The Airman's Escape

I

ON the evening of July 25, our squadron was ordered to send up the next day an intermediate patrol between Château-Thierry and Aulchy-le-Château at six-thirty the following morning. The orderly awakened us that morning (July 26) a little before time for the flight. I dressed as quickly as I could, in the clothes which I found on the foot of my bed. These happened to be some old clothes in which I had been helping my mechanics on my plane the evening before. We did not stop for breakfast, but had it postponed until eight o’clock. A flight before breakfast is a dandy appetizer.

The weather was very unfavorable, and it was raining slightly when we met for formation. Two of the five turned back to camp on account of the weather. The remaining three of us, while patrolling, encountered a German two-seater which had ventured over alone under the protection of the weather. There was no definite battle-line in that territory, because of the constant shifting and the open nature of the fighting. The combat began over territory occupied by the Allies, but carried us over territory occupied by the Germans, without my knowledge. After a short combat, the gunner in the German machine was shot, and the pilot, being thus unprotected, was forced to dive straight to the ground to save his own life. I followed, shooting at him all the while. When he reached the ground, I flew around him once and saw the pilot pull his gunner out and start away with him on his shoulder. I never thought fora moment but what we were in Allied territory, and in my enthusiasm landed, as is usually done when a plane is brought down, — in your own territory, of course, — and that is how I became a prisoner of Germany.

The particular field in which I landed, according to Captain Roosevelt, had been in Allied hands only the day before and was again in Allied hands within a few hours after my capture. At the time it was one of their most advanced machine-gun positions.

The field looked smooth, and my landing was all right; but when I tried to turn round, the ground not being familiar to me, and I, in my enthusiasm, not being quite cautious enough, my machine struck a rut and upset. As soon as it was thus out of commission, I became uneasy, and thought, for the first time, that I did not know exactly where I was, and probably might be in enemy territory.

There were no unfriendly signs on the ground, but I noticed a German antiaircraft barrage above. I heard machine-guns firing all around me, but none were firing at me. Seeing a captive balloon not far in the distance, I took the compass from my machine, and with it saw that I was southwest from this balloon, which gave me hope that I was still in Allied territory; but it developed that this was a German balloon, and I was between it and their advance positions. At this moment I saw a lone unarmed soldier coming toward me from the direction of a thicket to the south. He approached me in friendly fashion, but soon after his arrival a whole bunch of Germans came running up in the opposite direction and nabbed me.

Until this time, which, however, was only a moment or two, I was right by my machine. It was reported by a pilot with me that I was last seen running in great haste toward a house; but I suppose he saw the German pilot, who, with his wounded gunner on his shoulder, ran into a nearby house, which was used as an advance dressing-station, and from the air mistook him for me. After asking me if I had any firearms, and feeling to verify my statement that I had not, they took me into the dressing-station where the pilot had taken his gunner. Then, with all the Germans about me jabbering ‘Dutch,’ I began to realize my position; and never in my life have I felt so low as I did at that moment, and I hope that I shall never feel so again. The gunner of the German machine had, among others, two bullets through his stomach, from which he died. Here they took my flying-suit, goggles, and Sam Brown belt. They searched me for papers, but found nothing but my name and squadron number, which were written on the inside of my Sam Brown.

The pilot of the German plane was very indignant because he said my comrade had fired on a wounded man (meaning the gunner) after he was on the ground. They seemed also to contemplate having me shot because my machine-gun was loaded with incendiary bullets, which have flat noses and look like dum-dums.

First of all I was taken by auto to an old French château a few miles back, to an intelligence officer, who questioned me through an interpreter. From there I was marched under guard to a little French town, where we arrived about three in the afternoon. They took me before another set of intelligence officers, who spoke English perfectly. After I had got by them, I was put in with some two hundred French prisoners, with two officers. It was then about four o’clock in the afternoon and I had had nothing to eat that day. They gave me a chunk of their imitation bread — or rather, their substitute for bread, for it certainly did not imitate it in any way that I could see. It looked and tasted like an old clod of dirt. Also they gave me some of their substitute for coffee. It is brown-colored and reminds you of coffee only because it is given hot. Although I was, by then, very hungry, I could not force myself to eat this. A little later one of the German soldiers gave me a bowl of porridge made of barley and horse-meat. That would not seem very palatable to the American soldier in his own lines; but it was the regular diet of the Germans, and at that particular time it was a treat to me.

