TRAVELLERS OF THE NIGHT
The country we travelled over in the first hours of the night was
poor and evidently waste land, for we saw no cultivation until near
morning, when we crossed through a heavy oat-field, soaking wet with
the night's rain. When we came out we were as wet as if we had fallen
into the ocean. We took some of the oats with us, to nibble at as we
went along.
We came to a wide stream, with wooded banks, which looked deep and
dangerous. So we made a pack of our clothes, and cautiously descended
into it, expecting to have to swim over. However, we found we could
easily wade it, for we had made our crossing at a ford.
On the other side we found ourselves stumbling over a turnip-field,
and very gladly helped ourselves, and carried away two of them for
provisions for the next day. When morning came we took cover in a
thin wood.
On the other attempts we had been able to carry something to eat, and
an extra pair of socks. This time we had nothing but what we had on.
I had selected from the stockings I had a pair knit by Miss Edna
McKay, of Vancouver, which were the first pair she had knit, but were
very fine and well made. We removed our socks the first thing each
morning, and rubbed our feet and put the socks in a tree to dry,
being careful not to have them so high they would be seen. We were
trying to take every precaution this time!
The first day we were near some farm-buildings, and as we lay in the
woods, pretty chilly and wet, we could hear the hens scolding and
cackling. Cackling hens always bring me back to the pleasant days
of childhood, and I was just enjoying a real heartsome visit to
the old home at Delmer... and was chasing Willie Fewster around a
straw-stack... when the farmer's dog, an interfering, vicious-looking
brute, came peering through the woods and gave us heart spasms,
barking at us for a few minutes. But we did not move a muscle, and,
seeing that he couldn't start a row with us, he went away, muttering
to himself about suspicious characters being around.
A woman passed through the wood, too, going over to one of the
neighbors--I think to borrow something, for she carried a plate. But
she did not see us, as we lay low in the scrub.
* * *
We certainly found plenty of unsettled country to travel through in
the first days of our journey, for we seemed to go through one marsh
after another, covered with coarse, long hay, which would have been
cut, no doubt, but for the soft bottoms which make it impossible
to use a mower. To drain this land would furnish more work for the
Russian prisoners! In one place we suddenly stepped down a couple of
feet into a bog filled with water, but with grass on the top. We
discovered that it was a place from which the peat had been removed,
and it was the only sign of human activity that we saw all night.
On the evening of August 23d, when we started out after a fairly good
day in a spruce thicket, we could see the lights of Bremen reflected
in the sky. The lights of a city, with its homes, its stores, its
eating-places, its baths, should be a welcome sight to wayfaring men
who have been living on oats and turnips, but not for us, to whom a
city meant only capture. So when we noticed the rosy glow in the
southern sky we steered our course farther west, but still taking
care to avoid the city, which we intended to pass on the south and
east side.
Our troubles were many that night. A good-sized river got in our way
and had to be crossed. There was no bridge in sight, and we had
determined to waste no time looking for one. So we undressed on the
marshy bank and made bundles of our clothes, pinning our tunics about
everything with the safety-pins which we carried. We also used the
cord around the bundles. Ted was doubtful about swimming and carrying
his clothes, so I said I would try it first, with mine. I went down
through the coarse grass, which was harsh and prickly to my feet, and
full of nettles or something which stung me at every step, and was
glad to reach the open water. The moon was in the last quarter, and
clouded over, so the night was of the blackest. I made the shore
without much trouble, and threw my bundle on a grassy bank.
I called over to Ted that the going was fine, and that I would come
back for his clothes. At that, he started in to meet me, swimming on
his back and holding his clothes with both hands, using only his
feet, but when he got into the current, it turned him downstream. I
swam toward him as fast as I could, but by the time I reached him he
had lost the grip of his clothes, and when I got them they were wet
through. As we were nearer to the bank from which he had started, we
went back to it, for we were both pretty well blown. However, in a
few minutes we were able to strike out again, and reached the other
bank in safety. Poor Ted was very cold and miserable, but put on his
soaking garments, without a word, and our journey continued.
