down, but we saw you go back and burn it.”
“Well, if you saw me go back and burn it, why did you ask me who did
it?” I unthoughtedly retorted, and then I was sorry for if at first I
thought him fierce, he had now become an irate demon.
“You did do it then, eh?” he said persuasively, as he slowly looked
around to his companions in order that they might bear witness to my
confession.
“What’s the use,” I thought to myself, so, I looked him squarely in the
eyes and said, “Yes, I did it.”
“Ah!” and he again looked around, shaking his head with intermingled
scorn and pride that he, the Prussian, had been able to bulldoze an
American. “Didn’t you know that the moment that plane hit the ground, it
became German property and that you wilfully destroyed German material?”
I most emphatically told him that I did not know it, for while I
convicted myself on my previous confession, I didn’t intend to sign my
own decree of execution. He assumed a slightly conciliatory attitude.
“Now,” he continued, “where is your partner, or comrade?”
I told him that I did not know.
“Oh, yes you do,” he argued, coaxingly.
After a little dickering dispute, I looked him squarely in the eyes and
said, “I do not know.”
Then he became fierce again. “Don’t lie to me,” he snarled in rage. “You
do know and you are going to tell me.”
I became pretty well convinced that my days were done for, so
consequences momentarily did not matter. It was more than I could stand,
for this was a matter that not only insulted my character as a soldier,
but my integrity as a man—that he should call upon me to divulge the
hiding place of my friend and my comrade-in-arms. In spite of the effort
to control my temper, it flared up like a tire-pressure indicator and in
a daring attitude, I exclaimed, “I don’t know and if I did know I would
not tell you.”
He flew into a white rage. “Is that so?” and he quickly reached back to
his hip and pulled out a Leugger, the most deadly German automatic
pistol, and with fiery eyes he put it right at my heart, the barrel even
touching my clothing. I admit I inwardly swooned; in fact, I almost
fainted for, while all the time I thought I was going eventually to be
killed, I had no idea that there was going to be any snappy action like
this. He meant business; there was no argument about that. His very
attitude and the decisiveness with which he drew out the gun and the way
he put his finger on the trigger convinced me that to spar was to die.
If there was any chance at all, it lay in silence. He must have time to
cool down or something else must intervene; so, like a weak sister I
looked at him, just hoping.
“Are you going to talk or not?” he began quietly and I have never heard
words uttered more decisively. I knew quite well that Davis had gone
over to the left. One thing was certain, while above all things else I
would not tell where he was, at the same time I was not exactly prepared
to die. Since I was to die some time it could just as well be later, so,
looking over to the right, in exactly the opposite direction in which
Davis had gone, I noticed a clump of trees about three hundred yards
away. In an attitude indicating that I was only telling to save my own
life, I pointed to the clump and breathlessly whispered, “Over there.”
He hastily gave some directions in German, and leaving me with one
officer and the sergeant, he and the other two officers hurriedly
galloped off toward the location I had pointed out. During this little
entertainment quite a crowd had gathered around and as the tenseness was
relieved, they immediately began ejaculating and mumbling in great
fashion, completely surrounding me. Looking through the crowd my gaze
was following the horses and surmising what my next move would be when
they reached there and found I had deliberately lied.
When they were almost to the spot I had designated, we suddenly heard
quite a noticeable scramble over to the left and looking over that way I
saw that they had caught Davis and he was being escorted toward town,
followed by a portion of the mob. Hearing the same noise, the arrogant
Prussian stopped his steed and wheeling around, saw Davis had been
caught in just exactly the opposite direction from that to which I had
pointed. He knew instantly that I had deliberately pranked him at
pistol’s point. In Western cowboy fashion he gave his horse the spurs
and drawing his Leugger back over his shoulder came madly galloping
toward me. I knew what was going to happen. There was not a chance in
the world; and the crowd around me also knew what was going to happen
because they made a clearing just as the gamblers miraculously disappear
when some one pulls a revolver in the game. Standing alone I awaited the
inevitable.
