Three Times and Out Part 3

I had sent a card to her as soon as I was taken. The box was like a visit from Santa Claus. I remember the "Digestive Biscuits," and how good they tasted after being for a month on the horrible diet of acorn coffee, black bread, and the soup which no word that is fit for publication could describe.

I also received a card from my sister, Mrs. Meredith, of Edmonton, about this time. I was listed "Missing" on April 29th, and she sent a card addressed to me with "Canadian Prisoner of War, Germany," on it, on the chance that I was a prisoner. We were allowed to write a card once a week and two letters a month; and we paid for these. My people in Canada heard from me on June 9th.

I cannot complain of the treatment I received in the lazaret. The doctor took a professional interest in me, and one day brought in two other doctors, and proudly exhibited how well I could move my arm.

However, I still think if he had ma.s.saged my upper arm, it would be of more use to me now than it is.

Chloroform was not used in this hospital; at least I never saw any of it. One young Englishman, who had a bullet in his thigh, cried out in pain when the surgeon was probing for it. The German doctor sarcastically remarked, "Oh, I thought the English were _brave_."

To which the young fellow, lifting his tortured face, proudly answered, "The English _are_ brave--and _merciful_--and they use chloroform for painful operations, and do this for the German prisoners, too."

But there was no chloroform used for him, though the operation was a horrible one.

There was another young English boy named Jellis, who came in after the fight of May 8th, who seemed to be in great pain the first few days. Then suddenly he became quiet, and we hoped his pain had lessened; but we soon found out he had lock-jaw, and in a few days he died.

From the pasteboard box in which my first parcel came, I made a checker-board, and my next-door neighbor and I had many a game.

In about three weeks I was allowed to go out in the afternoons, and I walked all I could in the narrow s.p.a.ce, to try to get back all my strength, for one great hope sustained me--I would make a dash for liberty the first chance I got, and I knew that the better I felt, the better my chances would be. I still had my compa.s.s, and I guarded it carefully. Everything of this nature was supposed to be taken from us at the lazaret, but I managed, through the carelessness of the guard, to retain the compa.s.s.

The little corral in which we were allowed to walk had a barbed-wire fence around it--a good one, too, eight strands, and close together.

One side of the corral was a high wall, and in the enclosure on the other side of the wall were the lung patients.

One afternoon I saw a young Canadian boy looking wistfully through the gate, and I went over and spoke to him. He was the only one who could speak English among the "lungers." The others were Russians, French, and Belgians. The boy was dying of loneliness as well as consumption. He came from Ontario, though I forget the name of the town.

"Do you think it will be over soon?" he asked me eagerly. "Gee, I'm sick of it--and wish I could get home. Last night I dreamed about going home. I walked right in on them--dirt and all--with this tattered old tunic--and a dirty face. Say, it didn't matter--my mother just grabbed me--and it was dinner-time--they were eating turkey--a great big gobbler, all brown--and steaming hot--and I sat down in my old place--it was ready for me--and just began on a leg of turkey..."

A spasm of coughing seized him, and he held to the bars of the gate until it pa.s.sed.

Then he went on: "Gee, it was great--it was all so clear. I can't believe that I am not going! I think the war must be nearly over--"

Then the cough came again--that horrible, strangling cough--and I knew that it would be only in his dreams that he would ever see his home! For to him, at least, the war was nearly over, and the day of peace at hand.

Before I left the lazaret, the smart-Alec young German doctor who had made faces at the little bugler blew gaily in one day and breezed around our beds, making pert remarks to all of us. I knew him the minute he came in the door, and was ready for him when he pa.s.sed my bed.

He stopped and looked at me, and made some insulting remark about my beard, which was, I suppose, quite a sight, after a month of uninterrupted growth. Then he began to make faces at me.

I raised myself on my elbow, and regarded him with the icy composure of an English butler. Scorn and contempt were in my glance, as much as I could put in; for I realized that it was hard for me to look dignified and imposing, in a hospital pajama suit of dirt-colored flannelette, with long wisps of amber-colored hair falling around my face, and a thick red beard long enough now to curl back like a drake's tail.

I knew I looked like a valentine, but my stony British stare did the trick in spite of all handicaps, and he turned abruptly and went out.

The first week of June, I was considered able to go back to the regular prison-camp. A German guard came for me, and I stepped out in my pajamas to the outer room where our uniforms were kept. There were many uniforms there--smelling of the disinfectants--with the owners'

names on them, but mine was missing. The guard tried to make me take one which was far too short for me, but I refused. I knew I looked bad enough, without having elbow sleeves and short pants; and it began to look as if I should have to go to bed until some good-sized patient came in.

But my guard suddenly remembered something, and went into another hut, bringing back the uniform of "D. Smith, Vancouver." The name was written on the band of the trousers. D. Smith had died the day before, from lung trouble. The uniform had been disinfected, and hung in wrinkles. My face had the hospital pallor, and, with my long hair and beard, I know I looked "snaggy" like a potato that has been forgotten in a dark corner of the cellar.

When we came out of the lazaret, the few people we met on the road to the prison-camp broke into broad grins; some even turned and looked after us.

