A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XXIII

  At Dueren Camp

  When he recovered consciousness Malcolm Carr found himself lying ona bundle of straw in an advance dressing-station. He was puzzledgreatly. He could not imagine how he came there, or why he should bethere at all. He had no recollection of being lifted by the blast ofa shell. Somehow things didn't seem quite right.

  Gradually the chain of events during the last few hours connecteditself. He remembered the stand of C Company; being sent off by theplatoon-commander with an urgent message; blundering into thehostile lines; being made prisoner and attempting to escape.

  "And now I've got a buckshie," he decided. "Wonder where I am?"

  He raised his head and looked around. The effort sent a throbbingpain from the base of his neck to his spine. He felt bruised allover, while his left arm was tightly bandaged from elbow to wrist. Astrange, almost uncanny silence seemed everywhere, and yet the placewas teeming with activity.

  The dressing-station was in the open. The ground was crowded withbundles of straw and stretchers, each occupied by a helpless humanbeing. More stretchers were constantly arriving with their ghastlyburdens. Men slightly wounded were staggering in, covered with dust,and looking utterly dejected. Not one had a smile upon his face.

  Malcolm had seen an advance dressing-station more than once, wherecasualties were arriving after a stiff engagement. Then he had beenstruck by the cheerfulness shown by most of the men. Even the badlywounded were elated, for the day had gone well, and they were happyin the knowledge that the stiff task imposed upon them had beenbrilliantly accomplished. But things seemed different here.

  In front of a partly demolished barn, over which was flying a GenevaCross flag, covered ambulance motors were being filled up withwounded, who, their injuries attended to, were being dispatched tothe base hospital. To Malcolm's bewilderment, the powerful motorsstarted in absolute silence, while the heavy wheels made no sound asthey jolted over the _pave_.

  Gradually the sensation of dizziness diminished, and it dawned uponMalcolm that he was still a prisoner. Everywhere the field-greyuniforms were conspicuous, but even that discovery did not explainthe deep silence.

  Making another effort, the rifleman sat up. The blanket that coveredhim had slipped off. From the waist upwards he was destitute ofclothing. His skin was as yellow as that of a Chinese.

  On the straw to his right was a Hun whose right leg had been badlyinjured. The man was trying to attract Malcolm's attention, butalthough his lips were moving no words fell upon the lad's ears.

  In vain the New Zealander tried to reply. If he spoke he was unawareof it. The sound of his own voice was absent. He was deaf and dumb.

  When Malcolm was thrown by the concussion of the bursting shell, healighted in the trench he had left, unconscious, his uniform partlytorn off, and his face and body dyed with the yellow fumes. In thisstate he lay insensible for several hours. When the bombardmentcleared, the threatened infantry assault did not materialize. It wasnot intended that it should, the object of the artillery activitybeing to keep the Germans pinned to that section of their defenceswhile other operations were being carried out in another part of theline. So, when the guns died down to a desultory shelling, the Hunsset to work to clear up the badly-damaged trenches.

  While the wounded were being removed, a couple of Prussian Poles,who were employed as ambulance-men, placed Malcolm on a stretcher,and threw a discarded greatcoat over his legs, not realizing that hewas an enemy, since the remnants of his khaki uniform wereindistinguishable from the field-grey after they had been "chromed"by the fumes of bursting shells. Otherwise it is doubtful whetherthe stretcher-bearers would have removed a wounded enemy. Withoutthe discovery being made, the New Zealander was taken to the Germanadvance dressing-station, and his injuries dressed, and thus hefound himself wounded and a prisoner.

  It was later in the evening when Malcolm was taken bymotor-ambulance to a railway station twenty miles behind the lines.With him were about twenty Prussians, Saxons, and Wuertemburgers,whose demeanour was one of extreme dejection. Their wounds, althoughserious, were not of a nature to debar them from further militaryservice. They realized that they were going to be patched up inorder to be again sent to the front, more than likely to theterrible Ypres district. Now that they were wounded they bemoanedthe fact that their injuries were not greater, and envied those oftheir comrades who were permanently disabled and unfit for furtherservice in the field.

