The living-rooms assigned to the prisoners were a series of tunnel-shaped cells, running along the north and south fronts of the fortress. These were connected by a long stone corridor, and divided into two wings by the main entrance, as shown on the plan. Each cell was connected to its neighbour by a small archway, which had been partitioned off in order to make separate compartments. These partitions were in some cases made of wood, in others they had been bricked up. The cells were twenty-six feet long by fifteen feet broad, and contained six officers each. Thus, with six beds, a dining-table, a cooking-stove (supplied by ourselves), and a space set apart to act as a kitchen and scullery, there was not very much room. The roof being arched like a tunnel, it was not possible to get the full benefit of the floor-space, since one could not stand upright if near the walls. These walls were made of granite, badly whitewashed over and exuding moisture. During any kind of damp weather the festoons of cobwebs which helped to adorn the ceiling glistened like a long grotto. On one side of the cells a small drain, excavated out of the wall, acted as a passage for the waters above. This drain opened out into the cell by a small trap-door, through which one could both hear and see the continual drip, drip of water, which in rainy weather formed itself into a small stream, occasionally flooding over into the cell. At all times a large ring of damp covered the floor in its proximity.
As before explained, the cells were approached by a long stone corridor running parallel with them, lighted by skylights at every forty or fifty yards, which pierced upwards through the earthworks above them. These, however, admitted very little light, except when the sun was shining. One was always in danger of bumping up against somebody walking in the opposite direction; in fact, a good many hard knocks were received in this way. The latrines were situated at the bottom of each of these corridors. This is not a subject which one cares to enlarge upon, but in this history it is necessary, in order to form a correct idea of the conditions under which we lived. These latrines consisted of a mere hole in the stone floor, with no form of drainage. Consequently the atmosphere in the corridor became at times almost unbearable, since the corridor acted as a sort of flue to the latrines, with which it was directly connected, the final result of this being that, when officers passed in and out of these rooms, a certain amount of the disgusting odour penetrated into the cells. Thus we had to sleep, feed, and live in one of these cells, attacked from inside by insanitary conditions, living in a dirty, damp, badly lighted stone cell, menaced from the outside by mosquitoes and miasma rising off the waters of the moat, on to which the cells looked through very heavily barred windows. The floors were made of asphalt, which struck cold into one’s very marrow, so that the majority of us were always stiff with rheumatism.
At first we were allowed to take exercise in the hollows marked X and Y in the plan, also to walk round the ramparts of the protecting earthworks. But this was very soon put a stop to, owing to an attempt to escape over the moat; and, finally, the only exercise-ground allowed us was that marked Z on the plan, immediately beneath the drawbridge and main entrance, a space a little larger than a tennis-court for some three hundred of us to exercise in. To the reader it must seem almost incredible that even a Hun would incarcerate a prisoner of war in a hell-hole such as this, immediately after having undergone a very serious operation; but so it was.
Having given a rough sketch of the prisoners’ accommodation in the fortress, I now propose to record the events of an ordinary average day. Appell, or roll-call, was at 7.30 in the morning, and held in the cells. The intimation of the Appell was heralded by an enormous alarm-bell fitted in each wing. After this bell had sounded no officer was allowed to leave his cell under any circumstances. The Boche N.C.O. and one sentry visited the cells in turn, counting six officers in each cell. The N.C.O. entered the cells from the corridor in order to make this count, the sentry remaining outside in order to prevent an officer who had been already counted from proceeding down the corridor to a cell which had not been counted, and thus being counted again. The necessity for this was, in the event of an officer escaping another being counted in twice would allow the escaper time to get away from the camp, should he have been fortunate enough to get clear.
After the Appell breakfast was served to us by the French orderly allotted to our cell. The reader must not imagine we had the use of the orderly all day; he had numerous other duties to perform for the Boche. He usually made our beds and emptied the slops (not always), and occasionally did the washing up after meals. He also fetched our fresh water in a bucket. The breakfast consisted of a large cupful of hot coffee, already mixed with milk. As a matter of fact it was made of ground acorns and a small percentage of chicory, and was quite undrinkable. This, with three ounces of black bread, which chiefly consisted of potato peelings, bran, and sawdust, was all we had for breakfast. At the midday meal we received five potatoes for six officers, or a swede weighing about 1½ lb., or seventeen sticks of tinned asparagus. Each cell had its ration en bloc, so that whatever food came was divided up amongst the six people in each cell. For supper a breakfast-cupful of soup, made of ground white beans (sometimes edible, but not often), was provided.
The above constituted the regular rations. Besides these we received other rations: 45 grammes of meat each per week, including bone, and occasionally some stinking fish, so bad that it could not be kept in the cell for more than a minute or two. The other rations were fifteen lumps of sugar each per month; 1 lb. of tea (cut from the stem) per six officers, usually twice during the month; and, lastly, a sherry-glassful of rum every six weeks for the six of us, and a soup-plateful of tinned fruit. All the food which was not provided as a daily ration was only given by the Boches in order that they might be able to bring out a list showing how well they fed their prisoners. This last was principally for the edification of the American Ambassador. The following really looks quite well: Rum, Sugar, Tea, Meat, Bread, Soup, Vegetables, Potatoes, Fruit, Fish.
But all that glitters, etc.—as will be seen by my description of how this food was made and distributed. Soon after the morning Appell we would hurry to the bath, or so-called bath. Only a drawing by Heath Robinson could possibly do justice to it. No words could describe the extraordinarily primitive arrangements. A cement cauldron, on the top of which rested a number of large basins, containing the water to be heated. One-third of a sack of coal was allowed three days a week, in order to heat the water in these basins, which must suffice for the ablutions of three hundred officers. The water, when hot, was ladled out with a magnified soup-tureen by hand, and thrown into a bath. From there the water was pumped up by hand to a series of beer-casks, resting on a wooden frame and partitioned off so as to have one cask over each compartment. The bather then proceeded to let loose the water in the barrels by operating a rough valve, when the water, which was practically cold, owing to the many vicissitudes to which it had been subjected, poured out in a slow trickle upon the bather. Nevertheless, there was a terrific scramble for the bath daily. One could have overlooked the fact of this Stone Age arrangement had the place been kept clean, but the filth of it was indescribable. Streams of soapy water running over the mud floor had rendered it something akin to axle grease. Great care had to be taken in order not to slip; for to slip, which one often did, meant being covered in filth, which no amount of washing in cold water would remove.
