A new Colonel came to the camp. On his first round he was armed to the teeth, and walked about between two soldiers with fixed bayonets, one in front and the other behind him. When he met the Major and the Captain, absolutely unarmed and unaccompanied, he reproached them severely for their carelessness. But he soon improved. One day this new Commandant sent for these two gentlemen, and said to them in a tone full of horror: “Can you imagine this? We have been sent some new prisoners, and it has been reported that they are full of lice! Such dreadful things can only happen to the Germans.” Captain Mitchell turned calmly to the Major: “Do you remember, Owen, that we were so covered with lice during our last campaign that we simply could not move?” The Colonel was aghast. I must point out that though the Colonel _was_ a Colonel he had never in his life had anything to do with military affairs. But that can only happen in England! About the end of March I at last received news from my people. It was nearly nine months since I had heard from them. It is easy to picture my feelings when I held in my hands my first letter from home, hesitating to open it, for all my brothers and male relatives had been at the Front since July 1914. It informed me that they were still safe; but, on the other hand, my beloved little sister, my best pal, had died from the effects of the war. Towards the end of March the order came that I should be recognized as an officer, and transferred to an officers’ camp. My small bundle and my hockey-stick were soon collected, and after a warm farewell to my comrades I marched to the station with Major Owen. I found the fine tact of the old gentleman a very particular blessing. After a journey that lasted several hours we reached Maidenhead, near London, where I was received by another English officer. And here, oh, miracle, I also met dear old friends. Five shining gold coins which had been taken from the locksmith, Ernst Suse, were handed over to my new companion, and the latter was able to return them at once to me, as I was an officer once more. Oh, the joy of our reunion! A motor-car took us to the Officers’ Camp, Holyport. The sentries presented arms, the wire fences were opened, and I found myself in the midst of a joyous crowd of comrades. Who could have imagined this change! I again met those I had last seen at Kiao-Chow—the victors of Coronel, the few gallant survivors of the Falkland Islands. It is impossible to imagine our joy. The questions and answers! the excitement! And then the miraculous happened, for I was conducted to my dormitory, and there I actually saw six or eight beds, made up with white, clean sheets. I had been a prisoner for eight weeks, and these were the first beds I beheld. Can one understand the shy reverence with which I laid myself to rest that night?