THE LONG ROAD TO FREEDOM
When we had taken all the milk we could extract from the cows, we
moved off quietly to the corner of the field farthest from the
buildings, to get back to the road. We were going over the fence as
gently as possible, when we saw two men whom we knew from their
uniforms to be French prisoners. They were evidently escaping, like
ourselves, but had been more fortunate than we, for they had packs on
their backs. We tried to get their attention by calling to them, but
the French word for "friend" did not come to us, only the German
"Kamerad," and when they heard that, they took us for Germans and ran
with all speed. We dared not pursue them, or even call, for fear of
being heard; so had to see the two big packs, which no doubt had
chocolate, sardines, bread, and cheese in them, disappear in the
darkness. However, it may have been just as well--two escaping
prisoners are enough, for safety.
September 2d was a fine day, with several hours of sunshine. From
where we had taken refuge in a high spruce thicket, we could look out
across a wide heather moor, all in bloom and a glorious blaze of
color, amethyst, purple, mauve, with the bright September sun pouring
down upon it. Our spirits always rose when the sun came out, and sank
again when the day grew dark.
[Illustration: A Prison Post-Card from Friedrichsfeld bei Wesel /
The group includes soldiers from Canada, Newfoundland, England,
Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa,
France, Belgium, Italy, Russia, Serbia, and Roumania.]
Since these experiences of battling bare-handed with the elements I
can understand why primeval man fell into sun-worship, for on the
caprice of the sun with its power to give or withhold, the happiness
and well-being of the roofless traveller depends.
We stayed closely in the dark shadows of the heavy evergreens that
day, although just beyond was the golden sunlight with its warmth and
comfort, for we were afraid to show ourselves in the open. That night
we came upon a potato garden, and dug out some with our fingers,
filling our pockets and our handkerchiefs with them. We had a good
night, and shoved the miles behind us. We had promised ourselves a
fire just at dawn, and the thought of it, and the potatoes we should
bake, was wonderfully cheering.
Just at the beginning of the dawn, in that gray, misty light, a fire
can scarcely be seen, for the air is something the color of smoke,
and there is enough light to hide the fire. At night the fire shows,
and in the daylight, the smoke, but in the gray dawn it is not easy
to see either. So on the morning of September 3d, we gathered dry
sticks and made our first fire. There was a blue veil of haze on the
horizon, and a ragged gray mist hung over the low places. The air was
sweet with the autumn smell of fallen leaves and wood bark, and as we
sat over our tiny fire, we almost forgot that we were in a world of
enemies. The yellow beeches and the dark green spruces bent over us
in friendliest fashion, and a small bird chased a hawk above the
trees.
Still, we were not beguiled by the friendliness of our surroundings
to take any chances, and, instead of waiting for ashes or coal to
roast our potatoes, we put them right on the fire. What if they were
burnt on the outside? We scraped off part of the charcoal and ate the
rest. We knew about charcoal tablets being good for digestion, and we
believed ours could stand a little assistance, for green apples and
new milk are not a highly recommended combination.
We kept track of the number of potatoes we ate that morning. It was
twenty-five! What we couldn't eat we put in our pockets, and held in
our hands--for the warmth. That day, September 3d, was the brightest
and warmest day we had.
Toward evening we crept out to the edge of the wood to see what sort
of country we were in--and found there was a village quite near
us. But as we had heard not a sound all day, and as there was not
a flutter around it now,--not a soul stirring or a cow-bell
tinkling,--we thought it must be a deserted hamlet. The old and now
almost indistinct paths through the wood where we sat seemed to tell
of a departed people.
We sat in one of these old paths, watching the shafts of sunlight
which filtered through the woods as we waited for the dark. Then Ted
began to fix the strips of cloth around his feet, and I lay down upon
my back, across the path, looking up at the sky, which was shot over
with mackerel-back clouds, giving promise of settled weather.
