History of the World/History of the World (Bureau Development, Inc.)(1992).BIN/dp/0469/04695.txt

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$Title{True Stories Of The Great War
In The Hands Of The Enemy - Experiences Of A Prisoner Of War}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{O'Rorke, Benjamin G.}
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$Subject{french
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$Date{1917}
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Title:       True Stories Of The Great War
Book:        In The Hands Of The Enemy - Experiences Of A Prisoner Of War
Author:      O'Rorke, Benjamin G.
Date:        1917
Translation: Benington, Arthur

In The Hands Of The Enemy - Experiences Of A Prisoner Of War

I - Story Of The Consecrated Swords

Told by Benjamin G. O'Rorke, M. A., Chaplain to the Forces

[This narrative reveals the actual scenes and experiences in a German prison
where this British chaplain was incarcerated.  He dedicates it "To my fellow
prisoners, who already during twelve months have borne disappointment with
patient resignation and insults with silent dignity: who have made the name of
Britain respected in the heart of Germany." Nearly the whole of the diary on
which this narrative is based was confiscated by the Germans when the writer
was searched for the last time before his release.  It was restored to him by
post a few weeks later, bearing the mark showing that it had been passed by
the censor.  The diary has been published complete by Longmans, Green and
Company.]

[Footnote *: All numerals relate to stories herein told - not to chapters
from original sources.]

     On Saturday, August 15, 1914, we entrained, whither we knew not.  The
railway officials either did not know or would not tell, but we were not
long before we discovered that our destination was Southampton.

     Here we spent a wearisome afternoon and evening at the docks,
embarking horses and wagons on board our transport, a cattle-boat named
Armenian, which has since been sunk by the Germans.  With us embarked
contingents of the 18th Hussars and 9th Lancers.  It was a calm journey,
and there were no signs of sea-sickness.  Pipes and cigarettes were freely
smoked, a good sign on the first day of a voyage.  Once more our
destination was kept a profound secret, even from the captain, until we
got well out to sea.  It being Sunday, we had a service on board, which
gave me a golden opportunity of addressing my flock for the first time.
Speaking on the text, "Whoso feareth the Lord shall not be afraid, and
shall not play the coward," Eccl. xxiv. 14 (R.V.), I reminded them that we
were setting out to take our part in the greatest war in history.

     After the service on deck, a number of officers and men, after the
example of the knights of old who consecrated their swords at the altar,
partook of the Holy Communion in the saloon.

     In the course of the afternoon we sighted the beautiful harbor of
Boulogne, where we landed.  "'Eep, 'eep, 'ooray!" called out the crowds of
French people who lined the pier and landing-stage to give us a hearty
welcome as their allies.  From the first moment we were made to feel at
home in France, and careful arrangements had been undertaken for our
comfort.  To every regiment a Frenchman was appointed as interpreter, many
of whom were educated men of good standing. . . .

     Strolling through the town, I passed the barracks where the Argyll
and Sutherland Highlanders were quartered.  True to their national
characteristic that "a Scotsman is never at home unless he is abroad,"
they appeared to have been at Boulogne for years, and already to be on
intimate terms with the townsfolk.  On the steps of the Post-Office was a
bareheaded woman in the act of posting a letter to her son at the front.
She spoke to me about him very tenderly, and it was obvious that all sorts
of good wishes and prayers were dropped into the letterbox with her
letter. . . .

     Flags were in evidence everywhere.  Men wore in their button-holes
the colors of France, Belgium, and England intertwined, and women pinned
them to their dresses.  Little children followed the soldiers about,
crying, "Souvenir, souvenir!" and pointed to their regimental badges.
After a while it was a rare sight to meet a soldier with a badge, or a
French woman or child without one.  The sole distinguishing mark between
one regiment and another was the design of the badge on cap and the
initials of the regiment on shoulder-strap drawn in indelible pencil.

