Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons: Wesel, Sennelager, Klingelputz, RuhlebenTalbot, Frederick Arthur Ambrose
History
Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons: Wesel, Sennelager, Klingelputz, Ruhleben
Talbot, Frederick Arthur Ambrose
World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons
But to me it was obvious that to remain on the field was to die from
starvation, especially bearing in mind my precarious health. Yet to get
out of the field was no easy matter. I pondered fretfully over this
issue, and at last resolved to attempt a desperate solution. I marched
boldly to the gate, waved an old, long-since expired "pass" and shouted
to the sentry that I had to go to the doctor's office immediately. Taken
unawares the guard opened the gate without scanning the "pass" and I
walked on to the main road leading to the barracks in which we had lived
previously. The little extra exertion demanded to pass the sentry
without creating any suspicions in his mind now told on me. Once I had
passed out of his sight the reaction set in, and I fell into a clockwork
pace. I was determined to fulfil my mission at all hazards, so plodded
along slowly. I could see nothing, and heeded nothing, being only
conscious of the fact that I was going to get something to eat and to
bring food back for my stranded companions on the field. Soon everything
seemed to grow darker and darker, then came perfect blackness. I
remembered no more.
When I came to my senses I found myself being borne carefully by two
fellow-prisoners--Ca---- and a chum--to the hospital. I was put to bed,
and looking round I saw that I was surrounded by twenty-five other
patients. One and all had dropped down from sheer exhaustion upon the
field during the "Bloody Night," and had been found by the guard in the
morning in an unconscious condition. I heard that there were seventy
such cases brought in--all caused by exposure and the rain. I cannot
testify to that number, but I can swear to the twenty-five cases because
I saw them in the hospital lying in the ward with me. They were then in
a terrible plight, not having recovered from the racking ordeal.
Presently a military doctor came in. I had never seen him before. He
approached my cot.
"Civilian or military?" he asked.
"Civilian!" I replied.
"Ach!" and there was intense disgust and unveiled hostility in his
voice. "Get up! Outside!"
"But he has been brought in unconscious!" persisted Ca----.
"Ach! No matter. Get up. Outside!" he repeated.
"I'll see you damned first!" exploded Ca----, his Irish temper now
roused to bursting point at the inhuman attitude of the military medical
official. Fortunately for my friend the individual in question did not
understand a word of English, or there would have been trouble.
But feeling somewhat better and realising the uselessness of argument I
persuaded Ca---- to obey instructions. Indeed I was bundled out of bed,
and hastily assisted in re-dressing, by the doctor's orders. Passing out
of the hospital I paused to lean against the door, feeling downright ill
and weak. Ca---- ran off to the barrack to fetch Dr. Ascher.
A young medical man came out of the hospital, and seeing my wan and
haggard face, came up to me. He was certainly sympathetic.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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