Chapter C: R. Edwards, (7)

In a jiffy the two guards were in a dog fight over a bone—yours truly being the bone and the bone of contention—one was kicking me and the other pulling me—one anxious to get the bonus for capturing me and the other trying to save himself from jail. I was not only under the fence, but I was on both sides of it. I was afraid if I went on out the guard on the inside would shoot me, and if I backed in I knew I would be punished and I did not know but that the guard on the outside might become real excited and stick me. So, while they were fighting between themselves, one pulling and the other tugging at me, I decided that if I did go on out I might have a chance to hit this other guy on the bean and take a run for liberty. The guns were firing all the time and things were getting good and hot around there. The boy on the inside was about as scared of the guns as he was of my escaping, so, I began to tug and with the help of the other sentry was pulling myself through. Then the old boy on the inside administered his trusty bayonet blade to my leg, and while I cannot describe the particular motion through which he went, I can certainly testify that he gave me one mighty persuasive jab. For believe me, I sure did back in at the rate of a mile a minute, for I had no further inclination whatsoever to go on out. I realized that duty called me at the camp, and while it had taken me fully five minutes to get my anatomy that far out—well, this little flying machine had a reversible propeller, that’s all.

The old boy on the inside was terribly sore, because in climbing the fence after me he had torn his nice, new, green pants, yet he was over-delighted that he had saved himself from jail. As we walked up to the fence I attempted to climb the wire first, whereupon the old boy said, “Nicht! Nein!” and menaced me again with his bayonet. Needless to say—I unhesitatingly obeyed. I had hoped, should I have gotten over the fence first, to run immediately to my bunk and fool the foxy old boy, but when he flashed that bayonet on me it was the halt sign of my new fraternity. A little blood was beginning to trickle down my leg and I began to feel pretty much like a stuck pig, so, in courtesy, I let the old boy climb over first and I went after him.

On the way to Headquarters, I realized that I had a compass and a map and knowing what it would mean if these were found on me, as we walked along, I carefully slipped my hand in my pocket and crumpled up the map. I then began to cough violently, whereupon I took out my handkerchief with my left hand and put it over my mouth, and in so doing I managed to put the tiny map in my mouth; then I chewed it up and swallowed it. I didn’t know what gag to pull with that compass, and I didn’t dare to swallow it. The old German who was taking me along didn’t feel any sympathy for me, but kept poking me along in spite of my overemphasized limping. Finally I deliberately stumbled and fell, but as I fell I threw that compass a good twenty yards away, and into a section of the lot where it was not likely to be found. Then after considerable moral persuasion, I got up and went over to the headquarters with the feeling that in spite of the worst I had saved myself, at least, two weeks in jail.

In a very cold room, at Headquarters, they summoned the Commander of the Camp, the Officer of the Night, and the Officer of the Guard, and all the Sergeants and Corporals at the camp. Then the joint board was in session. They gathered around and proceeded to cause me a good deal of embarrassment because they took off all of my clothes and did not leave me enough in which to feel modest. Like a poor, belated, half-soaked, blind owl, after an April shower, naked from head to foot, with my face and hands covered with mud, I stood there waiting for them to finish searching my clothes, before I could once more become a respectable looking German prisoner. I also was patiently awaiting the announcement of my penalty. It was my first attempt and I expected almost anything from shooting to hanging.

XII
THE PRIVILEGES OF PRISONERS

A serious old philosopher once said that every man had his price. That may be true but I don’t agree with it in principle. My early training taught me that the man who offers a bribe is a lower parasite than the man who accepts it and experience has not altered my views. But, a more serious old philosopher came forth expounding the doctrine that everything is fair in love and in war. According to my way of thinking this second boy was on the right track.

So, when my German captors took me down and with a lot of ceremony, deposited me in the camp calaboose, a hasty examination of the barred windows and the tremendous lock on the door almost convinced me that my only hope was to experiment with that philosophy of price, as my biggest asset happened to be a pocket full of prison money, which, if acceptable at all, would have to be disposed of at a discount. At any rate, I was determined to get out—the means might require bribery and it might require lies. Whatever was necessary to effect my state of freedom, so long as it was honorable, was in my mind the privilege of the prisoner—for it was fair in war.

The cell was not so bad; in fact, it was much better than the quarters I had in camp, except that I was alone. I had a German orderly who took care of me, which convenience was something foreign in the regular camp. First appearances were so attractive that I thought it unfortunate I hadn’t discovered it before. In the morning the interpreter came around to see how things were going along. I told him “Fine, except that I wanted something to eat,” an habitual complaint among prisoners. There was the rub, for he informed me that when in solitary imprisonment in jail you only receive a portion of German food and that under no circumstances are you allowed any supplemental food from the Red Cross.

So, about nine o’clock this orderly brought me my breakfast which consisted of a bowl of Ersatz coffee and that was all. Believe me, the scarcity left a funny empty feeling in my stomach that decided the question at once—bribery it would be.