     The next morning the march through the town to the station was little
short of a triumphal procession.  The most popular figure amongst us was a
diminutive soldier boy of the R.A.M.C., Trumpeter Berry.  Some of the
French women were with difficulty restrained from rushing out to kiss him.
The crowd around the station as we left, pressing against the railings
beyond which they were not permitted to go, gave us a send-off as
enthusiastic as the welcome had been.  Keepsakes, charms, blessings, and
prayers were bestowed upon us generously.  "Vive la France!" we shouted
from the railway carriage, and we heard, dying away in the distance, the
hearty response, "Vive l'Angleterre!"

     The Belgians in the villages through which we passed had already
begun to flee into France for protection.  A long line of refugees marched
with us, carrying such of their worldly goods as they could snatch up at
the last moment.  There were white-haired old men being wheeled along in
barrows, cripples limping as fast as they could go, hatless women with a
heavy bundle in one arm and an infant in the other, and by their side were
two or three little toddlers wondering what it was all about.  Behind were
the homes with all their associations of the past and with the last meal,
perhaps, still on the table untouched, so suddenly had the warning come.
When would they see those homes again?  If ever, probably as a heap of
ruins.  And in front, whither should they go? . . .

     Along the road they would have constant reminders that there was One
above who knew all about it, and would not leave them comfortless.  For at
irregular intervals by the roadside in Belgium and France there are
"Calvaries," little sanctuaries containing a figure of the Crucified One,
seeming to whisper to all who pass by, "I have trodden this path before
you."

II - With The Dying Soldiers At Landrecies

     The sun was well up before we set out on Tuesday, August 25.
Southwards again our direction lay; a strategic retirement, we were told.
Early in the evening we reached Landrecies.  Hardly had we passed the
outskirts of the town before a scare arose.  Civilians came tearing out of
Landrecies.  Motor cars and carts rushed past us at breakneck speed.  The
cry went up, "Les Allemands!" ("The Germans!") A certain peasant who for
the moment had lost control of himself whipped the horse which he was
driving into a gallop, deaf to the heartrending call of some children who
ran in panic after him begging him to give them a lift.  Out rushed a
footsore guardsman from one of the ambulance wagons, placed a rifle at his
head, and compelled him to stop and pick them up. . . .

     At about 8 p.m. we heard the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns and the
boom of field artillery.  The men of the Royal Army Medical Corps
meanwhile awaited the summons that did not come.  The rain came down in
torrents, and they lay down wherever they could find a sheltered spot.
Sleep for most of us was impossible.  The din of battle was terrific. . .
.

     I went at once in search of the Hon. Rupert Keppel and handed to him
Major Matheson's note.  He was in an upstairs room with five or six
wounded men.  He was lying on a bed with a bandage round his forehead, but
made light of the wounds which he had received.  After a few words and a
short prayer at each bedside, I made inquiries for Lord Hawarden.  I was
told that he was already dead, but I found him in a little room by
himself, still breathing although apparently unconscious.  He had lost his
left arm, and a portion of his back had been shot away.  I knelt down
beside him and commended him to God, saying in the form of a prayer as
from myself the hymn "Abide with Me." As I rose from my knees he opened
his eyes and smiled.  He had been asleep merely, and now began to speak
with quite a strong voice.  Not a word did he say about himself, or his
sufferings.  He talked about the battle, about his old home near Bordon,
which was within a couple of miles of my own home and formed a happy link
between us, and about his mother. . . .

     The other poor patients were terribly knocked about.  Limbs in some
cases had been entirely blown off by shells.  Lyddite had turned many
complexions to a jaundiced yellow.  And yet every man was clam and
resigned, and proud to have had a share in the fight. . . . A kindly
French priest was going from bed to bed saying comforting words in French.
Probably not one of the patients understood his words, but they all
understood and appreciated his meaning.

