Kapp told us that our destination was Villingen, which was a prison camp in the State of Baden. The journey was very slow on account of the congestion, so the day before we arrived there, as we were sidetracked at one town, Kapp left us to call Landshut on the long distance. When he returned, we knew that something was terribly wrong—he was as pale as a ghost. Poor old Kapp! I never saw a man so nervous and upset. He acted like a rooky after being bawled out by a drill sergeant, and he fidgeted and twisted like an old maid about to say the words “I do.” Finally, I summoned enough courage to ask him what it was all about, for I thought perhaps that hostilities had been resumed.
“Anything wrong, Herr Kapp?” I asked.
“Wrong!” he ejaculated bitterly. “Hell, everything’s wrong!”
“What do you mean?” we all anxiously asked, for his attitude was just cause for alarm.
“Well,” he went on, “I have just called Landshut and they are demobilizing the camp to-day, and the men are all going to their homes.”
“What’s the matter with that?” I inquired, for this was to my mind the natural thing to do.
“Oh, my,” he said, surprised at our lack of understanding, “That car of Red Cross food arrived for you prisoners, and the rest of the camp officials will hook it all before I get back to get my share.”
All the way on the journey, Kapp had talked about the very nice girl he knew in Villingen, and that he was surely going to visit her for a few days before he returned to Landshut. So, as we were pulling into Villingen, I told Kapp that I certainly hoped he would have a pleasant visit with his girl friend at Villingen.
“Visit nothing,” he came back emphatically, “I’m going to turn you prisoners over to the authorities here and take the first train back to Landshut. There may yet be a little of that Red Cross food left.”
Villingen was a real prison camp—believe me it was, compared to those we had been in. They had real spring mattresses, a prisoners’ orchestra, a couple of pianos, a library, a tennis court, hand-ball court, basket-ball court, nice place to walk in, and a nice kitchen where prisoners could cook their own recipes, and best of all, they had quite a lot of Red Cross food, even butter. I regretted a plenty that all my prison life had not been spent at that camp, for it was the best I had seen.