  "Wonder what Fortescue would say if he saw me in these togs?"thought Malcolm as he surveyed the German greatcoat and trouserswith which he was provided on arriving at the station. "And Selwyn?'Not too much of that, Digger'--that's what he'd chuck at me. Ishouldn't be surprised if the Huns take me for one of themselves."

  Which was exactly what they were doing.

  For two hours the ever-increasing throng of wounded waited in thestation. Momentarily men dropped, to be left to the rough-and-readyattentions of their comrades. The few doctors and their assistants,utterly fatigued by reason of the long and continual strain, werealmost useless as far as their duties were concerned. Once again theGerman machine of thoroughness and precision had broken down.

  At last a hospital train drew up just outside the station. ToMalcolm's surprise the Red Cross carriages disgorged a battalion offully-equipped troops. Fearing attacks from British airmen, theGerman High Command had given orders that, as far as possible,troops were to be moved toward the Front in hospital trains, while,to bring up additional machine-guns with the least danger and delay,the motor-ambulances, still displaying the symbol that allunkultured nations respect, were employed to their utmost capacity.

  The train then ran into the station, and the entrainment of thewounded commenced. Beyond the red cross on the sides and tops of thecarriages there was nothing to distinguish the train from any other.Marshalled in military formation, the "walking cases" boarded thecarriages, which were similar to the fourth-class compartments ofthe German State Railways--hard wooden seats not excepted.

  Of the next twelve hours Malcolm had no clear recollection. Frequentstoppages were the only respite to the otherwise incessant jolting.At one station very inferior bread and watery soup were served out.Beyond that the wretched "cannon-fodder" went hungry until the traindrew up at a large town that Malcolm afterwards knew to beFrankfort.

  Here the conditions in hospital were passable, although food waspoor and meagre; but Rifleman Carr made progress, and in less than aweek he had recovered from the effect of his wounds except for hisspeech and hearing.

  Several times doctors and nurses wrote questions for him to answer,but, not understanding German, he could only shake his head. Takenfor a Saxon suffering from shell-shock, he was afterwards leftseverely alone as far as conversation was concerned.

  One morning an orderly went round the ward distributing postcards toenable the patients to write to their relations and friends.

  "Wonder if I can get a letter through to New Zealand?" thoughtMalcolm. "I'll have a cut at it anyhow."

  Greatly to the curiosity of an observant nurse, the lad obtained apostcard, and wrote to his father, signing himself "R/m 99,109,Malcolm Carr, N.Z.R.B., prisoner of war."

  The nurse, puzzled that the patient could write and yet be unable toread, called a doctor's attention to the fact, and Malcolm'spostcard was kept back for examination.

  Within five minutes the hospital ward was in a state of uproar, forthe discovery had been made that an enemy was enjoying the sametreatment and attention as a good German. After being subjected to asearching and protracted examination, the questions being written inEnglish, Malcolm was summarily "fired out" to an unknowndestination.

  Escorted by two Landsturmers, and garbed in very motley attire, theNew Zealander was marched through the streets to the railwaystation, and after a six-hour journey the train stopped at a smallstation that, from the name on the _Fahrkartenausgabe_, was calledDueren. In what part of Germany Dueren was situated Malcolm had notthe faintest idea. He had yet to learn
that it was a small town inRhenish Prussia roughly midway between Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne.

  The prisoner kept his eyes open during his progress through thenarrow streets. Everywhere were signs of industrial activity. Theworkshops were disgorging their occupants--old men, women, andchildren, whose emaciated features contrasted vividly with those ofthe prosperous munition-workers in Great Britain. At the outskirtsof the town was a large, newly-erected factory, from which Gothamachines, their wings folded for transit, were being taken away inlarge motor-lorries, while sandwiched between the building and theoutskirts of the town proper was a large barbed-wire compound withinwhich were rows of wooden huts.

