Around the middle of March there was great activity on both sides in the form of trench raids. These were mainly with the object of taking prisoners, to find out what was going on in the enemy's camp. I guess both sides were forced to pretty rough tactics to make them talk. I certainly got a scare one night. We were going to fire a barrage, raising the range every half-minute or so to cover our infantry in their attack. I figured it and turned it in to the captain fifteen minutes or so before the show started. The captain checked my figures the first few weeks I was in the battery, but then, as he hadn't found any errors, he wouldn't bother. Only a few minutes before the barrage was to start I suddenly realized I had subtracted the weather corrections instead of adding them and that our battery would be shelling our own infantry. I had the correct range in time, but it was a close call. Shelling one's own troops often happened, especially in big attacks, but I should hate to be responsible for it. Usually any actions, raids, etc., took place just after dark or just before dawn. Bombardments might come any time, but they were most frequent at night. At this time the Germans almost always mixed gas with their high explosives. I was caught several times by it myself. We would be sound asleep, probably dreaming of home, when some big shells would burst with a terrific crash outside. Light artillery like the seventy-fives were usually used against machine guns or infantry, while the larger calibre were used to shell other batteries. We would jump out of bed and start for the deep dugout. In the crash of the high explosives one did not hear the pop of gas shells, and I got some whiffs at various times which set me sneezing and coughing into my mask when I finally got it on, so that I nearly suffocated. A general order was issued about this time to put on all masks during bombardment, whether gas was suspected or not.
The new gas masks which were issued that winter were infinitely superior to the old ones. They were much easier to breathe in, and they did not get the eye-places all fogged so one couldn't see. They had a sort of valve so that the air you exhaled went right out and the air inhaled went through the chemical part. The chief danger lay in that valve, for if it got out of order the soldier was decidedly out of luck unless he could get another very quickly. Before the great German offensive opened, one of the disquieting rumors was that they had invented a new gas against which our masks were useless. I think that was true of carbon monoxide, but for some reason it was not practical to send over enough of that to be deadly in the open air.
Very often a bombardment of our battery would proceed and be continued through infantry actions by the enemy. The din in a battery of seventy-fives while firing a barrage and on the receiving end of big shells from the enemy is really beyond imagining. We all, with the exception of one sergeant, used cotton in our ears and he soon became very hard of hearing and had to come around to it.
I had charge of two guns and would watch beside them during fire. It was no very rare occurrence to have a gun blow up, particularly during rapid fire. As I remember, we weren't supposed to go over twenty-five to the minute, but in the excitement we often fired for several minutes as fast as we could serve the gun. Our guns were placed in casements set in a little bank, completely covered with camouflage when not in action. Of course the enemy had our whole group perfectly spotted anyway. Another general order was to have the pointeur and tireur, which are the two most important fellows, one setting the range and the other pulling the cord, protected as much as possible by erecting on either side a wall of sandbags behind which they could jump as the gun went off. That was all right when we were firing slowly but it was quite impossible during a barrage when the danger of an explosion was greatest. Usually if a gun blew up, the pointeur and tireur went with it. It happened in another battery of our group. There were four guns to a battery, three batteries to a group, and three groups to a regiment. After every fire we would examine the guns to see any defects, either a little crack or a swelling, etc. It must have taken long experience for our captain to tell at a glance those that were dangerous and those he could take a chance on. I think we replaced two guns that spring.
On the twentieth of March we all knew that the German offensive was imminent. On the twenty-first their great attack was launched. Of course the main show was against the British in the north, but as a diversion they attacked us also. The bombardment all along the line was heavy and the German infantry attacked and took our front lines at dawn that morning. The captain sent me up to our observation poste, which was just back of our former front line, and I shall never forget that walk. There was a communication trench practically all the way, but it was under fire to prevent reinforcements being sent up through it. I passed several contingents of infantry waiting in abris (deep dugouts) for the fire to slacken. It seemed to me every time I turned a corner of that trench a shell would burst either in front or behind me. Several officers advised me to wait a while, but where it would mean very large casualties for a number of troops to pass, often one fellow could get by unscratched. The only fellows who were out like me were the telephone specialists. They were always around repairing wires, broken probably in a dozen places by the bombardment. I don't mean to give the impression that I ever exposed myself more than ---or anything like as much as---the infantry, but without doubt the general and other officers knew that they were only dealing with a sideshow and were not going to sacrifice troops where it wasn't necessary. I finally reached our post and realized that I was alone with probably no one between me and the Germans. The telephone was, of course, cut, and the whole place stank of gas. I stayed an hour or so trying to size up the situation and get an idea of the changed positions and then returned to the battery and reported. We bombarded the new enemy positions heavily and they withdrew to their former lines that night. I doubt if they even accomplished their object of starting support troops to our secteur. The Allies, I think, knew the main attack was to be in the north. It was in the second attack---the end of May---which had been so carefully and quietly prepared, that they were taken almost completely by surprise.
During the time I was in that secteur the casualties in our battery had been light: one sergeant and two men killed two or three slightly wounded and a couple gassed. Our division was being filled to full strength with new recruits, and in May we heard we were to be relieved and probably go up to the heavy fighting around Montdidier or Amiens. One beautiful clear evening, I think it was the eighteenth of May, the relieving battery arrived. It was getting dark but we could still make out the Forêt de Brimont directly in front of us. Occasionally a lazy rocket would go up, hang sputtering in the air and then sink to darkness. There was shelling going on in the distance, but the silence in our secteur was complete, almost ominous. The officers of the relieving battery had arrived and had been instructed in the details of that particular secteur. Thank Heaven, we were to pull out! We were terribly bored with that spot, and the prospect of a little change, though it meant going into the main show, was very welcome.
Soon we heard the rumbling of the new battery's guns coming up the road. They arrived, but two of our caissons were delayed. It made an awful mess with their guns waiting for ours to get out of the casements. A battery is, of course, always most vulnerable when in the act of hitching up or unhitching. We had been so perfectly "repered" by the enemy artillery, that if they got wind of what was going on, it would have meant two ruined batteries and many casualties. The momentary tension was relieved, however, when our delayed caissons arrived, and we quickly hitched up and started. We slowly climbed up to a little town back of us, and from the ridge along which we rode we could still dimly make out Rheims down in the valley, with its great cathedral looming up in the darkness. We had watched Rheims burning for five days recently. The enemy had shelled it with "incendiary" shells. The fire had finally been quenched, or rather had quenched itself, but not until it had put the final touch upon the destruction wrought by the Germans. The stars were out now, and soon the moon rose. The convoy was very slow, as some infantry were in front of us. We kept passing contingents of the relieving division. Great divisions of troops passing each other at night were always impressive. We rode all night, arriving the next morning at some old sheds. From there we were to go to Fère-en-Tardenois for a ten days' rest and then the Somme. Orders were changed however, and we started off the next night for Braisne. We arrived at our camping ground near there at noon the next day.
