THE EMS
There was no one about, so, after enjoying a good stretch, I pushed
through the privet, jumped a narrow dyke, and started out over the
low-lying fields towards the high grassy barrier which advertised the
approach to the dreaded river. It was almost dark when I came to
another portion of the winding, snake-like barrier, which curved out
as if to meet me. Approaching it, I found that a thick and apparently
endless prickly May hedge grew along the base. Getting through it
proved to be such a painful proceeding that it seems probable that as
soon as the hedge saw an Englishman coming towards it, it sharpened
its claws and resolved to defend the way to the frontier to the last
thorn. Of course I may be wrong in my surmise, but I well remember
that, when I began extracting thorns afterwards, it was like plucking
a pin-cushion. Crawling on hands and knees up the slippery grassy
slope, I soon arrived at the top and, scrambling to my feet, looked
eagerly towards the unknown West. The grassy barrier rose to an even
height of about thirty feet above the low-lying country. On one side,
the nearer dykes dividing the fields showed up a dull white in the
semi-darkness; while on the other, beyond a narrow fringe of swaying
reed-grass, ran the broad dark river. Although a steady wind was
blowing, it was not quite as strong as on the previous night, the
noise of the ripples breaking on the shore not being so pronounced. As
I had not been dry for several days, the prospect of a prolonged bathe
was not at all alluring. The longer I looked towards the opposite bank
the more distant it appeared to be, and the greater became the width
and volume of the river, until it seemed to be quite impassable.
Hesitation meant failure, so, running down to the water's edge, I
began to undress quickly. All at once it struck me that it would be
foolish to wrap all my earthly belongings in one bundle, for, should
it come to grief on the way over, I should have a decidedly cool time
of it after my arrival at the other bank of the river.
Besides, it would be most undignified to be compelled to walk up to a
German sentry and address him thus: "Please, sir, I am suffering from
loss of memory and seem to have mislaid my clothes; would you be good
enough to supply me with a few, as fig trees do not abound in these
parts?"
Therefore, spreading my sodden waterproof on the ground, I deposited
in it my tunic, shoes and now half-empty pack. Stuffing all the vacant
space tightly with grass, I secured the corners by binding them
together with my braces and bits of torn handkerchief. To complete the
operation, I fastened my souvenir walking-stick (which, though large
and clumsy, was exceedingly precious) to the bottom of the bundle in
order to improve its floating capacities. Passing through the thin
edging of reed-grass, I stepped into the shallow water and felt my
feet sink into the deep mud, which gurgled hungrily and sent little
lines of bubbles up to the surface. In a few strides I was out of my
depth and amid the swirling eddies, which sought to drag me off down
stream.
Fortunately the water was warm and the bundle floated well.
Considering the fact that I had already been tramping for eight days
on short rations, it is not surprising that I found swimming against a
steady wind to be very tiring. I kept the bundle well ahead by giving
it a good push every few strokes, when I overtook it. After swimming
for several minutes, I unconsciously changed my direction a little, at
the same time giving the bundle another push ahead. At this part the
river curved slightly, and the result was that the wind caught my
worldly belongings and whirled them off down stream. Signalling to the
engine-room for full speed ahead, I dashed off in pursuit, soon
overtaking the runaway bundle. By this time, being very out of breath,
I hung on to it, and was delighted to find that it would practically
support me. I had been swimming for some little time and it seemed
probable that my objective would not be far away, so, looking up at
the stars and noting where the west lay, I raised myself in the water
and looked for the opposite bank. Curiously enough, it seemed almost
as far distant as it had been at first. Instinctively I looked back,
and there, only a little way behind me, was the shore I had just left.
I must admit that the sight was not encouraging. Well--hanging on to a
waterlogged bundle and swallowing tadpoles would not help matters, so
I settled down to business, swimming steadily on my side, but often
changing the stroke, and heading a little up-stream to counteract the
force of the current.
Ever so gradually the water became calmer and the shore more clearly
defined, until I could see a fringe of weeds similar to the one I had
left. Vaguely I wondered if it would be really worth the extra effort
required to actually reach it. It seemed so easy to give up. Just as I
felt my remaining strength slipping away at each stroke I touched some
soft warm mud. Mud as a rule does not have a stimulating effect on
one, but then the very touch of it put new life into me. Dragging my
bundle, I made a final effort to get ashore, but fell in the shallow
water, where I lay utterly exhausted, hardly conscious of my
surroundings, my head sinking gradually lower and lower. It must have
been the objectionable taste of the muddy water which brought me to my
senses sufficiently to enable me to leave the river for a more
congenial resting place, namely, some grass at the edge of a field.
