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diff --git a/old/67760-0.txt b/old/67760-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f184eb9..0000000 --- a/old/67760-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2065 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Memoirs of a Swine in the Land of -Kultur, by Ben Muse - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Memoirs of a Swine in the Land of Kultur - or, How it Felt to be a Prisoner of War - -Author: Ben Muse - -Release Date: April 2, 2022 [eBook #67760] - -Language: English - -Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEMOIRS OF A SWINE IN THE -LAND OF KULTUR *** - - - - - -[Illustration: _The Author and an English Fellow-Prisoner, from -Photograph Taken Three Months Before the Armistice. The Author is -Wearing an Old French Uniform With Which he was Fitted Out After -Running Away and Losing his Regulation Prison Costume_] - - - - - _The_ - MEMOIRS OF A SWINE IN THE - LAND OF KULTUR - - _OR_ - - HOW IT FELT TO BE - A PRISONER OF WAR - - _By_ BEN MUSE - - 36926 Lance-Corporal 11th King’s - Royal Rifles - - - _Price 50 Cents_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1919 - BY - BEN MUSE - - THE SEEMAN PRINTERY, DURHAM, N. C. - - - - -_PREFACE_ - - -The following narrative tells of the adventures of an American boy in -German imprisonment from his capture November 30, 1917, to his release -December 9, 1918. The author is a native of Durham, N. C., and a -student of Trinity College, who went over and joined the English forces -before America’s entry into the war, serving in the Eleventh King’s -Royal Rifles six months and going through the severe fighting around -Ypres and Cambrai before his capture. - - - - -The Memoirs of a Swine in the Land of Kultur _or_, How it Felt to be a -Prisoner of War - - - - -CHAPTER I - -_Capture_ - - -I was bandaging poor Sergeant Sharpy’s wounds. - -“It’s all up with us, Muse,” he said. - -I feared that it was all up with _him_, at any rate, as I clumsily -tried to stop the torrent of blood which was flowing from his head and -shoulders. - -It was after an hour of one of those hells such as only soldiers of -the line can understand, when death and suffering were everywhere and -survival seemed the rare and lucky exception. The machine gun corporal -on my left had died at his gun, and the contorted body of my good old -mate, “Wally,” blocked the view farther down the trench. On my right -the three survivors of my section were still firing furiously over the -parapet. - -Personally I had not suffered from the barrage beyond the interruption -of my preparation for breakfast. The biscuits and jam and chocolate lay -spread on the edge of my “hole,” and the canteen of tea-water over my -boot-dubbin fire steadily refused to boil. I left the wounded sergeant -to look over the top. The mass of running grey uniforms was now very -near us. I could see the flags which they carried and hear the roar of -“Hurrahs” between the bursting of shells. - -But who were those brown, unarmed figures running over on our left? -My God! They were our own chaps--already captured! I glanced quickly -around. The Germans were at our rear! The little hill behind us was -dotted with the grey figures, and those flags could be seen in every -direction. - -“They’re all around----,” but ere I could finish they were on us. A -shower of hand grenades and then “Fritz” himself. - -“Hurra! Hurra! ’Raus! ’Raus!” and shaking with excitement they shoved -their bayonets in my face. - -I laid down my rifle and began undoing my equipment. - -I helped the sergeant over the top, snatched up a bag of biscuits, took -a last fond look at my tea-water--now beginning to boil!--and scrambled -over after him. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -_In Conquered France_ - - -The journey to our camp in Germany will be remembered by most of my -comrades only as a hungry nightmare, interrupted at long intervals by -bowls of unsatisfying German soup. Those of us who had enough biscuits -to keep from suffering found it an interesting opportunity to see the -Germans behind their lines and the life of the French under German rule. - -The latter were splendid to us. In every town or village through -which we passed, they turned out in crowds to do us honor. Girls -smiled sympathetically and old women cried. Cheering was, of course, -_verboten_. - -In one small village an old French gentleman came out into the street -and raised his tall silk hat to us. Instinctively the boys in the front -of our column responded with a salute, and their example was followed -by each section of fours in its turn, as they marched past. Three or -four German officers came up, cursing and shaking their fists to drive -the old man away, but he remained defiantly bare-headed and motionless -until the last of his country’s allies had filed past. - -The French would gladly have relieved our hunger, too, from their own -slim stores, had it been possible. As it was they smuggled food to us -at every opportunity. The front files often found loaves of bread and -sandwiches on the sidewalks, placed there hurriedly by the French women -on seeing us coming. Bits of food as well as warm caps and sometimes -jackets were thrown down to us from the second story windows. French -girls ran out of their houses to bring us food and drink, in laughing -defiance of cursing _Landsturmers_--and dashed away again. - -It was everywhere evident that, for all our unwashed faces and muddy -and ragged uniforms we were, after all, their friends, and those other -flashy soldiers who swaggered about their streets and into their shops -and homes, were their eternal enemies. - -One of the pictures from that journey which remains clearest in my -memory is that of the second night of captivity, standing before the -Cathedral of Le Quesnoy. The edifice loomed beautiful before us in the -mellow moonlight and reflected a feeling of peace and reverence in us -warriors fresh from the trenches. Three women, dressed in black, came -out of the door just as the front of our column marched into the yard. -They stopped, horror-struck, when they saw us there. Would they quarter -us in the Cathedral? One of them hurried away to find the _curé_. -The other two approached the officer in charge of us and protested -in French. Barking out words of brutal German and pushing the ladies -aside, the officer walked on toward the door. - -The first lady had now returned with the reverend father. Very calmly -he attempted to prevent this desecration, but the only result was to -exhaust the patience of the vandal officer. Finally he seized the -_curé_ by the shoulders and pushed him down the steps. Then, turning to -the prisoners: - -“_Marsch!_” he rasped. - -The _curé_ bowed his head and walked away, followed by the three -weeping ladies and the hordes of prisoners and guards crowded slowly -into the Cathedral. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -_Beggars_ - - -A prisoner of war camp had many characteristics in common with other -communities of human beings. It had its social classes, its great and -its humble citizens, its rich and its poor. In arriving in camp I -was fortunate enough to meet a friend, a Frenchman, with three years -service in captivity and an ample stock of provisions. He “adopted” -me. The fate of my eight hundred comrades, however, was pitiful. -Finding practically nothing in the Help Committee’s stores and being -as yet without help from England, they were forced to subsist on the -German ration which was scarcely enough to keep a man on his feet. The -usual results of hunger set in, and I saw these poor fellows sink into -shabby, hungry, begging wanderers about the camp. - -My friend M---- was one of the most important men in the camp. He was -intimate with all the bureau clerks, _Unteroffiziere_, interpreters, -“good” sentries, and other persons worth knowing. He lived with three -French _sous-officers_ in a comfortably furnished or “fixed up” -_Kleines Zimmer_. They had everything that friends could send them in -parcels, and wanted for nothing but liberty and--happiness. - -I had just finished a good breakfast of bacon and toast and cocoa, -prepared by the Italian “batman” and was standing before the windows -enjoying a cigar with M----. The door was bolted against beggars who -knocked incessantly from early morning till late at night. - -I heard a shuffling outside and a timid tapping on the door; a pause -and another tap; a longer pause, and then a shuffling away. - -“_Un italien_,” observed M----, still gazing out the window. Another -visitor walked up, thumped once on the door, and walked away again, -almost without pausing. - -“_Un anglais._ You can always tell.” - -“Rotten cigars,” he continued, dismissing the subject of the poor -fellows who had gone away from the door, “but you’ll have a chance to -try a real one when Louis comes in. He has a box of Perfectos stuck -away somewhere. What? Still worrying about our unadmitted visitors?” - -I was. I was wondering if that last chap was one of my battalion. How -could M---- take it so coolly? - -“If you stay long in the camps,” he went on sagely, “you’ll learn that -you can’t afford to weep everytime you see a hungry man. We wept for -ourselves in 1914, and afterwards we wept a lot for other chaps, but -when one’s been in the midst of suffering men for three years, one -learns to keep from thinking about it--or else one would go mad. We -give them what we can spare and then try to think of something else.