“AN OUTLAW ONCE AGAIN”

When a sufficient number of officers had collected for baths at a little gate, a sentry allowed them to pass through it and along a short, wired path, or bird-cage (as we called it), and thence into the bath-room. This room was situated about ten yards outside the wire, in the middle of a wooden barrack, running parallel to, and about fifteen yards away from, the wire. It is subdivided to form a dressing-room and a place for the shower baths, every exit being strongly barred, and a sentry stationed at the door. After a minute inspection of every nook and cranny, I found that it was just possible, by standing upright, to squeeze into an alcove, about eleven inches deep and a foot wide, in an angle formed by a wall and the brickwork of a chimney which projected into the room.

Though in full view of the door, it was partially hidden behind an empty stove. I reasoned that, should a well-made dummy wall obscure the aperture, it would take a very observant sentry to detect anything amiss. As a last resource, even should it be noticed, it might pass as something to do with the heating of the adjacent room. After weighing up the chances of success for several days, I decided that it was worth trying. When the measurements had been taken, behind the Bosch’s back, I set to work to manufacture the false wall.

Most of my friends ridiculed the idea, calling my pet wall a doll’s house and other insulting names, and bestowing on me much superfluous sympathy and pity. They argued that it had not been done before, and was, therefore, impossible, doing their level best to stop me embarking on such a mad enterprise. At first they almost succeeded in their object, but, knowing that most ordinary people remain in a camp indefinitely, working on more orthodox lines, I determined that I would put it to the test, if only to prove them wrong, or land myself in prison. One infantry officer, who had previously been through a course of camouflage, gave me his moral support, which counted for a good deal.

The wall was made of cardboard sewn tightly on to a light wooden frame, the whole being made in three sections, which, when fitted together, reached the height of about eight feet six inches. The top section was fitted with a leather hinge, which allowed the upper half of it to slope back at an angle of forty-five degrees, so that the hiding-place should not appear to be hollow. When at last the doll’s house was finished, it defied all efforts to whiten it, and seemed to have a rooted objection to being made to resemble the dirty whitewash of the bath-room. I tried melting old whitewash (scraped off the walls) with gum and hot water, but it either fell off when dry or showed the wet cardboard plainly through. Chloride of lime proved equally useless. Only a little white paint was procurable, but this was altogether too smooth and shiny. One day, when the three sections were drying outside on the sand, a German feldwebel (sergeant-major commonly known as a “fieldwobble”) came along, and inquired if I was making a model aeroplane. When I replied that his surmise was correct, he asked me, with a slow smile, if I intended flying away when the machine was completed. The wicked old creature departed, highly amused at my answer, “Yes, I hope so.” Certainly many a true word is spoken in jest!

After a week’s experimenting with useless colouring mixtures, I was almost in despair, when the desired effect was produced by coating the cardboard with a thick cornflour paste, finally toning it down with a mixture of cobwebs and mud.

Though on three separate occasions I had everything ready for the final test, it was not before August 16th that conditions were at last favourable enough to risk my welfare for the next few weeks. A little before five o’clock I entered the bath-room, accompanied by several assistants. Our journey thither was rather amusing, though the slightest accident would have meant much “stuben arrest.” It is not easy to walk naturally when carrying a young wall out of sight under one’s coat, which is doing its best to give the show away by shedding bits of plaster which fall to the ground and leave a trail, reminding one strongly of a paper chase.

However, the sentries noticed nothing unusual. As soon as the Hun’s back was turned I slipped the sections together and squeezed into the alcove, into which I was securely fastened by a friend, who whispered that everything looked O.K., and asked me to be sure and write to him when I got to England. Whether this was meant or not I do not know, but at any rate it was just the encouragement I needed. It was an anxious moment when everybody left the room with a final “Good luck,” and I heard the sentry approaching to make sure that nobody had been left behind. Previously I had determined not to watch the Hun, as my gaze might render him more liable to look in my direction. Now, under the stress of circumstances, this seemed a physical impossibility, and all good resolutions went to the winds. I glued one eye to the spy-hole and saw a German standing only a few feet away, with his back to me, puffing solemnly at a long pipe, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Almost immediately, as if in answer to my concentrated gaze, he turned and looked straight in my direction. I promptly shrivelled up to nothing, and developed acute suspended animation. I simply dared not breath, and felt as if my thoughts were becoming audible. My relief was indescribable when he turned away, and left in an ordinary manner. Though one crisis was over, the strain had been such that it took me several minutes to “defossilise” and grasp the fact that, somewhere in the dim distance, the chances of success were increasing.