We spent a week in that place. After staying in almost one spot for three months it was a great relief to be able to ride around the country again and to get some good exercise. The country was really beautiful, hilly and freshly green. We could hear always the rumbling of distant guns and occasionally enemy aircraft would come over, but otherwise there were no signs of war on that hillside where we camped. On Sunday, the twenty-sixth of May, the captain went away on leave. Having nothing to do, three of us rode into Braisne and got considerable quantities of pinard and just enjoyed ourselves walking around the town. It was full of troops of our division. No people I have seen have my admiration more than those simple, brave poilus. Off duty they are as natural and amusing as children, and yet splendid under fire.
Just before supper that night we were told there was an alerte to be ready to move instantly. There had been some rumors of our going up in a position de repli behind the Chemin des Dames. We set to work and in a very short time were ready to start---the guns hooked up, horses saddled, and everything in order. Then came the usual long wait, hour after hour. There wasn't a sound of cannon and the night was clear and cool. We just sat around and made bad jokes and grumbled at things in general. Finally, about eleven, word arrived to take position behind the Aisne near the village of Glennes. That position being some nine kilometers from the lines seemed to indicate a short rest in reserve. WTC mounted and started off We had gone about an hour and were riding northeast along the crest of the ridge which runs down to the valley of the Aisne. On the other side the ground remains nearly flat for about six kilometers and then rises straight up in that most amazing natural fortress, the ridge of the Chemin des Dames and the Plateau of Craonne, that ridge which the French had captured in spite of treachery and with such terrible casualties in the attacks in April, 1917.
Suddenly, at exactly midnight, the whole ridge in front of us seemed to burst into flame, a roar in which one could not distinguish individual explosions, except those long-range guns which came nearer to us. It was the most terrible barrage any of us had ever seen, and soon we began to smell gas. The wind was just right for the enemy and it floated down from the ridge and hung in the valley. We had the men put on their masks, but I couldn't see sufficiently with my old one to conduct my two guns. Thinking I could not possibly need it so soon, I had packed my good mask in my sac. We passed a lot of trucks and carts of the British Fifth Army which were pulling out. The gas got very disagreeable but was not sufficient to overcome anyone. We arrived at our destination around three o'clock in the morning. There we found Lieutenant Collier of the staff, who had been put in command of the battery in the absence of the captain.
We placed the guns so that we could fire on our objectives, and at the same time camouflaged them as much as possible. We were all sneezing and coughing, and when finally dawn rose there was a mist so thick that one could not see more than ten yards away. I think the gas must have had something to do with the mist, as the same thing had occurred on the Somme the twenty-first of March. The barrage had continued with unabated violence till about quarter of five. It had completely wiped out all the front line and the artillery in position, so that when the enemy attacked he was met with no artillery fire and only rarely with machine-gun fire. The British Fifth Army was holding the secteur of the Plateau of Craonne around to Berry-au-Bac and it was through that army that the enemy advanced. The attack came as a complete surprise, all the Allies' best troops being centered around Montdidier, which was, of course, the most vulnerable spot.
Our orders were to remain in that position until two o'clock, when we would receive further instructions. Around ten o'clock German aeroplanes became very active over us. They had complete supremacy of the air, most of the crack squadrons of the Allies being around Amiens and up north. The German planes would peek down on us, letting fly a volley of machine-gun bullets against which we hadn't the slightest protection. I was talking to the best sergeant we had when he got one in the shoulder. It hurt him a lot, but I couldn't help thinking he was lucky, as he would probably be out of it for a while. He was, however, out of it definitely a few moments later when one drilled him through the head. About this time my friend Stalle was also killed. British troops kept hurrying by and we assumed they were being relieved. Artillery fire had died down but there was a continual crackling of machine-gun and rifle fire. We began to sense that all was not well and sent back a messenger for some infantry or at least some machine-guns which we could use to protect our artillery. Nothing was heard from him, or from another who was sent back later. Around eleven-thirty the Germans were visible from our observation post as they approached the Aisne. As they concentrated near the bridge north of us we opened fire and did some damage then and when they were crossing.
After the first wave had gotten across, Lieutenant Collier called for the horses and we started hooking up the guns to go back to a better position. It was hopeless, however, as by that time we were under long-range machine-gun fire and so many of the horses were hit that the guns could not be moved. We got them in position again for firing. There was a ridge in front of us and as the Germans were ascending the other side our fire could not reach them. Lieutenant Collier felt that we were sacrificed and the only thing to do was to fire to the best advantage the shells we had left, blow up the guns, and---if anyone could after that---get away. There was a momentary lull and then the German infantry advanced over the ridge in front of us in a splendid open formation. I think they were between three and four hundred yards away. We opened up a point blank barrage fire as fast as we could make it. In return we received the deadliest kind of direct machine-gun fire. Little puffs of dust kept springing up around one's feet and a continual zip-zip of bullets sang through the air. There was no protection except the tiny bit the shields on the guns afforded. Almost everyone was getting hit; Lieutenant Collier, among the first, got a bullet in his right eye. We did manage to fire the shells we had and blowup the guns.
Then it was "Sauve qui peut!" Those of us remaining tried to get back, and I heard long afterwards that Sergeant----- succeeded. Three of us got to a wooded ridge not far back of our position. On climbing this, however, we found the Germans on top. There was enough cover for hiding, so we decided to wait, hoping against hope for our own infantry to arrive and counter-attack. Also there was a chance that if they hadn't found us by dark, we might get across the lines, which at that time weren't at all established. One of my companions had an extraordinary wound: a bullet had struck him in the side of his neck and gone out of his mouth. He was bleeding a lot but it was hardly a convenient place to put a tourniquet. The remarkable part to me was that he lived; I saw him later at Giessen, Germany. Finally, around half past five, some Germans who had been detailed to search that section found us, and we were marched back. We passed a couple of our wounded still lying near the guns. I promised them I would do all I could to get back and have them taken care of.
On arrival at a large house at Glennes, where we were to be kept overnight, I persuaded the German adjutant in charge to let me go back with some other prisoners and bring in the remaining wounded. One had a bullet in his stomach and another had had his leg torn off by a bursting shell. I suppose the Germans figured they were beyond help, but it seemed awful to leave them there alone. Our regimental doctor had been captured and had taken care of the wounded as best he could. Considering the appalling (at least, it was to me) thing that had happened and being still under a tension, we did not particularly miss our supper that evening. That night was rather horrible, as two men in the same room with us died in agony from their wounds; one of them was the fellow with a bullet in his stomach whom we had carried in.
