Three Times and Out Part 10

I thought and thought and thought of these things, and my soul overflowed with grat.i.tude that I belonged to a decent country. What matter if I never saw it again? It was mine, I was a part of it, and nothing could ever take it from me!

Then I looked at the strutting, cruel-faced cut-throat who was our guard, and who shoved his bayonet at us and shook his dirty fist in our faces to try to frighten us. I looked at his stupid, leering face and heavy jowl, and the sloped-back forehead which the iron heel had flattened with its cruel touch. He could walk out of the door and out of the camp, at will, while I must sit on a chair without moving, his prisoner!

Bah! He, with the stupid, _verboten_ look in his face, was the bondsman! I was free!

There were other guards, too, decent fellows who were glad to help us all they dared. But the fear of detection held them to their distasteful work. One of them, when left in charge of us as we perched on our chairs, went noisily out, in order to let us know he was going, so that we could get off and walk about and talk like human beings, and when he came back--he had stayed out as long as he dared--I think he rattled the door to warn us of his coming!

Then the head spy, the Belgian private, who had his headquarters in the Strafe-Barrack, showed us many little kindnesses. He had as his batman one of the prisoners whose term of punishment had expired, and Bromley, who was always quick-witted and on the alert, offered himself for the job, and was taken, and in that way various little favors came to us that we should not otherwise have had.

Being ring-men, there were no concessions for us, and the full rigor of the _strafe_ would have fallen on us--and did at first; but when Bromley got to be batman, things began to loosen a little for us and we began to get _part_ of our parcels.

The head spy claimed more than the usual agent's commission for all these favors, but we did not complain, for according to the rules we were not ent.i.tled to any.

The process regarding the parcels was quite simple. Spies in the parcel party, working under the Belgian, brought our parcels to his room at the end of the Strafe-Barrack. He opened them and selected what he wanted for himself, giving Bromley what was left.

Sometimes, in his work of batman, Bromley got "tired," and wanted help, suggesting that a friend of his be brought in to a.s.sist him.

I was the friend, and in this way I was allowed to go up to the Belgians' room to sweep, or do something for them, and then got a chance at our parcels. At night, too, when the guard had gone and the lights were out, we got a chance to eat the things we had secreted under the mattress; but generally we kept our supplies in the Belgians' room, which was not in danger of being searched.

Bromley, as usual, made a great hit in his new position of batman.

He had a very smooth tongue, and, finding the British Sergeant susceptible to flattery, gave him plenty of it, and when we got together afterwards, many a laugh I had over his description of the British Sergeant's concern for his appearance, and of how he sent home to England for his dress uniform.

We got out together when we went back to our own Company to get extra clothes. We stayed out about as long as we liked, too, and when we came back, we had the Belgian with us, so nothing was said. The strafe-barrack keepers, even the bayonet man, had a wholesome fear of the Belgian.

This Belgian was always more or less of a mystery to us. He was certainly a spy, but it was evident he took advantage of his position to show many kindnesses to the other prisoners.

There was one book which we were allowed to read while in Strafe-Barrack, and that was the Bible. There were no Bibles provided, but if any prisoner had one, he might retain it. I don't think the Germans have ever got past the Old Testament in their reading, and when they read about the word of the Lord coming to some one and telling him to rise up early and go out and wipe out an enemy country--men, women, and children--they see themselves, loaded with _Kultur_, stamping and hacking their way through Belgium.

I read the Books of the Kings and some other parts of the Old Testament, with a growing resentment in my heart every time it said the "Lord had commanded" somebody to slay and pillage and steal. I knew how much of a command they got. They saw something they wanted, a piece of ground, a city, perhaps a whole country. The king said, "Get the people together; let's have a ma.s.s-meeting; I have a message from G.o.d for the people!" When the people were a.s.sembled, the king broke the news: "G.o.d wants us to wipe out the Amalekites!" The king knew that the people were incurably religious. They would do anything if it can be made to appear a religious duty. Then the people gave a great shout and said: "The Lord reigneth. Let us at the Amalekites!

