Gun running for Casement in the Easter rebellion, 1916

CHAPTER XXVIII THE MISSING AERODROME

About 200 yards from the camp stood two tall, very old trees. Inside one of these, which was decayed and hollow, we hid our uniforms (which were now in tatters), so that the English, when they discovered our absence, should be under the impression that we had no civilian clothes and were still in uniform. We made first for the neighbouring wood in order to reach the road which leads from Donington to Trent. We had to make our way through thick undergrowth. It was so dark that we could scarcely see our hands in front of us. Thus it happened that when we were getting out of the bushes a little later we trod on some big animal which rose snorting with rage. It was a cow which we disturbed in its sleep, and which would have angrily thrust its horns into our bodies if we had not promptly jumped back. Our way then led over hilly pasture-land and over half a dozen wooden fences to the main road.

Arrived there, we debated whether we should follow the road or go through the fields. We did not need to deliberate long. A hundred yards from us, where the road went over a small hill, we heard voices. Soldiers of the camp guard, no doubt, who were returning from furlough. No one else would be likely to be there at that time. We at once jumped over a thorn hedge into a large cornfield. In our endeavour to get away from these people as quickly as possible, for their dog had suddenly begun to bark, we rushed blindly forward, each on his own. I stopped behind a bush to listen. The dog was still barking away, but the voices were no longer audible. I looked all round but could see no trace of my companion. I called his name a couple of times. There was no answer. Then I whistled quietly. Again no answer. Suddenly there was a rustling noise near me. I held my breath, not knowing whether it was a friend or an enemy. From time to time the rustling noise went on. Then suddenly I saw a tall figure in front of me. I clenched my fist ready to strike, and then I suddenly heard myself called by name. Thank goodness—it was W. We waited for a while, and as all was again quiet, we turned our faces south. At the double we went downhill, over cornfields, clover-fields, and stubble. Our heavy clothing impeded us a good deal. We were getting horribly thirsty, but could not afford ourselves a drink, for we had only two small medicine bottles full of whisky, which we intended to use only in case of dire necessity, and did not know when we should be able to replenish them.

We had done about a quarter of an hour's run at this pace when the ground suddenly became soft. We must therefore be near the river. We plodded slowly forward. Suddenly W. gave a subdued cry. He was almost up to his hips in a morass. Next moment I was in the same plight.

By great exertion we succeeded in working backwards out of the morass, which had seemed to be drawing our legs down with irresistible force. Two steps more and we should probably never have got out of it. Even when we were clear of it the thought made us shudder.

We felt our way to the right and left. Nothing but reeds and bog. As progress was impossible in this direction we turned sharp to the right. According to our reckoning we ought in this way to find one of the bends of the river. Our only box of matches had got wet in the bog, so that we could make no use of our map. We could only hope our direction was correct. We had changed our course so often that we hardly knew in which direction we were going. We had wandered on for about half an hour when we struck a railway line. A hundred yards ahead of us the line forked. We were in a hole again. Where did these rails lead to? We knew from memory that no railway junction of any sort was shown by our map in this district. According to our calculations the line on the left ought to cross the Trent. So off we started again. We climbed the high hedges which flanked the railway on both sides, and followed the line on the far side.

In the east it was beginning to dawn. We had reckoned on being at our aerodrome by this time, and we had not yet reached the Trent. On the left something bright shimmered through the trees—water! We breathed a sigh of relief. At this point the Trent was hardly thirty yards wide. We were on the other side in no time. And now our spirits rose. The country round here seemed to be quite uninhabited. When it was almost daybreak we came to a fork in the road. At the corner stood a small battered sign-post. Now we could see where we had got to. We were nearly twelve miles out of our way! 'Rotten luck,' we grumbled, and then we hastened our pace to try to make up the lost ground. But the spirit was more willing than the body. Our legs could hardly carry us, which was not to be wondered at after what we had gone through. Our progress became more painful, and visibly slower. Once we allowed ourselves just one tiny drop of whisky and a piece of home-made chocolate in order to revive our failing strength. This brought us another disappointment. In order to make the chocolate particularly nourishing, W. had put into it all the sugar he could get. The consequence was that after eating our 'home-manufacture' we got an all-consuming thirst, which we had no means of satisfying.

