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MY GERMAN PRISONS
[Illustration: CAPTAIN H. G. GILLILAND
Loyal North Lancashire Regiment
_From the portrait by C. Percival Small, Esq._]
MY GERMAN PRISONS
BEING THE EXPERIENCES OF AN OFFICER
DURING TWO AND A HALF YEARS AS A
PRISONER OF WAR
BY
CAPTAIN H. G. GILLILAND
LOYAL NORTH LANCASHIRE REGIMENT
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXVIII
_Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Finey, Ld.,
London and Aylesbury._
DEDICATED
TO
MR. JAMES W. GERARD
_Late U.S.A. Ambassador to the Imperial Court at Berlin_
TO WHOM EVERY BRITISH PRISONER
OWES A DEBT OF GRATITUDE WHICH
CAN NEVER BE REPAID
H. G. G.
PREFACE
The writer has been so constantly and earnestly appealed to to write his
experiences, and so weary recounting them, that he has at last decided
to put into print a short account of things as they really happened
within his own personal knowledge during his two and a half years’
imprisonment in Germany. He is also encouraged to do so for other and
more important reasons. There are so many people throughout our Empire
who are unfortunate enough to have intimate friends and relations in
captivity in Germany. In the opinion of the writer these people ought to
know, from one who has had a bitter experience, to which these pages
will testify, the true conditions under which those nearest and dearest
to them exist.
To those who are more fortunate, and who may be inclined to be sceptical
towards the newspaper reports of German brutality, it is hoped this
narrative will come as a revelation.
Further, there must be many who are already feeling war-weary and
despondent, and who consequently may be ready to embrace any opportunity
of making peace, even on the basis of the _status quo_. If the
revelations disclosed herein bring home to these a knowledge of the
infamous, relentless, and savage character of the Hun, deliberately
dehumanised by the State for the purposes of the State, the writer will
feel that his labour has not been in vain.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
CAPTURED BY THE BOCHES 15
CHAPTER II
BY CATTLE-TRUCK TO MUNDEN 32
CHAPTER III
THE DREARINESS OF CAMP LIFE 47
CHAPTER IV
OUR REMOVAL TO BISCHOFSWERDA 63
CHAPTER V
MY JOURNEY TO CLAUSTHAL 78
CHAPTER VI
COURT-MARTIALLED AND INSULTED 108
CHAPTER VII
IN HOSPITAL AT DRESDEN 122
CHAPTER VIII
THE HELL-HOLE OF INGOLSTADT 142
CHAPTER IX
A “BLOND BEAST” COMMANDANT 161
CHAPTER X
BOUND FOR CREFELD 171
CHAPTER XI
WE JUMP FROM THE TRAIN 190
CHAPTER XII
ESCAPES BY NIGHT AND DAY 213
CHAPTER XIII
WE HIDE IN A DRAIN 234
CHAPTER XIV
MAKING FOR THE FRONTIER 251
CHAPTER XV
ELUDING THE SENTRIES 272
CHAPTER XVI
LIBERTY AND BLIGHTY! 302
CHAPTER I
CAPTURED BY THE BOCHES
A rough sketch of the circumstances which led up to my being taken a
prisoner of war are more or less indispensable. We were called up at a
moment’s notice from another part of the line, where our division was in
reserve, to a position in front of a line of our trenches lost to the
enemy a few hours previously in their attempted advance on Calais. These
trenches had been held by Indian regiments, and small blame to them for
losing them. Judging from what we saw, they must have had a pretty rough
time.
It was in retaking these three lines of trenches that I became a
prisoner. I think the position was known as La Bassée Canal position.
Our brigade formed up in the dusk about 4.30 p.m. opposite the trenches
we were about to attack. Here we were under desultory shell fire, but
casualties from this were very few. As far as we could make out and from
information received, we were within about eighty yards of the Boches.
