STILL AT LARGE
“THE CHINESE DRAGON CLUE
“GUNTHER PLÜSCHOW, the German Naval-lieutenant, fugitive from Donington
Hall, has now been at large seven days. The Chinese dragon tattooed on
his left arm while on service in the East should, however, betray his
identity.
“Further particulars of the escape with Lieutenant Trefftz, who was
caught at Millwall Docks within twenty-four hours, show that last
Sunday evening a violent thunderstorm raged over Donington Hall when
the evening roll-call was taken. Instead of assembling with the other
prisoners within the inner of the two rings of wire entanglements, the
two hid within the outer circle. Their names were answered by other
prisoners. A wooden plank near the outer ring showed how they got
across the barbed wire.”
* * * * *
[Notice circulated in the Press one week after the escape.]
[Illustration:
PLUSCHOW STILL FREE.
THE CHINESE DRAGON CLUE.
Gunther Pluschow, the German naval lieutenant, fugitive from Donington
Hall, has now been at large seven days. The Chinese dragon tattooed on
his left arm while on service in the East should, however, betray his
identity.
Further particulars of the escape with Lieutenant Treppitz, who was
caught at Millwall Docks within twenty-four hours, show that last
Sunday evening a violent thunderstorm raged over Donington Hall when
the evening roll-call was taken. Instead of assembling with the other
prisoners within the inner of the two rings of wire entanglement, the
two hid within the outer circle. Their names were answered by other
prisoners. A wooden plank near the outer ring showed how they got
across the barbed wire.
FACSIMILE OF NOTICE CIRCULATED IN THE PRESS A WEEK AFTER THE ESCAPE]
For days I loafed about London, my cap set jauntily at the back of my
head, my jacket open, showing my blue sweater and its one ornament, the
gilt stud, hands in pocket, whistling and spitting, as is the custom of
sailors in ports all the world over. No one suspected me, and my whole
plan hinged on this, for my only safeguard against discovery lay in the
exclusion of even the slightest suspicion directed against myself. If
anyone had paid even passing attention to me, if a policeman had asked
me for my name, I could only have given my own. Therefore, it was quite
superfluous that the warrants put such stress on the tattoo marks on
my arm as a clue to my identity. If matters had got thus far, it would
have meant that the fight was over.
On the second morning I had colossal luck! I sat on the top of a bus,
and behind me two business men were engaged in animated conversation.
Suddenly I caught the words, “Dutch steamer—departure—Tilbury,”
and from that moment I listened intently, trying to quell the joyful
throbbings of my heart. For these careless gentlemen were recounting
nothing less than the momentous news of the sailing, each morning at
seven, of a fast Dutch steamer for Flushing, which cast anchor off
Tilbury Docks every afternoon.
In the twinkling of an eye I was off the bus. I rushed off to
Blackfriars Station, and an hour later was at Tilbury. It was midday,
and the workmen were streaming into their public-houses. First I went
down to the river and reconnoitred; but my boat had not yet arrived. As
I still had some time before me and felt very hungry, I went into one
of the numerous eating-houses specially frequented by dock-labourers.
In a large room a hundred of them were gathered around long tables,
partaking of huge meals. I followed their example, and, by putting
down 8d., received a plate heaped with potatoes, vegetables and a
large piece of meat. After that I purchased a big glass of stout from
the bar, and, sitting down amongst the men with the utmost unconcern,
proceeded with my dinner, endeavouring to copy the table manners of the
men around me, and nearly coming to grief when trying to assimilate
peas with the help of a knife.
In the midst of my feast I suddenly felt a tap on the shoulder. Icy
shivers ran down my back. The proprietor stood behind me and asked me
for my papers. I naturally understood that he meant my identity book,
and gave all up as lost. As I was unable to produce them, I was obliged
to follow him, and saw to my dread that he went to the telephone. I
was already casting furtive glances at the door and thinking how I
could best make my escape, when the publican, who had been watching me
through the glass door, returned and remarked: “If you have forgotten
your papers, I can’t help you. By the by, what is your name? And where
do you come from?”