In the afternoon, when one of the calaboose corporals came around on his hourly inspection, I figured that he was a pretty good guy to play up to, so I knocked the old boy sick by offering him a pipeful of my real, American tobacco, which had been given me by a fellow prisoner, Lieutenant Shea of the 26th Division, who handled the Red Cross supplies at Karlsruhe. Shea was a real guy; he was fearless and while under very strict German regulations, he always allowed his staunch Americanism to be seen by Germans and Americans indiscriminately. This German Corporal had a whopper of a pipe for he made a big hole in my already slim sack and tobacco was as scarce as desert icebergs. How his eyes sparkled when he lighted it. These Germans had been smoking ground cabbage leaves for almost four years and were getting mighty tired of it.

“Sehr gut, sehr gut,” he ejaculated many times, sniffing the old time aroma.

Then, he warmed up and we got to talking. It finally dwindled from the war generally to our own family histories. He was in great distress. He had lost four sons in the war, and what he considered much worse, his two daughters would probably never be able to get husbands, for so many men had been killed. I thoroughly sympathized with him and agreed that it was all wrong to require such a sacrifice of him. Then he told me what his army pay was—it was very small—and he said he had been in the war five years. I told him how much the American soldiers received, which surprised him very much and seemed fabulous.

His understanding was that only the poor people had gone to war for America—the sons of the rich men stayed at home; and further, that practically all Americans of German descent had absolutely refused to take up arms against the Fatherland. I refuted this latter remark as well as the first—I told him that both my father and mother were German, having both been born in Berlin, and that my father was a very wealthy man, but I had to go into the service because all the young men had to become soldiers—the rich and poor alike had gone into the war and it didn’t make any difference whether they were German-Americans, or just plain Americans, they had all gone. So, he asked me what I did before the war, and being a pretender for the purpose I had in mind, I assumed a thoroughly shocked attitude at such a question, and informed him that before the war, my father being very rich, I didn’t do anything except go to college as “dad” came across with twenty thousand marks a year for spending money alone. The old boy’s eyes popped open to the size of an owl’s. He thought such an allowance fabulous and criminally extravagant. I filled him full of a lot of this hot air about the war, and especially my own financial stability, for I expected to sooner or later establish my credit with him.

We parted the very best of friends and to cinch it I gave him another pipeful of tobacco. The next morning the rather expected happened; he came to talk some more and to further test my depleted supply of Red Cross tobacco. Our second conversation ended with my parting with seventy-five marks cash, and a promissory note for seven thousand five hundred marks, payable three months after the war, in consideration for which the old boy was to leave the outer latch open that night and slip me a screw driver with which to manipulate the inner latch, and, at my request, he arranged a guard and that afternoon I went out and took my first exercise. The guard was a measly, withered-up shrimp, who spoke quite a little English, as he had been in America. His knowledge of American people and of American customs gave me a new field of activity. He told me that he was on guard that night around this same area, about eleven o’clock, so I cautiously sounded him out as to whether he was particularly scrupulous or whether he might accept a little bribe. Laughingly, he told me that like all other men in the world he supposed that he had his price, but that it was high enough that it could not possibly interest me.

“Well,” I said, manifesting surprise, “you’ve heard of my father, haven’t you, since you’ve been in America?”

“No,” he said.

“What!” I ejaculated. “Oh, you certainly have heard of J. P. Morgan, Haslett & Co., of Wall Street.”

Of course, he understood the first and last parts and the old boy stood still in his amazement, for that “J. P. Morgan” and my connection therewith had simply hypnotized him. Suddenly he became cordial to the extreme. After blushing in honest modesty I got down to business.

“You’ve been in America long enough to know what notes are, haven’t you? If you give your note it’s as good as gold, any time, any place, any where.”

“Ja,” he affirmed, nodding his head. “I know that.”

“Well,” I went on, “all that is necessary is a little cash consideration given with a note and it is good. Just like a contract.”

He agreed perfectly.

“Well,” I said, feeling like a street-corner politician, “name your own price.”

After considerable hemming and hawing around about it, he surprised me by naming five thousand marks, which then was about one thousand dollars, one hundred marks to be in cash, and my note for the remainder.

He agreed to buy me a map and compass, to bring them in, and leave them wrapped in an old rag at the foot of an iron post which he pointed out; and he agreed that as he was to be on duty that night about eleven o’clock he would not see me as I went over the fence on his post. He told me the exact spot where he would be standing between eleven and eleven ten, so that I could avoid him.

As to the financial arrangements he was to take me to the jail and then go over to the canteen at my request to buy me some paper, which purchase was approved. In the meanwhile I was to prepare the note and dig up the coin.

As he came in the Corporal came with him as no one was supposed to enter the room without the Corporal, but just as he laid my purchase on the table the telephone rang and the Corporal had to step away temporarily, which gave me the opportunity I needed. I handed the guard the piece of I.O.U. paper and a hundred marks in prisoners’ money. The deal was closed.

