_Kultur in a Train_
My new custodian was a fat, easy-going German, whom I found possessed
some of the most radical of revolutionary ideas, but like a vast number
of his comrades, too apathetic to trouble about carrying them out. We
passed a little display of wealth in the form of a smartly dressed
gentleman, lady, child and poodle dog, strolling down the street.
“They’re the bandits!” said my guard, nudging me. “They eat the butter
and eggs. We have to fight on dry bread and potatoes!”
It was through him, too, that I first learned of Marshal Foch’s great
offensive, though it was too young as yet to bring to us prisoners the
Great Hope. We were seated in the corner of a _Gastwirtschaft_ talking
over glasses of wine (for which he paid). The gramophone was playing:
“_Puppchen, du bist mein Augenschatz_,” or the German “Tipperary.” He
leaned over as if about to divulge a great secret.
“_Deutschland ist kaput!_”[15]
“_Was?_” I asked, astonished at the admission, for the German
newspapers had never been more optimistic than during the last month.
“_Deutschland ist kaput--kaput_,” he repeated, “absolutely _tot_![16]
The soldiers will turn against the bandits soon, for they are
starving! The food is finished--absolutely finished. We have
_nichts--nichts--nichts_!”[17] and he put his thumbs together and
jerked them quickly apart as though breaking a string.
“_Ja_,” I agreed, “but the offensive?” for the papers were still
gloating over the March success.
“The offensive?” he went on, “_Ach_, the offensive is doing splendidly!
They’ve captured fifty thousand prisoners! They’re going _immer fester
d’rauf_!” and he beat himself on the chest in illustration. “_Ach,
Lieber_, it’ll soon be over now!”
“I thought you’d captured one hundred and twenty thousand prisoners,” I
protested, puzzled.
“_Ach_,” exclaimed the guard, “This isn’t _us_, it’s the _French_!”
We had three hours to wait for our train, so he took me for a stroll
around Gadebusch. We visited two ladies who had sons in English and
French imprisonment. Both of them talked kindly to me and said that
their sons wrote pleasing accounts of their treatment at the hands
of the enemy. Later he took me to see another English prisoner in a
private home. It was a joy to meet him and speak the language again,
exchanging the stories of our varied adventures. He was “all right”
there, enjoying the privileges of a favored slave in the home, valued
by his master and loved by the children, for whom his broken German was
a source of never-ending amusement.
“Well, what are you going to do with him?” asked his master jocularly
of my guard.
“Don’t you want another _Engländer_, Annie?” he asked, turning to the
oldest girl.
“_Ja, Ja!_” shouted both the children at once.
Finding me agreeable, the old man and the guard immediately framed a
letter to the _Komandatur_ asking for my return to Gadebusch, when my
punishment was over.
We took a third class passage back to the camp at Parchim. It was one
of those long carriages with seats along the sides like a tram. A large
crowd boarded the train at Gadebusch, but we got in among the first
and managed to get seats. When the guard announced my nationality, I
promptly became the cynosure of neighboring eyes and the object of
innumerable questions, which he obligingly answered.
At the next station we received another influx of passengers, including
a number of females, the scarcity of the seats and the preoccupation
of the gentlemen occupying them forcing the latter to stand. This gave
me the opportunity for a cheap triumph, lessened somewhat by the fact
that there was no one beside myself to enjoy it.
I arose gallantly and grasped a strap.
“In England,” I said loud enough to be heard throughout the carriage,
“the men are glad enough to _stand_ when there are _ladies_ without
seats!”
I was the cynosure of piercing glares, but after an awkward pause, the
men of the “superior” race began one by one to follow my example.
I grinned inwardly, but my outward mien preserved the due humility of a
_Kriegsgefangener_, and my eyes rested on the distant fields.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Germany is beaten.
[16] Dead.
[17] Nothing.