Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons: Wesel, Sennelager, Klingelputz, Ruhleben

Transcriber's Note: The original printing contained gaps in the text, varying in size from a few words up to several lines. This appears to have been a deliberate act by the author, editor, or printer. These gaps have been reproduced here.
From an official photograph taken by the German Government for attachment to the passport. The embossed imprint of the stamp of the Kommandantur of Berlin may be seen. Frontispiece
TO MY WIFE AND CHILDREN WHO WAITED PATIENTLY AND ANXIOUSLY FOR DADDY, AND TO A FRIEND, STILL LANGUISHING IN RUHLEBEN, TO WHOM I OWE MY LIFE
It was whilst suffering the agonies of solitary confinement in the military prison of Wesel that I first decided to record my experiences so that readers might be able to glean some idea of the inner workings and the treatment meted out to our unfortunate compatriots who were travelling in Germany at the outbreak of war and who have since been interned.
From the moment of my decision I gathered all the information possible, determining at the first opportunity to escape to the Old Country. As will be seen I have to a degree been successful.
Owing to the grossly inaccurate and highly coloured reports which have been circulated from time to time regarding the life and treatment of prisoners of war, the story has been set out in a plain unvarnished form. There are no exaggerations whatever. Much of the most revolting detail has been eliminated for the simple reason that they are unprintable.
In nearly every instance names have been suppressed. Only initials have been indicated, but sufficient description is attached to enable personal friends of those who are still so unfortunate as to be incarcerated to identify them and their present situation. Likewise, in the cases where I received kind treatment from Germans, initials only have been introduced, since the publication of their names would only serve to bring punishment upon them.
H.C.M.

On Friday afternoon, July 31, 1914, I shook hands in farewell with my friend Henry C. Mahoney. He was going to Warsaw and was full of enthusiasm concerning the new task which was to occupy him for at least three months. Owing to his exceptional skill and knowledge, practical as well as theoretical, of photography in all its varied branches, he had been offered, and had accepted an important appointment abroad in connection with this craft—one which made a profound appeal to him. Despite the stormy outlook in the diplomatic world he felt convinced that he would be able to squeeze through in the nick of time.