The Red Glutton: With the German Army at the FrontCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
History
The Red Glutton: With the German Army at the Front
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Western Front; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
When the sister was a child, so we heard, she had been terribly
frightened, so that to this day, still frightened, she crept about,
a pale shadow, quivering all over pitiably at every sound. She would
stand behind a door for minutes shaking so that you could hear her
knuckles knocking against the wall. She seemed particularly to dread
the sight of the German privates who came and went; and they, seeing
this, were kind to her in a clumsy, awkward way. Hourly, like a ghost
she drifted in and out.
For a while it looked as though we should spend the night sitting up
in chairs; but about ten o'clock three soldiers, led by Rosenthal and
accompanied by the landlady, went out; and when they came back they
brought some thick feather mattresses which had been commandeered from
neighboring houses, we judged. Also, through the goodness of his heart,
Mittendorfer, who impressed us more and more as a strange compound of
severity and softness, took pity on Gerbeaux and Stevens, and bringing
them forth from that pestilential hole next door, he convoyed them in
to stay overnight with us. They told us that by now the air in the
improvised prison was absolutely suffocating, what with the closeness,
the fouled straw, the stale food and the proximity of so many dirty
human bodies all packed into the kennel together.
Ten of us slept on the floor of that little grogshop--the five of our
party lying spoon-fashion on two mattresses, Gerbeaux and Stevens
making seven, and three soldiers. The soldiers relieved each other
in two-hour spells, so that while two of them snored by the door the
third sat in a chair in the middle of the room, with his rifle between
his knees, and a shaded lamp and a clock on a table at his elbow. Just
before we turned in, Rosenthal, who had adopted a paternal tone to the
three guards, each of whom was many years older than he, addressed them
softly, saying:
"Now, my children, make yourselves comfortable. Drink what you please;
but if any one of you gets drunk I shall take pleasure in seeing that
he gets from seven to nine years in prison at hard labor." For which
they thanked him gratefully in chorus.
I am not addicted to the diary-keeping habit, but during the next day,
which was Friday, I made fragmentary records of things in a journal,
from which I now quote verbatim:
Seven-thirty A.M.--about. After making a brief toilet by sousing our
several faces in a pail of water, we have just breakfasted, sketchily,
on wine and almonds. It would seem that the German army feeds its
prisoners, but makes no such provision for its guests. On the whole I
think I should prefer being a prisoner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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