At 2.0 p.m., there was another parade, followed by a return to work which was continued without intermission for another four hours. At six in the evening we returned to barracks for a third parade after which we were dismissed for tea. This was another far from appetising meal, merely constituting a repetition of the breakfast ration—a basin of lukewarm acorn coffee without milk or sugar. In addition to the foregoing we were served with a portion of a loaf of black bread on alternate mornings. This supply, if you got it, had to last six meals.

It will be realised that our wardens were far from being disposed to feed us up. We grumbled against the rations, their monotony and insufficiency, but we received no amelioration of our condition. In fact, our petitions were ignored. We were told that if we wanted more or greater variety of food we must buy it from the canteen. We had to act upon this recommendation just to keep ourselves alive.

The canteen was run by the most unprincipled scoundrel I have ever met. He was a civilian speculator who saw the chance to fatten on the British prisoners. He fleeced us in two ways. Not only were his prices extortionate, but he gave a ridiculous exchange for British currency, especially gold. After considerable persuasion and deliberation he would change a half sovereign for 7-1/2 marks—7s. 6d. We complained but could get no redress for such a depreciation. Other coins were in proportion.

Broedchen in limited quantities were brought in every day. We could buy these at 5 pfennigs—one halfpenny—apiece, or in the early days three for 10 pfennigs. The latter practice was abandoned when the pinch of flour shortage commenced to be felt. The broedchen came in during the night, and owing to the totally inadequate quantity purchased to meet our needs, one had to be about early to secure a supply. I, with others, have often been up at four o'clock in the morning, lounging around the canteen, so as to be among the first to be served when it opened at five o'clock. The scenes which were enacted around the canteen in the early morning are indescribable. Civilians strangely clad, and later badly wounded, limping soldiers, sickly and white, waited patiently, no matter what the weather, to buy a little bread.

The necessity to depend upon the canteen for a sufficiency of food to keep us alive hit those who were blessed with little money extremely hard. There was one man—he said he was an Englishman, although I have my doubts about it—who was brought to the camp. He had not a farthing in his pocket. He said his home was near the frontier, and that he often slipped across it for a ride on his bicycle. He related that he had been caught during one of these excursions, to find himself ultimately at Sennelager. That man was a mystery. He was kept alive by the others more or less, and he accompanied us to various prisons. But subsequently he obtained his papers in a mysterious manner, and was seen no more. He vanished in the darkness as it were, and the German guards were not disposed to talk about him. It has always been our suspicion that he was sent among us with an ulterior motive which it is impossible to divine.

Those who could not purchase supplies from the canteen were assisted by their more fortunate comrades. The lucky ones divided their purchases so that the unfortunate individuals might not feel their position or suffer want. This practice was tangibly assisted by one or two prisoners who were well supplied with money, especially Prince L——, who became the general favourite of the camp from his fellow-feeling, camaraderie, sympathy, and sportsmanship.

One morning he came across a poor prisoner who looked very ill. He appeared to be half starved, as indeed he was from his inability to buy any food. After a short conversation the Prince slipped five sovereigns into the man's hand and bolted before he could be thanked. Unfortunately this poor fellow is still in prison, but he has never forgotten the Prince's kindness.

The day after our arrival at Sennelager the Prince came to me and drew my attention to my shirtless condition. I explained the reason for its disappearance and that I could not get another as the authorities were still holding my heavy baggage containing further supplies. He said nothing as he went away, but a quarter of an hour later he returned with a new garment from his own kit which he forced me to accept. Another day, the party with which I was working were coming in to the evening meal. He hailed us and invited one and all to accompany him to the canteen to have a chop with him. That was the finest meal I had tasted since my feast in Wesel prison. Some time later Prince L—— succeeded in getting home. Although he was heartily congratulated upon his good fortune, his absence was sorely felt by those whom he was in the habit of befriending.

At nine o'clock we had to be in bed. Some of the more untameable spirits rebelled at the order to extinguish lights at this hour, but in our barrack Captain K—— rigidly insisted that the regulation should be observed. He feared the antagonism of the officers might be aroused, in which event we should be made to suffer for our fractiousness. The disputes between the prisoners and the sentries over the lights were interminable. The men would be ordered to extinguish their oil lamp. If they did not respond with sufficient alacrity the sentry cluttered up and put it out himself. At a later date, however, the hour for "lights out" was extended to 10 p.m.

The German nation is ever held up as the world's apostle of hygiene and sanitary science. However true this may be in regard to civic and rural life it certainly does not apply to prison and military existence. We were occupying the quarters normally assigned to recruits. Yet Sennelager was absolutely devoid of the most primitive features of a safe sanitary system. There was an open cesspool within a stone's throw of the barracks, the stench from which, during the heat of the summer, may be better imagined than described. No disinfectants whatever were used, and at intervals of three days it was emptied by the crudest means imaginable, on which occasions the barracks were not only untenantable but absolutely unapproachable. In fact, the conditions were so primitive and revolting that the outbreak of an epidemic was momentarily expected, not only by ourselves but by the authorities as well.

This danger was brought home to us when we were compelled to submit to the ordeal of vaccination. Even this task was carried out under conditions which no other civilised country would permit for a moment, for the simple reason that antiseptic precautions were conspicuous by their complete absence. The order arrived that we were to be vaccinated on such and such a morning "in the interests of the camp—both prisoners and soldiers." We were ordered to line up in a queue outside a small building which we were to enter singly in succession. We were commanded to have our arms bared to the shoulder in readiness. Vaccination was not carried out by Dr. Ascher, the official medical attendant to the camp, but by a young military doctor who came especially for the purpose.

Whether it was because the temperature within the small building was too sultry or not I cannot say, but the vaccinator decided to complete his work in the open air, the fact that a dust-storm was raging notwithstanding. The military doctor was accompanied by a colleague carrying a small pot or basin which evidently contained the serum. The operation was performed quickly if crudely. The vaccinator stopped before a man, dipped his lance or whatever the instrument was into the jar, and gripping the arm tightly just above the elbow, made four big slashes on the muscle. The incisions were large, deep, and brutal-looking. Then he passed to the next man, repeating the process, and so on all along the line. He took no notice of the dust which was driving hither and thither in clouds.

Whether by misfortune or mishap I received four striking gashes, and the shape of the incisions made me wonder whether the vaccinator thought he was playing a game of noughts and crosses with a scalpel upon my arm. After we had been wounded in this manner we were in a quandary. Our arms were thickly covered with the drifting sand. Our shirt sleeves were equally soiled. Consequently infection of the wound appeared to be inevitable whatever we did. In this unhappy frame of mind and dirty condition we were dismissed. Unfortunately for me I proved resistant to the serum, and had to submit to the operation a second time with equally abortive results. One or two of the prisoners suffered untold agonies, blood-poisoning evidently setting in to aggravate the action of the serum.

The primitive sanitary arrangements which prevailed brought one plague upon us. We suffered from a pestilence of flies which under the circumstances was not surprising, everything being conducive to their propagation. They swarmed around us in thick black clouds. They recalled the British housefly, only they were much larger, and extremely pugnacious. Life within the barracks became almost impossible owing to their attacks and the severity of their stings, which set up maddening irritation. We petitioned the authorities to allow us a supply of fly-papers. After considerable demur they acquiesced, but we could not use them, or rather they were used up too rapidly. The evening we received them we decided to attach a few to the ceiling, but before we could fix them in position their fly-catching capacities were exhausted. They were covered with a heaving, buzzing black mass of insects within a minute. So we abandoned fly-catching tactics.

This pestilence harassed us sorely during our meals. They settled everywhere and upon everything. While butter or margarine were unobtainable at the canteen we were able to purchase a substance which resembled honey in appearance, colour, and taste. Indeed we were told that it was an artificial product of the beehive. When we spread this upon our bread the flies swarmed to the attack, and before the food could be raised to our mouths the bread was not to be seen for flies. At first we spent considerable effort in brushing the insects away, but their numbers were too overwhelming to be resisted, so we were compelled to run the risk of the flies, and I, in common with others, have eaten bread, honey, and flies as well! It took considerable time and effort to master such a revolting meal, but under these conditions, it was either flies or nothing, so we ran the risk of the insects, although it cannot be said that they contributed to the tastiness of an already indifferent food, or our peace of mind, because we could not dismiss thoughts of the cesspool which the flies made their happy hunting-ground during the periods between meals.

Infraction of the rules and regulations were frequent, for the simple reason that they were never explained to us. We had to learn them as best we could—invariably through the experience of punishment. This state of affairs placed us at the mercy of the guards. Those who were venomously anti-British expended their savagery upon us on every occasion. For the slightest misdemeanour we were consigned to the cells for one, two, three, or more days. The cell recalled my domicile in Wesel, and I must confess that I made the acquaintance of its uninviting interior upon several occasions through inadvertently breaking some rule. But the others fared no better in this respect. It was cells for anything.

