“Engelsch?” He gripped our hands and shook them warmly. Then we had to accompany him back to his cottage. He ushered us into the room where Kent had seen the “big dish, full of potatoes.” His wife, in picturesque undress, fired a volley of questions at her husband, clasped her hands, shook ours, and began lighting the kitchener. Two daughters--or were there three?--emerged from cavernous cabin beds, let into the wall. Shyly they dressed in front of us. Then the table was loaded with things to eat. We had fried veal, bread, butter, and plenty of milk and hot coffee. All this was offered us spontaneously in a farm laborer’s cottage at 2:30 in the morning. Enviously I watched my companions enjoying their meal. I was too done up to make more than a show of it. A little later the man accompanied us to the nearest village, Sellingen. He walked in front with Kent, Tynsdale and I followed in the rear. The walk was a nightmare to me. Our guide carried a lantern. I could not keep my eyes off its reflex on the ground. The direct rays stabbed intolerably into my eyes. It seemed to hang in a Gothic archway, which always kept receding in front of me. I was almost convinced of the reality of the archway. “Can’t we get through that gate?” I asked Tynsdale. “What gate? Here, where are you going?” and he pulled my arm and saved me from walking slap into the canal. After that I pulled myself together and felt better. Both my friends were much fresher than I. We arrived at the village at last, and were given a delicious bed on plenty of straw, with plenty of blankets. Kent was up early next morning. He accepted I do not know how many successive invitations to breakfast, while Tynsdale and I slept until half-past seven. In the course of the morning we were taken to a military station at Ter Apel by the village policeman, who appeared in his best uniform, with two huge silver tassels at his chest. The very atmosphere was different. A sergeant in whose special charge we were placed regretted that he could not put proper rooms at our disposal. “But since the gentlemen will have to be quarantined first, they will perhaps understand if we keep them away from upholstered furniture.” We had a wash, and an excellent meal, with a bottle of port. “Did you meet any sentries?” we were asked. “Not one.” “Where did you cross over?” “North of Sellingen.” “You came over the swamp, then?” with elevated eyebrows. “Yes, right across.” “You were lucky. Up to a fortnight ago, sentries stood along the frontier at one hundred-meter intervals. Then they were withdrawn, because the swamp became impassable. You were fortunate, too, in getting across the Ems. A great many fugitives get drowned in it.” “Once, during my first attempt, I got caught on Dutch soil by the Germans,” I remarked in the course of the conversation. “What? On Dutch territory? Where was that?” The sergeant was very much interested. “I can show it to you on a map. It was northwest of Bocholt.”