THE FIRST DAY OF CAPTIVITY
HAVING handed over their prisoner to the charge of a corporal and a
couple of men, the marine guard marched off. The sub. was then curtly
ordered into a large, almost unfurnished room, the windows of which
were heavily barred.
Engaged in conversation at one end of the room were four officers.
One was the governor of the prison--a fat German of middle height,
whose most striking peculiarities were his bristling, upturned
moustache and a shiny, bald pate surrounded by a natural tonsure of
raven black hair--another a subaltern who, having been wounded and
rendered unfit for active service, was able to "get his own back" by
systematically jeering at the prisoners and making their hard lives
even yet more unbearable. The remaining officers were doctors.
"Take off all your clothes," ordered the lieutenant, with great
emphasis on the word "all."
Tressidar obeyed. As each garment was, discarded it was seized and
closely examined by the corporal, who seemed obsessed with the idea
that English officers invariably had confidential documents sewn into
their clothing. The sub.'s watch, purse, pocket-book, keys, and, in
fact, everything in his pockets were handed to the junior German
officer, who handled them as if they were contaminated articles,
although he took good care to pocket the timepiece and the purse.
Stripped to the buff, Tressidar was subjected to a prolonged and
searching verbal examination. Once when he demurred at answering a
certain question, the governor reminded him that unless he replied
truthfully and unhesitatingly he would have to remain without clothes
until he did. And since the temperature was only a few degrees above
freezing-point, the threat carried weight.
At the same time his replies were guarded and as inaccurate as they
could possibly be without running the risk of betraying the fact. To
make a statement that was absolutely inconsistent with details which
his inquisitors knew already would be asking for additional trouble.
The interview, having lasted for nearly forty minutes, was followed
by a medical examination of a perfunctory nature. So long as the
prisoners were not suffering from any disease that might be a source
of danger to the garrison, nothing else mattered from the
authorities' point of view. The captives might die of starvation
without raising a spark of compassion in the minds of the kultured
Huns.
"Now," thought the sub., who by this time was shivering with cold, "I
suppose they'll let me dress."
They did--but not in the manner he expected, for at an order from the
governor, one of the soldiers kicked Tressidar's uniform into a
corner of the room, while another emptied a small canvas sack full of
dirty and badly worn clothes on the floor at the prisoner's feet.
With feelings of repugnance Tressidar dressed. The trousers were
parti-coloured, a half being made from a French soldier's baggy red
pair, the other part being of pale blue and indescribably greasy. The
coat was a sort of civilian's lounge jacket, of dark grey, with a
diamond-shaped patch of scarlet let into the back. It was impossible
to cut the distinctive mark away without leaving a corresponding
opening in the coat. Wooden-soled shoes with canvas uppers and a
flat-topped cap completed his grotesque outfit.
Preceded and followed by his guards, Tressidar was led along a number
of stone corridors, separated by metal doors. The cryptic writings on
several massive doors opening out of the passages left little doubt
in the sub.'s mind as to the uses to which the building was devoted.
With typical Teutonic cunning the Germans were using the same roof to
shelter explosives and prisoners, regarding the presence of the
latter as a shield to guard their warlike stores from the unwelcome
attentions of British airmen.
Presently the sub. found himself confronted by a double-locked door
provided with a grille. Without stood an armed sentry,
while--sinister fact--a couple of machine guns were trained through
the lattice upon the occupants of the room. Ponderously the sentry
unlocked and threw open the door, and Tressidar found himself urged
forward by the effective expedient of having the butt of the rifle
jammed into the small of his back.
Then the door clanged-to between himself and his guards. He was in
the common room of the Sylt prison for captured British officers.
There were between twenty to thirty grotesquely attired men in the
room, all engaged in the difficult task of killing time. Some were
talking, others reading the carefully selected and approved
literature provided by their captors. Two were playing chess, with
knots of critical onlookers crowding round the little table.
At Tressidar's entrance the occupants came forward to greet their
latest comrade in misfortune. The reticence generally attributed to
Britons both at home and abroad seemed to have vanished.
"You'll have to introduce yourself, old man," exclaimed a
pleasant-faced fellow of about the same age as the sub. "How did they
bag you?"
In less than a minute conversation was in full swing. Everyone was
eager to know the actual facts concerning the war, since it was only
by the arrival of new members to the little party that the true state
of affairs could be known.
"How about the fleet?" asked one. "Has there been a general
engagement?"
"No, worse luck," replied Tressidar. "There has been a decided lack
of opportunity."
"And the strafed Huns swore that their High Canal Fleet was out and
off the east coast for over a fortnight," added another officer. "Of
course we didn't believe it. And is it true that half London is in
ashes?"