That night, feeling like the most despondent human being on earth, I began to plan and work to escape from the hands of the Huns, and I never quit until I landed on the Swiss side of the Rhine the 11th of October.

We arrived at Laon at about four in the afternoon. This was the 28th of July. A good many French civilians, who had been in the hands of the Germans since 1914, were st ill there. They greeted us sadly as we marched along, and exchanged a few words with the French prisoners.

The men were here placed in a large French garrison, where prisoners of all the nationalities of the Allies were penned together, including a few hundred Americans. I was taken down to a house in the town, which had been converted into a jail. Here I found four American infantry officers, — Lieutenants Ferguson, Shea, Bushy, and Oats, — ten or twelve French officers, mostly fliers, and two Royal Flying Corps officers. On the wall of one of the rooms of this house, I saw where ‘Dusty’ Rhodes, a man of my squadron, who we all thought was dead, had written his name. He was only one of the many men reported dead whom I saw in Germany. We stayed here three nights, on almost starvation rations, during which time I made my first acquaintance with the doughboy’s friends, the cooties, which the infantry officers had brought from the trenches.

Early on the morning of July 31, we were all put on the train and started for Germany. After riding all day, all night, and all the next day, we arrived, about 11 P.M., at Rastatt in Baden. At different places along the way we were given liberal portions of German soup. Food in Germany means soup, and almost always turnip-soup. During the first day we picked up another American flier named Miller, also of the First Pursuit Group, although of a different squadron from mine.

Our first night at Rastatt was spent in an old fort, very musty and damp. The next morning, August 2, we were taken to the officers’ prison-camp at Rastatt. There were many French and British officers here, and three American medical officers. Here I first met the aid of the Red Cross. It was the British. The American Red Cross had not established itself there at that time, and the British supplied the six of us with food in the emergency; and you can wager that some real old ‘bully’ was a treat. It was a life-saver. The German food there was so awful that I hardly believe anybody could have lived on it.

II

The day after my arrival at Rastatt, I discovered a way to get out of the camp, and began to prepare for an attempt as best I could. It being 140 kilometres to the Swiss border, and my shoes being already worn out, — which, of course, was my first consideration, — Captain Genese, a British officer, who had two pairs, kindly lent me a pair.

André Conneau, — ‘ Beaumont,’ — a French pilot whom I had first met at Laon, wanted to make a try for it. He had been a flier of note even before the war, having done lots of flying about Rome and in the Orient. I thought him a good companion for the undertaking, and we planned to go together. I was quite unprepared, and one of the American doctors, Captain Maxson, who, I wish to say, was a regular fellow and as fine as they are made, advised me not to undertake it until I was better prepared . I did not want to lose an opportunity, however, and Conneau, who looked stout and hard and fearless enough to do anything, was anxious to be off.

People often ask me how one occupies the time shut up in a prison-camp, and I answer that, as for myself, I spent most of my time planning and working to get away. I have studied the map of Germany, especially of Southern Baden, so much, that I could draw a map of it as well without a copy as with one. Conneau had a good compass, a poor map, and a mind to go. We calculated that it would take anywhere from seven to fourteen days to get to the border. We collected all the food we could accumulate, doing without, ourselves, in order to save it; and on the night of August 5 made our attempt. Three other officers, two British and one American, also escaped by the same route that night. The American was Alexander Roberts, who, having also been recaptured after seven days, was on the scene when I made my successful break from Villingen.

The buildings in which we stayed were old brick buildings with thick walls, — quite suitably built for a jail,— which formed part of the outer walls of the camp, the windows being heavily barred. There was a certain window on the second story of one of these buildings, one bar of which had been carefully cut at the bottom, so that, though it remained in its normal place, it could easily be forced aside, thus making way for the passage of a man’s body. The guard on the outside patrolled back and forth past this window, but when he was near the other end of his beat, he could not see it, because of an intervening corner. Our plan was that, when the guard was at that end of his beat, while he did not have a view of the window, we should pass out and descend to the ground by means of a rope made of sheets from the bed, and dash across to the darkness beyond, before he returned to where he could see. This allowed, of course, a very short time for so much action. The lights in the quarters were turned out at ten o’clock, and we intended to make our getaway as soon as possible thereafter. The guard changed on the even hour, and we hoped to get off, if possible, before the twelve o’clock change.

