THE CELLS AT OLDENBURG
It was on February 3d that we were taken from Vehnemoor to Oldenburg,
and when we started out on the road along the canal, roped together
as before, Ted and I knew we were going up against the real thing as
far as punishment goes, for we should not have Iguellden and the rest
of the boys to send us things. We came out of the Vehnemoor Camp with
somewhat of a reluctant feeling, for we knew we were leaving kind
friends behind us. Ted had received the same treatment that I had in
the matter of the blankets and the good soup--thanks to the friendly
guard.
It was in the early morning we started, and as Vehnemoor was almost
straight west of Oldenburg, we had the sun in our faces all the way
in. It was good to be out again--and good to look at something other
than board walls.
Our road lay along the canal which connected Vehnemoor with
Oldenburg. Peat sheds, where the peat was put to dry after it was
cut, were scattered along the canal, and we passed several
flat-bottomed canal-boats carrying the peat into Oldenburg. They
were drawn by man-power, and naturally made slow progress.
The canal furnished a way of transportation for the small farmers
living near it, too, whose little farms had been reclaimed from the
bog, and their produce was brought into Oldenburg on the canal-boats.
We could see better-looking buildings back farther, where the land
was more fertile. At one place we saw a canal-boat with sails, but as
the day was still it lay inactive, fastened to an iron post.
The settlement seemed to be comparatively recent, judging by the
small apple-trees around the buildings, and it looked as if this
section of the country had all been waste land until the canal had
been put through.
When we arrived at Oldenburg, which we did early in the morning, we
were marched through its narrow streets to the military prison. We
could see that the modern part of the city was very well built and up
to date, with fine brick buildings, but the old part, which dates
back to the eleventh century, was dirty and cheerless.
The prison to which we were taken was a military prison before the
war, where the German soldiers were punished, and from the very first
we could see that it was a striking example of German efficiency--in
the way of punishment. Nothing was left to chance!
We were searched first, and it was done by removing all our clothing.
Then, piece by piece, the guard looked them over. He ran his hand
under the collar of our shirts; he turned our pockets inside out; he
patted the lining of our coats; he turned out our stockings and shook
them; he looked into our boots. As he finished with each article,
it was thrown over to us and we dressed again. Our caps, overcoats,
braces, belts, and knives were taken away from us. They were careful
to see that we should not be tempted to commit suicide.
When I saw my cap go, I wondered if my maps, which I had sewed in the
pasteboard, would escape this man's hawk eyes. I thought I had lost
my other maps, and wondered how we should ever replace them. But it
would be time enough to think of that--when we got out.
The guard's manner was typical of the management at Oldenburg. It had
no element of humanity in it. It was a triumph of _Kultur_. The men
might as well have been dummies, set by a clock and run by
electricity.
There was a blackboard on the wall which told how many prisoners were
in the institution and what they were getting. The strongest and
worst punishment given is called "Streng Arrest," and the number who
were getting it was three. The guard, while we were there, rubbed out
the 3 and put in a 5.
Ted and I looked at each other.
"That's us," he said.
Our two little parcels were deposited in a locker downstairs, where
other parcels of a like nature were bestowed, and we were conducted
up a broad stair and along a passage, and saw before us a long hall,
lined with doors sheeted with steel.
The guard walked ahead; Ted and I followed. At last he unlocked a
door, and we knew one of us had reached his abiding-place.
"I always did like a stateroom in the middle of the boat," Ted said,
as the guard motioned to him to go in. That was the last word I heard
for some time, for the guard said not a word to me. He came into the
cell with me, and shut the iron door over the window, excluding every
particle of light.
I just had time to see that the cell was a good-sized one--as cells
go. In one corner there was a steam coil, but it was stone cold, and
remained so all the time I was there. There was a shelf, on which
stood a brown earthen pitcher for drinking-water--but nothing else.
Our footsteps rang hollow on the cement floor, which had a damp
feeling, like a cellar, although it was above the ground floor.
Without a word the guard went out, and the key turned in the lock
with a click which had a sound of finality about it that left no room
for argument.
Well, it has come, I thought to myself--the real hard German
punishment... they had me at last. The other time we had outwitted
them and gained many privileges of which they knew nothing, and
Malvoisin had cheered me through the dark hours.
Here there was no Malvoisin, no reading-crack, no friends, nothing to
save us.
They had us!
We had staked the little bit of freedom we had on the chance of
getting full freedom. It was a long chance, but we had taken it--and
lost!
I knew the object of all their punishment was to break our wills and
make us docile, pliable, and week-kneed like the Russians we had seen
in the camps--poor, spiritless fellows who could give no trouble.
Well--we would show them they could not break ours!
* * *
The eight-mile walk had tired me, and I lay down on the platform to
try to sleep, but it was a long time before I could close my eyes:
the darkness was so heavy, so choking and horrible. If there had been
even one gleam of light it wouldn't have been so bad, but I couldn't
even see a gleam under the door, and every time I tried to sleep the
silence bothered me--if I could only hear one sound, to tell me some
one was alive and stirring about! Still, I kept telling myself, I
must put it in, some way--I must--I must--I must.
