However, I was pulled off the train by a husky German soldier at the first stop this side of the Holland border, about two miles from the line, and told that my papers were not in order and I would be compelled to go back again to Brussels and get them changed.
Now, Laubenthal had told me not to come back. I knew he meant it, too. And I didn't intend to go back—not that soon.
CHAPTER XXXVII MY ESCAPE AND RETURN TO GOOD OLD FRANCE
Consequently while I started back toward Brussels, that night under cover of darkness I soon wheeled around and made for the Holland border—alone—on foot. Part of the way I crept on all fours. Sometimes I was compelled because of the barbed-wire entanglement, to crawl on my stomach. I went through mud and water and clambered over stones. Suddenly I heard two German sentries apparently arguing. Finally one let loose with an automatic and winged me in the leg. Although I twitched I never whimpered and kept crawling on. At last the two miles were traversed and I found myself in Holland. The first Dutchman I saw (and please don't mistake a Dutchman for a German) I will always remember. He was coming toward me with a lantern, and when he heard me he called out to know who it was. I answered "An American." He then came smiling toward me and greeted me with a hearty handshake, but I was laughing through tears. I slapped him on the shoulder and exclaimed, "Say, old top, you're the first human being I've seen for many weeks. I have been in the hands of those cursed German brutes and they made life fearful for me." Of course he didn't know what "old top" meant but I didn't care anyway. He bandaged up my slight wound and sent me on my way. I was now mad at the Huns, and good and mad, but I was on my way to France. I was in the hands of sympathetic friends instead of hardened foes and I was happy in spite of my anger. I had seen Belgium and had obtained the evidence. Whereas before I had jerked off my frock coat and then later had shed my vest and gritted my teeth, I now began rolling up my sleeves for the Allies. Righteous indignation took the upper hand of pacifism. When I went back to The Hague and told Dr. Van Dyke my story, he was astonished. I did not tell it all, but related enough to considerably startle him.
I had slipped by the consuls, had seen Belgium, had finally escaped, and was now to be passed on to England. I had no further difficulties, and in two days was off for Tilbury Docks. When I got there I was taken aside and searched, but there was none of that terrorism about it which the Germans had used. They had searched me thoroughly thirteen times.
The English officers asked me several leading questions, whether I had seen any movement of troops and what was the food condition, etc. As I did not have any particular military information, I was soon dismissed and got my pass to France.
I now went down to the railway station and got my uniform where I had checked it. When I crossed the channel and went into France I had a funny experience. I went up to the railroad ticket office and asked for a special rate ticket to Paris (one-fourth fare). The woman asked, "Have you papers to show that you are military?" I said, "No, Madame, I have none with me." And I was having an awful time with my French. Just then young Du Boucher stepped up to the window. He was an old friend from Paris, and he looked good to me. He had just come from Etaples and spoke perfect French and perfect English. Besides, he was a good fellow. His father was one of the main surgeons and founder of our hospital in Neuilly. But with all that, we could not persuade the woman to give me a military ticket. She said to come back later and see the officer. Then Du Boucher said he would stay with me and see me through. When we went back we found a grouchy officer. We asked him for a military pass. When he asked for our papers I gave him my "leave of absence." He looked at it and said, "My dear sir, you are a deserter. This paper gives you ten days' leave and you have been gone much longer. You must come back and see the colonel at eight o'clock."
I told him my train would go to Paris at seven-thirty. He didn't hear me at all. He said, "This is very serious, and you must see the colonel." I then told him I wasn't really military, don't you know, as the ambulance service was in reality neutral, so I was not a deserter. "Oh, I see," said he. "You're not really military, and why then are you attempting to buy a military ticket? This is still more serious. You must see the colonel."