CHAPTER XIV

FREEDOM

§ 1

After a confinement of eight months it was a wonderful thing to be able to walk through the streets unguarded. To be free again; no longer to be fenced round by barbed wire, to be shadowed by innumerable eyes; no longer to be under the rule of an arrogant Prussian. It was almost impossible to grasp it; that we were free, free. Every moment I expected to feel a heavy hand fall on my shoulder, and to hear a gruff voice bellow in my ear, “Es ist verboten, Herr Lieutenant.”

And this sense of unreality was increased by our reception outside the gates. Whether the children had been given a half-holiday in honour of their recent naval operations, I do not know, but it did seem as though the entire infantile population had assembled outside the citadel; and no sooner did an officer appear than he was surrounded by urchins of both sexes, up to the age of twelve, all yelling for biscuits and chocolate. It was an absurd and pitiable sight; and it was terrible to think that a people had so far lost their self-respect as to allow their children to beg for food from their enemies. It was often quite hard to get rid of them; they would hang on to an arm or to the end of a coat, and simply refuse to let go till actually forced.

Considering that the nation, of which it formed a part, had just sustained a defeat practically amounting to unconditional surrender, Mainz presented a spectacle of strange jubilation. I had expected to find an atmosphere of a more or less passive resignation, of disappointment only partially relieved by the cessation of hostilities; whatever the individual might feel, officialdom surely, we had thought, would assume a woeful countenance. But instead of that we found a town robed as for a carnival. Flags were hung from the windows of every house, the children in the streets waved penny ensigns, and every few minutes a lorry full of troops would clatter through, the guns decked with banners, the men shouting and singing. It was as though a victorious army were returning home, and after all it was only right that the men should receive a proper welcome. For over four years they had waged on many fronts a war that had conferred much honour on their arms. They had been at all times brave and resolute. They had fought to the very end. It was not their fault that Germany had been steeped in ruin.

The reception we received from the civil population was very friendly. At first it was only with the most extreme diffidence that we entered cafés and restaurants, but we soon saw that there was little or no animosity against us. In the streets civilians were always ready to show us the way, and displayed no resentment at our presence amongst them. In the cafés German soldiers even came up and spoke to us. There was such general delight at the war being over, that the Germans felt it impossible to harbour any ill-will against any save those whom they held directly responsible for their sufferings, and it was typical of their attitude that, when a German soldier introduced himself, his first remark was, “I am not a Prussian.”

The question of the army of occupation was very keenly discussed, and everywhere was to be found the same opinion, “We do not want the French.” It seemed as if that hereditary hate was as keen as ever; for the English and Americans they entertained very neutral emotions. But the French were too nearly neighbours; and it seems as if only the long passage of uneventful years could assuage this spirit of vindictiveness, that has been artificially fostered in the nursery and in the schoolroom.

But between us and the Germans, at any rate in the Southern States, there is no reason why this hate should outlive the war. That is, of course, if the attitude of the people of Mainz can be taken as in any way representative of the other Rhine towns. For we could not have been more hospitably received. There are those, of course, who will say, “Ah, but they were pulling your leg, they were only trying to see what they could get out of you. You spent money in their cafés, that was what they wanted; and you gave them chocolate and soup, that’s what they were after.” I have not the slightest doubt that a great many Germans attached themselves to us solely for ulterior purposes. But as a whole I believe that the civilians in Mainz were quite honestly pleased to be able to do for us anything they could, as a sort of proof that they had altered their Government, that the war was over, and that they had no wish to nourish any ill-feeling against us. And those who see behind this display of friendship the calculated deceit of a political stunt, are, it seems to me, merely seeing their own reflections in the looking-glass of life.

The Germans themselves were immensely enthusiastic about the revolution; they saw in it a complete social panacea.

“Everything will be all right now,” one of them said to me. “We shall abolish our big standing army, and our big fleet, and so we shall be able to cut down our taxes. Before the war our lives were being crushed out of us, so that generals could retire on large pensions. But now every one will have to work. We shall be really democratic.”

“And,” he said, “we are not going to have our children overworked in the schools. We shall cut down the hours. Before, it was so hard to earn a living in Germany, that children had to work like that or they would have been left behind. Competition was ruining us. But now....”

There was there the blind optimism that is born by the glimmering of a hope however far withdrawn. The only real dread they had was that, when the troops returned, Bolshevism might break out.

“You see,” he went on, “at the front the troops were well fed. Of course they had no delicacies, but they had enough; while now they are returning to a country that is practically starving. They will have to share with us; we are no longer militarists, and we do not see why they should have the best of everything. It is possible that there will be trouble. But whatever we do, we shall not be like Russia. We have more common sense, we are better educated, we are not religious maniacs, we shall not be swayed by a few demagogues. We are too sane to go to such extremities.”

And it was quite clear that they had no intention of restoring the Kaiser. Having once decided to choose him as their scapegoat, they had done the business thoroughly. On him they laid the whole burden of their adversities.

