from the direction of the village. At first I thought nothing of it, but as these grew rapidly louder and louder, my uneasiness increased and I lay perfectly still under the straw. The horse came straight to my heap, and stopped dead at the German word of command, “R-r-r-r-r” (whoa!). Soon the rider uttered an exclamation and, leaning over, drew out a flying boot, to my dismay, but as this was wet, muddy and old looking he soon threw it down again. In the meantime the horse kept sniffing and nibbling at the straw which thinly covered my face, and I felt inclined to repeat to myself an old nursery rhyme: “Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!” As the brute continued blowing the straw from my face, I tried to make him desist by returning the compliment by blowing back at him. He jumped and threw up his head, but now his curiosity being thoroughly aroused returned to his explorations with renewed vigour, partly uncovering me. I did not move, but knew that the game was up when the rider drew his breath in sharply. Looking up I saw surprise written on every feature of the bearded Hun N.C.O. He was a thick-set man with a revolver holster at his belt. I had no chance of resistance, as the country was quite open and my boots were off, so sitting up I greeted him with a “Gutten Morgen.” He saw that I was an English “Flieger” (airman), but firmly refused to believe that I was an officer. He told me I was near Achiet-le-Petit, and then motioned me to go with him to the village, which I did. (An account of the foregoing episode appeared in the German papers later.)

We went straight to the village headquarters, where there were several officers spotlessly dressed in blue or field-grey, against which my tramp-like appearance formed a strange contrast. They were quite decent, with one exception, a sour-looking captain, and were rather amused than otherwise, even allowing a Frenchwoman to make me some coffee. When I remarked on the wonderful way in which the Germans had traced me from Cambrai, they laughed and said my discovery was purely accidental, the N.C.O. having been detailed to find some straw for the transport. I was sent back to Cambrai in a wagon with an armed guard of three, exclusive of the driver and the mounted N.C.O. I was very annoyed on being told that the latter would receive the Iron Cross, and tried to impress on them that my discovery was entirely due to the horse, who deserved a bran mash. It was bitterly cold and, on passing through every village, I was made to remove my coat to show the inhabitants that I was a prisoner. I was quite pleased when we arrived at our destination.

The commandant received me with a growl, and I was taken to the guardroom, where the same Hun N.C.O. casually informed me that I was to be shot. In an unconvincing way I told myself this was nonsense. The next move was not at all reassuring. I was marched through the back door into a tiny courtyard, accompanied by the sergeant of the guard and several privates armed with rifles! I am glad to say that the bluff was soon over, and I was put into a half dark stone cell. In a short time I was fished out to see Lieutenant Schram, who told me that I was the first to escape from there, but that I should never get another opportunity. He went on to say that when my disappearance had been discovered the previous evening, it was thought that I had closely followed the flying officer who had asked me to dinner when he left through the main gate, until the broken wires were found. Men and trained dogs had then endeavoured to trace me, but that, unfortunately, they had all gone the wrong way!

When I was taken back at the end of the interview, a sergeant-major and a corporal thought they would have some fun at my expense. They opened my cell door and then led me to a comparatively comfortable room close by, and asked me which I preferred. However, I upset their calculations by entering my original cell and sitting down. As the result of an argument which ensued I was put into the better room, where I fell asleep. This comfort was only short-lived, and soon, by order of the commandant, I was put into the original cell again. It snowed all the next evening, and when the sergeant brought me my watery supper, I asked if he would stand my boots by the guardroom fire that night as the fleece held such a quantity of water. He seemed surprised at my request, but said that he would ask. He soon returned and said that it could not be done. It was four days before I felt at all warm, my clothes drying on me all the time. I have since been told that Lieutenant Schram, while speaking of me later to other captured officers, asserted that he dried all my clothes for me. Yet this same gentleman during his first interrogation asked me why we English called them uncultured!

On the afternoon of the fourth day I was ordered to get ready to proceed to Germany, as enough prisoners had been captured at the Beaumont Hamel show to make up a large draft. At the main entrance I found a group of about twenty officers, composed of eight or ten Zouaves and the remainder British. Then off we went to the station in high spirits, for it is not often that one gets a chance of a tour in Germany, via France and Belgium, free of charge!

CHAPTER V

OSNABRÜCK

Our guards had mostly been selected from different regiments, on account of their being due for leave in Germany. The officer in charge travelled separately. He had recently been wounded, and had seen rather more of the British than he cared; in consequence he was almost human! Not yet being dry and now having no overcoat, I felt decidedly cold. We arrived late at St. Quentin and settled down for a long wait, but our good spirits were infectious and, besides, some of our number had with them a surplus of turnip jam, and we were allowed to sing. This we did with a vengeance, and it was indeed curious to hear the desolate waiting-room echoing the popular strains of: “Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile, smile.” This impromptu concert delighted the French, who joined in as best they could. Soon we had quite a little audience of solitary Huns, who peeped through the open door and listened to the “Mad English,” open-mouthed. At last the express steamed in from the south-east and in quite an exhausted condition we were graciously shown in to second-class compartments in a way which clearly said “Second class is much too good for you.”

After a tedious journey, during which we received something to eat, we arrived at Cologne about eleven o’clock the next morning. The station contained almost every variety of Hun. These people represented the cowards who in 1914 had flung stones at and otherwise insulted those brave men of our old regular army, who stopped at this station, packed in cattle trucks like animals, mostly wounded and dying. Nearly two years of war have passed since then, bringing with them suffering and a certain refining influence which had not altogether been without its effect. Now, though most of them stared rudely, few showed signs of open hostility. Following our officer down some steps and winding subways, we were approaching a large restaurant, when a rather senior Hun officer ran after us, cursing us in German for not saluting him when we had passed him on the platform! One of the British replied, “Nix verstand” (No compris). Whereupon he went away thoroughly disgusted.

One of our party, a major of the 9th Zouaves, who spoke German very well, asked if we might have some