Shortly after ten o’clock we were at the place and ready for action; but at that time of the year, it was hardly dark at ten o’clock by German time. We waited until eleven before we could think of starting. At that hour we took off our shoes, so as to cross from the wall to darkness without noise. We had a helper, an Englishman, who, from a different room, could watch the guard when at the other end of his beat. We were to go or stop by his signal. According to our plan, I was to go out first and meet Conneau at a prearranged place. In a few moments the signal of ‘ Right-O ’ was passed down to us. The rope, with one end firmly fastened to a good bar, was cast out, and I started through the opening. It was a tight squeeze, hampered as I was with my pockets full of food-stuff.

Just as I was about half-way out, the signal to stop was whispered back to us. The rope was drawn up and I had to scramble back in. The guard came on, passed the window, and in a little while returned on his beat. The signal to go was passed down to us, and I started out again. This time I got outside and half-way down before the danger signal came again. I could not return this time, so I slipped to the ground, and lay flat in the semi-darkness against the wall of the building, listening to the noise of my heart and scared to breathe while the guard passed within a few feet of me. Also at the same moment several guards off duty came by together; but none of them saw me. In a second after they had passed, my musette bag with provisions was passed down by the rope to me. This indicated, of course, that the guard was out of sight. I grasped the bag and sprang noiselessly across the lighted space to darkness beyond, forgetting to wait for my blanket, which I intended carrying in the absence of a coat.

I had to wait about a couple of hours for Conneau. The guard was changed at twelve, and it was long after the disturbance created by this that he came out.

We then started on our long journey. I had only my light uniform, no overcoat of any kind. Conneau had a good fur-lined leather flying-coat, which up to that time the Boches had not taken from him. Both of us were plainly uniformed, which, of course, was a dead giveaway if we should be seen in the daytime. At night, however, my helmet looked enough like a Boche cap, and our uniforms would not show clearly.

As soon as we were clear of the town our route took us into the Black Forest. All through the night we were in and out of the forest, and the following day were hiding in it.

About two o’clock that morning it began to rain on us, and I don’t think that it ever stopped raining for a period of over a few hours at once during the three nights we were at liberty. We went on that morning until we were completely exhausted, stopping at daybreak. We dropped on Conneau’s coat, which he spread on the wet ground as a bed for both. We were soon awakened, however, by the downpour of rain. The coat would keep us clear of the water from below, but we had nothing to keep off the rain from above. We got up and used the coat as a roof. The Frenchman was a true comrade and would always deprive himself in order to share the protection of his coat with me. We could not pass the day, however, standing like this. Our feet were already very tired and painful.

Necessity is said to be the mother of invention, and it certainly applied here. We had to do something to better our predicament. We sought out a small spreading tree, and with our knives cut branches from the neighboring trees, carefully fitting them into the branches of this one, until we succeeded in making a sort of thatch-roof which would turn the rain reasonably well. Under this we spent the day, eating very scantily of our provisions.

The next night we were in the more open country. Conneau was mistaken as to our location on the map, and kept going too much to the west. I suggested that I thought we were bearing too far west, but I intended him to be the leader and did not press the matter. We made a good distance, however, and spent the following day in a little wood. There are no barns or straw-stacks in Germany, or in France, such as there are in the rural districts in our country, in which a tramp may find a dry hidingplace.

The rain and cold were beginning to tell on me. The Frenchman became very uneasy about my health. I had developed a cough, which worried him much more than it did me, except that when I was about to burst from wanting to cough, I could not do it. for fear the noise would cause our detection. Also, sores were beginning to come on my tired and continually wet feet. Conneau had some Red Cross bandage, which he had brought for use in an emergency, and he tried to bandage me up. That evening, while we crouched together vainly trying to avoid the rain, he suggested to me that he did not think it possible for us to continue, unprotected as I was. He remarked that we still had ten or twelve days before us, and that I would only die if we tried to make it. I told him, in my best French, that we would walk straight into hell before we voluntarily gave ourselves up on account of my health.