A few minutes later a N.C.O. came in, and searched about for soap. As he was pocketing some small bits left behind, my wall threatened to fall outwards, but I managed to hold it steady until he went away. A five-and-a-half hour wait lay in front of me, and, my prison being dark, stifling and hot, the time passed intolerably slowly. After waiting patiently for what I judged to be anything from half to three-quarters of an hour, I would glance at my watch, only to discover that, in reality, four or five minutes had passed. My primary success was evidently well known inside the camp, for most of the fellows taking their evening stroll cast anxious veiled glances in my direction, from the wrong side of the wire.

It was with both pleasure and anxiety that I watched the darkness slowly closing in, though I felt inclined to disbelieve that “Time and tide wait for no man.” Half-past ten did eventually arrive, and with it the now unwelcome time for action. Slowly, and with infinite caution, I stepped out into the room, and replaced the wall to give some one else a chance later on. Most of my kit was in the stove, and, as there were no fire-irons about, considerable noise was made lifting the iron top and extracting the contents with my fingers. Everything was now squashed into a sort of pack, and I approached the window on tip-toe. Within the camp all was quiet, but there, just outside, passing and repassing on his beat, often not ten yards away, was a particularly young and active German sentry, stepping quietly, with an elastic tread. He held his rifle in his hands, and gazed intently into the camp, as if expecting some shooting practice. When he reached the end of his short beat, I opened the door with many misgivings, and crept along a passage to the back of the hut. Entering the empty wash-room, I saw that my information had been correct, the windows were not barred. In an adjoining room several Huns were settling down for the night, their light showing under the door.

I had almost reached the nearest window when, with a most appalling crash, I overturned an empty bucket in the dark. Listening an instant, I heard surprised voices and waited for no further developments, but, coat, pack and all, jumped through the half-open window and fell into a ditch below. Struggling up and tripping over another wire, I landed in another ditch. After leaving this my way lay beyond the shadow of the hut across a cultivated patch of moor, planted with potatoes, which was illuminated by the arc lamps. I covered this in record time, everything rattling and seeming to make a most deafening noise, as though all the devils in Hell were after me with red-hot pitchforks, expecting to hear a bullet whistle by every moment. However, nothing happened, and when several hundred yards away, I halted for about ten minutes to listen for the bugle sounding the alarm. It would have been some satisfaction to know that the camp was buzzing like a bee-hive, and all on my account! But, owing to the clever way in which my room mates worked it, my absence was not noticed, and so this pleasure was denied me.

I shouldered my heavy pack and started out over the heather in the direction indicated by the stars. The greatest obstacles were the peat bogs, into which I often sank knee-deep, and had to crawl out. After about two hours rough walking, I was lying among the heather resting, when I was startled by a slight noise like the rattle of a chain. Looking up quickly as the moon came out from behind a cloud, I saw a dark shape, which seemed to move considerably closer and a little to the left, as I watched. A general survey of my position was not reassuring, for, in the light, I could distinctly see half-a-dozen more dark forms situated on my front and sides at regular intervals, mostly in a crouching position. Instantly I thought that somehow I had been traced by dogs, and that these were sentries. Knowing the gentle way in which the inmates of this camp were treated, I must confess that I was very scared. I had not even a stick; besides, one could wish for a more congenial meeting-place to accost gentlemen of this sort than a lonely moor at midnight. Behind me was a long cutting, filled with dark water, from which peat had been taken; into this I cautiously slid up to my shoulders, and waited developments. Nothing happened, and, as I became colder and colder, I began to think that, after all, I had been mistaken. Was it possible that they were only heaps of peat? At last I summoned up enough courage to crawl out and approach one of the mysterious forms. Still nothing happened, and my confidence increased considerably. I had only gone a few yards when I saw that it was actually only a heap of peat with a large piece lying near the top which protruded sideways, this having formed the supposed sentry’s head. Even then I did not feel quite convinced until I administered a hard kick and there was no retaliation.