“He led us into this, and he kept the truth from us. If we had known that it would come to this, we would have made peace months ago. We should not have let our children die for want of food.”

But, as regards actual liberty, the revolution had merely substituted one tyranny for another, and that a military one. No doubt things will adjust themselves shortly, and at this time strong discipline was clearly essential. But the individual had very little freedom. The patrols of the Red Guard paraded the streets all day with loaded rifles; at eleven o’clock they entered and cleared the cafés. After that hour they arrested any one they found in the streets. Moreover, they had authority to raid private houses whenever they liked, a privilege of which they frequently availed themselves. Altogether this government of the people by the people did not seem to me so desirable an Utopia, though as a revolution it might be a triumph of order and moderation.

Our week of liberty in Mainz passed quickly and pleasantly. It was a coloured, leisured life, a continual drifting from one café to another; we played innumerable games of billiards, listened to the music in the Kaiserhof, sampled all the cinemas, and heard _Der Troubadour_ at the theatre. Just off the main street was a small restaurant where we took all our meals. It was in rather an out-of-the-way spot, and as we were the only officers to discover it, we became during that week a sort of institution. The proprietor struck up quite a friendship with us, and whenever we came in, he used to produce from his cupboard a bottle of tomato sauce. It bore the name of Crosse & Blackwell, and he was very proud of his possession. To offer us a share in it was the greatest compliment he could pay.

Our last night there I shall never forget. We came in rather late for dinner, and by the time we had finished it was well after ten, but the proprietor insisted on us staying a little longer. He set us down at the same table as his friends and produced a vast quantity of wine. They were hospitable folk, and two hours’ companionship over a bottle had removed all tendencies to reserve.

Opposite me was a German officer who had spent the greater part of his life in England; and his flow of words bore irrefutable testimony to the potency of Rhine wine.

“I have lived among you all my life,” he said; “I do not wish to fight against you. I have no quarrel with the English. It is only the French I hate, the bloody French. I would do anything I could to harm them. They hate us and we hate them,” and a man generally speaks the truth when he is drunk.

The end of the evening was less glorious. It was well after eleven before we managed to escape after countless _Aufwiedersehens_, and no sooner had we got outside the house than we walked straight into a patrol of the Red Guard, by whom we were arrested, and returned to the citadel under an armed escort.

Next morning we were marched down into a train for Metz. All the German officers from the camp and a considerable number of civilians came to see us off. As I leant out of the window, to catch a last glimpse of the cathedral, it was hardly possible to realise that the war was over and that we were going home. It was the day to which we had looked forward for so long, the day of which we had dreamt so much during the cold and loneliness of the nights in France. It had been then immeasurably remote, a flickering uncertain gleam, too far away for any tangible hope. And the mind had fastened upon those nearer probabilities of leave,--a blighty, or a course behind the line. And now that day had really come, I could not grasp its significance. I was almost afraid to look forward, and my mind went back to the earlier days of our captivity, to the hunger and the depression, to the intolerable tedium and irritation. And yet, for all that, a wave of sentimentality partially obscured the sharpness of those memories. We had had some good times there in the citadel; that grey monochrome had not been entirely unrelieved. There had been certain moments worth remembering; and I thought that, when the incidents of the past four years had settled down into their true perspective, I should be able to look back, not without a certain kindliness, towards that unnatural life, that strange world of substitute and sauerkraut.

§ 2

The journey home was protracted by innumerable delays. We left Mainz on November 24th, and it was not until the 5th of December that we arrived in London. We spent five days in Nancy, another three in Boulogne, and the trains behaved as is their wont on the railroads of France. All this rather tended to dispel the glamour of the return.

For one of the chief attractions of leave is its suddenness. One is sitting on the steps of a dugout musing gloomily on the probable chance of a relief, when a runner arrives from Battalion with a chit, “You will proceed on U.K. leave to-night. The train leaves Arras at 8.10 p.m.” And then the world is suddenly haloed with flame. One rushes down the dugout, flings hurried orders to the sergeant, collects all that is least important in one’s kit, scatters an extravagance of largess among the batmen who have collected it, and then races for H.Q. It is all a scramble and a rush. The mess cart is chartered, within a couple of hours one is at the railhead; a night of cramp and discomfort and one is at Boulogne; there is just time for a bath at the E.F.C. Club, and then the boat sails. There is a train waiting at the other end, and the whole business takes only twenty-four hours. It is like a tale from the _Arabian Nights_. At one moment one is sitting on a firestep, the next one is in London. It embodies the very essence of romance.

But the return of the _Gefangener_ was altogether different. He had plenty of time in which to collect his thoughts, the return to civilised life was marked by slow gradations. At Metz he could get a decent bath, at Nancy a decent dinner. By the time he had reached Boulogne, his odyssey had assumed the most prosaic proportions. There is no doubt about it, for those who had been prisoners only a few months the leave boat was infinitely more exciting.