* * *
When I awakened, my first thought was that it was still night! Then I
remembered it was all night for me, and the thought set me shivering.
My hands were stiff and cold, and I missed my overcoat.
The waking-up was the worst time of all, for my teeth chattered and
my knees trembled, so it was hard to stand. But when I had stamped
up and down for a while, I felt better. It must be near morning, I
thought. I should know when it was morning, because the guard would
come and let me have ten minutes to sweep my cell, and then I should
see Ted. I should perhaps get a chance to speak to him--even a wink
would help!
It was a larger cell than the one at Giessen, and after sitting still
for a while I got up and walked up and down. I could take four steps
each way, by not stepping too far. My steps echoed on the cement
floor, and I quite enjoyed seeing how much noise I could make, and
wondered if anybody heard me. But when I stopped and leaned up
against the wall, I could hear nothing. Then I sat down again and
waited.
I remembered how, after the cells, the Strafe-Barrack did not seem
too bad, for we could see people and talk occasionally; and after the
Strafe-Barrack the prison-camp was comparative freedom, for we could
get our parcels and read, and see the boys, so I thought I will
pretend now that my punishment was sitting still.... I can't move a
muscle; the cut-throat guard that was over us in the Strafe-Barrack
is standing over me with his bayonet against my chest--I must not
move--or he'll drive it in.... I wish I could change my position--my
neck is cramped....
Then I jumped up and walked up and down, and tried to tell myself it
was good to be able to move! But I caught myself listening all the
time--listening for the guard to come and open the door!
* * *
It seemed a whole day since we came, and still there was no sound at
the door. The guard must have forgotten us, I thought.... The guards
at Vehnemoor forgot to bring us soup sometimes.... These mechanical
toys may have run down; the power may have gone off, and the whole
works have shut down. Certainly the lights seem to have gone out. I
laughed at that. Well, I would try to sleep again; that was the best
way to get the time in.
I tried to keep myself thinking normally, but the thought would come
pushing in upon me, like a ghostly face at a window, that the guard
had forgotten us. I told myself over and over again that we had come
in at noon, and this was the first day; it was bound to be long, I
must wait! They--had--not--forgotten us.
* * *
I knew exactly what I should look like when they found me. My hair
would be long, falling over my shoulders, and my beard--not red,
but white--would be down to my waist,--for people live for weeks on
water, and my nails would be so long they would turn back again...
and my hands would be like claws, with the white bones showing
through the skin, and the knuckles knotted and bruised. I remembered
seeing a cat once that had been forgotten in a cellar... It had worn
its claws off, scratching at the wall.
Then a chill seized me, and I began to shiver. That frightened me, so
I made a bargain with myself--I must not think, I must walk. Thinking
is what sends people crazy.
I got up then and began to pace up and down. Twelve feet each way was
twenty-four feet. There were five thousand two hundred and eighty
feet in a mile--so I would walk a mile before I stopped--I would walk
a mile, and I would not think!
I started off on my mile walk, and held myself to it by force of
will, one hundred and ten rounds. Once I lost the count and had to go
back to where I did remember, and so it was really more than a mile.
But when it was done, and I sat down, beyond a little healthy
tingling in my legs I did not feel at all different. I was
listening--listening just the same.
Ted and I had agreed that if we were side by side, we would pound on
the wall as a sign. Four knocks would mean "I--am--all--right." I
pounded the wall four times, and listened. There was no response.
Then, for a minute, the horror seized me--Ted was dead--every one was
dead--I was the only one left!
If the authorities in our prisons could once feel the horror of the
dark cell when the overwrought nerves bring in the distorted
messages, and the whole body writhes in the grip of fear,--choking,
unreasoning, panicky fear,--they would abolish it forever.
* * *
After an eternity, it seemed, the key sounded in the lock and the
guard came in, letting in a burst of light which made me blink. He
came over to the window, swung open the iron door, and the cell was
light!
"What time is it?" I asked him in German.
He knew his business--this guard. He answered not a word. What has a
prisoner to do with time--except "do" it. He handed me a broom--like
a stable broom--and motioned me to sweep. It was done all too soon.
He then took me with him along the hall to the lavatory. At the far
end of the hall and coming from the lavatory, another prisoner was
being brought back with a guard behind him. His clothes hung loose on
him, and he walked slowly. The light came from the end of the hall
facing me, and I could not see very well.
When we drew near, a cry broke from him--
"Sim!" he cried. "Good God!... I thought you were in Holland."
It was Bromley!
Then the guard poked him in the back and sent him stumbling past me.
I turned and called to him, but my guard pushed me on.
* * *
I put in as much time washing as I could, hoping that Ted would be
brought out, but I did not see him that day or the next.