We were now getting into a more populous neighbourhood, and we had to be careful in order to escape observation. We had agreed that if we were spoken to my companion would pretend to be deaf and dumb, so that his speech should not betray him. Now and again we met a couple of labourers. They looked at us with some astonishment, mumbled 'Good-morning,' and plodded on. Once we were spoken to by a man of a somewhat better class who wanted to know if we had seen a horse and cart in the direction of so-and-so. I answered in the negative, briefly but politely. Then we went on again; but we both had a feeling that the man was looking round at us. This made us uncomfortable. Ahead of us was a large village. We must avoid it at all costs! That was all very well, but on the right of the road the fields were under water and the fields on the left were in the same condition. So there was nothing for it but to keep straight on.

With our parcels, wrapped up in bright curtain material, under our arms, we marched through the village as if we were going to work. Fortunately, we met very few people, and in five minutes we had passed the last house in the village and were again in open country. In order to reach the railway-line we were making for we now had to bear to the right. We found the spot all right where the railway coming from the north crosses the Trent and bends southwards towards Nottingham. We could not be far from our objective now. The thought of this gave us new strength. We marched along for another two hours carefully scanning the country to the right and left—and found nothing, not the smallest sign which could lead us to believe that there was a flying-ground in the neighbourhood.

Where on earth could the flying-ground be? We concealed ourselves in some bushes and studied the map. We were quite right—we had made no mistake about our position. The aerodrome ought to be somewhere within a radius of two miles of the spot where we were. Once more we took up the search, scouting back to the left and right, then forwards again. We examined the country in this way for four miles round. Not a sign of a flying-ground—not even an aeroplane to be seen.

Just a moment though! Yes. W. pricked up his ears. 'Here's one coming,' he said casually, as if it had no interest for us. We could hear the drone of an engine from the north. Shortly afterwards we saw a tiny speck in the sky which rapidly grew bigger and bigger. A biplane! 'Ours!' I could hardly conceal my joy. In a few moments he was over us, and we should soon know where he was going to land. It was scarcely 1200 feet up as he passed us. Eagerly we watched his direction. But the fellow made no preparation to land; he flew on and on, straight ahead in his original direction. In a few minutes he was only a dot in the sky again. We looked at each other questioningly, but we got no answer. We discussed the pros and cons, and finally decided to go forward for a while. Perhaps we should find some clue on the way. If not, we decided we should rest for a while in a wood or cornfield and wait to see if other aeroplanes came along which might give us a clue to their objective.

The sun rose higher and higher and beat down mercilessly on our tired heads. Our thirst was becoming unbearable. If we could only find water! In the distance we could see a factory. It looked as if it were by the waterside, and we turned our steps towards it. High bushes hid us from the eyes of the operatives, and we were able to approach the factory unseen. We had not been mistaken—we had come to a river. It was none other than the Trent, which we had crossed during the night. But what a filthy, smelly stream it was! The surface shimmered with all the colours of the rainbow. Then we suddenly remembered that below Donington there was one succession of factories of all sorts, dye-works, and so forth, along the river. Angrily we turned about and looked round for a hiding-place—which we soon found.

We lay down in the shadow of some high, thick bushes and tried to alleviate our burning thirst by sucking the moisture from stalks of grass. Then we stretched ourselves out in order to get a little rest, for we were dog-tired. About two o'clock W. woke me up. A dog was barking close by. Were we being followed already? Our absence must have been discovered at the camp by this time. I carefully peeped over the bushes and looked round. A small boy was coming along the road from the mill playing with a dog. This explained the barking. I went round the bushes on to the road and then went slowly down to meet the boy in the hope of getting some information. I dropped a sixpence in the road and then pretended to be looking for something. The boy fell into the trap, helped me look for the coin, and found it, whereupon I made him a present of it. We got into conversation, and I then made use of the same dodge which had served me in the camp. I mentioned the pilot who had crashed somewhere in the neighbourhood, but the boy, of course, knew nothing about him. In the course of the conversation I learned from him that there must be a flying-ground somewhere close by. Unfortunately, the boy could give me no details, as he had never seen the place. But he was able to give me an exact description of the railway lines in the vicinity. He told me the times of departure of a few trains which went from the village to Nottingham, and I then gave him a cigarette and pretended I was going away. As soon as he was out of sight I went to W. and related what I had learned.