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -_La Glorieuse Armée Britannique_ - - -The scene on which we gazed through the window was a typical one -for a prison camp. The path along the barbed wire formed a sort -of wretched promenade along which the sufficiently nourished took -their constitutionals. A few English sergeants, two bearded French -_ajutants_, and a group of vivacious young Russian _officiers -aspirants_ were pacing monotonously back and forth as one does on board -ship. - -“_Pane![1] Pane, Kamarad!_” - -A few Italians had suddenly appeared from across the corner. I was -astonished at their youth. Two of them were but children with blue eyes -and pretty girlish faces. - -“Fourteen years old, the one with the handkerchief around his neck,” -explained M----. “The other is fifteen. They were claimed to have -been helping the Italian Army and so were brought here along with the -soldiers.” - -“_Pane! Brot!_”[2] they persisted. I chucked them a handful of biscuits. - -“No! No!” remonstrated M----. “You’ll fetch the whole tribe of them.” - -His words were not long in coming true. A few stray Italians had seen -the incident and were already coming for their share. - -“_Pane! Pane! Buono compagno![3] Pane!_” - -A crowd quickly gathered around the window. - -“_Allez! Allez! Macaroni, Garibaldi, Sacramento, allez!_” and he tried -vainly to wave them back. - -“_Pane, pane!_” They were reaching their arms through the windows now. -The Frenchman pushed their arms back and closed the window. - -Presently another rabble appeared, a working party of two or three -hundred starving men, urged on by cursing sentries. Slowly and -listlessly they straggled by, hobbling painfully, most of them in their -wooden “clogs.” (Boots and puttees had long gone for food.) Many of -them were of my battalion and company, but they were so altered that -it took a moment’s study to recognize them. There was the smart young -battalion clerk, a well-paid accountant in civilian life, plodding -along like a broken old man, with a full beard and a shabby costume of -German and Russian cast-off clothes. There was “Smiley,” the company -barber, never known to be out of humor. The smile still lingered on his -pale features, but his jokes were lost on his saddened comrades. All -had the hopeless, dejected look of constantly hungry men. - -We watched the poor fellows until the last of the “rear guard” had -hobbled past. - -“_La glorieuse Armée Britannique!_” observed M----. I looked to see if -he was smiling; but he wasn’t. He meant no sarcasm. - -I will leave the first wretched months of captivity--which I like -neither to remember nor to recall to other erstwhile _Gefangener_--for -that simple, more tolerable life which most of us found on the German -farms. - -It was the night after my first day’s work on a farm, way up in the -village of Kossebade, Grand Duchy of Mecklenburg. I lay nestled in a -soft feather bed, for the first time in many months, thinking over the -events of the past month and summing up the extent of my good luck. - -I had found the people of the household, at first hand, to be -reasonable creatures and I couldn’t grumble at the hardness of the -work. I was particularly astonished at the five meals of substantial -food a day! - -I thought, too, of the men captured with me and how much worse they -must be faring. Three hundred of them, I knew, had gone to Lille to -work behind the German line. I had stood at the camp gate to bid them -goodbye as they marched away, for I knew them almost to a man. Poor -fellows, still without help from England, they hobbled away in their -rags and “clogs,” and tattered uniforms (in the middle of January) -with their three slices of bread _for a two days’ journey_, in one hand. - -But could I believe my ears! They were singing!--for Tommy always sings -when breaking camp--“Here We Are, Here We Are, Here We Are Again,” it -was, and they sang it right lustily. - -I thought less painfully of the comrades which I had left in my last -camp--my room-mates, Fred, Charley and Jack. I wondered if Jack was -still “cleaning up” at pontoon, if Fred was getting his parcels again, -and if Charley was still making those famous “burgoo” puddings. - -At last my thoughts drifted inevitably across the sea and home, and I -dreamt of home afterward. Indeed, the next morning I could not tell -where my thoughts had left off and my dream had begun. - -[Illustration] - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Italian: Bread. - -[2] German: Bread. - -[3] Italian: Good comrade. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -_My First Hardship_ - - -There were two girls on the place, Miga, the farmer’s daughter, and -Erna, the milkmaid. The latter, a big, muscular, typically German -peasant girl, took it upon herself to be my special guardian and tutor -in the art of agriculture, and came to play no less a part in my life -than that of my Woman of Destiny and Chief Tormentor. - -Of course, I had told the _Unteroffizier_[4] that I could farm--for -farming was certainly better than mining or munitions making--but, as -a matter of fact, beyond the items that horses ate hay and cows gave -milk, and a general hazy idea that there was a lot of digging attached -to it, I knew nothing about it. - -So my tutor had plenty to do--and she did it quite thoroughly. Aside -from her formidable physique, she had a tone of command which could but -strike awe in a new and unsophisticated _Gefangener_. - -My greenness she found most uproariously funny, and she gave me every -opportunity to exhibit it. I was put on all of those delightful tasks -which are especially reserved for green-horns, such as chasing the -pigs, leading the cows to the village bull, putting the halter on an -uncatchable colt in the pasture, or lifting a board which was nailed -down. - -But I made display of enough of my ignorance without these special -inducements. One day I think I made a blunder of quite everything -which was given me to do. Besides such minor offences as putting the -wrong harness on the horse and tying the cows in the wrong stalls, I -spilled a sack of oats, broke a window-pane in the barn and buried a -young turkey beneath a fork-full of manure--all in one day! At first -Erna scolded sharply, but finding me quite hopeless, she seemed finally -to give me up and simply trust to luck that I would leave the house -standing and some of the stock alive at the end of this “perfect day.” -She did, however, regard me with such a horribly disgusted look that, -had I not been so “fed up” and disgusted myself, I would have had grave -misgivings for my future. - -At all events I was convinced that after the failure I had made of the -day’s work, they would not call me in for supper that evening. Indeed, -I would fain have gone to rest without that unearned repast. It didn’t -matter what I did or what they said, I told myself, they were only -Germans, and I wasn’t hungry anyhow. With this intent I was walking -shamefacedly through the kitchen to my cell when Erna swept in. - -“Where are you going?” she demanded, seizing me by the collar. -“Supper!” she roared, as she pulled me into the dining room. - -The family had already eaten, so I was left to eat with my tormentor. -The table was spread for the first time with a white table-cloth, for -they had evidently had guests. She sat down directly opposite me, and -only once was the silence broken. - -“Don’t soil the table-cloth,” she commanded, pointing threateningly -with her fork. - -It stirred my blood a bit to think of this creature lecturing me on -table-manners. - -“I’ve eaten off more white table-cloths than you,” I retorted bravely, -fumbling at my fork in defence. - -She took this sally with contemptuous silence, which continued, with -dark and threatening glances until we finished supper. She finished -first. There was a dreadful pause, then she got up and sat down beside -me! - -I watched her with suspicious alarm. I moved a few inches along the -bench and fumbled again at my fork. Then it came--all of a sudden. She -threw her arms around me and kissed me! - -“You poor little English fool!” she said. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[4] German non-commissioned officer. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -_The Day of Rest_ - - -Sunday came and I was overjoyed to learn that it was observed even in -Germany. I was feeding the cows when they told me the good news. I -finished feeding them with enough haste to give them three kinds of -indigestion and ran over to the next farm to see my mate, Albert, who -had come to the village along with me. I located him by the strains of -“Carry Me Back to Dear Old Blighty!” played on a mouth harmonica, and -coming from the little room adjoining the cow stall. We greeted each -other as though we had been separated for years. - -“Well, old boy, what do you think of it?” I asked. - -“All right, but blooming lonesome. Say, what would you have said to a -bloke in ’14 if he had told you you’d be a farmer’s boy in Mecklenburg, -Germany, today?” - -“I’d have said he was mad,” I said laughing. “But I expect we are -lucky. It’s better than digging trenches or making munitions for Fritz. -Say, how’s your grub? I can’t go their black bread, can you?” - -“No, it’s like eating straw, but they say we’ll get used to it. Did you -notice them eating jam on the meat and prunes with the spuds?” - -“Yes. Mad beggars, aren’t they?” - -I thought of the two cigarettes which I had saved for us to smoke -together and pulled them out. He grabbed one of them like a drowning -man grabs a life-preserver, and lit it. - -“Here’s a cigar for you,” he said. “Cut it up and smoke it in your -pipe. I can’t go them. The boss gave it to me last night. He is the -mayor of the village, you know, sort of a toff. Came in the stall, -queer like, and says, ‘_Krieg_’--that means _war_, don’t it?--‘_Krieg, -nicht gut_, Albert,’ and he gives me this. ‘_Rauchen_,’[5] he says. I -think he must have been drunk.” - -[Illustration: _Group of English Prisoners Working on the Farms of -Kossebade. The Author has a Pipe in his Mouth, and Albert, Mentioned in -Chapter VI, Stands at his Right_] - -I told him about my own adventures, and we laughed together. He had -fared somewhat similarly, but he was a trained farmer and he got along -more smoothly with the work. - -“I wonder what the boys in the bat would say if they could see me -wringing out shirts with Gretchen!” he said laughing. - -“Or me sawing wood with Erna!” I added. - -“Al-l-bert! Al-l-bert!” came a voice from the house. - -“Well, that’s breakfast,” said Albert. “I’ll be going in. Isn’t it a -game, eh?” - -“Aye,” I agreed, “Ain’t it a game! So long!” - -“So long. See you after!” - -After breakfast we went out for a walk and visited the other prisoners -in the village, especially the three other Englishmen, and the two old -Frenchmen who had been in the village since ’14. The five Serbians -formed a little group of their own and the Russians, some thirty-five -in number, formed another. The latter had one Sunday pastime, -_Einundzwanzig_. Month in and month out, some of them for two, three -and four years, they followed this monotonous existence--six days of -work and one of cards. - -From that day until the armistice, we seven Englishmen and French were -fast friends, and every Sunday found us together. In the tavern, by the -village pond, or seated on the manger in some cow stall, we talked and -laughed and sang and longed for the Day of Deliverance to come. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[5] Smoke. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -_The Conquest of Erna_ - - -As time went on I grew more adept as a farmer and bolder as my -increased efficiency justified. Even Erna ceased to terrorize me. -The latter relief dated from one morning in the cow stall when she -exasperated me beyond all patience by her sneering denunciation of the -“English swine.” I answered her as neatly as I could, but my broken -German only seemed to her the funnier, the more excited I became. It -reached a climax when she punctuated her argument by poking me in the -face with the broom. I struck out blindly and hit her somewhere, for -she fell screaming to the floor. I noted with satisfaction that I had -given her a respectable clout on the nose. The skin was all broken, and -presently it began to bleed. The blood frightened her into silence, -and from the terrified way in which she stared at me, I believe she -thought she was murdered. Indeed, I had some tremors myself, and we -were mutually pleased when she showed strength enough to get up on her -feet. She walked feebly through the barn to the backyard to let her -nose bleed. - -I sprinkled some sand over the blood on the floor in the meantime, and -presently the little boy who worked on the place came in. - -“I think you’ve killed her,” he observed solemnly, regarding me as one -would a murderer waiting for execution. “She’s bled about a liter! -They’ll hang you!” - -Not particularly reassured by this cheering prediction, I paced back -and forth in the stall, meditating on the consequences of the deed. If -I must go to the gallows, I resolved to do it like a Sydney Carton or -a Nathan Hale. I was trying to think of the German for “I regret only -that I have but one life to give for my country,” when I heard the -familiar yell: - -“_Frühstück-k-k!_” That was breakfast. I went in, but no Erna appeared. -I didn’t see her all day long. Heavens! I thought, she hasn’t vanished -altogether? - -At last, at the supper table, I was put at ease. There, behind a huge -plaster, I saw the face of my old tormentor again, tearful and subdued; -but, thank God, alive! - -They did nothing to me for mashing Erna’s nose. I explained it to -the sentry with a self-defence touch, and, _as he did not like Erna -himself_, he let me off with a reprimand and the usual admonition: - -“Don’t forget that you’re a _Gefangener_!” - -I learned from this affair that, aside from the protection which a -passing knowledge of German gave me, one could take a great many -liberties with these simple country people, if one only made a bold -face of it. On the other hand, the more one submitted to, the more one -had to endure. I knew an Italian who had to work almost every Sunday, -simply because he consented to work the first Sunday. I also knew of -several Russians who were imprisoned in pig-stalls and others who were -kicked and cuffed and slashed with knives by the same sentries who -guarded us and for smaller offenses than we were constantly committing, -but--until my attempted escape--none of the Englishmen there were -touched. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -_For the Name of Old England_ - - -The one great pastime of the Mecklenburg peasants was arguing about the -war with the prisoners. For us, it was impossible to avoid it. We were -placed there for the amusement of the natives as well as for toil, and -neither the utter ignorance of the subject on the part of the German -nor the ignorance of the native tongue on the part of the prisoner -furnished any immunity. - -“_England, nicht gut!_” or “_England kaput!_”[6] was the usual -challenge. - -New prisoners often found their rebuttal limited to a simple, but -vigorous, “Nay, nay, nay!”[7] - -Older prisoners with a greater flow of language would gallantly defend -the name of old England in a tirade similar to the following: - -“_Deutschland kaput! England nicht kaput! England besser! Ja! Ja! -Englische Soldaten kommen immer fester! Passe mal auf. Immer fester!