After having completed the morning’s ablution under these delightful conditions, one or other of the officers in each cell would be told off to cook the breakfast and lay the table. This was usually taken in turn, and a very good breakfast we had too—that is, when our parcels were arriving from home regularly. No knives, forks, spoons, or plates were supplied to us, also no utensils for cooking. We were forced to buy our own stove. The coal which was supplied to us every second day would be equal to two small scuttlefuls. This had to do for warming the cell and for cooking all the necessary food. There were times when this coal allowance diminished considerably below the amount, especially during the coldest period. At one time we could only afford to have the fire lit after 12 noon. This was in January, when the thermometer stood at thirty-two degrees Centigrade below freezing-point. Let the reader imagine what that means in a stone cell, situated thirty-five feet beneath the earth. Certainly we did not suffer from damp, since everything was ice. Our drainage-vent was solid ice about a foot thick.
It has been explained that in November we were allowed to exercise on the ramparts, which formed a very pleasant walk round. From this height a good view could be obtained of the surrounding country. There were no notices up explaining exactly which part of the ramparts we were allowed to frequent. We therefore went all over them without hindrance. There were six sentries posted on the caponiers overlooking the moat; therefore there was no earthly reason why we should be debarred from walking or sitting anywhere on the ramparts, since every part was overlooked by sentries. Apart from this, in order to descend from the ramparts to the level of the moat, one would be compelled to go down a very steep bank of some fifty feet. The escaper would then find himself shooting into the arms of the outer ring of sentries stationed inside and on a level with the moat, with sentries on both sides of it.
Nevertheless, after we had been allowed to roam at will over the ramparts, one day the sentry on the main caponier suddenly and without warning opened fire on two Russian officers lying near the breastworks beneath him, who were taking advantage of a short spell of sunshine. The sentry fired at them for no apparent reason. Fortunately for the Russians they were not hit, though it was only a matter of inches, as the sentry was not more than sixty paces from them. This caused, of course, a fearful commotion in the camp. The sentry very nearly got mobbed by the prisoners. In fact, I thought it was coming, and did my best to calm them, since the prisoners must be the losers in the end, fists being of very little use against rifles, especially inside a fortress. Within a minute or two the interior of the fortress was flooded with guards from the guard-room, and the prisoners were herded to their cells and locked in.
The commandant was in a great state of agitation, knowing very well that it would not take much to make the smouldering embers of the prisoners’ overcharged feelings burst into flames. The worm will turn, even if it has no means of defence, and our treatment was rapidly nearing the limit of petty persecution. After this the use of the ramparts and interior exercise-grounds was debarred to us, so that we only had the small paved area at the entrance to the fortress to exercise in.
Towards the end of November the weather began to get extremely cold, and in consequence our conditions became unbearable, owing to the lack of sufficient coal for heating purposes. This led to another little attention from the Boches similar to that described above. A batch of prisoners were transferred from the fort to some other camp, and this left vacant one of the cells. This was too good an opportunity to miss, since possibly a portion of coal might be left by the officers just gone. One of the British officers therefore paid a visit to the empty cell. There was nothing to hinder him from doing so, for he merely had to proceed down the corridor from his own cell till he reached the other one. Immediately, however, he put his head in at the door the sentry outside shot at him through the grated window. Fortunately he missed him, but that was not the fault of the sentry. Of course we complained at such disgraceful treatment, and the commandant said he would severely rate the sentry, but nothing ever came of it in the way of redress.
To further illustrate the general scheme of treatment, I will recount the form of medical attention meted out to us. A doctor from the town of Ingolstadt visited us on Mondays and Fridays. He was quite a good fellow, though I never saw him sober, and I went to him dozens of times. Consequently, from a medical point of view, he was quite useless. As a permanent assistant he had a French Alsatian Tommy, whose duty it was to administer the doses and attend cases generally, such as massage for rheumatism, from which we all suffered, and bandaging troublesome old wounds. This orderly had had no training, and as a matter of fact was taught to rub and bandage by us. He was not able to procure medicines, and had no authority to do so.
On one occasion a Russian officer tried to commit suicide towards midnight. This took place in the right wing of the cells, which after 9 p.m. was shut off from the administrative officer in the centre by doors marked W and T in sketch; and although the officer’s comrades nearly battered down the door in order to get some sort of medical help from the commandant, it was refused; consequently the poor wretch had to lie and bleed till morning, when he was removed to hospital in the town, too late to help him, I fear; but of course we never were allowed to know the result. At another time an officer in my wing (the left) was taken with violent fever and fearful pain in breathing, which turned out to be double pneumonia. We tried in vain to get some medical help, but we were only laughed at from the other side of the iron-studded door, and told that the swine officer must take his chance.
There was no sick-room of any sort. This could have been excused had we been in or near a town, but since we were situated five miles from the outskirts of the town it became inexcusable, especially as, owing to the unhealthy state of the camp, everybody was more or less unwell at some period or other. A sort of ague fever attacked nearly every one, and we found it very difficult to keep clear of bad colds and throats. Towards the end of December the cold became so intense that it was impossible to keep warm. The only method of keeping the circulation up was by skipping. Our coal allowance, which had been entirely inadequate before, got shorter. It was now only possible to utilise it for cooking purposes. Some means had to be found in order to add to our fuel, and this we discovered. I refer to the wood partitions connecting those cells which were not occupied, also some wooden partitions separating the holes used as latrines, and the commandant’s private lavatory. These I and another man since escaped from Germany tore down and burnt in our cooking-stoves to create what warmth we could. Of course it was not long before the Boches found it out, and, since they could not discover the actual offenders, the whole of the officers in the fortress were charged so much for repairs, which repairs never took place unfortunately, as we should then have had a fresh supply of wood, although we burnt everything we could possibly lay our hands on. Wood burns at such a fearful rate that this only kept us going for a few weeks.
It was in January that the Swiss Commission paid another visit; but although numerous cases were up in front of them, only one French officer was accepted, and he was eventually sent back from Constance. The commission put me on the list, but refused to make mine a special case, since they had no record of the history of my wound, so the hope of going a train journey at the expense of the Boches towards the Swiss frontier came to an end.
The British officers in general passed a good many weary hours away in playing bridge, and owing to the limitations of light during the long dark winter evenings we constantly played in the afternoons. At one of these afternoon sessions we were surprised in our usual game in a cell shared by four British officers and two Frenchmen. One of the French officers was leaving for another camp, thus vacating one of the wooden beds. The Boches having learned by bitter experience that a vacant bed would be turned into firewood, within half an hour of its being vacated paid a visit to this cell in order to remove the bed to a safer place. This occurred during our game of bridge. Now, in order to remove the bed from the cell, it was necessary to take it to pieces, owing to the door of the cell not being wide enough to admit of its being taken out whole.
