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CHAPTER XXX
AN ALSATIAN NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER

In a preceding chapter, I referred to an officer at the Kommandantur by the name of Wolff. He was a German Jew who could “give points” to Prussians! He displayed a large number of decorations, among which one noticed the emblem of a Turkish Order worn in the centre of the abdomen! Amongst ourselves we frequently made fun of this barrel-bellied officer, carrying a kind of crescent on his front! I wish to relate here an incident in which I was a participant:

Every Tuesday and Friday, during the last year of my captivity, I was allowed, as the reader knows, to take a walk in the Tiergarten accompanied by a non-commissioned officer of the jail. Orders had been given, however, that my escort was never to be a non-commissioned officer named Hoch, an Alsatian. In the course of my conversation with Hoch, I had frequently expressed a desire to have him some day for my walking companion. He was quite willing, but the sergeant-major, in this instance, had the whole say and Hoch was not called upon for a long time to be my guardian. In the month of August, 1917, however, Hoch was requested to accompany me on my promenade in the park.

The instructions which had been given to the jail officials concerning me were very strict. I was not supposed to know that, but I knew it perfectly well. The non-commissioned officer, it had been ordered, was to leave the jail with me at two o’clock, proceed to the nearest urban railway station–that is to say about 300 feet from the jail–then board a train and go direct to the park. The promenade was to be made “inside” the park. I was not to be allowed to walk “outside,” neither to talk to anyone nor enter any other place.

On the afternoon I now speak of we had just left the jail, when I proposed to Hoch that we walk through the streets in order that I might buy a few cigars. Hoch willingly acceded to my request and we entered Koenig street. We bought some cigars, and from this street we crossed to Unter-den-Linden avenue, which leads directly to Brandenburg Gate which opens on the Tiergarten. I mention these details to show that we took the shortest route from the jail to the garden.

On Unter-den-Linden avenue we suddenly found ourselves face to face with Captain Wolff, of the Kommandantur. The officer knew me well, having met me four or five times at the jail, where he came every week to take the statements of prisoners who, through petitions or otherwise, had complained of the treatment inflicted upon them.

He advanced towards me and spoke thus:

“You are going for a walk in the garden?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I carried a small parcel in my hand.

“And,” said he, “you make some little purchases when you go out of jail?”

I thought it well to answer affirmatively.

“Au revoir!” said he sharply, and went his way.

I noticed that my Alsatian escort was very much annoyed by this accidental meeting. He remained taciturn all the way back to the jail.

Two days elapsed and Officer Block then came to my cell, anxiety being written all over his face.

“You went out this week?” he inquired.

“Yes, on Tuesday.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the park.”

“Did you go to any other place?”

“No.”

“This is strange,” he said. “I have just received from the Ober-Kommando a document which contains a single phrase to the following effect: ‘Why have instructions been transgressed in the case of Dr. Beland?’”

I feigned bewilderment. I could not understand how we could have transgressed the orders, for, I remarked, we went direct from the jail to the Tiergarten.

“Did you meet anyone?” asked the officer.

“Yes.”

“Who was it?”

“Captain Wolff, of the Kommandantur.”

“Ah!” said he, “there is the whole story. Where did you meet him?”

“On Unter-den-Linden avenue.”

“On Unter-den-Linden avenue!” the officer cried; “on Unter-den-Linden avenue?”

“Yes, and what harm was done?” I demanded. “Am I not allowed to promenade within the limits of the park? How can I get there more direct than by following Unter-den-Linden avenue?”

“Ah!” said he, “that is true, but it is not according to the orders we have received.”

And he thereupon explained how, under these instructions, I was to go to the park, accompanied by a non-commissioned officer, by urban train without however passing through the streets. He added that while I was not supposed to know these instructions, the non-commissioned officer would be punished if he “ignored them.” I expressed regret to see a fine fellow like Non-Commissioned Officer Hoch implicated in the matter. He agreed that Hoch was a dutiful man as a rule.