That night we made a long stage of it. Though my sore feet were becoming much worse, I said nothing of them to Conneau. I even pressed forward, keeping ahead most of the time. In fact, after I had pressed on unheeding my feet a while, though I could feel that the sores were becoming more and more galled, they became less sensitive, and I walked on them much as I have seen a horse pull unflinchingly against a sore shoulder.

Conneau, however, still lost on his map, kept leading toward the west, until about 3 A.M. we came upon the banks of the Rhine. Then there was no doubt as to our location, and that we were miles to the west of our course.

Now, when we found our location by seeing the Rhine, Conneau said that he knew of a big aerodrome about a night’s walk from there, on the road toward the Swiss border. It being on our route, we decided that we would go by this aerodrome, and see if there was any possibility of stealing a plane.

We had not gone very far when a German sentry stepped in the road a few feet directly in front of us and challenged us. If we had been in condition at all, we could have run; and he certainly could not have got both of us, and probably neither; but being leg-weary, sorefooted, and exhausted, we did not attempt to run.

Thus ended my first attempt to get out of Germany.

III

When we got back to Rastatt, about ten o’clock that night, we were put in solitary confinement cells and locked up without any formality or questioning. Though I was alone in my cell, I had fellow sufferers. In this wing of the basement were six cells, and by coming to the grated hole in our doors, while the guard was outside of the hall connecting our cells, we could speak to one another. The next morning after my arrival, I became acquainted with my neighbors. I could see only two of them but I could speak with any of them. In there with me were Lieutenant Chalmers and Lieutenant Crowns, two Americans, who, after eleven days, had been recaptured near the border; Captain Newman, a British officer, who, with Captain Turner, also British, had escaped about three weeks before, and after nine days out, had succumbed to the physical strain. He had given all his remaining supplies to his comrade, who he was in hopes had made it. Conneau had one cell and I had one, and the sixth was vacant. That evening Conneau was taken out, and Lieutenant Tucker, the British officer, who escaped alone the same night I did, was brought in. He, having on a civilian disguise, had made fine progress for four days, but, in order to dry his feet, had built a fire in the Black Forest, which was a dead giveaway. Two days later Captain Turner, Captain Newman’s partner, was brought in. He had been taken right on the border after fourteen days. All of us had escaped by the same route.

On the morning of the fifth day (August 13), I was sent with a transfer of British and American prisoners to Karlsruhe, where we were taken to the prison-camp. As we entered, we went through a little building and were searched to the skin. They took all equipment of every kind, including my flying-helmet, which left me bareheaded, in which state I remained for the balance of my imprisonment. Some of the fliers had on only flying-boots. They lost them also, which left them barefooted. In this way they collected lots of maps and compasses. All the money anyone had was taken up and he was given canteen money in its stead. (I, however, had been captured without a cent.) After that you were not supposed to have any other kind of money.

After being here two or three days, Conneau and I were called separately before the commanding officer and questioned on our escape from Rastatt. I answered all his questions truthfully, except as to how and just when I got out of the camp, which was, of course, the thing he wanted.

As to that I only told him that I had escaped without the implication of any of the guard. My answers were taken down in the form of a letter, which I was made to sign and which was sent to Rastatt. Before dismissing me, he complimented me. Flattery is their specialty. He asked me what was my civil profession before the war. When I answered him that I had just finished my training as a lawyer, he said, ‘Ah, I see! You know what to answer and what not to answer.’

About the 19th or 20th of August a transfer of eighteen British fliers and seven Americans, including myself, was started from Karlsruhe, by train, we knew not where. The Americans were Lieutenants Miller, Baker, Albertson. Floyd, Batty, and Pecham. We had for our guard a commissioned officer and eighteen men for the twenty-five of us. As we were taken out of the camp, we went through the search-house one at a time and were stripped to the skin just as we were on entering. We were allowed to have only two days’ rations of Red Cross food with us, and if any man had more, it was taken from him. They had had particular trouble with fliers, and did not want to take any more chances. They paraded the guard before us and made them load their guns in our presence.

After two days and one night on the train, we arrived at Landshut, in Bavaria, about forty kilometres north of Munich. At the station the Americans and the British were separated. The British were taken to a British camp, somewhere in the town, and we to an old castle on a high hill northwest of the town. We were met at the station by the interpreter, Feldwebel (SergeantMajor) Capp. It was a long winding climb up to the castle. Mr. Capp (as we later came to call him), with a detail of the guard, escorted us. The old castle, so Mr. Capp said, was begun in the eleventh century, and when we entered the portal it certainly appeared to be a formidable prison.

