OFF FOR SWITZERLAND!
We ran as if the whole German Army were in pursuit. Our feet did not
seem to touch the ground. I believe if we could have held that pace
we should have been in Switzerland in the morning!
Reaching a little hollow, we slackened our pace and listened. There
was not a sound from behind. Either there was no more wind, or the
boys had closed the window from within. We figured that they would do
this, and open it before morning so they could claim they had not
heard us go. Then we put on our boots.
The night was at its blackest, and a drizzling rain began to fall.
This was in our favor, for nobody was likely to be about on such a
night. When we saw we were not pursued, we took time to arrange our
packs. I carried my compass, which I had been able to secrete during
numerous searchings, and my map, a pair of socks, pipe, tobacco,
matches in a tin box, an empty beer-bottle, and several things to
eat, saved from our parcels,--chocolate, tinned meat, biscuits,
cheese, and bread. Bromley had a pack similar to mine, and when
we got them ready and our overcoats on, we started off in a
southeasterly direction, guided by the light from the place we had
left. We walked as fast as we could in the darkness, which was heavy
enough to hide in, but made progress very difficult, for we could not
see each other or one step before us. We tripped over a railway track
once, and if there had been any one near they might have heard us.
But in spite of the rain, which fell with steady insistence and began
to weigh down our overcoats; in spite of the blackness which made the
travelling unbelievably difficult; in spite of the fact that we were
in a land of enemies, playing a desperate game against terrible odds,
we were happier than either of us had been since being taken to
Germany, for a weight had been rolled off our souls. We were on our
way to freedom!
When we found it necessary to consult the compass, I took off my
overcoat and lay flat on the ground with my compass and matches
ready. Bromley put my coat over my head and shoulders, tucking it
well in around me, so no light could shine through. Then I struck
a match, and in its light made the observation, always taking into
consideration the fact that in that part of Europe the compass points
sixteen or seventeen degrees west of due north.
We were careful to avoid the main roads and to seek out the
seldom-travelled, ones, for we knew that our only chance was in not
being seen at all, as we wore our own Canadian uniforms, which would
brand us at once for what we were. Added to that, we could not form
a single German sentence if we were challenged. Of course, I could
say "that Herr Schmidt expected to have his young child baptized in
the church next Sunday, God willing," but I felt that that was not
altogether the proper reply to make to the command--"Halt! Wer da?"
The villages were very thick here, and our chief difficulty was to
keep out of them. Once we ventured rather close to the road which ran
near the railroad, and heard a number of people talking. They were
travellers who had alighted from the train which had raced past us
in the darkness a few minutes before. The station is often quite a
distance from the village, and these were the passengers walking back
to their homes--the village which we had been avoiding.
We dropped to the ground, and the people went by, one old man
singing. I knew he was old, for his voice was cracked and thin, but
of great sweetness, and he sang an aria from a musical comedy which
was popular then, called "The Joy of Life." I had heard a doctor in
the lazaret singing it.
When the sound had grown fainter in the distance, we came out of our
hiding-place and went on.
"It seems hard," said Bromley, "to be fighting with people who can
sing like that. I can't work up any ill-will to that good old soul,
going home singing--and I don't believe he has any ill-will to us.
I couldn't fight the Germans if they were all like this old chap
and Sank!"
"You wouldn't need to," I said. "There would not have been any
fighting."
And then we strained our ears to listen to the song, not a word of
which we understood, though to us the music was full of good-will
and joy.
"We've got to keep farther out," I said at last. "We are sure to run
into some one and then it will be all up with us!"
We found, at last, after much stumbling over rough ground, a road
quite grass-grown and apparently abandoned. We followed it for about
a mile, making good progress, until we came to a stream over which
there was a bridge. We hesitated a minute before going over, but the
place was as silent as a cemetery, and seemed perfectly safe. So we
cautiously went over, keeping a sharp outlook all the time. When we
were over the bridge, we found ourselves in the one street of another
village.