_” - -At first I tried serious argument, but this fell on barren ground. -They knew no facts and believed none which I asserted. For my part, -they thought it absurd that I should pretend to know anything about -the subject which they did not know,--a _Gefangener_ being a sort of -benighted heathen. - -I sounded their ignorance, however, rather pointedly one evening. We -were seated at the supper-table and I found myself hotly assailed not -only by the five members of the household but a visiting aunt and uncle -as well. - -“Germany is bigger than all the Allies put together,” announced Auntie. -“I don’t see what you all keep fighting for!” - -“What _is_ the population of Germany?” I repeated. - -They did not quite hear me. - -“What _is_ the population of Germany?” I repeated. - -I was looking at Auntie, but she was looking at somebody else and they -were all looking about as though they had lost something. Then someone -called on _Mutter_[8] to save the situation. - -“Yes, _Mutter_ knows!” they said. - -_Mutter_ suddenly decided to go into the kitchen for some more -potatoes, but she was trapped by Erna. - -“Tell him, _Mutter_,” she urged. - -_Mutter_ paused a moment and then: - -“Joachim can tell you all right when he comes on leave!” she exclaimed -triumphantly as she went out of the door. - -The Central Powers were winning again. - -“Yes, and we’ve lots more hand grenades and things than you all!” -gloated Auntie. - -“How many hand grenades?” I asked again statistically. - -“Oh, hundreds of them!” she replied. - -“Just how many soldiers have the Germans got?” I inquired a few minutes -later. - -It was Erna who volunteered to reply. - -“I know exactly. My brother told me and he’s an _Unteroffizier_! We’ve -six thousand and the English only three thousand! Twice as many! Why, -he saw two hundred soldiers in one town!” - -This quite put the cap on it. It put an end, anyway, to any serious -discussion of the matter on my part. But talk I must, and not wishing -to see the name of England writhing in the dust, I tried to adopt -myself to the peasant style of argument. About a month thereafter you -might have found me entertaining my German companions in the fields in -this wise: - -“Ha, Ha! We laugh at the Germans in London! We spit on them--the -monkeys! You’re fine _Kerls_--you black bread eaters, you cherry-leaf -smokers, you wooden-shoed pigs! Wouldn’t you look fine on the Paris -boulevard _in those_? _Was?_ _Ach_, we spit on the Germans! _Passe mal -auf_, _die Engländer_ are coming, and they shoot--So--and the Germans -will run--So--_Ja_, you’re _schön dumm_, you are!” - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[6] Beaten. - -[7] Mecklenburgish, _Ne_; German, _Nein_; English, No. - -[8] Mother. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -_The Russian Peace_ - - -“Oh, Ben, have you seen the papers?” asked Erna one day as I came in -for _Kaffeetrinken_. “Peace has been declared!--Peace!” - -“_Was?_” I asked, dumbfounded. - -“Peace! Peace has been declared! The Russians have made peace!” - -“Oh!” I sighed, my hopes dashed to the ground. “I’ve heard that before.” - -“_Ja_, but it is true,” corroborated _Mutter_. “It’s real peace! It’s -the beginning of the end. It’ll all be settled now in a few weeks! -Hostilities on the Eastern Front have ceased. There it is in the paper.” - -She handed me the _Rostocker Anzeiger_ and they watched me while I read -the story of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. They expected me to dance -with glee at the joyous news and were keenly disappointed when I failed -to share their elation. - -“Aren’t you glad?” asked _Mutter_, “It’s peace! Peace!” - -“No,” I said. “It’s war, worse war and more of it!” - -I read the paper with no little interest for the next few days, glowing -and optimistic and especially conciliatory toward the vanquished -Russians. The Russians were naturally clever and amiable people, who -had simply been the unfortunate dupes of wicked England. The hand of -friendship was again to be extended to the Slavonic brethren, and -all animosities inspired by the war were to be forgotten. Indeed, it -severely pained the tender heart of the Germans that they had been -compelled to kill so many Russians, and they fervently prayed that no -misunderstanding would ever again arise between the great German and -Russian races. - -No reference was made to the treatment of the Russian prisoners, -for--there it stood in the treaty--they were to be “repatriated with -all possible speed!” - -The helpless Russian _Gefangener_, however, already the most brutally -treated of the prisoners, were from that day reduced to a more abject -and wretched slavery than ever before. Cut off from all outside help -and with no government at home capable of protesting, they were -absolutely at the mercy of their German masters. They were overworked -and whipped or slashed or imprisoned whenever it pleased any particular -German to do so. In the camps and on the big working _Komandos_, they -begged, thieved, waited on the other prisoners for their food, or -else--starved. - -The repatriation clause keenly interested the Russians in Kossebade. -The evening after the news came they gathered in joyous groups in the -village square and sang songs and congratulated one another. - -A German farmer saw me watching them. - -“Don’t you wish England had made peace,” he asked, “so _you_ could go -home, too!” - -For weeks afterward the Russians talked confidently of going home. -“When are you going home?” was the usual greeting when we met one of -them. - -“Don’t know, but soon!” was the reply. - -Some months later I met my old neighbor, Ivan, now nearly four years in -captivity. We were ploughing two adjoining fields. - -“When are you going home, Ivan?” I asked jocularly. It was the first -time that I had referred to it for a long time. - -“I don’t know,” he answered smiling sadly, “I think mine is a life -sentence!” - -When at last the armistice was signed and the French and Belgians and -all the rest of us were leaving, poor old Ivan was still there, and so -were his thirty-four comrades--still going wearily through the routine -of toil for their German masters, and playing _Einundzwanzig_ on -Sundays! The day of departure had passed into that realm of sweet, but -distant hope to which the Millennium belongs. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -_German Lovers_ - - -I was cleaning up in the stable one day when Miga rushed in with a -telegram in her hand. - -“Ben, Ben!” she exclaimed, quaking with excitement. “Karl is coming -today!” - -Who Karl was or what the matter had to do with me I couldn’t imagine. -“Where is Warner?” she asked. - -I told her, and she rushed out to find him. Evidently it was something -which everybody had to know. I was interested. I rather liked Miga. She -had travelled a bit, and I put her down easily the most intelligent -member of the household. But who was Karl? - -I soon had an opportunity of learning, for the boy August came in. - -“Don’t you know,” he said winking. “That’s her beau!” - -In due course Karl arrived, a smart young sergeant from a Dragoon -regiment. He spent two days with us and though he was almost constantly -with Miga, he frequently found time to joke with me about the mud on -the Somme, soldiers’ fondness for beer, the capitalist bandits, et -cetera; giving me a cigarette on each occasion. Like most soldiers from -the front, he had less of the air of superiority toward prisoners of -war than the civilians. He regarded the war as simply a rotten business -for all parties concerned and avoided talking seriously on any topic. - -For Miga it was a happy two days. The night before his departure, he -went out to say goodbye to some friends, and she broke into tears. - -“Silly, ain’t it?” observed Erna to me grinning, as Miga went weeping -to her bedroom. - -Miga drove with him to the station the next morning and we all turned -out to see them off. - -“Give my regards to my brother,” I said, “if you meet him on the -Somme.” - -“_Ja wohl!_” he answered laughing, “I’ll fetch him over to keep you -company.” - -He shook hands with everybody else and exchanged salutes with me. We -watched them drive away, and _Mutter_ stood silently at the gate long -after the trap had vanished in the distance. - -I saw no more of Miga after she returned until the next afternoon--she -was confined to her bed with lovesickness. It was _Kaffeetrinken_ time -when she appeared again at the table. Her eyes were red and her cheeks -were swollen. She ate in silence until the rest had left the table, and -then waited to speak to me. - -“What makes you men fight?” she asked slowly, gazing out of the window. -“Isn’t it horrible!” - -“_Ja_,” I agreed, “Horrible beyond all words.” - -“He might be killed! How cruel the _Engländer_ must be to kill such -boys as Karl. Don’t you think it is cruel--cruel--cruel?” - -“War is cruel,” I conceded. It was useless to start an argument. “But -he’s been through three years of it all right, so why are you worrying -now? Besides, the war is bound to end soon,” I added hopefully. - -“Why didn’t _you_ go and let him stay with me?” she demanded, clutching -at a childish idea. “You always say that you would rather be back there -fighting than here. What horrible mistakes the _lieber Gott_ makes! Why -don’t you go and fight in his stead and send him back to me?” - -“I should hardly care to fight in his _stead_, Fraulein,” I said. I -could not give her any comfort so I arose and went out, leaving her -staring blankly out of the window. - -She took me somewhat into her confidence after that, and often read me -letters from Karl. The first letter found him at a reinforcement camp -near Bruges. - -“Pray God he stops there,” she said. - -But he didn’t; for the end of March found him writing letters like -this: “We have crossed the Marne! Peace and victory are in sight. We go -forward with God!” - -“Isn’t it noble!” Miga said. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -_Free for Three Days_ - - -At last one summer’s evening they gathered around the supper table and -Ben failed to appear. I would give worlds to have seen the expressions -on their faces then, and on the sentry’s later when he came and found -no _Engländer_ there to lock up. I had come to seem too permanent -there! I was as much an institution on the place as the dog, Telo, or -the broken pump. - -While they were making these rude discoveries I lay crouched on a bed -of moss in a secluded dell in one of the grand duke’s forests smoking -my pipe and speculating as to whether another fortnight would find -me in Denmark or in a German jail. I had just finished a good supper -of bread, “bully,” condensed milk, and dates from my box of English -provisions and was resting a moment before going on. - -My linen collar wilted with perspiration and I threw it away, having -plenty more in my bag to put on in the morning. I had spent most of the -afternoon in putting together my civilian attire, for I had to escape -from the village in my prisoner’s garb. I carried patches of black -cloth in my pockets, accurately cut out to fit the prisoner’s stripes -on my cap and trousers. These I sewed on in the midst of a rye field -immediately I got clear of the village. My coat, I had found, would -not admit of alteration, so I had contrived to get another. I walked -into the little room adjoining the barn, belonging to Warner, the old -care-taker, and selecting the best of the coats hanging there, a gay -cream-colored creation, I put it on under my black one. Then I put two -suits of my new English underwear in a parcel under his bed, for I -did not care to steal from Warner. He had seen me thrash a German boy -without reporting it and had befriended me on various occasions. On top -of the parcel I scribbled a note: - - “DEAR WARNER: - - “This underwear is in exchange for your coat which I must take with - me. _Danke schön. Auf Wiedersehen!_ - - BEN.” - - -I spent most of the time tramping, stopping when tired or when the -view pleased me, for a rest, and sleeping in the middle of the day. -I passed through numerous villages and towns whose names I usually -learned from the mile-posts along the road. These were about ten feet -high and at night I had to climb up them and hold my eyes close to the -board to read the inscription. It was the first time I had spent the -night outside of my cell for many months and I enjoyed the sight of the -moon and the stars again. The long North German twilight was glorious, -too, and I often lay on some hillside above the fields and meadows and -villages, and watched it while I rested. - -I was seldom accosted. I nearly ran into an old gentleman in a forest -on one occasion, however. He was a thin, academic-looking old chap, -wearing glasses and a frock coat, and carrying a cane. What brought -him to the forest at that unseemly hour I have never been able to -imagine. It was just after midnight and the darkness was so dense that -we could neither of us see the other until we were within a few inches -proximity, and the mossy earth so effectually concealed the sound of -our footsteps that we narrowly averted a collision. - -“_Donnerwetter!_”[9] he screamed in a squeaky voice, throwing up his -hands and dropping his cane. - -I was startled too, but finding him quite harmless, I bade him: “_Guten -Abend!_”[10] and, laughing, walked on. - -Everywhere through this farming country I saw prisoners of war at work, -often more numerous than the German laborers. Like faithful slaves in -the small farmyards or like gangs of convicts on the big estates, they -carried on constantly the work of the absent German men and tilled -Germany’s soil. With dull and hardened faces and uniforms stained and -patched until Cossack was scarcely distinguishable from _chasseur_, -they drudged wearily on. - -I was arrested by an animated scene on the rye fields of a big estate. -About thirty English, French, and Russian prisoners with a sprinkling -of Polish girls were harvesting and threshing the rye. The sun was -scorching hot, and their faces were black with dust and perspiration -as they bent over the big, relentless machine. The sole German on the -scene, a fat sentry, was sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree, -sipping a glass of beer! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[9] Exclamation about equal to “Good Heavens!” - -[10] Good evening. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -_I Encounter a Don Quixote and Fall a Victim to His Prowess_ - - -The success which I seemed to have with my civilian disguise gradually -led me to assume a bolder attitude. I began to stroll nonchalantly -along the main roads and even entered public houses and tobacco shops, -buying cigars and bottles of beer to drink with my meals. It was this -boldness which later caused my downfall. - -It was the afternoon of the third day and I was resting beside that -fateful thoroughfare which runs from the village of Alt Pokrent to the -town of Gadebusch, when one of those dazzling creatures which belonged -to the mounted German _Landpolizei_ rode up. I had passed two of them -during the day without attracting any special attention, so I hoped to -be able to ignore this one and coolly lit a cigar. - -I was looking the other way, but I heard tremulously as he drew up his -horse. I thought of flight, but a high bank stared me in the face. I -glanced timidly around. He was curling his mustache and gazing at my -feet. - -“_Guten Abend_,” he began politely. - -I wished him a “_Guten Abend_.” - -Privately I wished him many other things. - -“Are you--er--a traveller?” he began slowly. - -“_Nein_, I am only going as far as Gadebusch.” - -“Where is your home?” - -“In Alt Pokrent,” I answered promptly. - -Then he fired questions at me with bewildering rapidity. - -“Work there?” - -“_Ja._” - -“On the estate?” - -“_Ja._” - -“Since when?” - -“Seven months ago.” - -“Cutting house or horses?” - -“Horses.” - -“Who owns the estate?” - -I paused a moment and then thought of a Kossebade name. - -“Herr Gottschalk.” - -“Who’s the inspector?” - -“Herr Warner.” - -Then dramatically--“_Where did you get those boots?_” - -I looked sheepishly at my tell-tale English boots--better than any to -be had in Germany. - -“I bought them from----” - -“_Ja, ja!_” he broke in. “We know all about that. They’re English boots -and the English don’t give boots to Germans. You told me a _schön_ -tale! I know every man, woman and child in Alt Pokrent. You’re a Pole -or else an escaped Russian. Stand up! Stop smoking and take off your -coat!” - -I obeyed and gave him Warner’s cream-colored coat. Not in the pocket -but in the lining, he found my wallet with a collection of keepsakes, -including a photo of a French _poilu_, a small American flag, and my -English Certificate of Attestation. He was quite puzzled. - -“I don’t know,” he soliloquized, curling his mustache again. “You’re -something on the wrong side of the war. I am going to hold you for an -escaped prisoner. It will be better for you to tell me the truth.” - -Convinced of his determination, I told him my story, and he took it -down in a little note-book. - -“I don’t blame you, _Junger_,” he said. “I know what it is to be -homesick, but why don’t you English come to your senses and stop -fighting us?” - -It is my firm belief that the natives of Gadebusch had proclaimed a -holiday in honor of my capture, for they were all standing out on the -sidewalks when we entered, my humble self trudging along in front with -my box of provisions and this gallant knight errant following, mounted -on his black charger and armed to the teeth. Sword, spurs, revolvers, -harness, and mustache were all polished to the highest degree. Indeed -he reminded me of a sort of Don Quixote as he glared fiercely from side -to side and replied majestically to the queries of the multitude in -regard to my nationality with: “_Engländer!