During the night I passed several villages, and once found myself among a lot of small apple trees, which I shook violently. Down tumbled some unripe fruit. It did not take long to fill my pockets and clear off at full speed. Towards morning I lost sight of the camp lights, and, entering a small fir plantation, arranged a good hiding-place and soon fell asleep. In less than an hour I awoke in a soaking condition, and sat up with a start, the only result being that the movement shook the fir branches over my head, and a shower-bath ensued. The next day I enjoyed five thunderstorms! No sooner had one passed over than another came up. My home-made tent, a large sheet of green oilsilk, smuggled from home, kept off a good deal of the rain, but, nevertheless, I had a good opportunity of studying the condition of a half-drowned rat. In spite of the wet and the presence of some large wood-ants, I rather enjoyed the sour apples, the first I had tasted that summer. Once during the afternoon a red squirrel came jumping over the fir needles, and looked up impudently into my face. The sight of so much ugliness almost overcame him, but he managed to scamper off at a good speed. I tried hard to attract this, my only friend, by pretending to be Hiawatha, and calling him an “Adjidaumo,” but this only hurried his retreat.

My food consisted mostly of chocolate and biscuits, though, for the first three days, I did not feel at all hungry. Water was very scarce, but I received more than my share a few days later. The third night, leaving the moon behind, I climbed over a barbed wire fence, and found myself among a lot of large and boney black-and-white Holstein cattle. Murmuring soft German words of endearment, I approached the nearest cow in the hope of obtaining some milk. However, these good creatures, thinking it a most unusual milking hour, were not having any, and showed their disapproval of my conduct by careering madly round the field, making a fiendish noise, which caused the author of the disturbance to take to his heels for fear of discovery. A little later I changed my tactics. After stealing several luscious apples, I presented them to another walking milk-tank. The creature had a softer heart, and succumbed to the temptation. Everything went according to plan, for, while she munched the apple contentedly, I proceeded to fill a large tin mug several times over. I tramped for ten nights, and only missed my milk three times. Another night, passing in front of a farm-house, I came upon a full milk-can standing by a gate; the contents not only filled my water bottle, but even satisfied me.

One morning, after an unusually long march, I flopped down and went to sleep in an overgrown ditch, surrounded by gorse and broom. The sun was just rising when I awoke with the idea that I was lying on a bed of pins. The idea grew to a firm conviction when an involuntary movement of mine considerably increased my discomfort. As I lay trying to solve the problem in a semi-conscious condition, the solution ran across my face; it seemed to have a great many legs. As my fingers closed round it I received another violent pin-prick, but held on manfully and, with an effort, forced myself to look at my prey. It was a gigantic angry wood-ant, which hung on to my finger for all it was worth. Considering the two things which terrify me most are ants and centipedes, perhaps the reader will understand my perturbed state of mind when I found myself lying beside a large ants’ nest, being slowly devoured by its inhabitants, like a fat green caterpillar. As if propelled by a rocket I sprang up, and ran up and down the short ditch at full speed. When fatigue had brought me to a stop I was delighted to find that they had mostly been shaken off out of my clothes. It was impossible to find a resting place free from ants, the whole place was infested with them. In my efforts to avoid them I climbed to the top of a thick pine tree, but even there my little friends were parading along the branches. The day proved to be so hot and thundery that, before twelve o’clock, the milk in my bottle turned solid and had to be eaten like junket. It was with great satisfaction that I watched the darkness setting in, for, under its protection, I was enabled to leave the unholy spot and continue my nightly travels.

One of the things which had troubled me considerably when planning my escape was how to reset my watch should it go wrong. As it was, the village clocks kept me well informed by striking the hour with much vigour. The next day, as I lay hidden at the edge of a very young plantation, a party of labourers with scythes assembled not far away. After leaving their coats and, presumably, their provisions behind, they proceeded to cut the grass along the edge of the plantation and in a neighbouring field. As I lay “doggo” I formulated many plans for stealing their food to replenish my store, but finally decided that the risk was too great. Only once did I think that I had been discovered, for, as I was passing my time in a wood by carving a souvenir stick, something burst close beside me, making quite a commotion and breaking many twigs. Just before the branches closed I caught sight of a fluffy white tail. After all it was only a frightened deer.