While dismembering the bed the Boche carpenter in charge of the work missed some of his stock-in-trade, which led to an immediate examination of our cell by the commandant in person. During this examination the door of the cell opened, and a French officer of the name of Borgeau entered. On seeing the commandant he commenced to apologise, at which the former flew at him, calling him a pig of a Frenchman and various other insulting names. Borgeau very wisely withdrew to his own cell, situated farther down the passage; but he kept the door of his cell open, in order to intercept the commandant on his way back to his bureau and demand an explanation for this unnecessary insult. This he did, but before Borgeau had time to say anything the commandant went for him, and struck him on the face and chest with his clenched fist. At the same time his two sentries with their lowered bayonets pressed into the cell along with the Feldwebel (sergeant-major). The commandant was like a wild beast, and in one of his furious attacks on the defenceless Borgeau he over-swung and knocked his own Feldwebel off his feet. This caused a roar of laughter from the other occupants of the cell and increased the general pandemonium. Fortunately Borgeau kept his head in this very difficult situation, and resisted the inclination to strike back. Had he done so, he would have been shot for a certainty.
Later on in the day three British officers were called to the commandant’s bureau to sign certain necessary papers, but when they found that they had to deal with the commandant in person they refused to speak to him, and told him in French that they would transact their business with the Feldwebel, since they did not consider him (the commandant) either a gentleman or an officer responsible for his actions after the affair of that morning in striking a defenceless prisoner without the slightest provocation whatever. As a result of this they were immediately confined to solitary cells, kept for the purpose, in the interior of the fortress. Two officers escaped from these cells in about two hours, and returned to their own cells. On this being discovered they were removed to the town civilian jail.
As will be seen, in return for the vile treatment dealt out to us by the Boches, we did not give them very much peace whenever the opportunity arose to do otherwise; consequently our guard was doubled at the fortress, which pleased us very much, since we felt that we were keeping a number of men away from the front, and thus still helping to do our little share towards the war. Of course it increased the difficulties of escape a little, but not to any appreciable extent. It was almost impossible to get away with or without a whole skin. This being the case, a few more guards more or less did not make very much difference.
During the month of December I became very friendly with a French officer, and the two of us decided to carry out a plan of escape which we had hit upon. Unfortunately I am unable to give any details of the episode, as the French officer who was my companion in the plot is still a prisoner in Germany, and the circumstances are such that any explanation might bring retribution on him, as we did a good deal of damage in the process of making an outlet.
I have stated before how some British officers and a Belgian escaped over the frozen moat. This was one of the finest efforts I have seen, as the chance of reaching the other side of the moat alive was almost nil. At the outset they had to rush over the caponiers from the interior exercise-grounds, in full view of the sentries standing on the top of the caponiers, down the other side, a descent at an angle of 60°, to a depth of from fifty to sixty feet, on to the frozen moat, which was about sixty yards broad, and then race over open country under fire for about two hundred yards, and cross another canal which was not frozen. The sentries started firing before the escapers reached the moat, and kept on firing long after they had crossed. On this occasion the proverbial bad luck of the escaper cropped up. A military waggon came tearing down the usually deserted road to the fortress, and was brought to a standstill on the bridge which crossed the outer canal; a troupe of about eight or ten Boches poured from it, and in this way our unfortunate brother officers were caught.
At the end of February we were surprised by a visit from two representatives of the American Embassy, to whom we poured forth our woes, and who declared their views pretty strongly as to the conditions in which they found us. The assault by the commandant on a defenceless French officer was fully narrated to them, also the fact that officers had been fired on inside the fortress whilst lying out in the earthworks. The American representatives made every effort with the commandant to procure more coal for heating our cells, also greater space for exercise, asking permission for us to again use the interior exercise-grounds X and Y, periodically closed to us as a general strafe, and permanently closed to us after the attempted escape of the British officers over the frozen moat.
Strangely enough, we were allowed to see the commission alone, but after our interview they proceeded to the commandant, who took them across to the so-called theatre or music-room, where doubtless the commandant went into raptures over the beauties and utilities of the theatre, forgetting to explain that we were not allowed into it and that the door was kept locked, so that possibly the commission went away with the feeling that after all the Boches were trying to make up for the awful conditions existent in the fortress by giving us the use of an improvised theatre.
The amount of eyewash prepared in camps for a visit of any sort, either neutral or Boche, was extremely humorous to me. A camp would get busy like a hive for a couple of days before the visit, sweeping and cleaning in every corner, so that general conditions would improve for a day or two, and immediately after the visits they would lapse back into the old conditions of filth.
During the last few months an escaping scheme on a large scale had been under way from a cell quite close to my own. After many months of terrific manual labour a tunnel running from beneath the floor of the cell to the edge of the moat had been brought to successful completion. On the day of the night chosen for the attempt the never-ending bad luck of the escapers again ruined all these carefully laid plans. A large sewage-cart containing an enormous iron cylinder visited the camp for the purpose of pumping out the latrines. In order to reach these latrines the sewage-cart had to pass over the strip of ground dividing the cells of the fortress from the moat, and in so doing passed over the underground tunnel, which at this place was not more than three feet beneath the surface of the earth; and although the tunnel had been strengthened with every possible kind of wood torn from every hole and corner inside the fortress, the weight of the cart was too much for it, and a deep rut showed in the ground after the cart had passed. This might have escaped the eye of the sentry on beat at this place, had not the cart passed over exactly the same spot on its return journey, thus causing a depression, which rapidly sank to about a foot deep. The sentry did not fail to see it, and the fact was reported to the quarter guard, whose investigation with picks and shovels soon revealed the truth, so that another accidental discovery was added to the list. When we found that no attempt had been made to drain the latrines for over two years, the extraordinary bad luck became a hundred times more exasperating to bear.
At the end of March I was suddenly called up to interview General Peter, the commandant of the military district of Ingolstadt. He addressed me very civilly, which was not his wont, and told me that I, along with two other British officers, was going to be removed to the best camp in Germany, owing to our exemplary behaviour and gentlemanly conduct. I saluted and departed to inform my comrades in my cell, where laughter overcame me. My exemplary behaviour! when everybody in the fortress knew that I had been described by the commandant as one of the most “dangerous characters” in the camp. Of course my mind instantly sought for the reason which had caused the Boches to decide on sending me away, and it was not long before I discovered it. I immediately consulted my French pal, and the two of us put our heads together and paid a visit to the commandant, but found no clue there. We then proceeded to the so-called Krankenstube (or sick-room). Seeing a lot of new medicines, I asked the orderly who they were for. He replied that the Swiss Commission was paying us a visit in a few days. The reasons of my removal to another and better camp were immediately explained. A great many inquiries had been made from home to the Swiss Commission regarding my case and the reason why I had not been sent to Switzerland on the last visit of the commission. The Boches, knowing this, had no intention that the commission should find me still an inmate of such a hell-hole as Fort 9, Ingolstadt.
