FREE
I BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. ACROSS THE
FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES
I was passed for England!
The Examination Board consisted of a Swiss doctor, a German doctor,
and the camp commandant. The Swiss doctor was provided with a schedule
of disablements under which prisoners could be passed for exchange to
their own country, and partial disablements for Switzerland, and
frequently objections to a prisoner's application would be made by the
German representative.
Of our party from Osnabruck, one was rejected, two were passed for
Switzerland, and I was passed for England.
The decision of the Swiss Commission is not final, for, on being sent
to the border, all prisoners are again examined--this time by German
doctors only--and by their decision prisoners are frequently rejected
and sent back to camp.
The final examination for those going to Switzerland takes place at
Konstanz, and for those going to England, at Aachen.
I knew of one British Tommy who, during eighteen months had been twice
passed for England and once for Switzerland, and each time rejected at
the border, and he is to-day still in Germany.
It was about two weeks after I had been passed by the Swiss Commission
that a German non-commissioned officer came to my room, and told me
that I was to leave at 4 A.M. the next morning for England.
I had waited for this moment for three long months; I had no
occupation of any kind, and spent most of my time lying on my bed or
sitting on an uncomfortable chair before the fire, in hourly
expectation of the door opening to tell me of my freedom.
Permission had been granted me to take Cotton with me to the border,
so we packed all the food we had in stock and prepared for the
journey. After travelling for some hours, we arrived at Hameln camp,
where we were to stay the night. There was no accommodation for
officers in the camp, and they apparently did not know what to do with
me, or how to provide me with food, as they had never been called upon
before to take charge of an officer.
The only spare hut was some distance down the road, but as this was
outside the camp, a special guard had to be mounted outside my door.
The question of feeding me was evidently found to be rather a
perplexing one, and a German N.C.O., who could speak English, came to
see me about it.
"You do not get the same rations at Osnabruck as private soldiers?
No?"
I saw an opportunity and took it.
"No, special food is always provided for officers."
"What do you usually get?"
"Meat, vegetables, pudding or fruit, and coffee."
"Zo! But how much do you get? Do you get _all_ that?"
"Yes. As much as we like to pay for."
"But the money. How do you pay?"
"Oh, I will pay cash before I leave."
"Goot. I will send you a dinner."
"By the way, what about my orderly? Bring in the same for him."
"Is dot usual? I vill gif him rations mit der men."
"That's against regulations in Osnabruck. Officers pay for their
orderlies' food. Bring him the same as me. By the way, sausages and
coffee for breakfast for both."
The meals were excellent, and I was glad we were moved off next day
before the commandant came back to discover that I had bluffed the
sergeant.
At the end of the following day we arrived in Aachen, and again, being
the only officer, the difficulty arose about my accommodation.
This time I was placed in a real hospital which was used for German
officers, and the accommodation was quite as good as I would expect in
England. There were six nurses in this hospital, kind and generous in
their treatment, and they fed me with every delicacy they could find,
and waited upon me hand and foot.
Cotton was ordered to return to Osnabruck, and was replaced by a
German orderly. An armed guard was placed outside my bedroom door, day
and night, and whenever I took exercise in the garden, I could hear
his footsteps behind me, following me wherever I went, and spitting on
the ground every two or three yards.
On the second day after my arrival, I went for my final examination,
and the medical officer told me he would send his sergeant-major, who
could speak good English, to have a talk with me that evening. What
did that mean? Why should he want to talk to me? I became suspicious
and awaited his coming with some uneasiness.
He arrived about 7 o'clock that evening, bringing a friend and two
bottles of wine. They opened the wine and we smoked together.
Conversation was going to be very difficult. I felt I was going to be
pumped for information.
It was going to be a battle of wits--I could feel it in my veins.
I made up my mind to be pleasant and tactful and meet every question
by asking one.