All the remainder of the afternoon I carefully laid my plans. This time it looked like a clean get-away, but there is always something to take the joy out of living, for about four o’clock the interpreter came around with the prison paymaster, who told me to turn in all my money for which they wrote me out a receipt. I decided that I had been double-crossed by the Corporal; the other guard would not have had time since the act.

“You had more than this the morning after we had you searched,” the paymaster said after perusing a big ledger.

“Yes,” I stumbled, “but I sent some of it back to one of my friends to whom I owed some money.”

Then they put all my fears to rout by telling me that I was leaving at five o’clock with a transport of prisoners, going to a permanent camp. This was simply hard luck, because as I figured it, it was absolutely impossible for either the other Corporal or the weazened-up old guard to give this plan of mine away. Furthermore, they would not have dared.

Well, that was finished for me, so, I asked the interpreter where we were going, and about my sentence. Like all other Germans he pulled the Kultur stuff by telling me that I was being sent to a fine, big camp and that my penalty here was finished. So, he and the officer left and the door was locked behind.

Immediately it was again unlocked; the old German Corporal came in, highly excited because he thought the visit of the officer meant that they had gotten something on him. I told him I was going to leave at once for a permanent camp.

“Oh,” he whispered, really surprised, “then you will not escape to-night.”

Upon affirming this statement that I was really leaving, the old fellow, to my utter surprise, looked around to see that no one was looking in the window, then closed and bolted the door behind him and handed me back my money and my note. Here was a real, decent old guy. I believed in his sincerity, and German or not, if I ever have a chance to do anything for that old fellow I’d do my best to do it, for he was absolutely honest, no matter what one might say as to his patriotism. I gladly gave the old fellow the last bit of tobacco I had and when I left we parted real friends.

But, the other old fossil—of course, I didn’t have a chance to see him, and my one hundred marks, together with my large note, was gone to the devil. Of course, I didn’t worry about the note; I never intended to pay that any way, if for no other reason than the fact that it would bankrupt me even though the mark is not now worth much at all.

I marched down to the train with the rest of the transport, and here again they sent a tag along with me, telling of my bad record. They honored me with several guards personally assigned, while the rest of the party had about one guard for every four prisoners. We traveled for about thirty-six hours in third-class coaches and were, indeed, tired and worn out and sleepy. But, in spite of German efficiency and secret service, within a few hours after starting we all knew by well founded rumors that we were going by way of Münich to a place called “Landshut.”

At Münich we were taken off of the train and given some food, which consisted of powerful limburger cheese and a little piece of dog sausage, with a hunk of dainty potato bread. In spite of their intense hunger, some of the boys could not possibly go that cheese so, showing resourcefulness, I made a collection of it for I thought it might come in handy later on. I gathered so much that I was a human cheese factory; I had that cheese stuck in my pockets, I was carrying it in my hands and I even had some of it securely put away in my blouse, and all the way from Münich to Landshut, Bavaria, as I had nothing else to do, I ate cheese. Believe me, people knew I was coming a mile away. When that stuff began to get a little tepid, I was a man hated among men; extremely unpopular for a strong reason.

We were turned over to a new set of guards at the Landshut station and I noticed that they had lost my identity since I was not being given special attention, so, I mixed right in with the rest of the prisoners; that is, until they got a good whiff. The new sergeant, after lining us up, walked along the lines calling the names and checking up the prisoners. Standing directly in front of me, with his face about two inches from mine, he gruffly called, “Oberleutnant Haslett.”

“Here!” I bellowed, whereupon the German, getting the full benefit of the cheese, staggered and moved on.

I went up to the old abandoned estate known as “Traunitz,” which was a very beautiful and historic old court. However, we did not live in the castle. I think it was the servants’ quarters we had, for there were twenty-five of us in one room.

Landshut, itself, was a lovely little town; in fact, one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The feature was the variety of church bells. They were ringing day and night, and the sounds ranged several octaves.

At this camp they took away our American uniforms and gave us old Russian prisoners’ clothes, with a big yellow stripe down the back of the blue uniform. I don’t know whether that “yellow streak” was supposed to have any real significance or not, but anyhow it was there.

At Landshut was imprisoned Captain Jimmy Hall, the James Norman Hall who was prominent for his “Kitchener’s Mob” and other books, and a very famous member of the Lafayette Escadrille. “Jimmy” was quite a character as he hobbled around the place—we all liked his wonderful democracy.