The next morning we were out early and started on a hike to Beaurieux, carrying a number of our wounded. That was rather a tough day, but we finally arrived and found a nice large wire pen ready for us. For officers there was a good-sized house in the enclosure, and although I was only an aspirant, I was quartered temporarily with them. We had had nothing to eat that day, and only a bite early in the morning of the day before. A British staff general and a couple of French colonels were among the officers. Apparently the poor old general, thinking the front some ten or twelve kilometers distant, had been riding along a road with his orderly when he came around a corner into the hands of some German troops. We were sitting in a large room when one of those typical smart Boche lieutenants entered. The general politely asked him if we couldn't have some bread or anything at all to eat.
He replied, "Our armies are still advancing. We need all our supplies for them. We can't be bothered about you."
The general told him that the British army did not treat prisoners that way. The German strode across to the general and with a sneer said," What good is the British army anyway? Every time we attack them, they run away. When we get ready, in the next day or two, we maybe able to spare a little soup." He then clanked out of the room and banged the door, following which the air was blue with "Les vaches! Les sales cochons!" etc., etc.
At the time we were captured we did not have a chance, but I decided then that it would be only temporary; at least, I would make an awfully good try to get back on the other side of the front again. As I remember, the following day we got some soup and a small slice of black bread. From here we were marched up through the ruins of Craonne across the eastern end of the famous Plateau de Californie which rises almost perpendicularly from the Aisne valley and continues westward as the ridge of the Chemin des Dames. All around were crosses, witnesses of the tragedy which had happened on the 16th of April, 1917. We continued on, weak from hunger, to Ramecourt, some twenty-five kilometers in all. That evening we were somewhat revived by a bowl of soup. Once or twice a week we would get rice or potato soup, which seemed delicious, but usually it was la betterave, which was simply a lot of cattle beets boiled up into soup. We got also a small chunk of black bread and rarely, as a particular treat, a spoonful of some extraordinary preserve to go with the bread. Very few people in modern life know what it is to be really starving. It is all right for a while, but then one's vitality begins to depart.
Ramecourt is a village at the intersection of the railroad from Laon to Rheims and that from Sissonne. Two main highways also meet there, and as it was obviously a place through which a large quantity of German munitions and other supplies must pass, it was particularly attractive to Allied bombing squadrons. We were penned in an enclosure in which were some partly demolished houses. I had ceased to be quartered with the officers, though I talked to my friend, the British general, across the wire fence. He complained that the food, or rather lack of it, did not agree with him---in fact, completely knocked his stomach out---and the poor fellow looked it. That was the last I saw of him or any other officers. The lieutenant in command of our battery had been terribly wounded, but the sous-lieutenant was captured unharmed. Almost every night we were at Ramecourt the station was bombed and we would get the benefit of part of it. One night in particular, a number of prisoners were killed and wounded by bombs. I think being bombed by one's own side is even more demoralizing than by the enemy loss of life in that manner seems so useless and one hasn't the stimulus of being actively engaged. A large group of prisoners including myself, were marched back again from Ramecourt to Craonne. The men were sent out to work laying a railroad to continue on from where it had ended back of the old front up to somewhere near the new front. We were quartered at night in the dugouts which had been cut in the sides of the plateau.
That ridge which runs from Craonne west along the Chemin des Dames is one of the greatest natural fortresses in the world. It rises from the Aisne valley and is so steep in some places that it is almost impossible to climb. The earth is almost like chalk, it is so white. From the top of the ridge above Craonne one can look for miles and miles in all directions. At night the Germans had sentries along the ridge to see that no prisoners crawled out of those dugouts. I figured, however, that with great care it could be done. This was in June; the nights were very short and it did not get dark till late. I decided to make a get-away. Of course we were half starved already, but I thought I could get near the lines the first night, lie hidden during the day, and cross the next. I knew the terrain pretty well beyond Berry-au-Bac towards Loivre, as we had been near there all spring. As I was planning this, two young infantry soldiers told me they were planning much the same thing. We decided to go together.
That night we waited near the entrance of the dugout for dark. The other prisoners in there with us went to sleep and my two companions, wanting to start, became more and more restless. I refused until it was as dark as it probably could be on a clear night. Even then it would be risky with the sentries so near and the slope almost chalk-white. Those two fellows got disgusted waiting for me, and thinking that I was getting cold feet on the proposition decided to go ahead. I wished them luck but thought they were a couple of damned fools to take an unnecessary risk of being caught at the very beginning of an undertaking which only the greatest care and a lot of luck could possibly make successful. When they had been gone a few minutes, I heard several rifle shots ring out. Whether they were hit or not I don't know, but I never saw them again. When I decided it was as dark as it was going to get, I crawled out myself. I never felt so conspicuous in my life. I could see a sentry just above me against the sky and I thought I surely must be visible on that white sand. However, I got down to the plain and away from that sandy soil. I struck off south- east toward Berry-au-Bac. I walked as fast as I dared, realizing that I had to get near the lines that night in order to cross the next, as I was weak from hunger when I started and of course had no food with me. I walked for several hours and had reached the neighborhood of Berry-au-Bac. I wasn't making much noise but was going too fast for safety. Suddenly I had a pistol thrust right in my face. I had stumbled on a sentry, probably in an enemy artillery group, as I had seen I was nearing some of their batteries. He took me to a dugout and called. A German soldier appeared and he said something to him. The other came over and spoke to me in French. He was an Alsatian. By this time it was beginning to get light. The Alsatian told me to come along with him and he and I started back toward Craonne. He got quite talkative and almost friendly. He spoke French, of course, more fluently than I did and asked me where I came from, how I happened to be in the French army, etc. He took me all the way back to Ramecourt and put me back with the prisoners there. He spoke to the German guard, but I couldn't understand what he said and nothing whatever happened to me. It was just a great piece of luck that I had run into two Germans, especially that Alsatian, who were not the blood-thirsty kind. Had they been, I would not be writing this now.
At that time the prisoners had not even been counted and if a guard with a nasty disposition took it into his head to shoot you, no one would ever know that you hadn't been killed in battle. It was a whole month before we were allowed to send a card through the Red Cross stating we were alive, and as those cards were very slow in arriving I know I was reported missing for a considerably longer time.
We spent in all about a month around Ramecourt and Craonne. We suffered a good deal from hunger. We had one bowl of soup around noon and some boiled up concoction that was supposed to substitute for coffee and a small slice of black bread in the evening. When there wasn't enough of that rotten soup to go around among the prisoners it used to afford the German guards amusement to see them fighting for it like wild animals. I must admit I never got to that point, though I understood it all right.