This was another ditch country--ditches both wide and deep, and many
of them treacherous things, for their sides were steep and hard to
climb. The darkness made it doubly hard, and sometimes we were pretty
well frightened as we let ourselves down a greasy clay bank into the
muddy water. Later on we found some corduroy bridges that the
hay-makers had put over the ditches.
All night we had not found anything to eat, and when we arrived at
a wood near morning, we decided to stay, for we could see we were
coming into a settlement, and the German farmers rise early in
harvest-time. So, hungry, muddy, wet, and tired, we lay down in the
wood, and spent a long, uncomfortable day!
My watch stopped that day, and never went again. Edwards's watch was
a better one, and although it stopped when it got wet, it went again
as soon as it had dried out.
That day we had not a mouthful of anything. But we comforted
ourselves with the thought that in this settled country there would
be cows, and unless these farmers sat up all night watching them, we
promised ourselves a treat the next night.
At nightfall we stole out and began again to get over the distance
that separated us from freedom. The country was drier and more
settled, but the cows, we saw, were all in farmyards, and we were
afraid to risk going near them. About midnight we almost stumbled
over a herd of them, and one fine old whiteface arose at our request
and let us milk her. Ted stood at her head, and spoke kind words to
her and rubbed her nose, while I filled our tin again and again. She
was a Holstein, I think, though we could not see if she was black or
red--it was so dark, we could only see the white markings. We were
sorry to leave her. She was another of the bright spots in my memory
of Germany.
We crossed a railroad, a double-tracked one with rock ballast, which
my map showed to be a line which runs to Bremen, and a little later
we came to the Weser. This river brought up pleasant recollections of
the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who drowned the rats in the Weser by the
magic of his pipe. But there was no romance in it as we came upon it
in a gray and misty dawn. It was only another barrier to our freedom.
There were bunches of willows on the water's edge, and some fine
beeches, whose leaves were slightly tinged with yellow, farther back.
We selected a close bunch of willows for our hiding-place, and after
spending a short time looking for a boat, we gave up the quest, and
took cover.
We were feeling well, and were in a cheerful mood,--no doubt the
result of our pleasant meeting with the Holstein,--and when we saw
some straw in a field not far from the willows, we went over and got
two armfuls of it, and made beds for ourselves. Fresh, clean straw,
when dry, makes a good bed, and no Ostermoor mattress was ever more
comfortable. We burrowed into it like moles, and although it rained
we had a good day.
Waking up in the afternoon, we decided on a general clean-up, and,
dipping water from the Weser in a rusty tin pail without a handle, we
washed our faces, cleaned our teeth, shaved, and combed our hair.
My socks were in fine shape, but Ted's began to show signs of
dissolution. The heels were gone, and the toe of one was broken and
going. His feet were sore and blistered, and he sat long looking
at the perfidious socks which had failed him so soon. Then he had
a plan--he would make himself a pair out of the sleeves of his
undershirt. To me was given the delicate task of cutting off the
sleeves with rather a dull knife, which I managed to do with some
difficulty, and, with a thorn for a needle and wool from the socks
for thread, a pair of socks were constructed. The thorn was too soft
and doubled back, so Ted sharpened a piece of hard wood, and with it
made the holes for the yarn.
From our shelter in the willows we could see a ferry-boat carrying
people across the river, and sometimes people passed along the sandy
shore quite near to us, but the willows were thick and we were not
discovered. Two big freight steamers also passed by us.
That night we went cautiously down the bank looking for a boat. We
could swim the river, but a boat would suit us better, for the night
was chilly and dark. Before we had gone far, we found one tied in the
rushes. But the oars were locked to the bottom of the boat, and we
had to cut them loose with our pen-knives, which took quite awhile,
for the wood was hard!
When we got across the Weser we found plenty of cows. Some of them
were fickle jades who would let us almost touch them, and would then
sniff at us in disapproval and leave us. Others would not consider
our case for a moment. They were not going to run any danger of
giving aid and comfort to the enemy! But one good old one with a
crooked horn took pity on us, and again we felt better.
