My Three Years in a German Prison

CHAPTER VII
A DAY OF ANGUISH

All along the paths of the park of Starrenhof (residence of Mrs. Beland-Cogels), on the Antwerp-Holland highway in front of the Town Hall, groups of people who were left gathered to discuss the situation. Each asked the other: “When will the Germans reach here?” And fear was deeply lined on all faces, for the reports had reached us from the villages in the centre and in the east of Belgium which were far from reassuring as to the probable conduct of the German soldiery.

Refugees from the village of Aerschot, who were lodging at the farm of the chateau, drew a startling word picture of the tragic events which occurred at that place. Murder and arson had held sway for several days. In brief, the whole population of Capellen, including the refugees, were in a state of great nervousness.

Night fell on the city and the surrounding country without the Germans having put in an appearance. At about 9 o’clock, while our family with their friends were talking together, a fearful explosion was heard. What had happened? Each of us had different ideas, but the most plausible explanation was that a Zeppelin, flying over the village, had dropped a bomb into the yard of the chateau. Then the true explanation burst upon us suddenly. The fort nearest to the chateau was that of Erbrand, distant about one kilometre from us. The commanding officer of the garrison had ordered the fort blown up previous to its evacuation. The shock was so tremendous that an oil lamp burning in the hall where we sat was extinguished, and several windows were shattered. The bombardment of the city had broken electric light wires and the gas conduits were wrecked, so that oil lamps and candles were our only means of obtaining light.

Naturally, the explosion did not tend to soothe our nerves, and the entire family remained together in a large hall for the rest of the night. Beds were improvised and each of us obtained what rest was possible in the exciting condition of the time, which was very little.

About 1 o’clock in the morning a servant girl knocked at the door and told me that a man wished to see me. It was a Belgian, who urged me to at once leave with the family for Holland. He informed me that the Germans had left Antwerp a few hours previously, and were fast approaching Capellen; that they had already reached the village of Eccheren. They were pillaging and burning everything on the way. The man added that he himself was on his way to Holland with his aged mother.

“Where do you come from?” I asked him.

“From Contich,” he replied.

“Where is your mother?”

“I left her in a farmer’s house nearby,” he said. “I will go back to get her presently and take her to safety.”

“It is well,” I told him, “and I thank you for the warning you have given me.”

When leaving the house he urged again: “You have not a moment to lose. The lives of your wife and children are in danger,” he persisted.

After his departure I ordered a servant to awake everybody in the building–our immediate family and relatives from several places who had been lodging with us since the bombardment started. We held a family council–a real war council, if ever there was one. All were inclined to follow the man’s advice and start off for Holland. The dear old parish priest of Schouten, a distant relative of the family, wished us to leave at once.

I suggested that my wife and the children should go, taking with them all the baggage they could carry, while I would remain with Nys, an old and faithful servant who had been with the family for over thirty years. The old servant was quite willing to stay, but, as one might suppose, my wife objected to this arrangement. “We shall all remain together, or we shall all leave together,” she said.

Thereupon I proposed that we should take counsel of an old resident of Capellen, Mr. Spaet, a man of wisdom and experience, of German origin, but who had lived long in the country and could claim Belgian citizenship for upwards of forty years. He had two sons in the Belgian army. This proposal was accepted unanimously.

I accordingly left to see Mr. Spaet, wending my way through the line of fugitives who were still crowding the highway at this early hour of the morning.

Mr. Spaet was at home. In reply to my questions, he said he had no advice to give me, but insofar as he himself was concerned he intended to go back to bed as soon as I left him. I returned to the chateau somewhat reassured, and, addressing the members of the family and our friends, who had in the meantime made preparations to leave for Holland, I said: “Every one goes back to bed.” I related my conversation with Mr. Spaet, and then we all returned to bed, but, I am sure, none of us to sleep.

Subsequently another fearful explosion shook the house. It was the second fort–that of Capellen–which had been blown up. The large building in which we lived shook to its foundations.

A few minutes afterwards the same servant who previously knocked at the door of the hall came up again. She stated that our previous visitor had returned and demanded to see me. I went to him a second time. He repeated his monition, told me not to postpone the carrying out of his previous advice, but to act upon it immediately.

My suspicions were aroused by his manner and persistence, so I said to him: “What about the other residents of Capellen?”

“They have all gone,” he replied.

“And Mr. Spaet?” I asked him.

“Mr. Spaet is now in Holland with the others,” he said, without a tremor.

I knew that the man was lying, and if he was capable of lying he would be capable of stealing. He was one of those human jackals whose sinister plan it was to precede and follow the armies and plunder the houses as soon as the occupants had left them. I turned to the man and said: “Now, you, sir, take counsel of your own advice to me, and leave at once.” He went. But what a night was that one …!

At daybreak a radiant sun gilded the autumn foliage. As I opened a window I saw that the women and children who had sought refuge in the park of the chateau were still sleeping. The Germans had not yet arrived. They were not very far away, however.

