through the streets gathering potato peelings, refuse of cabbage, and
similar food remnants which, in America, are considered garbage and
destroyed. In Belgium they were using this "garbage" to make their bread
out of, and while the idea may sound revolting to us, the fact is that
the Germans have brought these things down to such a science that the
bread they make in this way is really very good to eat. I know it would
have been like cake to me when I was in need of food; indeed, I would
have eaten the "garbage" direct, let alone the bread.
Although, as I have said, I suffered greatly from hunger while occupying
this house, there were one or two things I observed through the keyhole
or from the windows which made me laugh, and some of the incidents that
occurred during my voluntary imprisonment were really rather funny.
From the keyhole I could see, for instance, a shop window on the other
side of the street, several houses down the block. All day long German
soldiers would be passing in front of the house, and I noticed that
practically every one of them would stop in front of this store window
and look in. Occasionally a soldier on duty bent would hurry past, but
I think nine out of ten of them were sufficiently interested to spend
at least a minute, and some of them three or four minutes, gazing at
whatever was being exhibited in that window, although I noticed that it
failed to attract the Belgians.
I have a considerable streak of curiosity in me and I couldn't help
wondering what it could be in that window which almost without exception
seemed to interest German soldiers, but failed to hold the Belgians,
and after conjuring my brains for a while on the problem I came to the
conclusion that the shop must have been a book-shop and the window
contained German magazines, which, naturally enough, would be of the
greatest interest to the Germans, but of none to the Belgians.
At any rate, I resolved that as soon as night came I would go out and
investigate the window. When I got the answer I laughed so loud that
I was afraid for the moment I must have attracted the attention of the
neighbors, but I couldn't help it. The window was filled with huge
quantities of sausage. The store was a butcher-shop, and one of the
principal things they sold, apparently, was sausage. The display they
made, although it consisted merely of quantities of sausage piled in
the windows, certainly had plenty of "pulling" power. It "pulled" nine
Germans out of ten out of their course and indirectly it "pulled" me
right across the street. The idea of those Germans being so interested
in that window display as to stand in front of the window for two,
three, or four minutes at a time, however, certainly seemed funny to me,
and when I got back to the house I sat at the keyhole again and found
just as much interest as before in watching the Germans stop in their
tracks when they reached the window, even though I was now aware what
the attraction was.
One of my chief occupations during those days was catching flies. I
would catch a fly, put him in a spider's web--there were plenty of
them in the old house--and sit down to wait for the spider to come
and get him. But always I pictured myself in the same predicament and
rescued the fly just as the spider was about to grab him. Several times
when things were dull I was tempted to see the tragedy through, but
perhaps the same Providence that guided me safely through all perils was
guarding, too, the destiny of those flies, for I always weakened and the
flies never did suffer from my lust for amusement.
The house was well supplied with books--in fact, one of the choicest
libraries I think I ever saw--but they were all written either in
Flemish or in French. I could read no Flemish and very little French.
I might have made a little headway with the latter, but the books all
seemed too deep for me and I gave it up. There was one thing, though,
that I did read and re-read from beginning to end--that was a New York
_Herald_ which must have arrived just about the time war was declared.
Several things in there interested me, and particularly the baseball
scores, which I studied with as much care as a real fan possibly would
an up-to-date score. I couldn't refrain from laughing when I came to an
account of Zimmerman (of the Cubs) being benched for some spat with the
umpire, and it afforded me just as much interest three years after it
had happened--perhaps more--than some current item of worldwide interest
had at the time.
I rummaged the house many times from cellar to garret in my search for
something to eat, but the harvest of three years of war had made any
success along that line impossible. I was like the man out on the ocean
in a boat and thirsty, with water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.
I was tempted while in this city to go to church one Sunday, but my
better judgment told me it would be a useless risk. Of course some one
would surely say something to me, and I didn't know how many Germans
would be there, or what might happen, so I gave up that idea.
During all the time I was concealed in this house I saw but one
automobile, and that was a German staff officer's. That same afternoon I
had one of the frights of my young life.
I had been gazing out of the keyhole as usual when I heard coming down
the street the measured tread of German soldiers. It didn't sound like
very many, but there was no doubt in my mind that German soldiers were
marching down the street. I went up-stairs and peeked through the
window, and sure enough a squad of German infantry was coming down the
street, accompanying a military truck. I hadn't the slightest idea that
they were coming after me, but still the possibilities of the situation
gave me more or less alarm, and I considered how I could make my escape
if by any chance I was the man they were after. The idea of hiding in
the wine-cellar appealed to me as the most practical; there must have
been plenty of places among the wine kegs and cases where a man could
conceal himself, but, as a matter of fact, I did not believe that any
such contingency would arise.
The marching soldiers came nearer. I could hear them at the next house.
In a moment I would see them pass the keyhole through which I was
looking.