Suddenly, around a bend in the path, came a man and a dog. The man
carried a gun across his shoulder, and evidently had been shooting
birds. I swung myself off the path and motioned to him to go by--for
he had stopped in surprise. Ted did the same. Our gestures were
polite--but I think had something suggestive in them too--almost
commanding.
He passed by, merely bidding us "good-evening," and remarking in
German that Ted's feet were sore!
He walked on, as a peaceable old fellow who had no desire to get into
trouble, and although he must have seen the yellow stripe down the
seams of our trousers, and the prison numbers on our tunics, he kept
on going.
We watched him through the trees, as far as we could see him, but
only once did he turn and look back--and then only for a minute. He
was not going toward the village, but we decided to keep away from
it, anyway, and at nightfall we made a wide detour to avoid it. The
night clouded up, too, and we pushed along with thankful hearts that
the old man with the dog knew when to keep quiet.
A rare piece of good luck came to us that night. We came to a
settlement, evidently a new one, for the houses were of modern
design, and the farm-buildings, too, were fresh and newly built.
There was evidently a creamery somewhere near, and beside the road we
found a can full of milk set out, to be gathered up in the morning.
The cream had risen to the top of it, and with our toffee tin we
helped ourselves. Later on, we found others, and helped ourselves
again. It was a very satisfactory arrangement for us to have the
refreshment booths scattered like this along the way. Then we ate
some of the burnt potatoes and an apple or two, had a few drinks of
cream from another can, and the night passed pleasantly. From the
apple-trees beside the road we replenished our pockets, and felt this
had been a good night.
It was a good thing for us that the night had started so well, for
along toward morning, probably two hours before daylight, we crossed
a peat-bog. There was a road at first which helped us, but it ran
into a pile of cut peat, drying for the winter. There were also other
roads leading to peat-piles, but these were very misleading, and as
the night was of inky blackness, with scarcely any breeze, it became
harder and harder to keep our direction. Consulting the compass so
often was depleting our match supply, and I tried to depend on
the faint breath of a breeze which sometimes seemed to die away
altogether. This bog, like all the others, had tufts of grass and
knolls of varying size coming in the most unexpected places. Over
these we stumbled, and fell, many times, and as we felt fairly safe
from being heard, it was some relief to put into language what we
thought of the country and all its people, past, present, and future.
I believe we were especially explicit about the future!
It was nearly morning when we got off the bog, and as the rain was
falling we took refuge in a tumble-down hut which had probably been a
cowherd's. We soon saw that it was a poor shelter, and when a woman
came along and looked straight at us, we began to get gooseflesh! She
actually smiled at us, and we tried to smile back reassuringly, but I
am afraid there was a lack of mirth in our smiles which detracted
from their charm.
She walked away--stopped--looked back at us--and smiled again, and
went on, nodding her head as if she knew something. We were rather
afraid she did, and hastily decided to push on. We were afraid of
the lady's patriotism, and determined to be moving. There was a
thick-looking wood just ahead, and to it we went with all speed,
taking with us two large gunnysacks which we found in the hut. They
were stamped "Utrecht" and had the name of a dealer there.
All that day we were afraid of the lady who smiled and nodded her
head, but perhaps we wronged her in our thoughts, for the day passed
without any disturbance. Probably she, too, like the old man with the
dog, knew that silence does not often get one into trouble.
That day we shaved, but, there being no stream near, we had to empty
the rain-drops off the leaves into the top of the box which held
Ted's shaving-stick. It took time, of course, but what was time to
us? We had more time than anything else.
Although we tried to reassure ourselves with the thought that there
were probably no soldiers near, and that the civilians were not
likely to do any searching, still we were too apprehensive to sleep,
and started away at nightfall, with eyes that burned and ached from
our long vigil.
The night was cloudy at first, with sprinkling rain, but cleared up
about midnight into a clear, cold autumn night. The cold kept me from
getting sleepy, but when I got warm from walking my sleepiness grew
overpowering. Ted was more wakeful than I, and took the lead, while
I stumbled along behind, aching in every joint with sleepiness. The
night was clear and starry, and Ted steered our course by the stars.
