RETAKEN
The country was very bare and the lines so close that there were no
hay or straw stacks about. The stars were beginning to fade from the
sky, so hastily retracing my steps for about a mile, in search of
cover, I almost fell over a tiny straw heap in the middle of a field.
It was close to a village, but as no tracks passed anywhere near it I
decided that this should be my hiding place for the day. After eating
the remains of the black bread, now a sloppy mass in my pocket, I
emptied the water which still remained in my flying boots and placed
them in a side of the heap to dry, just below the surface. Wrapping my
slightly drier overcoat round my feet for warmth, I wormed my way into
the centre, and pulled the straw after me. The bottom of the heap was
wet and contained mice, which squeaked when my teeth stopped
chattering for a few seconds. I tried meowing, but they were not taken
in for long! Sleep was out of the question, and there was nothing else
to do but watch the cold grey fingers of light creeping through the
wet straw. From my knowledge of the front, I gathered that I had
arrived north of my objective, where the Huns were expecting our next
attack, and the trenches were strongly held. Had I a sporting chance
or were the odds against me too great? If the latter was the case and
it was impossible, I prayed that I might be recaptured before making
the attempt the next night.
The minutes passed like hours, but at last the sun rose, evidently
very much against its will. About ten o'clock next morning I faintly
heard the thud of horse's hoofs approaching at a canter from the
direction of the village. At first I thought nothing of it, but as
these grew rapidly louder and louder, my uneasiness increased and I
lay perfectly still under the straw. The horse came straight to my
heap, and stopped dead at the German word of command, "R-r-r-r-r"
(whoa!). Soon the rider uttered an exclamation and, leaning over, drew
out a flying boot, to my dismay, but as this was wet, muddy and old
looking he soon threw it down again. In the meantime the horse kept
sniffing and nibbling at the straw which thinly covered my face, and I
felt inclined to repeat to myself an old nursery rhyme: "Fe, fi, fo,
fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!" As the brute continued
blowing the straw from my face, I tried to make him desist by
returning the compliment by blowing back at him. He jumped and threw
up his head, but now his curiosity being thoroughly aroused returned
to his explorations with renewed vigour, partly uncovering me. I did
not move, but knew that the game was up when the rider drew his breath
in sharply. Looking up I saw surprise written on every feature of the
bearded Hun N.C.O. He was a thick-set man with a revolver holster at
his belt. I had no chance of resistance, as the country was quite open
and my boots were off, so sitting up I greeted him with a "_Gutten
Morgen_." He saw that I was an English "_Flieger_" (airman), but
firmly refused to believe that I was an officer. He told me I was near
Achiet-le-Petit, and then motioned me to go with him to the village,
which I did. (An account of the foregoing episode appeared in the
German papers later.)
We went straight to the village headquarters, where there were several
officers spotlessly dressed in blue or field-grey, against which my
tramp-like appearance formed a strange contrast. They were quite
decent, with one exception, a sour-looking captain, and were rather
amused than otherwise, even allowing a Frenchwoman to make me some
coffee. When I remarked on the wonderful way in which the Germans had
traced me from Cambrai, they laughed and said my discovery was purely
accidental, the N.C.O. having been detailed to find some straw for the
transport. I was sent back to Cambrai in a wagon with an armed guard
of three, exclusive of the driver and the mounted N.C.O. I was very
annoyed on being told that the latter would receive the Iron Cross,
and tried to impress on them that my discovery was entirely due to the
horse, who deserved a bran mash. It was bitterly cold and, on passing
through every village, I was made to remove my coat to show the
inhabitants that I was a prisoner. I was quite pleased when we arrived
at our destination.
The commandant received me with a growl, and I was taken to the
guardroom, where the same Hun N.C.O. casually informed me that I was
to be shot. In an unconvincing way I told myself this was nonsense.
The next move was not at all reassuring. I was marched through the
back door into a tiny courtyard, accompanied by the sergeant of the
guard and several privates armed with rifles! I am glad to say that
the bluff was soon over, and I was put into a half dark stone cell. In
a short time I was fished out to see Lieutenant Schram, who told me
that I was the first to escape from there, but that I should never get
another opportunity. He went on to say that when my disappearance had
been discovered the previous evening, it was thought that I had
closely followed the flying officer who had asked me to dinner when he
left through the main gate, until the broken wires were found. Men and
trained dogs had then endeavoured to trace me, but that,
unfortunately, they had all gone the wrong way!
When I was taken back at the end of the interview, a sergeant-major
and a corporal thought they would have some fun at my expense. They
opened my cell door and then led me to a comparatively comfortable
room close by, and asked me which I preferred. However, I upset their
calculations by entering my original cell and sitting down. As the
result of an argument which ensued I was put into the better room,
where I fell asleep. This comfort was only short-lived, and soon, by
order of the commandant, I was put into the original cell again. It
snowed all the next evening, and when the sergeant brought me my
watery supper, I asked if he would stand my boots by the guardroom
fire that night as the fleece held such a quantity of water. He seemed
surprised at my request, but said that he would ask. He soon returned
and said that it could not be done. It was four days before I felt at
all warm, my clothes drying on me all the time. I have since been
told that Lieutenant Schram, while speaking of me later to other
captured officers, asserted that he dried all my clothes for me. Yet
this same gentleman during his first interrogation asked me why we
English called them uncultured!
On the afternoon of the fourth day I was ordered to get ready to
proceed to Germany, as enough prisoners had been captured at the
Beaumont Hamel show to make up a large draft. At the main entrance I
found a group of about twenty officers, composed of eight or ten
Zouaves and the remainder British. Then off we went to the station in
high spirits, for it is not often that one gets a chance of a tour in
Germany, _via_ France and Belgium, free of charge!