But there were, of course, compensations. After having lived on tinned meats for eight months, it was a thrilling experience to find a menu that comprised fried sole and grouse, Brussel sprouts and iced grapes. Over my first dinner I took three hours. It was a gluttonous but on the whole a natural exhibition. It also saved us from a further period of confinement.

For when we arrived at Nancy one of the first pieces of intelligence we received, was the news that it would not be possible to provide a train for us within five days. To many ardent spirits this was a sad blow, and one or two adventurers decided that whatever the rest might do, they themselves were not going to wait five days “for any blooming train,” and among these rebels I had rather naturally numbered myself.

During the afternoon I went down to the station with Barron, the constant companion of my peradventures, and interviewed the railway authorities. Now there is only one way to deal with a military policeman; it is no good trying to dodge him. He knows that trick too well. The frontal assault is the one road to success. We walked straight up to him.

“Corporal,” I said, “we’re going to Paris.”

“Very good, Sir; you’ve got your movement order made out, I suppose.”

“No, Corporal, I’m afraid I haven’t,” I confessed.

He grunted.

“That makes it a bit awkward, Sir; you see, I have got orders, Sir, to....”

At this juncture a five-franc note changed hands.

“But, Sir, of course it could be managed, I expect, if you’re down at ten minutes to eleven. Well, Sir, I’ll see what I can do.”

That was all right; and feeling ourselves rather dogs, we made our way back to the Stanislas and had a game of billiards. At half-past six we sat down to a long, carefully selected dinner and two bottles of champagne; and as the evening progressed a delightful warmth and languor came over us. A bed with a spring mattress seemed more than ever desirable.

“It won’t be a very comfortable journey,” hazarded my companion. “It will take a good ten hours.”

“Yes,” I said.

“It really seems rather a sweat....”

“Old man,” I said sternly, “I’ve paid that corporal five francs, and on my mother’s side I’m Scots.”

And we returned to our attack on the omelette.

Half an hour passed, and the world of languor grew even fairer. Effort then appeared almost criminal. Surely the supreme delight of life lay in this slow puffing at a cigarette. The idea of our all-night journey became increasingly abhorrent.

“Archie,” I said, “do you think we shall be able to get any sleep in this train?”

“We shall be too cold. You know what a French train is?”

And again there was a silence. By this time we had reached the coffee stage. In about half an hour we should have to go. There would be a longish walk back to our billets, then we should have to pack and lug our bags all the way down to the station. It really didn’t seem worth while....

“Look here,” I said, “we shall only gain five days by this, and I’m jolly sleepy....”

“And if it’s your Scots blood that is troubling you,” my companion burst out, “I’ll pay you the damned five francs now, and with interest.”

That settled it.

“Garçon,” I called, “l’addition, s’il vous plaît, et cherchez-moi un fiacre, je suis fort épuisé.”

But the others were either made of sterner stuff, or else they had wearied of the lures of the Stanislas. At any rate they presented themselves duly before the military policeman at 10.50, and a quarter of an hour later they were on their way to Paris, to that city of gay colours and gayer women; while stretched out peacefully on a delightful spring mattress, two renegades slept a coward’s sleep.

Well, the last I heard of those lambent rebels was that on their arrival at Paris they were instantly arrested by the A.P.M., and when we left Boulogne they were still sending urgent telegrams over France, begging for an instant release. Whether this has been since accorded them I do not know, but when I went down to Victoria a week after my arrival to meet a friend, I saw, stacked in a neglected corner, a huge pile of the white wood boxes that were peculiar to the Offiziergefangenenlager, Mainz. And on those boxes were the names of those bright warriors who had defied authority. Their luggage had come on afterwards with us, and had preceded them by many days. They were very gallant fellows, very resolute and proud-hearted, but ... I am glad I went to the Stanislas.

And when we did eventually move from Nancy, it was not in one of the unspeakable leave trains, but in a hospital train, fitted with every possible convenience and comfort. As in the haven of the Pre-Raphaelite, there were “beds for all who come,” and beds, moreover, that were poised on springs, and that swung gently to the movement of the engine. For thirty-six hours we slept solidly.

And at Boulogne we were provided with a hospital boat; indeed, we might have been the most serious stretcher cases, instead of being rather untidy, very lazy, and thoroughly war-weary _Gefangenen_. It was a royal return.

Twenty-four hours later, with a warrant for two months’ leave in my pocket, I was standing on Victoria platform, a free man. I had often wondered what it would feel like. Would it seem very strange to be no longer under authority, to be able to do what I liked, and to go where I wanted? I had wondered whether the atmosphere of a prison camp would still hang over me, and whether I should see in commissionaires and waiters some dim survival of those whiskered sentries. When I went to a theatre, should I turn rather nervously to the powdered lackey in the vestibule, as if half expecting a thundered “es ist verboten”? Would it take long to drop those habits of subservience?

