Wounded and a Prisoner of War, by an Exchanged Officer

by Malcolm V. Hay

Next morning, shortly after ten o'clock, I was crossing the outer hall—that is to say, I was creeping round by the wall, not daring to venture across the well-polished floor—when the Board emerged from a doorway behind me. They stood and watched me make a laborious circuit back to our room.

We stood to attention, those of us who were able to stand, while the seven or eight German officers filed into the room and took their seats at the table which runs across the whole breadth of the ward, opposite the entrance door. These were men of high rank, and all of a large size except one stout, short fellow, who acted as interpreter. Our names were called, and the examination proceeded in order of seniority. There was no hesitation about any one until Captain M—— was called. His case was the subject of a certain amount of guttural discussion. R. D. R. was the last and longest to be examined, and his fate hung in the balance. The Board seemed to be of opinion that he was not to be exchanged.

The discussion lasted but a few minutes, during which R. D. stood pale and with anxious eyes. They again began to question him. "How many years' service did you say?" "Three." "Can you drill troops?" "Very little." "Are you qualified to teach musketry?" "No."

Again the withered hand was examined to see if any sign of life could be found in the blue twisted fingers.

I think the casting vote in R. D.'s favour was given by the senior doctor, the only one of the party who was in mufti, and one of the few really human beings I have met while in Germany.

Before going out the senior officer present (a General) made us a speech in German, which was translated to us by the interpreter somewhat as follows:—

"It is all right! You have all passed, and it only remains for you each to come and sign the necessary papers in the doctor's room. The General wishes to know if you have any complaint to make about your treatment, and if there is anything you are not satisfied about the way you have been treated while in Germany you must tell us about it. We wish you to make now any complaints. We want you to be satisfied. You must go back to England contented." "We want you to go back to England contented." He repeated these words several times, walking up and down the room as he spoke, looking round with a quick glance at our faces, while the Board in the background nodded approval.

There were no complaints. I thought in silence of my journey from Cambrai to Würzburg, and of the Rittmeister at the Festung Marienberg.

Here was the explanation of the sudden change which began the day of departure from the Festung, the explanation of the first-class carriage at Würzburg station, the indifferent attitude of the crowd on our journey, the good-fellowship of sentries, the free and friendly intercourse with wounded German soldiers, the attention and luxuries provided at Osnabrück. "They" wanted us to go back to England contented.

After the Board had gone the interpreter came back again to make sure—"Please, gentlemen, mention anything. You are all satisfied. Is good, that is gut," and out he went at last rubbing his hands.