We stopped for a minute and listened. There was not a sound. We then
went forward. Most of the streets of the villages are paved with
cobblestones, but these were not, and our boots made no sound on the
dirt road. Not even a dog barked, and just as we were at the farther
end of it, the village clock rang the hour of three!
"That's all right for once," I said, "but it's risky; I don't think
we'd better try it again. Some barking dog is sure to awake."
Soon after that the east grew red with morning, and we struck
straight into the woods to find shelter. We soon found ourselves in
high rushes growing out of swampy ground, and as we plunged along, we
came to a high woven-wire fence, which we supposed marked the bounds
of a game preserve.
We quickened our pace, although the going was bad, for the light was
growing and we knew these German peasants are uncomfortably early in
their habits. We came on a garden, carefully fenced with rails, and
helped ourselves to a few carrots and turnips to save our supply of
food, and, finding near there a fairly thick wood, decided to camp
for the day.
That was Monday, October 4th, and was a miserable day with sudden
bursts of sunshine that made our hearts light with the hope of
getting both warm and dry; but the sunshine no sooner came than it
was gone, and then a shower of rain would beat down on us.
However, we managed to make our feet comfortable with the extra pair
of socks, and we ate some carrots, bread, and cheese. But it was so
cold, we could not sleep.
We were glad when it grew dark enough for us to start out again. We
found we were in a well-cultivated district; almost every acre was in
garden, potatoes and sugar beets, whose stalks rustled and crackled
as we went through them, and this made our going slower than it
otherwise would have been. There were a few late apples on the trees,
but they were poor, woody ones. I do not know whether they were a
sample of the crop or just the culls that were not considered worth
picking. But we were glad of them, and filled our pockets.
The streams which we came to gave us considerable trouble. We were
not exactly dry, but then we could have been wetter, and so we hunted
for bridges, thereby losing much time and taking grave chances of
being caught. We were new in the matter of escaping, and had a lot
to learn. Now we know we should have waded through without losing a
minute.
That morning, just before stopping-time, in crossing a railway
Bromley tripped over a signal wire, which rang like a burglar alarm
and seemed to set a dozen bells ringing. We quickened our pace, and
when the railway man came rushing out of his house and looked wildly
up and down the track, we were so far away he could not see us!
We kept well to the east, for we knew the location of Frankfort
and that we must avoid it. Bromley had difficulty in keeping his
direction, and I began to suspect that he thought I was lost, too. So
I told him the direction the road ran, and then made an observation
with the compass to convince him, but many a time in the long, black
middle of the night, I thought I detected a disposition to doubt in
his remarks.
When the North Star shone down on us, we could find our way without
trouble, but when the night was clouded, as most of the nights were,
it became a difficult matter.
The third night there was a faintly light patch in the sky, by which
I guided my course and did not use my compass at all. Bromley had
evidently not noticed this, and declared that no human being could
keep his direction on as black a night as this. The faint light in
the sky continued to hold, and I guided our course by it until we
came to a road. Here Bromley insinuated that I had better use my
compass (I was thinking the same thing, too). I assured him it was
not necessary, for I knew the road was running east and west. It was,
I knew, if the light patch in the sky had not shifted.
When we made the observation with the compass, we found it was so;
and Bromley asked me, wonderingly, how I could do it. I told him it
was a sort of sixth sense that some people had. After that he trusted
me implicitly. This saved him a lot of anxiety, and also made it
easier for me.
Soon after this we got into a miry part of the country, with the
woods so thick and the going so bad that we knew we could not make
any progress. It was a veritable dismal swamp, where travellers could
be lost forever.
As we stumbled along in this swampy place, we came to a narrow-gauge
railway, which we gladly followed until we saw we were coming to a
city. This we afterwards knew to be the city of Hanau. Just in the
gray dawn, we left the track and took refuge in a thick bush, where
we spent the day. This was October 5th.