  This was Malcolm's prison camp. So great was the Huns' fear of airraids over the industrial towns of the Rhine valley that several ofthe larger places of detention for prisoners of war had been brokenup, and the men sent to numerous small camps in close proximity totowns within the radius of hostile airmen.

  "This will be a tight hole to squeeze through," soliloquized the newarrival, as he noted the elaborate precautions taken against anyattempt on the part of the prisoners to escape. The double gatewaywas strongly guarded by armed troops, assisted by a particularlyferocious-looking type of dog. Between the outer and innerrectangular fences, a distance of fifty feet, more guards keptvigilant watch; while at frequent intervals tall look-out boxes hadbeen erected to enable the sentries to keep the whole of the campunder observation. Both fences were made of barbed wire, supportedby massive posts, and so Criss-crossed that even a cat would havehad considerable difficulty in creeping through without injury fromthe sharp spikes.

  Having handed over their charge, the two Landsturmers were given areceipt for the delivery of the prisoner, and then dismissed.

  Malcolm's latest jailers were four stolid-looking Prussians, who,badly wounded in Flanders, had been retained as guards at the camp.By them the New Zealander was conducted to a building just withinthe second or inner gate. Here he was registered and given a number,and afterwards subjected to perfunctory examination by a doctor,who, finding that the prisoner exhibited no trace of infection orcontagious disease, passed him as a fit inmate of the camp. In anadjoining room he was given a large sack and a filthy horse-cloth.The former, when filled with straw, was to serve as a bed; thelatter was his one and only blanket. A printed list, in English, ofthe numerous rules and regulations was then handed to him, and theinitiation ceremony of the new member of the Dueren Prison Camp wascompleted.

  Escorted by an armed orderly, Malcolm was taken down the broadcentral road. A few prisoners in khaki rigs were standingdisconsolately at the doors of the huts. Most of them shouted arough but well-meaning greeting to the new arrival, to whichMalcolm, understanding the purport of the unheard words, replied bya wave of his hand. In vain Rifleman Carr looked for a New Zealanduniform: these were mostly Tommies and Jocks, a sprinkling ofCanadians, and two West Indians; Anzacs seemed to be unrepresentedin the motley throng of captives.

  Presently Malcolm's escort halted, pointed to one of the numbers onthe prisoner's card, and then to a corresponding number on the doorof a hut. It was an intimation to the effect that, during thepleasure of the All Highest, Rifleman Carr was to be his guest inhut No. 7 of the Dueren Detention Camp.

  "What's the latest, chum?" enquired a Tommy as Malcolm entered."Blow me if 'e ain't barmy!"

  "Rot!" ejaculated another. "He's deaf. What's his regiment, Iwonder? Come on, chaps, let's make the poor beggar comfortable."

  "A jolly hard thing to do in this rotten hole," added a third."Who's got a pencil?"

  A stump was presently forthcoming, and, writing upon a piece ofbrown paper, the last speaker, a sergeant of an English lineregiment, contrived to get in touch with the new arrival.

  "He's a New Zealander," he announced to his companions. "Isn't thereone of their chaps in No. 4? I'll give him the tip."

  So saying, the good-natured non-com. left the hut, to return with atall, bearded man, whose uniform was sufficiently intact to indicatethat he belonged to the New Zealand Rifle Brigade. Even his hat wastolerably well preserved, even to the encircling red cord.

  For a few minutes the two men from "Down Under" stood facing eachother, astonishment and incredulity written in their faces. Then,with a loud bang, something seemed to give way in Malcolm's ears.With a vehemence that surprised himself, Malcolm Carr almost shoutedthe name of "Peter!"

  The next instant the brothers were shaking hands and rapping outquestions, to the surprise of the other occupants of the hut, whohad suspicions that they were the victims of a practical joke.