On the strength of this, we decided to continue our search as long as this was possible without being seen; for we were now coming into inhabited areas. We would rest at some particularly favourable spot, and then continue our march during the night. It would be safer to avoid the high roads as much as possible and keep on one side of them. This was not so easy as it sounds, for in this district there was hardly a single field, no matter how small it was, that was not surrounded by a high fence or hedge. In the majority of cases this was supplemented with a strand or two of barbed wire. Many times during the next few days we had to retrace our steps because we had struck one of the numerous unbridged canals which intersect this district. This water also was undrinkable. I longed to enter one of the farm-houses and ask for a drink of water, but it might have caused suspicion. But we were at last so tortured by thirst that we threw ourselves full length on the grass and greedily drank the dirty water from a pool which, as all the signs too plainly showed, served as a watering-place for cattle. In order to fortify ourselves further we attacked our only tin of sausage ('bribery price, 30s.'), which was beginning to get bad in the excessive heat. We had long given up all hope of finding fruit or vegetables in the fields. In this horrible country there appeared to be nothing but grass, filthy canals hedges, and barbed wire, which was gradually tearing our clothes to pieces. Luckily we had sewing materials with us, which had already helped to repair the damage caused by the wire entanglement round the tennis-court.

Three whole days we wandered round this district, now to the right, now to the left of the railway-line, hunting for the flying-ground. The nearest other aerodrome, of which we had exact details, lay too far away to be reached on foot without provisions for the journey. We had decided to travel by train only in the last extremity, for it meant jumping on a passing goods train and travelling as stowaways. If our escape had been discovered—and we were bound to assume that it had—the first precaution taken would be to have the railway stations watched. During the daytime, if we were not tramping, we hid in small thickets or in little hay-cocks which we made from scraps of hay left behind in the fields. In these hay-cocks we slept also. We employed our nights in scouring the country. But for all our search we found nothing—the little flying-ground remained a mystery.

We were beginning to get tired of this business. We had twice searched the country on both sides of the railway, and it was impossible that we should have missed the aerodrome if it existed. In consequence of the continued strain of the journey and the lack of water and food—we had now only a couple of slices of dry bread left—our strength was visibly failing. To make matters worse, the effect of sleeping on the wet ground, following our long vigil in the tennis-court drain, was that my old rheumatic pains returned, my knees and right shoulder being sometimes so sore that I could hardly move.

It was quite plain we could not go on like this, and we decided that next day we should go to Nottingham, buy some food there, and then go on by rail to London, whence we could easily reach the big flying-ground at Hendon.

But before attempting this we had to find out what measures had been taken in consequence of our escape. In a newspaper of the day before, which we found on the road, there was no mention whatever of our flight. This was certainly not what we expected. Perhaps it was a new dodge of the English to lull us into security so that they should catch us the more easily? But I couldn't believe the English were so sly, and we were at a loss for an explanation.

In gorgeous weather we arrived again on the evening of the third day in the neighbourhood of the Trent. The roads gradually became less deserted, and the numerous little villas proved that we were approaching a large town—it was Nottingham. Night after night we had watched its searchlights in the sky. From time to time we met a couple of anglers staring straight ahead as they passed. A cyclist asked us if he was on the right road to X, and I hastily assured him he was, though I had not the slightest notion where the place was. As we turned a corner we suddenly met a policeman coming towards us. Careful was the word. With our pipes in our mouths and our hands thrust deep in our pockets, we passed by, spitting and cursing in the approved manner. The man measured us from head to foot with a glance, but fortunately did not address us. The noise of an aeroplane overhead distracted his attention. We, too, looked up and saw, only about 300 feet up, a large biplane following the course of the Trent which we were now skirting. We wondered if he was searching for us.

On the left of the road a small farm came in sight, and as luck would have it we met at the same moment a boy who had asked me that same morning for a cigarette. As I had given him two or three he now greeted us with a friendly smile from the far side of the road. I went up to him and asked him if he lived here; and as he answered in the affirmative, I asked him if his mother was at home and if she would sell us some food.