     Meanwhile the Germans began to appear on the canal bridge near the
hospital.  Major Collingwood went out to meet them, and they entered the
hospital with him.  The officer in charge of them, Herr Ruttner of Berlin,
shook hands with me and said that my work would not be interfered with,
and that I had his permission to go anywhere over the scene of battle in
search of the killed, and that I might bury them where most convenient.
He said he was personally acquainted with Sir Douglas Haig, who with Sir
John French had actually been in Landrecies the previous afternoon.  He
seemed disappointed not to find Sir Douglas there still, and desired to be
remembered to him.  By his orders the hospital was examined and all arms
and ammunition were removed.  A sentry was then placed at the gate.

     In the early morning of the next day, Thursday, August 27, the
gallant young Lord Hawarden died.  The medical officer who looked after
him said that he had never met a braver patient.  A party of twelve men,
under the command of Lieut. Hattersley, went with me to lay him to rest,
together with the two officers and men whose bodies had been placed in the
compound of the hospital.  We selected the best spot in the pretty little
cemetery of Landrecies.

III - On A Prison Train - Going To Germany

     We remained in Landrecies until Saturday, August 29, expecting daily
to be returned to our own people in accordance with the terms of the
Geneva Convention.  Our destination, however, was fated to be in the
opposite direction.  Under an escort of half a dozen German soldiers,
commanded by an under-officer, we marched out of the town, up the hill
where the battle had taken place, to Bavay.  It was a tiring journey for
the wounded men lying in ambulance wagons.  The Hon. R. Keppel was the
only wounded officer.  He traveled in a wagon with certain men of his
regiment, with whom he appeared to be on exceedingly friendly terms.  Two
of the occupants of that wagon had lost an arm each, and they were the
cheeriest of our party.

     It was dark when we reached Bavay, and everyone was tired out.  The
journey seemed to be quite twenty miles.  The first thing we did was to
see the wounded safely into the hospital, which was a young men's college.
M. L'Abbe J. Lebrun, the Superior, and his colleague were at the door to
welcome us.  I was at once taken into the English ward, and arrived just
in time to commend the soul of a dying man, a private of the 12th Lancers.
His officer - though wounded - had got out of bed to see the last of him,
and besought me as I entered to visit his dying comrade without delay.
His anxiety on his friend's behalf was a touching sight.

     On the morrow, Sunday, August 30, I held a service, at the request of
the patients, in the English ward.  I spoke on "Be of good cheer," or, as
we had so often heard it put by our French friends along the road, "Bon
courage." . . .

     At the funeral of the 12th Lancer that afternoon we had an imposing
procession.  The body was laid on a stretcher covered over with a Union
Jack and the French national flag.  I led the way before the coffin, robed
in a cassock and surplice which had been presented to me by a French
priest to replace my own lost robes.  After the coffin came the three R.C.
priests of the town and a number of the French Red Cross nurses; then
Major Collingwood and the men of the 4th Field Ambulance.  One of the
nurses, noticing that I had no stole, on returning from the funeral made
me one of black material with three white crosses, and presented it within
a couple of hours.

     The next day we were marched under escort to Mons.  This is a large,
well-built town of about 35,000 inhabitants.  We were paraded through the
cobbled streets to the barracks, then (evidently by a mistake) to the
station, and finally back again to the barracks, where, in some dirty
rooms over a filthy stable, we spent the night.  Here we met the Hon. Ivan
Hay, of the 5th Lancers, who had narrowly escaped being shot after his
capture by the Germans, but he was not allowed to accompany our party.
The following morning we were marched once more to the station, and were
bundled into the station-master's office, which was littered with looted
papers.  The men meanwhile were herded in a shed.  A sentry was posted at
the entrance of the station to prevent anyone going to the town.  Just
outside the station were the ambulance wagons and our servants.  Whyman,
my soldier-servant, was amongst them with my horse.  That was the last I
saw of either of them.  I parted from them with a very sad heart.

