was very much tempted to lie down then and there and call it a heat.
Things seemed to be getting worse for me the farther I went, and all
the time I had before me the specter of that electric barrier between
Belgium and Holland, even if I ever reached there alive. What was the
use of further suffering when I would probably be captured in the end,
anyway?
Before giving up, however, I decided upon one bold move. I would
approach one of the houses in the vicinity and get food there or die in
the effort!
I picked out a small house, because I figured there would be less
likelihood of soldiers being billeted there.
Then I wrapped a stone in my khaki handkerchief as a sort of camouflaged
weapon, determined to kill the occupant of the house, German or Belgian,
if that step were necessary in order to get food. I tried the well in
the yard, but it would not work, and then I went up to the door and
knocked.
It was one o'clock in the morning. An old lady came to the window and
looked out. She could not imagine what I was, probably, because I was
still attired in that old overcoat. She gave a cry, and her husband and
a boy came to the door.
They could not speak English and I could not speak Flemish, but I
pointed to my flying-coat and then to the sky and said "_fleger_"
("flier"), which I thought would tell them what I was.
Whether they understood or were intimidated by my hard-looking
appearance, I don't know, but certainly it would have to be a brave old
man and boy who would start an argument with such a villainous-looking
character as stood before them that night! I had not shaved for a month,
my clothes were wet, torn, and dirty, my leggings were gone--they
had got so heavy I had discarded them--my hair was matted, and my
cheeks were flushed with fever. In my hand I carried the rock in my
handkerchief, and I made no effort to conceal its presence or its
mission.
Anyway, they motioned me indoors and gave me my first hot meal in more
than a month. True, it consisted only of warm potatoes. They had been
previously cooked, but the old woman warmed them up in milk in one of
the dirtiest kettles I had ever seen. I asked for bread, but she shook
her head, although I think it must have been for lack of it rather
than because she begrudged it to me. For if ever a man showed he was
famished, I did that night. I swallowed those warm potatoes ravenously
and I drank four glasses of water one after another. It was the best
meal I had had since the "banquet" in the prison at Courtrai.
The woman of the house was probably seventy-five years old and had
evidently worn wooden shoes all her life, for she had a callous spot on
the side of her foot the size of half a dollar, and it looked so hard
that I doubt whether you could have driven a nail into it with a hammer.
As I sat there drying myself--for I was in no hurry to leave the first
human habitation I had entered in four weeks--I reflected on my unhappy
lot and the unknown troubles and dangers that lay ahead of me. Here, for
more than a month, I had been leading the life of a hunted animal--yes,
worse than a hunted animal, for Nature clothes her less favored
creatures more appropriately for the life they lead than I was clothed
for mine--and there was not the slightest reason to hope that conditions
would grow better.
Perhaps the first warm food I had eaten for over a month had released
unused springs of philosophy in me, as food sometimes does for a man.
I pointed to my torn and water-soaked clothes and conveyed to them as
best I could that I would be grateful for an old suit, but apparently
they were too poor to have more than they actually needed themselves,
and I rose to go. I had roused them out of bed, and I knew I ought not
to keep them up longer than was absolutely necessary.
As I approached the door I got a glance at myself in a mirror. I was
the awfulest sight I had ever laid eyes on! The glimpse I got of myself
startled me almost as much as if I had seen a dreaded German helmet! My
left eye was fairly well healed by this time, and I was beginning to
regain the sight of it, but my face was so haggard and my beard so long
and unkempt that I looked like Santa Claus on a "bat."
As they let me out of the door I pointed to the opposite direction
to the one I intended taking and started off in the direction I had
indicated. Later I changed my course completely to throw off any
possible pursuit.
The next day I was so worn out from exposure and exhaustion that I
threw away my coat, thinking that the less weight I had to carry the
better it would be for me, but when night came I regretted my mistake,
because the nights were now getting colder. I thought at first it would
be best for me to retrace my steps and look for the coat I had so
thoughtlessly discarded, but I decided to go on without it.