This prison was a small masonry building, fitted with a tiny grating. It was devoid of all appointments, not even a plank bed being provided. To sleep one had to stretch one's self on the floor and secure as much comfort as the cold stone would afford. Bread and water was the diet. All exercise was denied, except possibly for the brief stretch accompanied by the sentry to fetch the mid-day meal of soup, assuming the offence permitted such food in the dietary, from the cook-house. Conversation with a fellow-creature was rigidly verboten. It was solitary confinement in its most brutal form.

The method of punishment was typically Prussian. If one upset the guard by word or deed, he clapped you in the cell right-away and left you there. Possibly he went off to his superior officer to report your offence. But the probability was that he did not. Indeed it was quite likely that he forgot all about you for a time, because the sentry at the door never raised the slightest interrogation concerning a prisoner within. More than once a prisoner was forgotten in this manner, and accordingly was condemned to the silence, solitude, and dismal gloom of the tiny prison until the guard chanced to recall him to mind.

During my period of incarceration at Sennelager the number of civil prisoners brought in to swell our party was somewhat slender. They came in small batches of ten or twelve, but were often fewer in number. They invariably arrived about two o'clock in the morning. Then the sentry would come thumping into the barrack, his heavy boots resounding like horse's hoofs and his rifle clanging madly. Reaching the room he would yell out with all the power of his lungs, thus awaking every one, "Dolmetscher! Dolmetscher!" (Interpreter! Interpreter!) "Get up!" That luckless individual had to bestir himself, tumble into his clothes and hurry to the office to assist the authorities in the official interrogation of the latest arrivals. This was one of the little worries which were sent to try us, but we soon became inured to the rude disturbance of our rest, in which the average sentry took a fiendish delight.

By the time the first Sunday came round, and having nothing to do—all labour was suspended, although no religious service was held—I decided to wash my solitary shirt. I purchased a small cake of cheap rough soap from the canteen, got a wooden tub, and stripping myself to the waist, washed out the article in question outside the barrack door to the amusement of my colleagues. While I was busily engaged in this necessary occupation I was attracted by tittering and chattering. Looking up I found I was the object of curiosity among a crowd of civilians dressed in their Sunday best. Together with my fellow-prisoners I hurriedly retired to the sanctuary of our barracks.

Later we learned that on Sundays the residents of Paderborn and the countryside around were free to enter the camp to have a look at the British prisoners. Indeed they were invited. They stalked and wandered about the camp in much the same manner as they would have strolled through the Zoological Gardens in Berlin, looking at us as if we were strange exotic animals, chattering, laughing, and joking among themselves at our expense. We considered this an unwarrantable humiliation, and we countered it by the only means within our power. We resolutely stayed indoors until the gaping crowds had gone. This diversion of the German public, if such it may be called, speedily fell into desuetude, not because the novelty wore off, but because the "Englaender" were never to be seen, so that the six-mile tramp from Paderborn to Sennelager and back was merely wasted. It was a bitter disappointment to the curiosity-provoked crowds, but we scored a distinct success.

The first Sunday I had to wander about shirtless, the only garment of this character which I possessed hanging upon the line to dry. But the sight of a crowd of us, on Sunday mornings, stripped bare to our waists, washing and scrubbing the only shirts to our backs, became quite a common sight later, and I must confess that we made merry over this weekly duty for a time.

We had not been in Sennelager many days before we discovered to our cost that we were all suffering solitary confinement. We were completely isolated from the outside world. We were not permitted to receive any letters or parcels. Neither were we allowed to communicate with anyone outside. Newspapers were also sternly forbidden. These regulations were enforced with the utmost rigour during my stay at this camp. Consequently we knew nothing whatever about the outside world, and the outside world knew nothing about us. Early in September I did succeed in getting two post-cards away, but I ascertained afterwards that they did not reach their destinations until some weeks after I had left Sennelager. We felt this isolation very keenly because one and all were wondering vaguely what our wives, families, friends, or relatives were doing.

About ten days after our arrival at this hostelry there was a parade. The adjutant strutted before us with the pride of a peacock, and in his pompous voice cried:

"All prisoners who reside in Germany because of their business connections, or who are married to German wives, will be permitted to return to their homes!"

This announcement precipitated wild excitement because it affected from twenty to thirty prisoners. Needless to say they packed their bags with frantic speed, as if fearing cancellation of the welcome news, and emerging from the barracks hastened to receive their passes to make their way to Paderborn. Among them was the head of our barrack, Captain K——. A strong friendship had sprung up between him and me, and we shook hands vigorously though silently. He invited many others and myself, in the event of our being given permission to move about the country, to come and stay at his house near C——.

While every man Jack of us who was left behind was heavy in his heart and became sad because he was not numbered among the privileged few, we were by no means cast down. As the small party of free men walked towards the entrance we gave them a frantic and wild parting cheer. It was the first time we had let ourselves go and we did it with a vengeance. The German officers and men started as if electrified, and looked at us in amazement. They thought we had gone mad. Beside us stood one of the guards. He turned to us, his eyes and mouth wide open, to mutter:

"My God! You English are a funny race!"

"What's the matter?" we returned.

"What? You cheer those fellows who are going home and yet you are being left here!"

"Why not? Good luck to them!" and we let fly another terrific huzza to speed them on their way.

The guard shook his head, thoroughly puzzled. He did not understand the psychology of the British race any more than his superiors.

"But why do you cheer?" pursued the guard.

"Because we are English," swiftly retorted one of our party. The guard said no more.

A day or two after the departure of our colleagues there was a change in the command of the camp. The old General was superseded by a man whose name will never be forgotten by the British prisoners of Sennelager Camp. They will ever couple him with the infamous instigator of the "Black Hole of Calcutta."

This was Major Bach. Upon his assumption of the command he inaugurated what can only be truthfully described as a Reign of Terror. Tall, of decided military bearing, he had the face of a ferret and was as repulsive. With his sardonic grin he recalled no one so vividly as the "Villain of the Vic!"

The morning after his arrival he paraded us all, and in a quiet suave voice which he could command at times stated:

"English prisoners! Arrangements are being made for your instant return to England. A day or two must pass before you can go, to enable the necessary papers to be completed and put in order. But you will not have to do any more work."

We were dismissed and I can assure you that we were a merry, excited crowd. We jumped for joy at the thought that our imprisonment had come to an end. Like schoolboys we hastened to the barracks and feverishly set to work packing our bags, whistling and singing joyously meanwhile.

Suddenly the bugle rang out summoning us to parade again. We rushed out, all agog with excitement, and half hoping that our release would be immediate. The Adjutant confronted us and in a loud voice roared:

"English prisoners! You've been told that you are going back to England. That was a mistake. You will get to work at once!"



CHAPTER VIII

BADGERING THE BRITISH HEROES FROM MONS

It was about a fortnight after my arrival at Sennelager. Our rest had been rudely disturbed about the usual hour of 2 a.m. by the sentry who came clattering into the barrack roaring excitedly, "Dolmetscher! Dolmetscher!"

C—— who, after the departure of K——, had been elected Captain of our barrack and who was also the official interpreter, answered the summons. He was required to accompany the guards to the station. A further batch of British prisoners had arrived. By this time we had grown accustomed to this kind of nocturnal disturbance, so after C—— had passed out the rest of the barrack re-settled down to sleep.

I was astir just after four o'clock. It was my turn to serve as barrack-room orderly for the day, and I started in early to complete my task before 5.30 so as to secure the opportunity to shave and wash before parade.

I was outside the barrack when my attention was aroused by the sound of tramping feet. Looking down the road I was surprised to see a huge column of dust, and what appeared to be a never-ending crowd of soldiers, marching in column. It was such an unusual sight, we never having witnessed the arrival of more than a dozen prisoners at a time, that, especially the moment I descried the uniforms, my curiosity was aroused. Many of my comrades were astir and partly dressed when I gave a hail, so they hurried out to join me.

The army, for such it seemed, advanced amidst clouds of dust. As they drew nearer we identified those at the head as Belgian soldiers. They swung by without faltering. Behind them came a small army of French prisoners. We could not help noticing the comparatively small number of wounded among both the Belgians and the French, and although they were undoubtedly dejected at their unfortunate capture they were apparently in fine fettle.

But it was the men who formed the rear of this depressing cavalcade, and who also numbered several hundreds, which aroused our keenest interest and pity. From their khaki uniforms it was easy to determine their nationality. They were British military prisoners.

It was a sad and pitiful procession, and it was with the greatest difficulty we could suppress our emotion. The tears welled to our eyes as we looked on in silent sympathy. We would have given those hardened warriors a rousing cheer but we dared not. The guards would have resented such an outburst, which would have rendered the lot of the British, both civilian and military, a hundred times worse.