We were immediately put through a thorough search under the camouflage of a medical examination: probably that was a secondary purpose. We were taken, one at a time, into a long room, and required to take off all our clothes and walk over to another part of the room, where the Hun doctor, with a couple of assistants and Mr. Capp, looked us over to see whether we were physically O.K., and also to see if we had any maps or compasses hidden on our naked bodies. To examine your teeth properly, they had to look under your tongue. It was a thorough examination all right. They gave us an outfit of prison clothes, and questioned us on our health while we dressed. They retained our clothes for disinfection, so they said; but we had cause to believe that the real reason was to search them more closely. In spite of all this, however, Lieutenant Batty came through with his map of Germany. He had it stuck with adhesive tape under the bottom of his foot. When he stood stripped for the inspection, presumably medical, not even the cunning Hun had the slightest idea that he stood on the map of Germany. It was a good little map, and in less than a week the camp was so strewn with copies of it, that it would have been as impossible for the Germans to clear that camp of maps as it would be to bale the Mississippi dry with a pail.

The seven of us were then put in one room, where we were shut up from the others — quarantined, so they said. We were given food which in quality was much superior to any which the Germans had given us before this. This was in Bavaria, and Bavaria seemed to have more food than other districts. We were not given enough to satisfy our hunger, however, and shut up as we were, it was pretty bad. The following morning we were each given a loaf of sour black bread weighing about four pounds. Our eyes bulged at the sight of it, and our mouths watered; but we were informed that this was to be our bread-ration for ten days. I want to say right here that I certainly hold a high opinion of a man with sufficient will-power to make one loaf of bread hold out ten days under such circumstances. Being naturally of an indulgent nature, my bread was ‘out’ when the time was barely half gone. The little which remained of our Red Cross food, which we brought on the trip from Karlsruhe, was, after a most rigid examination, given to us, but it too was soon finished.

The day after our arrival they started a series of inoculations which eventually comprised three for typhoid, two for cholera, and the last, — a five-inone, — vaccination, which was given by cutting us in five places on the right shoulder with a knife. In my case, all five took, and I still carry the five scars as a bon souvenir.

This camp had for orderlies three Italians and one wounded Frenchman. The Italian orderlies serving the whole camp would secretly carry notes to and fro between us and the men outside. There were, when we arrived, twentytwo fliers in the camp. Among these were several boys whom I had known. The twelve men of the 96th Squadron who had been lost all in a bunch on July 10 were here. These were Major Brown, Lieutenants Browning, Lewis, Smith, McDonald, Rutterman, Duke, Tichenor, McChestney, Mellen,Tucker, and Strong. The others were Captain James N. Hall, Captain Williamson, Lieutenants Battle, Kidder, Wardle, Layson, Rhodes, Gile, Raymond, and Phyler.

These, with the orderlies, were all the prisoners in the camp. It was only aviators who had the choice pleasure of going through this camp and having themselves inoculated and vaccinated almost to death. A week or ten days after our arrival another transfer came in. They were Lieutenants Roberts, Todd, White, Whiton, Wells, Harvey, Conley, Hollingsworth, Gorman, and McElvain. A good many of the men going through with us were in the British Royal Flying Corps, but American by birth.

Of those who were there before us, Lieutenants Wardle, Miller, Tucker, and Strong were in solitary confinement in the civilian jail of the town. Lieutenant Wardle had made an attempt to escape from the train bringing him from Karlsruhe to Landshut. He had been caught by the guard from the train, and was very brutally handled. He served thirty-one days in jail, with a sentence of fourteen days. Lieutenants Miller, Tucker, and Strong served twenty-seven days, with only an eightday sentence. They had attempted to escape from this prison-camp a few days before our arrival. They had got outside the inner walls, but finding themselves inclosed by yet another wall, had surrendered. Major Brown and Lieutenant Battle were put in on suspicion only, and served ten or fifteen days.