If you're waking, call me early"--and the show started.

The Lord has been blamed for nearly all the evil in the world, and yet Christ's definition of G.o.d is love, and He goes on to say, "Love worketh no ill to his neighbor."

I can quite understand the early books in the Bible being written by men of the same cast of mind as the Kaiser, who solemnly and firmly believed they were chosen of G.o.d to punish their fellow-men, and incidentally achieve their ambitions.

But it has made it hard for religion. Fair-minded people will not wors.h.i.+p a G.o.d who plays favorites. I soon quit reading the Old Testament. I was not interested in fights, intrigues, plots, and blood-letting.

But when I turned to the teachings of Christ, so fair and simple, and reasonable and easy to understand, I knew that here we had the solution of all our problems. Love is the only power that will endure, and when I read again the story of the Crucifixion, and Christ's prayer for mercy for his enemies because he knew they did not understand, I knew that this was the principle which would bring peace to the world. It is not force and killing and bloodshed and prison-bars that will bring in the days of peace, but that Great Understanding which only Love can bring.

I was thinking this, and had swung around on my chair, contrary to rules, when the guard rushed up to me with his bayonet, which he stuck under my nose, roaring at me in his horrible guttural tongue.

I looked down at the point of his bayonet, which was about a quarter of an inch from my tunic, and let my eyes travel slowly along its length, and then up his arm until they met his!

I thought of how the image of G.o.d had been defaced in this man, by his training and education. It is a serious crime to destroy the king's head on a piece of money; but what word is strong enough to characterize the crime of taking away the image of G.o.d from a human face!

The veins of his neck were swollen with rage; his eyes were red like a bull's, and he chewed his lips like a chained bulldog. But I was sorry for him beyond words--he was such a pitiful, hate-cursed, horrible, squirming worm, when he might have been a man. As I looked at him with this thought in my mind the red went from his eyes, his muscles relaxed, and he lowered his bayonet and growled something about "Englishe schwein" and went away.

"Poor devil," I thought. I watched him, walking away.... "Poor devil,... it is not his fault."...

Malvoisin came to the Strafe-Barrack a week after we did, and I could see that the guards had special instructions to watch him.

None of the ring-men were allowed to go out on the digging parties from the Strafe-Barrack, since Malvoisin had made his get-away in front of the guards, and for that reason, during the whole month we were there, we had no chance at all for exercise.

Malvoisin was thin and pale after his three weeks' confinement in cells, but whenever I caught his eye he gave me a smile whose radiance no prison-cell could dim. When he came into the room, every one knew it. He had a presence which even the guards felt, I think.

We went out a week before him, and we smuggled out some post-cards which he had written to his friends and got them posted, but whether they got by the censor, I do not know. The last I saw of him was the day he got out of Strafe-Barrack. He walked by our hut, on the way to his Company. He was thinner and paler still, but he walked as straight as ever, and his shoulders were thrown back and his head was high! His French uniform was in tatters, and plastered with the obnoxious rings. A guard walked on each side of him. But no matter--he swung gaily along, singing "La Ma.r.s.eillaise."

I took my hat off as he went by, and stood uncovered until he disappeared behind one of the huts, for I knew I was looking at something more than a half-starved, pale, ragged little Frenchman.

It was not only little Malvoisin that had pa.s.sed; it was the unconquerable spirit of France!

CHAPTER XII

BACK TO CAMP

After the monotony of the cells and the Strafe-Barrack, the camp seemed something like getting home for Christmas. All the boys, McKelvey, Keith, Clarke, Johnston, Graham, Walker, Smith, Reid, Diplock, Palmer, Larkins, Gould, Salter, Mudge, and many others whom I did not know so well, gathered around us and wanted to know how we had fared, and the story of our attempt and subsequent punishment formed the topic of conversation for days.