_” - -In short, his pose suggested that unanswerable question: “Why should -Germany tremble?” - -I quite enjoyed the fun and grinned and stared brazenly back at the -Gadebuschers. My _gendarme_ was apparently bent on giving them all a -good look at me, for he marched me up one street and down another until -we had pretty well covered the town. - -We ended up at the town jail; a charming old structure, overlooking -from the ground-floor, a pig-pen, and from the upper stories, the -ramshackle roofs of sundry adjacent houses. The landlord thoughtfully -relieved me of my burden of provisions as I entered and assigned me to -a cell on the second floor. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -_My Entertainment at Gadebusch_ - - -I hope I make an unchallenged assertion when I say that it was my first -visit inside a civilian jail. It was, at all events, an experience -which I do not wish to repeat. At first I worried through a few hours -examining the pictures and names carved on the walls. This exciting -pastime exhausted, I divided the remaining time between singing and -reading the old German Bible, which I found on the shelf, beginning -with first chapter of Genesis. My singing, too, was restricted to a -_sotto voce_ the second day when a voice from outside the door shouted: - -“_Nicht singen! Nicht singen! Das geht nicht!_” But I think this -prohibition was due less to the rules and traditions of the institution -than to the peculiar quality of my singing. - -Three times a day the old warden came in with a hunk of my bread, a -slice of my bacon, and a cup of German coffee. It was a concession, -he explained. I should have gotten only the coffee, but he had a son -who had formerly worked in England! It was lavish fare for this prison -at any rate, for several times every day one of the other prisoners -appeared at the little peep-hole in my door and begged: - -“_Brot, Brot, Kamarad!_ Just a little crumb of _Brot_!” - -I was not a little curious to learn what manner of men my comrades -in misery were. I was accordingly pleased the second night when I -gained an opportunity of improving our acquaintance. I was slumbering -peacefully on my downy couch when I felt myself being roughly shaken, -and a voice: - -“_Engländer! Engländer!_” - -It was my kind old warden. - -“_Kom darunter--Blitzen!_”[11] - -I obeyed him, wondering, slipping on my trousers and going downstairs. -I found my fellow prisoners to be two emaciated, but still professional -looking gentlemen of the underworld. The hall clock was striking two. -Having gone through the usual social amenities, I sought to learn what -object our gaoler had, beyond a general get-together meeting of the -inmates, in disturbing our repose at this unwonted hour. - -“_Ach_,” explained one of them, who was hunchbacked, “That’s on account -of the lightning!” - -We listened a few minutes until we heard a rumble of thunder. - -“_Da!_” he exclaimed, “you see it might strike the jail, and if we were -all up in the cells we would die like rats!” - -It struck me as a novel, but, I agreed, doubtless quite a wise -precaution. - -I learned further that we three were all the prisoners. The -twenty-seven empty cells were a testimonial to the shattering effect of -the war on “business.” My companions were serving a sentence of eight -months for a robbery committed in the town. - -“We don’t any of us belong to Mecklenburg,” observed the hunchback -pleasantly. “You see, my mate’s an Austrian, I’m an East Prussian, and -you’re an _Engländer_, so we’re sort of _Kamaraden_, aren’t we?” - -“How jolly!” I thought. - -A pause ensued, allowing us to hear the whistle of a locomotive and the -distant rumbling of a train coming around the bend--which bend I will -not say, for the sake of neutrality. - -“_Da_,” murmured the hunchback pointing toward the door, “There comes -the old choo-choo!” - -“There?” objected the Austrian aghast. He pointed toward the clock. -“That’s the way the train comes in. You’re forgetting yourself.” - -“_Was?_” exclaimed the hunchback on the defensive. “I know where the -track lies--I came in that way. It’s just over there,” pointing again -at the door, “back of the pond.” - -“Are you mad, _Mench_?”[12] retorted the Austrian, pointing again at -the clock, “Didn’t you just hear it come in _that_ way?” - -Then followed one of the hottest little debates which I have ever -heard. Both men grew into a frenzy, and only the ties of long -friendship--constantly emphasized by the hunchback--prevented a resort -to physical force. When the old warden came in half an hour later to -tell us that danger was past, he found them stretched out together, -haggling over a map of Gadebusch, drawn with string and bits of paper -on the floor, a match stick representing the train. When I finally went -up to my cell, I could still hear the disgusted voice of the hunchback: - -“_Aber_,[13] they don’t run locomotives over rye fields, _mein -Lieber_!”[14] - -It was about noon of the fifth day and I was finishing the Book of -Isaiah, when the guard came to take me away. My warden did not forget -to exact a fee of six marks--being the amount of my hotel bill for the -five days, at a mark a day, according to Gadebusch reckoning. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[11] Come down--lightning. - -[12] Man. - -[13] But. - -[14] My dear fellow. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -_Kultur in a Train_ - - -My new custodian was a fat, easy-going German, whom I found possessed -some of the most radical of revolutionary ideas, but like a vast number -of his comrades, too apathetic to trouble about carrying them out. We -passed a little display of wealth in the form of a smartly dressed -gentleman, lady, child and poodle dog, strolling down the street. - -“They’re the bandits!” said my guard, nudging me. “They eat the butter -and eggs. We have to fight on dry bread and potatoes!” - -It was through him, too, that I first learned of Marshal Foch’s great -offensive, though it was too young as yet to bring to us prisoners the -Great Hope. We were seated in the corner of a _Gastwirtschaft_ talking -over glasses of wine (for which he paid). The gramophone was playing: -“_Puppchen, du bist mein Augenschatz_,” or the German “Tipperary.” He -leaned over as if about to divulge a great secret. - -“_Deutschland ist kaput!_”[15] - -“_Was?_” I asked, astonished at the admission, for the German -newspapers had never been more optimistic than during the last month. - -“_Deutschland ist kaput--kaput_,” he repeated, “absolutely _tot_![16] -The soldiers will turn against the bandits soon, for they are -starving! The food is finished--absolutely finished. We have -_nichts--nichts--nichts_!”[17] and he put his thumbs together and -jerked them quickly apart as though breaking a string. - -“_Ja_,” I agreed, “but the offensive?” for the papers were still -gloating over the March success. - -“The offensive?” he went on, “_Ach_, the offensive is doing splendidly! -They’ve captured fifty thousand prisoners! They’re going _immer fester -d’rauf_!” and he beat himself on the chest in illustration. “_Ach, -Lieber_, it’ll soon be over now!” - -“I thought you’d captured one hundred and twenty thousand prisoners,” I -protested, puzzled. - -“_Ach_,” exclaimed the guard, “This isn’t _us_, it’s the _French_!” - -We had three hours to wait for our train, so he took me for a stroll -around Gadebusch. We visited two ladies who had sons in English and -French imprisonment. Both of them talked kindly to me and said that -their sons wrote pleasing accounts of their treatment at the hands -of the enemy. Later he took me to see another English prisoner in a -private home. It was a joy to meet him and speak the language again, -exchanging the stories of our varied adventures. He was “all right” -there, enjoying the privileges of a favored slave in the home, valued -by his master and loved by the children, for whom his broken German was -a source of never-ending amusement. - -“Well, what are you going to do with him?” asked his master jocularly -of my guard. - -“Don’t you want another _Engländer_, Annie?” he asked, turning to the -oldest girl. - -“_Ja, Ja!_” shouted both the children at once. - -Finding me agreeable, the old man and the guard immediately framed a -letter to the _Komandatur_ asking for my return to Gadebusch, when my -punishment was over. - -We took a third class passage back to the camp at Parchim. It was one -of those long carriages with seats along the sides like a tram. A large -crowd boarded the train at Gadebusch, but we got in among the first -and managed to get seats. When the guard announced my nationality, I -promptly became the cynosure of neighboring eyes and the object of -innumerable questions, which he obligingly answered. - -At the next station we received another influx of passengers, including -a number of females, the scarcity of the seats and the preoccupation -of the gentlemen occupying them forcing the latter to stand. This gave -me the opportunity for a cheap triumph, lessened somewhat by the fact -that there was no one beside myself to enjoy it. - -I arose gallantly and grasped a strap. - -“In England,” I said loud enough to be heard throughout the carriage, -“the men are glad enough to _stand_ when there are _ladies_ without -seats!” - -I was the cynosure of piercing glares, but after an awkward pause, the -men of the “superior” race began one by one to follow my example. - -I grinned inwardly, but my outward mien preserved the due humility of a -_Kriegsgefangener_, and my eyes rested on the distant fields. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[15] Germany is beaten. - -[16] Dead. - -[17] Nothing. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -_“Mad Alek” and “Good Paul”_ - - -In the future annals of the war, one Acting Sergeant Major, Alexander -Schröder, chief of _III Kompanie_, Parchim _Gefangenenlager_, better -known to the Englishmen as “Mad Alek,” deserves a large but ignominious -chapter. His ludicrous air of blood-curdling bravado and his childish -efforts to play the role of the Chocolate Soldier make him as laughable -as his brutish cruelties made him an object of dread and hate to the -thousands of prisoners who passed through his hands. - -We runaways, nine in number, were lined up in the _Büro_ to give up -our valuables before entering the Arrest Barracks, when this creature -swaggered in. He cut a dashing figure with the air of a champion in -feats of arms--_gained from combats with helpless prisoners_--and a -pair of polished spurs, a clanking sword and a fiercely up-turned -mustache completed the picture. Every prisoner and German sprang to -attention. - -“What are these?” he demanded, pointing at us. - -“Runaways, sir?” ventured someone timidly. - -“_Was? Was?_ Runaways?” Then began a thrilling oration, illustrated -with the drawn sword, on the wretchedness and depravity of us all and -of all the foul races from whence we sprang. - -“This man,” said the _Unteroffizier_ humbly, pointing at a Russian, -“has a complaint to make.” - -With a trembling hand the Russian presented a letter signed by a German -lady. She testified to the brutal treatment which the prisoner had -suffered at the hands of his master, driving him to desperation and -flight. - -“He _beat_ you, did he?” sneered “Mad Alek,” aroused to fury again. -“I wouldn’t have beaten you--not me! I wouldn’t have _beaten_ you. I -would have _killed_ you!” and he went through the movement with his -sword--“for the surly swine you are!” - -The right to demand a writ of Habeas Corpus was never observed in a -German prison camp. Offenders were thrown into the arrest barrack and -began the _Hungerstraf_ immediately a complaint was lodged and trial -awaited the casual convenience of the officer of justice. - -The _Hungerstraf_ I found to consist of confinement to a bedless and -fireless barrack on a diet of pure and undiluted water. There were no -other Englishmen there at the time, but I met a Belgian who kept me -agreeable company. He had been four days at large, sleeping, as he -said, in the hay-stacks, and making for Warnemünde where he had hoped -to board a Danish ship. He was a ’14 prisoner and had attempted escape -many times before. He seemed but a youth with the smooth face of a -girl, but he knew all the tortures of German captivity at its worst. - -“I only want to get back and fight again,” he said bitterly. “I shall -run away again and again until I succeed, or die--or peace is declared!” - -I was not long, however, in discovering some English neighbors. They -were in the Work Barrack, which adjoined ours, and to which we would be -conducted after forty-eight hours of fasting. - -I was lying down composing the tentative menu for One Grand Feast when -I should be restored to freedom (as all men do when they are suffering -from hunger), when I heard a cheery voice: - -“Any _Engländer_ there?” - -“Any _Engländer_ there?” it came again. - -“Yes, mate,” I shouted, and followed the voice to a knot-hole in the -wall, “K. R. R.” - -“I’m Australian. How’re you getting on? Say, turn your stove around, -lad, and put your arm up to the chimney. I’ve some soup for you!” - -I made haste to do as I was told. - -“That’s right, Jack, right around. Now, get this!” - -One chimney served for the stoves in both rooms, and by turning his own -stove around, he was able to get his arm through and pass me a “bully” -tin full of soup. It was rotten stuff, and mixed with soot from the -chimney but at the moment, it was better than the food of the gods. - -“Good Old Auzzie!” I said fervently. - -The next day I was carried before the officer of justice for trial. -Finding that I spoke German he dismissed the interpreter and as usual -in the case of prisoners with an appearance of education, gave me a -painstaking hearing. He wished not only to know the details of my -flight, but what college I had attended, what studies I had pursued, -and my general life story. - -“You have broken German martial law,” he said gravely, in conclusion, -“and must be punished, but I shall make it light. I give you seven -days’ arrest.” - -“But what about the seven I have already done?” I broke in. - -“Ach, that wasn’t punishment,” he explained, “that was _hospitality_! -We couldn’t leave you in the street, you know. Seven days arrest,” he -continued, “subject to reduction to two on report of good conduct. You -will be sent back to the farm, and if you repeat this nonsense, I shall -deal severely with you. On the other hand, you may be assured of good -treatment until the end of the war--if you _do your duty_!” - -“My duty!” I exclaimed. “My _duty_, _Herr Leutnant_, would be to poison -all the horses and set fire to the barns.” - -He dismissed me laughing. - -“_Das ist ja Krieg!_”[18] was his only comment. - -The proposed return to Gadebusch had evidently fallen through. I -completed the _Hungerstraf_ and afterward spent a few extra days in the -work barrack before the guard came to take me back to the farm. The -ration in the work barrack differed from that in the _Hungerstraf_ in -that they mixed a few carrots and potatoes with the water and called it -soup. At all events it was calculated to give us the stamina necessary -for work. - -We were marching out to work one afternoon when I was astonished to -see one of the Frenchmen in the party run up to the guard and embrace -him affectionately. - -“_C’est toi, Paul!_”[19] - -“_François! Mon vieux!_”[20] - -But I recognized the guard and my astonishment was removed. It -was indeed Paul. “Good Paul,” as the Russians called him, a -French-Alsatian, as well known to the habitues of the detention -barracks as “Mad Alek” and as cordially loved as the latter was hated. -He had contrived to stay in the prison camp since the outbreak of the -war with the one object of smoothing the jagged edges of captivity for -Allied prisoners. Neither daily abuses from his German comrades nor the -constant risk of punishment for himself had deterred him. Many a man -will remember him gratefully for a timely rescue from wretched, gnawing -hunger, many a man owes his escape from a Komando, which would have -been equivalent to a death sentence to him, and the despondent hearts -which have been warmed by a friendly word and a handshake from Paul -would be difficult to estimate. - -We had the job of loading peat on the trucks behind the camp. After -loading one truck, Paul, having explored the scene for official eyes in -the meantime, put François on sentry. - -“You look out for _Unterofficieren_,” he directed, and turning to -the rest of us, “Sit down on the peat baskets,” he said. “Here are -cigarettes for some of you. And don’t any one work until I tell you!” - -“Is there anyone here,” he asked presently, knowing our hunger, “who -has friends in the cage with food?” - -“_Ja_,” replied a Serbian and I. - -“Swap coats,” he said, “in case any of the guards know you, and push -that truck in the gate.” - -I enjoyed a good tea with a sergeant of my regiment and we both -returned with pockets bulging with food, which we divided with our -comrades. - -We were all warmly grateful to Paul. - -“That’s only my business here,” he said, pleased. - -Whatever else may be done at the Peace Conference, I want the Allies -to make a search of Germany and Alsace-Lorraine until they find one -Paul Sanchez formerly attached to _X Kompanie, Ersatz Battalion_ of -the German Army--a little man with a blonde mustache, and a kindly -face--and give him a Victoria Cross! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[18] That is indeed war. - -[19] It is you, Paul. - -[20] François, my Old Mate! - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -_The World Turned Upsidedown_ - - -I will detain you little with my life on my second German farm, for I -was sent to a different one. One coincidence should be noted, however, -the lady for whom I now worked had a brother in England, captured near -Cambrai in the same battle in which I fell into German hands! This did -not alter her attitude toward me, and my treatment here was worse than -on the first farm. - -My sentence of seven days’ arrest was to consist of seven consecutive -Sundays of confinement in my room, in the attic, without food. What -occasion I gave them for a report of good conduct I don’t know, but -the seven days were mercifully reduced to two. Having a liberal supply -of newspapers, tobacco and food concealed in my room and the German -serving girl bravely passing me jugs of hot coffee by means of a string -dropped from the window, I spent these two days quite pleasantly. - -It was during my detention that I learned of great success of our -offensive and the probability of an early crash in Germany. From then -on I read the newspapers with feverish interest whenever I could get -them and made short translations on the backs of letters to be passed -to other Englishmen in the village, and to the other villages. I grew -restless and impatient as the rumors of capitulation and revolution -became more insistent. I couldn’t wait to read the papers. I longed to -hear and see more of the great things which were happening in the world -outside of our sleepy village. - -At last I contrived to get as far as Parchim on the excuse of going for -a bath. My sentry took me in the morning and brought me back in the -afternoon. - -On the train the passengers were talking excitedly, but in subdued -tones lest I should hear. A telegram was passed down the carriage. The -gentleman on my right carefully passed it _around_ me to the gentleman -on my left. - -“For God’s sake let me see it, _Kamarad_!” I begged. - -“_Nein. Es ist verboten._”[21] - -I studied the back of the paper as he held it up to read it and made -out the word “Kaiser!” - -“_Bitte!_[22] _Bitte! Kamarad_,” I whispered, “is the Kaiser gone?” - -“Not yet, but soon!” he replied. - -The Parchim Railway station was heavily guarded by the Badgeless troops -of the _Soldatenrat_.[23] In the camp I found the boys all merry and -bright. The signing of the Armistice was daily expected. Repatriation -by Christmas was conceived possible. - -I gathered all the news I could from the English chaps in the baths. -A new regime had come in the camp. All the officers and all the most -notorious of the old bullies had fled, leaving the _Soldatenrat_ in -control. - -“They found ‘Mad Alek,’” he announced. - -“Found him?” I asked puzzled. - -“Yes, he beat it, you know. Disappeared when they heard Bulgaria had -chucked it--took most of the garrison funds with him. They found him -last week in a forest near the Danish frontier. He’d hung himself.” - -I returned to my farm, resolved to submit to no more restrictions, if -indeed to work at all. I could not help taunting my sentry and all my -favorite enemies in the village (who had so long jeered at me) over -Germany’s debacle. They had always regarded me as a “Smart Alek” and -now I exasperated them delightfully. My relations with the sentry -reached a climax one evening when he found me reading a newspaper by -candle-light in the barn. - -“_Das ist verboten!_” he commanded. - -“Who told you that, _mein Lieber_?” I asked, grinning condescendingly. - -“Laugh at me will you? You swine!” He roared and before I was aware -he struck me a blow in the chest that sent me reeling. Aghast and -indignant I started back at him. Quick as a flash he had drawn his -bayonet and he struck my arm threateningly with the flat of it. - -“Go to bed, you swine!” he ordered. - -Confronted by cold steel, there was nothing to do but to obey. I -climbed slowly upstairs to my room, the German close on my heels, -striking me constantly with the bayonet to hurry me. I went to bed with -that wretched and maddening feeling of a man who has received blows -which he cannot repay. I could not sleep. I got up and sat down and -smoked until they unlocked my door in the morning. - -[Illustration] - -I resolved to go to Parchim the next day and seek redress from the -revolutionaries. I would see if the justice of which they prated was -a reality. I had to wait until dusk, for flight was still _verboten_, -and I must escape unobserved. Setting out in my English uniform with my -buttons brightly polished and carrying my belongings in a neat little -German haversack, I walked all the fifteen kilometers to Parchim, -arriving in the _Komandatur_ at about eight o’clock. I found all young -boys from the new movement in charge, and they listened to my story -with sympathetic indignation. I could not however, see the officer of -justice until the day after tomorrow, and being a runaway, I must spend -the remaining time in the detention barrack. - -In this old house of misery I found every evidence of the “New Order.” -The _Hungerstraf_ had been abolished. I was permitted to keep my -cigarettes and tobacco. In the morning the guard asked me for the -address of a friend in the camp, and went out, returning with a cup of -hot tea and a generous meal! He repeated this performance three times a -day. - -The new officer of justice was a studious looking young man from the -_Soldatenrat_. The point of my having run away he magnanimously waived, -and he carefully took down my charges against the sentry in a big book. -He promised me complete satisfaction. - -“But when is this trial going to come off?” I asked, anxious to see -it through myself. “I want to be there and testify against him to his -face.” - -“I am sorry,” he apologized, “but this matter must be referred to -the _Soldatenrat_. Your assailant will be arrested and the matter -thoroughly investigated, but it will take time. See me in a fortnight -and I will give you a good report of what has been done.” - -“I hope to be in England in a fortnight,” I said resignedly, “so I must -trust you to see justice done.” - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[21] It is forbidden. - -[22] Please. - -[23] Council of soldiers. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -“_Auf Wiedersehen_” - - -A fortnight later found us in Warnemünde, awaiting embarkation. We were -quartered in the luxurious Naval Flying Corps Barracks, and living on -the fat of the land, but chafing and impatient for the old “Blighty” -ship. The natives of Warnemünde were obsequiously polite to the -_Engländer_ now. I was returning one evening to the _Flugplatz_ when I -was overtaken by a kindly-looking old lady. - -“_Guten Abend, Junger_,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “They say you’re -leaving tomorrow. I suppose you’re glad you are going home?” - -I told her I was. - -“My boys will never come again,” she went on sadly, and she told me -about her three sons which she had sacrificed for the Fatherland. - -“Now the nightmare is over,” she sighed, “and _Deutschland liegt -unter_!”[24] - -Finally, as she grasped my hand before turning down another street: - -“Tell them to be merciful on us,” she said. “Goodbye, and _bon voyage_!” - -True enough the next day we marched down overloaded with kit and -souvenirs to board the ship and bade a final “_Auf Wiedersehen_” to the -Land of Captivity. Happy and excited we greeted the ship as a Goddess -of Liberty come to take us to a better land. Laughing and singing were -the order and with the unfailing humor of Tommy Atkins as we mounted -the gangplank arose the familiar strains of: - -“... For this is the end of a Perfect Day.” - - -THE END - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[24] Germany lies under (Germany is vanquished). - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious errors in punctuation have been fixed. - -Page 12: “bid them boodbye” changed to “bid them goodbye” - -Page 23: “the Millenium belongs” changed to “the Millennium belongs” - -Page 27: “wearing classes” changed to “wearing glasses” and “sound of -our foosteps” changed to “sound of our footsteps” - -Page 29: “_Landpolizei_ road up.” changed to “_Landpolizei_ rode up” - -Page 38: “up-turned mustacche” changed to “up-turned mustache” “chef of -III Kompanie” changed to “chief of III Kompanie” - -Page 47: “are are going home” changed to “are going home” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEMOIRS OF A SWINE IN THE -LAND OF KULTUR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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