The soldiers, battle-stained, blood-stained, weary of foot, body and mind walked more like mechanical toys than men in the prime of life. Their clothes were stained almost beyond recognition; their faces were ragged with hair and smeared with dirt. But though oppressed, tired, hungry and thirsty they were far from being cast down, although many could scarcely move one foot before the other.

The most touching sight was the tenderness with which the unwounded and less injured assisted their weaker comrades. Some of the worst cases must have been suffering excruciating agony, but they bore their pain with the stoicism of a Red Indian. The proportion of wounded was terrifying: every man appeared to be carrying one scar or another. As they swung by us they gave us a silent greeting which we returned, but there was far more significance in that mute conversation with eyes and slight movements of the hands than in volumes of words and frantic cheering.

The brutal reception they had received from their captors was only too apparent. Those who were so terribly wounded as to be beyond helping themselves received neither stretcher nor ambulance. They had to hobble, limp and drag themselves along as best they could, profiting from the helping hand extended by a comrade. Those who were absolutely unable to walk had to be carried by their chums, and it was pathetic to observe the tender care, solicitude and effort which were displayed so as to spare the luckless ones the slightest jolt or pain while being carried in uncomfortable positions and attitudes over the thickly dust-strewn and uneven road. The fortitude of the badly battered was wonderful. They forgot their sufferings, and were even bandying jest and joke. Their cheeriness under the most terrible conditions was soul-moving. No one can testify more truthfully to the Tapley cheeriness of the British soldier under the most adverse conditions than the little knot of civilian prisoners at Sennelager when brought face to face for the first time with the fearful toll of war.

The unhappy plight of our heroic fighting men, as we watched them march towards what was called the "field," which was nearly a mile beyond our barracks, provoked an immediate council of war among ourselves. It was only too apparent that we must exert ourselves on their behalf. Unfortunately, however, we were not in a position to extend them pronounced assistance: our captors saw to that. But we divided up into small parties and succeeded in giving all the aid that was in our power.

The soldiers were accommodated in tents. We had observed the raising of a canvas town upon the "field," and had been vaguely wondering for what it was required. Were German recruits coming to Sennelager to undergo their training, or were we to be transferred from the barracks to tents? At first we thought the latter the more probable, but as we reflected upon the size of canvas-town we concluded that provision was being made for something of far greater importance.

The Belgian prisoners were sent into the stables. These, however, were scrupulously clean and empty of all the incidentals generally associated with such buildings, because the civilian prisoners had been compelled to scour them out a few days before. Consequently the Belgians had no room for protest against the character of their quarters, except perhaps upon the ground of being somewhat over-crowded. A number of the French soldiers were also distributed among the stables, but the surplus shared tents near their British comrades.

Upon reaching the field the prisoners were paraded. Each man was subjected to a searching cross-examination, and had to supply his name and particulars of the regiment to which he belonged. All these details were carefully recorded. In the preparation of this register the German inquisitors betrayed extraordinary anxiety to ascertain the disposition of the British troops and the regiments engaged in the battle-line. Evidently they were in a state of complete ignorance upon this point. Nearly every soldier was requested to give the name of the place where he had been fighting, wounded, and captured. But the British soldiers did not lose their presence of mind. They saw through the object of these interrogations and their replies for the most part were extremely unsatisfactory. The man either did not know, could not recall, or had forgotten where he had been fighting, and was exceedingly hazy about what regiments were forming the British army. In some instances, however, the desired data was forthcoming from those who were most severely wounded, the poor fellows in their misery failing to grasp the real significance of the interpellations. It was easy to realise the extreme value of the details which were given in this manner because the Germans chuckled, chattered, and cackled like a flock of magpies. As may be supposed, owing to the exacting nature of the search for information, the registration of the prisoners occupied a considerable time.

[*large gap]

Later, during the day of their arrival, we civilian prisoners had the opportunity to fraternise with our fighting compatriots. Then we ascertained that they had been wounded and captured during the retreat from Mons. But they had been subjected to the most barbarous treatment conceivable. They had received no skilled or any other attention upon the battlefield. They had merely bound up one another's wounds as best they could with materials which happened to be at hand, or had been forced to allow the wounds to remain open and exposed to the air. Bleeding and torn they had been bundled unceremoniously into a train, herded like cattle, and had been four days and nights travelling from the battlefield to Sennelager.

During these 96 hours they had tasted neither food nor water! The train was absolutely deficient in any commissariat, and the soldiers had not been permitted to satisfy their cravings, even to the slightest degree, and even if they were in the possession of the wherewithal, by the purchase of food at stations at which the train had happened to stop. What with the fatigue of battle and this prolonged enforced abstinence from the bare necessaries of life, it is not surprising that they reached Sennelager in a precarious and pitiful condition.

Among our heroes were five commissioned officers, including a major. These were accommodated at Sennelager for about a fortnight but then they were sent away, whither we never knew beyond the fact that they had been condemned to safer imprisonment in a fortress. Among the prisoners were also about 200 men belonging to the R.A.M.C., taken in direct contravention of the generally accepted rules of war. They were treated in precisely the same manner as the captured fighting men. There were also a few non-commissioned officers who were permitted to retain their authority within certain limits.

One of the prisoners gave me a voluminous diary which he had kept, and in which were chronicled the whole of his movements and impressions from the moment he landed in France until his capture, including the Battle of Mons. It was a remarkable human document, and I placed it in safe keeping, intending to get it out of the camp and to send it to my friend at home upon the first opportunity. But ill-luck dogged this enterprise. The existence of the diary got to the ears of our wardens and I was compelled to surrender it.

The next morning the wounded received attention. The medical attendant attached to the camp for the civilian prisoners, Dr. Ascher, was not placed in command of this duty, although he extended assistance. A German military surgeon was given the responsibility. The medical arrangements provided by this official, who became unduly inflated with the eminence of his position, were of the most arbitrary character. He attended the camp at certain hours and he adhered to his time-table in the most rigorous manner. If you were not there to time, no matter the nature of your injury, you received no attention. Similarly, if the number of patients lined up outside the diminutive hospital were in excess of those to whom he could give attention during the hours he had set forth, he would turn the surplus away with the intimation that they could present themselves the next day at the same hour when perhaps he would be able to see to them. It did not matter to him how serious was the injury or the urgency for attention. His hours were laid down, and he would not stay a minute later for anything. Fortunately, Dr. Ascher, who resented this inflexible system, would attend the most pressing cases upon his own initiative, for which, it is needless to say, he received the most heartfelt thanks.

Before the duty of examining the wounded soldiers commenced there was a breeze between Dr. Ascher and the military surgeon. The former insisted that the patients should receive attention as they lined up—first come to be first served, and irrespective of nationality. But the military doctor would have none of this. His hatred of the British was so intense that he could not resist any opportunity to reveal his feelings. I really think that he would willingly have refused to attend to the British soldiers at all if his superior orders had not charged him with this duty. So he did the next worse thing to harass our heroes. He expressed his intention to attend first to the Belgians, then to the French, and to the British last. They could wait, notwithstanding that their injuries were more severe and the patients more numerous than those of the other two Allies put together. This decision, however, was only in consonance with the general practice of the camp—the British were always placed last in everything. If the military surgeon thought that his arbitrary attitude would provoke protests and complaints among the British soldiers he was grievously mistaken, because they accepted his decision without a murmur.

The queue outside the hospital was exceedingly lengthy. The heat was intense and grew intolerable as the day advanced and the sun climbed higher into the heavens. To aggravate matters a dust-storm blew up. The British wounded at the end of the line had a dreary, long, and agonising wait. Half-dead from fatigue, hunger, and racked with pain it is not surprising that many collapsed into the dust, more particularly as they could not secure the slightest shelter or relief from the broiling sun. As the hours wore on they dropped like flies, to receive no attention whatever,—except from their less-wounded comrades, who strove might and main to render the plight of the worst afflicted as tolerable as the circumstances would permit. Dr. Ascher toiled in the hospital like a Trojan, but the military doctor was not disposed to exert himself unduly.

To make matters worse this despicable disciple of AEsculapius came out, and, notwithstanding the drifting and blowing sand, ordered all the British prisoners to remove their bandages so that there might be no delay when the hospital was reached. The men obeyed as best as they could, but in many instances the bandages refused to release themselves from the wound. The military doctor speedily solved this problem. He caught hold of the untied end of the bandage and roughly tore it away. The wounded man winced but not a sound came from his lips, although the wrench must have provoked a terrible throb of pain, and in some instances induced the injury to resume bleeding. Finding this brutal treatment incapable of drawing the anticipated protest he relented with the later prisoners, submitting the refractory bandages to preliminary damping with water to coax the dressings free.