All the time we had been in retirement, we were not allowed to write letters or cards, and I began to fear that my people would be very anxious about me. I had given cards to returning "strafers" to post, but I was not sure they had ever got out of Germany. Many parcels had come for me from other friends, too, and the big problem before me now was to find some way to acknowledge them. A card a week, and a letter twice a month, does not permit of a very flouris.h.i.+ng correspondence.

A decent German guard consented to take Bromley and me to the building where the parcels were kept for men who were in punishment, and we, being strong in faith, took a wheelbarrow with us. Of course, we had received a number of parcels through our friend the spy, but we hoped there would be many more. However, I got only one, a good one from G. D. Ellis, Weston, England, and that saved me from a hard disappointment. I saw there, stacked up in a pile, numerous parcels for Todd, Whittaker, Little Joe, and others, who were serving their sentences at Butzbach. I reported this to our Sergeant Major, and the parcels were opened. Some of the stuff was spoiled, but what was in good condition was auctioned off among us and the money sent to them.

A letter came to me from my sister, Mrs. Ralph Brown, of Buchanan, Saskatchewan, saying they were worried about me because they had not heard from me, and were afraid I was not receiving my parcels. Then I decided I would have to increase my supply of cards. The Russian prisoners had the same number of cards we had, but seldom wrote any.

Poor fellows, they had n.o.body to write to, and many of them could not write. So with the contents of my parcels I bought up a supply of cards. I had, of course, to write them in a Russian's name, for if two cards went into the censor's hands from M. C. Simmons, No. 69, Barrack A, Company 6, something would happen.

So cards went to my friends from "Pte. Ivan Romanoff" or "Pte. Paul Rogowski," saying he was quite well and had seen M. C. Simmons to-day, who was grateful for parcel and had not been able to write lately, but would soon. These rather mystified some of the people who received them, who could not understand why I did not write directly.

My cousin, Mamie Simmons, and Mrs. Lackie, of Dereham Centre, Ontario, wrote a letter back to the Russian whose card they had received, much to his joy and surprise.

One of my great desires at this time was to have a compa.s.s, for Bromley and I were determined to make another attempt at escape, just as soon as we could, and many an hour I spent trying to find a way to get the information out to my friends that I wanted a compa.s.s. At last, after considerable thinking, I sent the following card to a friend of mine with whom I had often worked out puzzles, and who I felt would be as likely to see through this as any one I could think of.

This was the message:

DEAR JIM:--I send you this card along with another to come later, which please pa.s.s on to Fred. In next parcel, send cheese, please.

Yours as ever

M. C. SIMMONS

In the address I slipped in the words--"Seaforth Wds." This I hoped the censor would take to mean--"Seaforth Woods"; and which I hoped my friend would read to mean--"See fourth words"; and would proceed to do so.

After I had sent this away, I began to fear it might miscarry and resolved to try another one. I wrote a letter to my brother Flint, at Tillsonburg, Ontario, in which I used these words, "I want you to look into this for me"; later on in the letter, when speaking of quite innocent matters which had nothing to do with "compa.s.ses," I said, "Look into this for me and if you cannot manage it alone, get Charley Bradburn to help you."

I took the envelope, which had a bluish tint inside and steamed it open, both the ends and bottom flap, and when it was laid open, I wrote in it in a very fine hand, these words: "I tried to escape, but was caught and my compa.s.s taken away from me. Send me another; put it in a cream cheese."

When the envelope was closed, this was almost impossible to see. I knew it was risky, for if I had been found out, I would have been "strafed" for this, just as hard as if I had tried to escape.

However, I posted my letter and heard nothing more about it.

I had, through the kindness of friends, received a number of books, Mr. Brockington, of Koch Siding, British Columbia, and Miss Grey, of Wimbledon, England, having been very good to me in this way; and as many of the parcels of the other boys contained books, too, we decided to put our books together, catalogue them, and have a library. One of the older men became our librarian, and before we left Giessen I think we had a hundred volumes.