On the morning of the 3rd of April, or two days after old General Peter had told me I was to be sent to a nice camp because I had been a “good boy,” orders to pack up my goods and chattels came from the commandant. My baggage had by this time grown to a very considerable bulk—my own spring-bed, folding camp-chair, box of food-stuffs, cooking utensils, blankets, clothing, etc. The luggage had to be in the packet-room by three o’clock, in order that it might undergo the usual searching process. Immediately it was generally known in the camp that we were leaving Ingolstadt on the morrow, and that our luggage was to be sent to the packet-room by three o’clock, I received dozens of applications from the ever-watchful prisoners for permission to try to sneak out in my baggage. Permission was given to the first two applicants, French and English majors, one of whom occupied cell 42 with me. Two large hamper washing-baskets were borrowed from some Russian and French officers. Into these the two escapers were pushed, with blankets and clothing on top of them, and a cunning arrangement by which the padlock could be slipped from the inside.
The two hampers, together with my boxes and those of the other two officers accompanying me, were carried by ourselves at the appointed time to the packet-room, where each officer opened his own boxes in front of the examining Boche N.C.O., who made a quick search of each box. In this case the two other officers had their luggage examined first; then came my turn. By this time he had grown a bit slack, and when he had gone through my three boxes he was still more so. The two baskets were left till the last. These were opened in their turn, and I began hauling out the top blankets. With a wave of the hand the N.C.O. said “Good,” and the hampers were passed, as had been calculated upon. After this the N.C.O. called in some French orderlies, and gave directions for our luggage to be heaped up in a corner by itself. Unfortunately they placed one of the basket-hampers on the top of the other, which proved in the end to be the undoing of the whole affair.
The luggage having been passed, the packet-room was closed for the night, and there seemed to be a very fair chance that the escapers might be successful in at least getting out of the fortress. At 5 p.m. the usual guard was mounted outside the packet-room door, and all went well till about 7 p.m., when the escapers in the baskets essayed to get out of these in order to relieve the agonies of cramp which had naturally overtaken them in their confined position. There was no reason at all why they should spend the night in the baskets, as the packet-room would not be opened till seven o’clock the following morning. Even if a chance visit should happen to be paid to the room, there was plenty of material to hide behind amongst the general debris of packets and bales which covered the floor. With this in view the officer in the upper basket tried to get out with the least possible noise. To raise the lid from the inside was easy, as before explained, but to get out noiselessly was quite another matter, since any movement in the basket above was registered by a loud creaking from the basket below, and before the two officers had succeeded in extricating themselves the suspicions of the sentry outside had been aroused, a search was instituted, and the plot discovered.
Returning to my own position, I now expected to receive a notification from the commandant that my removal to another camp was cancelled, owing to the fact that I had helped these two officers to escape in my luggage; but no such order was issued, which proved to me more strongly than ever that the authorities at Ingolstadt were most anxious to get rid of me for some very good reason, which I surmised was the expected visit of the Swiss Commission. Information now came through to us from one of the French orderlies that a party of officers, collected from all the other prison camps in and around Ingolstadt, was being sent to the camp at Crefeld on the following day. This information had been come by during a parley between the orderly and another French orderly, who had arrived at the fortress the preceding day from one of the camps which was being broken up. We felt pretty certain, therefore, that our destination would also be Crefeld, since we were all going on the same day; also, if old General Peter had spoken the truth, it must be Crefeld, as he had said it was the best camp in Germany.
That night we received orders to be ready to start at five o’clock the next morning, and I had much to do and certain arrangements to make with the friends I was about to leave behind me, in case I should succeed in making good my escape. For many months past I had wearied of Ingolstadt and its appalling conditions, but now that I had actually to move off on the morrow a certain sense of loss to come and a feeling of extreme depression overcame me at leaving these good fellows. The camp was bad—nothing could be worse; but, still, the idea was borne in upon me, “Better to bear the ills we have,” etc.; and God only knew what the future might have in store for me. One becomes extraordinarily attached to those of one’s fellow-beings with whom one has passed through great ordeals.
However, enough of the sentimental. Some of my pals were laying bets between themselves as to whether I should succeed in making my escape or not, and I’m sure those who lost did so with the greatest pleasure. At 4.30 the next morning the three of us were sent for by the commandant, and went through the usual search, which we all passed quite satisfactorily. All the same, a small corrugated iron spring, knife, bit of a screwdriver, compass, and electric torch escaped the watchful eyes of the Boches: I don’t propose to say how, as it only gives valuable information to the enemy.
At 5.30 a.m. we shook the dust of the fortress from our feet. As before explained, there were three of us, and we had to walk over eight kilometres to the station. We had been ordered to take everything necessary for three days in the shape of food, clothing, etc., so the kindly Boches gave us a couple of orderlies to carry our hand luggage. I suppose I should have been both surprised and grateful at having any help at all, but really it was only a case of half a loaf being better than no bread, since two orderlies could not possibly carry the amount of our hand luggage; consequently we had a very hot and tiring walk, carrying the baggage on our shoulders, our guards making no effort to help. However, we did eventually arrive at the station, perspiring freely, although it was freezing at the time. At the station we were surprised to see a large dray loaded with luggage that looked very English, which turned out to belong to a party of officers we discovered at the station. There were about twenty-five of them, as well as I can remember, consisting of a collection from all the camps in and around Ingolstadt.
Many inquiries were made when they found that we had just come from the notorious Fort No. 9. We learnt from these officers that we were bound for a camp called Crefeld, quite close to the Dutch frontier, and supposed to be the best camp in Germany. Satisfaction on going so near the frontier showed on many faces. About 7 a.m. our train arrived, and a second-class carriage was allotted to us by the German officer in charge of the party. Our guard consisted of this officer, who was a coarse bullet-headed Bavarian lieutenant, and about nine men, if I remember aright, all of them being fully armed and evidently warned to keep their eyes skinned. The Boche officer numbered us off and allotted so many officers to each compartment, together with one guard to each batch. When he came to us he said, “Oh yes, Fort 9; you will be in a compartment by yourselves,” and he told off three guards to watch us. This was not at all satisfactory, and looked very bad for our venture. However, there was no circumventing it, and the only thing was to accept the situation with the best grace possible and trust to our brains to outwit the three guards.