With their bandages removed the soldiers presented a ghastly sight. Their clothes were tattered and torn, blood-stained and mudstained, while the raw wounds seemed to glare wickedly against the sun, air, and dust. It was pitiable to see the men striving to protect their injuries from the driving sand, in vain, because the sand penetrated everywhere. Consequently the gaping wounds soon became clogged with dust, and it is not surprising that blood-poisoning set in, gangrene supervening in many instances. Under these conditions many injuries and wounds which would have healed speedily under proper attention and which would have left little or no permanent traces, developed into serious cases, some of which resisted all treatment, finally demanding amputations. The mutilation which ensued was terrible, and there is no doubt whatever that many a limb was lost, condemning the wounded man to be a cripple for life, just because he happened to be British, incurred the hostility of the military surgeon, and was intentionally neglected. Matters were aggravated by the military surgeon coming out of the hospital finally, after the men had been standing uncomplainingly for several hours in the baking heat, going a certain distance along the line, and then brutally telling all those beyond that point that they could re-bind up their wounds and come to see him the next morning. He had no time to attend to them that day, he remarked.

I do not know how our wounded heroes from Mons would have got on had it not been for Dr. Ascher, the R.A.M.C. prisoners, ourselves, and a British military doctor who happened to be among those captured on the battlefield. The latter was not discovered for some time because he refused to reveal his identity. Subsequently, realising the serious turn which matters were taking, and observing the intentional and systematic neglect which was being meted out to his unfortunate fellow-countrymen, he buckled in and did wonderful work. Prince L—— and K—— also toiled incessantly in the attempt to ameliorate the plight of our wounded. Many of the soldiers were absolutely without funds, but these two civilians extended them the assistance so sorely needed out of their own pockets, purchasing food-stuffs from the canteen, which they distributed together with other articles which were in urgent request, with every liberality.

The lack of funds hit our wounded exceedingly hard. Although they were on the sick list they received no special treatment. They were in dire need of nourishing food suitable for invalids, but they never received it. They were compelled, in common with ourselves who were in tolerably good health, to subsist on milkless and sugarless acorn coffee, cabbage-soup, and black bread, which cannot possibly be interpreted as an invalid body-restoring dietary. As a result of this insufficient feeding the soldiers commenced to fall away.

This systematic starvation, for it was nothing more nor less, rendered the soldiers well-nigh desperate. In order to secure the money wherewith to supplement their meagre and uninviting non-nutritious food with articles from the canteen, they were prepared to sell anything and everything which could be turned into a few pence. Khaki overcoats were freely sold for six shillings apiece. For sixpence you could buy a pair of puttees. Even buttons were torn off and sold for what they would fetch. One morning, on parade, a soldier whose face testified to the ravages of hunger tore off his cardigan jacket and offered it to any one for sixpence in order to buy bread. Little souvenirs which the soldiers had picked up on the battlefield, and which they treasured highly, hoping to take them home as mementoes of their battles, were sold to any one who would buy. As a matter of fact some of the soldiers were prepared to part with anything and everything in which they were standing in order to get food.

While we fraternised with the soldiers at the very first opportunity to secure details of their experiences which were freely given and to learn items of news, the German guards interfered. We had been kept in complete ignorance of the progress of the war, and now we were learning too much for our captors. I may say that all we heard about the war was the occasional intelligence given when we were on parade. Major Bach would stroll up with German newspapers in his hands and with fiendish delight would give us items of news which he thought would interest us. Needless to say the fragments always referred to brilliant German victories and he used to watch our faces with grim pleasure to ascertain the effect they produced upon us. At first we were somewhat impressed, especially when he told us that Paris had been captured. But when he related ten days later that it had fallen again, and that London was in German hands, we smiled in spite of ourselves because we had trapped him in his lying.

We were now separated from our soldier friends, from whom we had gained a more reliable insight concerning the state of affairs. The German guards also gave themselves away by relating that they were embittered against the British soldiers because they had fought like devils and had wrought terrible havoc among the ranks of the German army. Consequently the only opportunity which arose for conversation was during the evenings around the canteen. Even then we had to be extremely cautious. If the guard saw one or two civilians associated with a group of Tommies, he would come up, force us apart at the point of the bayonet, and make us proceed different ways.

Our practice was to mingle singly and discreetly with the soldiers, and then upon return to barracks exchange news we had gleaned. I may say it became an unwritten law of the camp that, if a civilian took a soldier into the canteen and asked him any questions, he was to reciprocate by treating the Tommy to some little dainty which was obtainable. If we asked nothing the soldier got nothing. This latter attitude was not due to our resenting the idea of treating the soldier, but because many of us were poor, or empty, in pocket ourselves. Although we did a considerable amount of forced labour we never received a penny for it.

I had a tilt at my guard one day over the payment of prisoners of war. Although I knew nothing about the International law upon the subject I made a venture.

"Do you know?" I asked, "that as prisoners of war we are entitled to 60 pfennigs—sixpence—a day for what work we do?"

"Ja! Ja!" he grinned. "But as it costs us 90 pfennigs a day to keep you, after deducting the 60 pfennigs, you still owe us 30 pfennigs a day!"

The idea of us being in Germany's debt for our board and lodging was certainly humorous. If any one asked me how much it cost the Teutonic Government in this direction I should consider a halfpenny a day a very liberal figure.

The efforts of the prisoners to supplement their meagre and monotonous official allowance of food by purchases at the canteen were handicapped by the avariciousness and unprecedented rascality of the unprincipled rogue who was in charge of this indispensable establishment.

When a soldier had secured a few pence, say a shilling, by the sale of this or that personal belonging, and proffered the coin to the canteen proprietor, this worthy would pick it up, shrug his shoulders, and disdainfully push the shilling back with the remark, "English money? No good here! I can get very little for it!"

At this pronouncement the soldier's face would fall. But dreading denial of a "broetchen" of which he was in urgent need he would grow desperate. He would push the coin across the counter again.

"It must be worth something! Now how much will you give for it?" he would ask pleadingly.

With further demur, elevation of eyebrows, puckering of brows and hesitancy the canteen proprietor would complete a mental arithmetical sum in currency exchange. At last he would reluctantly quote a figure, and as a rule it was about fifty per cent. below the face value of the coin. Thus the soldier's shilling would only be valued at sixpence in German money.

The soldier, satisfied at being able to get a "broetchen" even at such a sacrifice, would submit. But although the unwarranted depreciation was robbery it was not the worst feature of the methods of this greedy money-changer.

The soldier would receive, not five English pennies or 50 German pfennigs as his change but a French half-franc. Then the next time he visited the canteen for another "broetchen" or something else, he would put down the half-franc he had previously received. Again the soldier received a rude surprise. The canteen proprietor would reluctantly say that the French money was useless to him. There would be a repetition of the previous bickering over the British shilling, and at last the astonished soldier would learn that he could only change the French half-franc at a discount of forty per cent. In this instance the change would be the equivalent of twopence in English money, but it would be given in Belgian coins. Upon the third occasion when the British soldier visited the canteen to buy a "broetchen" and proffered the Belgian coinage he would learn that this had also undergone a sudden depreciation of fifty per cent. So that by the time the soldier had expended his shilling he had really received goods to the value of about threepence.

It was a cunning method of conducting business and the canteen proprietor was a master in keeping the hated currency of the three nations in circulation among themselves, and always exacted a heavy charge for its acceptance.

With such a novel means of ringing the changes upon soldiers of the three nationalities it is not surprising that the canteen proprietor waxed rich within a very short time.

Such a state of affairs not only adversely affected the soldiers but the poor civilian prisoners as well. At last things came to such a pass that one of our interpreters, F. K——, the fellow-prisoner whom I had met in Wesel prison, tackled the canteen proprietor upon his unfair method of conducting business, and emphasised how harsh it was upon the prisoners who were not flush in funds. For this attempt to improve our position F. K—— had to pay the penalty. The canteen proprietor promptly reported the interpreter to the Commanding Officer of the camp, who forthwith sentenced our comrade to three days' cells for daring to interfere with German organisation!

The Germans, in their determined intention to prevent the British civilian and military prisoners from mingling, adopted the most drastic measures. Guards were posted everywhere and we were sternly forbidden to enter the soldiers' reservation. If we were detected the guards were instructed to let drive with their rifles without giving any previous warning. The anti-British sentiment was so acute that any one of our guards would have only been too delighted to have had the chance to put this order into effect, and that upon the slightest pretext. As he would have been upheld in his action we decided to give these amiable wardens no opportunity to turn us into targets.