But when I was once there, all those misgivings were as a dream. It seemed that I had never been away at all. With my old-time skill, I overawed a taxi-driver, and promised to “make it worth his while.” I drove round to my banker, and cashed an enormous cheque; then to my tailors to order a civilian suit. And then--Hampstead.

I lay back against the padded cushion and watched each well-known landmark fall behind me--Lord’s, Swiss Cottage, the Hampstead cricket field. Surely I had never been away at all. Those eight months in Germany, they were merely some old remnant of a fairy tale, _ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten_; they had no real existence. I felt as though I were coming back from Sandhurst for my Christmas leave. There had been no separation. In the last month I had had one week-end leave and two Sunday passes. It was just a resumption of the old life, a slipping back into the ordered harmony of days.

The taxi drew up outside the door; I knocked on the window with my stick, and the hall was instantly alive with welcome. But I could not make it an occasion for heroics. It did not seem in any way a special event, demanding any exceptional excitement.

“Father,” I said, “I’ve got no change. You might give that taxi-driver ten shillings.”

INDEX

“Alcove,” the, its cosy comforts, 173; protection of its own interests, 175-8; a place of happy memories, 186-90; Milton Hayes in retirement in, 207

Alhambra, the, the future home of Aubrey Dowdon, 201

Amiens, its luxuries, 150

Amusements in captivity, 193 _et seq._

_Anti-Northcliffe Times_, the, 222

Architecture flourishes in the Alcove, 178

Armistice, the, in Mainz, 236 _et seq._

“Arnold,” Capt., his bibulous escapade at Karlsruhe, 113

Arras to St. Quentin, attack upon, 3

Asceticism, its ethics considered, 53

Aspirin, German doctor’s sole prescription, 128

Authorship, as fostered by the Pitt League, 173, 178

Baden-Hessen, its native moderation, 117

Bapaume, 14

Barclay, Mrs. Florence, lengths resorted to by a prisoner to secure her _Rosary_, 50

“Barron,” Lieut., his capacity for sleep, 131; his ingenuity as cook, 132; his self-sacrifice in a good cause, 135; his amiable companionship, 141; a friend to the last, 260

Beauty chorus of the “Buckshees,” 214

Beef dripping as an ingredient in chocolate _soufflé_, 133

Bennett, Mr. Arnold, his praises sung, 184

Berlin, all roads lead to, 16

_Berliner Tageblatt, Der_, its hectic effusions, 224

Bible, the, sacrilege upon, by a German officer, 125

Billiards as a form of athletics, 196

Bolshevism, the shadow of, 233; a German waiter on, 237

Bomenheim, Herr, formerly window-cleaner, eventually Commandant of Frankfort, 241

“Book of Common Prayer,” its inadequacy as a complete prison-library, 49

Boulogne, prisoners at, 262

Bout-Merveille, generosity of the inhabitants, 34

Bread, arrival of, at Mainz: mouldiness of, 102

Brooke, Rupert, 191

“Buckshees,” the, Milton Hayes’s operatic company at Mainz, 210

Bullecourt, capture of, 4

Bully-beef as an incentive to platitude, 104; its monotony, 129

Bureaucracy, its insidious influence among prisoners, 64; its inquisitiveness, 65; its confusion of literature with commerce, 66; German bureaucracy and food parcels, 109

Byron, Lord, Lieut. Stone’s resemblance to, 176

Cambrai, Headquarter orders concerning, 7

Cannan, Mr. Gilbert, his _Stucco House_ saved from fire, 10; Lieut. Stone’s mild admiration for, 184

Captivity, its irksomeness and psychology, 139-46

Carlton Hotel, a waiter at, now a German orderly in Mainz, 237; his political views, 237

Censor of letters, his natural modesty, 78

Cheshire Cheese, the, visions of, in captivity and after, 188

Chestnuts, their nutritive value as coffee, 27

Chocolate, its Shavian importance in event of an escape, 160; its market price in Germany, 229

Chocolate _soufflé_, novel recipe for, 132

Claustrophobia, its effect on prisoners, 47

Colonels, three British, attempt to escape from Mainz, 161; ignominious result of, 163

Commandant of Mainz, the, his arrogant pomposity, 121; his vindictiveness, 123; his cheap revenges, 123; his contempt for literature, 125; his punishments for attempted escapes, 164; his final error and fall, 242

Committees, their characteristic abuses, 209

_Continental Times_, the, its glib mendacity, 222; its pro-German propaganda, 223

Cooking in a prison camp, 129

Copenhagen, bread arrives from, 100

Corporal, scepticism of a section-, 2

Correspondence, abnormal, 14

Cox, Messrs., the accommodating bankers, 58

“Croft,” Col., as harbinger of food, 101

Crown Prince, the, his inflammatory portraits, 98

Cuff, Sergeant, in _The Moonstone_, 158

Dane, Miss Clemence, her fiction under fire, 9

Dickens, Charles, his extravagant characterisation reproduced in Col. “Westcott,” 69