"Halt!"
At the word of command shouted by a junior officer the squad came to
attention right in front of the house.
I waited no longer. Running down the stairs, I flew down into the
wine-cellar, and although it was almost pitch dark--the only light
coming from a grating which led to the backyard--I soon found a
satisfactory hiding-place in the extreme rear of the cellar. I had the
presence of mind to leave the door of the wine-cellar ajar, figuring
that if the soldiers found a closed door they would be more apt to
search for a fugitive behind it than if the door were open.
My decision to get away from the front door had been made and carried
out none too soon, for I had only just located myself between two big
wine-cases when I heard the tramp of soldiers' feet marching up the
front steps, a crash at the front door, a few hasty words of command
which I did not understand, and then the noise of scurrying feet from
room to room and such a banging and hammering and smashing and crashing
that I could not make out what was going on.
If Huyliger had revealed my hiding-place to the Huns, as I was now
confident he had, I felt that there was little prospect of their
overlooking me. They would search the house from top to bottom and, if
necessary, raze it to the ground before they would give up the search.
To escape from the house through the backyard through the iron grating,
which I had no doubt I could force, seemed to be a logical thing to do,
but the chances were that the Huns had thrown a cordon around the entire
block before the squad was sent to the house. The Germans do these
things in an efficient manner always. They take nothing for granted.
My one chance seemed to be to stand pat in the hope that the officer in
charge might possibly come to the conclusion that he had arrived at the
house too late--that the bird had flown.
My position in that wine-cellar was anything but a comfortable one. Rats
and mice were scurrying across the floor, and the smashing and crashing
going on overhead was anything but promising. Evidently those soldiers
imagined that I might be hiding in the walls, for it sounded as though
they were tearing off the wainscoting, the picture-molding, and, in
fact, everything that they could tear or pull apart.
Before very long they would finish their search up-stairs and would come
down to the basement. What they would do when they discovered the wine
I had no idea. Perhaps they would let themselves loose on it and give
me my chance. With a bottle of wine in each hand I figured I could put
up a good fight in the dark, especially as I was becoming more and more
accustomed to it and could begin to distinguish things here and there,
whereas they would be as blind as bats in the sun when they entered the
pitchy darkness of the cellar.
Perhaps it was twenty minutes before I heard what sounded like my
death-knell to me; the soldiers were coming down the cellar steps. I
clutched a wine bottle in each hand and waited with bated breath.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! In a moment they would be in the cellar proper. I
could almost hear my heart beating. The mice scurried across the floor
by the scores, frightened, no doubt, by the vibration and noise made
by the descending soldiers. Some of the creatures ran across me where
I stood between the two wine-cases, but I was too much interested in
bigger game to pay attention to mice.
Tramp! Tramp! "Halt!" Again an order was given in German, and although I
did not understand it, I am willing to bless every word of it, because
it resulted in the soldiers turning right about face, marching up the
stairs again, through the hall, and out of the front door and away!
I could hardly believe my ears. It seemed almost too good to be true
that they could have given up the search just as they were about to come
on their quarry, but unless my ears deceived me that was what they had
done.
The possibility that the whole thing might be a German ruse did not
escape me, and I remained in the cellar for nearly an hour after they
had apparently departed before I ventured to move, listening intently in
the mean while for the slightest sound which would reveal the presence
of a sentry up-stairs.
Not hearing a sound, I began to feel that they had indeed given up
the hunt, for I did not believe that a German officer would be so
considerate of his men as to try to trap me rather than carry the cellar
by force if they had the slightest idea that I was there.
I took off my shoes and crept softly and slowly to the cellar steps, and
then step by step, placing my weight down gradually so as to prevent
the steps from creaking, I climbed to the top. The sight that met my
eyes as I glanced into the kitchen told me the whole story. The water
faucets had been ripped from the sinks, the water pipes having been torn
from the walls. Everything of brass or copper had been torn off, and gas
fixtures, cooking utensils, and everything else which contain even only
a small proportion of the metals the Germans so badly needed had been
taken from the kitchen. I walked up-stairs now with more confidence,
feeling tolerably assured that the soldiers hadn't been after me at
all, but had been merely collecting metals and other materials which
they expected an elaborate dwelling-house like the one in which I was
concealed to yield.
Later I heard that the Germans have taken practically every ounce of
brass, copper, and wool they could lay their hands on in Belgium.
Even the brass out of pianos has been ruthlessly removed, the serious
damage done to valuable property by the removal of only an insignificant
proportion of metal never being taken into consideration. I learned,
too, that all dogs over fourteen inches high had been seized by the
Germans. This furnished lots of speculation among the Belgians as to
what use the Germans were putting the animals to, the general impression
apparently being that they were being used for food.