There is no doubt that we were regarded as little less than desperadoes of the worst type. Our troops had given the Germans such a severe shaking up as to throw our guards into a state of wild panic. This was proved only too conclusively by an incident which occurred one night. After we had retired we were not permitted to put our heads out of the windows. To do so was to court a bullet, also according to instructions. On this particular night, after we had turned in, one of the prisoners, unable to sleep owing to mental worry and the heat, strolled to the door to get a breath of fresh air. As he stepped out into the dusty footway a terrifying fusillade rang out and continued for several minutes. We all sprang up wondering what was the matter.

The poor fellow had been spotted coming out of the door by the sentry who, too excited to recognise the man, had fired his rifle at the prisoner for all he was worth. Instantly the guard turned out. The prisoner brought abruptly to his senses had darted back into the barrack safe and sound but fearfully scared. Only the wild shooting of the sentry had saved him from being riddled. The guard itself, upon turning out, evidently thought that a rebellion had broken out or at least that a prisoner had escaped. Seizing their rifles they blazed away for dear life. They did not aim at anything in particular but shot haphazardly at the stars, haystacks, and trees in the most frantic manner imaginable and as rapidly as their magazine arms would let them. Undoubtedly the Germans were half-mad with fear. It rained bullets around the barracks and every man within crouched down on his bed, away from the windows through which we momentarily expected the bullets to crash. None of us dared to move for fear that there might be a collision with one or more of the missiles which pattered around us.

The next morning we were paraded hurriedly. The guard ran about among us, searching every corner of the barracks, as if bereft. The roll was called with wild excitement. A prisoner had escaped! Had he not been seen by every imaginative member of the guard? But when they discovered that we were all safe and sound, and that we were perfectly composed, they presented a sorry array of stalwart warders. Their sheepishness provoked us to laughter when we learned the true reason for all the bother. But it brought home to us the extreme danger of falling foul of such a panicky mob.

The military reservation was fenced off from our quarters by barbed wire. The rule ran that no prisoner on either side of the barrier was to advance within a metre's distance—about one yard—of the fence. Guards were on duty to see that this regulation was obeyed. One day a British Tommy, in a moment of forgetfulness, ventured within the forbidden distance. With a flash the excited guard standing near by raised his rifle and jabbed fiercely at the soldier. The bayonet got home in the luckless Tommy's shoulder and passed clean through from front to back, the ugly point of the bayonet protruding about three inches.

This incident and unwarranted savagery, although born of "nerves," sickened and also roused those of us who had seen it. Seeing that the soldier was quite unarmed the sentry might have used the butt end of his weapon just as satisfactorily. But no! It was a swine of an Englaender who had infringed the rule and the bayonet was the instrument for correction, to be plied with the utmost effect.

Seeing the desperate condition of the British wounded and the inhuman manner in which they were treated one might naturally conclude that they would have died off like flies. Sennelager has the most evil reputation among the German prison camps for systematic brutality and unprecedented ferocity. But to levy such an accusation is to bring an immediate German denial. In reply they turn to the official reports and retort that conditions could not possibly be so terrible as they are painted, otherwise the camp would be certain to reveal a high mortality. On the other hand the death-rate at Sennelager is strikingly low, and the German officials smile contentedly while the Press comforts itself smugly.

The presentation of the low death-rate is even likely to arouse doubt in the minds of the unsophisticated British at home. They are not versed in German cunning. Sennelager camp carries a low death-rate for the simple reason that a prisoner is not permitted to die there. When a man has been reduced to a hopeless condition and his demise appears imminent he is hurriedly sent off to some other place, preferably a hospital, to die. By a slice of luck he might cheat Death, in which event, upon his recovery, he is bundled off to another prison. But he seldom, if ever, comes back to Sennelager! During my period of incarceration only one man, B——, who was sent to Paderborn hospital to die as the Germans thought, but who recovered, returned to Sennelager. When a man was hastened out of the camp in this manner we never knew his fate. It became a by-word that few men went from Sennelager but none returned. Consequently, whenever we saw a sick case leave the camp we surmised that the poor wretch was making his final journey to the Great Beyond. We assumed his speedy death from natural causes—as the German authorities would relate—to be inevitable.



CHAPTER IX

THE PERSECUTION OF THE PRIESTS

Although we British prisoners, both civilian and military, constituted the principal butt for the spleen of Major Bach, we never raised the slightest audible complaint or protest, although inwardly and in the seclusion of our barracks we chafed at the unrelenting tyranny to which we were exposed and against which we were completely helpless. In strict accordance with the instructions of the Commandant we were always the last to receive attention. If we ever had to go to the hospital to receive any treatment and were the first to arrive at its doors, we had to kick our heels outside and possess ourselves in patience as best we could until all the prisoners of other nationalities had seen the surgeon. As a rule we had a lost journey. The surgeon in his haste to get away either would notify us that our cases could not receive enquiry until the morrow, or he would treat us in a perfunctory manner.

As at the hospital so at the cook-house at meal times. We were never given our rations until all the others had been satisfied. The consequence was that we generally went short of food. The first to be treated received liberal quantities of the cabbage soup. What was left had to be eked out amongst us.

"The damned English swine can wait!" This was the dictum of those in authority and the underlings were only too eager to fulfil it to the letter. If there were the slightest opportunity to deprive us of our food, on the flimsy pretext that we had not answered the summons with sufficient alacrity, it was eagerly grasped. Under these conditions we had to go supperless to bed, unless we could procure something at the canteen or our more fortunate comrades came to our assistance by sharing with us the comestibles they had purchased.

Some ten days after the appearance of Major Bach a new target for his savagery and venom appeared. This was a party of Belgian priests. I shall never forget their entrance to the camp. We were performing necessary daily duties outside our barracks when our attention was drawn to an approaching party surrounded by an abnormally imposing force of soldiers. Such a military display was decidedly unusual and we naturally concluded that a prisoner of extreme significance, and possibly rank, had been secured and was to be interned at Sennelager.

When the procession drew nearer and we saw that the prisoners were priests our curiosity gave way to feelings of intense disgust. They were twenty-two in number and were garbed just as they had been torn from prayer by the ruthless soldiers. Some were venerable men bordering on seventy. Subsequently I discovered that the youngest among them was fifty-four years of age, but the average was between sixty and seventy.

The reverend fathers with clasped hands moved precisely as if they were conducting some religious ceremonial among their flocks in their beloved churches. But the pace was too funereal for the advocates of the goose-step. They hustled the priests into quicker movement, not in the rough manner usually practised with us, but by clubbing the unfortunate religionists across the shoulders with the stocks of their rifles, lowering their bayonets to them and giving vent to blood-freezing curses, fierce oaths, coarse jeers, and rewarding the desperate endeavours of the priests to fulfil the desires of their captors with mocking laughter and ribaldry.

The brutal manner in which they were driven into the camp as if they were sheep going to the slaughter, made our blood boil. More than one of us clenched our fists and made a half-movement forward as if to interfere. But we could do nothing and so had to control our furious indignation.

However, the moment the priests entered Sennelager we received a respite. Officers and guards turned their savagery and spite from us to visit it upon these unhappy victims by night and by day and at every trick and turn. Clubbing with the rifle was the most popular means of compelling them to obey this, or to do that. More than once I have seen one of the aged religionists fall to the ground beneath a rifle blow which struck him across the back. No indignity conceivable, besides a great many indescribable, was spared those venerable men, and they bowed to their revolting treatment with a meekness which seemed strangely out of place.

After one more than usually ferocious manifestation of attack I questioned our guard to ascertain the reason for this unprecedented treatment and why the priests had been especially singled out for such infamous ferocity.

"Ach!" he hissed with a violent expectoration, "They fired upon our brave comrades in Belgium. They rang the bells of their churches to summon the women to the windows to fire upon our brothers as they passed. The dogs! We'll show them! We'll break them before we have finished. They won't want to murder our brave troops again!"

The words were jerked out with such fearful fury that I refrained from pursuing the subject. Later I had a chat with one of the oldest priests. It was only with difficulty we could understand one another, but it was easy to discover that the charges were absolutely unfounded, and were merely the imagination of the distorted and savage Prussian mind when slipped from the leash to loot, assault and kill for the first time in his life.

A night or two later a few of us were purchasing food at the canteen. Suddenly four soldiers came tumbling in, dragging with them one of the most aged of the Fathers. He must have been on the verge of three-score and ten, and with his long white beard he presented an impressive, proud, and stately figure. But the inflamed Prussian has no respect for age. The old man was bludgeoned against the counter and at his abortive attempts to protect himself the soldiers jeered and laughed boisterously.

One of the soldiers called for a suit of clothes which was served out to prisoners, and for which we were supposed to pay six marks—six shillings. The leader of the party of soldiers grabbed the suit and, pushing the priest roughly, shouted,

"Here! You can't work in the fields with that garb you are wearing. You've got to buy these. Six marks! Hurry up! You've got to put them on!"