Dictaphones, German use of, 30

Douai, prisoners march to, 23; illiterate melancholy of, 27; dictaphones at, 30

“Dowdon,” Aubrey, his astounding musical gifts, 198; his imperishable libretti, 201; stimulating his ambition, 202; to the rescue of the “Buckshees,” 212

Dowson, Ernest, 188

Doyle, Sir Francis Hastings, his inspiration of the modern soldier, 21

“Dried Veg,” nutritive solace of, 56

Dury, 24

Ecoust, capture of, 4

Education, the British dislike of, 68

Escapes, the romance of, 152; various schemes for, 154; the first attempt at, 158-62; effect of, upon cowardly natures, 164; punishment for attempts, 164; Col. Wright’s splendid attempts, 167; and their frustration, 169

“Evans,” Lieut., his knowledge of charts, 13; his tactful reticence, 15; his watchfulness, 15; his unsuccessful quest for parcels, 106; his enthusiasm for Col. “Westcott’s” oratory, 130; his natural appetite, 134; and picturesque language, 134; his cookery examination, 136

Field Service Regulations, their bearing upon capture, 18

Finland, its future in the herring trade, 84

Finnish language, the, its visionary path to a Priority Pass, 83

Flaubert, Gustave, 144; his slow workmanship, 183

Foch, Marshal, effect of his offensive on the German mind, 232

Food, the lack of, 27, 31, 50, 51; cost of, in Germany, 228

Food-parcels, their absorbing interest, 55, 100, 105

Football in captivity, 194

Frankfort, Central Command at, vindicates the integrity of literature, 126; the effect of the armistice at, 240

_Frankfurter Zeitung, Der_, its journalistic continence, 93; its popularity among prisoners, 223; no fosterer of wild rumour, 238

French, German hatred of, 249

French language, the, difficulty of acquiring among prisoners, 64; the British bureaucrat’s estimate of, 66

“Frobisher,” Capt., his military enthusiasm, 174; his dislike of “the Huns,” 174; his inappropriateness in the Alcove, 175; the scheme for his removal, 176; his antipathy to poetry, 177; his final exit from the Alcove, 178

Future Career Society, the, its inauguration and methods, 63; its bureaucratic administrators, 64-6; its early popularity and subsequent failure, 67-8

Games in captivity, their scarcity, 193

German officers, their unshaved condition, 19; their mean suspicions, 110; their lack of humour, 112; their duplicity, 121; solitary example of wit among, 126; degradation of, under revolution, 233

German people, the, psychology in war-time, 91; its freedom from vindictiveness, 92; its ignorance of the origin of the war, 96; its despair at the result, 224; after the armistice, 248; German war-poetry considered, 94-6

German professor, a, upon the war and the national characteristics, 97, 238

German sentries, their courteous demeanour, 33; their starved condition, 117; their ubiquity at Mainz, 153; neglect of duty, 162; their passion for boxing, 168; their visions in days to come, 191

Gibbs, Mr. Philip, his vivid journalism, 14

_Girl on the Stairs, The_, successful operetta at Mainz, 201

“Gladstone,” Lieut., as a musical composer, 213

Gomorrah, the dispensation of, 87

Gosse, Mr. Edmund, quoted, 149

Graves, Capt. Robert, his poems a perpetual comfort in the trenches, 9; his admirable war-poetry, 94

_Green Eye of the Little Yellow God, The_, masterpiece of Lieut. T. Milton Hayes, M.C., 41, 42, 43

Guides, the trustworthiness of, in France, 11

Ham, 14

Hampstead, home, and beauty, 265

Hardy, Mr. Thomas, unwilling sacrifice of his works under fire, 9

Harrod’s Stores, its infallibility, 119

“Hawkins,” Private, his dangerous passion for cigarettes, 16; his convenient flesh-wound, 17

“Hawkshaw, Silas P.,” Lieut. Milton Hayes’s great creation of, 217

Hayes, Lieut. T. Milton, M.C., his personal appearance, 41; his study of popular taste, 41; his masterpieces, 41; his literary methods and artistic imagination, 42; secret of his greatness, 43; his exploitation of young love, 44; his inevitable success after the war, 45; his theories on the gratification of appetite, 54; his genial presence in the Alcove, 179; the Colossus of the Mainz Theatre, 198; his smile, 198; his childlike pleasure in his own wit, 199; his temporary retirement, 205; his restoration by Sanatogen, 205; the victim of professional rivalry, 207; founds the “Buckshees,” 210; his managerial methods, 212; his beauty chorus, 214; his wonderful opera, 216; himself alone the Arabian bird, 217; the eternal gratitude of his friends, 221

Heine, Heinrich, his bridge at Mainz, 47

Hendecourt, capture of, 6

Hindenburg, German faith in, 20

Hockey in captivity, 195

Holzminden, a notoriously bad camp, 120

Housman, Mr. A. E., Lieut. Stone’s recitations from, 176

Hueffer, Mr. Ford Madox, confiscation of his _Heaven_ by German officials, 111

Humour, German lack of, 112

Hunger, a prisoner’s purgatory, 31, 51, 52

“Huns,” German distaste for the term, 112

Ill-treatment of English officers in prison-camps, 120; by incompetent German doctors, 128

