_My Entertainment at Gadebusch_
I hope I make an unchallenged assertion when I say that it was my first
visit inside a civilian jail. It was, at all events, an experience
which I do not wish to repeat. At first I worried through a few hours
examining the pictures and names carved on the walls. This exciting
pastime exhausted, I divided the remaining time between singing and
reading the old German Bible, which I found on the shelf, beginning
with first chapter of Genesis. My singing, too, was restricted to a
_sotto voce_ the second day when a voice from outside the door shouted:
“_Nicht singen! Nicht singen! Das geht nicht!_” But I think this
prohibition was due less to the rules and traditions of the institution
than to the peculiar quality of my singing.
Three times a day the old warden came in with a hunk of my bread, a
slice of my bacon, and a cup of German coffee. It was a concession,
he explained. I should have gotten only the coffee, but he had a son
who had formerly worked in England! It was lavish fare for this prison
at any rate, for several times every day one of the other prisoners
appeared at the little peep-hole in my door and begged:
“_Brot, Brot, Kamarad!_ Just a little crumb of _Brot_!”
I was not a little curious to learn what manner of men my comrades
in misery were. I was accordingly pleased the second night when I
gained an opportunity of improving our acquaintance. I was slumbering
peacefully on my downy couch when I felt myself being roughly shaken,
and a voice:
“_Engländer! Engländer!_”
It was my kind old warden.
“_Kom darunter--Blitzen!_”[11]
I obeyed him, wondering, slipping on my trousers and going downstairs.
I found my fellow prisoners to be two emaciated, but still professional
looking gentlemen of the underworld. The hall clock was striking two.
Having gone through the usual social amenities, I sought to learn what
object our gaoler had, beyond a general get-together meeting of the
inmates, in disturbing our repose at this unwonted hour.
“_Ach_,” explained one of them, who was hunchbacked, “That’s on account
of the lightning!”
We listened a few minutes until we heard a rumble of thunder.
“_Da!_” he exclaimed, “you see it might strike the jail, and if we were
all up in the cells we would die like rats!”
It struck me as a novel, but, I agreed, doubtless quite a wise
precaution.
I learned further that we three were all the prisoners. The
twenty-seven empty cells were a testimonial to the shattering effect of
the war on “business.” My companions were serving a sentence of eight
months for a robbery committed in the town.
“We don’t any of us belong to Mecklenburg,” observed the hunchback
pleasantly. “You see, my mate’s an Austrian, I’m an East Prussian, and
you’re an _Engländer_, so we’re sort of _Kamaraden_, aren’t we?”
“How jolly!” I thought.
A pause ensued, allowing us to hear the whistle of a locomotive and the
distant rumbling of a train coming around the bend--which bend I will
not say, for the sake of neutrality.
“_Da_,” murmured the hunchback pointing toward the door, “There comes
the old choo-choo!”
“There?” objected the Austrian aghast. He pointed toward the clock.
“That’s the way the train comes in. You’re forgetting yourself.”
“_Was?_” exclaimed the hunchback on the defensive. “I know where the
track lies--I came in that way. It’s just over there,” pointing again
at the door, “back of the pond.”
“Are you mad, _Mench_?”[12] retorted the Austrian, pointing again at
the clock, “Didn’t you just hear it come in _that_ way?”
Then followed one of the hottest little debates which I have ever
heard. Both men grew into a frenzy, and only the ties of long
friendship--constantly emphasized by the hunchback--prevented a resort
to physical force. When the old warden came in half an hour later to
tell us that danger was past, he found them stretched out together,
haggling over a map of Gadebusch, drawn with string and bits of paper
on the floor, a match stick representing the train. When I finally went
up to my cell, I could still hear the disgusted voice of the hunchback:
“_Aber_,[13] they don’t run locomotives over rye fields, _mein
Lieber_!”[14]
It was about noon of the fifth day and I was finishing the Book of
Isaiah, when the guard came to take me away. My warden did not forget
to exact a fee of six marks--being the amount of my hotel bill for the
five days, at a mark a day, according to Gadebusch reckoning.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Come down--lightning.
[12] Man.
[13] But.
[14] My dear fellow.