The priest, who did not understand a word of German, naturally failed to grasp the meaning of the command. He promptly received a clout to knock some sense into him, the soldier meanwhile shaking the prison-like suit to emphasise what he meant.

In mute protest the priest shook his robes to indicate that he was quite content with what he was wearing.

"Come on! If you don't change we'll do it for you!"

At this threat there was a wild outburst of demoniacal mirth, in which the girl behind the counter, a brazen jade, joined uproariously as if in anticipation of some unusual amusement. She reached over the counter, craning her neck to secure a better view of an unexpected spectacle.

As the Reverend Father did not respond to the command, the guard gathered round him. Before we could realise what was happening, his crucifix and rosary had been roughly torn off, and with his watch and chain had been thrown upon a table standing alongside. His robe was roughly whisked away in the twinkling of an eye. But the prisoner did not move or raise a hand in protest, even when he was bared to his under-clothing in front of fraeulein, who signalled her appreciation of the sight by wildly clapping her hands, laughing merrily, and giving expression to ribald jokes.

The proud manner in which the victim surveyed his tormentors only exasperated them still further. By the threat of the bayonet he was compelled to stand up in front of these degenerate members of the human race and the girl behind the counter, whose laughter could now be heard ringing above the frantic shrieks of the soldiers.

We, who were unwilling witnesses of this revolting spectacle, were grinding our teeth in ill-suppressed rage. Never during my sojourn in Sennelager, even when submitted to the greatest torment, have I seen the British prisoners roused to such a pitch of fury. As a rule we effectively maintained a quiet, if not indifferent, and tractable attitude, but this was more than flesh and blood could stand.

But the priest never relaxed his proud composure and self-possession. He looked so penetratingly at the laughing jade that I think it must have penetrated into her very soul. Her wild mirth ended abruptly in a strange semi-hysterical shriek as her eyes met his look of intense scorn. She winced and was effectively cowed into silence.

I may say that the floor of the canteen was of concrete, but upon this was a layer of mud, slime, grease, and other filth brought in from outside upon the boots of those who frequented the establishment. This was now a noisome muddy carpet some two inches in thickness. The Germans, one may happen to recollect, have ever paraded their love of cleanliness before the world, but this floor was the lie direct to their vain boastings.

At the sight of the old man standing there erect before them, the victim of unparalleled humiliation, but his spirit as strong and as unyielding as ever, the fury of the soldiers knew no bounds. One, giving vent to a fearful curse, placed his hand on the table upon which the crucifix, rosary, and watch were lying. He gave a swift, fiendish glance at the priest towering above him, and with a vile oath swept the articles to the floor, where they ploughed through the greasy revolting slime.

It was then that the badgered and baited Father broke down. As he watched his beloved and revered crucifix and rosary suffering defilement and serving as the rude sport for the iron heels of the uncivilised Huns, the tears coursed down his face copiously. He gave a slight start as he saw the articles flash through the air, but suppressed the cry of horror which sprang inadvertently to his lips.

But the soldiers were not yet satisfied with the agony which they had created in the Father's heart. One grabbed his rifle and lowering the bayonet in a threatening manner ordered the priest to pick up his sacred treasures. The priest stooped down to obey the instructions, but this was not sufficient for his persecutors. He was driven to his knees and forced to grope among the repulsive mud for his revered religious tokens. With great difficulty he recovered them, battered, crushed, and covered with the filthy accumulation upon the floor. As the Reverend Father drew himself once more to his full height, clasping his treasures desperately, he brought his hands together, and closing his eyes, we saw his lips moving in prayer.

This was the last straw. Grating our teeth, our faces white with passion, and our fingers itching to seize those barbarians round their throats to choke their lives out of them, we nearly threw discretion to the winds. Had one of us made a forward movement we should have sprung upon them with the ferocity of bull-dogs. Those four soldiers never knew how near they were to meeting their deserts upon that day. As it was we merely scraped our feet in impotent rage. It was this fidgeting which aroused their attention. They turned and must have read our innermost intentions written in our faces, for they instantly grabbed their rifles and rounded upon us. With a motion which could not be misunderstood, and uttering fierce curses, they ordered us to get outside. We refused to move, although confronted by ugly pointed bayonets. It was a tense and critical moment. The soldiers undoubtedly saw that we were now thoroughly roused, and, strange to say, they appeared to lose their heads, for they stood stock still, apparently frightened by our determined appearance.

One of our party, although as enraged as any of us, yet had maintained more complete control over his feelings. He saw the utter uselessness of our making a display of physical protest. With a quiet "Come on, boys!" he stepped towards the door. It saved an ugly situation; the movement to the door and the crisis had passed. Fiercely glaring at the soldiers, with our jaws ominously set, and our fists clenched we retreated. Our action revived the courage of the guards. They at once sprang forward to jostle us out, prodding and attempting to club us right and left.

As we hurried through the open door we gave a final glance at the priest. He had turned his head and was looking steadily at us, and if ever conversation were carried out by looks there were volumes in his gaze. His eyes told us how impotent we were in the hands of these brutes who were brave because they had their loaded rifles. They told us of his appreciation of our sympathy in his hour of humiliation and torment. They extended us heartfelt thanks for our willingness to come to his assistance, combined with a mute instruction not to lift a finger on his behalf since the plight of one and all would become infinitely worse. We passed into the street and the door was slammed upon us.

Once outside we allowed our feelings to have full rein. We point-blank refused to go away and fell to discussing the situation somewhat fiercely. Evidently the tones of our voices persuaded the soldiers within that they had gone far enough, because shortly afterwards the priest re-appeared, and under escort was hurried away to his quarters.

When we next saw him we endeavoured by diplomatic questions to ascertain the reason why he had been subjected to such torture and indignity. To him the greatest humiliation was that his torment had occurred before a woman. But otherwise he refused to refer to the episode. His retort, in a placid, resigned voice, was, "I only trust that God will have mercy upon them!"

The priests were denied all opportunity to move about the camp. There were scores of co-religionists among us, but they were stedfastly refused the comfort which the Fathers could have given them. The priests were not permitted to minister to the spiritual welfare of their flocks. As a matter of fact, by the strict instruction of Major Bach, no religious services of any description were permitted in the camp, at least not while I was under his sway.

To the members of the Roman Catholic persuasion the brow-beating, badgering, baiting and buffeting of the helpless priests acted as a red rag to a bull. But what could they do? Protest was merely so much wasted energy. Communication with anyone outside the camp was absolutely impossible. To have reviled Major Bach for his cruelty and carefully planned barbarity would only have brought down upon us further and more terrible punishment of such ferocity as would have made everyone long for the respite of the grave.

But the priests could not be broken, no matter to what physical and mental suffering they were subjected. Even Major Bach discovered to his chagrin that his devilish ingenuity had encountered an insuperable obstacle. To wreak his revenge he now compelled the Fathers to carry out all the dirtiest and most revolting work in the camp—duties so repulsive as to be beyond description. But the good men never murmured. They did exactly as they were bidden, and even the guards at last appeared to realise the fact that their fertility in torment was of no avail in attempting to infuriate their meek charges.

Major Bach, however, was by no means cast down at his failures. One morning he ordered the twenty-two priests to be paraded. They were then loaded up with a variety of cumbersome and heavy implements—spades, picks, shovels, and such like. Each load would have taxed the strength of a young man in the pink of condition and strength to carry, and yet here were old men, ranging between sixty and seventy years, compelled to shoulder such burdens. But they did it.

An order was rapped out, the guard wheeled, and the tiny party moved off. We discovered afterwards that they were marched three miles along the sandy road in the blazing sun to a point where they were roughly bidden to dig a huge pit.

Throughout the morning, and without a moment's respite, they were forced to ply their tools, their task-masters standing over them and smartly prodding and threatening them with their rifles if they showed signs of falling from fatigue, or if they failed to maintain the expected rate of progress. To such old men, who probably had never lifted the smallest and lightest tool for many years, if ever, it was a back-breaking task. However, they clung dutifully to their work until the hour of twelve rang out.

Now they were re-marshalled, their tools were re-shouldered, and they were marched back to camp for the mid-day meal. By the time they reached the barracks all the other prisoners had consumed the whole of the available soup. There was nothing for the priests. It was explained that they should have hurried so as to have arrived at an earlier moment. Then they would have received their due proportion. Meals could not be kept waiting for dawdlers, was the brutal explanation of the authorities. The priests must be made to realise the circumstance that they were not staying at an hotel. This, by the way, was a favourite joke among our wardens.

The priests bore visible signs of their six miles' tramp through crumbling scorching sand and under a pitiless sun, as well as of their laborious toil excavating the large pit. But their distressed appearance did not arouse the slightest feeling of pity among their tormentors. Being too late for the meal they were re-lined up, and under a changed guard were marched back again to the scene of their morning's labour.