CHAPTER VIII
THE GERMANS ARE HERE

At the City Hall, I was met by a number of representative citizens of Capellen. They asked me to join them in receiving the German officers, who were then due to arrive at any moment. I could realize how hatred was accumulating in the German heart against Great Britain, for was Britain not the prime cause of their present check–the actual obstacle of the military promenade which the Germans had for forty years dreamed of making from the German frontier to Paris? The initial plan of the German high command had been frustrated, and for this disastrous failure they would hold that the English were naturally and justly responsible. I, therefore, suggested to my fellow-citizens that in my quality as a British subject I was more likely to be a hindrance than a help to them. They insisted, however–and with some plausibility perhaps–that the German officers would not know to which nationality I belonged, and that it was of immediate importance to make as good a showing as possible in numbers–there were not more than five of us all told, the others having crossed the frontier into Holland. Under the circumstances, I accepted their proposal and agreed to stay with them and meet the incoming Germans.

At 10 o’clock an individual burst into the room in which we were assembled and made the simple announcement: “Gentlemen, a German officer is here.”

Before the fall of Antwerp I had a close inspection of a number of German prisoners of war as they marched in file and under Belgian escort along the streets of the city, but I had never yet seen either near, or at a distance, a real Prussian officer, and I must confess that my curiosity was greatly aroused by the announcement of the imminent arrival. Ere we had time to advance to meet him, there he stood in the doorway, dressed in the uniform of a captain of German artillery and wearing the pointed helmet. He gave us the military salute, turned to Mr. Spaet and, speaking in German, said that in civilian life he was a lawyer and practised his profession at Dortmund. He looked at each and every one of us several times as though searching our souls to discover what were our inmost feelings and sentiments. He was manifestly surprised by the fact that Mr. Spaet, a Belgian, could speak such perfect German, and inquired of him how he had acquired his knowledge of his own language. Mr. Spaet replied frankly and honestly and then asked:

“What must we do?”

“Nothing,” replied the German officer. “However, you will not have to deal with me; I am only a scout. It is with Major X—, who will be here shortly, that you will have to make arrangements.”

With these words he took his leave, and a few minutes afterwards an automobile, containing the real negotiator, a Prussian major, who was accompanied by a very elegant officer, stopped in front of the Town Hall. This major typified the Prussian officer my imagination had pictured. Resplendent in uniform and glittering helmet, with blonde moustache trained a la Kaiser, he stood erect as a letter I, and stiff as an iron rod.

At the time there was, as in preceding days, a large crowd in the public square fronting the Town Hall. It was the direct route from Antwerp to Holland, and there were now accumulated here refugees from the four corners of the fortified position. Seemingly annoyed by such a gathering, the Prussian major demanded an explanation, which Mr. Spaet gave without hesitation.

“Whither are these people going?” he inquired.

“To Holland,” Mr. Spaet told him.

“Why?”

“Because they seek refuge from German fire,” answered Mr. Spaet.

“But since Antwerp has fallen, there is no further danger,” stated the major. “Tell these people to return to their homes. They will not be molested.”

Naturally we feared many requisitions would be made upon us.

The major informed us that only horses would be taken. “We must have horses,” he added.

But it was explained the only horses in Capellen belonged to the farmers, and these animals were absolutely needed if the crops were to be garnered.

“Well,” said the major finally, after further explanations, “only one infantry company will be sent to Capellen, and you must see that the officers are well treated. As to the soldiers, well, you may billet them anywhere you like–in the schoolhouse, for example.”

The German officer demanded to know in what condition were the forts around Capellen. We told him our present impression was that they had all been destroyed by the garrisons immediately before their evacuation. He took two of our party with him in his automobile and made a tour of the forts of Capellen, Erbrand, and Stabrock. He brought us back to the Town Hall and then departed. I never saw him again.

In the afternoon of Saturday, October 10, a company of infantrymen arrived in front of the Town Hall. At the word of command, two soldiers left the ranks and entered the building. A few minutes afterwards the crowd witnessed the humiliating and supremely painful ceremony of the lowering of the Belgian flag, which had flown from that flag-staff for nearly one hundred years, and in its place was hoisted the German standard. Capellen then was definitely subjected to enemy occupation. As Capellen is situated at the extreme north of the fortified position of Antwerp, consequently the German flag floated as the breeze blew from the frontier of France to the frontier of Holland.

And mourning entered every home.

CHAPTER IX
A GERMAN HOST

In the house we found ourselves in the presence of a German officer of medium build. He bowed very low to my wife and myself, and then explained that the automobile standing at the door in charge of three soldiers belonged to him. He spoke the French language and demanded lodgings.

Such an unexpected request was perplexing, to say the least. We could hardly refuse it, although, candidly, we did not relish the proposition in the least. I explained that the house was full of refugees, who were our relatives; that they had been with us for over a week, and that under the circumstances it would be difficult, if not quite impossible, to find fitting accommodation for him. He insisted, however, saying the three soldiers who accompanied him–a chauffeur, an orderly and a valet–could sleep in the garage, and he alone would require a room in our house. I thought that in stating my nationality he might change his mind; so I said to him: “I am very anxious to return with my wife to Canada, for I am a Canadian, consequently a British subject.”

“I know that,” he replied. “I know that.”

I have to confess that I was astonished to learn that he knew my nationality. What a marvelous service of espionage these Germans had!