“I am George Mine, an American, ordinary seaman from the four-masted
barque _Ohio_, lying upstream. I just came in here and have paid for my
dinner, but of course haven’t got my papers about me.”
He remarked: “This is a private, social-democratic club, and only
members are allowed to eat here—you ought surely to know that—but if
you become a member, you are welcome to come as often as you like.”
Of course I agreed at once to his proposal, and paid three
shillings’ entrance fee. A bit of glaring red ribbon was passed
through my buttonhole, and thus I became the latest member of the
social-democratic trades union of Tilbury!
I returned to my table as if nothing had happened, gulped down my stout
to fortify myself after the shock I had just had, but also soon left,
for, to be quite frank, I had lost all my appetite and no longer cared
for my food.
I now went down to the riverside, threw myself on to the grass, and,
feigning sleep, kept a lynx-eyed watch.
Ship after ship went by, and my expectations rose every minute. At
last, at 4 p.m., with proud bearing, the fast Dutch steamer dropped
anchor and made fast to a buoy just in front of me. My happiness and
my joy were indescribable when I read the ship’s name in white shining
letters on the bow: MECKLENBURG.
There could be no better omen for me, since I am a native of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin. I crossed over to Gravesend on a ferry-boat, and
from there unobtrusively watched the steamer. I adopted the careless
demeanour and rolling gait of the typical Jack Tar, hands in my
pockets, whistling a gay tune, but keeping eyes and mind keenly on the
alert.
This was my plan: to swim to the buoy during the night, climb the
hawser, creep on deck and reach Holland as a stowaway.
I soon found the basis for my operations.
After I had ascertained that nobody was paying attention to me, I
climbed over a pile of wood and rubbish, and concealed myself under
some planks, where I discovered several bundles of hay. These afforded
me a warm resting-place, of which I made use on that and the following
nights.
About midnight I left my refuge. Cautiously I clambered over the old
planks and the litter strewn over the ground. The rain came down
noisily, and, though I had taken my bearings during the day, it was
almost impossible in the pitch-dark night to find the two barges which
I had seen near the lumber pile.
Creeping on all fours, listening with straining ears and trying to
pierce the surrounding blackness, I came closer to my object.
However, I perceived with dismay that the two barges which, in
daytime, had been completely submerged, lay high and dry. Luckily, at
the stern, a little dinghy rode on the water.
With prompt resolution I wanted to rush into the boat, but before I
knew where I was I felt the ground slipping from under my feet and I
sank to the hips into a squashy, slimy, stinking mass. I threw my arms
about, and was just able to reach the plank, which ran from the shore
to the sailing-boat, with my left hand.
It took all my strength to get free of the slime which had nearly
proved my undoing, and I was completely exhausted when I at last
dragged myself back to my bed of hay.
When the sun rose on the third morning of my escape, I had already
returned to a bench in Gravesend Park, and was watching the
_Mecklenburg_ as she slipped her moorings at 7 a.m. and made for the
open sea.
All that day, as well as later on, I loafed about London. For hours,
like so many other wastrels, I watched from the bridges the position
of the neutral steamers, the loading and unloading of cargoes, noting
their stage and progress, in order, if possible, to take advantage of
a lucky moment to slip on board.
I fed all these days in some of the worst eating-houses of the East
End. I looked so disreputable and dirty, often limping or reeling
about like a drunkard, and put on such an imbecile stare that no one
bothered about me. I avoided speech, and sharply observed the workmen’s
pronunciation and the way in which they ordered their food. Soon I
had acquired such facility and quickness—to say nothing of amazing
impudence—that I no longer even considered the possibility of being
caught. In the evening I returned to Gravesend.
This time a new steamer lay at anchor in the river, the _Princess
Juliana_.
I now proceeded to pay still more attention to the conformation of the
riverside, so as to safeguard myself against further accidents.
At midnight I found myself at the spot I had chosen. The bank was stony
and the tide just going out. I quietly discarded my jacket, boots and
stockings, stowed the latter, with my watch, shaving-set, etc., in my
cap, and put it on, fastening it securely on my head.