As the fatal moment approached—suddenly there came from somewhere a
sharp voice and from the crowd there rode forth another officer with a
flowing purplish-gray cloak about him, the kind German officers
sometimes wear when mounted, crying “Halte! Halte!” or something
similar. It was a voice of command. The onrushing Prussian, riding past
at his terrific momentum, dismounted and saluted. In a fast and furious
manner this superior officer spoke to him in a well-modulated voice, but
with a manner and expression, which, though I could not understand a
word of German, I quite well knew was nothing else than a plain
balling-out.
After about three minutes, in which our would-be assassin saluted ten or
twelve times, he put his gun in its holster, re-mounted his horse and
slinkingly rode away. Then this superior officer addressed something
generally to the crowd, in reply to which one soldier stepped out,
saluted smartly and after some directions by the officer, proceeded to
explain to me, in broken English, that the officer wanted to apologize
for the uncalled for conduct of the first German officer. After a little
hesitation, I was surrounded by a proper German escort and marched over
toward Davis—going where and for what I did not know—but trembling like
a cur dog with delirium tremens—too afraid to be frightened.
IX
THE COURT OF INQUIRY
Like many other brazen Americans I felt throughout the war that in spite
of the loss of my friends all about me, and the precautions repeatedly
urged, that I was the one bird, who, alone, was exempt from mishap and
misfortune. Undoubtedly the good fortune that always attended me caused
me to adopt the viewpoint that my good luck was perpetual. Well, as a
matter of fact, I still think that way to-day.
Such a thing as my ever becoming a prisoner of war in Germany was
absolutely foreign to me. It had not even interested me, so, I had paid
very little attention to the reports on the treatment of prisoners and I
honestly did not know whether the prisoners were slowly starved to death
or killed for some act which they had or had not individually committed,
or what not. It was terrible at best. At any rate, I was convinced that
it was bad enough that one could well afford to be desperate in taking
chances to escape. So, when I finally, in spite of my confidence in my
continued good luck, was taken prisoner on September 30, 1918, I
immediately decided that I would escape no matter what the cost.
Upon being captured Davis and I were first marched down to a nearby
airdrome—the den of our captors. There they dragged out a German
automobile, which had steel, spring wheels. A very young and fat German
boy, who, by the way, was an officer, climbed in first and told us to
follow. Of course, we did; and soon we were off for somewhere. This
youngster was a genuine pighead—he tried to be a Hun but did not know
how and reminded me very much of a newly made Second Lieutenant. Like
all other German officers he had the Iron Cross, which he wore complete
and as he spoke a little English, I decided that the wisest move for me,
was to find out just how much.
I had a hunch that the kid had probably just recently gotten his Iron
Cross and might be glad to make a few remarks at the proper opening. So,
pointing to the Cross and speaking rapidly, I asked, “What does that
signify?”
He did not get me. His answer was a cool stare as if I had transgressed
sacred laws. So, I again smiled and tried this time very slowly, “What
is that?”
“Ach,” and his flabby cheeks shook like a mold of jelly on a frosty
morning, as we bounced along, “dot iss der Deutschen Iron Cross.”
“Oh, my! The Iron Cross,” and I smiled with evident pride at our
association. “You are very valiant.”
The youngster was flattered by my expression, though he did not grasp
the words. This was what I was after. I could now converse safely with
Davis, my pilot, if I spoke fast enough. So, turning to Davis I started
to talk, but the kid rose up in all his dignity of rank and called a
halt. In painful English he told us that communication between prisoners
was absolutely “verboten.” We, of course, acquiesced most gracefully. I
wanted to ask Davis especially if he had yet admitted burning the plane,
because I already had admitted that I did it myself and if there was any
one to be killed for the offense I could see no reason for both of us
dying. This was information so vital that it had to be gotten to Davis
in spite of any rulings of any school kid, German officer accompanying
us. At the same time it was not my intention to purposely antagonize our
friend at this particular time, so with a very sweet smile I turned to
this German and looking directly into his eyes as if speaking only to
him, I rapidly, but convincingly orated:
“Davis, while I’m talking to this distinguished young Prussian, looking
him straight in the eye, and I am talking so fast he has no idea what
I’m saying, I want to ask you an important question and I want you to
answer it right away and look at him as if you were speaking to him when
you answer it, for he can speak about as much of our language as a clam.