“Yes,” he added. “I can say definitely that you must not leave Belgium. There is nothing to prevent you remaining here, even if you are a British subject. I have also learned that you are a physician, and that as such you served in hospital at Antwerp. You need have no fear, then, in remaining here; you are protected under laws of military authority.”

I exchanged a glance with my wife and together we reached the same conclusion. We would receive this officer in the house, find accommodation for his servants, and, for ourselves, we would remain in Capellen. As a matter of fact, we were very happy to be able to reach this decision, as Capellen, at that time, had no other medical doctor. Several of the local physicians had joined the army, and others had gone to Holland. I might, therefore, be able to render some service by remaining. My wife was at the head of a charity organization long established at Capellen, and which, in consequence of the war, had become of exceptional utility and importance. This was how we came to remain, and the children with us.

The German officer came from Brunswick. Goering was his name. For two years he had been attached to the German Embassy in Spain, and later he was for eight years at the German legation in Brazil. He had, it must be acknowledged, acquired a great deal of polish through his international experience. He spoke English and French fairly well. He had none of the haughtiness and self-conceited characteristics of the ordinary Prussian officers. But he entertained no doubt about the ultimate success of the German arms, above all at that moment when the world-famed fortress of Antwerp had just fallen into their hands. He professed to believe that German troops would land in England within a few weeks, and this opinion was shared by his three military servants. The Germans were already in Ostend, and from that place an expeditionary force was to be directed against England. That project was on every one’s lips.

This officer remained with us for about three months, leaving at the end of December. I must acknowledge again that I never found in him the typical Prussian officer. This is easy to conceive when one recalls that for ten years immediately preceding he had lived in foreign countries, and associated with diplomats and attachés of embassies and legations of many countries. Naturally, he believed in the superiority of the German race. He boasted of German culture. He was convinced German industry was destined to monopolize the world’s markets. He insisted that France was degenerate, that Britain had not, and would never have, a powerful army, and said Dunkirk and Calais would surely be captured within a few weeks, etc., etc., etc.

During October and November of that year it was possible, although the frontier was guarded by German sentries, to cross into Holland on any pretext whatsoever. One might go there to buy provisions so long as the sentries were satisfied the party intended to return. It was only at Christmas, 1914, that the frontier between Antwerp and Holland was “hermetically closed”–if I may use this term. At the distance of about one kilometre from the frontier, a post of inspection and control was established. Here on Christmas Day the most absolute control of passports was ordered. No one could cross unless provided with a permit issued by the German administration in Antwerp. We were, therefore, at that time cut off from all communication with the outside world.

Winter had come; distress was great in Belgium, and but for the foodstuffs and clothing forwarded from the United States and Canada–but for the charitably disposed rich families, who can tell what horrors the population of the occupied territory would have gone through.

CHAPTER X
THE WORD OF A GERMAN

“The German authorities,” the Cardinal added, “affirm that in the event of any offence being committed against the occupying authority this authority will seek out the guilty party, but if the culprits be not found, the civil population need have no fears, as they would be spared.”

This was quite clear. The episcopal document was, of course, published in Holland and, consequently, many thousands of refugees returned to their homes in Belgium.

About the 15th of December of the same year–that is to say, about two months after the Cardinal’s letter appeared–two Capellen lads, 14 or 15 years of age, boarded a locomotive standing at the station, where it had been left by the engineer and fireman while they went to dinner. The boys amused themselves with the lever and soon had the engine running backwards and forwards alongside the station platform. Here they were caught by German soldiers who carried them off to Antwerp, where they were summarily tried, and sentenced to serve three weeks in jail.

The incident was considered closed; but not so, as we shall see. On the following day, Major Schulze, if I am not mistaken, the commanding officer at Capellen, requested the burgomaster to supply him with a list of twenty-four citizens, including the parish priest, the Rev. Father Vandenhout, and a former burgomaster, Mr. Geelhand. These twenty-four citizens, it was ordered, would be divided into groups of eight men each, and each group would, in turn, keep guard on the railroad every night from 6 o’clock until 7 o’clock the following morning, and this until further orders. This raised a hue and cry in the village. The citizens asserted, with reason, that the boys guilty of interfering with a locomotive had been caught; that the offence was not serious–was, in fact, nothing at all but the pranks of two boys. Everybody now recalled Cardinal Mercier’s letter, and the assurance upon which it was based, as given by the German authorities, namely, that no personal delinquency would be followed by reprisals against the civil population. What was to be done? Counsel was taken on all sides. The principal citizens met secretly and decided to submit the case to the Governor of Antwerp, General Von Huene.

But it was of no avail; the twenty-four citizens whose names appeared on the list were compelled to keep guard in front of the station during the cold, wet nights of December and January. On Christmas eve, the group to which the old priest, Father Vandenhout, belonged was on guard. This priest, about 70 years of age, and seven companions paced to and fro in front of the station, throughout a cold and stormy night. It was not until the 15th of January that an order from Antwerp ended this arbitrary ruling of the local military authorities.

It was at about that time that a new officer appeared at the chateau with a request that we should receive him in the house. This man was much less pleasant in manner than his predecessor. He had not lived in Spain or in Brazil. He had come straight from Eastern Prussia. He was violent and arrogant. He treated his orderly with extreme severity. The house trembled each time he started to scold the man, and this happened frequently enough. The officer left after a stay of three weeks, and God knows we never regretted his departure.