I think it was early on the morning of the twenty-eighth of June that all the prisoners at Ramecourt started walking to Hirson, something over thirty miles north. It took us two days. Before starting we had a cup of imitation coffee and in the evening a bowl of soup and a little piece of black bread. The guards rode on horseback and had sticks with which to urge along any stragglers. We would march an hour and then rest ten or fifteen minutes. One time as we were resting by the road, the Kaiser with several officers came by in a car---with Hindenburg following closely in another. There was a group of four cars in all. They still felt very confident because of their remarkably easy success in their last advance to the Marne. At least, they appeared that way and the Kaiser in particular did not at all resemble the haggard, worried, old man the Allied newspapers were depicting at that time. I couldn't help noticing that even the cars used by the Kaiser and Hindenburg had old-looking tires. Rubber was so scarce then in Germany that most cars and trucks were using iron tires. We had previously caught a glimpse of the Crown Prince as he drove by our enclosure at Beaurieux two days after we were captured. That walk to Hirson was certainly a tough one. It was hot and dusty and after a month of almost starvation we weren't feeling very strong.
The second day was the hardest, and a number of the older soldiers, after being urged along by the guards' sticks to the limit of their endurance, just dropped by the wayside. A French peasant girl working in a field near the road had seen the brutality of one of the guards. She cried out at him and cursed him. Enraged, he galloped over and struck her several times with his stick. It made our blood boil but we were absolutely helpless. The evening of the second day we finally reached Hirson. I met two American ambulance drivers who had recently been captured. As non-combatants they had hopes of being exchanged, but I never saw them again or heard if they were. I was on my last legs when we got to Hirson, as in addition to the lack of nourishment I had a touch of dysentery.
The next day we were entrained and started for Germany. We passed through Sedan, Trèves, and along the Moselle to Coblenz. As we got into Germany itself the civilians, men, women, and children, would shake their fists and curse at us as we went by. The blockade was telling and the civilian population, especially in the cities, was suffering from lack of proper nourishment. We crossed the Rhine bridge at Coblenz and went on through Ems, and Limburg, to Giessen. All the time I was thinking of what an awful walk I was going to have trying to get back. We got off the train at Giessen and were marched up into a big prison camp. There were a number of long wooden barracks surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence, the top of which was bent back so as to be almost impossible to climb. Sentries were stationed at intervals around this fence and at night there were electric lights along it. By mutual agreement the noncommissioned officers were not required to work, but were allowed to do so if they wanted. The incentive was, of course, sufficient food to exist on and getting out of that prison enclosure. Prisoners were sent off in various-sized groups to different parts of the country where they were needed. These working parties were called commandos. The chances of getting away quietly from one of those commandos was ordinarily greater than of getting out of camp without immediately giving an alarm. Of course one had to take a chance of being sent on an extremely hard and disagreeable commando, which might be as well guarded as the camp. There had been very few successful escapes from Giessen itself. Later on, when I got some food, I decided to volunteer for a commando. Giessen was a hundred and fifty miles in a straight line from the Holland frontier, and slightly more than that from Switzerland.
The regular prison food was not enough to keep alive on very long, let alone to prepare for any hard physical strain. The British and French prisoners relied mainly on parcels from their homes, though there were organizations to provide for those who either had no homes or whose homes were too poor to help. The American Red Cross in Switzerland took care of the Americans, and their parcels, once they started coming in, contained everything one could want: tins of meat, vegetables, preserves, etc., packages of rice and coffee, cigarettes and chocolate and, in addition, various articles of clothing---shirts, underwear socks etc. However, it took a long time before the first parcel arrived. It probably was particularly long in my case, as I was with the French. Anyway my first parcel did not arrive till the latter part of August, nearly three months after I was captured, and with it I suddenly felt urged to go out and work in a commando. I do not know the figures, if any are available, but I will make a bet that over half of the Russian, Italian and other prisoners who very rarely received parcels from home, died of starvation. I except those, of course, who may have been taken just before the armistice. A group of Russians arrived about the time we did. They had been up on the Somme burying the British dead, and many of them were dressed in British officers' uniforms. They had plenty of good English currency, too, which they had found in the pockets of the dead. However, they were literally starving. They would gulp down a couple of bowls of that disgusting soup, made usually out of beets with a little horse meat thrown in, and shortly afterwards become violently and actively ill. They were so hungry that they would pick out of the refuse heaps odd bits of meat, etc. ---usually meat which had come in a parcel to another prisoner and was turning bad.
When we first arrived at Giessen we were bathed, our hair clipped, and our clothing deloused. Also we were shot with all the various serums ---typhoid, smallpox, several kinds of plague, etc. Some of us weren't too sure that our benevolent captors were not shooting us full of tubercular or other pleasant germs with which to remember the war.
Until I got my own parcel I was dependent on those awful soups and the generosity of fellow prisoners, some of whom occasionally received larger parcels than they needed. A gift from one of the prisoners nearly cost my life. He gave me a hunk of ham and said that as it was cooked it would keep a long time. I decided to spread it over several days. The weather was hot and while I noticed a rather strange odor about it a day or two later, I was hungry enough to eat a piece. I got very severe pains that night and for several days had an attack of dysentery. I got so weak I could hardly walk. At various times American prisoners arrived at Giessen and after I had been there a month or so I was put in the same barracks with them. There were seven or eight in all. One fellow in particular was awfully nice and until my own parcel finally arrived, saw that I got something to eat every day.
The Germans didn't bother us much. They got us up early and counted us, and had another count in the evening. One morning, as luck would have it, we all overslept and the camp commander came in. Someone shouted "Achtung!" and we jumped up with a start. My friend was still peacefully asleep. When someone finally woke him up, he got up rather dazed and was met with a sock on the jaw which sent him sprawling and nearly put him to sleep in another sense of the word. On Sundays anyone who wanted to do so could join a great procession of prisoners for a walk. These walks were pretty carefully guarded and the chances of getting away without a bullet seemed to me slim. It was rather nice to get out of that cursed enclosure and stretch one's legs.
Shortly after I arrived in camp I made the acquaintance of Bernard, an adjutant of Zouaves. He was a corker. I told him I was going to make a try at escaping and was delighted to find he had some maps and a couple of compasses. He could not try it himself as he had got frozen feet the first winter of the war and could not stand a long walk. He had a large map of the country up to the frontier which I copied, and a very detailed one of the frontier itself. He had also a little luminous compass which he gave me. His maps and compasses had been smuggled in to him in parcels from home. Those parcels were all opened and inspected but occasionally things got by. I promised Bernard I would try to send him some more maps and compasses from Paris. He was the most encouraging fellow I ever saw, and was a great deal more certain of my success than I was. He said that anyone who wanted to do something as much as I did, would do it.
Of course the news we got from the German communiqués was to the effect that the Allies were bleeding themselves to death trying vainly to dislodge the Germans from their recent conquests. One thing that had impressed me tremendously at the time we were captured was the extreme youth of many of the German troops. It seemed a terrible shame to use boys like that, who for the most part could not be expected to make good soldiers. And the youths we saw training at Giessen were even younger. Of course they were sending them very young in France also, but the Latin races seem to develop earlier. I suppose the more southern geographical position also has something to do with it. Naturally there were many exceptions, but I should pick fellows from about twenty-five to thirty as about the ideal military age. Those boys in training used to march by our camp every day, always singing some sort of battle hymn. They appeared to average fifteen or sixteen years old.
