Assisted by a vigorous prod I was brought alongside my two companions.
The soldiers lined up to march. My head was swimming, but all thoughts of my own plight were dispelled by an incident which was as unexpected as it was sudden. At the command "March" one of the two Indian students, positive that he was now going to his doom, staggered. I caught him as he fell. He dropped limply to the ground, half-dead with fright, and with his face a sickly green.
"Are we going to be shot? Are we going to be shot?" he wailed agonisedly.
He clutched the sleeve of a soldier, who, looking down and evidently understanding English, motioned negatively. Then he added as an afterthought, "Not now!"
While his negative head-shake revived my drooping spirits, his words afterwards sent them to zero once more. I hardly knew whether to feel relieved or otherwise. It would have been far better had the soldier curbed his tongue, because his final words kept us on the rack of suspense.
We were hustled out of the room. As we passed out I glanced at the clock. It was just nine o'clock—Tuesday morning, August 4. I shall never forget the day nor the hour. Like sheep we were driven and rushed downstairs, the guards assisting our faltering steps with sundry rifle prods and knocks. We tramped corridors, which seemed to be interminable, and at last came to a ponderous iron gate. Here we were halted, and the military guard handed us over to the gaolers. We passed through the gates, which closed with a soul-smashing, reverberating bang.
Over the top of this gate I had noticed one of those mottoes to which the German is so partial. I do not recall the actual words, but I was told that it was something to do with crime and punishment. It would have been far more appropriate had it been inscribed "Main entrance to Hell. No pass-out checks!" According to many accounts which reached my ears during the succeeding few days, many entered those gates, but few passed out alive. I can substantiate this from my own observations, which are duly narrated, while my experience was sufficient to vouch for its similarity to Hades.
This gate gave approach to a long corridor, flanked on either side by cells. This corridor is facetiously nick-named by the prisoners as "Avenue of the Damned," because it is in these cells that the tenants await their doom. I was separated from my two companions, who were already being treated more leniently than myself, the case against them being obviously very thin, and was brought to a stop before cell "No. 11."
The massive door swung open, and accompanied by four soldiers I entered. The door closed, there was a grating in the lock, and we were alone. Even now I could not keep back a smile. Although I had been thrust into the cell, together with four armed soldiers, and the door had been bolted and barred, I turned at the sound of a slight click. The head gaoler, who had ushered us in and had locked the door upon us, according to the regulations of the prison, had opened the peep-hole to satisfy himself that I was safely inside!