He ran across the road into the house and came back at once with the news that his mother was at home and asked us to come in. W. pretended to be deaf and dumb, so I alone accompanied the boy, telling him at the same time that as the weather was so fine we intended to picnic in the open air, a plan of which the youngster thoroughly approved. His mother received me with a friendly 'Good-afternoon, sir,' and invited me to sit down in the kitchen. Then a long conversation about the war and the 'damned Germans' ensued, while the good woman was busy making some excellent tea. Then she made up a parcel of cream-cheese and bread and butter wrapped in lettuce leaves, and gave me a big bottle of tea. I paid a shilling for the whole lot, expressed my thanks, and took leave of the good people, and then hurried off with my rich booty to W., who was waiting anxiously for me under a tree. Only at one other time have I eaten so greedily and so much at one time. That was the day a year later, when I was released from captivity and a proper meal was put before me for the first time!

Thus fortified, we continued our journey. But I, first of all, called the boy in order to get some information from him. I learned in the course of the conversation that there was a large aerodrome north of Nottingham, on the other side of the Trent. This was probably correct, for we had seen several machines flying in this direction. 'Oh,' I said in astonishment, when he spoke of the big biplane which we had recently seen and which he said was stationed at Nottingham, 'I thought it was from the small aerodrome by the side of the railway.'

'Oh, no, sir,' the boy answered, with a smile at my ignorance, 'the place you mean has been closed for a long time. It was closed about six weeks ago.'

I very nearly swore. But I restrained myself in time, and took leave of the boy, saying we still had a long tramp in front of us.

So all our wanderings had been useless. The last news about the aerodrome had come to the camp about eight weeks previously. It was undoubtedly correct then. It was our misfortune that the aerodrome had been closed down in the meantime. Who could have foreseen it? But there was no time for vain regrets. Besides, we had other information now; so, up, and on to Nottingham!

CHAPTER XXIX RECAPTURE

We studied the map and found that practically in the centre of Nottingham there was a bridge over the Trent which was, at this point, about twice as broad as at Donington. We had to cross by this bridge in order to get to the aerodrome, for it was out of the question to think of swimming across the river, as I could hardly raise my arms now as high as my chest. With new courage and new strength we looked round for a sleeping place in a neighbouring field, so that we could walk into Nottingham at dawn next morning. But we had hardly slept two hours when water began to trickle through the thin layer of hay with which we had covered ourselves. Damnation! A thunderstorm was in full swing and we had been so tired that we noticed nothing till it was too late. Sleep was now out of the question, for everything was wet and clammy. So we got on our legs again and followed the lights of Nottingham, which we could see reflected in the sky.

As the morning dawned we were almost at the entrance to the town. The streets were thronged with workpeople flocking to their factories. From the left came a crowd of about fifty workmen and women who turned down the way we were going. We joined these. As we went along we met numerous policemen, but they fortunately gave us only a cursory glance.

We were passing the first houses of the town. The approach was very uninviting; nothing but monotonous small red houses, and numerous factory chimneys. The streets were not particularly well kept. In front of us walked a tiny old man who carried a sack on his bowed shoulders, and every now and then poked with his stick the rubbish heaps along the street. From time to time he picked up something and put it in his bag. Thus it came that he was sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind us, for we stopped now and then to find out our way and to look at the advertisement boards. At the corner of a street we came upon a huge notice in bold print:—

Attention!

German officers escaped from Donington Hall on Saturday evening.

Their names and description are:—

Karl Spindler.—German naval officer, aged 30, complexion fresh, hair dark, eyes blue, stout built, height 5 ft. 11 in., clean shaven, speaks good English, dress probably civilian.

Mat Ernst Winkelmann.—German naval officer, aged 23, complexion fair, hair dark brown, eyes brown, slim built, height 5 ft. 10 in., clean shaven, speaks little English, dress probably civilian, jawbones have been broken by bullet.

Arpad Horn.—Austrian military officer, aged 28, complexion fair, hair dark, eyes dark brown, stout built, height 5 ft. 6½ in., short stubby moustache, dress probably civilian, mole on face.