When at last I got up, feeling very cold, and untied the bundle I
found that everything was absolutely soaking. Assuredly there are many
more enjoyable pastimes than putting on wet clothes in a cold wind in
the dark.
When everything was ready for the night's tramp, I discovered that my
cap was missing, and after a short fruitless search, decided to leave
it behind. Tired, shivering, and hatless, I started off into the West,
reckoning that now the frontier could not be much more than a night's
march away. No sooner had I crossed the little stubble field than I
came to a ridge, beyond which the ground dropped several feet in a
steep slope. As I moved down this incline towards what appeared to be
a hedge, the ground became quite wet. Suspiciously I looked ahead into
the darkness towards what seemed to be only an expanse of lower
ground. Near the hedge the water rose over my ankles, but I forged on,
determined to know the worst. I was not long in suspense, for the
hedge in front rustled (a thing that well-trained hedges do not do),
and I knew that it was another long line of high reed-grass. Fearfully
I parted this with my hands, and there, in front, lay a rippling sheet
of water, fully as wide as the river I had just crossed. With a thump
my heart went down into my boots, and the little devil of despair
whispered that I must be near the mouth of the river, on an island, a
prisoner of my own making. (In truth, this was very nearly the case,
for, as I feared, I was very far north, this accounting for the volume
and width of the river.) This stretch of water was totally unexpected.
Had I been fresh and known my whereabouts, it would have formed a
formidable enough obstacle; as it was, I had already done more than my
share of bathing for that night, and knew that I was in a totally
unfit condition to attempt another long-distance swim.
Obviously the first thing to be done was to make certain that I was
indeed on an island, so I proceeded to take stock of my surroundings.
I noticed that, except for the rough patches on the water which caught
the wind, the surface was comparatively smooth, and there was no sign
of a current. Walking a few yards to the right, I saw that the line of
the old river and this strip of unknown water converged, leaving
little hope in that direction. I therefore turned about, and started
off to my left front. Evidence that the cereal crop had been carted
quite recently was plentiful, for there was short, fresh stubble, cart
tracks, and the impression of horses' hoofs. This pointed to the
encouraging fact that I was not on an island, horses and carts not
usually being transported by barge or aeroplane. I had not followed
the tracks for more than fifty yards when they turned straight towards
the water. The next minute I barely stifled a yell of delight, for
there, staring me in the face, was a sort of pontoon bridge,
stretching away into the darkness. On closer inspection, I found it to
be composed of bundles of brushwood which were held together in some
mysterious manner, and appeared to lie on the water. The surface of
the bridge was in very bad repair and, as some of the top bundles of
sticks were missing or pointing upwards at an angle, progress was very
slow; but, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling, I got along at quite
a good pace. Once it seemed that I should have to swim a short
distance, but I found it to be unnecessary, as only the top layer of
the bundles was missing. Nearing the other side, I made out a factory
building of some sort, with a high chimney, a little way from the end
of the bridge, and heard the occasional bark of a watch-dog. Try as I
would, I could not move an inch without causing a number of sticks to
crackle loudly--it was almost as bad as crawling under the heap of
sticks the morning before. Fortunately the wind must have drowned any
noise made, or carried the sound away, for, though the dog continued
to bark intermittently, it cannot have been aware of my presence.
Skirting the factory, I went across country, avoiding roads and houses
like poison. The land was very low and flat and the dykes very
numerous, sometimes whole fields being practically inundated. The only
things that tended to relieve the monotony were the solitary gaunt
willow trees, most of them mere shells of their former selves, which
stood out from the misty darkness, black and threatening, like grim
sentinels.
Everywhere was water, water, water. Every few seconds I was up to my
waist in it. Often I tried to jump a narrow dyke and misjudged the
distance, or got a bad "take off," owing to the softness of the
ground; this usually resulted in my falling with a splash into the
middle. I think the most aggravating thing of all was to make a really
good jump and land on the other side, just beyond the water-line, on
all fours, only to find that I had not enough impetus to remain there,
as the ground was sloping. Sometimes I was able to save myself by
jabbing my stick into the ground, though, more often than not, this
was impracticable, and my hands could find nothing firmer to catch
hold of than a few tufts of grass, which almost invariably gave way,
causing me to do a graceful but involuntary backward dive into the
dyke. As constant exercise of this sort is very tiring and the weight
of water contained in one's clothes greatly hinders freedom of action,
my progress was necessarily rather slower than usual. A little after
midnight the ground became harder, and I soon found myself once more
on a moor, wandering along a narrow sandy track, among deep heather
and broom bushes. Just as I was getting a little drier and it seemed
as if the watery nightmare was over, I ran into a series of peat bogs,
many of them more dangerous than those I had encountered my first
night out.