Late on the sixth night I was walking fast along the side of a road which led through a forest when, stopping an instant to listen, I heard a low voice shout about forty yards in front. Then some one approached with a previously concealed lantern. Instantly I jumped over the ditch, hoping to get away under the trees unnoticed. Unfortunately, I landed on some dry twigs, which crackled at every step and betrayed my presence. Remembering the deer incident, I emitted a loud, coughing bark, such as those animals make, and crashed through the undergrowth, making as much noise as possible. To my relief I saw that the man with the lantern turned back to his post to rejoin his companion presumably the ruse succeeded. It was just as well I was not caught here, for now I have reason to believe that I was close to an important aerodrome, and that this was a guard possibly against espionage.

The distance covered was, roughly, a hundred and sixty miles, and, during the whole period, only once did I recognise the name of a small town on a milestone, which told me I was going in the right direction. The fact of having no one to talk to for so many days, combined with the uncertainty of it all, had the most depressing influence. While waiting for the long days to pass, killing countless mosquitoes, I frequently wondered if the stars could be purposely leading me in the wrong direction, or if peace had been declared, and I was on an unnecessarily tiring walking tour. As I was approaching a busy railway, I frequently heard thuds and crashes, or, if the wind was steady, a faint roar, which, I afterwards found, was caused by the continued traffic and shunting of trucks. This troubled me quite a lot, for it sounded exactly like an intermittent bombardment, and not infrequently increased in volume, until I am convinced an old soldier would have sworn it was a distant barrage. I pictured my arrival at the frontier only to learn that Holland had decided to be in the fashion, and was therefore running a little war on her own, on the popular Bolshevik excuse of upholding the cause of democracy. The only thing left for me to do would have been to have turned about and, after many trials and hardships, succeed in getting into Switzerland, where Fate, with a smile on her face, would probably have arranged to have me shot by accident while on my way through Zurich, during the subsequent riots.

Our “moutons” in the meantime, have been straying badly; it is, therefore, our duty to leave dreams to take care of themselves, and return to the subject without more ado. When I had been on the loose for a week the country became very flat and sodden water was everywhere. Most of the roads were banked up to guard against flood, while all ditches were transformed into small canals. Trees became scarcer and, consequently, the daily problem of finding effectual cover increased in difficulty. Nearly all the seventh night I followed a tow-path at the side of an important canal, which led in a northerly direction. Innumerable movable bridges, traversing the lesser waterways which flowed into the big canal, had to be crossed. This procedure was more alarming than one might suppose, as the frail bridges shook at the slightest touch, and also advertised my crossing to the inmates of the usual adjoining lodge by magnifying every little sound. Most of the way, moored at the water’s edge, were barges laden with peat, containing all sorts of dogs; in fact, in several instances they seemed to be veritable floating dogs’ homes. These creatures barked as if paid to, and were usually sympathetically answered by dogs some distance in advance, thus inadvertently proclaiming the news of my arrival. Once two men came out of a cottage twenty yards ahead, and, stopping in the path, turned round and watched me approaching. That time I really thought the game was up. It was absolutely essential to maintain a bold exterior, despite the fact that my breathing apparatus almost ceased to work. Slouching quickly along, I whistled a bar or two of “Pueppchen.” Curiously enough my presence at that time of night created no suspicion, for I passed them without being spoken to. Before taking a road leading to the west, I sat down and dissolved my last Oxo cube in a mug of cold, greenish canal water. The meal is prepared as follows: First suck your middle finger until it tastes clean, then stir the Oxo until it is dissolved (this usually takes about half an hour). Before drinking the concoction it is necessary to remove any dead fishes that may be floating on the surface, and also make certain that none of the Oxo is wasted by remaining underneath the finger nails.

