Chapter VII: Würzburg (2)

In the afternoon we had another call from the Rittmeister, whose visit this time was the most exciting incident which took place during my stay at the Fortress, and was for a long time the subject of animated discussion in all the rooms. The whole affair really began and ended with Gollywog. Mr Poerringer came in about four o'clock and said that the Rittmeister wished to speak to Lt. C----. Gollywog went out into the corridor, remained absent for fully five minutes, and came back with the Rittmeister, who advanced into the middle of the room and ordered "All English officers to leave the room." This was most interesting, and the four of us went out into the corridor greatly wondering what new game was being played. After about a quarter of an hour the Rittmeister came out and went off down the corridor, whereupon we hastened back to hear what had happened. The Rittmeister had made a most genial and polite speech. He had heard that the English officers had not been behaving properly, that they were quarrelsome, disagreeable men, and so on, for a good few minutes, ending up with a request that the French officers would kindly come to him if they had any complaint to make, however small, concerning the conduct of the English, who would then promptly be put in cells. "Bobjohn," a Lieutenant de Reserve, who knew German very well, replied briefly on behalf of the French officers--that they were all, English and French, brothers-in-arms and firm friends. The Rittmeister then went off in a very bad temper, disappointed that his clumsy plot to get the English into trouble had been a total failure. We were all indeed more amused at, than angry with, the Rittmeister's impertinence, but many of the French officers thought that Gollywog's part in the affair was open to suspicion; in fact, he was suspected of having complained to Mr Poerringer. I think it, however, more likely that the sentries, who were always spying and trying to see what was going on in the room, had something to do with it. Next morning I happened to meet O---- in the corridor and immediately started swearing at him in a loud voice. He grasped the idea at once, and I could see the nearest sentry watching us narrowly. Sham fights between the French and English were started at intervals during the day, with the door left wide open so that the sentry could get a full view. In my room great annoyance was expressed at the whole affair, and Colonel Lepeltier declared that the Gollywog's conduct was open to very grave suspicion. As a matter of fact, hardly any of the French officers were on speaking terms with the Gollywog, and so this rather unpleasant incident did not make any difference to his relations with his fellow-prisoners.

V.

"Send me a post-card when you have time," writes a friend from Germany; "letters and post-cards are the only things we live for." And so it was at the Festung Marienberg. Two or three times a week Mr Poerringer would come in with a bundle of letters and call out the names of the lucky ones, the officers all crowding round with eager faces, listening, waiting, hoping. Two officers only sat apart and watched, not without envy. One, a Frenchman from Lille, could never hope to hear from his wife or family, as communication with invaded territory is not permitted.

The day after my arrival at Würzburg I wrote three letters--one letter home, one to X.Y.Z., one to the American Ambassador in Berlin. At that time there was no restriction as to number, although later not more than one letter a week was allowed. I could not hope for news from home till the end of February, as six weeks was generally the time which elapsed before an answer came from England. Irvine told me that on arriving at Würzburg he had written informing the American Embassy at Berlin of his position, and that in reply the Ambassador expressed a wish for information concerning the whereabouts of British officers. I therefore wrote to the Embassy stating the fact of my arrival at Würzburg, explaining the nature of my wounds, enclosing a copy of the certificate from Dr Debu also--and this was the part I feared might not pass the Censor--asking the Ambassador to put my case before the German authorities at Berlin.

By the same post I wrote to X.Y.Z., whose letter to Captain S---- had so providentially fallen into my hands at Cambrai. In this letter I gave a list--in answer to her inquiry--of all officers and men of whom any information had reached me at Cambrai. I also drew a pathetic picture of my own situation, enclosing a copy of the much-copied medical certificate, and begging X.Y.Z. to use influence on my behalf.

While at Cambrai and Würzburg two questions were constantly in my mind--first, Would there be an exchange of officers? second, If there was to be an exchange, how was I to make sure that my case would not be forgotten?

Pope Benedict XV., although I knew it not, was working hard to obtain a satisfactory reply to the first question. The happy solution of the second must depend on my two letters to Berlin and on the wide circulation of my medical certificate.

This certificate was a most alarming piece of evidence as to my condition, and I am glad to say that the event has so far proved the medical diagnosis to be a pessimistic one.

