About this time everyone was out of the huts looking for the airplanes in the sky, and the inner guards were making a big rumpus and causing them to close the doors so the lights would not show, which, of course, would give away the presence of the “enemy.”
In all this confusion and excitement I thought it was a good time to duck, for while I did not feel that the hole was quite big enough, yet I would try it anyhow because I probably would never have such an opportunity again. So, I started out. After considerable grunting and labor I got my head and shoulders through, and then my coat caught on a nail on the bottom of the fence and in spite of every imaginable maneuver from a wiggle to a “shimmie,” I simply could not pull through. In twisting and squirming I shook the fence, whereupon the excited guard on the outside noticing me, came running up at full speed ahead and with pointed bayonet he frothed, “Loze! Loze! Vass is Dass?” He was more excited over me than he was the prospect of a bomb dropping on the both of us. He thought that Gehenna had surely been transferred to Karlsruhe and that the whole camp was on the march. I thought he was going to take me for a practice dummy and judging from his speed I decided that he could not possibly stop until he had put that bayonet completely through me. He must have realized that if he captured me alive he would get more credit for it. Exasperated like a sick infant with the mumps, excited like a school girl at her graduation, and worked up like a Hebrew at a bargain, he cried out, “Commen sie aus! Commen sie aus!” making all sorts of ejaculations and motions, indicating clearly that he wanted me to come on out. He was making more noise than the archies.
About this time I began to feel my leg being violently kicked and some one beating against the fence from the inside, also crying out, “Commen sie in!” This old boy on whose beat I had escaped had real cause for concern, for he knew that he would be placed in jail for allowing me to get away should I get the rest of the way out. No wonder he had an interest in the matter.
In a jiffy the two guards were in a dog fight over a bone—yours truly being the bone and the bone of contention—one was kicking me and the other pulling me—one anxious to get the bonus for capturing me and the other trying to save himself from jail. I was not only under the fence, but I was on both sides of it. I was afraid if I went on out the guard on the inside would shoot me, and if I backed in I knew I would be punished and I did not know but that the guard on the outside might become real excited and stick me. So, while they were fighting between themselves, one pulling and the other tugging at me, I decided that if I did go on out I might have a chance to hit this other guy on the bean and take a run for liberty. The guns were firing all the time and things were getting good and hot around there. The boy on the inside was about as scared of the guns as he was of my escaping, so, I began to tug and with the help of the other sentry was pulling myself through. Then the old boy on the inside administered his trusty bayonet blade to my leg, and while I cannot describe the particular motion through which he went, I can certainly testify that he gave me one mighty persuasive jab. For believe me, I sure did back in at the rate of a mile a minute, for I had no further inclination whatsoever to go on out. I realized that duty called me at the camp, and while it had taken me fully five minutes to get my anatomy that far out—well, this little flying machine had a reversible propeller, that’s all.
The old boy on the inside was terribly sore, because in climbing the fence after me he had torn his nice, new, green pants, yet he was over-delighted that he had saved himself from jail. As we walked up to the fence I attempted to climb the wire first, whereupon the old boy said, “Nicht! Nein!” and menaced me again with his bayonet. Needless to say—I unhesitatingly obeyed. I had hoped, should I have gotten over the fence first, to run immediately to my bunk and fool the foxy old boy, but when he flashed that bayonet on me it was the halt sign of my new fraternity. A little blood was beginning to trickle down my leg and I began to feel pretty much like a stuck pig, so, in courtesy, I let the old boy climb over first and I went after him.
On the way to Headquarters, I realized that I had a compass and a map and knowing what it would mean if these were found on me, as we walked along, I carefully slipped my hand in my pocket and crumpled up the map. I then began to cough violently, whereupon I took out my handkerchief with my left hand and put it over my mouth, and in so doing I managed to put the tiny map in my mouth; then I chewed it up and swallowed it. I didn’t know what gag to pull with that compass, and I didn’t dare to swallow it. The old German who was taking me along didn’t feel any sympathy for me, but kept poking me along in spite of my overemphasized limping. Finally I deliberately stumbled and fell, but as I fell I threw that compass a good twenty yards away, and into a section of the lot where it was not likely to be found. Then after considerable moral persuasion, I got up and went over to the headquarters with the feeling that in spite of the worst I had saved myself, at least, two weeks in jail.
In a very cold room, at Headquarters, they summoned the Commander of the Camp, the Officer of the Night, and the Officer of the Guard, and all the Sergeants and Corporals at the camp. Then the joint board was in session. They gathered around and proceeded to cause me a good deal of embarrassment because they took off all of my clothes and did not leave me enough in which to feel modest. Like a poor, belated, half-soaked, blind owl, after an April shower, naked from head to foot, with my face and hands covered with mud, I stood there waiting for them to finish searching my clothes, before I could once more become a respectable looking German prisoner. I also was patiently awaiting the announcement of my penalty. It was my first attempt and I expected almost anything from shooting to hanging.
XII
THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS
A serious old philosopher once said that every man had his price. That may be true but I don’t agree with it in principle. My early training taught me that the man who offers a bribe is a lower parasite than the man who accepts it and experience has not altered my views. But, a more serious old philosopher came forth expounding the doctrine that everything is fair in love and in war. According to my way of thinking this second boy was on the right track.
So, when my German captors took me down and with a lot of ceremony, deposited me in the camp calaboose, a hasty examination of the barred windows and the tremendous lock on the door almost convinced me that my only hope was to experiment with that philosophy of price, as my biggest asset happened to be a pocket full of prison money, which, if acceptable at all, would have to be disposed of at a discount. At any rate, I was determined to get out—the means might require bribery and it might require lies. Whatever was necessary to effect my state of freedom, so long as it was honorable, was in my mind the privilege of the prisoner—for it was fair in war.