The idea at once occurred to me of saving Hoch from punishment if it were possible. I accordingly asked the officer to delay his answer to the Ober-Kommando for an hour. Having granted the request, he left me and I immediately went to the room of Non-Commissioned Officer Hoch.

Directly he saw me he realized that something was wrong.

“We are having some annoyances,” he said.

“Yes, but the matter is not very serious. This is the trouble we have to face.”

I related what had just taken place between the officer and myself, whereupon the poor non-commissioned officer, lifting his arms, exclaimed: “I am done for!”

“No, no,” I said, “I assure you that all is not lost. There is a means to arrange matters.”

“How?” he asked.

“Well, according to regulations, one day each week you spend the afternoon in town. Let us suppose,” I said, “that the afternoon the instructions concerning me were read by the sergeant-major, you were absent.”

“Ah!” replied Hoch; “but I was present.”

“I am not asking you,” I said, “if you were present. I am affirming that you were absent…”

“Very well,” said he, “but the sergeant-major will remember that I was present.”

“I will attend to this,” I said. “For the time being we will take it that you were absent when the instructions were read.”

I left him, and proceeded to the sergeant-major’s room. This officer was at that time a sick man, and had consulted me three or four times about some kidney trouble he was suffering. He was surprised to see me and asked the reason for my visit.

“Well,” I said, “you remember the famous instructions concerning me? Three months ago, when you read them to the non-commissioned officers, Non-Commissioned Officer Hoch was out on his afternoon leave, was he not?”

“That is true,” he said.

“Well, on my last outing, I asked him to pass along Koenig street with me, and he consented.”

“Then there was no offence,” said the sergeant-major.

“Certainly not,” I agreed. “There is need only for a little explanation.”

I went on speaking of other matters, particularly of his illness, and leaving him then I hurried off to see Officer Block. I explained to him that when the instructions concerning myself were read three months previously Non-Commissioned Officer Hoch was absent.

“Well,” he said, “I will report in that sense.”

We waited four days for the outcome of this explanation, and during this time Hoch was in terrible fear. He imagined himself condemned to the dungeon or sent back to the trenches where three of his brothers had been killed.

Finally, on the fourth day, Lieutenant Block told me he had received the answer from the Ober-Kommando. “The explanation,” the document stated, “is satisfactory, but Non-Commissioned Officer Hoch must be severely reprimanded.”

“I hope the reprimand will not be too severe,” I ventured to say.

Lieut. Block did not reply. A German officer never commits himself when discipline is in question.

He left me, and a few minutes later the Alsatian non-commissioned officer was summoned before him. The following colloquy took place between them:

“Non-Commissioned Officer Hoch?”

“Yes, my Lieutenant.”

“You went out with prisoner Beland last week?”

“Yes, my Lieutenant.”

“You passed along Koenig street and Unter-den-Linden avenue?”

“Yes, my Lieutenant.”

“You know now that this was against the instructions received?”

“Yes, my Lieutenant.”

“I reprimand you severely.”

“Very well, my Lieutenant.”

“You may go.”

“Very well, my Lieutenant.”

And Hoch turned on his heels and disappeared.

The next minute he was in my cell, laughing in his sleeve at the happy turn of events in the adventure.

One can see that the whole trouble resulted from an excess of zeal on the part of the notorious Wolff.

CHAPTER XXXI
IN HOLLAND AND IN ENGLAND

I had enjoyed for two days the charming hospitality of Holland when I was invited to visit the British General Consulate at Rotterdam. The previous day I was at The Hague, where I registered at the British Legation. Responding now to the invitation I left my hotel at ten o’clock and called at the General Consulate at Rotterdam. Here I was informed that it had been arranged that I should leave Holland on the following day en route for England, the voyage across the Channel to be made in a hospital ship. I remarked that it would be quite impossible for me to leave Holland so soon.

“Why?” I was asked.