Imprisonment, effect on the nerves, 138

Interpreters, German, their simple gullibility, 29; their estimate of _John Bull_, 30

Irishmen, their vitality in a queue, 61

Jealousy, professional, of rival actors, 202; its influence on captivity, 203; its comparison with the hate of nations, 204; it works like mischief, 208

_John Bull_, the London weekly, German interpreter’s witticism concerning, 30

Kaiser, the, his boasted resemblance to Attila, 113; his continued popularity in Germany, 231; his desertion, 232; the scapegoat of his people, 252

_Kantine_, the, at Mainz, its uses and abuses, 55, 59, 60; its supply of text-books, 67; its consolations and diversions, 145; its commercial subtlety, 147

Karlsruhe, prisoners arrive at, 33; comparative comfort of, 37

_Knave of Diamonds, The_, Lieut. Milton Hayes’s strange theory concerning, 55

Köln, the revolution at, 232

Lawn tennis in captivity, 195

Lens, alarming reports concerning, 14

“Leola, daughter of the Hesperides,” her appearance and its effect, 215

Lice, plague of, 31

Lille, apprehension regarding, 14

Lissauer, his cheap vehemence, 95

Literature, its military inconvenience, 8; its military relation to book-keeping, 65; its contemptuous ill-treatment by German officers, 126

Liver paste, its popularity among prisoners, 60

Longworth, Mr. F. Dames-, his epistolary courtesies, 235

_Loom of Youth, The_, its length and breadth, 182; its characteristic language, 182

_Lorna Doone_ as a study in the gratification of appetite, 55

Louis Napoleon in _La Débâcle_, strange effect upon a hungry prisoner, 54

Louvain, commissariat at, 34

_Lustige Blätter_, its gory caricatures, 93

Lyceum melodrama and the facts of war, 21

Lyttelton, Canon the Hon. E., his repugnance to actuality, 174; his helpful literary criticisms, 235

Maconochie’s beef dripping, 108, 129

Mainz, unpleasing prospect of, 45; doleful arrival at, 46; architectural features of, 46-47; the Offizier Kriegsgefangenenlager at, 47; “shades of the prison-house,” 48; prisoners’ routine at, 48; arrival of parcels at, 56; bombardment of, 123; inadequate medical service at, 127; the impregnability of its citadel, 152-71; revolutionists arrive at, 232; the armistice at, 246

Major, illicit process of a, 215

Manicure, its practice in captivity, 150

Marchiennes, 31; commandant at, his strict attention to business, 32

Mark, the value of, 58

Maupassant, Guy de, 187

Medical service, the German, total inadequacy at Mainz, 127

Melancholia of captivity, 142

Metz, prisoners entrain for, 256

Monchy, M.G.C. at, 5, 14, 24

Moore, Mr. George, effect of his prose upon a prisoner of war, 38; his yearning for a new language, 82; his support expected, 87; his confessions, 189

Nancy, prisoners at, 257

Nichols, Mr. Robert, his fine war-poetry, 95

Noreil, capture of, 4

Offensive, the Great (March 21, 1918), 1-17

Officers, English, their treatment as prisoners, 118

Otto’s Grammars, illicit hoarding of, 67 _Oxford Book of English Verse_, its preservation from the Germans, 10

Pater, Walter, and the psychology of captivity, 144; quoted, 149; Lieut. Stone’s admiration for, 184; quoted, 188

Patriotism denounced by Lieut. Stone under the influence of Rhine wine, 178

Paymaster, official activities of, 58, 61

Peace, German passion for, 35, 36, 230

Perambulation the sole diversion of the prisoner, 196

Peronne, 14

_Pickwick Papers_, Lieut. Milton Hayes upon, 54

Pitt League, the, its foundation by Col. “Westcott,” 71; its principle of combination, 72; the origin of its name, 72; its imperialistic sweep, 73, 74; its military comprehensiveness, 74; its success, 76; its further development as the Pitt Escape League, 166; its beneficent foundation of the “Alcove,” 173

Porter, Mrs. Gene Stratton, efforts of a prisoner to secure her masterpiece, 50

“Pows,” the, concert party at Mainz, 197; the rousing of its ambition, 200

Press, the British, its indefatigable propaganda, 29

Priority Pass, the, its conception by Lieut. “Wilkins,” 77; its philosophy, 78; its deceptive working, 80