We had expected something of this sort, and were therefore not surprised to see this hue-and-cry notice on the wall. What did surprise us was the fact that we had been given a companion. I certainly knew that my friend Arpad Horn, H.M. Austro-Hungarian Honved-Husar Lieutenant, and at the same time director of our officer's band, had been thinking of escaping. But how and when did he get away? The notice said 'Saturday evening.' Surely our escape had been discovered before then! It was a mystery to us. But we were glad that the notice mentioned three, for it gave us a better chance of escaping suspicion.

We followed the tram lines, and were getting near the centre of the town. It was about seven o'clock, and the streets were showing signs of life. It was getting easier now to efface ourselves in the crowds. When the first shops were opened I bought a few cigarettes and asked how far it was to the bridge. I was told we were only two minutes from it. We hastened on in order to get on the other side of the Trent as soon as possible. A few steps brought us to the bridge. It was almost deserted.

On the left of the entrance, which was closed by a barrier, was a toll-keeper's house which had to be passed by means of a turnstile. Near it several bridge-officials and two policemen were standing. Who could tell but that they were posted there for our benefit? In any case it appeared inadvisable to cross at that moment. As we walked on we agreed that it would be better to wait for the great crowd that would be crossing at eight o'clock, as we should then have a better chance of getting across unnoticed. We therefore turned down a neighbouring avenue and sat down on a seat.

It was a glorious fresh morning. I must say that this avenue, with its rich green grass and the birds twittering in the trees, was the only thing, so far, that had appealed to me in Nottingham. The appeal did not last long.

We had sat for about ten minutes and not a living thing had appeared in the avenue, when a policeman appeared round a corner on the right with two rascally looking scoundrels on each side of him. It looked as if he had all four of them manacled together.

I had pulled out a notebook and was reading out figures to my companion in order to look as if the five men did not interest us in the least. They, too, appeared to be taking no notice of us. We thought they were passing by all right. Then the unexpected happened. Just as they got abreast of us they did a sudden 'Left wheel! March!' hurled themselves on us, and held us down. It all happened so quickly that we had no time to think of escaping. Moreover, it would have been useless to try. The amusing feature about the business was that we recognised one of the rascally-looking scoundrels as the tiny old man whom we had been pitying a few hours previously.

Then the explanation occurred to me. We had been observed by detectives and enticed into a trap. Before answering the policeman's abrupt questions I requested him politely to loose us, which he did. He then asked who and what we were, where we were going, etc. I told him our names were Grieve and Kendall, that we were mechanics and that we were going across the bridge to work. Then he asked where we lived, and I told him the name of a little village in the neighbourhood. I felt that the game was up, but wanted to fool him a bit further.

But the policeman was not to be fooled. He put his big paw on my shoulder and said in the most matter-of-fact tone, 'No, sir! You are Lieutenant Spindler, and your friend is Winkelmann from Donington Hall, aren't you?' And I answered in the same matter-of-fact tone, 'Yes, sir, you are right! I congratulate you.'

My answer struck the policeman as being so funny and at the same time so satisfactory, that he now treated us with marked politeness, and begged us to follow him. There was nothing else for it. We were caught again, and our fine schemes had come to naught. And so near success, too! We could not suppress a loud curse.

I had foreseen at the commencement, and had agreed with W. before we escaped, that there was no object in denying facts if a policeman should arrest us. In such a case excuses would be useless, for without papers to prove our identity we should not be set free. And it was only necessary to telephone to Donington Hall to get an English officer to come over and identify us.

We had not far to go to the police station—it was only a hundred yards from the seat we had selected under the trees.

What followed can be told in a few words. At the police station we had to undress and hand over all our belongings. Only a handkerchief was given back to us. When the inspector saw our flying-kit he nodded approvingly and said, 'Yes, we had expected that! The aerodromes had been warned!'

After a short time we were put in a 'Black Maria' and taken across the town. On the way we stopped at various police stations to take more passengers on board. They were all English soldiers in uniform. Their first question on getting in was: 'Are you absentees?' Desertion seemed to be taken as a matter of course here. The policeman who caught us assured me that they collected twenty or twenty-five deserters every morning, which was very pleasant news for us.

The van stopped outside the police headquarters. We got out and were taken to the court cells. These, as well as the passages, were guarded by strong iron bars. A couple of detectives rushed at us and poured out their hatred of Germany on us in the most abusive terms. We had only a compassionate smile for these wretches.

