“It is false; it is false. You are a German–your parents both are Germans,” he was told.
“I do not deny that my father and mother are Germans,” Werner said, “but for myself I have chosen to become naturalized as a Belgian and I have in my possession documentary proof of this assertion.”
The examining officer asked to be allowed to see the documents. When they were produced the officer rejected the proof and refused to consider the young man a Belgian subject. Werner was told that from that moment he must consider himself enrolled in the German army and hold himself in readiness to leave immediately for Berlin. Accordingly he was sent to the German capital, where he was lodged in the barracks of the famous Alexander Regiment, in which no soldier is accepted unless he is at least six feet tall. Werner’s height was six feet two inches. He was put in uniform and started to undergo training. As he spoke French, German and Flemish fluently, he was a little later given employment in the office of the sergeant-major, who assigned him to the work of correspondence and translating. He became more or less popular among the officers and non-commissioned officers who believed that he had become quite converted to German ideas. One day Werner applied for leave of absence in order that he might visit his mother at Antwerp; the major replied that it would be quite impossible to grant him leave of absence to go into Belgium, but if he had relatives in Germany he would readily be granted leave to visit them. Werner said he had an aunt residing at Hamburg, and he was granted three days’ leave to go and visit her.
It was a fête-day and Werner was to leave Berlin in the evening. In the afternoon, attired in gala uniform and wearing the plume-helmet, he accompanied one of his comrades on a tour through the city. He exhibited his holiday permit to his companion, at the same time expressing regret that it was not valid for Antwerp. His comrade took the permit from his hands, walked away with it from the table at which they were drinking beer, and returned a few minutes later with the permit now reading that it was to allow the bearer to go to Antwerp instead of to Hamburg.
Delighted by his good fortune, Werner resolved to leave by the first train for Antwerp. At Cologne, and more particularly at Aix-la-Chapelle, the soldiers had to have their travelling permits checked. Now, it was against the military rules of the day to travel in gala uniform, such as young Werner was wearing, except under special circumstances. At Cologne and again at Aix-la-Chapelle astonishment was expressed by the officials when they saw Werner in full dress. He was asked for an explanation.
“Well,” he replied, “I am going to visit my mother and I wish to give her a pleasurable surprise, as she has never seen me in military uniform.” He was allowed to continue his journey, and at Antwerp his mother told him with pride that he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him look before.
Werner then conceived the project–perhaps he had carried the idea in his mind from the outset–to change his uniform for a suit of mufti and escape into Holland. In order to do this he had to obtain the co-operation of one of his cousins. The plan was completed; civilian clothing was obtained; he made a parcel of his grenadier’s uniform and directed it to the barracks of the Alexander Regiment in Berlin. Then in the evening he and his cousin walked in the direction of Capellen, from which point they hoped to be able to cross the frontier during the night.
Here, however, they fell into a trap. A man, who afterwards turned out to be a spy in the service of the Germans, directed them to a certain coffee-house, where he said they would find a reliable man who would guide them safely across the border. At the coffee-house the two cousins were advised to spend the night at the mayor’s residence and hold themselves in readiness to cross the frontier early the next morning. This was the trap which caught them. The mayor’s house was occupied by German officers–a fact of which Werner and his companion were equally ignorant. Escape now was hopeless. They were held as prisoners until next day, when they were searched and questioned. When it was ascertained that they wished to cross into Holland they were taken back to Antwerp and arraigned before the Kommandantur. Werner’s cousin passed through the ordeal easily enough and he was liberated. Werner hoped that his fate would be equally happy. His hopes, however, were speedily dashed to the ground. When he gave his name the officer pondered a minute, then he spoke to someone over the telephone and, turning to Werner, asked abruptly:
“Are you not Edouard Werner?”
“Yes.”