     During the afternoon an ill-mannered under-officer bade us hand over
knives, razors, and sticks.  At 6 p.m. we were entrained with about 1,000
wounded, of whom some forty or fifty were ours, the rest being Germans.
The train must have been a quarter of a mile long.  In the middle of the
night we passed through Brussels, and in the early morning through Louvain
and Liege.  Louvain seemed to be a heap of ruins; hardly a house visible
from the station was intact . . . . We looked with great interest upon
Liege as we passed through it, and recalled the gallant defence of the
town by the Belgians.  A few more miles brought us over the border into
Germany.

     At Aachen a hostile demonstration took place at our expense.  There
happened to be a German troop train in the station at the time.  A soldier
of our escort displayed a specimen of the British soldier's knife, holding
it up with the marline-spike open, and declared that this was the deadly
instrument which British medical officers had been using to gouge out the
eyes of the wounded Germans who had fallen into their vindictive hands!
From the knife he pointed to the medical officers sitting placidly in the
train, as much as to say, "And these are some of the culprits." This was
too much for the German soldiers.  They strained like bloodhounds on the
leash.  "Out with them!" said their irate colonel, pointing with his thumb
over his shoulder to the carriages in which these bloodthirsty British
officers sat.  The colonel, however, did not wait to see his behest
carried out, and a very gentlemanly German subaltern quietly urged his men
to get back to their train and leave us alone.  The only daggers that
pierced us were the eyes of a couple of priests, a few women and boys, who
appeared to be shocked beyond words that even a clergyman was amongst such
wicked men.  The enormity of the crimes which had necessitated my capture
I could only conjecture from their looks.

     At Dusseldorf we crossed the Rhine - a beautiful sight.  At Essen I
was permitted to visit one of our wounded men who was dying of tetanus.
The unfortunate patients lay in rows on the floor of luggage vans, with
straw beneath them.  When the train stopped at a station the doors of
these vans were sometimes flung open in order that the crowd might have a
look at them. . . .

     Even the Red Cross ladies at the stations steeled their hearts
against us, giving us not so much as a cup of coffee or a piece of bread.
But for the haversack rations and chocolate, which most of us carried with
us, we should have fared badly.  Now, however, we were to receive our
first meal from our captors.  This consisted of a plate of hot soup and a
slice of bread and butter, which we ate ravenously.  Two kind ladies
brought us this food, and we were duly grateful.  One of them was standing
near me as we ate the meal, and I thanked her cordially in English.  She
paid no attention, so I asked her if she understood English.  "I do, but I
don't mean to," was her laconic reply, which seemed highly to amuse my
companions. . . .

     At length, on Friday morning, the journey came to an end on our
arrival at Torgau.  We were ordered out of the train and drawn up on the
platform in fours.  Each officer carried what articles of clothing he
possessed.  Several of them had preserved their medical panniers, and,
heavy as these were, they had to be carried or left behind.  On either
side of us a German guard with fixed bayonets was drawn up, and then was
given the word, "Quick march!" With our bundle on our shoulder, there was
no man could be bolder, yet this same bundle and the burning sun prevented
there being anything "quick" about our march.  The townsfolk evidently had
heard that we were coming, and they were at the station gate in scores to
show us how pleased they were to welcome us to their town.  In fact, they
told us quite freely what they thought of us and the nation which we
represented.  They walked beside us every inch of the way, keeping up our
spirits by telling us the particular kind of Schweinhunds they believed
the Englander to be.  Not until they had crossed the massive bridge which
spans the Elbe and reached the Bruckenkopf fortress did they turn back
home, and the doors of the fortress closed behind us.

IV - Story Of Prison Life At Torgau

     Passing over the moat through two iron doors, we enter a courtyard,
about 100 yards long by 40 broad.  Facing the gateway is a semi-circular
building two stories high, with an entrance at either end and one in the
centre.  A turret with windows and battlements surmounts each entrance;
and from the central turret rises a flag-pole. . . .