At last I had to go back, and as the guard shoved me in again to that
infernal hole of blackness, he gave me a slice of bread. I had filled
my pitcher at the tap.
This was my daily ration the first three days. I was hungry, but I
was not sick, for I had considerable reserve to call upon, but when
the fourth day came I was beginning to feel the weariness which is
not exactly a pain, but is worse than any pain. I did not want to
walk--it tired me, and my limbs ached as if I had _la grippe._ I soon
learned to make my bread last as long as it would, by eating it in
instalments, and it required some will-power to do this.
Thoughts of food came to torture me--when I slept, my dreams were all
of eating. I was home again, and mother was frying doughnuts.... Then
I was at the Harvest-Home Festival in the church, and downstairs in
the basement there were long tables set. The cold turkey was heaped
up on the plates, with potatoes and corn on the cob; there were rows
of lemon pies, with chocolate cakes and strawberry tarts. I could
hear the dishes rattling and smell the coffee! I sat down before a
plate of turkey, and was eating a leg, all brown and juicy--when I
awakened.
There is a sense in which hunger sharpens a man's perceptions, and
makes him see the truth in a clearer light--but starvation, the slow,
gnawing starvation, when the reserve is gone, and every organ, every
muscle, every nerve cries out for food--it is of the devil. The
starving man is a brute, with no more moral sense than the gutter
cat. His mind follows the same track--he wants food...
Why do our authorities think they can reform a man by throwing him
into a dark cell and starving him?
* * *
There was a hole in the door, wide on the inside and just big enough
on the outside for an eye, where the guards could spy on us. We could
not get a gleam of light through it, though, for it was covered with
a button on the outside.
On the fourth day I had light in my cell, and it was aired. Also, I
got soup that day, and more bread, and I felt better. I saw Ted for
a few seconds. He was very pale, but bearing it well. Though the
sunburn was still on his face, the pallor below made it ghastly; but
he walked as straight as ever.
I climbed up to the window, by standing on the platform, and could
just see over. Down below in the courtyard soldiers were gathering
for roll-call, and once I saw recruits getting their issue of
uniforms.... Sometimes the courtyard was empty, but I kept on
watching until the soldiers came. At least they were something--and
alive! During the light day, probably as a result of the additional
food, I slept nearly all day.
When I awakened, the cell was getting dark. I have heard people say
the sunset is a lonely time, when fears come out, and apprehensions
creep over them... and all their troubles come trooping home. I
wonder what they would think of a sunset which ushered in eighty-four
hours of darkness!... I watched the light fading on the wall, a
flickering, sickly glow that paled and faded and died, and left my
eyes, weakened now by the long darkness, quite misty and dim.
And then the night, the long night came down, without mercy.
* * *
On one of my light days the guard forgot to bring my soup. He brought
the coffee in the morning, and went out again at once. I thought
he had gone for the bread, but when he did not come, I drank the
coffee--which was hot and comforting. He did not come near me all
day. It may have been the expectation of food, together with the hot
coffee, which stimulated my stomach, for that day I experienced what
starving men dread most of all--the hunger-pain. It is like a
famished rat that gnaws and tears. I writhed on the floor and cried
aloud in my agony, while the cold sweat dripped from my face and
hands. I do not remember what I said... I do not want to remember...
That night when I saw the light growing dim in the cell, and the long
black night setting in, I began to think that there was a grave
possibility that this sentence might finish me. I might die under it!
And my people would never know--"Died--Prisoner of War No. 23445,
Pte. M. C. Simmons"--that is all they would see in the casualty list,
and it would not cause a ripple of excitement here. The guard would
go back for another one, and a stretcher... I shouldn't be much of a
carry, either!
Then I stood up and shook my fist at the door, including the whole
German nation! I was not going to die!
Having settled the question, I lay down and slept.
When I awakened, I knew I had slept a long time. My tongue was
parched and dry, and my throat felt horribly, but my pain was gone.
I wasn't hungry now--I was just tired.
Then I roused myself. "This is starvation," I whispered to myself;
"this is the way men die--and that's what--I am not going to do!"
The sound of my own voice gave me courage. I then compelled my
muscles to do their work, and stood up and walked up and down, though
I noticed the wall got in my road sometimes. I had a long way to go
yet, and I knew it depended now on my will-power.
My beard was long and my hair tangled and unkempt. I should have
liked a shave and a hair-cut, but this is part of the punishment and
has a depressing effect on the prisoner. It all helps to break a man
down.
* * *
I kept track of the days by marking on the wall each day with my
finger-nail, and so I knew when the two weeks were drawing to a
close. The expectation of getting out began to cheer me--and the last
night I was not able to sleep much, for I thought when the key turned
next time I should be free! I wondered if we could by any chance hear
what had happened on the battle-front. Right away I began to feel
that I was part of the world again--and a sort of exultation came to
me...
They--had--not--broken me!