It was extremely fortunate that I had spent some time in London two years previously, and knew my way about. I visited four different restaurants in turn, where I stilled my hunger by eating moderately in each, so as to avoid comments on my ravenous appetite. After that I walked along the Thames, recalling all the streets, bridges and landing-stages which I knew of yore, and took special note of the localities where neutral steamers were moored.
I had fondly imagined that conditions would be more favourable, and that I should at once be able to find a boat. But I now saw that all the wharves and the majority of the neutral steamers were strictly guarded, and lay in the middle of the river. At this moment everything contributed to my depression: the strange surroundings, my insecurity at the start, when I imagined that every one knew who I was, and could guess that I had escaped from Donington Hall; also the fatigue and excitement of the night before, and the feeling of utter loneliness in the immense, inimical city. I had also failed to get a newspaper with the shipping intelligence, and this was a bitter disappointment.
Was it to be wondered at that at seven o’clock in the evening I stood weary and downcast on the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral, waiting for Trefftz? I waited until nine, but no Trefftz appeared.
Convinced that Trefftz had already managed his escape on a friendly steamer, I dragged myself, totally exhausted, to Hyde Park which, to my further discomfiture, I found closed. What should I do now? Where should I sleep? I could not stay in the streets if I were to remain unnoticed, and I did not dare go to an hotel as I had no passport, which, even for English people, had become compulsory, and without which no hotel proprietor was allowed to receive visitors.
In a miserable bar, which I had entered to fortify myself, I was only able to get warm stout and one piece of cake. Everything else had been consumed, and when the bar closed I was again on the street. I turned into an aristocratic lane where beautiful mansions were surrounded by carefully tended gardens. I was hardly able to stand on my feet, and at the first favourable moment I jumped with quick decision over one of the garden fences and hid myself in a thick box hedge, only a foot away from the pavement. It is difficult to describe my state of mind. My pulses were hammering, and thoughts raced wildly through my tired brain. Wrapped in my mackintosh, I lay in my hiding-place, stealthily—like a thief.
If anyone had found me here in this dreadful situation—me, a German officer! I felt like a criminal, and in my heart I was firmly resolved never to disclose to anyone the details of my despicable adventure. Oh, had I known then where I should soon have to hang about at night, and even find nothing odd in it, I should have felt my position less keenly!
After I had lain for about an hour in my refuge, the French window of the house, leading to a beautiful veranda, opened, and several ladies and gentlemen in evening dress came out to enjoy the coolness of the night. I could see them and hear every word. Soon the sounds of a piano mingled with those of a splendid soprano voice, and the most wonderful songs of Schubert overwhelmed my soul with longing.
At last total exhaustion prevailed, and I slept heavily, seeing in my mind the most beautiful pictures of the future.
Next morning I was awakened by the regular heavy tread of a policeman who marched up and down the street, quite close to where I lay, with the bright, warm rays of the sun shining down upon me.