At intervals I was very gratified to see that the sky, to the north and north-east, was illuminated by distant searchlights. As several naval bases lay in that direction, it is reasonable to suppose that the Huns were expecting a visit from our airmen. After following the road for over an hour, I procured some excellent apples at a wayside farm-house, and beat a hasty retreat. As time wore on and the milk carts began rumbling on their rounds, I quickened my pace and commenced a desperate search for cover. Leaving the road, I headed across the fields, and after jumping, or falling into, several flooded ditches, came to an overgrown marsh. A few yards from terra firma was a large sallow bush, growing on a tiny island. After getting thoroughly wet, I succeeded in crawling on to this and screening my headquarters from prying eyes with green rushes. As it became lighter, I heard occasional voices and peculiar creakings, the cause of which I could not interpret, and might well render my position unsafe. The anxiety was increased when a large, dark shadow loomed out of the fog and threatened to completely swallow my little island. All at once the curling white mist drifted away, and everything was explained in an instant. The terrifying shadow resolved itself into the great red-brown sail of a passing barge. I was lying close beside the tow-path of a canal. Just as the sun had risen over the trees and the mists were beginning to disperse and float upwards, another noise attracted my attention, which developed into a deep throbbing roar. Looking up, I saw three large “Zepps,” flying low, and rolling slightly in the stiff morning breeze, returning to their lair after a strenuous night out. As they passed over the school-children in a neighbouring village cheered excitedly.

Except for the usual mosquito bites and inability to sleep, the day passed uneventfully. When darkness fell and all was quiet again, I once more saddled up and started out, this time earnestly hoping, yet fearing, to reach the river Ems, which had to be swum whatever happened. About midnight I came to something concrete at last a long-expected railway. After a short reconnaissance, I crossed this, and made my way over the fields towards the all-important river, which flowed parallel to the frontier and about twenty kilos away from it. Every few yards I came to a dyke, which always had to be passed through if the direction was to be kept. It was an odious experience, for, no sooner did I emerge dripping from one than it was time to enter the next. About three o’clock, after milking several cows and swimming a few small canals, I passed through some open flood-gates, built in a grass ridge made to keep the water from encroaching on the low-lying farms, and came upon a most disheartening sight. Beyond several hundred yards of dangerous marsh flowed the river, looking very white in the deceptive light of early morning. The wavelets formed by the steady wind and the current were making a faint, but disconcerting, noise. Though it was only just possible to discern the opposite bank, there seemed to be a similar line of marshy ground between it and the water’s edge. I determined to see if it was possible to get through the marsh with any degree of safety, but gave up the idea when some of the old decayed reeds on which I was standing suddenly gave way and let me through into the water up to my waist. No matter how good a swimmer, a reedy swamp is more than one can contend with, therefore I gave up the idea. Crawling out and walking a little way along the bank, something loomed up in front of me out of the darkness, which turned out to be a long iron bridge. Looking cautiously along it, I saw a couple of dim lights burning near the other side. What an easy way over; how I should have loved to stroll across; but it could not be, for a German guard was waiting there to receive me with open arms. Reluctantly I turned away and struck inland, intending to travel parallel to the river for some distance and then try my luck at another place. Shortly afterwards, when tramping along on the grass at the side of a road in search of a hiding-place, I heard footsteps approaching. At either side of the road grew a row of young trees, but, unfortunately, the trunks were not large enough to hide behind. The conditions were such as to render discovery inevitable should a hasty retirement be effected. For several precious seconds I stood paralysed with indecision, seeing my danger, yet unable to avoid it; meanwhile it seemed that cruel fate was carelessly deciding my destiny, weighing freedom against captivity in a balance, which my indecision was slowly causing to turn against me. For a brief period my brain refused to work, except vaguely to bring to my notice a few lines from “Eldorado,” which affirm that there exists a loophole of escape in every difficult situation. This seemed to affect my present critical position, though it in no wise suggested a course of action.

As I looked at the dyke which ran along at the side of the raised road, calculating that the noise made by a passage through it would only lead to detection, I clearly remembered an incident in “Lorna Doone,” in which John Ridd, when a boy, had completely avoided discovery by his enemy (Carver Doone) by submerging himself in a stream and breathing through a straw. Without waiting to remove the pack, I followed his example by throwing myself on my face and crawling backwards on to the tangled reeds, which parted with a squelch and let me through into the stagnant water. The dyke proved to be deeper than I expected. My feet barely touched the bottom, so that I was literally clutching a straw to keep myself up. As the footsteps passed I kept my face and head under the surface, and trusted to Providence. When all the sounds died away, it took me some time struggling with mud, weeds and water, before I could extricate myself from that confounded ditch. I do not make a good water-rat; I would therefore suggest to the German authorities that they should train water spaniels, and not police dogs, for pursuit of prisoners in the future.

