CHAPTER XI

UNDER ESCORT

On the fourth morning, when it seemed to me I had spent about a year in Vreden prison, the warder informed me that my escort had arrived. I had plenty of time to get over the excitement produced by this piece of news, for I was not called for until four o’clock, which caused me to miss my evening bowl of skilly, a dire calamity.

The soldier was waiting in the gateway. Walking down the passage toward him, I had to pass by a big burly N.C.O. of the German Army, who had a tremendous sword attached to him. I felt that something was going to happen when I approached him. As I was squeezing past him in the narrow corridor, he suddenly shot out a large hand, with which he grasped mine, limp with surprise. Giving it a hearty shake, he wished me a pleasant _Auf Wiedersehen!_ (Au revoir!) I was almost past utterance with astonishment, and could only repeat his words stammeringly. “Not on your life, if I can help it,” I murmured when I had turned away and was recovering from the shock. Still, I suppose it was kindly meant.

My escort, a single soldier, went through the usual formalities of loading his rifle before my eyes and warning me to behave myself. The cord for special marksmanship dangled from his shoulder.

He was strictly noncommittal at first, and only assured me again, apropos of nothing, during our walk to the station, that he did not intend to have me escape from him. Afterward he thawed considerably, but always remained serious and subdued, talking a good deal about his wife and children, what a hard time they had of it, and that he had not seen them for eighteen months.

The preliminary jolt of the small engine of the narrow-gage train gave me the sinking sensation usually caused by the downward start of a fast lift, and for a time my heart seemed to be getting heavier with every revolution of the wheels, which put a greater distance between me and the frontier. Had I cherished hopes in spite of all? I don’t know.

With several changes the journey to Berlin lasted through the night. I was very hungry, and the soldier shared with me what little food he had. Two incidents are worth mentioning.

At the time of my escape a political tension between Holland and Germany had caused rumors of a threatened break between the two countries. The soldier who arrested me in Vehlen had alluded to it. My escort and I were alone in a third-class compartment of the east-express, about midnight, when a very dapper N.C.O. entered. He took in the situation at a glance.

“Prisoner’s escort?”

“Yes.”

“What is he?”

“An Englander.”

“Trying to escape to Holland?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I only hope the trouble with Holland will come to a head. We’ll soon show those damned Dutchmen what German discipline means. We’ll sweep the country from end to end in a week. Did he get far?”

“Close to the frontier.”

“However did he manage that in that get-up?” and he sniffed disgustedly.

The other incident was interesting in case of future attempts to escape. About an hour before the train entered Berlin, detectives passed along the corridors asking for passports. I began to wonder how I had managed to get as far as I had.

We arrived in Berlin about 9 A.M. Before we proceeded to the prison, the soldier compassionately bought me a cup of coffee and a roll at the station buffet. I had had nothing to eat since 11:30 A.M. the previous day, except a roll the soldier had given me about midnight.

This was at Alexander Platz Station, fairly in the center of Berlin. As we left the station, Alexander Platz was in front of us with the façade of the Polizei Präsidium on our right. Turning in this direction, we entered a quiet street along the right side of which the arches of the railway accommodated a few small shops and storage places underneath them. On the other side a wing of the Polizei Präsidium continued for a hundred yards or so. The next building was plain, official-looking but of no very terrible aspect, for the four rows of large windows above the ground floor were not barred on the outside. In its center a large gateway was closed by a heavy wooden double door. “Here we are,” said my escort, as he pressed the button of the electric bell.

One half of the door was opened by an N.C.O. of the army. Inside the gateway on the left a corridor ran along the front of the building, terminating at a door bearing the inscription “Office,” on an enameled shield. A motion of the hand from the N.C.O. directed us toward it. We entered. Another N.C.O. was sitting at a table, writing. My soldier saluted, reported, then shook hands with me and departed.

“Your name, date of birth, place of birth, and nationality?” said the N.C.O. at the table, not unkindly.

I looked at the plain office furniture of the irregular room before answering, feeling very downhearted. Having given him the information he wanted, I asked apprehensively: “What are you going to do with me?”

“We’ll put you in solitary confinement.”

“For how long?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

“And what then?”

“You’re going to stay with us so long that you needn’t bother yet about the ‘what then.’”

“But aren’t you going to send me back to Ruhleben when I’m through with my punishment for escaping?”

“I’ve nothing to do with it and don’t know. But I’m pretty sure you’ll have to stay here till the end of the war.”

“That’s hard punishment for an attempt to get home!”

“Bless my soul, you’re not going to be locked up all the time! There are a number of Englanders here. Most of them are up and down these stairs the whole day.” With this he went out and shouted for some one. Another N.C.O. appeared. “Take this man to Block Twenty-three and lock him up. Here’s his slip.” The slip, I saw later, was a piece of paper stating my name and nationality, and marked with a cross which stood for “solitary confinement.” It was to be fastened to the outside of my cell door.