This, however, seemed much less likely to me than that they were being
employed as despatch dogs in the trenches, the same as we use them on
our side of the line. They might possibly kill the dogs and use their
skins for leather and their carcasses for tallow, but I feel quite sure
that the Huns are by no means so short of food that they have to eat
dogs yet awhile.
Indeed, I want to repeat here what I have mentioned before: if any
one has the idea that this war can be won by _starving_ the Huns, he
hasn't the slightest idea how well provided the Germans are in that
respect. They have considered their food needs in connection with their
resources for several years to come, and they have gone at it in such
a methodical, systematic way, taking into consideration every possible
contingency, that, provided there is not an absolute crop failure, there
isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that they can last for years, and
the worst of it is they are quite cocksure about it.
It is true that the German soldiers want peace. As I watched them
through the keyhole in the door I thought how unfavorably they compared
with our men. They marched along the street without laughter, without
joking, without singing. It was quite apparent that the war is telling
on them. I don't believe I saw a single German soldier who didn't look
as if he had lost his best friend--and he probably had.
At the same time, there is a big difference--certainly a difference of
several years--between wishing the war was over and giving up, and I
don't believe the German rank and file any more than their leaders have
the slightest idea at this time of giving up at all.
But to return to my experiences while concealed in the house. After the
visit of the soldiers, which left the house in a wretched condition,
I decided that I would continue my journey toward the frontier,
particularly as I had got all I could out of Huyliger, or rather he had
got all he was going to get out of me.
During my concealment in the house I made various sorties into the city
at night, and I was beginning to feel more comfortable, even when German
soldiers were about. Through the keyhole I had studied very closely
the gait of the Belgians, the slovenly droop that characterized most
of them, and their general appearance, and I felt that in my own dirty
and unshaven condition I must have looked as much like the average
poor Belgian as a man could. The only thing that was against me was my
height. I was several inches taller than even the tallest Belgians.
I had often thought that red hair would have gone well with my name,
but now, of course, I was mighty glad that I was not so endowed, for
red-haired Belgians are about as rare as German charity.
There are many, no doubt, who will wonder why I did not get more help
than I did at this time. It is easily answered. When a man is in hourly
fear of his life and the country is full of spies, as Belgium certainly
was, he is not going to help just any one that comes along seeking aid.
One of the Germans' most successful ways of trapping the Belgians has
been to pose as an English or French prisoner who has escaped; appeal
to them for aid; implicate as many as possible, and then turn the whole
German police force loose on them.
As I look back now on those days I think it remarkable that I received
as much help as I did, but when people are starving under the conditions
now forced upon those unfortunate people it is a great temptation to
surrender these escaped prisoners to German authorities and receive the
handsome rewards offered for them--or for alien spies, as I was classed
at that time.
The passport which I had described me as a Spanish sailor, but I was
very dubious about its value. If I could have spoken Spanish fluently
it might have been worth something to me, but the few words I knew of
the language would not have carried me very far if I had been confronted
with a Spanish interpreter. I decided to use the passport only as a
last resort, preferring to act the part of a deaf and dumb Belgian
peasant as far as it would carry me.
Before I finally left the house I had a remarkable experience which I
shall remember as long as I live.
XIV
A NIGHT OF DISSIPATION
During the first two days I spent with Huyliger after I had first
arrived in the big city he had told me, among other things, of a
moving-picture show in town which he said I might have a chance to see
while there.
"It is free every night in the week except Saturdays and Sundays," he
said, "and once you are inside you would not be apt to be bothered by
any one except when they come to take your order for something to drink.
While there is no admission, patrons are expected to eat or drink while
enjoying the pictures."
A day or two later, while walking the streets at night in search of
food, I had passed this place, and was very much tempted to go in
and spend a few hours, particularly as it would perhaps give me an
opportunity to buy something to eat, although I was at a loss to know
how I was going to ask for what I wanted.
While trying to make up my mind whether it was safe for me to go in, I
walked half a block past the place, and when I turned back again and
reached the entrance with my mind made up that I would take the chance I
ran full tilt into a German officer who was just coming out!
That settled all my hankerings for moving pictures that night. "Where
you came from, my friend," I figured, "there must be more like you! I
guess it is a good night for walking."
The next day, however, in recalling the incident of the evening before,
it seemed to me that I had been rather foolish. What I needed more than
anything at that time was confidence. Before I could get to the frontier
I would have to confront German soldiers many times, because there
were more of them between this city and Holland than in any section
of the country through which I had so far traveled. Safety in these
contingencies would depend largely upon the calmness I displayed. It
wouldn't do to get all excited at the mere sight of a spiked helmet.
The Belgians, I had noticed, while careful to obey the orders of the
Huns, showed no particular fear of them, and it seemed to me the sooner
I cultivated the same feeling of indifference the better I would be able
to carry off the part I was playing.