After that I hid the jacket and the boots under a stone, tightened the
leather belt which held my trousers, and, dressed as I was, slipped
gently into the water and swam in the direction of the boat.
The night was rainy and dark. Soon I was unable to recognize the
shore which I had just left, but could just make out the outline of
a rowing-boat which lay at anchor. I made for it, but in spite of
terrible exertions could not get any nearer. My clothes were soaked
through, and, growing heavier and heavier, nearly dragged me down. My
strength began to abandon me, and so strong was the current that other
rowing-boats which lay at anchor seemed to shoot past me like phantoms.
Swimming desperately and exerting all my strength, I tried to keep my
head above the water.
Soon, though, I lost consciousness, but when I recovered it, I lay high
and dry on some flat stones covered with seaweed.
A kind fate had directed me to the few stony tracts of the shore where
the river makes a sharp bend, and, thanks to the quickly outflowing
tide, I lay out of the water.
Trembling and shivering with cold and exertion, I staggered along the
river-bank, and after an hour I found my jacket and my boots. After
that I climbed over my fence and lay down, with chattering teeth, on my
couch of straw.
It was still pouring, and an icy wind swept over me. My only covering
consisted of my wet jacket and my two hands, which I spread out
protectively over my stomach so as to try at least to keep well and
going for the next few days. After two hours, being quite unable to
sleep, I got up and ran about to get a little warmer.
My wet clothes only dried when they had hung over a stove a few days
later in Germany! I again went to London for the day. I hung around in
several churches, where I probably created the impression that I was
praying devoutly; in reality I enjoyed an occasional nap there.
Another notice:
“MUCH-ESCAPED FUGITIVE
“_Plüschow’s Aeroplane Flight from Tsing-Tao_
“By the Chinese dragon clue the authorities still hope to trace
Lieutenant Gunther Plüschow, of the German Navy, who escaped from
Donington Hall on Monday. The dragon is tattooed on the fugitive’s
left arm in Oriental colours. It was probably worked by a native
artist, for although but twenty-nine years of age, Plüschow has had an
adventurous career in the Kaiser’s Navy.
“He was in Tsing-Tao when the British and Japanese besieged that
German fortress. Shortly before it fell, Plüschow escaped in an
aeroplane, and some weeks later he was found on board a Japanese
trading ship at Gibraltar.
“He will probably endeavour to sign on as a seaman in a neutral ship
sailing from a British port, and, with this in view, a very careful
watch is being kept at all ports throughout the country. Plüschow is
a typical sailor, about 5 feet 6 inches in height, with fair hair
and fresh complexion. He would pass for a Dutchman with his broken
English. Nothing he can do can remove the Chinese dragon from his left
arm, and his recapture should be but a matter of time.”
On that day I nearly became an English soldier. On one of the
platforms, erected in the midst of a public square, I saw an orator
standing up and addressing the people—of course, angling for recruits.
In the most brilliant colours, and with the highest enthusiasm, he
depicted to the attentive crowd the _entrée_ into London of victorious
German troops. “The streets of London,” he said, “will re-echo to the
tread of the ‘Huns’; your wives will be ravished by German soldiers and
trampled on by their muddy boots. Will you allow this, free Britons?”
An indignant “No” sounded back. “Very well, then—come and join the
army now!”
I expected a general rush forward, for the man had spoken most
impressively; but no one budged, no one volunteered, or believed that
Kitchener specially wanted _him_. The orator now started all over
again, but his flaming words fell on deaf ears.
In the meantime, English recruiting sergeants moved about the crowd.
Everywhere people shook their heads. Not one of Albion’s valorous sons
was having any. Suddenly my turn came.
A sergeant as tall as a lamp-post stood before me and felt the biceps
of my forearms. He seemed very pleased with his examination, for he
tried to convince me by all the means in his power that to be a soldier
in Kitchener’s army was the most beautiful thing in the world. I
refused. “No,” I said; “it is quite impossible. I am only seventeen.”
“Oh, that don’t matter; we shall simply turn it into eighteen, and
that’ll be all right.”