Public School Education, its effect on the soul of youth, 148

Punch, the gospel of Lieut. Milton Hayes, 213

Queues, their origin and psychology, 58

“Radcliffe,” Lieut., his mastery of the piano, 213

“Ragging” the Commandant of Mainz, 123

Railway travelling in Germany, its pestilent conditions, 34

R.A.M.C., ingenious treatment of bread, 102

Rations, poverty of, 50, 51

Red Cross Prisoners of War Depôt, its efficiency and worth, 37, 38, 100, 110

Reincourt, capture of, 6

Respirator, the psychical qualities of a, 1

Revolution, the, in Mainz, 232, 236

Rhine wine, effect of, upon Lieut. Stone, 175, 185

Richards, Mr. Grant, his publisher’s contracts, 183

Richardson, Mr. H. H., Lieut. Stone’s enthusiasm for the works of, 184

_Romance_, the Lyric Theatre success, Lieut. T. Milton Hayes’s analysis of, 44

Routine of the Gefangenenlager, 48

Russia, German theory about, 96

Sanatogen, its effect on Lieut. Milton Hayes, 205

Sassoon, Mr. Siegfried, his “In the Pink,” 95; a poor compliment to, 223

Satin-tasso as a resource in captivity, 146

Sauerkraut, ubiquity of, 31, 50

Scarlet Pimpernel, the, as an example to adventurous prisoners, 166

Schopenhauer, Lieut. Stone expounds, 176

Schoolmasters, their intellectual mediocrity, 69; their stock defence, 148; the long array of, in the _Spectator_, 235

Scotsmen, their dilatoriness in queues, 61; their assistance in Col. Wright’s attempt to escape, 168

Secrecy, official regard for, 7

Selfridge’s, its efficient service, 119

Sentries, German, their unexpected affability, 33; their starvation, 117

Sergeant-Major, alcoholic dignity of an English, 23; blindness of a German, 31

Shakespeare, William, hastily misquoted by a subaltern, 9

“Shivers,” the, theatrical company at Mainz, 200; its beneficent competition, 200

Shorthand, the British bureaucratic esteem for, 66

_Simplicissimus_, its filthy cartoons, 93

Squire, Mr. J. C., his “To a Bull-dog,” 95

Starvation, phenomena of, 28, 51, 53, 117; of Germany, 228

St. Leger, the Rev. B. G. Bourchier’s army hut at, 5

“Stone,” Lieut., his ready wit, 39; his fortunate arrival at Mainz, 48; his sufferings under the Priority Pass system, 80-2; his opinion of botany as a science, 82; his share in the vision of a new language, 83; tackles Capt. Frobisher, 175; his lecture on the “higher life,” 176; his brilliant conversation, 184; effects of Rhine wine upon, 175, 185; his unrecited poems, 186

Swedish drill, British distaste for, 194

Swinburne, Algernon Charles, his poems as a covert for propaganda, 125

Symons, Mr. Arthur, quoted, 28; the women of his songs, 189

“Tarrant,” Lieut., his endurance under control, 38; his asceticism, 38; his critical sallies, 40; his self-imposed fast, 40; providential arrival of, at Mainz, 48; his invaluable library, 49; his breakfast hour, 179; his morning apparel, 180; his literary exercises, 181; his accuracy, 182; his frank opinion of the author’s fiction, 235

Tartarin re-embodied in Col. “Westcott,” 73

_Tatler_, the, its coy picture-gallery, 5

Tchecov, his short stories, 187

Theatre, the, at Mainz, closed as a punishment for attempted escapes, 165; its peaceful penetration, 172; its excellent shows, 197

Thurloe Place, the Good Samaritan of the P.O.W., 107, 109

Torquennes, 24

Treacle, its value in chocolate _soufflé_, 134

Treatment of prisoners, 116 _et seq._

_Troubadour, Der_, at Mainz, 254

Verlaine, Paul, 188

Vis-en-Artois, 24

Vitry, prisoners’ reception at, 26

War-poetry, good and bad, 94

War and the politicians, 226 _et seq._

Watts-Dunton, Mr. Theodore, compared with Lieut. Stone, 185

Waugh, 2nd Lieut. Alec R., his dogmatic statements on men and matters, 1-267; his abnormal correspondence, 14; his dogged somnolence, 15; his first meeting with Milton Hayes, 41; his ambitions for a future career, and their reception by Authority, 64; his apocalyptic vision of a new language, 83; his imaginary acquisition of a Priority Pass, 86; his chastened disillusionment, 90; his recognition of his own good fortune, 92; his selection as cook to the mess, 130; his culinary prowess, 132-6; his experiment on the school organ, 157; his contented hours in the Alcove, 186; his love of the years before he was born, 189; his castigation by a body of bureaucrats, 209; an unwarrantable compliment to, 223; his apostacy as a rebel, 234; German adjutant’s literary judgment of, 235; his return home, 265

Waugh, Mr. Arthur, his paternal benevolence, 266

Waugh, Mrs. Arthur, her Scottish descent, 261

Weather, the, effect upon a prisoner’s spirits, 50

Webster, John, the favourite quotation of prisoners of war, 142

Wells, Mr. H. G., Lieut. Stone discusses, 184

“Westcott,” Col., his Dickensian qualities, 69; his relation to the music-hall stage, 69; his soldierly grip, 70; his hatred of individualism, 70; his bravery, 71; his foundation of the Pitt League, 71; his opening speech, 71; his sense of humour, 72; his likeness to Tartarin, 73; his indomitable energy, 75; his affection for his own scheme, 75; as Prime Minister, 76; his encouragement of honest ambition, 84; his “dream within a dream,” 89; the popularity of his speeches, 130; his interest in attempted escapes, 155; the Gallio of frivolous amusement, 193

