"To fetch some teams for the ambulance carriages."
"Who sent you?"
"The officer at the bridge."
Our questioner did not look thoroughly convinced.
"Forward—March!"
We did not need telling a second time. At the boundary postern, we were questioned again. As we put on a calm, assured manner and were very gruff, our stratagem succeeded again. We were now on the Selzaete main road, and in two hours we should be on Belgian soil, if all continued satisfactorily. Our feet now seemed to have wings. Half way, alas, we came across another sentry-box and here a telephonic message had been received with regard to our escape. In this land of canals and dykes, things are easy for the authorities. We were arrested and taken back to Terneuzen, between two rows of soldiers with drawn bayonets. This fresh attempt made things bad for us, and we were now considered dangerous individuals, put on to a boat, and carefully guarded. We were then sent off by water, with a group of prisoners, to an unknown destination.
It was dark and I was lying down on the bridge, although it was icy cold, looking at the stars, whilst on the coast the Quays seemed to be flying behind us. We had been sailing along for some time, and I supposed we were now in front of Flushing. There were more canals, which seemed to intersect each other endlessly. I wondered where we were going, and all night long we went on and on.
In the morning the boat stopped. On the Quay, the crowd hurried towards us and threw us bread and fruit. There was great confusion, shouting, and a regular tumult. This was the moment for us. We stepped over the netting, jumped on to the Quay, and hid ourselves in some enormous packing cases filled with manure, which were standing near. We had not been seen, so that all seemed right. The towing-boat whistled for the departure, but, unfortunately, we were too well known. Our absence was noticed, and we were once more discovered and taken on board.
For hours we continued on the water, in the immense arms of the sea and we did not stop anywhere on our way. Water, water everywhere! How should we ever escape? The first thing for us to do, evidently, was to procure some civilian clothes. On the boat, certain prisoners were already dressed as ordinary citizens. We talked to some of them quietly, and offered to exchange our uniforms for their garments. Very soon, we were wearing the finest dockers' suits imaginable. We could not help laughing to see what ruffians we looked in this fresh disguise. Snysters looked like a regular hooligan, Jeanjean wore a thread-bare flannel suit, which outlined his corpulent figure admirably. Gilissen looked like a collier and I like a miserable beggar. Rolent, our new recruit, with his soft felt hat, was the one who looked the most decent. Van Bastelaer refused obstinately to take off his uniform. It was unfortunate for him, as he was not able to get away with us.