For this reason, I made up my mind then and there that, officers or no
officers, I would go to that show that night and sit it through, no
matter what happened. While people may think that I had decided unwisely
because of the unnecessary risk involved in the adventure, it occurred
to me that perhaps, after all, that theater was about one of the safest
places I could attend, because that was about the last place Germans
would expect to find a fugitive English officer in, even if they were
searching for one.
As soon as evening came, therefore, I decided to go to the theater. I
fixed myself up as well as possible. I had on a fairly decent pair of
trousers which Huyliger had given me and I used a clean handkerchief as
a collar.
With my hair brushed up and my beard trimmed as neatly as possible
with a pair of rusty scissors which I had found in the house, while
my appearance was not exactly that of a Beau Brummel, I don't think I
looked much worse than the average Belgian. In these days, the average
Belgian is very poorly dressed at best.
I can't say I had no misgivings as I made my way to the theater;
certainly I was going there more for discipline than pleasure, but I had
made up my mind and I was going to see it through.
The entrance to the theater or beer-garden--for it was as much one as
the other--was on the side of the building, and was reached by way of
an alley which ran along the side. Near the door was a ticket-seller's
booth, but as this was one of the free nights there was no one in the
booth.
I marched slowly down the alley, imitating as best I could the
indifferent gait of the Belgians, and when I entered the theater I
endeavored to act as though I had been there many times before. A hasty
survey of the layout of the place was sufficient to enable me to select
my seat. It was early and there were not more than half a dozen people
in the place at that time, so that I had my choice.
There was a raised platform, perhaps two feet high, all round the walls
of the place, except at the end where the stage was located. On this
platform tables were arranged, and there were tables on the floor proper
as well.
I decided promptly that the safest place for me was as far back as
possible where I would not be in the line of vision of others in back
of me. Accordingly, I slouched over to a table on the platform directly
opposite the stage and I took the seat against the wall. The whole place
was now in front of me. I could see everything that was going on and
every one who came in, but no one, except those who sat at my own table,
would notice me unless they deliberately turned around to look.
The place began to fill up rapidly. Every second person who came in the
door seemed to me to be a German soldier, but when they were seated at
the tables and I got a chance later on to make a rough count, I found
that in all there were not more than a hundred soldiers in the place
and there must have been several hundred civilians.
The first people to sit at my table were a Belgian and his wife. The
Belgian sat next to me and his wife next to him. I was hoping that other
civilians would occupy the remaining two seats at my table because I
did not relish the idea of having to sit through the show with German
soldiers within a few feet of me. That would certainly have spoiled my
pleasure for the evening.
Every uniform that came in the door gave me cause to worry until I
was sure it was not coming in my direction. I don't suppose there was
a single soldier who came in the door whom I didn't follow to his
seat--with my eyes.
Just before they lowered the lights two German officers came in the
door. They stood there for a moment looking the place over. Then they
made a bee-line in my direction, and I must confess my heart started to
beat a little faster. I hoped that they would find another seat before
they came to my vicinity, but they were getting nearer and nearer, and I
realized with a sickening sensation that they were headed directly for
the two seats at my table, and that was indeed the case.
These two seats were in front of the table, facing the stage, and except
when they would be eating or drinking their backs were toward me, and
there was considerable consolation in that. From my seat I could have
reached right over and touched one of them on his bald head. It would
have been more than a touch, I am afraid, if I could have got away with
it safely.
As the officers seated themselves a waiter came to us with a printed
bill of fare and a program. Fortunately, he waited on the others first,
and I listened intently to their orders. The officers ordered some
light wine, but my Belgian neighbor ordered "Bock" for himself and his
wife, which was what I had decided to order, anyway, as that was the
only thing I could say. Heaven knows I would far rather have ordered
something to eat, but the bill of fare meant nothing to me, and I was
afraid to take a chance at the pronunciation of the dishes it set forth.
There were a number of drinks listed which I suppose I might safely
enough have ordered. For instance, I noticed "Lemon Squash, 1.50,"
"Ginger Beer, 1-," "Sparkling Dry Ginger Ale, 1-," "Apollinaris, 1-,"
and "Schweppes Soda, 0.80," but it occurred to me that the mere fact
that I selected something that was listed in English might attract
attention to me and something in my pronunciation might give further
cause for suspicion.
It seemed better to parrot the Belgian and order "Bock," and that was
what I decided to do.
One item on the bill of fare tantalized me considerably. Although it was
listed among the "Prizzen der dranken," which I took to mean "Prices of
drinks," it sounded very much to me like something to eat, and Heaven
knows I would rather have had one honest mouthful of food than all the
drinks in the world. The item I refer to was "Dubbel Gersten de Flesch
(Michaux)." A _double_ portion of anything would have been mighty
welcome to me, but I would have been quite contented with a _single_
"Gersten"--whatever that might happen to be--if I had only had the
courage to ask for it.