_Whitest Man I know, The_, eminent monologue by Lieut. T. Milton Hayes, M.C., 41

“Wilkins,” Lieut., his ingenious conception of the Priority Pass, 79

Woman, her ruling passion for self-advertisement, 170

Wood-carving as a resource in captivity, 145

“Wright,” Col., his valiant attempt to escape, 166; his choice of daylight, 166; his unfortunate intrusion upon a German amour, 169; the result, 170; his disappearance from Mainz, 171

Zola, Émile, _La Terre_ in the dugout, 10; _La Débâcle_ as an irritant to hunger, 53

* * * * *

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

THE LOOM OF YOUTH

BY

ALEC WAUGH

NINTH EDITION TWENTIETH THOUSAND

GRANT RICHARDS, LTD.

_SOME PRESS OPINIONS_

_MR. J. C. SQUIRE in Land and Water._

“The difficulties of writing good school stories are matters of commonplace observation. The boy cannot see everything, and, as a rule, cannot write. The man forgets much and sentimentalises much. The dilemma will never be completely avoided. But Mr. Alec Waugh’s ‘The Loom of Youth’ is a remarkable attempt.... At his best, he manages his material like an old hand. It is a most astonishing feat.”

_CAPT. C. K. SCOTT-MONCRIEFF in The New Witness._

“Mr. Waugh has told us a story, the story of Gordon Carruthers’ life at Fernhurst.... I look forward confidently to see him come to grips with the army as thoroughly as he has done with the schools. This year has been big with futures, among which that of Robert Nichols seems incomparably to outshine all the rest. But Mr. Waugh is an author to be diligently followed and enjoyed with delight.”

_MR. GERALD GOULD in The New Statesman._

“For a writer of any age ‘The Loom of Youth’ would be a remarkable achievement; for a boy of seventeen it is more.... And the language is fresh and real, the talk is boys’ talk, such as only some one fresh from it could render.... Difficulties are overcome in two ways--firstly by sheer sound psychology, by making the characters so interesting that it is their minds, not their external activities, that we bother about.... I want, in conclusion, to recommend this book for its courage as well as for its interest. One main problem of school life is the moral one, which most writers shirk, or if they treat it at all, treat sentimentally and timidly and obliquely. Mr. Waugh goes right to the point.”

_MR. RALPH STRAUS in The Bystander._

“You feel that all the boys at Fernhurst ... are real people, not the agreeable caricatures, for instance, of ‘The Hill’; and in the Games Master who is so pleasantly nicknamed ‘The Bull’ Mr. Waugh has created a character which epitomises the whole Public School system.... ‘The Loom of Youth’ will take its place amongst the few first-class school stories which have been published this century.”

_MR. E. B. OSBORN in The Morning Post._

“‘The Loom of Youth’ has some of the faults of the modern realistic story of Public School life. But these faults are insignificant in comparison with its unusual merits, chief of which is the sharp actuality of its characterisation.... The boys and masters we meet are of reasonable flesh and blood; of the latter ‘The Bull,’ once an England forward and now games master, is the dominant personality.”

_MR. J. A. FORT in The Spectator._

“The work, which seems to me one of extraordinary power, seems to me also an honest attempt to ‘tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,’ as the author himself saw it. I think that the writer is, as a matter of fact, a very good witness in regard to certain phases of Public School life, and the publication of his book is, I believe, an event of considerable importance in the educational world.”

_MR. EDWIN PUGH in The Bookman._

“In ‘The Loom of Youth’ we have the truth presented with austere sincerity, with dignity and restraint.... Indeed this first book is in itself a fine achievement, well conceived, well done in every way, and wholly praiseworthy, alike for the excellence of its writing and the worthiness of its purpose.”

_MR. H. W. MASSINGHAM in The Nation._

“I have read few books that have interested me more than Mr. Waugh’s ‘Loom of Youth.’ It is in one respect an almost miraculous production.... It is a most straightforward account; it cannot have been invented, and yet I thought it sufficiently delicate.”

_Punch._

“Prophecy is dangerous; but from a writer who has proved so brilliantly that, for once, _jeunesse peut_, one seems justified in hoping that enlarged experience will result in work of the highest quality.”

_The Times._

“‘The Loom of Youth’ is a most promising book. Mr. Alec Waugh has something definite to say, the ability to say it, and an apprehension of the subtler causes of action and inaction.”

_The Daily Telegraph._

“An altogether _remarkable book_.”

_The Spectator._

“We ought to congratulate his old school on having produced a new author of such marked ability.”