Then the chief constable arrived, a very pleasant, fine old gentleman. He expressed his admiration for our very clever escape, and asked if there was anything we wanted. I asked him to let us pay for a warm breakfast and a few cigarettes out of the money taken from us, a request which he immediately granted. My complaint in regard to the conduct of the detectives evidently pained him, and he promised me relief as well as the punishment of the offenders. They kept a respectful distance from us after that. Shortly afterwards we were taken to the Guildhall—purely as a formality. We had to sit on the same seat with men and women accused of theft and other crimes. On a raised bench in front of us sat the chairman and other magistrates, reporters, detectives, and policemen. The seats on both sides were filled with spectators. It had evidently been noised abroad that the two 'Hun officers' had been recaptured.

A number of offenders were summarily dealt with, and then it was our turn. There was a general movement in the court-room. We had only two or three questions to answer. The mayor refused to believe that we had escaped on Thursday, as the Commandant of Donington Hall had expressly stated that we had broken out on Saturday. The explanation was obvious, and the consequence was that later on the English Parliament occupied itself with the question for a whole week, and asked for an explanation of the fact that two German officers had been able to escape in spite of the strong guard and the electrified wire fence. As a matter of fact, the electric arrangement had been out of action for a long time. I answered all questions without hesitation. But I avoided, then and afterwards, giving any explanation of the manner of our escape.

This remained a mystery to the English, and we had many a joke about it. Towards evening an escort of twelve men came to fetch us. They turned out to be our old friends of the camp guard. They were very excited, and told us all about the impression which our escape had made. We now heard how our flight had been discovered. As our escape had not been discovered, our friend Horn, the day after our disappearance, suddenly decided to leave the camp also—which, with the help of the stout roller-team, he succeeded in doing. Then, as another day went by and our absence had not been discovered, the roller-team again got to work, and again one of them disappeared into the ditch. This time it was my messmate, Heward. Unfortunately, he got stuck in the wire entanglement and was discovered. Then the whole affair came to light. Otherwise our absence might not have been noticed for another week, and we might have succeeded in flying from Nottingham. It was rotten luck for all concerned.

Donington Hall had at once alarmed the whole country, especially the railway stations and aerodromes. Policemen, soldiers on foot, on bicycles, and on horseback, airmen, and detectives—all were mobilised against us. In Nottingham the approaches to the town were watched by police and detectives, and it was one of the latter who eventually discovered us. In answer to my question how the detective had discovered us, I learned that he had watched us for a long time without noticing our identity with the wanted men. Then he suddenly remarked that whenever we chanced to get out of step we quite mechanically regained step, and he said to himself, 'Those are certainly two German officers.' It was too silly.

The Nottingham local paper, which we happened to see, was very interesting. It showed again what importance the English attach to the escape of German officers. There was a short notice to the effect that the Imperial Chancellor, von Bethman Hollweg, had resigned, but in huge type right across the page was the heading: 'Two German officers from Donington recaptured!' Then followed columns of fanciful descriptions of our flight, mostly inventions.

We received a fine reception at the camp. All the officers and men of the guard were there. But I saw no angry faces—quite the contrary, in fact. The assistant commandant. Major Cook, whom I had learned to respect on account of his very correct conduct, assured me many times that he and his friends, in spite of all the trouble and unpleasantness which our escape had caused, were very sorry that we did not get away; our plan was so clever that we deserved to succeed. The whole camp was afoot when we were marched in. Our appearance, of course, caused much merriment. One English officer assured me that he had never seen a costume like ours off the stage, and he could not understand how we had got so far. It may be that he was right. We were put in a detention cell, which had formerly been a horse-box, and remained there for three weeks, till the verdict of the court martial was promulgated. Heward was already in the adjoining cell. Three days later Arpad Horn arrived. He had been caught in London. He was entering a theatre at the moment, as he intended to go on a journey next day.

Six months' imprisonment was what we had to expect. It might perhaps be more in my case, as the large map had been found in my possession which gave all the flying-grounds, and, along the coast, all the lightships and signalling stations, as far as our information extended. In Nottingham it had already been hinted to me that I might have to pay dearly for the map, as it might constitute evidence of espionage.