No one who has gone through it needs to be told about the misery of
sleepiness. I fought against it--I pulled open my eyes--I set my
will with all the force I could command, but in spite of all I could
do, my eyes would close and I would fall over, and in the fall would
awaken and go on, only to fall again. At last we stopped and lay
down, sorry to lose so much of the darkness, but the cold soon
awakened us, and, chilled and shivering, with numb fingers, we
struggled to our feet and went on. But when, with the walking, we
were warmed again, with the warmth came the sleepiness.
At dawn we crept into a thick bush, but the ground was damp and cold,
and our sleepiness had left us. We ate some of our cold roast
potatoes, and tried to sleep, for we dreaded to spend another night
like the last one. In the afternoon the sun came out and warmed the
air, so we had a fairly good sleep and started away at nightfall.
The night was clear and starlight, so the peat-bog which we
encountered did not bother us so much, for we could see the holes and
ridges. After the bog, we came into a settlement, but the people were
in villages and had their cows stabled, so there was no chance for
thirsty and hungry travellers. To the north we could see the huge
searchlights above Oldenburg, and we thought of the cells--and
shuddered! But our hunger was making us cold again, and we determined
to go into the next village we came to, to find some apples.
The first one we came to was a large one, and compactly built. The
night was lit by the stars, and therefore not quite so good for our
purpose, but we had to have something. We cautiously entered a garden
gate which some one had obligingly left open, but when we got in, we
found that the trees were high, and apparently well looked-after, for
not an apple could be found! We were only a few yards from the house,
behind whose darkened windows the family slept, not knowing that the
alien enemy were so near.
We slipped out of the open gate--we could see now why it had been
left open--and went into the next garden--with the same result. Every
apple had been gathered. We started down the street again, walking
cautiously on the grass, and slipping along as quickly as possible.
We carried the sacks, which we had split open, over our shoulders,
and as they were of a neutral shade, they were not so easily seen as
our dark-blue suits would have been.
Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening, ahead of us, on the
other side of the street, and two soldiers came out! We lay flat on
the street where we were, and "froze." The sacks which were wrapped
about us helped to conceal us, or at least made us look less like
men. The soldiers passed along the middle of the street, chatting and
laughing; we could hear their spurs clanking! Coming out of the light
had probably dulled their sight, and they did not see us. We lay
there until their footsteps had died away. Then we got up, and got
out!
We were not hungry any more--at least we were so much more frightened
than hungry that we only knew we were frightened, and we pushed our
way on as fast as we could. That night was the first on which we had
seen the moon. The shelter we found was another group of Christmas
trees, and as we still had a couple of roast potatoes we ate them,
and got a little sleep.
The next night the villages kept getting in our way. When we tried to
avoid one, we got into another, and in one we saw a light twinkling
in an upstairs window, where some woman, probably, sat late at her
work or watched by the bedside of a sick child. As usual, there were
no street lamps, and I think the light inside was a coal-oil lamp!
But not a dog barked, and we came safely out on a road which led in a
westerly direction.
In the morning, when the east began to redden, we got shelter in a
thin wood, and, having found some potatoes outside of one of the
villages, we determined to run the risk of having a fire to roast
them. We didn't roast many, though, for the dawn came on too swiftly,
and we had to extinguish our fire, for there was a farmhouse not a
hundred yards away, and the people were beginning to stir.
That day there were people working all around us, and one old chap,
with a red shirt on, was so ambitious about getting his turnips
lifted that I don't believe he even knocked off for noon. We thought
he would never quit at night either. We called him the "work-hog!"
In the afternoon, as we lay in the woods, an old man, a shepherd,
came with a flock of white sheep which followed close behind him.