“No, really, it’s quite impossible. Moreover, I am an American,
and have no permission from my Captain.” The persistent fellow now
produced an oleograph on which the English uniforms were depicted in
the gaudiest colours. He simply would not let me go. To get rid of him
I asked him to leave it with me, and promised to talk it over with my
skipper, and to tell him next day which uniform I preferred. It goes
without saying that I always made a great detour round this place.
I had by then acquired so much confidence that I walked into the
British Museum, visited several picture-galleries and even frequented
matinées at music-halls, without being asked questions. The pretty
blonde attendants at the music-halls were especially friendly to me,
and seemed to pity the poor sailor who had wandered in by chance. What
amused me most was to see the glances of disgust and contempt which the
ladies and the young girls used to throw at me on the top of the buses.
If they had known who sat near them! Is it surprising that I should
not smell sweetly considering my night’s work and the wet and slimy
state of my clothes? In the evening I was back at Gravesend. In the
little park which overlooked the Thames I listened quietly for hours to
the strains of a military band. I had definitely given up my plan to
swim to the steamer, for I saw that the distance was too great and the
current too strong. I decided, therefore, to commandeer unobtrusively,
somehow, a dinghy in which to reach the steamer. Just in front of me
I saw one which I deemed suitable for my purpose, but it was moored
to a wharf over which a sentry stood guard by day and night. But the
risk had to be taken. The night was very dark when, about 12, I crept
through the park and crawled up to the embankment wall, which was about
6 feet high. I jumped over the hedge and saw the boat rocking gently
on the water. I listened breathlessly. The sentry marched up and down.
Half asleep, I had taken off my boots, fastening them with the laces
round my neck, and holding an open knife between my teeth. With the
stealth of an Indian I let myself down over the wall, and was just able
to reach the gunwale of the boat with my toes. My hands slipped over
the hard granite without a sound, and a second later I dropped into the
boat, where I huddled in a corner listening with breathless attention;
but my sentry went on striding up and down undisturbed under the bright
arc-lamps. My boat, luckily, lay in shadow.
My eyes, trained through T.B.D. practice, saw in spite of the pitch
darkness almost as well as by day. Carefully I felt for the oars. Damn!
They were padlocked! Luckily the chain lay loose, and silently I first
freed the boat-hook, then one oar after the other from the chain. My
knife now sawed through the two ropes which held the boat to the wall,
and I dipped my oars noiselessly into the water and impelled my little
boat forward.
When I had entered the boat, it had already shipped a good deal of
water. Now I noticed to my dismay that the water was rapidly rising.
It was already lapping the thwart, and the boat became more and more
difficult to handle as it grew heavier and heavier. I threw myself
despairingly on my oars. Suddenly, with a grinding noise, the keel
grounded and the boat lay immovable. Nothing now was of avail, neither
pulling nor rowing, nor the use of the boat-hook. The boat simply
refused to budge. Very quickly the water sank round it, and after a
few minutes I sat dry in the mud, but to make up for this the boat was
brimful of water. I had never in my life witnessed such a change in the
water-level due to the tide. Although the Thames is well known in this
respect, I had never believed that possible.
At this moment I found myself in the most critical position of my
escape. I was surrounded on all sides by slushy, stinking slime, whose
acquaintance I had made two evenings before at the risk of my life.
The very thought caused me to shudder. About 200 yards off the sentry
marched up and down, and I found myself with my boat 15 feet from the
6-foot-high granite wall.
I sat reflecting coolly. One thing appeared a sheer necessity—not to
be found there by the English, who might have killed me like a mad dog.
But the water was not due to rise before the next afternoon. Therefore
it behoved me to muster my energy, clench my teeth, and try to get the
better of the mud. I slipped off my stockings, turned up my trousers
as high as I could, then I placed the thwarts and the oars close to
each other on the seething and gurgling ooze, used the boat-hook as a
leaping-pole by placing its point on a board, stood on the gunwale,
and, gathering all my strength to a mighty effort, I vaulted into
space—but lay, alas, the next moment 3 feet short of the wall, and
sank deep over knee into the clammy slush, touching hard bottom,
however, as I did so. Now I worked myself along the wall, placed my
boat-hook as a climbing-pole against it, and found myself in a few
seconds on top, after which I slid into the grass of the park, where
a few hours previously I had been listening to the music. Unbroken
silence reigned around me. Unutterable relief flooded me, for nobody,
not even the sentry, had noticed anything.