The commanding officer of this and the British camp, Major —, was the most contemptible brute that I ever met. He usually stayed at the British camp, leaving us in charge of Mr. Capp. Whenever he visited us, however, there was ’hell to pay.’ He had to be saluted exactly according to his taste If he overheard a man whispering or making a noise at any time, he took it as an insult and went into a rage. He was as disagreeable as possible. He would dall us up and bawl us out in German every trip, and make Mr. Capp interpret it to us. He seemed to be in constant misery lest some of us should escape. He threatened everything imaginable in case of such an offense. He had our shoes taken up every night, and had our noses counted in bed at every change of guard all night long.

Mr. Capp, other than being a natural-born liar, as all Germans are, was a fairly reasonable man, and was himself often ashamed to carry out some of the orders of the major.

After a few days in our room, the seven of us had been let out with the others, and by degrees our clothes were given back to us. A good portion of the boys were by now receiving their parcels, and we had enough to eat. We would entertain ourselves in different ways, as well as we could in the limited space of the camp. I have a picture taken of the group, which I value as a rare souvenir.

One night the bunch put on a localtalent show. And, even penned up as we were, we had a good show and enjoyed it. We surprised ourselves at the talent we found in the bunch. We were entertained first by music from Lieuenant Rhodes on the guitar, — strung like a banjo because we had no banjo, and he was a talented banjo-player only, — Lieutenant Raymond on a violin, Captain Williamson on a mouthorgan, and Captain Hall on the SweetPotato Whistle. Lieutenant McChestney recited from ‘Service,’ Lieutenant Wells, who I know would make a hit on Broadway, gave a couple of solos, accompanied by Lieutenant Raymond on the violin. The crowd was then given a live song by five of the list, and the show was brought to a close by a cracker-eating contest, by Lieutenants Harvey and Battle. Lieutenant Harvey walked off with the victory, devouring his twelve crackers, which had been spared from our scanty supplies, and whistling, as required, between each two, in a manner which showed he enjoyed the privilege.

IV

During all this time the idea of escaping was always uppermost in my mind, and we were not idle.

Landshut was about 240 kilometres from the nearest point of the Swiss border. I knew that that was the biggest item, the walls of the old castle and the major with his precautions and threats included. This camp was very small, already cramped and crowded. I discovered that the Germans had intended to keep only a small number (less than fifty) of American fliers in this camp, until a big permanent camp was built there, or near there, for all American officers. We learned that American officers were being sent to Villingen. Major Brown, Lieutenant Wardle, and Lieutenant McDonald had been sent there from this camp. We did not absolutely know any of these things, but we had our reasons for believing them. Many more captured American fliers were coming. We concluded that men who had finished their inoculations would be transferred from here about as they came in, keeping the number down, and would probably be sent to Villingen. Major Brown, Lieutenant Wardle, and Lieutenant McDonald had been transferred after application to Mr. Pastor, on account of difficulty with the major. Through Lieutenant Browning, who acted as spokesman for us, I asked to be sent in the first transfer. I did not give my true reasons for wishing the transfer, but they were, that I knew where Villingen was located on t he map; that it was only 40 kilometres from the nearest point of the Swiss border; that I felt sure that I could in some way get out of any prison in Germany, and knew that, when I escaped, I would have a hundred times better chance of making Switzerland from Villingen than from Landshut, six times as far away.

My application was made about the 7th of September, and orders came for a transfer of ten, including my name, on the 12th. We did not know where we were going, but I had my hopes of Villingen.

During this time the restless spirit to escape was moving more than one of us. Each of us had drawn himself a copy of Lieutenant Batty’s map. Many had, by magnetizing a common needle, made for themselves makeshift compasses. We had discovered where, by cutting through two ordinary wooden walls, we could advantageously get to the walls about the castle, where it would be easy to get over them. With saws made from ordinary case-knives we had cut through one of these walls, and were working on the last one when we heard that the transfer was going to be made. Most of this work had been done by Lieutenant Batty and Lieutenant. Rhodes. I wish to say right here that, if any man ever worked to escape from Germany, it was Lieutenant Batty. Although he never succeeded in escaping, it certainly was not his fault. If the war had lasted, I feel sure that he would eventually have made it. Others in the party to escape as soon as the way was cut were Lieutenants Eloyd, Kidder, and Pecham. My vaccination had me out of condition for the time being, and I aided only by keeping watch while Batty worked. I hoped, however, to recover soon, and I was storing up supplies for the journey.