The old man wore a velvet cloak, knee breeches, and buckles on his
shoes, and he had a sheep dog with him--a small-sized tricolored,
rough-haired collie. It was exactly like a picture! We were not in
any mood to enjoy the beauty of it, for some of the sheep wandered
through the wood, almost stepping on us, and when the shepherd came
after them, he must have seen us. But the old man belonged to the
peaceful past, and knew nothing of wars and prisoners, so went out of
the wood as quietly as he came. He was as innocent-looking as the
sunshine, or the white clouds in the blue sky!
Still, we were two suspicious men who trusted no one, and we thought
it best to move. I took the potatoes in my sack, and Ted, to be ready
for emergencies, provided a stout, knotted club for himself, and we
stole out of the wood, being careful to keep it between us and the
"work-hog," who never lifted his eyes--but still we took no chances,
even on him!
There was a better wood a short distance away, and to it we came. We
saw nobody, and, coming into a dark cover, lit a fire, for we thought
the smoke would not rise to the tops of the trees. On it we roasted
our remaining potatoes, and we got a drink in a narrow, trickling
stream.
We started again, at dark, and before long came to a railway, which,
according to our map, was the line which runs parallel to the river
Ems. We knew we were coming near the Ems, and at the thought of it,
drew a long breath. It seemed a long time since we had stood on its
bank before and heard the sounds from across the Holland border. We
kept going all night, avoiding the roads, and about three o'clock
reached the river. There it was!--a much smaller river than when
we had last seen it, but plenty large enough yet to fill us with
apprehension. We found a good hiding-place before daylight, and then
went back to a potato-field we had passed, and put about a pailful in
our sacks before settling down for the day in the wood.
Just before dawn we made our fire and roasted the potatoes. They
tasted fine, and as the day was warm and bright, we began to feel
more cheerful. That day we heard the deep-booming whistles of
steamboats, and the shriller notes of the canal-boats. Although we
knew the river boats were passing up and down just below us, we
restrained our curiosity and stayed closely hidden.
Just before it got dark we crept to the edge of the high ground
overlooking the river. The other side of the river was flat, and
seemed to be settled. I knew from a map I had seen that there was
a canal a short distance beyond the river, and that it, too, would
have to be crossed.
Looking down to the water's edge, we saw a fence enclosing some
pasture land, and were glad to see another gate, for we wanted a
raft for our clothes, and we thought this would do. It was a heavy
brute of a gate. We could hardly launch it. Perhaps we were getting
weaker--that may have been the reason it seemed so heavy. Anyway,
when we got it to the water's edge, we had to rest before undertaking
to swim the river. The current was not so strong as we had feared,
and we reached the other side in safety.
We did not pull up the gate, but let it go drifting down the stream.
Perhaps this also is accounted for by the fact that we were getting
weaker: also, we considered that we were harder pressed for time than
the German farmer--he could make another gate.
After we had dressed and had walked for about an hour, we came to the
canal. Unfortunately for our purpose, the night was clear and the
stars were out in thousands, and, to make matters worse, the young
moon, just a crescent, but still capable of giving some light, came
out. We had been longer than we expected on our journey, and now, at
the most critical time of it, when there was the greatest need of
caution, we had moonlight nights to face! Still, every night was
getting worse than the last, so we must go forward with all speed.
The canal was about sixty feet wide, and I felt certain it would be
guarded, for it was so near the border. We went to the edge, and
looked across--and then up and down--to see if we could find any
trace of a guard; everything was quiet.
We knew it was a time for great haste. We went back quickly and
undressed. I grabbed my bundle and let myself cautiously into the
water, taking care not to make the slightest splash. When I reached
the other side, I threw my clothes on the sand and came back far
Ted--he was waiting for me. I took his clothes, and together we swam
across!
We got quietly out of the water. I picked up my own bundle, and we
started for the trees on the other side of the road. There was an
excavation there where sand had been taken out. Seeing it, we slipped
into it noiselessly. We were not a moment too soon, for when we stood
still and listened, we heard the regular footsteps of a man, and in
twenty seconds the patrol marched by! Then we dressed and got out of
our fortunate hiding-place, and went on.