With acute discomfort I contemplated my legs. They were covered with a
thick, grey, malodorous mass, and there was no water in the vicinity to
clean them. But it was impossible to put on boots or stockings whilst
they were in that condition. With infinite trouble I succeeded in
scraping off the dirt as far as possible, and waited for the rest to
dry; then only was I able to resume a fairly decent appearance.
My first plan had miscarried, but in spite of this I felt I had had
such luck with it that I was ready to undertake a second venture.
I now made my way to the little bridge, which was guarded by my sentry,
and, impersonating a drunken sailor, I reeled about until I gently
collided with the good fellow. He, however, seemed quite used to such
happenings, for remarking pleasantly, “Hallo, old Jack! One whisky too
much!” he patted me on the shoulder and let me pass.
A hundred yards farther on, and I had regained my normal demeanour.
After a short search I found the place from which I had started the
night before on my ill-starred swimming attempt.
It was about 2 a.m., and in a trice I had undressed and sprang, agile
and unhampered—as God had made me—into the water. For the first time
the sky was covered with clouds, and the outlines of rowing-boats,
anchored at a distance of about 200 yards from the shore, appeared
vague and shadowy. The water was quite unusually phosphorescent, and I
have only observed it to that degree in the tropics. I swam, therefore,
in a sea of gold and silver. At any other time I would have admired
this play of Nature immensely, but now I only felt fear that my body
would flash suspiciously white in this clear golden light. At the
start, all went well. But as soon as I had passed the left bend of the
river, where the shore afforded some protection, I was seized by the
current, and had to fight for my life with the watery elements. As I
was losing my strength I reached the first boat, made a final effort
and hoisted myself noisily into it. Oh, persecution of a pitiless fate!
The boat was empty—no scull, no boat-hook with which I could have put
it in motion. After a short pause I again slipped into the water and
drifted on to the next boat. And this, too, was empty! And the same
happened with the three next. And when I reached the last one, after
I had rested a little, I again dipped into the glittering but now
unpleasantly cold water. Two hours after I had started on my adventure,
I again reached the place where I had left my clothes.
As I was trembling like an aspen leaf with cold and exposure, I found
it particularly hard to get into my sodden and sticky togs.
Half an hour later I was back in my sleeping-place amid the hay,
beginning to feel serious doubts in the existence of my lucky star!
Could I be blamed if my spirits fell a little, and if I became quite
indifferent to my interests? I confess I was so discouraged that the
next morning I did not find sufficient energy to leave my hiding-place
in time, and only escaped over my fence after the proprietor of the
timber-pile had passed close in front of my retreat several times. That
day I walked up to London on foot from Gravesend, and returned by the
other side of the Thames to Tilbury. All this, in order to find a boat
that I could purloin unnoticed. It was quite incredible that I could
not do so; several lay there, as if waiting for me; but they were only
too well guarded. I gave it up in despair.
That evening I went to a music-hall, with the firm intention of blowing
my last pound, and then staking everything on one card, and try to get
to the docks and hide there on a neutral steamer. And if this plan
miscarried—as it had with Trefftz—I decided to give myself up to the
police.
I stood in the upper gallery of the biggest music-hall in London and
watched the performance. An inner voice whispered to me: “Your place is
at Gravesend, working for your escape. Your duty is to throw off this
slackness, otherwise you are not worthy to be a German sailor!”
So when I saw the _tableaux vivants_, scenes from the trenches and
allegories of the coming Victory and Peace, in which the Germans
naturally figured as fleeing and conquered, when at last, in the chief
picture, Britannia appeared—a shining figure with the Palm of Victory
in her hand, and a field-grey German soldier lying prostrate beneath
her right foot—I felt consumed by a flame of righteous anger, and
in spite of the forcible protests of my neighbours I fled from the
theatre, and was able to catch the last train to Tilbury.