These Germans claimed that when that plane hit the ground it became
German property and that in burning it, we have wilfully destroyed
German property and the penalty is probably death. Now I’ve already
admitted that I burned it, so, if they ask you who destroyed it you must
say that I did it, in order that we may not both get stuck for the same
offense.”
Meanwhile I was making motions with my hands, shoulders, face, brow,
mouth, nose, and ears, and looking directly at the German officer, as if
I were performing for his benefit. The kid was dumbfounded—things were
happening fast. Davis played his part like a trained actor and began to
address this German, speaking very rapidly, and in a similar manner,
while the poor German was shaking his head and hopelessly crying, “You
are talking too fast; I do not hear you; I cannot understand what you
say.”
But Davis told me that I was a damned fool, that he had told them he had
burned the plane and that if there was going to be any suffering done we
would both do it together. Believe me, that boy’s actions all through
our experience endeared him to me forever, as a brave man and an honest,
genuine fellow. However, when we got that one across our first
custodian, I felt pretty much relieved for a great burden had been
lifted from my mind. After all, I guess, there is a great deal of
comfort in companionship even in trouble and misery.
We shot along those roads on that steel-wheeled bus at a remarkable
speed. Quite soon we were at Montmedy, which was the headquarters of the
5th German Army. Undoubtedly here we were to be interviewed and sure
enough we were taken into the large room in the front of the
headquarters building, but, to our great surprise we were left for a few
moments by ourselves as the force was out to lunch. I immediately threw
off my flying “teddy bear” and hastily ran through my pockets and in
spite of standing orders for flyers never to have written communications
on their person, while flying over the lines, I found one order which
would have given a great deal of aid and comfort to the enemy. I took
this order, which was on very thin paper, and rapidly folding it, taking
a match from the table I lighted a cigarette and then burned the order.
The few other things I had were not important, but at that I wanted to
destroy everything. I had thrown my map in the burning plane, so my
conscience was clear that I had done my duty all around as far as I was
able. We were quite sure that the room had audiphones so we said
nothing. As I was about to throw such other stuff as I had in the stove,
the kid came in. I simply slipped my hand in my pocket and looked
innocent. Then a very suave, English-speaking German Lieutenant came in
and told us that he had been a prisoner of war in Russia and had just
been released; that he felt sorry for all the prisoners of war, and
wanted to tell us not to believe everything we had heard about the
German atrocities and that since we were Americans we would be well
taken care of, fed, etc., for Germany wanted America to feel that
America and “Deutschland” were the best of friends. His line was so
smooth that I was sure that he told the same gag to everyone else,
regardless of nationality. This intelligence officer was a very smooth
article for instead of talking shop, he stated that if we would be so
kind as to give him such things as we had in our pockets there would be
no necessity to search us. By this time, he was welcome to everything I
had on me. Then he told us that he wanted us to be his guests at tea
that afternoon at five o’clock. We had no choice in the matter, so, told
him we would be very pleased to accept his kind invitation.
It was about one o’clock then, and the kid took us in our steel-wheeled
“lizzy” to the prison camp, which was to be our new home. I must say
that ostensibly they treated us lovely in every way, and outside of the
fact that our home was not in the same class with Riverside Drive or
Orange Grove Avenue, it wasn’t so bad. We were incarcerated without
ceremony and the kid left us after many assurances of his kind offices.
No one came in to attend to us, so, I finally pounded on the door until
some one did come. It was the interpreter, who informed us that we were
too late for anything to eat as only enough food was prepared for those
on hand and they did not know we were coming, whereupon Davis and I sat
down to wait until night for something real to eat, meanwhile
anticipating, with a great deal of pleasure our tea we were to have in
the afternoon.