We still had a couple of hours before daylight, but the danger was
growing greater every minute, for we knew we were approaching the
border. At that thought our hearts beat wild with hope. The border
would be guarded--there was nothing surer--any minute we might be
challenged. We had talked it over, and were determined to make a dash
for it if that happened. The patrol would shoot, but there was a
chance he might not shoot straight; he would hardly get us both!
Soon we came to a marsh, with an edge of peat, and as we advanced we
saw the peat was disappearing, and it did not look good ahead. The
moonlight showed us a grassy mat, level as the top of a lake, and
without a shrub or tree to indicate a solid bottom. It was evidently
a quaking bog, a hidden lake, and only the fear behind us drove us
on. It swayed beneath our feet, falling as we stepped on it fully a
foot, and rising again behind us. There would be little danger of
guards here, for the place would be considered impassable--and maybe
it was--we should see!
Our feet were light--fear gave them wings--and we raced over the
bending, swaying, springing surface! The moon was not bright enough
for us to pick our steps--there was no picking, anyway--it was a
matter of speed! At every step the grass mat went below the surface
of the water, and we could feel it rising over our boot-tops--cold
and horrible. If we had hesitated a second, I know we should have
gone through; but we had every reason for haste. Behind us was the
enemy--cruel, merciless, hateful--with their stolid faces and their
black cells. Under us--was death. Before us--was freedom--home--and
the ones we love!
At the other side there was more peat, some of it cut and piled.
We were puffing hard from our exertions, but were afraid to rest a
second. The border must be near!
In a few minutes after leaving the bog we came to a small canal,
which surprised me--there had been no other canal indicated on any
map I had seen. It puzzled me for a minute; then a great joy swept
over me! The maps I had seen were maps of Germany. This canal must be
in Holland!
But I did not say this to Ted, for I wasn't sure. We undressed
again--the third time that night--and swam the canal, and, dressing
again, went on. Soon we found a finely settled country, with roads
which improved as we went on, all the time. There were no trees, but
the darkness still held, and we kept going. Toward morning we took
refuge in a thicket, and spent the day.
That day was September 9th, and although we thought we were in
Holland, we were not sure enough to come out and show ourselves. So
we lay low, and ate the green apples that we had found on a tree
between the river and the canal the night before. We slept a little,
though too excited to sleep much.
Beside the thicket where we were hidden, a boy worked in a field with
a fine team of horses, ploughing stubble. We tried to listen to what
he said to his team, to see if there was any change from the German
"Burrrrrrsh," but he was a silent youth, and so far as we could make
out, said never a word all day. So we could not prove it by him!
But the good horses gave us hope--horses were scarce in Germany!
At dusk we started out again, and kept going straight west, for one
fear still tormented us. Our maps showed us that one part of Germany
projects into Holland, and for this reason we kept straight west, to
avoid all danger of running into it; for the uncomfortable thought
would come that to escape from Germany and then walk into it again
would make us feel foolish--not to mention other emotions.
It seemed to be a fine country that we were going through, and the
walking was easy, although we were not on a road. I had been telling
Ted that the first railway we came to would be a single-tracked one,
with dirt ballast, and then we should be sure we were in Holland. I
had seen this railroad on the map, and knew it was a few miles from
the border. To me, this would be sufficient proof that we were safely
out of Germany.
Soon we saw a fringe of houses ahead, and we thought we were coming
near a canal, for we were in the country of canals now, and the
houses are built on their banks. There were lights in a few of the
houses, for it was only about eleven o'clock, and some of the people
were still up. The houses looked to be rather good ones, and they
were built in a row. It was the backs of them we were approaching,
which we did with extreme caution, for we had no desire to have some
snarling dog discover us and give the alarm.
So intent were we, watching the houses for any sign of life, that we
did not see what was just before us until we had walked up to it.
Then we saw--
It was a railroad, single-tracked, with dirt ballast!
Without a word, Ted and I shook hands! We were in Holland!