Naturally, upon reaching the pit, they concluded that they would have to continue the excavation. But to their intense astonishment the officer in charge ordered them to throw all the excavated soil back again into the hole! This was one of the most glaring examples of performing a useless task, merely to satisfy feelings of savagery and revenge, that I encountered in Sennelager, although it was typical of Major Bach and his methods. He took a strange delight in devising such senseless labours. Doubtless the authorities anticipated that the priests would make some demur at being compelled to undo the work which they had done previously with so much effort and pain. But if this was the thought governing the whole incident the officials were doomed to suffer bitter disappointment. The priests, whatever they may have thought, silently accepted the inevitable, and displayed as much diligence in filling the pit as they had shown a few hours before in digging it.

Still the afternoon's shovelling caused them greater physical hardship than the plying of the pick in the morning. They had been denied a mid-day meal, and their age-enfeebled physique proved barely equal to the toil. A basin of black acorn coffee and a small fragment of hard brown bread cannot by any manner of means be construed into strong sustenance for such a full day's work. During the afternoon one or two were on the verge of collapse from hunger and fatigue. But their indomitable spirit kept them up and the pit was duly filled.

By the time the labour had been completed the evening was advancing. For the fourth time that day they shouldered their burden of tools and set out on the three miles tramp to camp.

We saw them come in and our hearts went out in pity to them. They tottered rather than walked, their heads bowed as if in prayer, and their crosses of tools sinking them nearer to the ground. Seeing that they had walked twelve miles and had put in some eight hours gruelling work it was a marvel that the older members of the party had not fallen by the wayside. Yet, although footsore, weary, worn, and hungry they retained their characteristic composure. In silence they discussed their frugal evening meal of lukewarm black acorn coffee and black bread. Some of us, out of sheer sympathy, secured some "broetchen" for them, but they accepted our expressions of fellow-feeling very sparingly, although with extreme thankfulness.

They refused to say a word about their sufferings or the agonies they had experienced during their labour and long walk. I got the story from one of the guards who had accompanied them. But even these thick-skinned disciples of "kultur" and brutality were not disposed to be communicative. The stoicism, grim determination and placidity of the Reverend Fathers constituted something which their square heads and addled brains failed to understand. They had never experienced the like.

While Major Bach never repeated the senseless pit-digging and refilling programme for the priests, his invention was by no means exhausted. Direct incentive to rebellion proving completely abortive he now resorted to indirect pettifogging and pin-pricking tactics, harassing the unfortunate priests at every turn, depriving them of food or something else, reducing their rations, giving them the most repulsive work he could discover, and so forth. But it was all to no purpose. Those twenty-two priests beat him at every turn. For Major Bach to try to break their proud spirit was like asking a baby to bend a bar of steel!

What ultimately became of these prisoners I cannot say. In fact, I do not think there is any one who can definitely relate their fate. Other prisoners now commenced to arrive in increasing numbers and the breaking-in of these crowds to the tyranny and brutal existence of Sennelager Camp appeared to demand the complete attention of the authorities. Certainly the new arrivals provided Major Bach with all the entertainment he desired.

Some say that the priests were distributed among other camps; others that one or two succumbed to the persistent ill-treatment meted out to them; and still more that they are yet at Sennelager. No one can say precisely. Only one fact remains. For a time they occupied the sole attention of every one in the camp because they constituted the most prominent target for the fiendish devilry of Major Bach. Then they suddenly appeared to slip into oblivion. The probability is that they were swallowed up among the hundreds of French, British, Russians, Poles, Serbians, and various other races who were now pouring in. Being somewhat retiring in their nature the probability is that the priests were overlooked and forgotten in that troublous maelstrom of outraged humanity known far and wide as Sennelager Camp.



CHAPTER X

TYING PRISONERS TO THE STAKE—THE FAVOURITE PUNISHMENT

Until the coming of Major Bach at Sennelager confinement to cells constituted the general punishment for misdemeanours, the sentence varying according to the gravity of the offence. But mere solitary confinement in a hole in which perpetual twilight prevailed during the day did not coincide with Major Bach's principles of ruling with a rod of iron. It was too humane; even the most savage sentence of "cells" did not inflict any physical pain upon the luckless prisoner.

Major Bach was a past-master in the grim art of conceiving new and novel methods to worry and punish those who were so unfortunate as to be under his thumb. He was devilishly ingenious and fertile in the evolution of ways and means to make us feel our position as acutely as possible. I really think that he must have lain awake for hours at night thinking out new schemes for inflicting punishment upon us, or else must have been possessed of an excellent and comprehensive encyclopaedic dictionary dealing with the uncanny and fiendish atrocities devised by the Chinese. I do not doubt for a moment that, if he dared, he would have introduced some of the most ferocious tortures which for centuries have been characteristic of the Land of the Dragon. We were absolutely helpless and completely in his hands. He knew this full well and consequently, being a despot, he wielded autocratic power according to his peculiar lights as only a full-blooded Prussian can.

One evening the French military prisoners were being marched into camp at the conclusion of the day's work. Among them was a Zouave. Half-starved from an insufficiency of food he could scarcely drag one foot before the other. At last he dropped out from sheer fatigue. The guard struck him with the butt end of his rifle and roughly ordered him to get up and keep step and pace with his comrades. The Zouave pleaded that he really could not walk another step because he felt so weak and ill. The guard thereupon pulled the wretched prisoner to his feet and gave him a heavy blow across his back.

This unwarranted action stung the Zouave to frenzy. Clenching his teeth he sprung towards his tormentor with his fist raised in the air. But second thoughts prevailing he refrained from delivering the blow which he had premeditated. The menace, however, did not fail to exercise its effect upon the bullying guard who instantly became an arrant coward. The Zouave's action was so unexpected that the soldier was taken completely by surprise. He commenced to yell as if he had been actually struck, and his vociferous curses, reaching the ears of his comrades, brought speedy assistance. They rushed up, secured the Zouave, who was glaring fiercely at his tormentor, pinioned his arms behind him, and then marched him off to the Commanding Officer with all the speed they could command.

The grave charge of insubordination and attempting to strike the guard was proffered. Major Bach listened closely and when he had heard the story, which needless to say was somewhat freely embroidered, curtly sentenced the Zouave to "four hours at the post!" This was the first occasion upon which we had heard of this punishment and naturally we were somewhat agog with curiosity to discover the character of this latest means of dealing out correction.

Escorted by four guards with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets, the unhappy Zouave was led to a post just outside our barrack. One of the soldiers stood on either side of the prisoner ready to run him through should he make an attempt to escape or to resist. The other two guards, discarding their rifles, uncoiled a length of rope which they were carrying.

The prisoner's hands were forced behind his back and his wrists were tied tightly together, the rope being drawn so taut as to cut deeply into the flesh and to cause the unhappy wretch to shriek. He was now backed against the post round which the rope was passed. His ankles were then tied as tightly as his wrists and also strapped to the post, which action drew another yell of pain from the victim. Finally another length of the rope was passed round the upper part of his body, lashing him firmly to the support to prevent him falling forward.

Trussed and tied the unhappy prisoner was left to undergo his four hours' sentence of this ordeal. The soldiers returned to their quarters, but as a preliminary precaution, as we were undeniably showing signs of resentment against such torturing treatment, we were bustled into our barracks. But we could not rest or sleep. The hapless man at the stake was being racked and torn with pain. His shrieks, moans, and groans, echoing and re-echoing through the still hours of the summer evening, sounded so weird, uncanny, and nerve-racking as to make our blood run cold. At each outburst we shivered and strove hard, though vainly, to shut out the terrible sounds from our ears.

After the Zouave had been strung up for some time I decided to creep out and up to him to ascertain from direct close observation the effects of this treatment upon the victim. Stealing out of the barracks, thereby running the risk of encountering a bullet from the sentry's rifle, I stealthily made my way to the post. By the time I gained the spot the weak wretch was in a fearful plight. The ropes had been drawn so tightly round his wrists and ankles as to cause the circulation of the blood through the hands and feet to cease, while the flesh immediately above the knots was swelling up in a fearful manner. All sense of feeling in the hands and feet having gone, the man was hanging limply, instead of standing against the post. He writhed and twisted in frenzied efforts to secure some relief while in this uncomfortable position, but each movement only caused further pain and the unintentional utterance of piercing shrieks. Upon the exhaustion of this spasm the upper part of his body dropped forward slightly so that his head fell down upon his chest.

For a few seconds he would stand or rather hang, perfectly still and quiet. Then as he made another attempt to secure a change of position shafts of pain would shoot through him, causing him to shriek again for a few seconds in the most agonising manner, which made me start and shiver. While his shrieks were terrifying it was the long-drawn out wail and moan in which they ended which were more unnerving. They sounded like the agonised howls of an animal caught in a trap and suffering untold torment.