Medical men have told me that in nine cases out of ten such injury as is mentioned in this certificate results in the inconvenient habit of a spasmodic falling on to the floor, attended with foaming at the mouth and other unpleasant symptoms, all of which are included under the mysterious title "Jacksonian epilepsis." On account of this medical certificate, which more than hinted at the probability of my acquiring such unpleasant accomplishments, I was known to my friends in the fortress as "Jackson."

My two letters had been sent off on the 10th of January. Mr Poerringer very kindly gave me this information, he himself being the Censor. On the 26th January my first letter arrived, the first letter since my leaving England six months ago. It was from the American Embassy. Reading my name and address on the envelope, I began to feel a "person" again. The world outside the fortress was more real to me from that moment than it had been for many months. The letter dated 21st January acknowledged receipt of my communication of 9th January, and regretted to inform me "that the question of exchange had not yet become an actual fact, and that the exact provisions whereby exchanges, when actually effected, will be governed have not yet been determined.... As regards the approximate date in the future at which the exchange of wounded prisoners will take place, the Embassy regrets to be unable to give you information. Negotiations are on the way, but no definite agreement has yet been reached." During that afternoon my letter was a subject of much argument. Never did I dare allow myself to read into these sentences any hope of freedom. It is better for a prisoner to live with no prospect of release than to hope vainly and be disappointed. So the letter was put away and kept out of mind as far as was possible.

A few days afterwards I happened to meet Mr Poerringer in the corridor. He bade me good morning with even more than his usual kindness, and produced a letter. This was from X.Y.Z., and reading this letter over now, it seems hard to believe that when I read it in the fortress I dared not find in it any hope or any reasonable ground for hope. "I will certainly do my very best," says the letter, "to get you included among those for exchange. I gave your medical report to the American Consul, ... and he has promised to go into the whole matter thoroughly with the authorities. The matter of exchange will take some time to arrange, I believe, so don't be too disappointed if you don't hear something at once." Here, at any rate, was the definite statement that there was to be an exchange, yet it was still a struggle in my own mind between hope, and fear that dared not hope, and fear was still the conqueror. Mr Poerringer came into our room with some papers very shortly afterwards, and I asked him if it would be any use asking for an interview with the officer commanding at Würzburg. Mr Poerringer's reply roused the whole room to attention: "Vous allez probablement aller en Angleterre." Nothing more would he say, except that a letter had arrived about me from the War Minister. All my friends crowded round to discuss whether any credence might be placed in Mr Poerringer's information, and the verdict was that it would not be safe to take him at his word. Little belief existed among my fellow-prisoners, even after Mr Poerringer's statement, of the possibility of any exchange taking place. The odds laid during my first week at the Fortress against my being exchanged were 20 to 1. That evening, in spite of all the favourable signs, odds of 10 to 1 against were offered and taken.

VI.

Life in the Festung was becoming very hard. Snow had fallen heavily. For several days, owing to alternate frost and snow, the courtyard, whether a mass of slippery ice or of penetrating melting snow, was now a barrier to the garden, across which I dared not venture. The corridor was so intensely cold that it was no place for me to take exercise in. My only relief at this time from lying on a bed was to take a few turns up and down the room during the hour of the promenade, when all windows were wide open. Every inch of the picture as seen from those windows is familiar to me. Far away, beyond the low vine-covered hills, now deep in snow, the spruce woods stand out pitch-black on the all-white horizon. More distinct than usual in the snow were the quaintly-shaped roofs of ancient houses and the numerous steeples and church towers for which Würzburg is celebrated in guide-books. Traffic on the river had ceased, for the big, broad barges were ice-bound, and only in the centre of the stream the yellow water ran freely, hustling along great lumps of ice and melting snow. Over the bridge ran the electric tram lines that connect the town with the large suburbs on our side of the river, and the cold air--it was now freezing very hard--carried with distinctness the clanging, whining sound of the passing trams.

Wooden huts, surrounded with a high paling, lay right below, but the distance was just too great to enable us to see if they were inhabited by French or English prisoners. Away beyond the huts were large stone and brick barracks, from where on Sundays a band was wont to come forth and march close up to the fortress,--a real German band this, they played extremely badly.