As I sat there on that old bench I really had my first opportunity for
quiet reflection. In spite of the convincing environments I could not
bring myself to believe that I was actually a prisoner of war.
This camp at Montmedy was some place. It was a rectangular affair,
enclosing about an acre. Around this rectangle was a very heavy
barbed-wire fence about twelve feet high, and about four feet within
this was another big high fence and within this enclosure, at the four
corners, were four separate buildings, each of which was surrounded by
two huge wire fences, similar to those on the outside. In one of these
houses lived the lord of the domain, the Director of the Prison Camp, a
Sergeant in the German Army; in the second was the kitchen where they
prepared the luscious food for the prisoners, and in which there was
also located the quarters for the guards, where they lived, slept and
smoked their German tobacco; in the third building there were bunks for
enlisted men who were taken prisoners; and in the fourth were the
Non-Commissioned and Commissioned officers who were prisoners, and in
this last named building were Davis and I.
We had been so down in the mouth upon actually entering this prison camp
that we had little to say. Finally I arose from my old bench, shook
myself like a dog after his nap, and in a graveyard tone of voice said,
“Davis, we’re prisoners of war,” and we wept on each other’s shoulders
like sob sisters. When we got tired of that I walked to the door which
was solid, turned the latch and, since no one interfered, walked on
outside.
Walking about I took occasion to examine the heavy barbed wire
surrounding us. There was nothing else to do, so, I kept walking along,
glancing at the wire. It looked rather solid and was sunk rather deep in
the ground. It was not encouraging. Then I had a real treat for as I
walked along I saw a bunch of American doughboy prisoners, most of them
privates, part of them barefooted, being escorted by the camp guard.
Believe me, they looked good. I hollered to them and asked them how long
they had been in and they answered they had been taken only a few days
before, so, I told them I had been taken only that morning. In great
eagerness, they demanded to know how the drive was coming along.
“Oh, boy,” I yelled as they passed along, “we’ve sure got the Hun on the
run.”
About that time the German Sergeant Interpreter rushed out—“The Hell you
have,” he madly screamed. “Get inside.” I took orders from a Sergeant.
He came after me and I didn’t know whether he was going to browbeat me
or not, but I had a strong hunch that it would be an advantageous idea
to change the subject, so, I started to talk about what we were going to
have to eat and he again surely informed me that we were too late, that
they had not made any preparations for us and that we would not get
anything to eat until that night. That subject apparently didn’t
interest him. I tried another.
“Where’s the barber shop?” I asked
Here was a new field for him. He asked us if we would like to buy a
razor and some soap and some cigarettes. The old boy liked a little
money, that was clear. Here was a chance to eat perhaps, so, I
encouraged his mercenary inclinations.
“No,” I went on, “but I would gladly buy a ham sandwich.”
He was taken back aghast at my not knowing it was impossible to obtain
food for love or money, except as rationed by the Government. So, I
thought it would be a good idea to play up to the old boy, and smiling,
I told him, “Sure, I’ll buy a razor.” We gave him some French money to
get changed into German marks and after a while he brought our
purchase—a very small piece of pure, lye soap, which we used for both
shaving and washing, and which cost us exactly eighty-five cents. It was
about the size of the individual cakes of soap you get in a hotel. I
realized that the Germans must be quite short on soap for this stuff
left our faces in about the same condition as one might expect from a
massage with Dutch Cleanser—indeed, this was the real dutch cleanser.