We had only been there a day or so when they began to inoculate us for, I think, every known disease. A big, fat, German Major stood there and in apparent delight, pumped serum into us like a baker fills creampuffs. The worst part was that he stuck us right in the chest. He was a good natured old duck who didn’t seem to take things seriously. Not only did he vaccinate us for smallpox, but he gave us shots of typhoid, para-typhoid, triple typhoid, typhus, tetanus and cholera, and what else I do not know. We were to have five jabs of the stuff, but when I took my first one I decided then and there that when I took the next it would be when I was held and given it by force. I never received another jab, for every time afterwards I went in with the in-going line, and after my chest had been painted with iodine by the Assistant to the Doctor, as the old boy would turn around to fill his needle for the next man, I would quietly step over in the outgoing line, and with many apparent indications of pain, passed to my bunk.

Immediately after this first jab was given and before the pain and fever had a chance to take effect I was mixing around with the boys, having a good time, when in came a Sergeant who, amidst considerable pomp and display, stated that the Captain commanding the Camp wanted to see Oberleutnant Haslett at once. I asked him what the officer wanted to see me about, but he didn’t know and I’m sure I didn’t, although I had a good strong hunch. As I still had my yellow-striped uniform, I put it on and went over. On the way over the Sergeant sympathetically ventured to tell me for fear that I did not know it, that the German officers were terrible men, very strict and stern and it was to my advantage to be very careful and to be absolutely military and courteous.

After considerable palavering around, the Sergeant ushered me in. Seated there at his desk was this potentate, the Commander of the Camp. I hardly knew how to figure him for he was a hard looking customer with the squinty eyes of a Chinaman, the pugnacious pug nose of a bull dog, and the mouth and jaws of an ape. However, he was groomed to the extreme. Take it from me, he was some little fashion plate all of his own. This was a combination, to my mind, extremely difficult to tackle. To be perfectly frank, he almost had my goat to start with. The thing that bothered me most was the charge.

I was a soldier the day war was declared. The day before I had been a hard plugging law senior in the University of Southern California—just counting the days until I could realize my life’s ambition—to stand before a court and plead a righteous cause. While like all other young Americans I was happy to serve my country, yet at the declaration of hostilities the thing that hurt me most was the fact that my perfectly good legal education had all gone to the rocks for, as a soldier, I could not see where my law could possibly serve any useful purpose.

It was Lincoln, I think, who said to be prepared for the opportunity so when it knocked it could be accepted. Well, regardless of who said it, my life’s ambition was before me. I had always wanted to plead a righteous cause before a court—but I had never calculated that the righteous cause would be my own. This was nothing more than a court and I was to be the culprit appearing in my own behalf.

The proceedings had all the environment of a rural police court with the solemnity and dignity of the Supreme Court of the United States. So much pomp and red tape I never saw before in my life. The Sergeant went in, clicked his heels together, saluted smartly and proceeded to babble away in German. The Prussian officer looked up from his desk and snarled, whereupon the Sergeant saluted again. Then he faced about, walked four paces toward me, saluted and said with great feeling, “The Captain commanding the camp commands your presence.” I wasn’t a soldier in the true sense of the word. I was an aviator. I was a real snappy soldier once, having been graduated from the New Mexico Military Institute; and, having had some training in the line on the border and in the early training camps. Since my judge seemed so strong on display, I decided to compete for the prize, so I drew my shoulders back, put my chest out and pulled my tummy in. As if by command and, by the numbers, I marched four paces forward, clicked my heels together and in perfect cadence brought my hand forward in a salute. Instead of bringing it down in the ordinary manner, I pushed it straight forward and let it slap loudly against my trousers. It sounded like the snapping of a champion bootblack’s cloth as he finishes the job. The Captain stood, saluted and immediately sat down. I thought he would ask me to have a chair, but it wasn’t being done by the Prussians in those days so I stood there strictly at attention looking directly at him like a tiger ready to spring. In a few moments he got up again, holding a document long and engrossed. Clearing his throat like a Chief Justice about to render an opinion, he proceeded to babble, “Der Deutschen, etc.” After one mouthful, he turned to the Sergeant and the Sergeant stiffened up even more rigidly and began to interpret. I cannot repeat it verbatim, of course, but it went something like this, not vouching for the accuracy of the names: “Whereas, I, Antonio Mark Snicklefritz, Captain of the Imperial German Army, duly appointed and ordained by the Imperial German Government through Wilhelm, Emperor of Germany and Poland, in his own name, am entrusted with the command of and authority over this Prison Camp at Landshut, Bavaria, including all allied prisoners of war therein, do officially, on behalf of the Imperial German Government, inform you, Oberleutnant Elmer Haslett, Amerikaner, an Officer of the Air Service, that the General of the Imperial German Army, Otto von Beetpots, commanding the 37th Army Corps of the Interior, has decreed, ordered, directed and commanded that you have at Karlsruhe, Baden, on or about the fifteenth of October, at night, disobeyed, disregarded and broken all rules pertaining to prisoners of war in that you did wilfully, maliciously, deliberately, and with malice aforethought, attempt to escape the confines of the Prison Camp of the Imperial German Government; and that in so doing you wilfully and maliciously destroyed and otherwise damaged official property of the Imperial German Government in that you dug or otherwise excavated earth from the confines of the Prison Camp of the Imperial German Government. Whereupon, for these acts you were duly sentenced to serve a period of solitary imprisonment, upon which imprisonment you entered and which sentence and imprisonment have not been completed. Therefore, the General von Beetpots, commanding the forces of the Imperial German Government, and of the 37th German Army Corps of the Interior, commands that you immediately, without delay, be placed in solitary imprisonment for the unfulfilled period of your sentence.” This was interpreted in twenty different relays and I swallowed it all and was getting pretty tired of standing at attention, so, as the officer spieled, I would stand on one foot and rest but when the Sergeant started to talk, I would stiffen up and look directly at him for the judge had his eyes focused on none other than the prisoner. During this entire ceremony, the Justice of the Peace did not make one gesture with his hand, simply holding the documents in his hands, standing constantly at attention. He was more like a marble statue holding a scroll.