Towards 7.30 the train pulled out, at which I drew a breath of relief, feeling that Fort 9 at least was behind me, and in front enormous possibilities of escape. For the first time during two and a half years I was more or less fit; I was in a train travelling towards the northern frontier of Germany; every mile drew it and home nearer, and I had the delightful sensation that the German Government was about to be made to pay for at least a good part of my road towards home, travelling comfortably in a second-class railway compartment. That I was going to make good my escape from the train I was firmly convinced, although the circumstances of our disposition among the guards did not for the moment look very hopeful; but there was a sort of something in the air, excited quiverings running up and down my spine.
To carry out our project of ingratiating ourselves with our guards was a matter of immediate importance, since we could never tell how soon our chance might come. Accordingly we started by falling into amicable conversation with them, which was carried on with the aid of signs and a few words in broken French and German, only a very few German words being used, in order not to excite any suspicions that we could understand their conversation. In this manner we learnt one or two small points of interest: firstly, that we were not expected to arrive at our destination till the evening of the next day, also that the camp we were bound for was indeed Crefeld.
By about eight o’clock the ball started rolling in good earnest, when one of the guards suddenly said, “Der Kriegs nicht gut.” We agreed that war was hell and that we wanted to be back with our families in peace and with plenty to eat again, for there was “viel essen” in England; to which they replied, “Kein essen in Deutschland,” and we answered that the prisoner of war felt the want of food in Germany more than the German soldiers did, but that we received plenty from home, so we did very well, at which I opened my suit-case and displayed to the greedy eyes of the Huns a whole lot of tinned meats of various kinds. This was a fine opportunity to cement our friendship, so we started to prepare a good sound breakfast of tongue and chicken, in which we succeeded in getting them to join us; they offered us a share of hot coffee from their water-bottles, and we all fairly settled down to it. Alas! with what pain I saw my limited food slipping down the Hun throats; but it was our best policy, and I must say that succeeding events justified us in giving them a decent meal. Two of the guards were now sufficiently at their ease to surrender to comfort, unfastening their belts and putting their rifles on the racks; the third, however, kept his rifle handy, but I do not think with any idea that it might be necessary. After breakfast we all had a little snooze—at least we pretended to. Two of the Boches certainly dropped off for a little while.
About midday we arrived at a station, where the carriages were shunted, during which time we were allowed to stretch our legs on the platform and get some hot coffee from a stall which was not too awfully bad. Whilst we were bartering for the coffee a train pulled up at another platform, bringing in a quantity of newspapers for the day, over which there seemed to be a general hubbub of excitement; a few were brought to our platform, and we tried to bag one surreptitiously without success, but not before the headlines of the paper had been read by one or two of us. The news caused just as much excitement amongst ourselves as it had amongst the Boches, being no less than the official declaration of war by the United States. In ordinary times this would have given us a topic of conversation for months, but for the present we had other fish to fry, and we soon forgot all about it; at the same time we all felt excessively elated by the downcast, morose aspect of the Boche civilians at the railway station.
To return to our own affairs. When the train started off again, we made up our minds that we must find out everything there was to know about the carriages we were now in. To do this it would be necessary to visit the other compartments, without of course arousing the suspicions of any of the guards. Accordingly I again entered into conversation with one of them, and asked him how many prisoners there were in the train, if they were all going to the same camp, had they just been taken prisoners or were they old ones, from what camps did they come, etc. I then hinted that I thought I’d stroll along and have a talk to them; perhaps some belonged to my own regiment. This did not seem to perturb him at all, as indeed there was no reason why it should, seeing that the carriage was made up of six compartments, which had been partitioned off with a gangway running down one side. Sometimes one comes across them in this country, and by standing up and looking over the seat one can see into the next compartment. Accordingly I strolled along to the next compartment, and sat down with the fellows there and soon got into animated conversation. I noticed, however, that one of the guards had followed me and was standing in the gangway. After about half an hour he got tired of this and went back to his seat, and a few minutes after I also returned to my own seat. This seemed to put him quite at his ease, and by the time the evening arrived I had visited all the compartments, and found, to my great joy, that the rear one held four officers without a guard at all.
It was now necessary to find out the disposition of the Boche officers and the remaining guard, which we did not discover till about 10.30 that evening, when we arrived at some town to put up for the night. The name of the place I don’t know, as I could see no name written up anywhere, for there were very few lights showing on the station, and it was a pitch-dark night. On detraining, we were marshalled into a sort of Red Cross shelter on the platform, where we waited about three-quarters of an hour, after which we were formed into fours and marched a distance of about a mile and a half through the town to a big building, evidently some kind of education institution temporarily turned into a receiving hospital. Here we were ushered into a large hall, no doubt used before the war as a gymnasium, and now full of collapsible camp-beds. On these we were informed we must sleep till four o’clock the next morning, when we should again march off. These beds looked very enticing to a great many of us, and personally I took the full benefit out of the one allotted to me, as I felt sure that it would be many a long weary day before I got the chance of another good rest—if indeed I ever would need one again in this life. The night passed without incident, and we were well guarded.
The next morning at 4.30 we marched off again and reached the station about 5 a.m. Here we were once more marshalled into the Red Cross rest station where we had been the previous night. Hot coffee, bread, and a piece of blood sausage were dealt out to us, at a price; but I for one was very thankful, for it was the last meal I was to have for five days, although of course I did not know it at the time.
At six o’clock we again entrained, and I noted with satisfaction that we were to have the same carriage as that of the previous day. Unfortunately it was now the leading one of the train, because anyone attempting to leave our carriage must inevitably be seen by any person looking out of those in the rear. I made especial note of the whereabouts of our conducting officer, and found that he and the guard I had missed the night before were located in the next carriage to ours. As in English “Pullmans,” one could pass from one carriage to another the whole length of the train, and I suppose he felt that he had us sufficiently under his eyes from the next carriage.
On taking our allotted places in our carriage, we were delighted to find that the front compartment, which had been the rear one the previous day, was again without a guard. Nothing of any note happened till after dawn broke, when we crossed the Rhine at Frankfort, and towards 10 a.m. we drew up at a wayside station, and were again allowed to descend and stretch our legs. This time there was nothing to be got in the way of food or drink, and it was freezing very hard; so I and my two companions, finding a small waiting-room, went in and shut the door-in order to keep warm, of course! After about ten minutes the whistle went for the train to start, but our conducting officer had discovered he had not got his full complement of prisoners, and by the noise he made in shouting at his men he seemed to be pretty much excited over it. During a wild and flurried search we were discovered innocently doing nothing; and although we got pretty roundly cursed, there is no doubt that it helped to allay any suspicion on their part that we might be possible escapers, so much so that when the train actually went off one of the three guards was removed from our compartment after a whispered consultation with the Boche officer, and went to join his comrade in the officers’ compartment. This left us with two in our compartment, and things began to look better for us. From this on nothing of any particular note happened till midday, except that I felt exactly as if I were going to step into a dentist’s chair, and the clock seemed as if it were at a standstill, although the train was now moving a good deal faster than it had done hitherto.