Once again we were free from the Germans’ presence. True, we could hear their heels tramping on the road outside, but under the domestic roof the family lived quietly in peace.

One of the Capellen physicians having returned from Holland, my wife and I decided, after consulting the children, to take steps to leave the occupied country, with the intention of crossing later to Canada.

CHAPTER XI
BRITISH CITIZENS

“You are British subjects?” he repeated.

“You are right.”

“How long have you been in Belgium?”

“I came to Belgium before your arrival–that is to say, in July,” I replied.

“What are you doing here?” he inquired.

A colloquy between the two officers and ourselves followed for a few minutes, during which it was easily explained that my presence in Belgium had nothing mysterious about it, even from a German viewpoint.

Apparently convinced that he was not in the presence of a spy employed by the British Government, the first officer confessed that he could see no serious objection to the issue of a permit for our leaving Belgium, but he said that insofar as British subjects were concerned explicit instructions had been given, and he could not then give us the passport we requested without being first authorized to do so by the chief of the military police, Major Von Wilm. He advised us to see the major, and we proceeded to carry out the advice. On our way to the major’s office I remarked to my wife that it was quite possible I might never come out of this office, once inside. We went on, however. Major Von Wilm received us courteously, and listened attentively to our story.

He, too, was convinced, apparently, at least, that I was not a spy. He did not anticipate any obstacle to the issuing of a passport, but he said he would have to talk the matter over first with the governor of the fortress. He advised us to return to Capellen and await instructions.

A few days afterwards we received a letter from the major. It read as follows:

It then remained for us to decide what to do. I deemed it advisable to return to Antwerp and discuss at greater length with Major Von Wilm, particularly the question of the tenfold taxation. After a prolonged conversation with him, and after receiving renewed assurances that I might remain in the occupied territory without fear of annoyance, molestation, or imprisonment on account of my profession and medical services I was rendering the population, we decided to remain without further protest until the month of April. By this time the taxes would be paid. In the meantime this high German official, who conducted important functions in the Province of Antwerp, pledged himself to discuss with the German financial authorities at Brussels the question whether the onerous conditions of a tenfold taxation upon all the properties we owned in Belgium might not be removed. The ordinary taxes were duly paid in April, and I again visited the major at Antwerp, urging him to enter into negotiations with the German financial authorities on the question already alluded to.

Once more he promised to take the matter into consideration as soon as his occupations would allow him; once more he assured me of proper protection, and told me I might continue in perfect security. There could be no question at all of my being interned, he said, and as to the question of taxes, he had no doubt whatever that the matter would be settled to my entire satisfaction.

CHAPTER XII
MATTERS BECOME COMPLICATED

It was a few days after the sinking of the Lusitania. All British hearts felt a new bitterness. At the same time a greater feeling of arrogance was reflected from the German mind. The Boches had unbridled their terrorism on the seas, and they now would attempt to make their conduct more appalling in occupied territory.

All of this stimulated our desire to leave Belgium to return to Canada.

On May 15, at 8 o’clock in the morning, I was apprised by a messenger that my presence was wanted at the Town Hall. It was not without a feeling of some apprehension that I made my way towards that building. In the office of the Mayor where I was introduced, I saw the Mayor and a non-commissioned officer. The Mayor, who was one of my friends, said, with a significant glance towards me: “This gentleman wishes to speak to you.”

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“You must go to Antwerp,” replied the non-commissioned officer.

“Very well,” I said, “I will go immediately on my bicycle.”

“No,” said the non-commissioned officer, “you had better leave your bicycle here at the Town Hall. I wish you to accompany me.”

A few minutes later we arrived at the station which was transformed, like all the other stations in the occupied country, into a military post. The non-commissioned officer directed me to a waiting room where there were a group of several soldiers chatting and smoking.

One of these soldiers at a word of command came forward, put on his pointed helmet, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and simply said: “Commen sie mit.” I was right in interpreting his remark to mean “Come with me.” For the first time in my life I had the honor (?) of parading along the street in the company of a disciple of Bismarck!

The people of Capellen, who knew me very well by this time, hurried to the doors to see me pass. A few minutes afterwards we arrived in Antwerp. I was conducted to the Bourse, a large building, which had been struck and damaged by a bomb during the air raid of August 25.

The Germans had established in the Bourse an office for the “control of foreigners.” I did not know of this as yet, but it was not long before I was made aware of it. I was taken into a large room on the door of which I had noticed the name of the officer in charge. He was Lieut. Arnins. I ask the reader to remember this name. I shall never forget it, nor the personage himself.

In the office was a long table with a soldier at each end; an officer, small of stature, and with a puny face, and a non-commissioned officer, bigger in build than his companion. The officer addressed me, speaking with undue violence: “Sir,” said he, “you would have avoided the annoyance of being brought here, under military escort, if you had reported yourself, as it was your duty to do.”

“I was not aware that I had to report,” I replied.

“That’s false,” asserted the officer in a voice louder than before. “That’s false. I have had posted in all the municipalities of the Province of Antwerp a notice enjoining the subjects of countries at war with Germany to report themselves before a given date. You could not ignore this.”