I had only been walking for a little while when the distant rumble of a milk-cart reminded me that it was past time to hibernate. Then began the usual desperate search for cover. It became lighter and lighter, and, just as the mist was about to rise, I saw the faint outline of a clump of trees several hundred yards away. Plunging through more dykes I arrived at the trees, only to find that they were growing in a small garden and orchard which surrounded a large farm-house. As no one appeared to be stirring, and the discovery of an immediate hiding-place was essential, I commenced explorations. The privet hedge surrounding this oasis proved to be very thin and there were no convenient little bushes. I had just borrowed a good supply of apples from mine host, and had almost decided to seek shelter in an outhouse as a last resource, when I came upon a fair-sized heap of sticks, over which a hop plant sprawled, forming a straggly green covering. There being no better place, I decided that the hop would have to serve as my headquarters for that day. I was just moving some of the sticks when something caused me to remember the lateness of the hour. From a pigsty a few yards away came expectant squeals. The occupants doubtless imagined that I was arriving with their breakfast. As I was getting ready to crawl into the sticks, I caught sight of a little patch of washing close by, lying spread on the grass at the corner of a small green lawn. When the good lady came for her washing she would, in all probability, discover me, which would never do, as it would lead to all kinds of little unpleasantnesses. In a very short space of time I had moved the white handkerchiefs and collars to another corner of the lawn, not far away, and returned to the heap. I was beginning to tunnel into the sticks, when I heard a man’s voice, followed by the clatter of milk cans. Diving into the small hole already made, I wriggled for all I was worth towards the centre, dragging the pack after me. It sounds quite simple; all you have to do is to wriggle; but, in reality, it is surprisingly difficult. When I tried to force an entrance every dead bough in the heap seemed to break with an ear-splitting crash, while all the smaller twigs crackled in chorus. The most peaceable sticks developed sharp spikes, which stuck into me. Even when I had removed a particularly objectionable one barring the way, another would shoot out and grasp my pack, causing an additional delay. Eventually, in a scratched and weary condition, I got under the centre of the heap, where I lay feeling none too secure. Although I was forced to keep still for fear of attracting attention, I managed to nibble the stolen apples and take stock of my surroundings. The light shone through the pale green hop leaves, revealing many hairy caterpillars, incessantly gorging. Inside the heap lived innumerable spiders and other horrors. These believed in making their presence felt when I did not deign to notice them. It was a very uncomfortable procedure, drying slowly in a cold wind. Once, when the leaves blew on one side, I caught a glimpse of a pear tree swaying overhead, and a dark, forbidding sky in the background. That day I enjoyed two heavy thunderstorms. At first the leaves kept off most of the rain, but it soon battered down with such violence that the former became limp and hung down, leaving me almost exposed. Everything became saturated. A steady stream of water poured off the sticks and ran down my neck, while the insects eagerly sought shelter in my clothing. When the first storm was over, and I lay shivering in the bright interval, two children came out of the house and played about in the garden, running several times round and round my heap. It was such a strain lying absolutely still that I almost welcomed the second thunderstorm, though it completely soaked everything that the first one had overlooked. Never in my life have I passed such an uncomfortable day. But, in the end, discomfort is preferable to actual danger in an adventure of this sort. At least so I thought in those days. As it is beyond me to convey to the reader any adequate idea of the unwillingness of the minutes to resolve themselves into hours, I will not attempt the impossible. Towards evening some one fired a shot-gun just beyond the privet hedge. Naturally the explosion caused me to jump, but that was nothing to the fright I experienced when it struck me that it might be a small boy out rat shooting, as vermin always run to a conveniently close heap of sticks for shelter. However, the person did not come my way, and in any case it is probable he was only after wild duck, which frequent most of the dykes. At last, when I could stand it no longer, I scrambled out into the dusk, guiltily ignoring the fact that I was running an unnecessary risk by starting on the war-path an hour too soon.