I then began to discard everything that I had in my pocket, finally
throwing my wrist-watch into a canal. A wrist-watch does not add much
weight, but when you plod along and have not eaten for a month it
finally becomes rather heavy. The next thing I discarded was a pair of
flying-mittens.
These mittens I had got at Camp Borden, in Canada, and had become quite
famous, as my friends termed them "snow-shoes." In fact, they were a
ridiculous pair of mittens, but the best pair I ever had, and I really
felt worse when I lost those mittens than anything else. I could not
think of anybody else ever using them, so I dug a hole in the mud and
buried them, and could not help but laugh at the thought of what my
friends would say had they seen me burying my mittens, because they
were a standing joke in Canada, England, and France.
I had on two shirts, and as they were always both wet and didn't keep me
warm, it was useless to wear both. One of these was a shirt that I had
bought in France, the other an American army shirt. They were both khaki
and one as apt to give me away as the other, so I discarded the French
shirt. The American army shirt I brought back with me to England, and it
is still in my possession.
When I escaped from the train I still had that Bavarian cap of bright
red in my pocket and wore it for many nights, but I took great care that
no one saw it. It also had proved very useful when swimming rivers, for
I carried my map and a few other belongings in it, and I had fully made
up my mind to bring it home as a souvenir. But the farther I went the
heavier my extra clothing became, so I was compelled to discard even
the cap. I knew that it would be a telltale mark if I simply threw it
away, so one night after swimming a river I dug a hole in the soft mud
on the bank and buried it, too, with considerably less ceremony than
my flying-mittens had received, perhaps; and that was the end of my
Bavarian hat.
My experience at the Belgian's house whetted my appetite for warm food,
and I figured that what had been done once could be done again. Sooner
or later I realized I would probably approach a Belgian and find a
German instead, but in such a contingency I was determined to measure my
strength against the Hun's if necessary to effect my escape.
As it was, however, most of the Belgians to whom I applied for food gave
it to me readily enough, and if some of them refused me it was only
because they feared I might be a spy or that the Germans would shoot
them if their action were subsequently found out.
About the fifth day after I had entered Belgium I was spending the day
as usual in a clump of bushes when I discerned in the distance what
appeared to be something hanging on a line. All day long I strained my
eyes trying to decide what it could be and arguing with myself that it
might be something that I could add to my inadequate wardrobe, but the
distance was so great that I could not identify it. I had a great fear
that before night came it would probably be removed.
As soon as darkness fell, however, I crawled out of my hiding-place and
worked up to the line and got a pair of overalls for my industry. It was
a mighty joyful night for me. That pair of overalls was the first bit
of civilian clothes I had thus far picked up, with the exception of a
civilian cap which I had found at the prison and concealed on my person
and which I still had. The overalls were rather small and very short,
but when I put them on I found that they hung down far enough to cover
my breeches.
It was perhaps three days later that I planned to search another house
for further clothes. Entering Belgian houses at night is anything but a
safe proposition, because their families are large and sometimes as many
as seven or eight sleep in a single room. The barn is usually connected
with the house proper, and there was always the danger of disturbing
some dumb animal, even if the inmates of the house were not aroused.
Frequently I took a chance of searching a backyard at night in the hope
of finding food scraps, but my success in that direction was so slight
that I soon decided it wasn't worth the risk, and I continued to live on
the raw vegetables that I could pick with safety in the fields and the
occasional meal that I was able to get from the Belgian peasants in the
daytime.
Nevertheless, I was determined to get more in the way of clothing, and
when night came I picked out a house that looked as though it might
furnish me with what I wanted. It was a moonlight night, and if I could
get in the barn I would have a fair chance of finding my way around by
the moonlight which would enter the windows.
The barn adjoined the main part of the house, but I groped around very
carefully and soon I touched something hanging on a peg. I didn't know
what it was, but I confiscated it and carried it out into the fields.
There in the moonlight I examined my booty and found it was an old coat.
It was too short as an overcoat and too long for an ordinary coat, but
nevertheless I made use of it. It had probably been an overcoat for the
Belgian who had worn it.
Some days later I got a scarf from a Belgian peasant, and with this
equipment I was able to conceal my uniform entirely.