During the time of the hard frost a field close by the barracks had been flooded and turned into a skating-rink, where all day long the skaters, black dots in the distance, circled round on the white board.

The steep avenue leading down from the fortress through the wooded slope was at this time an object of interest. A number of small boys were enjoying themselves tobogganing down the rough uneven surface, running races, upsetting and rolling down the slope head over heels in the snow, with cries of joy and laughter. Some forty feet below the window, along the parapet of the inner battlement, two sentries stamping out a path on the snow looked up from time to time with suspicion at the figure leaning out of the prison window. Night was falling. The two sentries were impatiently waiting to be relieved. At last the relieving party appeared, escorted by a corporal; with due ceremony the guard was changed and the new sentries began their dreary tramp with rifle slung over their shoulders, beating hands and stamping feet against the ever-increasing cold.

Large electric arc-lamps had recently been fixed outside the windows, so that a strong light was thrown on the parapet and wall below, and the sentry could see to shoot any one, utterly foolish, who should attempt to climb down from our window to the parapet--a place, even when safely reached, from which there was no possibility of further escape. Electric light is used most lavishly by the town of Würzburg, and the effect of the twinkling lights of the city, seen from the fortress, is very beautiful, but one must be in the right mood to appreciate such things.

"Shut the window, Jackson, and let's have a game of poker." This was the voice of "Bobjohn"--the best of friends. I have said too little of these friends of mine--both French and English--too little of their kindness, patience, and unselfishness with one who was often irritable and unreasonable.

* * * * *

"_28th._ Zeppelin. A great rush for the windows."--I did not realise before how tremendously big these Zeppelins are. It was a grand sight to see the grey-white ship, big as an Atlantic liner, sailing over the river, and to see it turn and come straight towards the castle on a level with our windows. When only some few hundred yards away, so near that we could see the features of the men in the passenger car, the ship turned again and circled round the fortress, and from the windows of the corridor we watched it disappearing into the sunlight over the distant hills.

This evening was marked by the arrival of a parcel of books, Tauchnitz edition, which we had been allowed to order. No doubt the publishers are glad of the chance to unload their stock of British authors, as, after the war is over, there will not be much demand for the Tauchnitz volumes.

Early in February another guest arrived at the fortress--another member for the English club. This was Foljambe, from L'Hôpital Notre Dame, Cambrai, who had made a very good recovery from severe wounds. Our new comrade, still very weak, only able to walk a short distance, arrived late in the afternoon, and was allotted a bed in my room. His experiences on the journey from Cambrai were very similar to mine. Although I have little direct evidence of how the Germans treat our soldiers, the information which Foljambe gave me on the subject is conclusive.

Foljambe, before coming up to the fortress, was put by mistake and left for nearly an hour in a soldier's Lager on the outskirts of Würzburg, and his story confirmed what the French orderlies had told us about the ill-treatment of the English soldiers.

"The English soldiers," said Foljambe, "go about like whipped dogs." Most of them were ill from want of food and warm clothing. Any excuse was seized upon to inflict hard punishments, and the constant bullying which was permitted, if not actually ordered by the officer in charge, made the men's life a perpetual torment. Foljambe had no time to get many details from the men, as the Germans hastily removed him from their company as soon as they found out that he was an officer.

On the field of battle no danger could silence the cheerful jest of these brave men; in hospital no suffering had been able to damp their cheery courage. The picture of these same soldiers cringing, looking from left to right when spoken to, as if to avoid a blow, is one upon which I cannot allow my thoughts to dwell.

* * * * *

"_Feb. 11th._--Nothing to record." This is the last entry in my diary. The doctor came again with the Rittmeister, and spent a long time by the bedside of Lieut. C----, who had been shot through the sciatic nerve, and was apparently permanently lame. They left the room without taking any notice of me. This was depressing.

It was understood that C----'s case for exchange was being considered. Dr Zinck had taken no notice of me on this occasion, probably because my case had already been decided; but this view did not occur to me at the time. A rumour had been going round the rooms that an exchange of French officers, but not of English, would shortly take place.

The afternoon, my last in the fortress, passed slowly and sadly, like so many others. Poker had long ago been abandoned. Bridge was played with small enthusiasm.