“Because,” I answered, “I received in Berlin the assurance that my daughter–who had been in Belgium for three years, and to whom the German authorities have up to the present time refused permission to leave–will receive a passport for the frontier of Holland. I must, therefore, wait until she arrives from Belgium.”

“But,” said the young officer in charge, “this will not do. The Legation expects that you will leave for England to-morrow. I would suggest, as we have only incomplete information on this subject, that you go to The Hague and discuss the matter there.”

The same afternoon I proceeded to the British Legation at The Hague, where I had the pleasure of meeting a charming officer of the British Navy. He explained that it was quite true that I was expected to leave for England the next day. I again urged my objection to this course.

“Am I not, after all, the one most concerned in this question of repatriation?” I asked him. “It is of the utmost importance that I should stay in Holland until the arrival of my daughter, who has been detained for so long in Belgium. It will be almost impossible for me to maintain correspondence with her from England.”

The gallant officer admitted that from this point of view my presence in Holland was likely to be more useful and effective than if I were in England.

“At the same time,” he said, “you seem to overlook the fact that your case is a special one. You have been exchanged for a German prisoner in England.”

“I know this,” I answered.

“Well, then,” the officer continued, “this German prisoner whose liberty has been conceded in exchange for your release cannot leave England until you arrive there.”

Whatever spirit moved me, I could not help feeling a certain amount of satisfaction at hearing this explanation.

“Is what you have said quite true?” I asked.

“Assuredly,” was the answer.

“Then,” I said, “why should I not let him stew in his own juice for a time? Two years ago I was informed when in jail that I was then to be liberated. They kept me in a state of anxious expectation for more than two weeks and then shattered my hopes for freedom. I quite approve your efforts to persuade me to proceed immediately to England, but you may take my word for it that I have not the slightest intention to leave Holland to-morrow, nor the day after, nor before, as a matter of fact, such time as the German authorities have released my daughter, who is detained in Belgium. You may inform the British authorities that, in this question of exchange, the most interested party declares himself satisfied that I consider myself sufficiently ‘exchanged’ to allow, if they think proper, the German prisoner to leave England. On the other hand, if the British Government consider it proper to retain its German prisoner until I arrive in England, I make no pretence to hide the fact that I shall feel an extreme satisfaction at the manner in which affairs have turned.”

The officer smiled and assured me that he would at once telegraph the result of our conversation to the British authorities.

I learned, however, that two weeks later on Von Buelow, who had been Krupp’s representative in England before war was declared, and who had been detained in that country since the outbreak of hostilities, had arrived in Holland on his way to Germany. Von Buelow was the prisoner whom the British Government had consented to liberate in exchange for me. Three weeks later my daughter was liberated from Belgium. We met, after a separation of three years, at Rosendaal, and for the next three weeks, happy in our regained liberty, we enjoyed in a delicious atmosphere hospitality of this charming country, moving freely amongst the worthy Dutch population and admiring their old customs and strange garb. They were days of happiness never to be forgotten.

However, the hour when we would resume the journey towards our Canadian home would soon be at hand. Breathing the pure air of liberty, soul o’erflowing with a desire to see once more those landscapes of America we had not seen for four years, we proceeded to make the necessary preparations for crossing the North Sea to England.

For eighteen months these waters had been infested with pirates. Hereabouts the German submarines had two principal bases–one in Kiel Bay and the other at Zeebrugge. From these two points, and particularly from Zeebrugge, the German pirates could, in a few hours, menace an area as far as the English coast as well as the Rotterdam-Harwich sea route. This was their zone of operations par excellence.

And well we knew it! We had discussed the danger with Canadian officers, whose guests we were at Sheveningen where they had established for themselves the next best residence to a home. Here I was introduced by the gallant Major Ewart Osborne, of Toronto, and I have a very happy recollection of the few hours I spent there with him and his comrades.

We discussed submarines; we talked of Canada, and ventured to speculate as to the possible epoch of their return.