Whilst we were waiting the order to advance, the rain, which had begun
to fall, developed into a downpour, accompanied by terrific bursts of
thunder. Before the storm abated the expected order arrived. Immediately
I rushed up to inform my company commander, but what with the darkness,
the crashing thunder, and the roar of both our own artillery and that of
the Boche, accompanied by the villainous tat-tat of the enemy machine
guns, I failed to find him.
Recognising the immediate necessity for action, and the danger of
leaving the flank of the unit on our left exposed, I was compelled to
act on my own initiative, being the only other officer in the company.
The difficulties of commanding a full company in action, without any
other officers in the company, are great; but when that action takes
place in the dark, over unknown ground, it becomes mere luck if things
go well.
When we had taken the first line of trenches with the bayonet and
consolidated the position, not hearing from the scouts sent out to
reconnoitre, I went over to have a look at the Boches’ second line. On
my way back I was hit with a bullet in the ankle joint, which felt
exactly like a blow from a hammer. Strange to say, I felt no pain, and
found I could manage to get along by using the foot as a sort of stump.
The sensation was very similar to what is experienced when one’s foot
goes to sleep. Shortly after this my orderly informed me that the
company on my right was preparing to advance, and immediately a cheer
informed me that they had done so, and we swept onward again.
How I was able to lead the men I do not know, but somehow my ankle
seemed to do the work all right. It was about a hundred yards to the
Boche line, and rather too far to attack in one rush. Consequently we
got down to establish superiority of fire, when to my alarm I found we
were being fired at in flank. A reconnaissance discovered this to be a
half-company of men without an officer, belonging to another regiment on
my left. Immediately I organised them as my supports, and shortly
afterwards took the second Boche line by assault. I use the term
“assault” for want of a better, since the Boches had vacated their
trenches, leaving only the wounded. We hardly had a minute’s
breathing-space in this trench when information again came from the
right that our men there were advancing, and so on again. Here, however,
the Boche really fought it out; but our men, having been properly worked
up, would stop at nothing. We gave a good account of ourselves in this
last trench, but the men were over and on again; fortunately a deep
ditch checked their further advance, and we stopped again to
consolidate.
About eight o’clock in the evening the officer in charge of our
headquarters company came up to the front line and did most excellent
work, helping to send back a good many of the men, since we were too
crowded. Here it was that, after the excitement was over, I knew all
about my wound, which was paining me exceedingly. However, there was too
much to be done for me to lie up with it. All night long we waited for a
counter-attack, but nothing happened except desultory shelling and
sniping. Towards four o’clock the next morning the enemy’s artillery
began to get busy, and when the dawn broke we discovered that the enemy
had snapped up to us during the night to within easy grenade-throwing
distance. Their artillery grew more and more intense. I noted a few
15-inch shells, one of which scored a direct hit, but did not explode.
We made two or three raids on the sap-heads, but our success was only of
a temporary nature.
Towards 8 a.m. the officer commanding the front line paid me a visit,
and informed me that he found it impossible to deal with the bombs,
having nothing to reply with, and also that the ammunition was running
short. He thought the position would very shortly become untenable, in
which case he would retire, and if he thought fit would send me orders
to do likewise. I never got those orders; and although I had taken every
possible precaution to keep in touch with the units on my right and
left, the company of my own battalion on my right managed to carry out
their retirement before I was aware of it. Owing to the formation of the
ground, it was impossible for us to see anything that was going on on
our flanks; we were therefore entirely dependent on our scouts for all
information.
About 9.30 a.m. the unit on my left unexpectedly retired, without
sending me any explanation as to their reasons.
Then suddenly there was the devil’s own artillery fire, and a big shell
landed close to me, and I felt a concussion in my right side, as if hit
with a battering-ram. I felt myself lifted, and the next moment was
gasping for breath under a heap of debris. My lungs were almost bursting
when I was pulled out by some of my men. For a few minutes everything
was blank, and then the first thing I knew was that the Boches were in
our trench, both right and left. Immediately I tried to get the men out
and retire, only to discover that the Boches had retaken the second line
of trenches behind us, which had hitherto acted as our support trenches.