“Most assuredly I was not aware of it,” I said. “Will you please tell me where, in Capellen, you had this notice posted?”

“At the Town Hall,” the officer answered.

“Well,” I continued, “I reside at about one kilometre distant from the Town Hall, and I have no occasion to go there.”

“It is useless for you to attempt to explain,” he declared. “You have knowingly and wilfully avoided military supervision, and take notice that this is a very serious offence.”

“Sir,” I replied, “when you affirm that I have avoided military supervision, you are placing yourself in contradiction with the facts. What you say does not conform with the truth.”

The officer jumped to his feet as if moved by a spring.

“What is that you say?” he demanded.

“Simply that I never had any intention to disobey the regulations you have posted up,” I answered calmly.

“You take it in a rather haughty manner,” he said. “Do you think we are not aware that you are a British subject?”

“I never thought so,” I replied.

“You are a British subject, are you not–you are a British subject?”

“You are quite right–I am a British subject.”

“It is well for you that you do not deny it.”

“Reverting to the accusation you have made against me,” I said, “let me ask you a simple question: If it is established that the chief of the German military police here, in Antwerp, knows me personally; if he and I have talked together at length; if he knows my nationality and under what circumstances I am in Belgium; why I came here; what I am doing, and what I hope to do, will you be of the opinion still that I have infringed the regulations knowingly and wilfully in not reporting to this office?”

The German officer was visibly abashed. He went to the telephone and spoke with the chief of police. He became convinced that what I had said was true, and while not so violent as hitherto, he said, in a haughty manner: “Well, you ought to know that in the quality of stranger you are not allowed to go around without a card of identification. We will give you your card and you must report yourself here every two weeks.”

The officer had to give full vent to his wrath on somebody, so, turning to the soldier who had remained near me, he said, brutally, “Los!” (Go!)

The soldier, poor slave, turned on his heels, struck his thighs with his hands, looked fixedly at his superior officer, and walked hurriedly from the room.

An hour later, and feeling really not too much annoyed by my trip, I returned to Capellen, where I was surrounded by my family and a group of friends all anxious to know in every detail what happened to me on my visit to Antwerp.

Apparently I was safe. With my card I might go freely among my patients. At the end of two weeks’ time I reported myself in Antwerp, where my passport was examined and found to be correct.

I still was allowed to breathe, with all my lungs, the air of freedom!

CHAPTER XIII
A DESOLATE MAJOR

I succeeded in taking with me to the prison later this letter written by Major Von Wilm, and I also was able to smuggle it out of Germany on my release. The reader will find the letter reproduced elsewhere in this story. It is a document which I consider of the greatest importance. In it the chief of the German military police in Antwerp is on record as declaring over his signature that I need not be uneasy as to the future, as I should be allowed to enjoy immunity.

This immunity, however, was to be of short duration. On June 2, when I believed I had been freed from all annoyance, two soldiers presented themselves at the house and requested me to accompany them to Antwerp. I felt convinced that surely this time it was to be a simple visit to an office of some kind, but unaccompanied by inconvenience or vexation.

I left the house without hesitation, taking with me only my walking cane. One of the soldiers spoke French. He appeared to think my call to Antwerp was a mere formality, and that I might be allowed to return to Capellen the same evening.

Arriving in Antwerp, the soldiers conducted me to a hall situated near the kommandantur on des Recollets street. In this hall I saw a large number of people whose appearance was not very reassuring. There were men and women who, judging by appearance, were all more or less bad characters.

Left alone by the two soldiers I made a close observation of this doubtful-looking crowd, and the non-commissioned officer who was in charge of them. I tried in vain to recall the place where I was, and so decided to secure the information from the non-commissioned officer. “Well,” said I to him. “What place is this? What am I brought here for? What do they wish to get from me? Do you know?” The non-commissioned officer did not answer. He just shrugged his shoulders as though he did not understand what I said. I thereupon gave him my card, together with a message for the major. A few minutes later an officer appeared and requested me to follow him. It turned out to be Major Von Wilm’s office into which I was now introduced.

“Mr. Beland,” he said, “I am desolate. New instructions have just arrived from Berlin and I must intern you.”

I had not time to express surprise or utter a word of protest before he added: “But you will be a prisoner of honor. You will lodge here in Antwerp at the Grand Hotel, and you will be well treated.”

“But this,” I said, “does not suit me. First of all, my wife and family are not aware of what is happening to me. In any event I must go back and inform them of my predicament and obtain the clothing I shall need at this hotel.”

Visibly embarrassed through being unable to grant my request even for one hour the major was unable to reply at once. He pondered, walked a few paces in front of his desk, then what was Prussian in the man asserted itself and he said: “No, sir, I cannot permit you to return to Capellen. You may write to madame; tell her what has happened, and I will forward the letter by messenger.” This was done.

The major made every effort to convince me that my detention would be of short duration; that all that was required was evidently to establish my quality as a practising physician; that as soon as documentary proof of this could be placed in the hands of the German authorities I should be liberated and restored to my family.

One can easily come to believe what one fervently desires. I deluded myself with the hope that my sojourn in this hotel was only temporary.

