On the right of the British line Part 27

Martell cooked the tripe and onions, after opening the tin with his penknife, and boiled it on the stove. The more we thought of that meal, the more we schemed to make a spread of it.

Cotton, too, rose to the occasion. From the canteen he obtained a sheet of white paper for a table-cloth, and by the side of each plate he placed a clean white handkerchief for serviettes.

The table was just a little rough, wooden one, about two feet square.

The room was swept and the beds made to give the room a tidy appearance, and then we sat down.

Yes, Cotton understood. He knew that that meal was taking our thoughts back to England. It was taking him back, too. He knew that we imagined we were back again in the mess; and he imagined the same thing himself.

In that little room, and in the presence of that tin of tripe and onions we forgot we were prisoners; we forgot that rows and rows of barbed wire bound us in captivity; we ignored the footsteps of the sentry pacing up and down outside our window, and the sharp yelping of the dogs.

We were back in the mess, and we chatted and laughed during the meal as we had done in the old days, while our spirits rose with the aroma of the tripe and onion; and Cotton stood behind me silent and attentive, removing the plates, washing them, and replacing them ready for the next course, pretending he was drawing plates from a well-filled pantry.

We finished our repast with biscuits and cheese, and then we solemnly stood, and raising our gla.s.ses, toasted the King.

Then we drew our chairs round the fire, and heating the coffee which was left over from breakfast, we bathed our thoughts in the aroma of two cigars which Cotton had thoughtfully provided for the occasion from the canteen.

Yes, people of England, living at home in luxury, by the protection of a thin line of khaki; when you become anxious at the prospect of one meatless day per week, try living for a fortnight on slops, and then appreciate the glories of a tin of tripe and onions.

Still, one can live on slops, and improve a meal by a vivid imagination. In fact, imagination is a distinct advantage when sitting down hungrily to a plate of thin watery soup and sloppy potatoes for dinner.

When the door used to open and Cotton appeared with this unsavoury repast, which was always the same each day, I would say to him in the most indifferent tone I could a.s.sume:

"Well, Cotton, what kind of soup is it to-day?"

"Well, sir; I really don't know. It might be anything; it looks like hot water."

"Why, my dear Cotton, this soup is salt. How dull you are! There must have been a battle in the North Sea!"

"How do you know that, sir?"

"It's the way the Germans have. This soup is hot sea-water; it is to celebrate a victory."

The next day there would be a slight difference in the soup, and again Cotton would gravely shake his head, unable to fathom its mystery.

"My dear Cotton, when will you learn to gather information from your rations by a method of deduction?"

"Has there been another battle in the North Sea, sir?"

"No, my dear Cotton, the soup is thicker; the German fleet is back in the Kiel Ca.n.a.l."

It was the beginning of the third week of my sojourn in Osnabruck, when I was told one day that I was to proceed next morning to Blenhorst camp to appear before the Swiss Commission. Three other officers were also to go, including Rogan.

Cotton was to accompany me, and we made great preparation for the journey, packing in a tin box biscuits and cheese, chocolate and sardines; for although an officer is charged just the same for his full day's ration, the Germans have a habit of sending him on a long day's journey without food.

We started off at about 6 o'clock the next morning in high glee; for whatever the result of the Swiss Commission might be, there was the journey to Blenhorst to break the monotony of Osnabruck.

We had to change trains several times, and in the station restaurants we had much the same experience as I have described on my journey from Hanover.

In one restaurant we could only obtain a slice of ham as thin as tissue-paper, and in another a very small sausage; and yet the German people we pa.s.sed in the streets had no appearance of being short of food, or suffering any hardships in this respect. The people in the streets, I understand, looked just as contented and well fed as the people in England.

The station for Blenhorst is about eight miles from the camp. A large flat, open lorry was sent to meet us to carry our baggage, but as our belongings were for the most part carried in our pockets, it was unnecessary for that purpose.

It then dawned upon our two guards, who had no more desire to walk than we had, that we might ride on the lorry ourselves. They obtained a form to hold four, and we four officers occupied this seat on the open lorry, Cotton sitting on the floor, while the two guards sat together behind us, with their feet dangling over the side.

That ride I shall never forget. Perhaps it was because I was blind that the situation seemed so ridiculously funny. The single-horsed lorry was pulled slowly through the rough, cobbled streets in sudden jerks, which sent our legs flying in the air, giving the form a tilt; and I expected every minute that we would all four turn a double somersault over the heads of our guards behind, and fall into the road like clowns at a circus.

Imagine the picture, an open lorry on a bitterly cold day going through the streets of a small German town with four British officers in uniform; two with their heads bandaged, another with an arm in a sling, and a fourth with a lame leg, all sitting on a form, shivering with cold--all smoking cigars; while people came out and gazed in open-mouthed wonder at the strange spectacle; and a crowd of little urchins came running behind, yelling at the top of their voices.

All this was explained to me; and I imagined a great deal more, for the ridiculous situation could only be complete if a shower of rotten eggs were hurled at us as we pa.s.sed by.

The following morning the Swiss Commission arrived, and all those who wished to appear before it were ordered to a.s.semble in the yard.

It was a pathetic a.s.sembly, officers and men maimed and afflicted beyond repair, waited in a long queue for their turn to go in and hear their fate.

There were a number of Tommies acting as orderlies in the camp who had been prisoners since Mons. There was nothing physically the matter with them; yet the silent and hopeful manner in which they took their position in the line, knowing as they must have done, that their chances were hopeless, was most pitiful to witness.

Yet, the same men, on appearing before the Commission, and being immediately rejected, laughed and joked as they returned to their work.

The British Tommy is heroic, and rough though his language sometimes is, he is a man, and Britain is his debtor.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

FREE

I BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. ACROSS THE FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES

I was pa.s.sed for England!

The Examination Board consisted of a Swiss doctor, a German doctor, and the camp commandant. The Swiss doctor was provided with a schedule of disablements under which prisoners could be pa.s.sed for exchange to their own country, and partial disablements for Switzerland, and frequently objections to a prisoner's application would be made by the German representative.

Of our party from Osnabruck, one was rejected, two were pa.s.sed for Switzerland, and I was pa.s.sed for England.

The decision of the Swiss Commission is not final, for, on being sent to the border, all prisoners are again examined--this time by German doctors only--and by their decision prisoners are frequently rejected and sent back to camp.

The final examination for those going to Switzerland takes place at Konstanz, and for those going to England, at Aachen.

I knew of one British Tommy who, during eighteen months had been twice pa.s.sed for England and once for Switzerland, and each time rejected at the border, and he is to-day still in Germany.

It was about two weeks after I had been pa.s.sed by the Swiss Commission that a German non-commissioned officer came to my room, and told me that I was to leave at 4 A.M. the next morning for England.

I had waited for this moment for three long months; I had no occupation of any kind, and spent most of my time lying on my bed or sitting on an uncomfortable chair before the fire, in hourly expectation of the door opening to tell me of my freedom.

Permission had been granted me to take Cotton with me to the border, so we packed all the food we had in stock and prepared for the journey. After travelling for some hours, we arrived at Hameln camp, where we were to stay the night. There was no accommodation for officers in the camp, and they apparently did not know what to do with me, or how to provide me with food, as they had never been called upon before to take charge of an officer.