But each successive outburst grew weaker. The body dropped more and more forward until it could fall no farther owing to the retaining rope. His head dropped lower and lower upon his chest, which had the effect of interfering with respiration. The man would throw his head wildly about in frantic efforts to breathe, but to little purpose. His face commenced to assume a ghastly bluish colour; his distended eyes almost started from his head; while his mouth, now wide open, allowed his tongue to loll and roll in a manner vividly reminiscent of a maniac restrained in a strait jacket. The struggles and cries grew fainter until at last his head gave a final jerk to hang limply to one side. He shrieked no more. Insensibility had come to his relief.

During this period the guard never ventured to come to look at him. His piercing shrieks, howls, and long-drawn out moans told them that he was feeling the pinch of his confinement to the post. But when these cries of agony ceased two of the guards came up. Seen to be unconscious, he was immediately released to fall like a log to the ground. Buckets of water were hurriedly fetched and the contents were dashed over the prone figure until consciousness returned. When he had somewhat recovered, although still inert and groaning piteously, he was propped up against the post and re-tied into position.

Every time the man relapsed into insensibility he was released to undergo drastic reviving by the aid of buckets of water, and directly he came to he was again strapped up. The sentence was "four hours," and it was fulfilled strictly to the letter, but only the actual periods of being tied to the post were taken into consideration. It did not matter whether the man fainted three or thirty times during his sentence. It was only the instalments of time against the post which in the aggregate were taken to represent the full term of the punishment.

As may be supposed, owing to the recurring periods of insensibility, the duration of the sentence became prolonged. In about two hours after being strung up for the first time the initial spasm of unconsciousness would occur, although the intervention of insensibility obviously varied according to the strength and physical endurance of the prisoner. But after the first revival, and owing to the man being deprived of the opportunity to regain his normal condition, the lapses into unconsciousness occurred at steadily decreasing intervals of time until at last the man was absolutely unable to battle against his torment and Nature for more than a very short period.

The first demonstration of this punishment did not fail to exercise a far-reaching influence upon the other prisoners. Major Bach was beside himself with delight. Even he, steeped although he was in brutality, was evidently somewhat surprised by the effectiveness of this penalty, and he laughed loud and long at the shrieks and misery of the unhappy Zouave. Henceforth committal to the cells was no longer to constitute a punishment at Sennelager. Tying to the stake was the most complete means of subjugating and cowing the prisoners.

As might be expected, one and all of us dreaded such a sentence, and we were exceedingly diligent and painstaking in our efforts to keep in the good graces of the Commanding Officer. The dread of being sentenced to a spell at the post, and submission to the untold agony which it precipitated, broke us in to all intents and purposes to a degree which must have exceeded even Major Bach's most sanguine expectations. But now we were faced with another and far more formidable danger. Most of the guards enjoyed as enthusiastically as their lord and master the agony of a luckless wretch who was condemned to this punishment. To them it afforded amusement of the most exhilarating character. But the prisoners, now thoroughly intimidated, took every precaution to deny the guards an opportunity for which they were so much on the alert. Consequently, being deprived of the chance to have any of us strung up on legitimate grounds, they commenced to harass and exasperate us in the hope of provoking some action which would bring us before the Commanding Officer to receive a sentence to the stake. Then, being completely foiled in this nefarious practice they did not hesitate to have us arraigned upon the most flimsy charges. As the prisoner was denied all opportunity to rebut any charge preferred against him, and as his word was never accepted before the studiously prepared complaint of the guard, who was always careful to secure corroborative evidence, the chances of escaping the sentence were extremely slender.

The second victim of this brutal treatment was a Russian Pole, and no man ever deserved it less. The Pole was entering his barrack and the Russian orderly who had just washed and cleaned the floor, upbraided his compatriot for entering the building with muddy boots. There was a breezy altercation between the two men for a few minutes, but they were separated on perfectly friendly terms by one of the soldiers. The incident was closed and dismissed from the thoughts of one and all. At least so thought all those who had witnessed it.

But one of the soldiers who had been a spectator saw the opportunity for which he had long been searching. He hurried to the non-commissioned officer in charge of the guard to report, exaggeratedly, that two Russian prisoners had been fighting. The non-commissioned officer, one of the most brutal and despicable Prussians in the camp, seized his rifle and hurried to the Russian barrack. Here the two suppositious delinquents were pointed out. He went up to the Pole, and grabbing him by the shoulder, roared:

"You've been fighting!"

The Pole protested that he had not been fighting with anyone. He had forgotten all about the spirited argument with the orderly. Certainly the altercation was no more serious than thousands of other such outbreaks which were incidental to the camp. Incidents of this character occurred every few minutes in every barrack, which was not surprising seeing that we were all keyed to a high pitch of fretfulness while tempers were hasty.

"Don't lie to me," shouted the non-commissioned officer, who was decidedly infuriated by the Pole's complacent attitude. "I say you've been fighting!"

Again the Pole meekly explained that no such encounter had taken place. At this protest the officer grabbed the inoffensive prisoner and marched him off to the office of the Commandant. While hurrying along the main road through the camp the Prussian, for no reason whatever, raised his rifle by the muzzle, swung it over his head and brought the stock down with fearful force upon the Pole's back. The man himself fell like an ox before the poleaxe, but the rifle flew into two pieces. Seeing that a rifle is exceedingly strongly made and of hard wood, the fact that it snapped in twain testifies abundantly to the force of the blow.

The attack was witnessed, not only by several of us, but also by two or three officers as well. The latter expostulated with the non-commissioned officer upon his action. As for ourselves our gorge rose at this savage onslaught, and we hurried to the Commandant with the object of being first to narrate the incident. He listened to our story of the outrage but refused to be convinced. We persisted and mentioned that the officers had been present and could support our statements. But the latter, naturally perhaps, declined to confirm our story. They denied having seen the blow struck. Still, we were so emphatic and persevering that Major Bach, in order to settle the matter, sent for the non-commissioned officer to whom he referred the accusation we had made.

This worthy listened with a smile lurking round his mouth. When Major Bach had completed his statement, the non-commissioned officer, with a mocking laugh, denied the charge, and presented his rifle for Major Bach's inspection. The rifle was perfectly sound! At the production of this rebutting evidence Major Bach gave us a queer look, insisted that we had trumped up the charge, and refused to listen to us any further. So we were compelled to go away crestfallen and yet amazed as to how the guilty officer had surmounted his difficulty.

Subsequently we discovered that the non-commissioned officer, thoroughly alarmed at his rifle snapping in twain, not knowing how he would be able to explain the circumstance of his weapon being broken, and having heard that we had hastened to the Commandant to lodge our complaint, darted into the guard-room, concealed the conclusive evidence of his guilt, and appropriated the sound rifle of a comrade. This was the weapon he had produced before Major Bach so triumphantly. We never heard how the non-commissioned officer ultimately explained away his broken rifle upon parade when the trick was certain to be discovered, but bearing in mind the iron method which prevails in the German army he must have been hard put to it to have advanced a plausible excuse when arraigned. Doubtless there was considerable trouble over the episode but we never heard anything more about it, although we would have dearly loved to have been acquainted with the sequel.

Foiled in our attempt to secure redress for an outraged prisoner we considered the episode closed. But it was not. Directly we had left the office Major Bach sent for the Pole who had been attacked. He related his story which was naturally a confirmation of our charge. But he was set down as an unprincipled liar, and one of whom an example must be made. Forthwith he was condemned to four hours at the post on the charge of fighting and endeavouring to impugn the probity of the German guard, who can do no wrong.

The misery endured by this poor wretch is indescribable. In this instance, in order to secure enhanced effect, according to the lights of Major Bach, the prisoner was forced to stand on tip-toe against the post, while the upper rope was passed around his neck. This rope was left somewhat loose, and as nearly as I can describe, was looped in the form of a double knot. Being on tip-toe the hapless wretch was speedily transferred, by his toes giving way, to a hanging position. His head fell forward, as he gradually lapsed into unconsciousness, until it pressed against the restraining slip-knot. The consequence was that he suffered the agonies of slow strangulation in addition to the searing of his hands and ankles, while the weight of his body dragged his neck more tightly than otherwise would have been the case, against the upper rope. His face presented a terrifying sight, being quite blue, from his inability to breathe, except with the greatest difficulty. His mouth was wide open and his tongue, which protruded, was exceedingly swollen. His eyes were half out of their sockets. But he had to serve the sentence of four hours, and although he became unconscious time after time and had to be released, water always brought him to his senses to undergo a further spell upon the fiendish rack until the sentence had been well and truly served.