The British Admiralty had entire charge of the postal and passenger service between England and Holland. Convoys went and convoys came; that is all we could tell. As to the hour of departure, the point of embarkation, the names of the steamers, the route to be followed, the port of arrival, passengers were kept in the most complete ignorance.

When a permit to cross to England was obtained, the traveler had to present himself every day between eleven o’clock and noon for instructions. Thus we paid daily visits at this hour to the British Consulate at Rotterdam. This went on for one week and then we were told verbally, and secretly, to board a train at a certain station, at a given hour.

We were, of course, delighted. We had left the Consulate barely five minutes, and were waiting on the platform of a tramway station, when an individual approached and addressing me in perfect English, with an accent peculiar to a London citizen, said:

“At what hour do we leave?”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Yes, at what hour do the steamers leave? I forget if it is this afternoon or to-night,” he replied.

“I do not know to what steamers you refer,” I said.

“I refer to the steamers on which ‘we’ are to cross to England,” he answered.

Holland during the war was literally overrun with German spies.

We knew this, because at the hotel in Rotterdam, where I stayed for a few weeks, “congenial” persons took advantage of any and every pretext to engage in conversation with me. I had been warned on my first visit to the Consulate against these “friends.”

When my interlocutor asked the first question I nearly fell into the trap. I was about to give him the information he sought when a suspicion flashed through my mind and put me on my guard.

To his last question, therefore, I answered, in a confidential manner:

“Exactly one week from to-day, at six o’clock a.m.”

“That was what I thought I understood,” said the man masquerading as an Englishman. His remark removed all doubts from my mind. I had been speaking to a spy.

On this day, June 30, travelers who had permits to cross to England proceeded towards Hoch Van Holland, where we arrived at seven o’clock in the evening. Five passenger ships awaited us at the wharf. We went on board, but no one knew the hour of departure–not even the ship’s officers, we were told.

Saturday night, Sunday, and Sunday night passed and the boats remained there. Not until a radiograph message was received could we leave Holland. Finally the expected message came, and at eleven o’clock on Monday morning we sailed from the mouth of the Meuse River. The convoy of five ships bearing thousands of passengers of all ages and conditions slowly advanced northwards, nursing the side coast of Holland until we reached Sheveningen. At this point we turned to the west and our boats headed towards England. We were barely out of the Dutch waters when, suddenly, a cloud of smoke appeared at the horizon in front of us.

What was it? We did not know. This black spot, hardly perceptible, grew bigger and advanced towards us. It was the convoy which left England that morning and was now entering the waters of Holland.

What a grand spectacle it was! Twenty-four ships in three lines cut through the waves, each ship vomiting thick black smoke. In the centre, preceded by a daring cruiser, were the seven ships bearing passengers. On either side were eight leviathans of the sea, boats of a particular model. They ploughed the waters in all directions, seeking an enemy whom they would devour!

After some seemingly fine disorder there were exchanges of signals, a run to right here, a run to left there–the whole business taking but three minutes–the outlook was clear again. Seven passenger ships were sailing in security along the Dutch coasts, the protecting warships, seventeen in number, had turned back. The majestic convoy proceeding west, and modeled on the one which had just come east, was negotiating the passage of the most dangerous zone in the North Sea.

All went well until two o’clock in the afternoon. Then a mine field was signaled. Some of the mines, not completely submerged, could be seen on the surface of the water. They looked like so many soft felt hats. Cruisers and torpedo boats at once came into action. Their marvelous artillery men pointed their guns and fired. A second afterwards a terrific explosion from a mine, accompanied by a column of water shooting up towards the sky, told us that the aim had been accurate. After an hour’s running fire we had crossed the mine field, and were proceeding at good speed towards England, whose lights we saw at about nine o’clock. We were due to arrive at the mouth of the Thames at dusk.

From all sides were heard tributes of high admiration for this marvelous service of protection, extending over the world’s seas and maintained unceasingly, without rest or respite, by the intrepid sailors of the British navy!