Later on, however, I decided that it was too dangerous to keep the
uniform on anyway, and when night came I dug a hole and buried it.
I never realized until I had to part with it just how much I thought of
that uniform. It had been with me through many hard trials, and I felt
as if I were abandoning a friend when I parted with it. I was tempted
to keep the wings off the tunic, but thought that that would be a
dangerous concession to sentiment in the event that I was ever captured.
It was the only distinction I had left, as I had given the Royal Flying
Corps badges and the stars of my rank to the German Flying Officers as
souvenirs, but I felt that it was safer to discard it. As it finally
turned out, through all my subsequent experiences my escape would never
have been jeopardized had I kept my uniform, but, of course, I had no
idea what was in store for me.
There was one thing which surprised me very much as I journeyed through
Belgium, and that was the scarcity of dogs. Apparently most of them have
been taken by the Germans, and what are left are beasts of burden who
are too tired at night to bark or bother intruders. This was a mighty
good thing for me, for I would certainly have stirred them up in passing
through backyards, as I sometimes did when I was making a short cut.
One night as I came out of a yard it was so pitch dark I could not see
ten feet ahead of me, and I was right in the back of a little village,
although I did not know it. I crawled along, fearing I might come to a
crossroads at which there would in all probability be a German sentry.
My precaution served me in good stead, for I had come out in the main
street of a village and within twenty feet of me, sitting on some bricks
where they were building a little store, I could see the dim outline of
a German spiked helmet!
I could not cross the street and the only thing to do was to back-track.
It meant making a long detour and losing two hours of precious time
and effort, but there was no help for it, and I plodded wearily back,
cursing the Huns at every step.
The next night while crossing some fields I came to a road. It was one
of the main roads of Belgium and was paved with cobblestones. On these
roads you can hear a wagon or horse about a mile or two away. I listened
intently before I moved ahead, and, hearing nothing, concluded that the
way was clear.
As I emerged from the field and got my first glimpse of the road I got
the shock of my life! In either direction, as far as I could see, the
road was lined with German soldiers!
What they were doing in that part of Belgium I did not know, but you can
be mighty sure I didn't spend any time trying to find out.
Again it was necessary to change my course and lose a certain amount of
ground, but by this time I had become fairly well reconciled to these
reverses and they did not depress me as much as they had at first.
At this period of my adventure if a day or a night passed without its
thrill I began to feel almost disappointed, but such disappointments
were rather rare.
One evening as I was about to swim a canal about two hundred feet wide I
suddenly noticed, about one hundred yards away, a canal-boat moored to
the side.
It was a sort of out-of-the-way place, and I wondered what the
canal-boat had stopped for. I crawled up to see. As I neared the boat
five men were leaving it, and I noticed them cross over into the fields.
At a safe distance I followed them, and they had not gone very far
before I saw what they were after. They were committing the common but
heinous crime of stealing potatoes!
Without the means to cook them, potatoes didn't interest me a bit, and
I thought that the boat itself would probably yield me more than the
potato-patch. Knowing that the canal hands would probably take their
time in the fields, I climbed up the stern of the boat leisurely and
without any particular pains to conceal myself. Just as my head appeared
above the stern of the boat I saw, silhouetted against the sky, the
dreaded outline of a German soldier--spiked helmet and all! A chill ran
down my spine as I dropped to the bank of the canal and slunk away.
Evidently the sentry had not seen me or, if he had, he had probably
figured that I was one of the foraging party, but I realized that it
wouldn't pay in future to take anything for granted.
X
EXPERIENCES IN BELGIUM
I think that one of the worst things I had to contend with in my journey
through Belgium was the number of small ditches. They intercepted me at
every half-mile or so, sometimes more frequently. The canals and the big
rivers I could swim. Of course, I got soaked to the skin every time I
did it, but I was becoming hardened to that.
These little ditches, however, were too narrow to swim and too wide to
jump. They had perhaps two feet of water in them and three feet of mud,
and it was almost invariably a case of wading through. Some of them, no
doubt, I could have jumped if I had been in decent shape, but with a bad
ankle and in the weakened condition in which I was, it was almost out of
the question.