Only then did I feel happy again. And I felt so certain now that my
plan would come off, that no room was left for doubt.
After I had passed the first fishermen’s huts of Gravesend, I found
a small scull. I took it with me. In mid-stream, just near the
landing-place of the fishing-vessels, a little dinghy bobbed on the
water. Not more than twenty feet away sat their owners on a bench,
so absorbed in tender flirtation with their fair ones that the good
sea-folk took no heed of my appearance on the scene.
It was risky, but “Nothing venture, nothing have,” I muttered to
myself. And, thanks to my acquired proficiency, I crept soundlessly
into the boat—one sharp cut, and the tiny nutshell softly glided
alongside a fishing-boat, on whose quarter-deck a woman was lulling her
baby to sleep.
As there were no rowlocks in the boat, I sat aft, and pushed off
with all my strength from the shore. I had, however, hardly covered
one-third of the distance, when the ebbtide caught me in its whirl,
spun my boat round like a top and paralysed all my efforts at steering.
The time had come to show my sailor’s efficiency. With an iron grip I
recovered control of the boat, and, floating with the tide, I steered a
downstream course. A dangerous moment was at hand. An imposing military
pontoon-bridge, stretching across the river, and guarded by soldiers,
came across my way. Summoning cool resolution and sharp attention to my
aid, looking straight ahead and only intent on my scull, I disregarded
the sentry’s challenge and shot through between the two pontoons. A
few seconds after the boat sustained a heavy shock, and I floundered
on to the anchor-cable of a mighty coal-tender. With lightning speed I
flung my painter round it, and this just in time, for the boat nearly
capsized. But I was safe. The water whirled madly past it, as the
ebbtide, reinforced by the drop of the river, must have fully set in. I
had now only to wait patiently.
[Illustration: GUNTHER PLÜSCHOW IN THE DISGUISE OF A DOCK LABOURER IN
WHICH HE ESCAPED]
My steamer lay to starboard. I wanted to bide my time until the flow of
the tide made it possible for me to get across.
I was already bubbling over with cock-sureness when the necessary
damper was administered. Dawn was breaking, the outlines of the
anchored ships became clearer and clearer. At last the sun rose,
and still the water ran out so strongly that it was impossible even
to contemplate getting away. Anyhow, it was impossible to carry out
my flight just then. But at last, happy in the possession of the
long-desired boat, I slid downstream and, after an hour, pulled up at a
crumbling old bridge on the right bank of the Thames. I pushed my boat
under it, took both sculls with me as a precautionary measure, and hid
them in the long grass. Then I lay down close to them, and at eight
o’clock I saw my steamer, the _Mecklenburg_, vanishing proudly before
my eyes. My patience had still to undergo a severe test. I remained
lying in the grass for the next sixteen hours, until, at eight o’clock
that night, the hour of my deliverance struck.
I again entered my boat. Cautiously I allowed myself to be driven
upstream by the incoming tide, and fastened my boat to the same
coal-tender near which I had been stranded the night before. Athwart to
me lay the _Princess Juliana_ moored to her buoy.
As I had time to spare, I lay down at the bottom of my boat and tried
to take forty winks, but in vain. The tide rose, and I was once more
surrounded by the rushing water.
At midnight all was still around me, and when at one o’clock the boat
was quietly bobbing on the flow, I cast off, sat up in my boat, and
rowed, with as much self-possession as if I had been one of a Sunday
party in Kiel Harbour, to the steamer.
Unnoticed, I reached the buoy. The black hull of my steamer towered
high above me. A strong pull—and I was atop the buoy. I now bade
farewell to my faithful swan with a sound kick, which set it off
downstream with the start of the ebb. During the next few minutes I lay
as silent as a mouse. Then I climbed with iron composure—and this time
like a cat—the mighty steel cable to the hawse. Cautiously I leaned my
head over the rail and spied about. The forecastle was empty.
I jerked myself upwards and stood on the deck.