As soon as the news came of the transfer, I immediately dropped all thought of escaping from Landshut, and heralded the good news. The order also included Lieutenant Rhodes. About all who had applied, and the three yet in jail down town, were included, namely Captain Williamson, Lieutenants Rhodes, Tichenor, Rutterman, Albertson, Battle, Mellen, Tucker, Strong, and myself.

‘Dusty’ (Lieutenant Rhodes), on the other hand, did not wish to go. The way out of the camp was practically clear. He had got worked up in his plans to escape from here, and hated to abandon them. I counseled him that he should be glad to ride a train five sixths of the way to liberty.

He was disappointed, however, and in the hope of not being sent, he played sick on the morning of the 14th, when we were to go. He was undoubtedly the sickest-looking man I ever saw. He evidently was sick at having to abandon his plans, or he could n’t have looked so much so. Mr. Capp, however, said he must go, sick or not. I, though anxious to go, was still on the sick list from my vaccinations. He and I, therefore, were listed as sick, to receive special attention on the trip. I was also especially listed with the three men from jail, as men who had attempted to escape.

As soon as we were under way, ‘Dusty’ began thinking of escaping from the train. I advised him to wait until the train was somewhere in the neighborhood of Tuttlingen, where it would be nearest to the Swiss border. I told him that, though a little sick, I was good for a couple of days in the woods, and agreed to try it with him if he would wait. Tuttlingen is only about 25 kilometres from Switzerland at the nearest point, and our route at one place would come within less than 20 kilometres of the border.

On an ordinary cigarette-paper I had a map of this part of the country. In my housewife I had an ordinary-looking needle, which was a compass. This could be easily carried through almost any inspection. I had no idea, however, of trying to take even this map into the Villingen camp. If I did not make use of it before I got there, I would throw it away, because I knew that I could, and I can yet, draw one just as good from memory, if necessary, at any time. And I alway s so conducted myself that the Germans never even suspected that I wanted to escape until I had gone.

We were traveling in a fourth-class passenger car. These cars are not cut up into compartments like the betterclass ones, but are something like our street cars. They have a door at each end. The seats are fixed facing one another, however, in a manner which forms a group of six sitting spaces. We with our guard occupied the whole car. There were five of these six-place compartments, and narrower seats across the aisle.

’Dusty’ and I were together in the compartment nearest the end. He was restless and nervous. I tried to advise him: told him that he would draw the attention of the guard. I told him that I would n’t leave that train where we were, if it had stopped and the guards all went off chasing rabbits.

‘Dusty,’ however, was too restless to wait. The guard was not very strict at first, and during the night, a little out of Ulm, he snatched his opportunity and dashed from the train. Where he jumped was over a hundred miles from the Swiss border.

He made a beautiful getaway, dashing through the open door at our end of the car, between the sergeant and the officer of the guard who sat on either side, and jumping into the darkness from the moving train. So sudden and quick was his exit, that even I scarcely saw him. I was not aware of his intention to break just at that moment. In fact, I don’t, think his plan was formed one second before it was executed. I was lying on my seat, and he was returning to his, which was the one nearest the end. This brought him within two strides of the door, which was standing open; and seeing that the Germans on either side did not have their eyes on him, he stepped between them and was gone like a flash.

Instantly a rasping, hissing noise filled the car, like a dozen rattlesnakes in anger. Instantly those seven men, who had looked so peaceful and quiet a moment before, were as wild beasts. Each held his post with an expression in his eye of an animal in agony. The officer first moved. He jumped to the alarm signal to stop the train, at the same time throwing his pistol in the face of Lieutenant Battle, whom for some reason or other they seemed to suspect. The train stopped immediately, and two of his men went out. In a few moments they returned. He had gone. One of the men, seeing me lying where I had been all through the excitement, grabbed me by the back of the neck and set me up with a sarcastic, ‘Sick, eh!’ He thought that I too was onlypretending sickness, since my comrade had shown his cards.

‘Dusty’s’ dash for liberty was one that anyone would admire, and we all hoped he would get through. I had observed his rashness, however, and had my fears of his success. I knew that to cover that hundred miles in the enemy country required something more than sheer bravery and a willingness to take a chance.

After his escape, the ‘screws’ were put to us. Our shoes were taken from us, and we were crowded into two little compartments and were scarcely allowed to breathe.

(To be concluded)