     The commandant was a Prussian reservist officer with a long heavy
moustache.  We were told that he was courteous and considerate in every
respect, and that, provided we took care to salute him whenever we passed
him, we should find him everything we could reasonably wish.

     Supper was at 6 P.M.  The same plate did duty for both courses, soup
and meat, the more fastidious taking it under the pump in the interval.
When the meal was over the junior members of the messes did the washing
up.  After supper we walked a mile, as the old adage recommends.  We soon
knew to a nicety how many turns round the court made up this distance, and
some active spirits improved on the advice by walking several miles.  At
8:30 a bugle sounded, and everyone had to retire to his room; at 9 sounded
"lights out."

     That first night was memorable for the little occupants which we
found already in possession of our beds.  Just when we hoped we had
finished our labours for the day these little bed-fellows began theirs.
The more we wanted to sleep, the more wakeful they became.  Scratching,
tossing, and - it must be owned - a little mild swearing could be heard,
where snoring would have been much more tolerable. . . .

     At 6 A.M. reveille sounded, and before it was finished Major Yate was
up and out of bed.  I followed his example, and then the two of us began a
practice which we kept up while the warm weather lasted, namely, a cold
bath under the pump in the solitude of the courtyard.

     Poor Major Yate!  He attempted to escape ten days later, and lost his
life in so doing.  One of the sentries affirmed that he shot him as he
made his way through the barbed wire, and that the Major fled wounded into
the river, from which he never came forth alive. . . . He has since been
awarded posthumously the Victoria Cross for his gallantry in the campaign.

     .  .  .  .  .  .

     We selected as our chapel the passage over the entrance at one end of
the building.  There was an inspiring atmosphere about that first service.
Our altar was a dormitory table, our altar linen a couple of white
handkerchiefs, our chalice a twopenny wine-glass (the best we could could
procure), our paten an ordinary dinner-plate.  Pews, of course, there were
none, and as for books, we were fortunate enough to have one, a hymn-book,
prayer-book, and Bible bound together in a single volume, which I was
carrying in my haversack at the time we were captured.  The pew difficulty
was overcome by each officer bringing his stool.  The lack of books made
no difference to the heartiness of the service, for the hymns and chants
were familiar to most of us from childhood.  The mighty volume of sound
that went up that morning in hymns of thankfulness and praise was a
never-to-be-forgotten sensation to those who heard it or joined in it.
The place whereon we stood was holy ground, and it was good for us to be
there. . . .

     As time went on, our numbers increased to about 230 British officers,
and 800 French officers joined us from Maubeuge, including four generals.
One of the latter had been interned in Torgau before, in the 1870 war, and
had made good his escape.  The authorities guarded against the recurrence
of such an eventuality on the present occasion, their most elaborate
precaution being the enlistment of dogs to reinforce the sentries.  Their
barkings could be heard occasionally by night, but their presence
disturbed neither our repose nor our equanimity. . . .

     During the last two months of our stay at Torgau I occupied a small
room in the centre of the building with Major (now Lieut.-Col.) A. G.
Thompson, Major W. H. Long, and Captain P. C. T. Davy, of the R.A.M.C., as
companions.  Like the Hindus, we divided ourselves into exclusive castes,
as far as the necessary duties in connection with the room were concerned.
The Colonel (as we may call him by anticipation) lit the stove, the Major
washed the cups and saucers, the Captain swept the floor, and I, with the
assistance of a member of our mess, brought in the coal.

     We often dreamt and spoke of the day when we should march out of
Torgau.  There were two destinations only which came within the range of
our contemplation - one was Berlin, and the other was England.  Meanwhile,
however, there was a place of four short letters which was to be our home
for six long months.

     (The chaplain continues to relate his experiences in this German
prison with many interesting anecdotes.  He tells about the prison
occupations, how they spent their time in work and recreation, and
describes his parole and visits to several internment camps.)