Concerning the rest of that night my memory rather fails me, but soon the whole household was roused—father, mother, and daughter. Wine, beer, and milk were produced; also bread, and cold bacon and three fine eggs each. We ate everything there was, and I think cleaned out the family larder, whilst the family sat round and questioned us, and were much surprised to find that two English officers could speak German. They could not possibly have been kinder or more friendly, and absolutely refused to take money from us. They were delighted to be our hosts and show themselves good neutrals, they said. As we had visions of hot baths, sheets, and breakfast in bed, we expressed our intention of going on to Schafhausen that night, but the father rather shocked us by saying that we must be handed over to the Swiss frontier post. The girl, however, tactfully added that, if we went on, we might easily lose our way and walk back into Germany, and that with the Swiss soldiers we should be perfectly safe.
That decided us, as we were both beginning to feel very sleepy after the food and wine.
Soon afterwards one of the boys took us across to the guardhouse, where soldiers provided us with mattresses and we fell asleep instantly.
At an early hour next morning the soldiers brought us hot water and shaved us and bound up my feet. They were extraordinarily good to us, and, after we had had coffee and bread, they filled our pockets with cigars and cigarettes and sent us off with the best wishes and a guide to the station about 2 kilometres away. The road passed quite close to the German frontier, and we felt glad that we had not tried to pass that way the night before. We soon found that our guide was really a plain-clothes police officer, and that, though the fact was tactfully concealed, we were still under arrest. However, "What does it matter?" we said. "Food is the main thing now, and we'll escape from any old prison in Switzerland, if it comes to that." Our "guide" seemed a very decent fellow, and told us that we were about to travel on a German railway. We halted abruptly whilst he explained at some length that, though it was a German-owned railway, the Germans had no rights over the Swiss traffic on the railway, and that under no circumstances could we be arrested by the Germans when on that bit of their railway which ran through Switzerland. More or less satisfied, we went on again. In the village we entered a pub, rather against our guide's will, and had some more coffee and bread. It was wonderful how much stronger we felt owing to the food. Buckley, when he had stripped to wash that morning, had shown himself to be a living skeleton, and I was not much fatter.
Whilst in the pub a fat dirty fellow came and congratulated us, and questioned us in bad English. I have no doubt now that he was a German agent, and I think we were rather injudicious in our answers, but we had sense enough to hold our tongues about the important points—when we crossed, and how, etc.
The railway journey to Schafhausen was rather amusing. It was so very obvious that we were escaped prisoners, as we still had on service tunics, and, except for that portion of our faces which had been scraped with a razor, we were filthily dirty from head to foot. Our clothes were covered with mud, with thick pads of it on our knees and elbows where we had crawled the night before, and our faces and hands covered with sores and swellings from unhealed scratches and insect bites.
Several German railway officials gave us a first glance of surprise and indignation, and thereafter were careful not to look in our direction. Considering the temptations of the situation we behaved on the whole very decently, but even the mildest form of revenge is sweet.
At Schafhausen our guide or keeper took us to the police and secret service headquarters and introduced us to a Swiss Lieutenant who spoke alternately German and French, with a preference for the former. He told us that we would be lodged at Hotel something or other, and would be sent down to Berne on Monday, that day being Friday. I thanked him, and said that we wished to get on the telephone to a friend in the English Embassy at Berne, and we should much prefer to go down that afternoon. As for waiting in Schafhausen till Monday, it was out of the question.
He had a great struggle to put it with the utmost politeness, but his answer came to this. He did not see how it could be arranged, and we had no option in the matter; we should be extremely comfortable, etc. We answered firmly, but politely, that we had not got out of Germany to be confined in Schafhausen, and that there was a train at 3 o'clock which would suit us.
Just at this moment a Swiss major came in. The lieutenant introduced us, and I appealed to him to allow us to go to Berne that day. After some argument he suddenly gave in, and ordered the lieutenant to take us to Berne by the 3 o'clock train. Then turning to us he said, with a charming smile, "Come and lunch with me before you go." We then walked round the town with the lieutenant, bought some things, and Buckley telephoned to H. at the Embassy. We got back late for lunch, only ten minutes before the train started. However, we managed to bolt four courses and half a bottle of champagne apiece, and just as the lieutenant, who had been prophesying for some minutes that we should miss the train, finally stated that it was hopeless to try and catch it now, we got up and ran for it, with him lumbering behind. We just caught it. At Berne we were met by H., who threw up his hands in horror at the sight of us and bundled us into a closed taxi.