A young officer was ordered to accompany me to the Grand Hotel. On the way he allowed me to stop at a stationer’s store long enough to buy a few books. Shortly afterwards we arrived at the hotel.

Every public hall had been converted into military offices. The officer who accompanied me, having exchanged a few words with some of the soldiers, the latter glanced at me as though I were a curious animal.

“He must be an Englishman–yes, he’s English, all right,” several of those repeated in turn, all the time staring at me unsympathetically.

Finally I was conducted to the topmost floor of the hotel and there shown into a room. I was locked in and a sentry kept guard outside. My jailers had the extreme kindness to inform me that I must take my meals in my room; that I must pay for them and also pay the rent of the room. His German Majesty refused to feed his prisoner of honor!

On the following day, Friday, June 4, my wife arrived at the hotel, more dead than alive. She was, as one may easily imagine, in a state of great nervousness. Before coming she had asked and obtained permission to occupy the room with me and share my imprisonment. Well, as one should bear all things philosophically, and as we were in war times, as many millions of people were much worse off than we might be at this hotel, we accepted the inevitable and settled down to our present little annoyance with perfect resignation.

On the following Saturday the children came to visit us. We saw them enter the courtyard on their way to apply for a permit to see us. As they waited we hailed them from the window. Two soldiers immediately rushed from the office and addressed us with bitter invective because we had dared to speak to our own children and because the children had been “audacious” enough to speak to us! What a terrible provocation that children should exchange greetings with their parents!

The children were cavalierly ejected from the courtyard and we saw them no more that day. But on the following morning, by special permission, they were allowed to speak for a few minutes with us. The same day, at noon, the major visited us in our room, transformed into a jail cell.

His face was gloomy. His whole bearing betrayed much anxiety and uneasiness. He brought us bad news.

“I am desolate,” he said again. “I am heart-broken, but Mr. Beland must leave to-day without fail for Germany.”

Imagine the dismay of my wife and of myself at this abrupt announcement!

I ventured to protest. I reminded the major of the assurances he had previously given me. I repeated to him that in my quality as a physician I ought not to be deprived of my liberty. I asked him why was it that the competent authorities at Berlin had not been informed of the medical services I had been rendering at the hospital and to the civil population since the beginning of the war? Altogether I made a very strong plea in protest against the execution of the latest order.

Perturbed and embarrassed the major mumbled some sort of an explanation. The instructions had “come from someone higher in authority than himself”; he had “tried to explain my case to them,” but they “would not hear him”; “all the British subjects in Germany and occupied territory were to be interned without delay.” The major assumed an air of haughtiness I had not noticed hitherto.

“At two o’clock this afternoon you will have to depart,” he said. “A non-commissioned officer will accompany you to Berlin and thence to Ruhleben.”

Ruhleben is the internment camp for civilians of British nationality. The shadow of a very real sorrow pervaded that room. I did not know what to say. Two hours only remained in which my wife and I might be together. She persisted in her entreaties that she might bear me company to Germany, only to meet with an absolute refusal every time.

The Major had the delicacy (?) to inform her that her company, even to the station merely, was not desirable!

Punctually at two o’clock on June 6 a non-commissioned officer stood in the room to which during the past three days we had become reconciled, as to a new little home where the children, living only a few miles away, might visit us once or twice a week.

All was declared ready for my departure. It was a solemn moment, and profoundly sad. My wife and I were separated. I did not know then–and it was perhaps better–that I should never see her again in this world.

At three o’clock the train arrived at Brussels, where we had to wait for an hour to connect with the express which ran from Lille to Libau in Russia.

By four o’clock we were steaming at a good speed in the direction of Berlin, passing through the country sights of Belgium. We crossed through Louvain, which had been burned, and through a large number of towns and villages which showed the effects of bombardment and other horrors of war; thence through Liege, Aix-la-Chapelle, and Cologne, where we arrived at about nine o’clock.

CHAPTER XIV
IN GERMANY

My companion, however, did not understand one word either of English or French. I was unable to speak German at that time so our only mode of communication was by gesture and signs. The spectacle must have been quite comical to an onlooker. Finally I made the man understand that I wanted something to eat. In the dining-car we met with little encouragement. I understood the conductor to explain that the tables were reserved exclusively for officers and persons accompanying them. As my escort was but a non-commissioned officer we were politely but firmly refused refreshment.

At Cologne our every attempt to reach the station restaurant failed. The place was overcrowded, and my guardian naturally was very apprehensive that I might escape amid the throng. In this event he would have been severely punished. There was nothing to be done, so we returned to the train.

What a night was spent in that compartment among German travelers, taciturn or snoring!

Happily the nights in June are short. Soon dawn appeared radiant. I marveled at this wonderful reawakening of nature. As early as four o’clock I was able to resume my reading.

At nine o’clock we reached Berlin and I saw for the first time the capital of the German Empire. On the station platform a man whose name I was never able to ascertain glided beside us. He was dressed in civilian clothes, and after exchanging a few words with the non-commissioned officer it became manifest that he had assumed charge of the party. Outside the station this civilian, in all probability an officer of high rank, motioned me to get into an automobile. Then, addressing me in excellent French, he said: “Is this your first visit to Berlin?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Berlin is a very beautiful city,” he asserted.