CHAPTER V

THE PRISON-CAMP

The guard took me to Camp 6, Barrack A, where I found some of the boys I knew. They were in good spirits, and had fared in the matter of food much the same as I had. We agreed exactly in our diagnosis of the soup.

I was shown my mattress and given two blankets; also a metal bowl, knife, and fork.

Outside the hut, on the shady side, I went and sat down with some of the boys who, like myself, were excused from labor. Dent, of Toronto, was one of the party, and he was engaged in the occupation known as "reading his s.h.i.+rt"--and on account of the number of s.h.i.+rts being limited to one for each man, while the "reading" was going on, he sat in a boxer's uniform, wrapped only in deep thought.

Now, it happened that I did not acquire any "cooties" while I was in the army, and of course in the lazaret we were kept clean, so this was my first close acquaintances.h.i.+p with them. My time of exemption was over, though, for by night I had them a-plenty.

I soon found out that insect powder was no good. I think it just made them sneeze, and annoyed them a little. We washed our solitary s.h.i.+rts regularly, but as we had only cold water, it did not kill the eggs, and when we hung the s.h.i.+rt out in the sun, the eggs came out in full strength, young, hearty, and hungry. It was a new generation we had to deal with, and they had all the objectionable qualities of their ancestors, and a few of their own.

Before long, the Canadian Red Cross parcels began to come, and I got another s.h.i.+rt--a good one, too, only the sleeves were too long. I carefully put in a tuck, for they came well over my hands. But I soon found that these tucks became a regular rendezvous for the "cooties,"

and I had to let them out. The Red Cross parcels also contained towels, toothbrushes, socks, and soap, and all these were very useful.

After a few weeks, with the lice increasing every day, we raised such a row about them that the guards took us to the fumigator. This was a building of three rooms, which stood by itself in the compound.

In the first room we undressed and hung all our clothes, and our blankets too, on huge hooks which were placed on a sliding framework.

This framework was then pushed into the oven and the clothes were thoroughly baked. We did not let our boots, belts, or braces go, as the heat would spoil the leather. We then walked out into the next room and had a shower bath, and after that went into the third room at the other side of the oven, and waited until the framework was pushed through to us, when we took our clothes from the hooks and dressed.

This was a sure cure for the "cooties," and for a few days, at least, we enjoyed perfect freedom from them. Every week after this we had a bath, and it was compulsory, too.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Giessen Prison-Camp]

As prison-camps go, Giessen is a good one. The place is well drained; the water is excellent; the sanitary conditions are good, too; the sleeping accommodations are ample, there being no upper berths such as exist in all the other camps I have seen. It is the "Show-Camp,"

to which visitors are brought, who then, not having had to eat the food, write newspaper articles telling how well Germany treats her prisoners. If these people could see some of the other camps that I have seen, the articles would have to be modified.

News of the trouble in Ireland sifted through to us in the prison-camp. The first I heard of it was a letter in the "Continental Times," by Roger Cas.e.m.e.nt's sister, who had been in Germany and had visited some of the prison-camps, and was so pleased with the generous treatment Germany was according her prisoners. She was especially charmed with the soup!!! And the letter went on to tell of the Irish Brigade that was being formed in Germany to fight the tyrant England. Every Irish prisoner who would join was to be given the privilege of fighting against England. Some British prisoners who came from Limburg, a camp about thirty miles from Giessen, told us more about it. Roger Cas.e.m.e.nt, himself, had gone there to gather recruits, and several Irishmen had joined and were given special privileges accordingly. However, there were many Irishmen who did _not_ join, and who kept a list of the recruits--for future reference, when the war was over!

The Irishmen in our camp were approached, but they remained loyal.

The routine of the camp was as follows: Reveille sounded at six. We got up and dressed and were given a bowl of coffee. Those who were wise saved their issue of bread from the night before, and ate it with the coffee. There was a roll-call right after the coffee, when every one was given a chance to volunteer for work. At noon there was soup, and another roll-call. We answered the roll-call, either with the French word "Present" or the German word "Hier," p.r.o.nounced the same as our word. Then at five o'clock there was an issue of black bread made mostly from potato flour.

I was given a light job of keeping the s.p.a.ce between A Barrack and B Barrack clean, and I made a fine pretense of being busy, for it let me out of "drill," which I detested, for they gave the commands in German, and it went hard with us to have to salute their officers.

On Sundays there was a special roll-call, when every one had to give a full account of himself. The prisoners then had the privilege of asking for any work they wanted, and if the Germans could supply it, it was given.

None of us were keen on working; not but what we would much rather work than be idle, but for the uncomfortable thought that we were helping the enemy. There were iron-works near by, where Todd, Whittaker, Dent, little Joe, and some others were working, and it happened that one day Todd and one of the others, when going to have teeth pulled at the dentist's, saw sh.e.l.ls being s.h.i.+pped away, and upon inquiry found the steel came from the iron mines where they were working. When this became known, the boys refused to work! Every sort of bullying was tried on them for two days at the mines, but they still refused. They were then sent back to Giessen and sentenced to eighteen months' punishment at Butzbach--all but Dent, who managed some way to fool the doctor pretending he was sick!

That they fared badly there, I found out afterwards, though I never saw any of them.