  "I don't know that it's so very remarkable after all," declared theSergeant. "Plenty of fellows, deaf and dumb through concussion, haverecovered speech and hearing by a shock of some sort. My word, thoseDiggers can talk!"

  He crossed the room to where the brothers were exchangingexperiences.

  "Look here," he said. "I'm in charge of this hut, and my pal Jeffsonis responsible for No. 4. After roll-call I'll arrange for you(indicating Malcolm) to doss in No. 4, and get another man fromthere to take your place here. Only, if you don't want to get meinto a regular row with the camp commandant, take care to slip backbefore morning roll-call."

  Peter Carr's greatest concern was the fact that he had neverreceived a letter or parcel from New Zealand. He had written severaltimes, but Malcolm was able to inform him that, up to acomparatively recent date, their father had not heard anything aboutPeter beyond the official statement that he was wounded and missing.

  "I say," remarked the elder Carr in the course of the evening,"we'll have to make a change--a shift round. I've a Canuk for mylinked man."

  "Linked man?" echoed Malcolm. "What's that?"

  "We're expecting and hoping for a raid," explained Peter. "Onlythree nights ago we heard bombs dropping on Julich, which is but afew miles away. So if some of our airmen do make a stunt, we'll takeour chances of being blown up and make a dash for liberty. Since itwould be madness for the whole crush to keep together, we'vearranged to separate, if we do get clear, and work in pairs.Everything's all cut and dry, and we are told off in twos; but I'llpush the Canadian on to the previous odd man out, and we'll sticktogether."

  It was long after midnight when the reunited brothers ended theirconversation. Nor did sleep follow quickly as far as Malcolm wasconcerned. It was not the constant clatter of machinery and therasping of dozens of circular saws in the adjoining factories thatkept him awake, but the excitement of the day, culminating in thediscovery of his elder brother, whom he had regarded as dead formonths past.

  Early next morning the prisoners were served with a meagre andill-nourishing meal, consisting of turnip soup and a dirty-colouredliquid that was supposed to be coffee. This was supplemented by foodsent from home, the men putting the edible contents of all theirparcels into a common stock. At six they were told off in gangs forwork either on the roads or in the fields. The Huns had tried hardto compel them to labour in the mines, but such was the indomitablespirit of the luckless sons of the British Empire that the attemptended in failure.

  Malcolm was fairly fortunate in being in the same party as hisbrother, their work being to construct new roads in the vicinity ofthe large aircraft factory. The prisoners were too well guarded tohave the faintest chance of escape. Even those in the open fieldswere careful to keep together; any man straying more than twentyyards from the rest of the party being liable to be shot by thenumerous armed guards.

  "All in good time, Malcolm," remarked his brother, when discussingthe subject of escape. "It's not much use having a few minutes'liberty and then being done in. Two of the boys tried the game ashort time ago; both were back within half an hour. One had to becarried in with a gunshot wound in both legs and a bullet throughhis neck. The other lost a couple of fingers, and was badly bittenby the watch-dogs. That sort of thing cools a fellow down a bit; butwhen we get a fair chance----!"

  Days ran into weeks, weeks into months, but the expected agent ofdeliverance was not forthcoming. The men had mad
e their plans. Foodof a nature that would not deteriorate by keeping had been laid byat the cost of great self-sacrifice. A map, cut from a pre-warBaedeker, had been passed from hand to hand, in order to give themen a fair idea of their whereabouts.

  One night the men were for the most part asleep on their strawmattresses, dog-tired with their labours, when the hitherto constantwhirr of machinery stopped. Accustomed to the clang and clatter, thesleepers were aroused by the unusual silence. The hut was indarkness, for lights were luxuries denied the prisoners.

  "What's up?" enquired one of the men, as a steam whistle began tosend out a succession of high and low blasts.

  "Time you were, chum!" replied Peter. "Out of it, boys, and get yourgear! Now's our chance!"