About one o’clock we stopped at a station, where we got rid of another of our guards, who, suddenly discovering that his pal who had joined the other guard had taken his grub with him, went off in search of it—and, to our joy, he did not return. We were now left with only one guard in our compartment and four others in the compartment in front of us. After we moved off the train gathered speed, and our hopes began to descend again. If the train continued like that to the end of the journey, to jump would be out of the question. This was immediately after the sentry had been moved, and we found ourselves with only one sentry in our compartment.
We looked at each other, and unanimously said, “Well, what about it?” Supposing we successfully made good our escape, we must be able to travel with the greatest possible speed towards that part of the Dutch frontier which we believed to be the best place for an attempt, and, owing to its situation amongst the swamps, would probably be less carefully guarded. Our progress across Germany was going to be very seriously hampered by the fact that we were without a map of the actual frontier, and only in possession of a small piece of map about three inches square, showing the railway system on which we were actually running, and this was not even correct according to a large tin map showing the German north-west railway system which was nailed to the wall of the compartment.
We therefore set to work to learn by heart this map, in so far as it was likely to affect our possible route, and in order to get a definite idea of our exact position on the railways, when the time came to make the attempt. This was done, of course, by carefully noting the stations one by one as we passed them in the train and referring to the map.
Personally that map seemed to have burnt its equivalent into my brain, particularly the branches which led westward and passed over numerous small rivers and eventually over a chain of lakes, which spot would ultimately be our objective. We then sketched a rough plan of how the attempt was to be brought to a successful issue. My plan being accepted by the other two, it was decided that I was to have the right of trying first—the other two tossing up with a coin for right of second place. This being decided, another important factor had to be discussed, the issue at point being that, firstly, there were some twenty-five or so other British officers in the compartments in rear of us. The last of these compartments was without a guard, and was therefore the best one to escape from. Secondly, there might be some of these officers in other compartments who intended to take an opportunity, should it occur. If they did so without our knowledge, it would ruin our chance; and, on the other hand, if we attempted to escape without their knowledge, we should equally spoil their chance. Since we were all British officers together, we decided to make it known to those who looked or acted as if they were looking for a chance to leave the train.
Accordingly I left our compartment, and entered into conversation with the officers in all the other compartments in turn, but saw no signs of any preparations until I reached the last two compartments, where I found evidences of suppressed excitement. The sentry in my own compartment did not seem to mind my visiting the others where, as he knew, I came under the eye of the sentry in charge of each compartment. The fact that there was no sentry in the last one had evidently escaped him. I discovered six other officers who talked of making an attempt, and discussed my plans with the senior and two others of these, after which I returned to my own compartment and companions.
I then proceeded to the lavatory, to which I was followed by the sentry, who posted himself outside, letting down the window on the lavatory side of the train and leaning out. This was in order that I might not get out of the lavatory window without his knowledge. In the lavatory I first cut the communication-cord; then, taking a galvanised spring which I had concealed in the heel of my boot, I tied the broken rear end of this cord to one of the communication-cord pull-throughs, in order that it might be pulled in the corridor behind me, and spring back into its place without transmitting the signal farther up the train. This done, I removed my ruck-sack, made of sacking, from between the lining of my trench-coat, and put into it the remains of my food brought on the journey. I then put the ruck-sack on my back, and, coming out of the lavatory, I manœuvred so that the sentry walked in front of me on our way back to the compartment, in order that he might not see that I had grown a hump-back. On being seated, I again studied the railway map in our compartment, until I felt that I had off by heart the general directions of the railways that would be likely to help us en route.
The next thing was to get the door of the carriage in the rear compartment open. Before leaving our end of the train, we decided that, as a signal to go, I should drop my handkerchief out of the window on the left-hand side of the train, since an attempt must, if possible, take place from the right side—firstly, because the right side contained the corridor passage, and, secondly, the sentry could not possibly fire on us from a moving train on the right side, unless they were left-hand shots, which risk we had to take, though the chances were very much in our favour. Again I paid a visit to our friends in the rear compartments, and informed them that, as soon as dusk set in, we would make the attempt—sooner, if the train slackened speed sufficient to give us the least feasible opportunity.
We were just then passing the thickly wooded country near Bonn, and the views were quite delightful. The light began to fail fast, and my nerves were strained to the highest tension. Getting into communication with the sentry in the next carriage, I began enlarging on the beauties of the view, asking this or that question, at which he was highly delighted. In fact, we got on so well that before many minutes were up I had the window down, and was leaning half out on my right side. Whilst we were unanimously praising a special little bit, my right hand crept down almost to the full length of my arm outside the window, and lifted the outside latch, after which I lost interest in the view, and the sentry returned to his compartment, whilst I went to the rear one. The train up to this time had been running at a speed of about fifty miles an hour, which gave us no chance, considering we had to jump on to metal rails and sleepers filled in with broken granite.
At about seven o’clock we ran into a small station, and thought our chance would come as we drew out before the train could gather speed; but just as we drew out, on reaching a level crossing, we found a company of Boche soldiers drawn up on both sides of the line, and the chance was left behind. At this moment we discovered a strange Boche had entered the compartment. He turned out to be a railway official come to turn on the light. He remained with us for a few minutes only. To us it seemed an eternity. Would he never go! At last he went further up the train, and we began to draw into another small town; but the train stopped in front of another level crossing, with a crowd of Boche civilians on both sides.
After about a minute the train moved off again and gathered speed with great rapidity. We could see the lights of a big town about a mile in front of us. This might be our destination, but we did not know. I informed my confederates that in my opinion it was now or never. The impossibility of jumping at that moment seemed to be deeply impressed on everybody but myself. However, I dropped the handkerchief, and, crossing to the other side, turned the handle and jumped out. Picking myself up, I sprinted in the opposite direction to that in which the train was moving, keeping to the centre of the track. It was impossible to leave the line here, since both sides were lined with houses; so I rushed on, hoping for a gap in the houses towards the open country. Passing the level crossing, I noticed the barriers beginning to rise and the crowd of civilians preparing to pass over. I heard a cry behind me and the patter of running feet, and thought a crowd was following, at which I redoubled my efforts, but soon realised that my long imprisonment had told upon me, and that I could not go much farther.