The fields were divided by hedges, made of a closely-leaved green
shrub, somewhat resembling--in the leaf--our buckthorn. It was very
thick and very green, and we crawled into one of these on the morning
of the fourth day, glad of such a good shelter. However, there was no
room to move--or stand up. The hedge being low made it necessary to
lie down all day. Still, we were well satisfied with the hot milk,
and slept most of the day.
Waking up suddenly, I heard a whistle, and, without moving, could see
a man's legs coming toward us. Then a dog, white with black markings,
darted past him, and, to my horror, stood not six feet from me. We
stopped breathing--we shut our eyes for fear we might wink--we
effaced ourselves--we ceased to be--I mean we wished we could.
The dog came nearer--I could hear his soft footfalls--I knew the
brute was stepping high--as they do when they see something. I knew
his tail was going straight out behind--he was pointing!
The man walked by, whistling--but the dog stayed!
Then I heard the man call him--insisting that he come--making remarks
about his lack of sense. It sounded like "Come here, you fool!" The
dog, with a yelp of disapproval, did as he was told, but I could hear
him barking as he ran along--in a hurt tone. His professional pride
had been touched!
That afternoon as we lay in the hedge, we saw a company of
school-children running toward us. I think it was the afternoon
recess, and they came running and shouting straight for the hedge. I
could only see their feet from where I lay, but it seemed to me that
there were a large number. They stopped in the field on the right of
where we lay, and played some game--I was too excited to notice what
it was. Sometimes it brought them close to the hedge, and then they
ran away again. It may have been a ball-game.
We were cold and hot by turns, watching the feet that advanced and
receded, and were coming at us again, racing this time as if to see
who would reach the hedge first, when a sudden downpour of rain came
on--and they ran back! We heard the voices growing fainter in the
distance, and registered a vow that if we got out of this place alive
we would not trust in a hedge again. Dogs and children seemed to be
our greatest dangers!
When we began our journey that night, we crossed a light railway, one
of those which on the map was indicated with light lines, and which,
sure enough, had only dirt ballast. Ahead of us was another railway
track with lights, which we determined to leave alone. The lights of
the two towns, Delmenhorst and Gunderksee, shone against the western
sky, and we kept to the south to avoid them. The going was difficult
on account of the settlement, and we had to be watching all the time
for travellers. There were a lot of people out that night who might
better have been at home--and in bed!
We were glad to take refuge before daylight in an extensive wood. We
had a few turnips, which we ate. The day was spent as usual trying to
dry our socks and get our feet in shape for the night, but the rain
came down hard, and when we started out at dusk we were soaking wet.
We at once got into a forest, a great dark, quiet forest, where
fugitives could hide as long as they liked, but which furnished
no food of any kind. In the small clearings we came upon herds of
cattle, but they were all young, with not a cow among them. This was
one of the planted forests of Germany, where a sapling is put in when
a big tree is taken out, to conserve the timber supply. No one would
know that it had been touched by man, except for the roads which ran
through it. There was no waste wood; there were no stumps, no hacked
trees, no evidences of fire--such as I have often seen in our forests
in British Columbia. The Germans know how to conserve their
resources!
There was no wind or stars, and there were so many roads crossing
and dividing, that it was hard for us to keep our direction. Toward
morning it began to rain, and soon the wet bushes, as well as the
falling rain, had us wet through.
We stopped at last to wait for daylight, for the forest was so dense
we believed we could travel by day with safety. We lit our pipes in
the usual way, to conserve our matches. One match would light both,
when we followed this order. The lighted one was inverted over the
unlighted one. Into the lighted one Ted blew, while I drew in my
breath from the unlighted one. This morning, something went wrong.
Either the tobacco was soggy or I swallowed nicotine, for in a few
minutes I had all the symptoms of poisoning, I wanted to lie down,
but the ground was too wet. So I leaned against a tree, and was very
sorry for myself. Ted felt much the same as I did.
Then we tried to light a fire--we were so cold and wet, and, besides,
we had a few potatoes, carried from a garden we passed the night
before, which we thought we could roast. Hunger and discomfort
were making us bold. Our matches would not light the damp wood,
and we could find no other. We chewed a few oats, and were very
down-hearted. It looked as if lack of food would defeat us this time!