[Illustration: A CAPTURED GERMAN PHOTOGRAPH SHOWING AMERICAN PRISONERS]
In a little while an orderly came around and brought us our beds, which
consisted of a couple of old blankets and one dilapidated mattress
filled with wood shavings. Then he brought some wood and made a fire in
the very heavy brick stove. We were so chilly that when he made the fire
I kept on feeding it in order to get warm. It was not very long until
the orderly came back again and we persuaded him to get us a little pack
of cards, whereupon Davis and I sat down and played Solitaire and
Casino, and meanwhile we took turns at getting up and putting another
little stick of wood on the fire. By about four o’clock we had used up
all the wood, so I went out and hollered to the orderly, but he did
nothing but shake his head. The sergeant came and I told him that we
wanted some more wood. It did not concern him, for he said that we had
used our allowance for twenty-four hours and could have no more until
noon the next day. I began to swear and asked him why he had not told us
that instead of freely putting it in there as if we could have all we
wanted. He admitted it might have been more prudent to tell us, but at
the same time he wouldn’t give us any more wood. After all he wasn’t a
bad old duck, for he wasn’t cruel—he was just over-imbued with this old,
German, military régime of austerity which believed in the letter of the
law absolutely. In other words, it had his goat.
A little while later on the same steel-wheeled bus came rolling up and
in it were three immaculately groomed officers with nice
shoulder-straps, purplish-gray cloaks, and everything. All spoke perfect
English, and as they were introduced they stood rigidly at attention and
gave a snappy salute. The leader spoke up in the most elegant English
and said perhaps we were not so unfortunate after all, as we would be
well taken care of by the Germans; that they were German-Americans who
had come to Germany at the outbreak of the war, long before America had
entered, and since they had not heard from their folks for a long time
they thought perhaps we might be from their section of the country and
could give them some idea as to the welfare of their kinsmen. This did
not sound fishy to me; at least, not so far as I could see, so we did
not lie to them—I told them that the German people as a whole were being
well taken care of in America, being interned in well-kept detention
camps, and that no harshness was permitted by the Government except in
cases of spies or traitors, in which case they were arbitrarily shot. I
did not know whether that affected any of their kinsmen or not, but at
the word “shot” they all looked at one another in a very sickly way.
After some remarks about the awful weather they started to leave, the
leader remarking that they just wanted to come out and pay their
respects and see that we were getting along all right, and that if at
any time we wanted anything just to let them know. My mind was not on
these empty formalities—it was on the fact that we had a chance to
provide for our own welfare, so I took them at their word.
“That is so kind of you,” I smiled. “There are several little things you
might do for us now. We would like to have some wood to keep us warm for
the rest of the night, we would like to have something to eat, we would
like to have some better blankets to sleep on, we would like to have a
better mattress and would like to have some fresh water, and if it would
not be too much bother we would like to have that slop pan outside
cleaned up so that it will not smell so bad—Oh, yes,” I went on, “we
would also like to have some exercise and some books or newspapers to
read, and I, personally, would like to write a letter to my folks.”
They looked somewhat dazed, so I ended my modest requests and said, “I
think that is all we need right now.”
They again looked at one another in a funny manner, as if to indicate
that I was not lacking in the power of expressing my wants. I thought
their parting sympathy was all bunk, but surprisingly enough they gave
instructions to the sergeant to give us some more wood and promised that
they would send us some newspapers. When it came to eats, they balked.
“Food is something,” they explained, “over which we have no control.”
“But, as a matter of fact,” the leader went on, “you really would not
have time to eat anything, as you are soon to go to headquarters to meet
the Staff, and you will undoubtedly have tea there.”
They left and after a while the tin-wheeled bus came again and under
proper escort we went back to Montmedy. There we had “tea,” which
consisted of tea, about which the Germans constantly reminded us that it
was exceedingly hard to get on account of the blockade, and that it was,
indeed, a decided luxury and that we should appreciate that we were
being served real tea. The rest of the “tea” was German war bread, which
the Intelligence Officer admitted was bad for the stomach and was much
better toasted, and then we had diminutive portions of confiture and
butter, served individually, and as a finale we had cigarettes and
sugar. They also offered us some liquor, which neither of us accepted,
for we realized that the time of our interrogation was at hand, and
since the usual trend of liquor is toward the tongue it was better not
to imbibe, for we didn’t want to talk any more than was absolutely
necessary. They did not insist on our breaking the water wagon vows, and
it’s a good thing they didn’t, for while I cannot speak for Davis, I,
personally, know that my nervous and physical condition was such that I
could not have withstood a great deal of persuasion on such sensitive
subjects.