One of the most pathetic cases which came within my personal observation was that of Dan Williamson. Twice he had escaped from Ruhleben camp. After his first recapture he was interned at the Stadtvogtei, where he remained for about a year. Then he was sent back to Ruhleben camp. A few months later he escaped again. In company with a companion named Collins he succeeded in passing the German sentries and was on his way towards Holland when he and his companion were arrested. They were brought to the jail in Berlin. At that time recaptured prisoners were being punished by solitary confinement in dark dungeons for two weeks at a time. Williamson and Collins were placed in separate dark cells–two of the fourteen with the dark shutters which I have previously referred to. One day, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, a terrible noise was heard. This was succeeded by what appeared to be the pounding of the walls. Threats were overheard. A non-commissioned officer appeared at the door of my cell and informed me that Williamson had just attempted to commit suicide; that he had been found covered with blood, and that a blood-stained razor with which he had attempted the deed had been taken from him. Meanwhile the noise of the blows against the wall of the neighboring cell continued. My informant said: “Williamson is making all this noise.” I reflected that a man of so much apparent vigor was not in immediate danger. At the request of the non-commissioned officer I proceeded to the door of Williamson’s cell. I was attempting to speak to him through the small aperture in the middle of the door when my words were interrupted by a heavy blow on the door from the inside. Instinctively I withdrew and decided that it would not be wise to open the door at the moment. Williamson evidently had a weapon of some kind in his possession, and it was supposed he had succeeded in tearing off one of the legs from the iron bedstead in the cell. I advised the non-commissioned officer to telephone to the police station for two constables, and a few minutes afterwards these men appeared accompanied by two other non-commissioned officers of the jail. I suggested that we should first open the door of Collins’ cell, which was immediately adjoining the one occupied by Williamson. This done, I advised Collins to stand on the threshold of Williamson’s cell and try to appease his friend. Then the door was opened. Williamson leaped from his cell like an enraged tiger let loose from a cage. He struck his friend Collins, knocking him to the ground, and he would have beaten the fellow unmercifully had not the whole party of us seized Williamson and overpowered him. He was like a man who had lost his reason. I was about to speak to him when he cried out: “Give me my razor so that I may end it all.” His clothes were covered with blood. On his right arm was a deep wound, though not a long one. It had manifestly been inflicted with some sharp instrument.