Then, like most other courts, came the question, “Have you anything to say?” My inoculation was beginning to take effect; my lips were hot and my brow feverish, but, best, my brain was stimulated. I didn’t intend to go to jail without a fight so I pitched my voice as low as possible and sounded off slow and deliberately for I was not talking for time. Indeed it was more than that. The sound of my voice gave me the moral courage I needed. Looking straight at the Prussian and attempting to improvise a proper form for my defense, I started out with something on this order: “I,” and I threw out my chest an extra inch, “Elmer Haslett, First Lieutenant Air Service, Army of the Democratic Republic of the United States of America, having been entrusted as an officer of the Democratic Republic of the United States of America with the duties, rights and responsibilities of an accredited officer am, of course, entitled to all the reciprocal courtesies of captured officers of belligerent nations; and, therefore, as the officially authorized and duly accredited representative of the Democratic Republic of the United States of America I have the honor to submit to the Captain as the officially authorized and duly accredited representative of the Imperial German Government, the following answer to the matter he has just officially communicated to me: That I, Elmer Haslett, First Lieutenant, United States Air Service, do admit that part of the facts of the case stated by the General Commanding the 37th Army Corps of the Interior are true, especially in that I was captured in the act of escaping and had dug a tunnel, thereby indirectly destroying the property of the Imperial German Government, for which I was imprisoned at Karlsruhe. That during this imprisonment, the officially authorized and duly accredited representative of the Imperial German Government was a Feldwebel named Schneider whom I, of course, had the right to presume was vested with the authority of the Imperial German Government for he had given me commands in the name of the Imperial German Government which I, of course, did not hesitate to obey; he had given me privileges which I did not hesitate to accept and when he made any statements or promises, I took them as authorized and final statements and promises of the Imperial German Government. Now, may it please the Captain commanding the Camp to know that on leaving Karlsruhe for this camp, this same Feldwebel officially informed me that I was leaving for a new camp and, furthermore, that my penalty was complete for the reason that misdemeanors against prison camps are local, which, in law is known in Latin as the lex loci, and since my offense had only been an offense against the prison camp at Karlsruhe, the penalty could not be imposed or served in any other camp; therefore, the penalty for my offense was absolutely completed. Therefore, since I, as the representative of the United States of America, had dealt with no one officially except this one representative of the Imperial German Government, I had just as much authority for going to jail at his command as I had for leaving for this new camp at his command and just as much right to believe that no other sentence could be imposed for the misdemeanor committed. Now, may it please the Captain, in view of these statements made to me, if any other penalty is now imposed upon me, it will have to be for acts against the German Government which I have committed at this Camp and unless the Captain representing the forces of the German Government can point out the offense I have committed at Landshut, under his jurisdiction, which warrants my further imprisonment, I, Elmer Haslett, as the duly accredited representative of the Democratic Government of the United States of America, do consider the imprisonment as being without cause and, therefore, absolutely illegal. Therefore, if the Captain as representative of the Imperial German Government cares to imprison me under these circumstances, I here and now protest very firmly before him and request that an opportunity be given me to use the kind offices of the high plenipotentiary minister of Switzerland, the high plenipotentiary minister of Holland, the high plenipotentiary minister of Spain, or other neutral representation in order that efforts may be exercised in my behalf before Wilhelm, the Emperor of the Imperial German Government. And here and now, I request to be put on record before this court that I have claimed these rights under Article 26, Geneva Convention, Article 23, London Agreement, Article 88, Hague War Clause and Section 41, Article 12 of the International Treaty of Paris, all respecting the rights and privileges of prisoners of war. This concludes my answer and I wish to thank the Captain for his kind courtesy in hearing this official protest.”