I found the best way to cross a narrow strip of marsh was to make a
rush to the firm ground, as these tactics did not allow enough time
for my feet to sink in very far. Once the little track I was
cautiously following ended abruptly at the edge of a particularly
watery-looking bog, which not only barred my way in front, but also
curved round on both flanks. In order to avoid this _cul-de-sac_ it
would have been necessary to make a wide detour, the accomplishment of
which would have involved the wasting of much valuable time. Selecting
a point where this strip of marshy ground appeared to be the
narrowest, I retreated a few steps, gathered myself together, and,
after a short run, attempted to take the bog by surprise and get
across before it was quite ready to receive me. Wallowing towards the
other side, I felt my feet sinking deeply into the decayed peaty moss,
which gurgled expectantly. I was almost over when suddenly, in a
second, I sank almost to my waist. Immediately throwing myself on my
face, I scrambled forward, and digging my stick into the firm ground
in front, pulled for all I was worth. I was almost free when my poor
stick broke off with a resounding crack, leaving the top half in my
hands. This I again drove into the firm ground, and with a final
effort, drew myself out. After a short rest, during which I mourned
the loss of my beloved stick, I went on my way determined not to risk
a passage over any deceitful bogs in the future unless it was
absolutely unavoidable. Very soon the heather became scarcer, and once
again I was among dykes and flat, misty, green fields.
For the next two or three hours I ploughed along towards the west,
climbing over barbed-wire fences and wading through dykes, unless I
was lucky enough to find a plank or small bridge spanning the latter.
Scarcely perceptibly the darkness of the eastern sky changed to a dull
cold grey and the landscape became clearer, revealing the bare
motionless arms of several windmills stretching out into the clearer
air, some distance away, in different directions. I roughly judged
that I could not be far from the frontier. I might even have crossed
it! Though I did my best to suppress undue optimism, this last rather
improbable idea persisted in occupying my thoughts. It is true I had
seen nothing recently on the way to arouse suspicion, but, owing to
the marshy nature of the country, the guards might well be few and far
between. The spirit of approaching dawn lent a faint tinge of colour
to the lonely sweeps of white mist drifting slowly above the flat dark
fields, and, settling down over the dykes, it commenced to unravel and
piece together the ghostly confusion of dim blurred shadows and
grossly exaggerated reflections crowding on the smooth, oily surface
of the water, until they began to assume a definite shape. I could
almost imagine that I was gazing at one of Tingue's early-morning
landscapes, so unmistakably Dutch was the scene. Having got thus far
no speculations of any sort could be indulged in, the price of
uncertainty being too great. A distant village clock chimed four, each
beat vibrating clearly in the still air. The crisis was at hand.
Having successfully evaded capture during the eight preceding nights
and days, the very thought of failure was unbearable, and compelled me
to face the eternal problem of seeking adequate cover for the day at
an earlier hour than usual. I therefore commenced a search without
delay, experiencing the while, I am convinced, most of the alarming
sensations felt by many fat, juicy worms who, having lost their
burrows, are endeavouring to avoid contact with all marauding "early
birds." The first glance revealed not so much as a bush or hollow
willow tree in the immediate vicinity, but in a few minutes I made out
a number of heaps of some sort away to the right, through the
semi-darkness, so went to make a closer inspection, only to find that
two rather broader dykes than usual sought to bar the way. When on the
march a prolonged wetting is naturally most unpleasant, though the
continued motion tends to dry one's clothes somewhat by shaking out
much of the water. However, there being no alternative, I plunged into
the first dyke, which proved to be quite deep, making it again
necessary to swim a few strokes. I discovered a plank across the
second one, and, passing over, found myself in a stubble field among a
number of corn stooks. There being no better cover, I realised that I
must hide in one of these little stacks, and chance my luck. The
problem was to ascertain which part of the field was least likely to
be overrun by people and dogs. A short inspection showed it to be very
long and narrow, while several indications went to prove that the last
of the crop had been cut near my original point of entry into the
field; this was, therefore, the most desirable part to stay in, as it
would naturally be the last to be carried. When people walk through a
field they are most liable to wander along near the edges, or go
through near the middle; consequently I chose a stook situated between
the two, and about thirty yards distant from the end of the field.