However, matters did not turn out so seriously. In fact, we were extraordinarily lucky. While we were on our way a conference took place at the Hague between the English and German representatives, at which it was agreed among other things that attempted escapes should, in future, be punished with not more than fourteen days' imprisonment. So, about nine weeks later, we had a joyful surprise when our doors were suddenly opened and we were informed that we were released from imprisonment.

CHAPTER XXX THE PRIZE COURT INQUIRY

As it was feared, however, that we had got to know the lie of the land too well, we were taken next day to another camp, Holyport. But as the commandant there had no desire to lose his position through some new prank of mine, he took the first opportunity of getting rid of me. A month later, therefore, I again changed my domicile, arriving at Kegworth, unfortunately a day too late to take part in the escape of the twenty-three officers under Captain von Müller of the Emden. They had dug, with incredible trouble, a tunnel forty-five yards long, but were, unfortunately, recaptured a few days later.

The head-commandant of Kegworth, Lieutenant-Colonel P., an old Indian Army man, was the commandant of Donington Hall also, which was only five miles away. He was a terrible old martinet, but at bottom not a bad fellow, and one could get along with him all right if one knew how to treat him. Cheek was the only means of impressing him. He was not particularly pleased at my arrival, for which I did not blame him. When he was walking down the ranks and saw me again for the first time among his flock, he growled, 'I wish I had never seen you,' to which I replied, 'The same here.' This struck him as being so natural that he had to laugh. I always returned him a Roland for his Oliver, and I must say that I was one of the few people who always got on well with this strange man—in spite of all the squabbles we had.

A few months passed, during which, of course, I was not idle. I had, on my arrival, found some comrades of the same mind as myself, and we at once got to work. But it was soon evident that there were even less chances of escape from Kegworth than from Donington, especially after the escape of the twenty-three officers. In the meantime I bombarded the commandant with written complaints which I wished to be forwarded to the War Office and Admiralty in London. The consequence was that, in November, I was summoned to appear before the Prize Court about the middle of the month. Now, I thought, was the opportunity for putting into practice the plan of escape which I had prepared. I had waited a long time for an opportunity of this sort, and had made the most detailed preparations. So had the English, as I discovered when we were ready to start. Instead of the one officer who previously accompanied me, I now had an escort of three officers and four men with fixed bayonets! This had not entered into my calculations. But better was to come. Instead of being taken to the Prize Court, where I had been cited as a witness, I was taken to the military detention barracks at Cromwell Gardens, where, for nearly two weeks, I was left to my reflections. No notice whatever was taken of my questions and complaints. I could only conclude that I was going to be charged again in connection with the Aud expedition.

The diminutive, dirty, icy-cold cell at Cromwell Gardens, and the outrageous treatment which I experienced at the hands of the officers there, who were not ashamed to insult me in the most vulgar manner, to knock me about and threaten me (weakened as I was by bad food), made these days almost worse than the first days of my imprisonment at Queenstown and Chatham. The cell was on the fourth floor of the building. I could see from my window the neighbouring houses and churches, and thus learned that I was in the South Kensington district, which had recently been attacked, time after time, by our bombing machines. Had I been lodged here by way of reprisal or as a protection against further attacks? After some days I was taken in a motor-lorry to the Prize Court. There I saw my first and second mates again, but had time to exchange only a few words with them.

The Prize Court, presided over by the Germanophobe, Sir Samuel Evans (who has since died) with the collaboration of the Attorney-General, Sir Frederick Smith, who had previously conducted the case for the Crown in the Casement trial, was only a farce. Sir Frederick Smith had just finished a long speech and sat down with a self-satisfied air, squinting alternately at me and at the tail of his wig, which appeared to be annoying him. Judges, interpreters, pressmen, and spectators strained their necks in order to have a good look at me. Then I had to go into the witness box and was allowed to make a few statements, which led to a lively exchange of words between Sir S. Evans and Sir F. Smith on the one hand, and me on the other, for I protested against the treatment accorded me, and against this, in my opinion, illegal interrogation.

In a few minutes I was back in the motor-lorry on my way to the prison, conscious of having effected nothing.

