That night we received orders to be ready to start at five o’clock the next morning, and I had much to do and certain arrangements to make with the friends I was about to leave behind me, in case I should succeed in making good my escape. For many months past I had wearied of Ingolstadt and its appalling conditions, but now that I had actually to move off on the morrow a certain sense of loss to come and a feeling of extreme depression overcame me at leaving these good fellows. The camp was bad—nothing could be worse; but, still, the idea was borne in upon me, “Better to bear the ills we have,” etc.; and God only knew what the future might have in store for me. One becomes extraordinarily attached to those of one’s fellow-beings with whom one has passed through great ordeals.
However, enough of the sentimental. Some of my pals were laying bets between themselves as to whether I should succeed in making my escape or not, and I’m sure those who lost did so with the greatest pleasure. At 4.30 the next morning the three of us were sent for by the commandant, and went through the usual search, which we all passed quite satisfactorily. All the same, a small corrugated iron spring, knife, bit of a screwdriver, compass, and electric torch escaped the watchful eyes of the Boches: I don’t propose to say how, as it only gives valuable information to the enemy.
At 5.30 a.m. we shook the dust of the fortress from our feet. As before explained, there were three of us, and we had to walk over eight kilometres to the station. We had been ordered to take everything necessary for three days in the shape of food, clothing, etc., so the kindly Boches gave us a couple of orderlies to carry our hand luggage. I suppose I should have been both surprised and grateful at having any help at all, but really it was only a case of half a loaf being better than no bread, since two orderlies could not possibly carry the amount of our hand luggage; consequently we had a very hot and tiring walk, carrying the baggage on our shoulders, our guards making no effort to help. However, we did eventually arrive at the station, perspiring freely, although it was freezing at the time. At the station we were surprised to see a large dray loaded with luggage that looked very English, which turned out to belong to a party of officers we discovered at the station. There were about twenty-five of them, as well as I can remember, consisting of a collection from all the camps in and around Ingolstadt.
Many inquiries were made when they found that we had just come from the notorious Fort No. 9. We learnt from these officers that we were bound for a camp called Crefeld, quite close to the Dutch frontier, and supposed to be the best camp in Germany. Satisfaction on going so near the frontier showed on many faces. About 7 a.m. our train arrived, and a second-class carriage was allotted to us by the German officer in charge of the party. Our guard consisted of this officer, who was a coarse bullet-headed Bavarian lieutenant, and about nine men, if I remember aright, all of them being fully armed and evidently warned to keep their eyes skinned. The Boche officer numbered us off and allotted so many officers to each compartment, together with one guard to each batch. When he came to us he said, “Oh yes, Fort 9; you will be in a compartment by yourselves,” and he told off three guards to watch us. This was not at all satisfactory, and looked very bad for our venture. However, there was no circumventing it, and the only thing was to accept the situation with the best grace possible and trust to our brains to outwit the three guards.
Towards 7.30 the train pulled out, at which I drew a breath of relief, feeling that Fort 9 at least was behind me, and in front enormous possibilities of escape. For the first time during two and a half years I was more or less fit; I was in a train travelling towards the northern frontier of Germany; every mile drew it and home nearer, and I had the delightful sensation that the German Government was about to be made to pay for at least a good part of my road towards home, travelling comfortably in a second-class railway compartment. That I was going to make good my escape from the train I was firmly convinced, although the circumstances of our disposition among the guards did not for the moment look very hopeful; but there was a sort of something in the air, excited quiverings running up and down my spine.
To carry out our project of ingratiating ourselves with our guards was a matter of immediate importance, since we could never tell how soon our chance might come. Accordingly we started by falling into amicable conversation with them, which was carried on with the aid of signs and a few words in broken French and German, only a very few German words being used, in order not to excite any suspicions that we could understand their conversation. In this manner we learnt one or two small points of interest: firstly, that we were not expected to arrive at our destination till the evening of the next day, also that the camp we were bound for was indeed Crefeld.
By about eight o’clock the ball started rolling in good earnest, when one of the guards suddenly said, “Der Kriegs nicht gut.” We agreed that war was hell and that we wanted to be back with our families in peace and with plenty to eat again, for there was “viel essen” in England; to which they replied, “Kein essen in Deutschland,” and we answered that the prisoner of war felt the want of food in Germany more than the German soldiers did, but that we received plenty from home, so we did very well, at which I opened my suit-case and displayed to the greedy eyes of the Huns a whole lot of tinned meats of various kinds. This was a fine opportunity to cement our friendship, so we started to prepare a good sound breakfast of tongue and chicken, in which we succeeded in getting them to join us; they offered us a share of hot coffee from their water-bottles, and we all fairly settled down to it. Alas! with what pain I saw my limited food slipping down the Hun throats; but it was our best policy, and I must say that succeeding events justified us in giving them a decent meal. Two of the guards were now sufficiently at their ease to surrender to comfort, unfastening their belts and putting their rifles on the racks; the third, however, kept his rifle handy, but I do not think with any idea that it might be necessary. After breakfast we all had a little snooze—at least we pretended to. Two of the Boches certainly dropped off for a little while.
About midday we arrived at a station, where the carriages were shunted, during which time we were allowed to stretch our legs on the platform and get some hot coffee from a stall which was not too awfully bad. Whilst we were bartering for the coffee a train pulled up at another platform, bringing in a quantity of newspapers for the day, over which there seemed to be a general hubbub of excitement; a few were brought to our platform, and we tried to bag one surreptitiously without success, but not before the headlines of the paper had been read by one or two of us. The news caused just as much excitement amongst ourselves as it had amongst the Boches, being no less than the official declaration of war by the United States. In ordinary times this would have given us a topic of conversation for months, but for the present we had other fish to fry, and we soon forgot all about it; at the same time we all felt excessively elated by the downcast, morose aspect of the Boche civilians at the railway station.
CHAPTER XI
WE JUMP FROM THE TRAIN
To return to our own affairs. When the train started off again, we made up our minds that we must find out everything there was to know about the carriages we were now in. To do this it would be necessary to visit the other compartments, without of course arousing the suspicions of any of the guards. Accordingly I again entered into conversation with one of them, and asked him how many prisoners there were in the train, if they were all going to the same camp, had they just been taken prisoners or were they old ones, from what camps did they come, etc. I then hinted that I thought I’d stroll along and have a talk to them; perhaps some belonged to my own regiment. This did not seem to perturb him at all, as indeed there was no reason why it should, seeing that the carriage was made up of six compartments, which had been partitioned off with a gangway running down one side. Sometimes one comes across them in this country, and by standing up and looking over the seat one can see into the next compartment. Accordingly I strolled along to the next compartment, and sat down with the fellows there and soon got into animated conversation. I noticed, however, that one of the guards had followed me and was standing in the gangway. After about half an hour he got tired of this and went back to his seat, and a few minutes after I also returned to my own seat. This seemed to put him quite at his ease, and by the time the evening arrived I had visited all the compartments, and found, to my great joy, that the rear one held four officers without a guard at all.