Prisoner-of-war escapes; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, German
He stepped back. At this moment the Amtmann came in, a young and
gentlemanly looking chap. My assailant at once collapsed in a chair,
and tried to assume a judicial attitude with pen in hand and paper in
front of him. Then they searched me, and the fat was in the fire. There
was, of course, no sense in continuing the bluffing game, when maps,
compasses, and some letters addressed to me in Ruhleben were on the
table. I had carried the latter as additional evidence of my identity
for the British consul, should I get through. What they did not find
was my British passport. That was cunningly, I think, and successfully
concealed.
The business part of the performance being over, they became more
genial. The Amtmann asked me whether or not I was hungry. “No.” Should
I like a cup of coffee? “I should, and a smoke, please.” With the aid
of two cups of coffee and three of my cigarettes, I pulled myself
together as best I might.
The soldier who had stopped me was in the highest of spirits about
the big catch he thought he had made, and obviously wanted all the
credit to himself. Perhaps he expected the usual leave granted for
the apprehension of fugitive prisoners of war, and the ten or fifteen
marks of monetary recognition. In his anxiety to establish his claim,
he forgot all about the indecision and hesitancy he had shown to start
with.
“I knew you immediately for an Englander! That nose of yours!”
I have the most ordinary face and nose, and I am of no particular type,
but I nodded with deep understanding.
“Where did you intend crossing the frontier?” he rattled on.
I pointed it out to him on the map lying on the table.
“You’d never have got across there,” he vouchsafed triumphantly. “In
addition to the ordinary sentries and patrols, there are dogs and
cavalry patrols at that point, and to the north of it.”
If only I could have got that information under different circumstances!
“What beautiful maps you’ve got, and what a fine compass! Would
it--would it--would you think me cheeky if I asked you for it as a
memento?”
Considering that it would be lost to me anyway, I expressed my pleasure
at being able to gratify his desire. And then the Amtmann gave me to
understand that it was time to be locked up.
The interview at the office had lasted some time, and the noses which
had flattened themselves against the outside of the windows had
decreased in number. Still, there was a fairly strong guard of adults
and children to accompany us to the village lockup.
This was a small building consisting only of one floor. Here I observed
for the first time another small man with sharp features who unlocked
the door. It was, of course, dark about us, and at this distance it is
difficult to determine what I saw then and what I learned in the course
of the following day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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