One night I came to a ditch about eight or nine feet wide. I thought I
was strong enough to jump it, and it was worth trying, as the discomfort
I suffered after wading these ditches was considerable. Taking a long
run, I jumped as hard as I could, but I missed it by four or five inches
and landed in about two feet of water and three feet more of mud.
Getting out of that mess was quite a job. The water was too dirty and
too scanty to enable me to wash off the mud with which I was covered
and it was too wet to scrape off. I just had to wait until it dried and
scrape it off then.
In many sections of Belgium through which I had to pass I encountered
large areas of swamp and marshy ground, and, rather than waste the time
involved in looking for better underfooting--which I might not have
found, anyway--I used to plod right through the mud. Apart from the
discomfort of this method of traveling and the slow time I made, there
was an added danger to me in the fact that the "squash-squash" noise
which I made might easily be overheard by Belgians and Germans and give
my position away. Nobody would cross a swamp or marsh in that part
of the country unless he was trying to get away from somebody, and I
realized my danger, but could not get around it.
It was a common sight in Belgium to see a small donkey and a common,
ordinary milch cow hitched together, pulling a wagon. When I first
observed the unusual combination I thought it was a donkey and ox or
bull, but closer inspection revealed to me that cows were being used for
the purpose.
From what I was able to observe, there must be very few horses left in
Belgium except those owned by the Germans. Cows and donkeys are now
doing the work formerly done by horses and mules. Altogether I spent
nearly eight weeks wandering through Belgium and in all that time I
don't believe I saw more than half a dozen horses in the possession of
the native population.
One of the scarcest things in Germany, apparently, is rubber, for I
noticed that their motor trucks, or lorries, unlike our own, had no
rubber tires. Instead, heavy iron bands were employed. I could hear
them come rumbling along the stone roads for miles before they reached
the spot where I happened to be in hiding. When I saw these military
roads in Belgium for the first time, with their heavy cobblestones that
looked as if they would last for centuries, I realized at once why it
was that the Germans had been able to make such a rapid advance into
Belgium at the start of the war.
I noticed that the Belgians used dogs to a considerable extent to pull
their carts, and I thought many times that if I could have stolen one
of those dogs it would have made a very good companion for me, and
might, if the occasion arose, help me out in a fight. But I had no way
of feeding it and the animal would probably have starved to death. I
could live on vegetables which I could always depend upon finding in the
fields, but a dog couldn't, and so I gave up the idea.
The knack of making fire with two pieces of dry wood I had often read
about, but I had never put it to a test, and for various reasons I
concluded that it would be unsafe for me to build a fire even if I had
matches. In the first place, there was no absolute need for it. I
didn't have anything to cook, nor utensils to cook it in even if I had.
While the air was getting to be rather cool at night, I was usually on
the go at the time and didn't notice it. In the daytime, when I was
resting or sleeping, the sun was usually out.
To have borrowed matches from a Belgian peasant would have been
feasible, but when I was willing to take the chance of approaching any
one it was just as easy to ask for food as matches.
In the second place, it would have been extremely dangerous to have
built a fire even if I had needed it. You can't build a fire in Belgium,
which is the most thickly populated country in Europe, without every one
knowing it, and I was far from anxious to advertise my whereabouts.
The villages in the part of Belgium through which I was making my course
were so close together that there was hardly ever an hour passed without
my hearing some clock strike. Every village has its clock. Many times I
could hear the clocks striking in two villages at the same time.
But the hour had very little interest to me. My program was to travel as
fast as I could from sunset to sunrise and pay no attention to the hours
in between, and in the daytime I had only two things to worry about:
keep concealed and get as much sleep as possible.
The cabbage that I got in Belgium consisted of the small heads that
the peasants had not cut. All the strength had concentrated in these
little heads and they would be as bitter as gall. I would have to be
pretty hungry to-day before I could ever eat cabbage again, and the same
observation applies to carrots, turnips, and sugar-beets--especially
sugar-beets.
It is rather a remarkable thing that to-day even the smell of turnips,
raw or cooked, makes me sick, and yet a few short months ago my life
depended upon them.