I made no reply. We proceeded to drive through the streets–where to, I did not know. I had been under the impression that I was to be conducted to Ruhleben, the internment camp for civilians. I wondered whether I was being conveyed to a hotel or a boarding house, where prisoners en route to the camp were temporarily lodged. My chief hope was that I might obtain some food. It was now more than twenty-four hours since I had anything to eat. On our way to Berlin the non-commissioned officer had nibbled some bread he had in his knapsack, but I had no opportunity to break my fast.

The automobile was passing along a beautiful avenue. “This is Unter Den Linden, the finest avenue in Berlin,” said my new companion. One can be anti-German, and at the same time acknowledge that this thoroughfare is a charming one to behold. It stretches from the Brandenburg Gate to the Imperial Palace on the river Spree.

We passed the Imperial Palace and immediately afterwards turned into narrower streets. After a drive of about fifteen minutes we arrived in front of a huge building whose walls were a dirty grey. It was, as the reader will have guessed, the jail. I had arrived at my destination.

CHAPTER XV
THE STADTVOGTEI

We halted at the front entrance and a few moments later we were admitted into an office where we found two soldiers, one a sergeant-major, and the other a non-commissioned officer. Up to this time I was not aware of the character of the place to which I had been brought. In fact, I was under the impression that it might, after all, be an hotel reserved for prisoners passing through Berlin. I had always in mind the information which had been given to me in Antwerp, namely, that I was to be interned at Ruhleben. I imagined this was a mere halting place where I should be given something to eat and afterwards taken to my ultimate destination.

I looked around, first examined the office and then observed the two soldiers. My first companion, the non-commissioned officer, and the civilian entered into conversation with the two soldiers. The non-commissioned officer took a document from his pocket, transferred it to the sergeant-major, who examined and signed it, and then gave it back to the non-commissioned officer.

The man in mufti, whose rank or profession I never knew, shook hands with me, while the two soldiers in the office stood to attention, their attitude being one of mingled respect and fear which is familiar to all who have visited Germany. The man then left me.

The next instant the non-commissioned officer invited me to accompany him along a dark corridor, thence up two flights of stairs to a cell which was already occupied by three prisoners.

I was at a loss to know what was to become of me. A confusion of ideas crossed my mind, but I could not now define any one in particular. I addressed my new companions in French, but they did not understand me. I next spoke in English and this time I had the pleasure of knowing that I was understood.

“Are you English?” I enquired.

“Yes,” they said.

“But what are you doing here?”

“Here,” they answered with a sad smile, “we are in jail!”

“In jail!” I repeated. “And I?”

“And you,” they said with the same sad smile, “you also are in jail!”

The names of the three English citizens I learned soon afterwards. The first was a Mr. Robinson, a jockey, who had lived in Germany for many years. He spoke German perfectly. The second was a Mr. Aaron, a naturalized British subject, a broker by profession, born in Austria, but who lived in Berlin. The third was a Mr. Stuhr, of Antwerp, who spoke German well, but French and English imperfectly. He was, I think, a machinist by trade.

I asked my companions if it were possible to obtain something to eat, explaining at the same time that for the past twenty-four hours I had been without a particle of food.

“Well,” said Robinson, “bread was distributed this morning at eight o’clock. There will not be any further distribution until to-morrow morning at the same hour.” It was less than encouraging.

“But,” I said, “there must be means of getting nourishment. Surely they will not deny my request when they know that I have been without food for so long. There must be a means to get food of some kind, somehow?”

That same sad smile and their demeanor told me as convincingly as any words could that my hopes were useless. They knew from their experience that I would get nothing to eat until the next morning.

“However,” said one of them, “I have some bread left over from this morning. I will give it to you, and Robinson will make some coffee.”

Robinson, a short, good fellow, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, brought from under the table an alcohol lamp and proceeded to the making of coffee. What a contrast to the comfort of the large hotels!

At about half-past nine o’clock that day I took my first meal in jail. It consisted of a crust of black bread and a cup of coffee, without milk or sugar. But to one as famished as I was, even this seemed a feast, and I expressed the gratitude I felt to my new companions for their kindness.

As I sat at the table, eating my frugal repast, my companions paced around the room. It was really a cell. An iron-barred window about six feet above the floor ran up the rest of the wall to the ceiling. From where I sat, the sky was visible above the walls of the prison yard. In the cell were four beds, made up as bunks. Placed at the table from which I was eating were four small wooden seats, without backs or arms. The walls were whitewashed, and in the centre of the massive iron door was a grating which would permit the guards to observe everything that took place in the chamber. There was a daily inspection, at about ten o’clock in the morning. The sergeant-major appeared and going from floor to floor he ordered the door of every cell opened in turn. He would scrutinize every occupant haughtily and then make his departure.

Seated at the table, my back towards the door, I was absorbed with my own thoughts–and my black bread–when Robinson, gliding towards me, lightly pulled my sleeve to invite me to get up. Realizing that something was going on behind me I half turned and I saw the sergeant-major, more Prussian-like than ever, standing in the doorway.

After we all had risen, he cried out in a stentorian voice: “Guten morgen!” It sounded to my ears more like an insult than a morning salutation. “What did he say?” I asked Mr. Aaron.