On the twenty-first of September, soon after I had received my second Red Cross parcel, I was sent out to a commando in the neighborhood of Arnsberg. 1 couldn't have expected better luck, as that town is over fifty miles north of Giessen toward Holland. It is in Hesse-Nassau, but in the northern part very near the Ruhr and Westphalia. I had saved practically all my last Red Cross parcel. When I was leaving Giessen, my things were searched. I had my maps in a little slit in the side of a wooden box in which I carried my few belongings, and my compass in a cake of soap. After putting the compass in, I had washed with the soap so that it didn't show in the least. With a guard I took a train to Arnsberg, via Siegen. It just happened that I was feeling awfully sick. In remote civilian days I had been troubled with sinus, and I suddenly developed a painful case of it then. I had a splitting headache.
We arrived at Arnsberg in the evening, and went out to a small village several miles to the west. I was quartered in a little farm-house, my guard turning me over to the farmer. He locked me in my room at night, but after the first few days did not bother nor have the time to watch me in the daytime. There were eight or nine other French prisoners and one Italian quartered similarly around the neighborhood. The first morning I was there I was so sick and had such a headache that I could hardly get around, but this all passed off in a day or two. The farmer himself was a terrific worker. We used to go up in the woods and chop and load the logs on a truck. I also pitched hay and harrowed a large field. I ate with the family, which consisted of the farmer, his wife and a boy about ten. He was a nice kid. The food was very plain, but we had plenty of potatoes, etc., and it was sufficient without using my Red Cross supply. The farmer had been told to give me only a little at a time, so I had to ask for a tin and then hide it, and then ask for another a day or two later. Even if I had been given it all right away, I wouldn't have been in condition to undertake that long walk.
However, I got in good shape that week and planned to depart Sunday evening, as I knew we wouldn't have much work Sunday. I also figured on getting to the frontier when there would be no moon. That week surely dragged, as I was terribly impatient to be off. I must say that though I had seen some brutal treatment of prisoners, this old farmer was quite kind, and I hope he didn't get into trouble because of my escape. He worked so hard he would get sick every few days. There were lots of prisoners (very lucky ones) quartered on farms around Germany; they were made to help out the families whose principal workers were either in the army or dead or incapacitated. Necessarily most of the farming had been left to the old men, women and children; all the able-bodied men having been drafted to the army. I had gradually taken my equipment out of the house and had hidden it in a nearby bush: four tins of food, one beef, one salmon, one jam, and one sardines; a small piece of pork, some chocolate, some hard bread and a water bottle. They were wrapped up in an extra shirt I had sewn up for the purpose. After supper Sunday night I walked over to chat with some of the other prisoners till it got dark. Then 1 went back to my bush, collected my belongings and started off across country.
First night. I was a little afraid that the old farmer might be looking for me. Anyway, after I had gone downhill for some distance, I came to a stream and walked in it to be sure I could not be trailed with dogs. There was a light rain. Crossing a road in the dark I came very near two people; I had just time to hide. I was dressed in the regular prisoner's clothes, which had stripes on the legs, marks on the chest and a big white band on the arm. Otherwise they were black. I had thrown mud all over my trousers (I might have saved myself that trouble, for soon I was mud from head to foot) and cut off the chest marks, which were not woven in the cloth. I say cloth, but actually I think those garments were made in some way out of paper. Anyway, I was to find them extremely poor protection against cold and rain. I had picked up an old civilian cap and while my get-up was obvious with the faintest light, it was good enough in the dark. My only chance anyway lay in avoiding people as I could not speak a word of German.
The country was very mountainous, with great pine forests. A person can't cut straight through woods on a dark night. One bumps into trees or trips and falls, and I could not afford a sprained ankle then. It cleared off for a while and I began to enjoy it. Anyway, I was free again and I was going to give everything I had to remain that way. I was traveling northwest, mostly on little narrow roads through mountainous and heavily wooded country. Here the Ruhr runs northwest, and occasionally I could look down in the valley and see the lights of towns. One I took for Neheim was quite beautiful with different colored lights. Just about dawn I had been going downhill into open country and found myself on the bank of the Ruhr with no woods in sight nearby. There were some across the river, but if I swam I would freeze lying still all day and also run the risk of losing the little food I had. I went as fast as I could to the nearest woods, but it was broad daylight before I got there. As I entered the woods there was a man a little way off. There were plenty of trees, but no underbrush for good hiding. I tore down some branches and lay there. I was hot when I arrived. Then a storm came up and it began to blow hard and rain. That cold wet wind went right through me. I was just frozen. Finally, about one o'clock, I couldn't stand it my insides were shaking to pieces. I started to walk northwest again through the woods, and walked all afternoon in the rain. I planned to cross the Ruhr near Wickede. Just before dark from the high ridge I was on, I looked down on a very picturesque little village in the valley. It was about here that the river turns west, even a little southwest, to the Rhine.
Second night. I struck the Ruhr within a few hundred yards of the bridge I planned to cross. I came up carefully but saw no sentry. I passed near a woman, who barely glanced at me. It was about eight o'clock in the evening. I circled around the town, which is on the north bank, and crossed the railroad track. I was getting absolutely exhausted. J had covered over twenty-five miles of mountainous country. I had dozed only about half an hour that morning, and had the whole night before me. There were intermittent showers, and it was so cold I couldn't stand it lying down and could hardly walk any more. Finally I went to sleep to the windward of a stack of straw. I woke up soon, colder than I have ever been. I walked all the rest of the night. Here in Westphalia the country was very different. There were no more forests and very few hills. The walking was good except for the mud and the numerous plowed fields. Again dawn came up when I was still some distance from woods. I found fairly good hiding not far from Werl and Unna (east of Dortmund). I knew about where I was. I had crossed two railroad tracks, and occasionally I could hear trains pass on another near me. Some children were playing at the edge of the wood all day. Now and then I could see people pass by on a road. A couple of rabbits came along and looked me over, then scurried off. There was a little sunshine but I couldn't get much in the woods. However, I was warmer than before and feeling very much encouraged by the distance covered. Those days seemed interminable. I could hardly sleep at all and just alternated between lying still and sitting up, exercising my arms to keep warm.