My food consisted of a couple of slices of bread morning and evening, watery tea, and some thin, greasy soup, which was supplemented by either rotten herrings or a couple of potatoes. The herrings I threw away. The food was served in a dirty mug without a handle. My bed was a torn straw-mattress covered with old blood-stains. This was the only luxury I had. There was not even a towel. I got fresh air only through the draughty cracks of my ill-fitting window—too much fresh air, in fact, for it was bitterly cold November weather.

I noticed by the behaviour of the warders that something strange was happening. It was not till afterwards that I learned I had been the subject of lively debates in the House of Commons and in the Press. It was not altogether on account of the Libau affair.

A Member of Parliament had asked how it was possible that a Hun officer should breakfast in a restaurant-car in the company of a British officer, and be served by a British waiter?

The question referred to my journey to London to the Prize Court (or rather to the detention barracks), during which the English officer escorting me had offered me some refreshment. During this time of national danger the English Parliament debated the silly question for nearly a week! So I was once more the target of satires and cartoons in all the scurrilous papers, under headings such as, 'The Hun officer in the dining-car,' or 'Casement's pal.'

Fortunately, when the situation was getting unbearable, I found a sympathetic soul, an Irish soldier of the guard. Also, by means of Morse signals, which we made on the walls and ceilings, I discovered that a number of German seamen were interned here. Bit by bit I learned that they had been taken from submarines which had recently been destroyed. The poor fellows were very badly treated. My acquaintance with the Irish soldier then became very useful, for I was able to buy food and cigarettes for them, as well as for myself, restoring somewhat our lost strength.

The Irishman was a good fellow, as became apparent afterwards, so I plucked up courage and asked him to sell some valuables for me, which I still possessed. He did this, and he also brought me a sum of money which one of my mates had handed to him for me. I was now the lucky possessor of some pounds sterling. All I wanted now was a suit of civilian clothes, and some one to open my cell door. My Irish friend, after some hesitation, promised to help me. It was his turn on guard the next night but one, when he would bring me the necessary clothes and help me to escape. He explained to me also how he proposed to divert suspicion from himself. His scheme was not a bad one, and I looked forward to his coming as a child waits for Santa Claus.

But again Fate willed otherwise. Next morning an escort came into my cell to take me to ——; they did not know or would not say where. Late that evening I arrived back in camp. Some of the bank-notes I fastened by means of sticking-plaster to the bare soles of my feet; the others I made into a thin roll, which I soiled and then hid under my straight-combed hair. I had often tried this method, and it succeeded again this time. After two years' experience as a prisoner of war, I knew the ropes.

When I arrived at the camp I had to go to the orderly room, where the whole staff was assembled. There I had to undress and was thoroughly searched. As I had to stand on my feet for this operation no one dreamt that my hoard was concealed under them. Feeling that I was safe once more, I could not overcome an impulse to have a little joke at the expense of the English. I laid some small silver and copper coins on the table in order to show them that I had obtained money in prison—for they knew that I had no money when I entered the cell at Cromwell Gardens.—General stupefaction. All eyes and mouths were open with astonishment. The commandant was the first to recover his speech. 'Have you got any more money?' he asked me, and with a most insolent smile I answered, 'Yes!' 'How much?' he asked quickly. 'Several pounds.' 'Where have you the money concealed?' 'You must find out that for yourself,' I answered calmly. 'I can force you to tell me,' said the commandant. 'You won't do that,' I said. 'First of all you have no right to do it, and secondly if you did you would find nothing.'

For a moment the Englishman was at a loss for an answer. He shrugged his shoulders and looked questioningly at his officers, who were apparently less surprised than he was at my impudence; for it was not the first time they had seen me in this rôle.

After a pause the commandant ordered me to dress. The case was dismissed. This was the action of a gentleman. A few minutes later the money was in the safe keeping of one of my friends, who listened for hours to the recital of my adventures.

But the inhuman treatment which I had experienced during the last fourteen days had brought me so low that I broke down next day; and I lay in bed several weeks suffering from fever and from a horrible skin-disease caused by the dirty mattress. The excitement and the exertions of the last few months, in conjunction with bad and insufficient food, had sapped my strength and I no longer felt equal to the fatigues of another attempt at escape.

Fortunately, I had not to worry long over new schemes. In accordance with the Hague Convention of the same year I was exchanged and sent to Holland after exactly two years of captivity.

GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD.

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