Part 3 (1/2)

I had sent a card to her as soon as I was taken. The box was like a visit from Santa Claus. I remember the ”Digestive Biscuits,” and how good they tasted after being for a month on the horrible diet of acorn coffee, black bread, and the soup which no word that is fit for publication could describe.

I also received a card from my sister, Mrs. Meredith, of Edmonton, about this time. I was listed ”Missing” on April 29th, and she sent a card addressed to me with ”Canadian Prisoner of War, Germany,” on it, on the chance that I was a prisoner. We were allowed to write a card once a week and two letters a month; and we paid for these. My people in Canada heard from me on June 9th.

I cannot complain of the treatment I received in the lazaret. The doctor took a professional interest in me, and one day brought in two other doctors, and proudly exhibited how well I could move my arm.

However, I still think if he had ma.s.saged my upper arm, it would be of more use to me now than it is.

Chloroform was not used in this hospital; at least I never saw any of it. One young Englishman, who had a bullet in his thigh, cried out in pain when the surgeon was probing for it. The German doctor sarcastically remarked, ”Oh, I thought the English were _brave_.”

To which the young fellow, lifting his tortured face, proudly answered, ”The English _are_ brave--and _merciful_--and they use chloroform for painful operations, and do this for the German prisoners, too.”

But there was no chloroform used for him, though the operation was a horrible one.

There was another young English boy named Jellis, who came in after the fight of May 8th, who seemed to be in great pain the first few days. Then suddenly he became quiet, and we hoped his pain had lessened; but we soon found out he had lock-jaw, and in a few days he died.

From the pasteboard box in which my first parcel came, I made a checker-board, and my next-door neighbor and I had many a game.

In about three weeks I was allowed to go out in the afternoons, and I walked all I could in the narrow s.p.a.ce, to try to get back all my strength, for one great hope sustained me--I would make a dash for liberty the first chance I got, and I knew that the better I felt, the better my chances would be. I still had my compa.s.s, and I guarded it carefully. Everything of this nature was supposed to be taken from us at the lazaret, but I managed, through the carelessness of the guard, to retain the compa.s.s.

The little corral in which we were allowed to walk had a barbed-wire fence around it--a good one, too, eight strands, and close together.

One side of the corral was a high wall, and in the enclosure on the other side of the wall were the lung patients.

One afternoon I saw a young Canadian boy looking wistfully through the gate, and I went over and spoke to him. He was the only one who could speak English among the ”lungers.” The others were Russians, French, and Belgians. The boy was dying of loneliness as well as consumption. He came from Ontario, though I forget the name of the town.

”Do you think it will be over soon?” he asked me eagerly. ”Gee, I'm sick of it--and wish I could get home. Last night I dreamed about going home. I walked right in on them--dirt and all--with this tattered old tunic--and a dirty face. Say, it didn't matter--my mother just grabbed me--and it was dinner-time--they were eating turkey--a great big gobbler, all brown--and steaming hot--and I sat down in my old place--it was ready for me--and just began on a leg of turkey...”

A spasm of coughing seized him, and he held to the bars of the gate until it pa.s.sed.

Then he went on: ”Gee, it was great--it was all so clear. I can't believe that I am not going! I think the war must be nearly over--”

Then the cough came again--that horrible, strangling cough--and I knew that it would be only in his dreams that he would ever see his home! For to him, at least, the war was nearly over, and the day of peace at hand.

Before I left the lazaret, the smart-Alec young German doctor who had made faces at the little bugler blew gaily in one day and breezed around our beds, making pert remarks to all of us. I knew him the minute he came in the door, and was ready for him when he pa.s.sed my bed.

He stopped and looked at me, and made some insulting remark about my beard, which was, I suppose, quite a sight, after a month of uninterrupted growth. Then he began to make faces at me.

I raised myself on my elbow, and regarded him with the icy composure of an English butler. Scorn and contempt were in my glance, as much as I could put in; for I realized that it was hard for me to look dignified and imposing, in a hospital pajama suit of dirt-colored flannelette, with long wisps of amber-colored hair falling around my face, and a thick red beard long enough now to curl back like a drake's tail.

I knew I looked like a valentine, but my stony British stare did the trick in spite of all handicaps, and he turned abruptly and went out.

The first week of June, I was considered able to go back to the regular prison-camp. A German guard came for me, and I stepped out in my pajamas to the outer room where our uniforms were kept. There were many uniforms there--smelling of the disinfectants--with the owners'

names on them, but mine was missing. The guard tried to make me take one which was far too short for me, but I refused. I knew I looked bad enough, without having elbow sleeves and short pants; and it began to look as if I should have to go to bed until some good-sized patient came in.

But my guard suddenly remembered something, and went into another hut, bringing back the uniform of ”D. Smith, Vancouver.” The name was written on the band of the trousers. D. Smith had died the day before, from lung trouble. The uniform had been disinfected, and hung in wrinkles. My face had the hospital pallor, and, with my long hair and beard, I know I looked ”snaggy” like a potato that has been forgotten in a dark corner of the cellar.

When we came out of the lazaret, the few people we met on the road to the prison-camp broke into broad grins; some even turned and looked after us.