Third night. I started off just at dusk. I came to the first of two intersecting railroad lines. A train passed on the one running from Hamm to Dortmund. There was a hedge with barbed wire on it and it was hard to get through. I finally succeeded near the intersection of the two lines and could spot exactly where I was. I intended to pass west of Werne but ran into a big swamp with a stream in it, so I circled around to the east. The factories were running full blast. I got in a sort of trap. I crossed a big stream on a bridge into a barnyard. Coming out the gate at the edge of the town, I passed by a man talking to a girl. Upon seeing me, both started. Fortunately it was quite dark. I walked off as nonchalantly as I could, ready to run if necessary. I got mixed up in a lot of gardens and had to pass very close to some houses. All the way out watch dogs were the bane of my life; they would hear me a mile off and bark till I was a mile past. I lost my water bottle through a hole in my shirt-sac, and drank some vile-tasting water that must have come from one of those great factories. I could see Unna from a distance. I started off due west for Kamen. I got messed up in intersecting streams. The bottoms were so boggy I was afraid I would go under. After much walking up and down the bank, I came to the branch of a tree which hung over the main stream, and swung across on that. It stopped raining entirely but was still cloudy. I reached the outskirts of Kamen, and started off on the road to Hamm. After going a little way, I turned off on a good road toward Werne. Up to this time I had avoided roads, but the walking was so fine and the fields were so muddy I couldn't resist taking it. I walked just as fast as I could the rest of the night without stopping. Just as dawn was coming up I reached a town south of the Lippe, a suburb of Werne. I did n't realize it was a town; I thought it was only a couple of houses. I found myself in it, so hurried on. It was large, and trying to get out I walked, it seemed to me, interminably in those streets. All the time it was getting lighter and in practically every house there was a light. Finally I got out to the east and almost in broad daylight reached a tiny wood. The hiding was poor, and later I could hear children playing nearby. I was in a terrible sweat when I arrived, and gradually got colder and colder. Another storm came up. I got jumping all over again, but this time there was nothing to do but lie still and bear it. Getting out of that town and not being caught in that small wood was one of the best pieces of luck I ever had.
Fourth night. I started out at dusk and reached the bank of the Lippe in a few minutes. I walked along till I found a bridge unguarded. After crossing this I started northwest, not knowing about the canal. I passed very near two men, seeing them just in time to drop by the road as I usually did when I thought I had seen someone first. Then I came to the canal and followed it west till I found a bridge. There was a trolley track on the side and a large electric light on the south end. I crawled up along the bank and watched. There was no guard, but occasional pedestrians. Except under close scrutiny, I looked like a poor workman or a tramp. I started across the bridge and met some workmen and boys. They paid no attention to me. Werne ahead was a blaze of factories. I left the road and cutting across country again, struck very marshy ground and had to find a road again. I was awfully tired, but it was easier when I reached the road from Werne to Lünen. Bikes kept coming by, many with little headlights, probably workmen going home. I kept continually hiding off to the side. I could see the lights of Lünen ahead to the left. I remember thinking, as I was going along this road, that in spite of the hardships it was darned good fun and I appreciated it at the time. The road turned southwest, so I left it after several kilometers and walked across country till dawn. Difficulties in avoiding woods delayed me a lot. I hid all day on the edge of a wood. It was always cold as ice at dawn and I was always overheated when I stopped. Then I would begin to suffer. I had little enough food left. The biscuits were soaked and all messed up in the paper wrapping and by this time very dirty. I picked out the parts which contained the least paper and mud and threw the small remainder away. I had finished my chocolate, and had a can of meat, a can of jam and a little pork left. A direct line from Arnsberg to the frontier is only about eighty miles, but going the way I was forced to take---circling towns and forests and marshes, and frequently having to retrace my steps in the process---I must have covered at least a hundred and twenty-five miles. I was now about half-way, but of course the hardest part was ahead at the frontier. In the evening a woman and child passed by the edge of the wood. The woman was airing her thoughts about the frightfulness of war. At least, from the occasional word I could understand, it sounded that way. They had come after a couple of cows grazing nearby. After letting the cows drink in a little stream, they leisurely drove them home.
Fifth night. I started after dark, as the country seemed rather well populated. Coming up a lane I met a man muttering to himself. It was lucky he was, as I did not see him coming and it gave me time to slip to the side. Several times I came on people so quickly that I had nothing to do but walk by and return the their greeting, which usually sounded like a grunt. I gathered it was "Nacht" with occasionally a trace of the "gute" before it. Almost all of the few people I passed near gave some such sign of recognition, and I mimicked it as best I could. I began eating those big raw beets both for hunger and for thirst. They seemed to be mostly water. Since I had lost my water bottle I had several times been very thirsty. I could not get water in the daytime, as I had to keep still; and I just had to fill up wherever I came to a stream or something at night. My feet were hurting more and more. Finally as I was approaching the Dortmund-Ems canal, the pain became unbearable and I took off my shoes. I had foreseen something of the sort and had brought along a pair of slippers which the French relief committee had issued in our camp. I crossed a bridge over the canal near Olfen. There was a light in the house at the end of the bridge and I was on the lookout for a sentry, but I passed unobserved. I entered Olfen by mistake. There were lights in many houses, although it was very late at night. (I noticed that frequently; whether that is customary or whether it was due to the war, when many were on night shifts, I do not know.) I retreated in haste from the town. That happened to me several times. I had wasted so much time trying to circle around individual houses or two or three together in that densely populated country, that I had begun walking right by them. I wanted to use all the precautions I could, but with my limited supply of food I could not afford too many delays. Consequently I would occasionally walk by a couple of houses ---thinking they were probably isolated---and find myself in a town before I realized it. From Olfen on I made wonderful time that night. The country became more wooded but still almost level. I followed perfectly straight, narrow wood roads running northwest-west. My slippers were fine on this rather sandy soil and I fairly tore along. Groups of men were singing in the distance; I suppose they were soldiers' camps. It was fearfully cold at dawn again. I was in a big pine forest with low pine hushes, which are ideal for hiding. I opened my can of meat and it certainly seemed delicious. I don't believe a tin of beef was ever more appreciated. It was cloudy as usual, with slight showers during the day. Towards evening it began to pour, and I would have given my right hand for a blanket. I had had only u few hours' sunshine since I started. As for sleep, I never had more than two hours a day; the main reason was that I was too cold, though I was also unconsciously on the watch all the time.