A visit to the big room near the end of the corridor helped to pass away the evening. Here Captain D----, owner of some big mills in the north of France, showed me a working model loom which he had made out of firewood with no other tools than a penknife. With the loom he was weaving a "carpet" the size of a small pocket-handkerchief.

* * * * *

_Feb. 12th_--_Der Tag._--At 9 A.M. I was shaving at the toilet-table in the window recess when Dr Zinck came into the room alone, which was unusual. He walked over to where I was sitting, and the following was our brief but exciting conversation--

"You are happy now."

"Why should I be happy this morning," said I, "more than any other morning?"

"But don't you know? You are going back to England."

Then for one brief moment I believed, but yet tried to keep from showing my joy, lest perhaps the news were false.

The doctor walked up and down the room in silence, then turned to me with a worried look. "Don't say anything about what I have told you. You and C---- are going away, but I should not have told you. I did not know you had not been told." And then he left the room.

Some one announced that the van in which we used to go down to the baths had arrived in the yard, presumably to take me away. On going into the corridor to see this welcome sight I met Reddy and Irvine hurrying to hear the news, which, of course, had at once been spread throughout the Fortress. We were standing in the corridor talking, when Dr Zinck ran up. "_Nix, nix_," he said, with his Bavarian accent, "there will be no exchange with England, on account of the submarine blockade. A telegram has come from Berlin. You are not going away."

Hope and despair now fought confusedly; where was the truth? Colonel Lepeltier comforted me with his assurance that the doctor's last statement was a lie; that Dr Zinck had become frightened lest the Rittmeister would be angry at my having been told the good news too soon.

Certainly the van was still in the yard, the horses had been unyoked. There might be hope after all. I went as usual to room "53," lay down on the corner bed--the Club sofa--for the last time took up the book I had been reading the day before, found my place--the last chapter of 'David Copperfield.'

I had reached and nearly finished the last page, when the door was flung open and the Rittmeister entered in the well-known manner, suddenly, and with a quick look round the room, as if hoping to catch somebody up to mischief.

As soon as he came into the room I knew instinctively what he had come for: while trying to get off the bed to salute I heard the much-longed-for word "Austausch." "You must leave at once," he said--"at once."

Reddy helped me off the bed and down the corridor, to say good-bye to my friends and get my luggage.

Mr Poerringer and the Rittmeister followed behind, the latter, as Reddy remarked, eyeing me narrowly. I took longer than usual in this last walk down the corridor.

The Rittmeister followed into the room, went over to C----, and told him he was to leave next morning, then walked round the table past the bed where I was sitting, and left the room without further sign or word. I said good-bye to Colonel Lepeltier and my new friends, and as it was midday Mr Poerringer suggested that I should stop for a few minutes in room "53" to get some lunch.

The meat course on that day was a dish of tripe which few of us could face, and while I was eating my bread and cheese Reddy made up a parcel of bread and Leberwurst for me to take along.

Mr Poerringer stood by the window watching, orders having been given that I was not to be left alone.

When Mr Poerringer remarked casually that the train left in half an hour, and that if I missed it there would be no other, I did not wait to finish the bread and cheese.

Reddy put the parcel of food into one pocket of my greatcoat, a small bottle of beer in the other, and I bade adieu to my friends, feeling quite ashamed of and yet unable to hide the joy of my going.

Reddy for the last time helped me down the stairs and into the van. Mr Poerringer got in beside me.

I said good-bye to Reddy, and for a moment felt miserable at leaving so kind a friend to endless days of a misery from which I was now free.

As the van moved off he waved his hand with a cheery smile, and then turned away up the spiral staircase.

Mr Poerringer sat silent in a corner of the carriage (the same vehicle in which we had gone down to the baths). We crossed the courtyard, passed the entrance to the terrace, the sentries guarding the bridge over the moat. We entered the tunnelled archway, went slowly down the steep hill, and drove through the last barrier. These things I could see, for the window was open.

My thought was still struggling with the realisation of what these things meant, and of what lay beyond these prison walls, when, as we drove into the main road, Mr Poerringer broke the silence, and there was a tinge of envy in his voice, "La guerre est fini pour vous," he said, "La guerre est fini pour vous."