The Passing of the Commandant
On Sunday morning, as it transpired, we paraded before the old Commandant for the last time. Shortly after Appell he was waited upon by a delegation from the men, headed by a stout corporal who in peace time is a North Sea fisherman, and informed that his services were no longer required. With a touch of pride the corporal told me of his part in the deposition.
When informed that he must resign, “Warum?” inquired the Commandant. This was explained, but he still demurred. “I must wait,” said he, “for instructions from headquarters.” “We give you your instructions,” replied the corporal, “and you must go.”
Thereupon the old man wept. “Er weinet,” said the corporal, and he drew a finger from his eye downward to demonstrate. Greater than the Commandant wept in these days, I take it!
While we talked, standing on the road by the playing-field, came along the civilian, who succeeded eventually in transferring to my possession a copy of the Times for 29th October containing a sensational discussion in the Reichstag, and also a slip of paper folded to a spill on which he had pencilled the terms of the armistice.
Over the barracks we found that the Imperial flag had been shorn of its black and white strips, and that only a thin red shred stood out menacingly in the wind from the staff.
A picket, with arms piled, was posted at the forked roads, and from the caps of all the soldiers the badges had been torn. These men more than ever seemed disposed to be fraternal; indeed, as we passed the Kaserne some of the soldiers at the windows shouted out that they would be glad to play us a game of football now.
They deposed the Major who was in charge of the barracks, and the Medical Officer—he of the dashing manner and the Airedale terrier, who visited us for inoculatory purposes—had also to go. The Major and his young daughter were in a hotel when the soldiers demanded an audience. The Major endeavoured to escape by a back entrance, but was held, and had the humiliation of having his epaulets torn off, while his sword was broken and the pieces handed to the children standing around. So we had the story.
In our own camp Lieut. Stark, who was a ranker, and also reputed to be sympathetic to the revolution, was elected Commandant by the men’s committee—distinguished by white bands on their arms—in spite of the fact that Lieut. Kruggel was his superior in rank. The men took off Kruggel’s epaulets and badges, and then saluted him.
It was in these troublous times that Captain U., who was being transferred to another camp on account of his health, succeeded in jumping off the train when it slowed down somewhere in the neighbourhood of Storkow. The train was stopped, but no very effectual search was made, and the Captain, retracing his steps, had almost reached Lubben, when he was overtaken and held up by a gamekeeper on a bicycle, and carrying a gun. He was brought back to camp, and had a great reception, particularly from the members of his own mess, we having prepared a sort of composite meal of breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner. U. was looking none the worse for two or three nights’ and days’ exposure, and attributed his healthful appearance to “having had something to do.” Lieutenant Stark imposed no punishment, his only comment being, “This is not the good time for escaping; there will be peace in two days.”