Sixth night. Shortly after starting out that evening, I could see the lights of Haltern ahead. I was going straight across fields then, many of them plowed, and it was very hard work. Finally I went over to the main road. Accidentally again I passed through a small town. I passed several carriages and people on foot, but did not attract any particular attention. I stopped to drink from a little river on the right of the road. The road crossed it very near Haltern and I took great care to see that no one was patrolling that bridge. I circled around Haltern by the railroad station and started off across country again. The night was marvelous, with all the stars out. I was getting more and more hopeful of arriving. Then I came on the queerest obstacle. I was blocked by some woods, and doubled back trying to find a way around, losing much time. I came to an opening in the wood but there was a barbed wire fence some eight feet high. I climbed it and dropped down inside. I went on a little way and saw what looked like a factory at work. I reached the other side of the enclosure near that building to find the wire at the top of the fence bent back and impossible to scale. I walked along and came to a gate unguarded but locked. There was barbed wire on top, but it was not bent back. I climbed over it. A man was shouting in that building and I took him to be the boss giving orders to the workmen. Afterwards it occurred to me that it might have been a factory where prisoners were employed, hence the very high wire enclosure. If it was, I was fortunate. A little farther on I was walking down a road. The ground was slushy and I was making plenty of noise. Wet, muddy roads and soggy plowed fields had been bothering all along. They not only make walking twice as hard but it is almost impossible not to make some noise. Ahead of me, at some cross-roads, I saw a house with a light. Unconsciously I cut the corner. A fellow in that direction shouted at me. I ran a little and then lay down still. He started cursing me and I wanted to be sure of the direction of his voice. Then he kept quiet and listened, too. It was clearing off and none too dark for comfort. I peered all around but could see no signs of him. I waited a little and then jumped up and ran as hard as I could. He again shouted after me, but apparently could not see me. I took him to be a sentry at the cross-roads and he had probably heard my slushy steps coming down the road. I must have run half a mile and then lay down to get my breath. The country from here on was more hilly and less populated than central Westphalia. I got in a little hamlet. The road was a perfect swamp and I could not go quietly. A great German police dog came out after me. I had a big stick but nothing else. He kept barking but did not try to bite me. However, with houses all around, it was a very uncomfortable few minutes. Finally I got out and decided I should be more careful. I found a good hiding-place at dawn. The sun came up for a while, but later on it clouded over again.
Seventh night. As there was no sign of people or houses in the wooded hills around me, I started before dusk. I reached a railroad and main highway near Klein Reken after dark. I cut right across more or less wooded country striking the Gross Reken-Heiden road near Heiden. I circled around Heiden by a huge windmill. There was also a great tree with a little shrine at the foot. I got on a straight road to Gemen, passing close to Borken on the left. I had been on my detailed map since Haltem and I could tell exactly where I was. I reached Gemen, and as I was walking around it to the east I came to the river Aa. A church clock struck four so I looked for a place to hide. I found a wood by a bend of the river to the east of Gemen. I heard workmen in the fields nearby. I had nothing left but a tiny bit of pork. A shower came up, also a hail storm. In a straight line the distance to the frontier was only about eight kilometers, but this was the real test. Rumors of the frontier varied. There was an electrified wire between Belgium and Holland, but I did not believe that it continued all the way between Germany and Holland---at least, that part east of the Rhine where I was. Anyway, there was only one way to find out. Bernard had got some information concerning the frontier from the same fellows who had sent him the maps. It proved to be more or less accurate. It was as follows: From the Aa to the frontier there were numerous ditches filled with water diverted from that river. There was barbed wire on both sides; not so many entanglements as on the front, though such existed, but for the most part just ordinary barbed or plain wire fences. The country was fortified in that way against any attack from Holland. As that would have been an extremely vulnerable point, could the Allies have persuaded Holland to join them, it was very carefully fortified against such a contingency, as well as protected to a great extent against anyone's getting in or out of Germany except through the proper channels. There was a line of sentries quite far apart, patrolling a small road which ran parallel to the frontier at a distance of about three kilometers. Occasionally, between that line and the actual frontier, there were patrols with dogs. There were also dog patrols along the railroad running northwest from Borken to the frontier. Along the frontier, not actually on it but placed most advantageously there was another line of sentries. I had to take my chances about the wire. I planned to take two nights covering that eight kilometers (actually I spent three before I got to Winterswijk in Holland).
Eighth night. I started very carefully after dark. I thought I would have to swim the Aa, but came to a little bridge on a small road not far from where I had been hiding. I lay and watched it a while, and as there was no sign of a sentry or anyone else, I crossed it. I was still circling around Gemen and crossed the railroad track running almost due north toward Sudlolm. My plan was to keep a few hundred yards to the right or east of the railroad which runs from Borken northwest into Holland. It was terrible going through those ditches up to my waist, sometimes more, continual lines of wire fences, and also woods which prevented my keeping a straight course. I was getting terribly tired. Once when I got involved in some woods and was finding it hard to extricate myself, I stopped and slept an hour or so. Occasionally I saw trains going to or from Holland. I could hear the telegraph wires along the tracks making that humming sound. That helped me to keep about the course I wanted. About two o'clock I saw a sentry walking up a dirt road, making plenty of noise with his heavy boots. The sentries here were all dressed in black with long black cloaks and black helmets, making it very hard to see them. This may have been the road I had heard about or else he was going up to relieve someone, as the road at that point was running more perpendicular than parallel to the frontier. He was swinging along at a great rate. I went on just a little farther and found some pine bushes, wonderful for hiding. It wasn't dawn yet but I thought I had better make sure of good cover in that vicinity. I stayed near the northern edge to see whatever I could by daylight. About six o'clock two guards dressed all in black came by on a footpath. They were talking and passed not more than fifteen yards away. One I took to be an N. C. O. from his different hat. I could hear men's and boys' voices in the fields nearby. Those days seemed everlasting, just waiting. was more or less numb from exposure and fatigue but I couldn't sleep. Tomorrow, Holland! What if I didn't have anything more to eat and already half my clothes were on the barbed wire fences I had passed through? I had heard from no one since I had been captured and if I made the frontier tomorrow, I could wire and get replies. I could hardly lie quiet, I was so eager to start.
Ninth night. Finally dusk came and soon after I started I came fairly near a house. The ground being soft, I made a slight noise. A dog began to growl. Its master, who sounded very near me, spoke to it. I stood still till they moved off a little. I was always afraid of coming on one of those dog patrols (sentries with dogs). There was occasional barking in the direction of the railroad track, which it is likely came from such a patrol. About one o'clock I was going very carefully when I came to a fairly large space entirely clear of trees, in which stood a lighted house on a highway. That was the road to Oding, running parallel to the frontier about fifteen hundred yards away. The house was one of the frontier guard houses. I snapped a wire, which vibrated loudly---at least, it seemed so to me. Just then a guard who had been standing motionless on the road walked off a little. He soon came back and passed down the other way towards the railroad. On each side of the road there was a large ditch and on both sides of each ditch were barbed wire fences. I had just painfully gone through the first fence and the ditch and was about to tackle the next fence, which was almost on the road, when my friend the sentry came back. I hid my hands and my face, which I thought might show in the dark, and lay motionless. He walked by about six feet away. When he was out of sight and (I hoped) hearing, I crawled across the road and through the other ditch. Soon afterwards I got in some thick woods which are along the frontier. I tried to circle them and by mistake walked all the way down to the railroad track. I had to pass through more barbed wire and I had been guiding myself by a light which was some distance off in Holland. When 1 found myself at the railroad, I began retracing my steps and the light was obscured by a wood. I reached for my compass (it was drizzling and pitch black, without a sign of a star) and to my horror found it gone. My pocket had been torn off on the wire. Suddenly I heard a sentry nearby call to another and I could hear them move together. They muttered a while and then separated. I lay perfectly still for a few minutes and then got up and went on as carefully as I could.
