On the night before I was to have proceeded to the hospital orders came to the commandant that I was to go to the reserve hospital at Dresden instead of Königstein, where I eventually went. But before leaving I wrote two letters, which I gave to one of my brother officers. These two letters contained an exact account of the treatment, or rather the lack of treatment, of my wound, which was to be delivered only in case of the operation proving fatal. One was addressed to the American Ambassador and the other to my mother.
The journey to Dresden from Bischofswerda was more or less uneventful, with the exception that a cab was actually arranged for in order to convey me and the guard to the station, which of course I had to pay for, and for my luggage to Dresden, as, having no guarantee that I would not be starved at the hospital, I had taken my stock of tinned food with me, being too old a prisoner to be caught napping in that respect. The cab and transport cost me about thirty shillings, although Dresden is not much over twenty miles away.
On this journey to Dresden, and in passing through it on the way to the hospital, I had some excellent opportunities of gauging the aspect of the populace. Sour looks met me everywhere, but no insults. On the whole the people looked overworked and underfed, going about their duties in a morose sort of doggedness. Two of the main squares in Dresden were packed with recruits under training—boys of not more than sixteen or seventeen years, and men who looked over fifty, most of them being undersized and weedy.
The hospital was crammed with wounded German soldiers and a few convalescent officers. It turned out to be an enormous place, with most excellent grounds, bordering the Königsvald, where a regimental band played three times a week. A clean room was allotted to me in one of the wards, and it was a great relief to find that I was to have a private one to myself.
On the morning after my arrival a well-known German specialist visited me in my room, and made a thorough examination of my chest. That afternoon a young German convalescent officer was detailed to take me out for a short walk, which we took in the Königsvald, a very beautiful woodland glen, full of delightful bubbling springs and nice green glades, most refreshing to a prisoner’s eyes. The officer was very courteous and sympathetic. That evening, on my return from the walk, I was again visited by the specialist, who said he was glad to be able to inform me that I was not tubercular, as he had thought I was after his examination that morning; also he explained that, if I would place myself in his hands, he would guarantee that the operation would be performed without any great danger. By this he meant that in my present state an anæsthetic was not advisable, and that if I would consent to undergo it without he would guarantee everything would be all right. On the following morning the operation took place, and it was most beautifully and satisfactorily done. I will not dwell upon my own feelings during the ordeal, since it does not take a vivid imagination to picture them, when one takes into consideration a big operation like this being performed without an anæsthetic.
My treatment generally in hospital in Dresden was of the very best. I could not have been treated better had I been at home, either in the matter of attention or in food. My own nurse was especially attentive, and I shall be eternally grateful to her. This happy state of affairs, however, underwent an extraordinary change on the day Rumania entered the war, when, whilst my nurse remained staunch, the matron of the ward, who had hitherto been quite friendly, came to my room, shook her fist in my face, called me a Schweinhund Englander, cursed the English and everything appertaining to them, and gave orders that I should be cut off all my invalid food and be given the soldiers’ rations instead. This was done.
One incident I forgot to mention before, which shows up the extraordinary workings of the Boche mind. In order to have this special operation performed it had been necessary to give my parole in writing, stating that I would not attempt to escape from the time I left the prison for the hospital to the time I returned from the hospital to the prisoners’ camp. Permission to give this parole under the existing circumstances was obtained by me from the senior British officer at Bischofswerda. However, on going to the hospital, I discovered a sentry posted at the door of my room and another outside the window. Of course I immediately complained to the commandant of the hospital that I had given my parole and naturally felt exceedingly insulted at finding two sentries guarding me. He smiled and said the order came from higher up and that he could do nothing.
These two sentries remained on guard until I left the hospital, which is most humorous. Imagine placing two sentries to guard a man lying between life and death with an enormous incision in his chest, in order to prevent him escaping should he break his parole! I should only have had to walk four hundred and fifty miles in order to escape—this for one who had not even the strength to feed himself. What must the word of a German officer be worth, if he accepts another man’s parole and then takes steps to guard against its being broken?
Very gradually I began to get strong, and as soon as I could sit up in a chair I was removed from the hospital and sent back to Bischofswerda, very glad to see all my old friends again. But my removal took place too soon, and the jolting of the carriage so upset me that I was again taken ill and suffered a very considerable relapse, being confined to bed in the hospital-room at Bischofswerda. Here I stayed for over a month, during which time many little incidents of interest befell me. For instance, it appears that, contrary to all Boche rules and regulations, my parcels had been stopped and opened without any British officer being present, and, needless to say, two parcels containing a thousand marks each had been caught. Lieutenant Harbe paid me a visit in the hospital-room, sent everybody out, shut the windows, and started to bully me, although he knew I was very weak at the time. He also insulted me in every possible way. After he went I had a high temperature, and the next day reported him to the commandant.
Some days after this Mr. Jackson, the assistant of the American Ambassador, came. He paid me a visit in the hospital, and heard my tale of woe against Harbe, which he carried to the commandant, asking him to get rid of Harbe, since, during the whole period that he had been at Bischofswerda, he had deliberately tried and insulted officers to such an extent that it was difficult for them to hold themselves in check. He was therefore a very dangerous person to have in the camp, since, had any of them struck him, as he deserved, it would have been a most serious offence. However, nothing came of this, except that Harbe was forbidden to hold conversation with me unless in the presence of another officer.