Night after night, as I searched for food, I was always in hopes that
I might come upon some tomatoes or celery--vegetables which I really
liked, but with the exception of once, when I found some celery, I was
never so fortunate. I ate so much of the celery the night I came upon it
that I was sick for two days thereafter, but I carried several bunches
away with me and used to chew on it as I walked along.
Of course, I kept my eyes open all the time for fruit trees, but
apparently it was too late in the year for fruit, as all that I ever was
able to find were two pears which I got out of a tree. That was one of
my red-letter days, but I was never able to repeat it.
In the brooks and ponds that I passed I often noticed fish of different
kinds. That was either in the early morning, just before I turned in for
the day, or on moonlight nights when the water seemed as clear in spots
as in the daytime. It occurred to me that it would be a simple matter to
rig a hook and line and catch some of the fish, but I had no means of
cooking them and it was useless to fish for the sake of it.
One night in Belgium my course took me through a desolate stretch
of country which seemed to be absolutely uncultivated. I must have
covered twelve miles during the night without passing a single farm or
cultivated field. My stock of turnips which I had plucked the night
before was gone and I planned, of course, to get enough to carry me
through the following day.
The North Star was shining brightly that night and there was absolutely
nothing to prevent my steering an absolutely direct course for Holland
and liberty, but my path seemed to lie through arid pastures. Far to the
east or to the west I could hear faintly the striking of village bells,
and I knew that if I changed my course I would undoubtedly strike farms
and vegetables, but the North Star seemed to plead with me to follow it,
and I would not turn aside.
When daylight came the consequence was I was empty-handed, and I had to
find a hiding-place for the day. I thought I would approach the first
peasant I came to and ask for food, but that day I had misgivings--a
hunch--that I would get into trouble if I did, and I decided to go
without food altogether for that day.
It was a foolish thing to do, I found, because I not only suffered
greatly from hunger all that day, but it interfered with my sleep. I
would drop off to sleep for half an hour, perhaps, and during that time
I would dream that I was free, back home, living a life of comparative
ease, and then I would wake up with a start and catch a glimpse of the
bushes surrounding me, feel the hard ground beneath me and the hunger
pangs gnawing at my insides, and then I would realize how far from home
I really was, and I would lie there and wonder whether I would ever
really see my home again. Then I would fall asleep again and dream this
time, perhaps, of the days I spent in Courtrai, of my leap from the
train window, of the Bavarian pilot whom I sent to eternity in my last
air-fight, of my tracer-bullets getting closer and closer to his head,
and then I would wake up again with a start and thank the Lord that I
was only dreaming it all again instead of living through it!
That night I got an early start because I knew I had to have food, and I
decided that, rather than look for vegetables, I would take a chance and
apply to the first Belgian peasant I came to.
It was about eight o'clock when I came to a small house. I had picked up
a heavy stone and had bound it in my handkerchief, and I was resolved to
use it as a weapon if it became necessary. After all I had gone through
I was resolved to win my liberty eventually at whatever cost.
As it happened, I found that night the first real friend I had
encountered in all my traveling. When I knocked timidly on the door it
was opened by a Belgian peasant, about fifty years of age. He asked me
in Flemish what I wanted, but I shook my head and, pointing to my ears
and mouth, intimated that I was deaf and dumb, and then I opened and
closed my teeth several times to show him that I wanted food.
He showed me inside and sat me at the table. He apparently lived alone,
for his ill-furnished room had but one chair, and the plate and knife
and fork he put before me seemed to be all he had. He brought me some
cold potatoes and several slices of stale bread, and he warmed me some
milk on a small oil-stove.
I ate ravenously, and all the time I was engaged I knew that he was
eying me closely.
Before I was half through he came over to me, touched me on the
shoulder, and, stooping over so that his lips almost touched my ear, he
said, in broken English, "You are an Englishman--I know it--and you can
hear and talk if you wish. Am I not right?"
There was a smile on his face and a friendly attitude about him that
told me instinctively that he could be trusted, and I replied, "You have
guessed right--only I am an American, not an Englishman."