This night I lost my slippers and was in stocking feet (very little stocking), but that helped to make my progress almost noiseless except for a crack of a twig or a vibration of a wire. I again found my guiding light and had continued perhaps ten minutes when t suddenly went out. That was about two-thirty. I kept on a while. I was almost heartbroken at the thought of failing after being so near liberty and after so much suffering to get there. Soon I realized that I had no idea of direction. Before I was aware of it, I came on a house and a big barn. I was very near the barn and started to walk past it. It was very muddy and I could not help making a noise. As I was right by its open door a dog inside began to bark and then a man said something to him to be quiet, adding something about me which I did not understand. Again I got involved in a wood. I must have fallen asleep standing, for an hour or so later I came to on the ground. I was getting simple those last two nights and kept talking to myself. Finally it cleared, the stars came out, and I got my bearings. I raced down toward the railroad. I had wandered 'way off from it, and found it just before dawn. I hid in a nearby wood close to a small hamlet. I still thought I was in Germany, but I am sure now I was in Holland. It seemed too good to believe that I was in Holland; and if I was, it was only by yards. I hadn't eaten at all the day before, and that day I had two big beets which I picked up in a field just before I went to hide. I could hear lots of people about, but none disturbed me in my wood. I knew then that I was about at the end of my endurance and that it was that night or never.
Tenth night. After dark, with all the stars out, I started off in the general direction of the Dipper. I went through the hamlet I had been near and a big dog came out and kept running up to me and barking. He would dodge back from my stick and then jump around barking some more. Finally a man came out of a house but I was hidden from him by some bushes. He called and I finally shook the dog and started on my way again. I began to be a bit more confident. I came to a town about eleven and walked through it. I saw a couple of uniforms coming my way and ducked down an alley as they passed. I walked on, keeping to the road now. About three o'clock I began to be sure I was right. I couldn't be so simple as to be that far off; I must be in Holland. Tired as I was, I was feeling tremendously happy.
The country was different---very flat---and the picturesque little houses were certainly Dutch. Dawn broke and I kept on walking. I came to a farmhouse where a peasant was opening his shutters. I walked up to him, still a bit uncertain. I could see in his expression that he, too, was decidedly uncertain of me. I had been in mud without washing for ten days, and at least half my clothing was left on the frontier wires. A few minutes before I had managed to struggle into my shoes, which hurt less because my feet were numb. I conveyed to him that I was an escaped prisoner and he assured me I was in Holland. He took me in his house and his wife gave me coffee and bread. I was too tired to eat. There were several children. The eldest, about fifteen, took me back to Winterswijk. I had walked considerably beyond it. It was a beautiful morning; and if ever a countryside looked lovely to a traveler, that one did to me. I caused some commotion in the town and some kind fellow gave me an old pair of pants, which I got into immediately. However, I was little concerned about my appearance. I was taken to the police station and from there took a train to Didam, where I was placed in a hospital. That was the ninth of October. I had left my commando on Sunday night, the twenty-ninth of September. My feet were very swollen and painful. I got a shower and went to bed--- with my feet on a board slanting up to the foot of the bed. They gave me a bowl of hot soup, too. I sent a wire to Morgan Harjes to notify all my family and send me some money. The next day I received wires from all except my brother Fred, who was in the Argonne at the time and could not be located. I got the money also. When I had time to think about it, I began to realize how blooming sore and tired I was. I spent several days in bed and two weeks in all at Didam. It was a quarantine hospital as well, and I was not allowed to leave sooner than that.
Then I went down to Rotterdam and reported to the French consul. Of course 1 could have gone home, but I was terribly anxious at that time to get back in the army. I thought I had had enough experience to be fairly useful, and after my visit to Germany my personal feelings were stronger than ever before. Several French prisoners and one Canadian had escaped about the same time I did. They went to Rotterdam with me. One party of three French soldiers crossed the frontier the same night I did, a little farther north. They were heard and made a dash for it. One of them was killed and the two others got through. Those two came to Rotterdam; but one fellow, who was awfully nice, was taken very ill with pneumonia, and when we left he was not expected to live. He had been terribly weakened by his long stay in Germany. The French consul blew me to a suit of clothes, which I gratefully accepted, though they were sort of furry things which did not fit at all and made me laugh every time I looked at myself.
We had to wait in Rotterdam about a week. First we were given passports to Folkestone and Boulogne, but this was just at the time that the Belgian coast was cleared of the Germans. These passports were then changed to Flushing-Bruges. I was terribly impatient to get back. Several other escaped French prisoners wandered along, among them a very attractive young aspirant named Saget. We spent a day at the Hague, mainly visiting the Peace palace, which seemed to have lost its usefulness. Finally one morning we took a train to Flushing and a boat from there across to the mainland, still in Holland. We then took a fairly long walk to Bruges. Crossing the frontier from Holland to Belgium, we saw the famous wire system which had, till a few days before then, been electrified. We got to Bruges that evening, and at the hotel I met Gavin Brackenridge, who was a class ahead of me at Princeton. He was with several other fellows, all in the naval air service. The next day we were driven by motor over to Dunkirk. We passed through that shell-scarred, desolate tract which used to be the front along the Yser north of Ypres. It must have been terrible living in those trenches partly filled with water, especially the first winter of the war, before they had laid down occasional board-walks, etc. We had not started early over that very much torn up road and it was evening when we reached Dunkirk. We caught a train almost at once to Calais. There we spent the night, going on to Paris the next day. Saget, who shared a room with me, claimed I was talking in my sleep about Panam (Paris in poilu slang) all night.
When I arrived that evening, I went to the most popular gathering place, the Crillon bar. It was wonderful to be back, but I was shocked to hear the number of my friends who had been killed, especially those who had been in Section Three at Salonika. Apparently I was still supposed to be dead (there had been a report to that effect, ---I was missing so long), as several fellows greeted me with, "I thought you were dead." I replied as Mark Twain did, that the report of my death was greatly exaggerated. One fellow said he was quite put out about it because I had such a cheerful grin. I certainly got a laugh in that Dutch suit.
It was a general rule to attach escaped prisoners to a different regiment, so I was transferred to the 18th Artillery with a depot just outside Paris. I was given a six weeks' leave to report back there. Of course the armistice was signed meanwhile. I located two wounded brothers, Clint at Clermont-Ferrand, and Fred at Contrexéville. Fred was terribly wounded and I spent some time there. I was now very anxious to get home, and finally, about the twentieth of January, a general order was issued allowing members of the Foreign Legion who had enlisted for the duration of the war to get out of the French army. They were kind enough to stake me to a passage on the good old Rochambeau and I came back with a number of very nice American fellows from the 106th and 107th Regiments.