Our first work was to change our socks, spreading the ones we took
off on a tree to dry. We then carefully rubbed our feet until they
were dry, and put on the dry socks. We soon learned that we must
leave our boots off for a while each day, to keep our feet in good
condition. The pressure of the boots, especially with the dampness,
made the feet tender and disposed to skin.
This day was a showery one, too, but the sun shone for about an hour
in the morning, and when Bromley lay down to sleep, I decided to go
out and see what sort of country we were in. I wanted to check up my
map, too, for if it were correct, we should be near the Main River.
I made my way cautiously to the edge of the wood, marking the way by
breaking the top of a twig here and there, to guide me safely back
to Bromley. Ordinary travellers can call to each other, but the ways
of escaping prisoners must all be ways of quietness, although their
paths are not all paths of peace!
I saw a beautiful little lodge, vine-covered, with a rustic fence
around it, with blue smoke curling out of its red-brick chimney, and
I just knew they were having bacon and eggs and coffee for breakfast.
Two graceful deer, with gentle eyes, looked out at me from a tangle
of willows, and then I knew the brown lodge was the game-keeper's
house. A hay meadow, green with after-grass, stretched ahead of me,
but there was no sign of the Main River.
I had kept well under cover, I thought, but before long I had the
uncomfortable feeling that some one was following me; the crackling
of the bushes, which ceased when I stopped, and began again when I
went on, seemed very suspicious. I abruptly changed my course, making
a wide circle, and was able to elude my pursuer and find my way back
to Bromley.
I had an uneasy feeling that I had been too careless, and that some
one had seen me. However, I lay down to sleep, for I was dead tired,
and we had a splendid hiding-place in the thick bush.
I do not know how long I slept; it seemed only a few minutes when a
bugle-call rang out. We wakened with a start, for it went through us
like a knife.
We heard loud commands, and knew there was a company of soldiers
somewhere near, and I gathered from my recent observations that
these sounds came from the hay meadow in front of us.
We did not connect the demonstration with our presence until the
soldiers began shouting and charging the wood where we lay. Then we
knew we were what the society papers call the "raison d'être" for
all this celebration.
We lay close to the earth and hardly dared to breathe. The soldiers
ran shouting and firing (probably blank cartridges) in every
direction. Through the brush I saw their feet as they passed--not
ten feet from where we lay.
The noise they made was deafening; evidently they thought if they
beat the bushes sufficiently hard, they could scare us out like
rabbits, and I knew they were watching the paths and thin places
in the woods. But we lay tight, knowing it was our only safety.
Soon the noise grew fainter, and they passed on to try the woods we
had just come through, and we, worn with fatigue, fell asleep.
In the afternoon they gave our woods another combing. They seemed
pretty sure we were somewhere near! But they did not come quite so
close to us as they had in the morning.
However, we had heard enough to convince us that this was a poor
place to linger, and when it got real dark, we pushed on south across
the hay meadow. This meadow was full of ditches which were a little
too wide to jump and were too skwudgy in the bottom to make wading
pleasant. They delayed us and tired us a great deal, for it was a
tough climb getting out of them.
At last we decided to take the road, for the night was dark enough to
hide us, and by going slowly we thought we could avoid running into
any one.
We had not gone very far when we heard the sound of wagons, and when
we stopped to listen we could hear many voices, and knew our road was
bringing us to a much-used thoroughfare. In the corner formed by the
intersecting roads there was a thick bush of probably ten acres, and
I could not resist the desire to scout and see what sort of country
we were in. So I left Bromley, carefully marking where he was by all
the ways I could, and then went out to the edge of the bush. I went
along the edge of the road, keeping well into the bush. It was too
dark to see much, but I could make out that there was a well-wooded
country ahead of us. I came back to the exact place where I had left
Bromley, or at least where I thought I had left him, but not a trace
of him could I see. Of course, I dared not call, so I gave a soft
whistle, as near like a bird-call as I could. Bromley reached out his
hand and touched me! He was right beside me. That gave me the comfort
of knowing how well the darkness and bushes hide one if he is
perfectly still.
