Individual prisoners sometimes received parcels that had been sent express by railway. As a rule they were larger than could be sent through the postal service, and only very rarely did these parcels reach their destination whole. Almost every time they had been broken open and four, five or six pounds of the contents were missing. Invariably it was a case of theft. It may not be inopportune to state here that in 1917 some of the German newspapers reported that claims against the German express companies for loss aggregated thirty-five million marks, whilst in the preceding year these claims amounted to only four or five million marks. This is evidence that there was an enormous increase in the number and extent of the robberies in 1917.
In 1916, we obtained permission from the inspector of prisons to place a gas stove in one of the cells, and here between eleven o’clock and noon one might see the prisoners of British nationality gather for the purpose of cooking their mid-day meal. The management of this kitchen was confided to one man of our choice and each prisoner making use of the stove contributed a small sum of money towards the cost of the gas. There was an overseer named to guard against the waste of gas. He kept a quantity of hot water constantly on hand for the use of the prisoners. The water was sold at the rate of one pfennig per quart. The Polish prisoners, in the winter months especially, would frequently come to buy hot water. The poor fellows had to resort to drinking hot water to stimulate circulation in their empty stomachs. Every British prisoner was besieged in his cell every day by beggars. The Poles in turn besought bread to eat. I was a witness every day of the never-failing generosity of British captives and there must be to-day thousands of Poles who, after passing through this jail, retain an imperishable memory of the charity and compassion of men who, fortunate in receiving victuals from outside, cheerfully shared them with fellow prisoners less fortunate. These Poles, especially, now that they are free to return to their own devastated country, must have nothing but words of praise for those who did all they possibly could in very dire circumstances to alleviate their sufferings and hardships.
Naturally, it was impossible to attend to more than the most urgent needs of anyone. There were, on an average, from ten to fifteen British subjects confined at one time in this cell, while at no time were there ever fewer than one hundred and fifty Poles. The British authorities at Ruhleben camp deserve a special word of praise for the never-failing interest they showed towards not only the prisoners of British nationality in Stadtvogtei jail but also towards the Poles, and the deported Belgians particularly. During the time I was at the head of the relief committee of the jail I received on many an occasion very large cases of biscuits and other provisions for distribution amongst the most needy of all subjects under confinement. I had as an assistant in this work, Mr. Hinterman, a Swiss, to whom I shall have occasion to refer subsequently.
CHAPTER XVIII
ACTING JAIL PHYSICIAN
During the three years of my captivity in the jail at Berlin I frequently had occasion to exercise my profession as a medical doctor. Medical care was supposed to be given to the prisoners by an old practitioner of Berlin, a Dr. Becker. He visited the jail every day between the hours of nine and ten o’clock in the morning. Sick prisoners, accompanied by a non-commissioned officer, went to him in his office, which was situate in a section of the building adjoining the jail proper. Exactly at ten o’clock the aged doctor would leave his office, not to return until the following morning. For twenty-four hours every day I was the only physician in the section of the jail I occupied. The adjoining sections, which were likewise of triangular shape, were occupied by German soldiers who had been accused of breach of discipline. On several occasions I was called upon to give medical attention to some of these soldiers while they were awaiting trial before a court-martial. During the daytime I was free to visit these patients, going from cell to cell. At night, however, I was locked in my own cell like the other prisoners, and if something happened in the neighboring section a non-commissioned officer would arouse and conduct me to the place where my professional services were required. This happened very often. I was in this way not infrequently called to attend to a prisoner who had attempted suicide. In no fewer than ten instances it was a case of actual suicide, committed in some cases with a revolver; in other cases with a razor and sometimes by strangulation. No experience was more appalling than to hear in the dead of night the report of a gun. The walls would vibrate, the prisoners would be aroused from sleep, and one would ask the other who now had preferred a sudden end to a continuance of misery. A few minutes after the report my cell door would be opened by a non-commissioned officer. He would request me to follow him in order to ascertain the cause of death or render medical aid to an injured prisoner, as the case might be.
Services which I rendered to prisoners of all nationalities, and oftentimes to non-commissioned officers, placed me in a favorable position with the guards. There was no attempt to restrict the freedom of my movements inside the prison, and in this way I was able to aid less fortunate prisoners, either with medical attention or by providing food where the need was most urgent. I received cordial co-operation from my fellow captives, more especially from the English-speaking. One had only to make an appeal on behalf of a prisoner to at once receive from others tea, biscuits, margarine or any little delicacy that was available. No sacrifice was too great if these men could only relieve, if only in a small measure, the distress of their fellows.
One of the most pathetic cases which came within my personal observation was that of Dan Williamson. Twice he had escaped from Ruhleben camp. After his first recapture he was interned at the Stadtvogtei, where he remained for about a year. Then he was sent back to Ruhleben camp. A few months later he escaped again. In company with a companion named Collins he succeeded in passing the German sentries and was on his way towards Holland when he and his companion were arrested. They were brought to the jail in Berlin. At that time recaptured prisoners were being punished by solitary confinement in dark dungeons for two weeks at a time. Williamson and Collins were placed in separate dark cells–two of the fourteen with the dark shutters which I have previously referred to. One day, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, a terrible noise was heard. This was succeeded by what appeared to be the pounding of the walls. Threats were overheard. A non-commissioned officer appeared at the door of my cell and informed me that Williamson had just attempted to commit suicide; that he had been found covered with blood, and that a blood-stained razor with which he had attempted the deed had been taken from him. Meanwhile the noise of the blows against the wall of the neighboring cell continued. My informant said: “Williamson is making all this noise.” I reflected that a man of so much apparent vigor was not in immediate danger.
At the request of the non-commissioned officer I proceeded to the door of Williamson’s cell. I was attempting to speak to him through the small aperture in the middle of the door when my words were interrupted by a heavy blow on the door from the inside. Instinctively I withdrew and decided that it would not be wise to open the door at the moment. Williamson evidently had a weapon of some kind in his possession, and it was supposed he had succeeded in tearing off one of the legs from the iron bedstead in the cell. I advised the non-commissioned officer to telephone to the police station for two constables, and a few minutes afterwards these men appeared accompanied by two other non-commissioned officers of the jail. I suggested that we should first open the door of Collins’ cell, which was immediately adjoining the one occupied by Williamson. This done, I advised Collins to stand on the threshold of Williamson’s cell and try to appease his friend. Then the door was opened. Williamson leaped from his cell like an enraged tiger let loose from a cage. He struck his friend Collins, knocking him to the ground, and he would have beaten the fellow unmercifully had not the whole party of us seized Williamson and overpowered him. He was like a man who had lost his reason. I was about to speak to him when he cried out: “Give me my razor so that I may end it all.” His clothes were covered with blood. On his right arm was a deep wound, though not a long one. It had manifestly been inflicted with some sharp instrument.