The old boy was taken off his feet. I couldn’t have pulled an improvised spiel like that in ten years had I not been keyed up with the high, raging fever and when I finished the reaction left me weak. But I was sure that the Captain commanding the camp was fully convinced that I knew what I was talking about. In fact, I felt that I could see it in his very attitude. The Sergeant then told me that the Captain would consider the proposition and let me know his decision. Of course, I could not wait to get back and tell the boys how I had foxed the Germans. I was just in the act of repeating and acting my long spiel to them when the door opened and in came the Sergeant again. “Well,” I thought, “the old boy has come to tell me that I do not need to serve my penalty.” “Oberleutnant Haslett,” he called before everybody, “the Captain commanding the Camp has decided that you will go to jail at once.” Well, believe me, I could have been knocked over with a hair of a feather. The boys gave me the merry titter and the royal ha! ha! I tried to argue with the Sergeant but he evidently had my number. “Come on, pack up,” he said, “and don’t try to pull your line on me. I’m acting under orders.” So amidst considerable personal embarrassment, I picked up my few belongings, which consisted of a note book, a wooden back toothbrush and a quarter loaf of bread, and the Sergeant walked me over to the guard house. Here he assigned me a hard looking guard who, menacingly, loaded up his rifle right before me which, admittedly, had the moral effect intended; and then, followed by every boche youngster in the whole town, I was in military fashion marched down through the old village and lodged in the town jail.

It was a whopper of a jail for a small town. We went up to the third floor back, after locking three steel partitions behind us. We finally came to the cell rooms and the guard rang for the key. After a time, a hoary relic of the Napoleonic days shuffled in and with great ceremony produced the fatal steel and turned the lock. Whereupon I entered and automatically the door was closed behind me. This cell was about five feet wide and eight feet long. The bed, or rather the bunk, folded up against the wall and was locked. It couldn’t be opened, although I tried many times. The walls were blank and bare and at the rear was a high barred window with a slanting projection which made it even impossible to look out. The door was massive steel and one look at it convinced me that I was in a real cell in a real jail and I was a real jail bird. Not having had a great deal of experience with jails, I naturally thought it was a horrible place, although I am told it was really a very nice jail, as far as jails are concerned, but at that, it was damp, musty and cold. At the door was an electric push button and since there were no telephones or servants in attendance, I naturally supposed this was to call the attendant. Practically exhausted from my fever and the long walk, I sat down on a wobbly old stool and stared at the wall, gradually getting physically weaker, but seemingly mentally more alert. In a moment I began to chill and I realized that I would have to lie down. The bed was locked. The cold stone floor was not inviting so I tried to ring the buzzer and I buzzed intermittently for about five minutes. There was no response. It was a desperate situation. I had to lie down and still I must have some covers, so I wedged a match in the buzzer in order that it would keep on buzzing until some one answered. Then from sheer exhaustion and faintness I fell to the floor. This continued buzzing soon brought the attendant up and, believe me, he was very, very peeved. He came in, snatched the match from the push button and began to swear and make some furious ejaculations which I couldn’t understand and it wouldn’t have made much difference anyway. In reply to my insistent demands that he unlock the bed at once, he did nothing but say, “Nein, Nein, Seben Heur,” that is, “No, not until seven o’clock.” I asked him to send for the prison officer but he insisted that the officer would not come up. I told him that I was an officer myself and that I was sick and had a right to see an officer. He did nothing but slam the door in my face. Something told me I was on my last leg and I must soon get out of that place or something would happen that I would never remember. So summoning every ounce of my remaining strength, shivering and chilly, I took my note book and wrote an official protest couched in language not proper for publication, addressing it to the Spanish Minister. It was a last hunch. When I finished, I again put a match in the buzzer. This time the old boy was certainly fierce but he had nothing on me. I was in the same condition myself. Like two tigers we came together. He cautiously opened the door for he knew from my previous attitude that I was liable to make a jump at his throat. Reaching his hand back to his hip so that if I started anything he could draw his gun, he demanded to know what I meant by ringing the buzzer again. Insane with rage and raging fever, I shook my fist in his face and said, “For the Officer,” whereupon I madly slapped myself on the chest and said, “Ich bin ein Officeren Amerikaner,” which, if correct, is to say, “I am an American Officer and must be treated as such.” Reluctantly and disgustedly, he took the paper and started to pull the door shut again. I staggered forward to impress upon him the fact that I needed medical attention at once. Too late, the door was closed. Whether from pure anger or from actual exhaustion, I don’t know, but for some reason I simply went down to take the count.

I was awakened by some one shaking me. Dazed, I got up. Three hours had elapsed. With head swimming, I looked around. Before me was the prison attendant, the Sergeant interpreter of the Camp and the Commanding Officer of the Camp with whom I had had the set-to that morning. It was another court but this time the ceremony on my part was lacking for I sat on the stool. The Captain straightened and again stood stiffly at attention, while the Sergeant interpreted: “I, Antonio Mark Snicklefritz, Captain Commanding the Prison Camp at Landshut, am directed by the General Commanding the German Military District of Münich to inform you, Elmer Haslett, Oberleutnant, Air Service, American Army, that the General has decreed that you be released from solitary imprisonment until further orders.” As expected, the “further orders” never came.