We were about to cross the line of the two powerful lights, which marked the limit of the waters frequented by the submarine pirates, when the seventeen warships approached quite near, as though to embrace us. Then, after exchanging a few signals, quickly, silently, they half turned round and were lost sight of in the offing. On the high sea, in the dark of the night, they went to fulfill another mission of humanity and protection. And each and every one of these brave sailors carried with him the homage of our unbounded gratitude and admiration.

On July 2, 1918, we arrived in England, and the inspection which I had dreaded so much on account of the numerous written works I had brought with me from Germany was of the most simple kind. At the inspection office at Gravesend, where I had the advantage of meeting some of the chief officials, they showed themselves exceedingly conciliating and accommodating towards me. They did not delay my journey to London, and promised that all my papers, documents, letters, etc., should be returned to me at the capital through the office of the High Commissioner of Canada. There was a big trunk full of these documents, and I wish here to acknowledge the courtesy of the officials and to thank them for having kept their word so punctually and considerately.

Of my sojourn of four weeks in London I must mention three events which will always remain impressed on my memory. The first, of course, is the gracious invitation I received from his Majesty the King to visit him at Buckingham Palace. On the day arranged, at noon, I had the very great honor to be received by the King with a courtesy and a kindness which deeply moved me. It was impossible not to notice on his Majesty’s features marks of the anxiety and disquietude he had borne during the past four years. It was at the time of the new and terrible offensive of the Germans in Champagne, and it was also–though hoping for it we did not then know it–the signal for the counter-offensive which was to lead the allied armies from one success to another and so on to the definite breakdown of the German military machine.

I took leave of his Majesty, but not without asking leave to express to him, on behalf of his French-Canadian subjects particularly, our congratulations and best wishes on the occasion of the twenty-fifth anniversary of his wedding, which had been celebrated the day previous at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

It was at about this time that I had the pleasure of meeting, after about four years’ separation, my stepson, an officer in the Belgian army, who had obtained leave of absence to come from the battlefields of Flanders to meet me in England. I had been accompanied from Holland by the second son of my wife. He had, at great risk to his life, crossed the electrical barrier which separated Belgium from Holland. His purpose was now to enter the Belgian army. The two brothers met for the first time in four years in the hall of a London hotel, and a few days afterwards both left England together and resumed duty on the fields of battle.

A few days before the date fixed for my passage to Canada I received from General Turner an invitation to visit the Canadian camps at Frencham Pond and Bramshott. At Frencham Pond we saw the troops who had recently arrived from Canada. Here they received their first military training in England. They were afterward transferred to Bramshott, where their military education was completed.

At both places it was my privilege to address a few words to the Canadian troops, and to congratulate them on their fine deportment, which, I may add, excited general admiration alike in England and France. The day I spent with our Canadian officers and soldiers will remain one of the happiest remembrances of my life. More especially, I shall never forget the impression created by the march-past of the 10th Canadian Reserve Regiment (French-Canadian), Col. Desrosiers taking the salute. One could not witness such a demonstration without feeling throughout his whole being a thrill of enthusiasm and admiration.

I sought to express to the men the pride and gratitude we felt towards them, and I promised to bring back to the Canadian people the message I could plainly read on their faces, which may be thus expressed: Courage, Patience, and Confidence in Victory.

As I write these lines the exploits of these brave Canadians, without distinction of race, have been crowned with success–have been enveloped in immortal glory. Victory, so long doubted, is reflected in all its radiance in the folds of their flag. All honor to them! History will record their deeds and heroism in letters of gold.

And the memory of those who have made the supreme sacrifice will be enshrined throughout this land with perpetual flowers, whilst the incense of our gratitude will continue to ascend until the last drop of the majestic rivers of Canada has rolled by their mournful homes on its way to the sea. Let us bow our heads to those who return from the mighty struggle and honor the memory of the still more glorious who, enveloped in the love of Britain, France and Canada, repose in the soil, witness of their exploits.