We had so far come safely, but at great expense of energy and time.
We had avoided travelled roads, bridges, houses, taking the smallest
possible risk, but with a great expense of energy. Our journey had
been hard, toilsome, and slow. We were failing from lack of food.
Our clothes hung in folds on us, and we were beginning to feel weak.
The thought of swimming the Ems made us shudder! One thing seemed
clear--we must get food, even if to get it imposed a risk. There was
no use in starving to death.... The recklessness of the slum-cat was
coming to us.
The weather had no mercy that day, for a cold, gray, driving rain
came down as we leaned against a tree, two battered hulks of men,
with very little left to us now but the desire to be free.
* * *
If this were a book of fiction, it would be easy to lighten and
vary the narrative here and there with tales of sudden attacks and
hair's-breadth escapes. But it is not a fancy story--it is a plain
tale of two men's struggle, with darkness, cold, and hunger, in a
land of enemies. It may sound monotonous to the reader at times, but
I assure you, we never, for one minute, got accustomed to the pangs
of hunger, the beat of the rain, or the ache of our tired legs, and
the gripping, choking fear that through some mishap we might be
captured.
The country was so full of bogs and marshes that we had to stick to
the road that night, but we met no person, and had the good fortune
to run into a herd of cows, and drank all the milk we could hold.
Unfortunately we had nothing in which to carry milk, so had to drink
all we could, and go on, in the hope of meeting more cows.
While we were helping ourselves, the storm which had been threatening
all night came on in great fury, and the lightning seemed to tear the
sky apart. We took refuge in an old cow-shed, which saved us from the
worst of it.
That morning we hid in a clump of evergreens, thick enough to make a
good shelter, but too short for comfort, for we could not stand up!
Ted was having a bad time with his feet, for his improvised socks
did not work well. They twisted and knotted and gave him great
discomfort. This day he removed his undershirt, which was of wool,
and, cutting it into strips five or six inches wide, wound them round
and round his feet, and then put his boots on. He had more comfort
after that, but as the weather was cold the loss of his shirt was a
serious one.
That night we came to a river, which we knew to be the Hunte, and
looked about for a means of crossing it. We knew enough to keep away
from bridges, but a boat would have looked good to us. However, there
did not seem to be any boat, and we decided to swim it without loss
of time, for this was a settled district, and therefore not a good
place to hesitate.
On account of our last experience in crossing a river, we knew a raft
to carry our clothes on would keep them dry and make it easier for
us. So, failing to find any stuff with which to make a raft, we
thought of a gate we had passed a short time back. It was a home-made
affair, made of a big log on the top, whose heavy root balanced the
gate on the post on which it swung. We went back, found it, and
lifted it off, and although it was a heavy carry, we got it to the
river, and, making two bundles of our clothes, floated them over on
it. I swam ahead, pushing it with one hand, while Ted shoved from
behind. Our clothes were kept dry, and we dragged the gate up on the
bank. We hope the farmer found it, and also hope he thought it was an
early Hallowe'en joke!
That day, August 31st, we took refuge in the broom, which was still
showing its yellow blossom, and, as the, sun came out occasionally,
we lit our pipes with Ted's sun-glass. The sun and wind dried our
tobacco and our socks, and we started off that night feeling rather
better.
It was a fine night for our purpose, for there was considerable wind,
and we kept going all night, mostly on the roads. At daylight we took
refuge in an open wood. The day was cloudy and chilly, and we found
it long. At night, we had not gone far when we found three cows in a
small field. We used all our blandishments on them, but the lanky one
with straight horns was unapproachable and aloof in her manner, and
would not let us near her. One of the others was quiet enough, but
was nearly dry. The third one was the best, and we filled and drank,
and filled and drank, until her supply was exhausted too. On account
of the field being near the house, we were careful not to let the
stream of milk make a sound in the empty can, so left some milk in
the can each time, to deaden the sound. However, the owners of the
cows were safe in bed, and asleep. We wondered if they would think
the cows were bewitched when they found they would give nothing next
morning!