XIII
“COMING OUT”

The modern débutante looks forward with no little anxiety to her “Coming Out.” It is naturally quite an event for, veritably, she is imprisoned, as it were, by the conventions which do not permit her to take her place among the friends of the inner circle until she has been formally presented by her “coming out.”

So, the prisoners of war, even after the Armistice, were withheld from their friends until the “coming out,” which consisted of the formalities of turning the prisoners over to their friends. Naturally, it was quite an event. But, believe me, no débutante could possibly anticipate her “coming out” with the keenness and anxiety that the American prisoners of war could theirs. We, too, had planned it all—of course, not so much as to the clothes we would wear, but more especially as to the things we would eat.

Several days previous to the signing of the Armistice, we heard that the people of Bavaria had revolted, and that the will of the “Soldiers and Workmen” was paramount. Although locked in the confines of a prison camp, the proverbial little bird told us that something was in the air—indeed, one felt it in the atmosphere—for, if a new republic was formed, they were certainly not the enemies of the United States, so we would indeed soon be “coming out.”

The regulation cap of the German officer and soldier is adorned by two buttons in the front center—the top and larger button having the colors of the Imperial German Government in the form of a miniature cocarde, while the lower and smaller button is made up of the colors of the German State from which the officer or soldier hails. Thus, all the soldiers at our camp had the large German button and the smaller one of green and white, the colors of the State of Bavaria.

One day, around the first of November, we noticed that all the officers and soldiers of the camp, including the hardboiled Prussian Captain, had taken off the prominent German button. Then there was a definite certainty that the revolution was on. We did not know how loyal to the new Government the soldiers were going to be, and we were rather concerned as to what the attitude of the new Bavarian Republic would be toward us, for we had heard nothing about our release. All sorts of rumors began floating around that camp—some to the effect that the soldiers and workmen were coming up to mob us for being Americans, others, more popular, that they were coming up to release us, others that we were going to die of slow starvation on account of the shortage of food, and still others that we were going to be sent to Switzerland for protection.

With all these things before us, a vigilance committee was formed, and we all got together and had a meeting. “Jimmy” Hall, being the senior officer present, automatically became chairman. So, the big question was “For whom would we declare?”—the old German régime or the new Bavarian revolutionary party. Naturally, on such a momentous subject, we had quite a number of bursts of oratory, and a lot of arguments were laid down on both sides of the question, but, at the same time, neither of us knew anything about either of them. We viewed it from an economical and military phase, but most of all, for the present at least, we looked at it from the standpoint of “things to eat.”

But judged by the solemnity and seriousness of the conference, the destiny of the world was seemingly at stake, so we asked one bird, who was sort of a jay, what he thought about it. “Mr. Chairman,” he said seriously, “I make a resolution that we declare that we are for the party that gets us out of Germany the fastest, and we don’t give a damn which one it is.” At that, the meeting almost ended in a riot, though in my mind the jay had absolutely the correct solution. Finally, it was decided that we would leave our fate to the council of three—the three most influential prisoners in camp, the controllers of the food supply, namely, the Red Cross Committee.

Shortly, conditions began to get real tense around there, and we actually didn’t know what was going to happen for, about our camp, the prison authorities had hoisted the red flag of Socialism. The few days during which that flag stayed there were the only days of my life that I have not been a Republican—I was a Socialist like all the rest of our boys, from force of circumstances.

Amid all this excitement, we were summoned together, and the official representative of the new revolutionary party came up to address us. Amid the quietness of death, the great man announced to us that he was now the great representative of the Great Revolutionary Party, and that the Great People of the Greater State of Bavaria had had a greatest revolution—not a bloody revolution like the Russians, but a quiet, orderly revolution, for realizing that the old government had failed to take care of the needs of the common people, the soldiers and the workmen of Bavaria had gotten together and had overthrown the monarchy. The outcome had been the ideal democratic form of government—a Republic—and the revolution had been entirely successful, for the soldiers and workmen were in complete authority and command and the old régime had been entirely displaced. “Indeed,” he said, “everybody realized the inevitable and made no attempt to stop the onward movement, and such a thing as mob violence or shooting has been unheard of.”

He had just started on his next sentence when, down in the town, a machine gun sputtered. We had been hearing pot shots occasionally for some time. So we all began to laugh. It was a rather embarrassing situation, and the old boy immediately modified his statement to the effect that in rare instances there had been a little shooting. Then he went on and blabbered about fifteen minutes more as to the aims of the new Government, what it had in mind, how it wished especially to be the friend of America and the good things it was going to do for the prisoners, and, as a Republic, the prisoners would, of course, be released. Here was the one thing that interested us, so, at this with one voice the prisoner colony responded, as if to a yell leader, “When!” The great man was almost taken off his feet by the anxious débutantes anticipating the “coming out.”