As a matter of fact, I was mistaken. They were Germans who had lived
in England and worked at the Deutsche Bank in George Yard, Lombard
Street, until war broke out, and had lived in Highbury. I soon found
out that they were not bad fellows at all, although their opening
conversation did put my back up, and make me suspicious.
"London must be full of soldiers?"
I replied cautiously:
"Well, I suppose the big cities, London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, must
all be full of soldiers these days."
"But what do the English people really think about the cause of the
war?"
"Well," I replied evasively, "it's difficult to say, because people in
England who talk, don't think; and people who think, don't talk."
"Well, do you think when the war is over there will be any hard
feeling? Do you think things will settle down, and we shall be able to
live there again as we did before?"
"Well, that depends upon the people's feelings after the war."
"You know, we cannot understand the English people; you are very hard
to understand, the way you do things."
"How so?"
"Well, look at the way you have got your army together. It's
marvellous; we all admit it. It surprised us.
"Look at your colonies. We thought Canada and Australia would break
away; or at the very best, would not send over more than about 50,000
men.
"But what we cannot understand is why a country which can organise and
handle such an enormous army, is unable to manage its civilian
population."
"In what way do you mean?"
"Well, look at Ireland; fancy allowing that sort of thing! And the
strikes you have! You build an army, and then allow your people to
hinder it by striking."
"How can you help it?"
"You don't find strikes in Germany, because we organise our civil
population for war, as well as the military population.
"There was one strike a little while ago, not for more money, but
because the men felt they were not getting the food they were entitled
to. Do you know what we did?--We put them all in uniform, and sent
them on to the Somme, and we sent back from the Somme an equal number
of soldiers to replace them in the factory."
"When do you think the war will be over?" I asked.
"When each side realises that it can't exterminate the other. Look
what we've done on the Somme! You've lost, let us say, 700,000 men,
and we have lost, say 500,000; and how far have you got? You'll never
beat us. If you bend us back more, all we shall have to do is to
retire to a new line, and you will have to begin your work all over
again. You can bend, but you can't break us."
"Well, you tried it, and now it's our turn."
"Yes; but it will never end that way. Do you know that for months past
we've been digging a new line, a straight line between Lille and
Verdun, which will shorten our line by half? And if you bend that we
will build another farther back. It can go on for ever at that rate."
"What about the blockade?"
"Of course, that's a farce. You've been doing your best to starve us
for over two years. Do I look starved? We may not get as good food as
we should like, but we get enough to live on, because we've got it
properly systemised; whereas you let your people eat what they like."
Yes, there was truth in that; and after drinking all his wine, I
turned into bed; for to-morrow I was to be free!
At 7 o'clock on the following evening motor-cars, each with two
trailers, went towards the station, filled with totally disabled
soldiers, en route for England.
Even their captors thought it was not worth while to keep them.
War is a monstrous machine of the devil. At one end the manhood of
Britain was pouring into its fiery cauldron; and here at the other end
the devil was raking out the cinders.
My story is drawing to a close.
The hospital-train, bearing its human freight, passed through Namur,
Liege, Brussels, and Antwerp to the Dutch frontier.
All who could do so looked eagerly out of the window for the moment
when they would pass into freedom.
The train stopped at a small station right on the frontier, and some
formalities were gone through. It started again--there was a German
sentry--there was a Dutch sentry--we were over. Hurrah!!!
Cheer after cheer rang out from that long line of prostrate men.
The train pulled up at a little station just across the border. The
door of my carriage was flung open and a number of Dutch girls came to
my bed, and a shower of things came tumbling all about me as they
passed one after the other, saying:
"Cigarettes, pleeze; apple, pleeze; cigar, pleeze; cake, pleeze;
sweets, pleeze----"
I was in heaven.
My story is told.
I am back in my own home now; and as I conclude this record the
postman brings me a letter. It is from my solicitors; I have torn it
open, and find an account. The irony of fate closes the chapter:
"To services rendered in connection with the death of Captain Nobbs!"
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End of Project Gutenberg's On the right of the British line, by Gilbert Nobbs