We thought this road led to the river Main, and decided to keep close
to it so we could get across on the bridge. We followed along the
road until it branched into two roads. We took the right branch
first, but as it turned more and more sharply to the west, we
concluded it was the road to Frankfort, and retraced our steps to the
place where we had picked it up, and went the other way. There was
heavy forest along the road, and it seemed to us to run southeast by
east. We wanted to go south, so we turned off this road through a
chance hay meadow, and then through the forest, until we found a sort
of road which ran south.
All German forests have roads, more or less distinct, traversing them
according to some definite plan, but they do not necessarily follow
the cardinal points of the compass. We followed the south road, which
was little used, until we came to a stream. There was no way of
getting across it, so we followed its bank until it flowed into the
Kinzig River. We knew by our map this must be the Kinzig River.
We tried to find a path along the Kinzig, but there did not seem
to be any, and the underbrush was impenetrable. We decided to wait
until morning came, took some chocolate and biscuits and filled our
beer-bottle in the stream. Then we found a comfortable bank, and put
some brush under our heads and slept. But not very soundly, for we
did not want to miss that misty light which comes about an hour
before sunrise.
We wakened just as the light began to show in the east, and, stiff
and cold, with our teeth chattering, we started on our way to find
some means of getting across the Kinzig. Bridge, boat, or raft,
anything would do us, provided only it came soon, before the
daylight.
In a few minutes we came to a foot-bridge, with a well-beaten path
running down to it and up the opposite bank. So we made a dash across
it. We knew enough, though, to get off the path at once, for we could
see it was a well-travelled one. We struck into the wood, keeping our
southerly direction, but soon came out on another road, and as the
light was too strong now for us, we went back into the woods and kept
hidden.
That was Wednesday, October 6th. Again it rained; not in showers this
time with redeeming shots of sunshine, but a dull, steady, miserable
rain that wet us clear through to the skin. Still, we ate our cheese
and bread, and opened a tin of sardines, and managed to put the
day in. We were near a town, and could hear people driving by all
day long. We were kept so on the alert that we had no time to feel
uncomfortable. However, we were very glad when the darkness came and
we could stretch our legs and get warm again.
We had great difficulty to clear the town and the railway yards
ahead of us, but at last found a road leading south, and followed it
through the forest. In one place, as I was going along ahead, intent
on keeping the road, which seemed to be heaped up in the middle,
I heard a cry behind me, and almost jumped across the road in my
excitement. Instinctively I began to run, but a second cry arrested
me, for it was Bromley's voice. I ran back and found he had fallen
into a hole in the road. The heaped-up appearance I had noticed was
the dirt thrown out of a six-foot drain, in which they were laying
water-pipes, and into this Bromley had fallen. He was not hurt at
all, but jarred a little by the fall.
We knew we had passed the Hesse boundary, and were now in Bavaria.
Our one beer-bottle did not hold nearly enough water, and in our long
walk through the forest on this night we suffered from thirst. We had
thought we should be able to find cows to milk, but on account of the
people living in villages, there was but little chance of this.
When we got out of the forest we found ourselves in an open country.
We came to a good-sized stream, and crossed the bridge and to our
horror found ourselves in a town of considerable size. The streets
were dark, but from one or two windows lights shone. We pushed
rapidly on, and thought we were nearly through, when a little upstart
of a fox-terrier came barking out at us from a doorway. We stepped
into a space between two houses, and just then a cat crossed the
street and he transferred his attentions to her.
"I always did like cats," Bromley whispered.
We came out again and went on, breathing out our condemnation of all
German dogs. And we were not done with them yet! For before we got
out another cur flew at us and raised enough noise to alarm the town.
I believe the only thing that saved us was this dog's bad character.