Then it dawned on me that I could run better without my trench-coat. Visions arose of the long wet trek in front of me, and the possibilities of rheumatic fever without it; but my breath was going fast, so there was no alternative. Accordingly, as I ran I threw the precious coat from me. By this time I was very nearly done, and the weight of the ruck-sack containing my food for the journey made my shoulders ache, so that I threw that off also. Another fifty yards and the end of the town was in sight, but before this I espied a gap in the houses, for which I made. This only led to a cul-de-sac. The only alternative was to cross a fence into a garden, and then another and another, through a wire fence and into a kitchen garden. In a few minutes I was joined by three others, whom, to my joy, I discovered to be three of my companions of the rear compartment. Here we rested, and I got out my concealed compass, in order to take down bearings. This done, in about a quarter of an hour we prepared to make a start.
We first ran into a large house and garden surrounded by barbed wire, into which we pushed our way, only to find ourselves temporarily trapped, as we could find no way of exit on to the road at the other side, so that we had to retreat by the way we had come and make a detour round the house, to find ourselves confronted by a main road, with occasional pedestrians passing along it. By now the moon had begun to rise, which enabled us to see a good distance ahead, but at the same time increased the danger of our being observed. Fortunately, she providentially went behind thick fleecy clouds. Thinking the road in front of us too dangerous an obstacle to cross at this point, we made a detour of about half a mile, and again took compass bearings, which bearings we took periodically, when it suddenly struck me we were travelling directly towards the moon, and therefore almost south, at least south-west, which was not our object at all. Again we took a bearing with the compass, which seemed to prove me wrong; but I obstinately refused to believe myself wrong, and this led to trouble between myself and the senior officers of our expedition.
To take a bearing properly and correctly was quite a difficult feat. It consisted of lying on the ground covered by somebody else’s coat, in order to light a match in safety without attracting attention, otherwise we found it impossible to set the compass sufficiently accurately. On removing the glass from the compass, it was discovered that the agate bearing was cracked, which caused the compass to swing and stick. This must have happened in my jump from the train. I did not at first convey this information to my comrades, thinking that it might cause too great consternation; for it must be remembered that they had all been strangers to me a few hours before, and I was not therefore sure of the type and calibre of the men I had to deal with.
For a few hundred yards we carried on, when, to the disgust of the others, I again decided to take a bearing, over which I spent a great deal of time, carefully placing the compass-point towards the edge of the agate bearing, and allowing it to swing gently to a stop. Although the needle was not balanced in the centre, it was sufficiently so to enable it to swing freely; then, taking a careful line of the exact direction of west, in conjunction with the rising moon, the Pole Star and Cassiopeia, I set a direct course, from which, with the exception of slight deflections for the purpose of avoiding dangerous obstacles encountered on our route, we never swerved until after we crossed the Dutch frontier. It was hard work to make time by forced marching, since we had to watch the ground for pitfalls for the feet and the heavens for direction.
Shortly after taking the last bearing we crossed another electric railway line and a station brilliantly lit up, and here it seemed to our excited imagination that the people inside the brilliantly lit train-cars drawn up at one of the stations were interested or excited about something. All the occupants had their noses glued to the glass, looking at something or other, whilst the powerful head-lamps were sweeping the country around, often lighting up our prostrate forms as if it were day. Innumerable cars seemed to come and go, and we dared not move under such conditions. Soon, however, to our intense relief, the trains slacked off, and we were able to make a good steady advance. It began to freeze very hard, the clouds vanished, and the moon became intensely brilliant, which of course helped us immeasurably; but we could not see it then, as our nerves were too much on edge. Personally I felt as if I were naked and the whole world was watching with bated breath. The heavy frost also helped us, since we were sticking entirely to the open country, mostly over ploughed fields, and instead of the usual slow advance one makes over plough we walked on it as on pavement, so that we made excellent progress. At the same time caution guided our every movement. We never crossed a road without scouting it beforehand, or came upon a farm or even a shed without making a wide detour round it. What we feared more than anything else was that a dog might start barking, and cause its owner to come out to see the reason.
When I look back at that first trek, I come to the conclusion that fortune favoured us for once. I don’t think we ever made a false step, which was luck indeed. We walked hard till about 3 a.m., and then found ourselves approaching a main road, with what appeared to be two big villages situated not more than half a mile apart. A scout went forward to investigate, but came back scared and excited. Moving lights appeared first here and there; sometimes red flashes came and went. We immediately decided that we had been surrounded, only to find on closer investigation that the lights belonged to a single-track railway, which ran in a semicircle around us. On crossing the railroad and railtrack beyond, we began to realise for the first time that dawn was rapidly approaching. Lights began to spring up in the large village to our left, so that we were immediately forced to look for a place where we could safely hide during the coming daytime. This proved to be no easy job, and before we were finally settled it was very nearly broad daylight.
Unfortunately, not being of a literary turn of mind, I am unable to write a thrilling account of our adventurous journey across Germany. At the same time, where in my description I make such a statement as “We now made our way across country without interruption for four hours,” the reader must not imagine that we just rushed along without encountering difficulties, for the way was always beset with some sort of obstacle or other. Needless to say, we gave ourselves a great many unnecessary scares; but in our highly strung condition, with all our senses working at fever-heat, this was not to be wondered at.
The uncertain moonlight played tricks with our imaginations, everything assuming gigantic proportions. All the forces of nature seemed to be arrayed against us and to walk hand in hand with the enemy. If a slight wind rustled the leaves of a solitary tree to our rear, we felt we were discovered and followed, and must press on, only to fall on our stomachs again after a few hundred yards, as there was something standing in front and waiting for us, inevitable, grim, and silent. “Look! he has moved; it’s a sentry! Did you notice the light shining on his bayonet?” and so we would creep away to right and left, only to find that our grim sentry was a large post marking some boundary, and the apparent flash of the bayonet had probably been caused by the rays of the moon suddenly appearing from behind a cloud and striking one of its white painted sides.
To return to facts. The spot in which we were forced to hide, for want of a better place, was on the edge of a small wood, consisting of a number of old and rotten trees, with a very thick carpet of decayed leaves, which, being frozen, made the most infernal crackling noise under our feet, as we searched to and fro for the best place of concealment. Being winter, there was not sufficient foliage to enable us to hide in the trees themselves with any safety. After exploring the wood in vain, we eventually had to take up our position in a natural drain running along the edge of the wood. This afforded us very little covering; a few blackberry brambles and small branches were hastily snapped off, and pulled in on top of us. By raising our heads a little above the drain a view of the surrounding country could be obtained, and the railway line and main road connecting the two small towns which we had crossed early in the morning were in plain view.