These heaps were rather too small to form a safe hiding-place, while
an unusually large one would, in all probability, attract attention.
It is reasonable to suppose that, should a general enlargement be
effected embracing a number of stooks in one area, the result would be
hardly noticeable. Removing my pack and coat, I set to work
transporting two oat sheaves from each of the stooks in the next row
for a length of about fifty yards, and adding them to the row in which
my nest was planned to be. To avoid suspicion, I made the now depleted
stooks up to their usual strength by again borrowing the same number
of sheaves from each of the heaps in the row still further beyond.
After repeating this strenuous operation a number of times the desired
effect was produced, most of the heaps in my corner of the field now
being considerably larger than the rest. Surely it was a good omen
that my fat sheaves had devoured many of their leaner brethren, even
though the number was not restricted to seven, as in Pharaoh's dream.
The value of making oneself as comfortable as possible under adverse
conditions cannot be over-estimated, for it not only stimulates the
instinct of self-preservation, but renders one in the best condition
to face the task ahead. Exposure and fatigue gradually wear down one's
powers of resistance and bring with them the feeling that nothing
matters. This is to be avoided more than anything, for it introduces
the personal element into all reasonings, often forcing a decision
against one's better judgment. Having chosen my special heap, I
arranged it in such a way as to leave me as much room for movement as
possible in the centre. As I exchanged the wetter sheaves for
comparatively dry ones, the prospect of once again being warm was
delightful and caused me to work with a will. Everything was almost
completed, and I was just strewing a little dry straw on the ground
between the sheaves, to serve as a mattress, when suddenly a man's
voice hailed me, in unmistakable German, from a distance of about
fifty yards: "_Was machen sie da_?" ("What are you doing there?"). Any
doubts as to which country I was in were rudely dispelled. For a
moment I was completely at a loss for an answer, then, bending down, I
seized the loose sheaf (which was to have acted as a door to my
palace) and placed it against the others, and, turning round, replied
in low German, "I am only replacing these, which have fallen down."
Two workmen were standing just beyond the dyke, having evidently
approached by an unobserved track, and were now gazing suspiciously at
me. There being no more prostrate sheaves, I could not very well throw
some down and then pick them up again, for the action would not have
been at all convincing. I therefore had to content myself with
smoothing the side of the stook in a business-like way, trusting that
the uncertain light would not disclose the insanity of my actions. In
a few seconds I moved to another stook, and was commencing to stroke
the sheaves, when the same voices demanded, in a peremptory manner, to
know what I was really doing. It was a case of bluff, so, busying
myself with the heap, I snapped out, "Ach! go away, I have a lot to
do." From the murmur that reached me it was obvious that this abrupt
answer was puzzling them considerably. My position was still extremely
unsafe, for border folk are usually of a very suspicious nature, which
is intensified by the activities of war. At the best of times my
excuse would have been feeble enough. Ordinary people don't usually
rise at four a.m. for the purpose of walking round a soaking field
stroking sheaves of corn. Besides, it was not unlikely that I was
talking to the owner of the field. Whether they saw the brass buttons
on my service jacket, or merely felt that I was wanted, I do not know,
but they walked quickly towards the plank spanning the dyke which
divided their field from mine. Directly they reached it one of them
shouted something that I could not understand and was immediately
answered by a third person, away in the mist. Once across the plank
the men, after jabbering excitedly, came towards me at a quick run.
Needless to say, it is extremely dangerous to be chased in bare
country of this sort just when the day is breaking and the fields
rapidly filling with workers, for once the alarm is raised the result
is almost certain to mean capture. This time, however, it was not a
matter of choice; my hand had been forced, compelling me reluctantly
to play my last card. Picking up my pack and coat, I ran as only once
before in my varied career--the night when I almost felt the
pitchforks belonging to the little devils which chased me away from
Ströhen camp. After running about a hundred yards, trusting to the
mist and uncertain light to partially screen my movements, I turned
aside and dived headlong into a stook, pulling the straw after me. In
a few seconds my pursuers drew level and, to my intense satisfaction,
passed on, breathing heavily. This is the last I saw of these two
eager sons of the Fatherland. For all I know, they may be still
following the excellent example afforded by "Charlie's Aunt."