Sometimes the monotony of the proceedings is varied by a torrent of subdued cursing from the pump chamber, while the full basin is on its way back. To the experienced this only signifies that the rope has broken, as it frequently does on account of the damp and the incessant friction against the sides, roof, and floor of the tunnel. A breakage entails a journey on the part of Number 2 to effect repairs while Number 3 pumps.
The working time is divided into three equal parts, and at the end of the first part Number 3, who is time-keeper as well as packer, informs Number 2. A low hail informs Number 1 that his digging is over for the day, and he retraces his steps—or more accurately wriggles back feet foremost, for there is no room to turn round. He then becomes Number 3, Number 2 becomes Number 1 and goes to the face, whilst Number 3 becomes Number 2 and pumps.
So the work goes on till 3.45 p.m. Then it ceases; all three come out of the tunnel and change back into their orderlies’ clothes to await the signal to come out. At the orderlies’ entrance to the building stand two of the orderlies waiting for a favourable opportunity to let them out, and, just as during the morning manœuvre, there are two or three officers loafing about for no apparent reason at the other end of the building. On some days there are no Boche about at this time and immediate exit is possible, but to-day they happen to be carrying potatoes down to the adjoining cellar, and pass to and fro close to the hiding-place, quite plainly visible through the cracks in the boards. They could not see anything, naturally, even if they thought of looking, as they are in the light and the chamber is practically in the dark.
At last they go. “Come out now,” sings out one of the orderlies, looking skywards and as if singing a snatch of a music-hall song from sheer light-heartedness. The trio unbolt the plank door and, slipping quickly to the top of the steps, stand just inside the orderlies’ door, precisely as they had stood in the morning with the day’s work in front of them; and an orderly waiting for a moment at the bottom of the steps fastens the secret door. The orderly standing at the entrance looks down the enclosure to make sure that no Germans are about, and then says “Right.” Off they go again. If the sun is shining, the light is very dazzling after the darkness.
At the last moment, perhaps, and when home is so nearly reached, a German Feldwebel appears from nowhere in particular and heads for the same door. Out from the cookhouse, which stands just opposite the officers’ door, walks one of the aimless, lounging, loafing officers above mentioned, and delays the Feldwebel with some question, no matter how trivial. So home is safely made again, and the party become officers once more and put off their orderlies’ clothes. Then follows appel, and the joy of a good wash in hot water and something to eat.
The hours have not been long, but the foul atmosphere has caused considerable fatigue, perhaps a bad headache. And in case anyone should still think, after reading this, that the work was light, he should be invited to wriggle 50 yards on elbows and toes in the open, and if he is unduly sceptical, in public. He will lose dignity, but he will gain an appreciation of the difficulties of the performance in a very confined space.
There are a few other points in regard to the construction of the tunnel which may not be without interest.
When and where necessary, the roof was revetted. The revetting was done with bed boards. The foundations of all beds in the camp were boards placed cross-wise across an iron frame and supporting a mattress made of paper, straw and shavings, and uneven as the Somme battlefield. Many of these boards had been commandeered as firewood during the early stages of the camp, when there had been, as related, a regrettable hitch in the arrangements for our warming. Many more now found their way underground by driblets into the orderlies’ quarters and thence into the recess behind the planks, or were carried direct by the working-party. People clamoured querulously for the missing boards which they had saved from the burning, and of which they had now been robbed. No one except the very few in the secret and an orderly or so had the ghost of a notion what had really happened to them. The Boche when appealed to of course shrugged their shoulders and quoted the equivalent German proverb about eating your cake. What would you? Very nearly all is fair in escapes.
The only tools used in the digging of the tunnel were a trowel or “mumptee” (an instrument with a spike at one end and an excavating blade at the other) and the cold chisel. The chisel was useful for levering apart the smooth heavy stones which presented so much difficulty. It seems probable that these stones had once formed the bed of some river and had been worn smooth and packed by the action of the water. Attempts were made to dodge this difficult stratum of stones which retarded progress so seriously, but in the absence of proper instruments it was impossible to gauge the level with any degree of accuracy. A descent of four feet bringing no better results, it was decided to come back to the previous level of about eight or nine feet below the surface.