“Merely good morning,” he replied and at once added: “But every time this man bids you good morning, it sounds as though he were saying: ‘Go to the devil!’” He was Sergeant-Major Gotte.

CHAPTER XVI
LIFE IN PRISON

The sections, as I say, were triangular in shape, the open space inside the triangle forming a yard, where prisoners were allowed to take a few hours’ exercise in the afternoon. Each and every cell had a window which opened on to the yard. Inside, a corridor followed the three sides of the triangle, and the windows in these corridors, which opened outwardly, were opaque, so that one’s view was blocked entirely. The windows were all iron barred. The building was one of five storeys counting the ground floor. On this floor were situated the dark cells or dungeons of which there were fourteen. The windows were darkened with outside shutters. Here were confined English prisoners who escaped from the internment camp of Ruhleben, and were recaptured on their way to Holland or Switzerland. According to an arrangement between Great Britain and Germany on the subject of punishment to be inflicted on civil prisoners who tried to escape from their respective internment camps no prisoner was to be kept in close confinement for longer than two weeks after recapture.

The Kommandantur of Berlin, and particularly Capt. Wolff, who appeared to be the “big gun” on the aforesaid Kommandantur, decided to place their own interpretation on this clause of the agreement. It was at about this time that we saw carpenters at work in the yard making more window shutters of the kind I have already mentioned, and afterwards whenever one or more British prisoners were overtaken after an attempt to escape from the camp they were each thrown into a dungeon where for four days they were kept in absolute darkness, and on a diet of bread and water. On the fifth day the window-shutter would be lowered sufficient to admit a little light, and soup such as other prisoners had took the place of water and was served with the bread. The prisoners were then subjected to four more days of close confinement in total darkness, at the end of which time they were again given a little light and the extra soup. The ordeal with four more days in the dungeon, making fourteen days altogether. Then these poor fellows were set free, that is to say they were free as we were–allowed to move around the cells from eight o’clock in the morning until seven o’clock in the evening, the monotony being broken by a few hours’ exercise during the afternoon.

Prison life was supremely monotonous. The nearest approach to recreation was the “privilege” of watching other prisoners passing in and out. About ten prisoners were discharged every day, and about the same number were admitted.

The section of the jail in which we were confined was under the primary management of the Kommandantur of Berlin. The Kommandantur was represented at the jail by an officer who remained there during the whole period of my incarceration. His name was Lober Lieutenant Block. Under that officer was a sergeant-major, and under the sergeant-major were seven non-commissioned officers and a doorkeeper, ranking as a non-commissioned officer. Two of the non-commissioned officers occupied an office on the ground floor. The others were assigned to duty on the several floors where they acted as inspectors or watchmen. The sergeant-major was responsible for the general superintendence of the jail and he made an inspection every day. As to the head officer his dignity was such that he would not condescend to pass through the corridors more than two or three times a week.

A mania which appears to be general among German officers and non-commissioned officers alike is to be both loud and violent every time they speak to subordinates or prisoners. Not a single day would pass without the walls ringing with the echoes of the cries and threats these men uttered to certain prisoners.

The poor Poles! What invective and abuse they had to endure!

I mention the Poles specially because from Poland there passed during my three years of captivity to the prison of the Stadtvogtei a greater number of prisoners than from any other place. Of two hundred and fifty prisoners quite two-thirds were of Polish origin. The other prisoners included English, French, Italians, Russians, Portuguese; in fact, all the nations at war with Germany were represented. At times there were Arabs, Hindoos, African negroes, Japanese, and Chinese.

What may surprise the reader is the fact that the four central powers themselves–Germany, Austria, Bulgaria, and Turkey–held constantly some of their own subjects in this prison. Germany never had less than from five to ten of her subjects in the jail. They were mostly political prisoners who were reputed to be a menace to the security of the German empire. I shall have occasion later on to speak about two prisoners, in particular, Socialist members of the Reichstag. But more than Germany and her allies and the countries with whom they were at war were represented in this prison. At different times, prisoners belonging to the neutral nations of Europe–Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Holland, Switzerland, and Spain–were guests at the Stadtvogtei.

How was this? the reader may ask. It is as easy to explain the imprisonment of these people as to explain the incarceration of German subjects. A Dane or a Hollander would visit Berlin on business or for other purposes. He would naturally frequent the cafés, and there enter into conversation with some Germans. If he imprudently ventured to criticize Germany’s foreign policy or her conduct of military or naval operations his fate was sealed. He would be allowed to return to his hotel; he would sleep peacefully the rest of the night, quite ignorant of the ugly fact that a sword was suspended over his head; but at seven o’clock the next morning, he would inevitably be called upon to follow a constable to the nearest station, whence he would be delivered over to the Stadtvogtei, the veritable clearing house of Germany. He would be ignorant of the cause of his imprisonment, and only after days, perhaps weeks, of protest and correspondence with the legation or embassy of his country, would he be submitted to an examination by the gentlemen (?) of the Kommandantur. If, eventually, he succeeded in regaining his liberty, he would be taken from jail direct to the frontier, without having the opportunity even to call back at the hotel for his personal baggage.