“Of course,” he went on graciously, “those are details that will have to be arranged later.” Our release may have been simply regarded as a detail to him, but we held it much more important. In fact, the situation looked so serious to us that only the continual talk of the general armistice kept the bunch from attempting a wholesale “coming out.”

Finally, the armistice came, and that day was the greatest of my whole life—not so much for the reason that I would soon be released, but because I was in a position to observe the Germans in absolute misery. I have heard a lot of people say that their arrogance was not affected by the armistice, but that is all bunk. They were humiliated to the extreme—they whined around like a pen of stuck pigs—they thought the terms of the armistice were terrible, inhumane, and impossible. As usual, they blamed it all on England. I could have stayed there for months just enjoying their misery in crying over the terrible terms laid down.

I was getting good and sick of the Germans, as such, for they had worked some good gags on us at that camp at Landshut. They took all our clothes, including shoes, to have them fumigated in order, as they said, to safeguard the health of the camp, and, as a substitute, they issued us old Russian prisoner uniforms. For shoes, they gave us some toy paper bedroom slippers, which could be bought in an American novelty store for a dime. To our surprise, in a few days these clothes were returned to us, unfumigated, in fact, untouched except thoroughly searched. It was the typical shell game under the guise of Kultur, for, at the end of the month, we found that we had been charged three dollars for the said shoes, and, since the Germans controlled the prisoners’ exchequer, the transaction would not permit of any argument.

Another time, I was soaked outright. The officer at my previous prison camp at Karlsruhe gave me a receipt for my fast dwindling purse. When I presented this receipt at Landshut, the authorities stated that they had no record of it, but that, if I would turn over this receipt to them, they would send it to Karlsruhe for verification. Like a boob, I turned the receipt over, and I have never seen it or the money since. I demanded the money several times afterwards, but demands, when a prisoner, do not carry a great deal of pull.

Shortly after the armistice, the orders came for us to be taken to another camp, preparatory to our “coming out.” Our Red Cross food supply had been running short for some time, and, just the way things always happen, a carload of food arrived for us the day we started for the new camp. On our trip, they sent the customary number of guards along, including the sergeant interpreter of the camp, whose name was Kapp, and who was in charge of the party. The railways were congested, as they usually were in Germany, so Herr Kapp sat in our compartment, and his presence eliminated the necessity of the objectionable guards.

Herr Kapp was a well-to-do German of the middle class, an artist by profession, well educated, and about forty years old. The only objection I had to Kapp was that, like most other Germans, he was an habitual liar. However, he tried to be a good fellow, which was decidedly in his favor, and there was one other good thing about him—his unusually good sense of humor.

Realizing the uniqueness of our position, which happens only once in a couple of centuries, namely, being a member of the victorious army about to pass from the hands of the enemy, I sought to engage Herr Kapp in honest, frank conversation, since there could now be no reason for deceptions. After a while, he opened up, so I asked him when he considered the German cause was at its best. He said that it was undoubtedly in the early part of the War, when the Germans were at the gates of Paris. I asked him when he thought the tide had turned, and he said that the German people realized, on July 18, 1918, when the Allies attacked between Château-Thierry and Soissons, that thereafter Germany was fighting the War on the defensive.

“What,” I asked, “was the attitude of the German people toward their prospects of victory when America entered the War?”

“Well,” he calmly replied, “to a large number of the common people who, of course, read the Governmental propaganda, they only considered it as a big bluff, for they reasoned that it would be impossible for America to transport her army overseas. You see,” he went on, “the reports of the sinking of allied ships by our submarines had been greatly exaggerated, and the general public honestly thought that America could do no more harm as a belligerent than she could as a neutral, for she was so unprepared that, before she could possibly raise an army, the Von Tirpitz U-boat warfare would have brought the Allies to their knees. But,” he continued emphatically, “to us educated and thinking Germans, we quite well knew that, when America declared war, it was all over for us unless we succeeded in capturing Paris, which, of course, would paralyze the French Railway System, and cut off the Allies’ means of transportation and supply to the front. This was the reason for our big spring drive. It was a last hope, and we banked everything on its success. America won the war for the Allies.”

“Herr Kapp,” I said, “do the German people realize that America entered the war from purely unselfish reasons—only as a matter of principle—and that they expect to gain nothing materially?”

“Oh,” he laughed sarcastically, “how could any nation make the sacrifice that America was prepared to make and yet expect to gain nothing material from it. That is not to be expected. But,” he continued, “the truth of the matter is this. Your President had made us so many promises, so many speeches in which he stated that he was the friend of the German people that, when it came to the worst, we took him up—for the German people expected that he would make good on some of his utterances, but, when the terms of the armistice were made public, they knew that either Wilson had been overruled, or that the German people had been a bunch of suckers and had bitten the wrong bait.”

“But at that,” he emphasized, “the Germans feel no natural animosity toward the Americans, but they hate the French and despise the English.”