Nobody believed he had anything--he had fooled them so often--and so,
although he pursued us until we slipped down an alley and got into a
thick grove, there was not even a blind raised. He ran back, yelping
out his disappointment, and the bitterest part of it would be that no
one would ever believe him--but that is part of the liar's
punishment.
We got out of the town as soon as we could, and pushed on with all
haste; we were afraid that news of our escape had been published, and
that these people might be on the lookout for us. The telephone poles
along the roads we were travelling kept us reminded of the danger we
were in.
Loaded apple-trees growing beside the road tempted us to stop and
fill our pockets, and as we were doing so a man went by on a bicycle.
We stepped behind the tree just in time to avoid being seen, and
although he slackened his pace and looked hard at the place where we
were, he evidently thought it best to keep going.
We met two other men later in the night, but they apparently did not
see us, and we went on.
We left the road after that, and plunged into the woods, for the
daylight was coming.
During the day of October 7th we stayed close in the woods, for we
knew we were in a thickly settled part of the country. Lying on the
ground, we could see a German farmer gathering in his sugar beets,
ably assisted by his women-folk. We could also hear the children from
a school near by, playing "Ring-a-ring-a-röselein."
The rain that day was the hardest we had yet encountered, but in the
afternoon the sun came out and we got some sleep. At dusk we started
out again, on a road which had forest on one side and open country on
the other. We could see the trains which ran on the main line from
Hanau to Aschaffenburg. The Main River was at our right. Soon the
forest ended abruptly, and we found ourselves in an open country, and
with a railroad to cross.
As we drew near, the dog at the station gave the alarm. We stepped
into a clump of trees and "froze." The man at the station came
rushing out and looked all around, but did not see us, and went back.
We then made a wide detour and crawled cautiously over the road on
our hands and knees, for this road had rock ballast which would have
crunched under our feet.
We then went on through the village, where another dog barked at us,
but couldn't get any support from his people, who slept on. We were
worried about the time, for neither of us had a watch, and we
suspected that it was near morning. We hurried along, hoping to find
a shelter, but the country seemed to be open and treeless. A thick
mist covered the ground and helped to hide us, but it might lift at
any minute.
We struck straight east at last, in the hope of finding woods.
Through the mist we saw something ahead of us which when we came
nearer proved to be a hill. Hoping it might be wooded on the top, we
made for it with all haste. When we reached the top we found no
woods, but an old cellar or an excavation of a building. It was seven
or eight feet deep, and the bottom was covered with rubbish. Into it
we went, glad of any sort of shelter.
When daylight came, we looked cautiously over the edge, and saw we
were near a village; also we saw that about two hundred yards away
there was a good thick wood, but it was too late now to think of
changing our position. There was a potato patch on the face of the
hill, with evidence of recent digging. About eight o'clock we heard
voices. Women were digging the potatoes.
Our feet were very sore that day, on account of the rain and of our
not being able to keep our boots off enough each day, but we lay
perfectly lifeless and did not even speak, for fear of attracting
the attention of the potato-diggers. We wished it would rain and
drive the potato-diggers in. But about nine o'clock a worse danger
threatened us. We heard firing, and could hear commands given to
soldiers. Soon it dawned on us that they were searching the wood for
us.
The hours dragged on. We were cramped and sore of feet, hungry, and
nervous from lack of sleep, but managed to remain absolutely
motionless.
About three o'clock a five-year-old boy belonging to the
potato-digging party, strolled up to the top of the hill. Bromley saw
him first, and signed to me. He loitered around the top of the cellar
a few minutes, threw some stones and dirt down, and then wandered
away. There was nothing to indicate that he had seen us.
But in a few moments a woman and little girl came. The woman looked
straight at us, and made away at full speed. We knew she had seen us.
Then we heard the soldiers coming, shouting. It was not a pleasant
time to think of.
When they surrounded the place, we stood up, and surrendered.
There was nothing else to do.