We had no communication trenches between the first and second lines,
owing to the fact that we had no tools with which to construct them.
Thus we had the enemy on four sides of us. The only thing to do was to
make them pay heavily for it. Every moment I expected to hear a British
cheer, telling us that our reserves were again attacking, but, alas!
none came.
I am not certain what time the Boches surrounded us--I think about 10.30
a.m. Our strength was then roughly about two hundred men; but we held
the trench for five and a half hours, after which there were not thirty
of us left. Then suddenly the Boches showered us with bombs. The result
was final. Personally, I lay at the bottom of the trench, quite
incapable of doing or understanding anything.
It never dawned on me that I might actually be taken prisoner alive, for
I had accepted it as a certainty that I should be finished where I lay.
Unconsciously I wondered what it would be like to have one’s brains
bashed out with the butt end of a rifle. Would it be very painful?
Anyhow, it would be quicker. And then I remember some one jerking me to
my feet, where I remained propped up against the side of the trench,
whilst the hands of some Hun with the most stinking breath searched my
pockets and ripped off my buttons. I don’t remember what he looked like,
only the revolting odour of his breath. Gradually I began to recover my
normal senses, enough to look about me, and found that three of my men
had been gathered up, all of whom looked pretty well done for, and then
came a brutal order to move off (_Auf stehen_), of which none of us took
the slightest notice, until the order was enforced with the aid of the
bayonet; and then we were driven with bayonets into the enemy’s
communication trenches, which were at that time up to the waist in mud.
In crossing over No Man’s Land, as it were, I was horrified to see
Germans finishing off our wounded with their bayonets. As we were
hurried on through the muddy German trenches, regardless of our wounds,
we could hear squeals and cries, showing that the Boches were still
carrying on with the shameful murdering of our helpless wounded. About
three hundred yards back we were handed over to a German officer, who
inspected our personal effects, in order to gather any possible
information as to our positions. This officer was insulting, but not
brutal. In the course of a few minutes we were handed over by him to the
charge of a Bavarian non-commissioned officer, to be transported to the
divisional base, which was at that time at La Bassée. This N.C.O. first
herded us to the dug-out of some friends of his, where all our personal
effects were wrested from us. Regimental buttons and badges were torn
off. Only the fact that I had been wounded in the ankle through my boot,
so that the top of the boot was destroyed, saved me from going into
Germany barefoot. As it was, they had wrenched my left boot off before
they discovered the condition of the right one. My cigarette-case,
field-glasses, prismatic compass, money, signet-ring, in fact all my
personal effects, were filched.
Of the three men with me, one was hit through the jaw, losing strength
rapidly from loss of blood, another was shot through the eyes and
totally blind, and the last through the abdomen. It would be quite
impossible to imagine their agonies in being forced to walk in their
badly wounded condition through the trenches, sometimes up to the waist
in mud. Such callousness is very difficult to understand, but it is
evidently part and parcel of the Boche composition.
One piece of trench through which we had to make our way showed the
effects of our magnificent artillery work, as it was literally choked
with German dead, over whose bodies we were forced to walk. One of our
guards, who was leading, deliberately tramped his way on the bodies of
his comrades, numbers of whom were not dead, pushing them into the slimy
mud, and when I showed my disgust I was merrily laughed at. A little
farther on we came to a trench on which our artillery was ranging. This
seemed a good opportunity for our guards to take a little rest, and in
order that things might not be too dull we were ordered out of the
trench, to stand on the parapet. I cannot explain why none of us were
hit, but fate evidently denied the Boches the amusement they craved.
Moving on again, we encountered small parties of reinforcements going up
to the front line. In each case we were shoved out of the trench,
although there was plenty of room for these men to pass. As far as I can
remember, when we had covered about a mile, one of my men, mentioned
before as having been shot through the jaw, collapsed from loss of
blood. The guard allowed him two or three minutes’ grace, then pricked
him up again with the point of his bayonet. This happened three times.