"Not by any means," said the sub. "Their Zepps. have come and gone.
We bagged one the other day. They've done damage in various parts of
the country, but not one-tenth of the amount they claim."
"And the Government?" asked an elderly fleet paymaster. "Are they
doing anything yet? They were still gassing when I was nabbed, about
three months ago."
Tressidar shook his head.
"Sorry I cannot report much progress in that direction," he said.
"Until they decide to intern every German in the country things won't
get much forrader at home, as far as the Government is concerned."
"The rotters!" exclaimed the fleet paymaster. "And they started with
every prospect of doing something great. All factions were united,
differences laid aside. The country was solidly behind them. And yet
they shilly-shally and mess everything up. If we had had technical
men to run the show--naval and military officers of
experience--instead of twenty-three (or is it thirty-three by this
time?) wobblers, the war would have been over by this time."
The accountant officer had voiced the sentiments of his
fellow-captives. Optimism, a sure faith that all's well with the
Navy, had evidently gripped their minds, but beyond that there was a
vague suspicion that a brake was being applied to the enormous
sea-power at the Empire's command.
Conversation proceeded briskly until the clanging of a bell announced
that tea--the last meal of the day--was to be served. Into a
dining-hall trooped the prisoners--to be counted en route for the
third time in sixteen hours.
"Tea" consisted of a nasty beverage made from acorn "coffee" and
chicory, with black bread and margarine. This was supplemented by
delicacies that had been sent from home, all supplies from that
source being placed into a common stock. The quantity received,
however, represented but a small proportion of that sent, for
although everything entrusted to American societies reached their
destination safely--a large camp not far from Berlin--pilfering by
the German authorities during the additional journey to Sylt was a
most frequent occurrence.
At sunset the prisoners were ordered to bed. No lights were allowed.
The dormitory was divided into cubicles, two officers being put in
each. Privacy there was none, as the doors were only four feet in
height and a couple of sentries continually paced up and down the
dividing corridor.
Ronald Tressidar's cubicle was shared with a young flight
sub-lieutenant R.N.R., John Fuller by name, who three months
previously had fallen into the hands of the enemy on the occasion of
a raid upon the fortifications of Borkum. At an altitude of less than
a thousand feet a piece of shrapnel had pierced the petrol tank of
Fuller's biplane, compelling the machine to alight in the sea within
a mile of the coast. With a steady off-shore wind there was a chance
of the seaplane drifting to within reach of the waiting destroyers,
but for the fact that one of the floats had been perforated on the
underside by a fragment of shell. In a waterlogged condition the
crippled aeroplane's plight was observed by a German patrol boat,
and, half dead with cold and exposure, Fuller was haled into
captivity.
Doubtless owing to the fact that the flight-sub. had succeeded in
dropping his bombs with disastrous results to the German works, his
captors had transferred him to Sylt, where he stood a good chance of
forming an integral part of a target for his brother-airmen in an
expected raid.
"You'll find it desperately slow work, Tressidar," remarked Fuller
"This is my eighty-second night in this hole, and it seems like a
dozen years."
"Suppose you haven't tried to get away?"
"There's not a dog's chance, believe me," replied the flight-sub.
"Apart from the risk of being plugged by a bullet from the sentry's
rifle, the almost certainty of getting brought up all standing on the
live wire----"
"The live wire?" repeated Tressidar.
"Rather. That barbed wire entanglement contains a highly charged
electric cable. The current is switched on every night and off again
in the morning. The Huns were particularly gleeful in informing us of
the cheerful fact. Then there are those mastiffs to take into
consideration, so you see there's little chance of success. On the
other hand, failure, even if one does escape the dangers I have
mentioned, means forty days' solitary confinement. Danvers, of the
submarine service, tried it, and he swears it's almost worse than
being buried alive. He was a physical and moral wreck when he turned
up amongst us again."
"So you think it's no go?"
"My dear fellow," said Fuller, "you have my best wishes, and I
believe those of the rest of us here. But that won't help you.
Nothing short of an earthquake or a few tins of explosives will clear
a way until the Allies beat the strafed Huns absolutely to their
knees. That's my opinion, but I may be wrong. In any case, if there's
the faintest possible chance, I'm on it."
"Then we'll call it a bargain?"
Without speaking a word Fuller extended his hand. The two men
exchanged grips that formed a mutual understanding.
Then Tressidar turned in. For a long time he tossed uneasily on his
hard straw mattress. Already captivity was weighing heavily on him,
and as yet he had been but a few hours in the hands of the Huns.