On the right of the British line Part 26

This ration consisted of imitation coffee for breakfast and no food. A plate of washy stuff called soup, for dinner, followed by some sloppy mashed potatoes, and sometimes green stuff; and for supper, more sloppy potatoes.

To satisfy one's hunger on a cold day with such food--which is only fit for pigs--can only be done by loosening the waistcoat, and half an hour afterwards one feels as though he had never had a meal.

Prisoners were allowed to receive as many letters as they were lucky enough to have sent them; and there does not appear to be any restriction as to the length of the letter.

They are allowed to write two letters of four pages each, and four post-cards each month. All letters are censored by a staff of censors in the camp. Outgoing letters and post-cards are held for ten days, with a view of ascertaining, I believe, whether invisible ink had been used.

News arrives in the camp princ.i.p.ally by the arrival of new prisoners, who are kept in quarantine for about ten days.

German official bulletins are posted in the anteroom; and the _Continental News_, which is published in the English language, or rather disgraces the English language by using it, is delivered daily.

By the bye, the _Continental News_ is a rag of the worst kind, and contains lies of the worst description.

My orderly came to me one day, and after carefully closing the door, he drew from under his tunic a few sc.r.a.ps of an English newspaper a month old.

We devoured the news eagerly, as well as the advertis.e.m.e.nts, and pa.s.sed it quietly around to the other officers.

He had been sweeping up the canteen after the censor had finished opening up the parcels. One parcel had been wrapped up in the newspaper, and unthinkingly the censor overlooked it, and tore the paper into fragments and threw it on the floor.

My orderly, while sweeping, noticed the pieces on the floor. The censor was in the room, and he went on sweeping until, when the censor's head was turned, he stooped and, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, stuffed it into his tunic.

CHAPTER x.x.x

COMEDY AND DRAMA

I SALUTE THE WALL. THE STORY OF AN EGG. A NOVEL BANQUET. JOY RIDE ON A LORRY. THE SWISS COMMISSION

When I arrived at Osnabruck, I found three English orderlies, and to my surprise and delight, two were men of my own regiment who had been captured at Gommecourt Wood on July 1.

The commandant came up to visit me the following morning, something very unusual; but no blind prisoner had ever been confined within the walls of Osnabruck before, and I suppose I was an object of interest.

I heard Rogan say, "Commandant," and click his heels.

I stood up and saluted. I was turned around, for, unknowingly, I had gravely saluted the wall.

He spoke fairly good English:

"You quite blind?"

"Yes, quite."

"See no light--nothing, no?"

"Nothing whatever."

"Your health, vot, is your health goot--yah?"

"Very weak and shaky; I cannot sleep at night."

"Is there anything you want?"

"There are two orderlies here from my own regiment. Can I have one as my personal attendant? Otherwise I am helpless; I am not yet accustomed to blindness, and among so many people and in strange surroundings, I shall become a nuisance."

"Yah; I will make arrangements."

That was how I came to get Private Cotton as my orderly. Cotton was a fine lad; a well-educated, superior type of fellow, and we became very much attached to each other during those long, dreary days.

He could speak French, and although he could speak no German, he possessed that wonderful faculty peculiar to the private soldier, of understanding and making himself understood in a language he did not know.

He had been a civil servant in the War Office; but in the early part of the war had volunteered his services with the colours, and fought night and day in the trenches for a shilling a day; while the young man who took his place in the War Office drew one and sixpence an hour overtime after 4 o'clock. Yet Cotton never complained. But his duty was the other man's opportunity.

As I write these lines Cotton is still a prisoner. I wonder if the other man is still drawing overtime, and wearing a war-service badge?

Now Cotton was a gentleman both by birth and education; but he was a private soldier, and seemed to make a hobby of being one. He was a private, and I was a captain, and he insisted on that gulf being maintained.

Whenever he bade me good-night, after he had laid me in my bed and made me some cocoa--generally from his own supplies, for my parcels went astray--I could always hear him click his heels, and I knew he had saluted.

The second day after I had arrived at Osnabruck, he took me for exercise up and down the yard outside the canteen. This was my first appearance, and I was evidently an object of some curiosity, for wind had got round the camp that a blind prisoner had been brought in.

As the French officers pa.s.sed me, I used to hear them say: "Good morning, Capitaine," or "Bon jour, mon camarade."

The English officers were splendid and always anxious to help me, and many a welcome supper of cocoa and cake I used to have in their rooms before going to bed.

I am afraid, though, that I used to make rather a big meal of it, as for the first two weeks I had to exist on the German rations.

When I took my first walk in the yard the canteen manager, his wife, and daughter were evidently watching out for me; for by and by, as a sign of their good-will, the daughter came running out after me with a present. It was an egg!

Cotton and I had a serious talk about this egg. He thought I should save it, and have half for supper and half for breakfast; but I settled the matter by eating it at once.

I think I have forgotten to mention that we were allowed to buy for half a mark, a loaf of bread every five days. I had no idea how far a loaf would go; I had never before given it a thought.

But Cotton had it down to a science; and worked it out that two small slices for breakfast, and the same for supper would carry me through, and he kept me to it.

"Cotton," I would say, after I had breakfasted on the two slices, "I could eat another slice."

"Better not, sir."

"Why not, Cotton? It's my loaf."

"This is the fourth day, sir, and if you have another slice, there will only be a small piece of crust for to-morrow's breakfast."

"All right, Cotton, I will sleep to dinner-time instead."

It was a joyful day when my first parcels arrived in camp. I was too excited about it to eat alone that day; and I invited young Martell of the R.N.A.S. to come and dine with me in my room.

There was a tin of soup and a tin of tripe and onions, and some biscuits and cheese. What a banquet! Martell and I decided to do ourselves in style. We even went so far as to send Cotton to the canteen for two gla.s.ses of what we indulgently patronised the canteen manager's humour by calling port wine.