The last time one of the guards, exasperated by our slow progress,
passed his bayonet through the man’s chest. Soon after this we left the
trenches and found ourselves on the main road leading to La Bassée.
After this the two men and myself continued that awful journey arm in
arm along the road to La Bassée, the blind man supporting my right side,
but taking directions from me, my left arm supporting the man hit in the
abdomen, who was by this time practically delirious.
At last, after what appeared to be an interminable journey, we stumbled
into La Bassée, where our guard handed us over to another N.C.O. at the
outskirts of the town, who conducted us to brigade headquarters. This
man seemed more or less kindly, even offering me a cigarette. Almost
immediately I was ushered before an interrogating officer, with whom I
refused to speak before my two men were taken to hospital; to this he
immediately agreed, apparently surprised at our not having received
attention at the front line. When I had personally seen my men enter
the Red Cross dressing station, I was again conducted to brigade
headquarters. I reported to the interrogating officer the deliberate
murder of one of my men and the entire absence of Red Cross aid. This
officer smiled incredulously, and remarked that he thought I must be
exaggerating, but would make inquiries. Whether he ever did so or not,
of course I cannot say. Up to the time of writing I have not been able
to trace what happened to the two men I left at La Bassée.
With regard to the interrogation, needless to say very little
information was gathered from me. On asking for medical attention for
myself, I was informed that I should receive everything I required at
the station, where I was escorted by another guard. This man turned out
to be quite kindly, as on arrival at the station, not finding any
evidence of the Red Cross, he helped me to take off my puttees and
breeches, whilst I cleansed my ankle and abdominal wounds under a pump.
The guard washed from my puttees and trousers the thick slimy mud with
which they were caked, and helped me to dress again in the clean though
wet clothes. Shortly after this I was taken to a waiting-room in the
station, where I found three other officers, one of whom was from my own
regiment, who had been taken prisoner early on the same day.
By this time it was practically dark, probably about five o’clock in the
morning. An hour afterwards two or three German officers came in and
made themselves as unpleasant and insulting as possible, producing
several Dum-Dum bullets, which they accused us of using, discussing
amongst themselves the advisability of taking us out and shooting us
immediately for breaking the rules of civilised warfare, a decidedly
humorous remark from the lips of a Hun. One of the British officers who
spoke German argued the foolishness of such an accusation, but to no
effect.
About eight o’clock the same evening we were removed with a few men in
fourth-class carriages under a strong guard to a station on the way to
Lille, where we spent the night in an outhouse which had a small stove
in it and a little straw. Here we endeavoured to dry some of our
clothes, one of our own officers dressing my ankle with his field
dressing. Here also some hot soup was brought to us by a German N.C.O.,
with black bread. During the night, when the stove had gone out, one of
our guards noticing some of the sleepers shivering with cold, tried to
cover them with some straw. This was a small act of kindness which I
shall always remember. We noticed that any little act of kindness such
as this was never done by a German soldier when one of his officers or
N.C.O.s was present or near at hand.
Towards early morning we were ordered to dress again in our half-dry
clothes, and about six or seven o’clock we entrained in fourth-class
carriages and were taken to Lille station. From here we were marched to
the old fortress of Lille. On the way we received many signs of deep
sympathy from the Belgian populace; most of the women seemed to be
crying, and I noticed that the men bared their heads in token of
respect. On two or three occasions some women tried to press chocolate
into the men’s hands. In one case, where one of the German guards saw a
woman doing this, he beat her down with the butt end of his rifle. Many
Germans yelled insults at us, but the guard next to me remarked that we
must take no notice of such people, as they were only soldiers employed
on lines of communication, and had therefore never been in the front
line, so did not know what fighting was. I mention this because it is so
rare to find a spirit of chivalry amongst the Boches, and in an account
of this kind it is only fair to write of both the good and the bad sides
of their characters.