After careful examination of our position, I came to the conclusion that we had managed to find almost the identical spot that I had planned out as the most desirable one for the termination of our first trek, as shown on the map of our railway carriage, both because of its position in relation to a network of small railways to which we must depend for direction, and to the fact that it lay almost in a direct line, if taking the shortest route to the frontier; so that, with the exception that we had not enough cover for safety, we had not done so badly, and had in reality made very good progress from our starting-off place the night before, and, what was more important than anything else, I felt pretty certain of our exact situation.
At the approach of dusk on the following evening it would be necessary, according to my prearranged plan, to strike due north for about ten miles, in order to find two light railroads running west, which bridged two small rivers and the Dutch-German Grand Canal, and also passed over the dangerous swampy ground through which our course lay. Could we find either of these railroads we should again know our position, and by keeping to the tracks as far as possible make better progress, with the chance of being able to use the bridges, should they be unguarded.
The reader will no doubt ask why I proposed to take so difficult and dangerous a route, leading as it did right through the centre of the swamps. My reasons were threefold. First, because I was firmly convinced that the Boches would place so much confidence in the natural obstacle presented by the swamps that any sort of guard would appear superfluous. Secondly, the country through which we were trying to pass is the most thickly populated part of Germany. By making for the swamps, therefore, we should almost entirely obviate the chances of being seen by pedestrians. Thirdly, because it was the shortest way, which, situated as we were without food or the necessary warm clothing, would become a factor of primary importance before many hours had passed.
To return to the early hours of the morning after our first night’s trek, as we lay half concealed in the drain bordering the little wood before described. My first feeling was one of intense relief at the thought of a day’s rest in front of me, for my whole body ached after the unwonted exercise. I tried to compose myself to sleep, but the natural excitement of mind caused by the happenings of the last twenty-four hours proved this to be very difficult, and it was some time before I eventually dropped off into a troubled slumber, only to wake up within the hour suffering from cramp and stiff with cold. To make matters worse, the ground underneath me had thawed with the warmth of my body, and I was now wet through all down one side. If only we could have got a good hot meal to take the shivers out of us, things would have assumed a different aspect. The sound of occasional voices wafted to us on the wind from the high road before mentioned kept us continually alert to our danger; but the first real anxiety was brought about by an old woodcutter who paid a visit to our little wood, evidently looking for a piece of old timber, and before very long he settled down to work not more than sixty yards from us. The regular chomp, chomp of an axe told us that he at any rate had discovered nothing suspicious; but of course all prospects of further sleep vanished until his departure at midday with a barrowful of wood.
About this time I for one began to get ravenously hungry, and forthwith made a meal of a precious piece of chocolate. A sixpenny bar of Cadbury’s chocolate does not go very far after a long march, but as I had nothing else whatever it had to do. Don’t let the reader imagine I greedily ate the lot. Oh no! I took about three-quarters of it, sufficient for the day, but at the same time I thought with longing of my improvised ruck-sack and the good things it contained, either lying on the Bonn-Düsseldorf railway line or elating the greedy spirit of some beastly Boche.
After the departure of the old woodcutter the day passed fairly peaceably until about 3 p.m., when the barking of a dog in our near vicinity “put our wind up,” as the expression goes. Suddenly the stillness of the wood was rudely broken by the sound of a shot, and we could distinctly hear the fall of a bird as it crashed through the trees with a thud to earth, followed by the yapping of the dog as it ran its quarry down. The hunter then tramped all over the wood, tapping the trees, evidently in search of more sport, and in so doing he passed within ten yards of us. All this time we lay with our bodies pressed to earth in a perfect agony of doubt. As for myself, it seemed impossible that the hunter could fail to hear the wild pounding of my heart; but the danger passed, and again silence reigned in the little wood.
Not for long were we to be left in peace. The old woodcutter returned, and this time he took up his position a good bit nearer than before, and chopped away hard till nearly dusk, when at last he again went off with his old barrow. If one carefully analyses one’s feelings and sensations in moments of excitement such as these, through what extraordinary vicissitudes does imagination lead one. For instance, in the almost infinitesimal space of time between the report of the hunter’s gun and the sound of his quarry dropping to earth I lived a lifetime. We had been seen; we were surrounded; armed men had been sent to take us; we would be led back in triumph to the hell that awaits prisoners; and then the sound of the quarry falling through the trees, the swift realisation that the enemy is only hunting game and not you, the wild relief and the bodily demand for a drop of brandy or something to pull oneself together, which follows after all great mental strain.
About dusk we crept out of our old drain into the shelter of the wood, stiff with cramp and cold, but with the glorious feeling that so far we were safe, that we were already twenty-five miles nearer home, and that another night of swift action lay before us, at the end of which we would, please God, be still nearer. At 7 o’clock we again started trekking. Little of moment happened to us during the early part of the evening, and by 9.30 we had made a good ten miles, and were casting round for the railway for which we were in search. Our progress now became very slow; thick white clouds obscured the face of the moon; a rapid thaw had set in, and our way was barred by a series of deep rivulets running through an old and decayed wood stretching for many miles on each side of us. Here we very soon lost all idea of direction, and decided to retrace our steps as best we could and strike still farther north.
By good luck we came within a hundred yards or so of the spot from where we had started before entering this wooded country. Having got our direction again, we struck north, to find ourselves getting into more marshy country as we advanced. After having walked for some distance over wet fields of a spongy nature, sometimes up to our knees in water, we came upon a small river, which we followed northwards until we struck the much-hoped-for railway-track that we were in search of, running due west and cutting the river at right angles, in accordance with my previous calculation. Making sure there was no sort of guard on the bridge, we drew ourselves out of the marsh, to stand with relief for a moment on the firm dry track, before passing over the bridge and proceeding on our adventures.
Pushing on again, we kept to the track as long as it ran due west, and within a few miles struck the second river which we had hoped to find, and thus placed a formidable obstacle behind us. Our exact position was now known with relation to the network of railways on which our minds were concentrated. The line which we were now on would run due west for a mile or two, and then bend southward in a big curve before running west again, when it would bridge the Grand Canal. Our object was now to make use of this bridge if possible, but we did not feel justified in remaining on the line until the bridge was reached, owing to the fact that, as far as we could remember the map, there appeared to be a station or siding through which the line ran soon after it began to turn southward. Accordingly we stuck to the rails as long as they ran westward, after which we left the track with the very greatest reluctance, to again plunge into the marsh, maintaining our fixed purpose of travelling due west whenever possible.