a
guard of honor to the Princess when she had been a child and when her
father, the Duke of Connaught had been the General Officer Commanding
at Aldershot.
He laughed back at us and was altogether very friendly. "You'll go to
a good camp and you'll be all right if you behave yourselves."
Scarfe shoved in his oar here, grousing in good British-soldier
fashion: "I don't call it very good treatment when they steal the
overcoats from wounded men."
"Who did that?" He was all steel, and I saw a change come over the
officers of the staff.
"The chaps that took us prisoners," said Scarfe.
"What regiment were they?" The Prince glanced at an aide, who hastily
drew out a notebook and began to take down our replies.
"The 21st Prussians, sir."
"Do you know the men?"
"Their faces but not their names."
"Of what rank was the officer in charge?"
We did not know, but thought him a company officer of the rank of
captain perhaps. He asked for other particulars which we gave to the
best of our knowledge.
"I'll attend to that," he said. However, we heard no more of it. We
refrained from complaining about the actual ill-treatment and
indignities we had been subjected to, the murder of our unoffending
comrades, or the lack of attention to our wounds, as we rightly judged
that we should only have earned the enmity of our guards.
"May I have your cap badge?" the Prince asked, decently enough.
I lied brazenly: "Sorry, sir; I've lost mine."
The fact was I had shoved it down under my puttees while lying back of
the trench the previous afternoon.
Scarfe said: "You can have mine, sir."
He took it. "Thanks so much." He glanced at the aide again; rather
sharply this time, I thought. The latter blushed and hastily extracted
a wallet, from which he handed Scarfe a two-mark piece, equal to one
and ten pence, or forty-four cents. He gave us his name before
leaving, and my recollection is that it was something like Eitelbert.
Evidently he was a brother of the Duchess of Connaught, whom we knew
to have been a German princess whose brothers and other male relatives
all enjoyed high commands among our foes.