Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons | Page 5

and rushed under a military escort into the
waiting room.
At last it was my turn for military inquisition. I presented all my

credentials, which were scanned from end to end, turned over, and even
held up to the light, lest there should be something interwoven with the
watermark. I followed the operations with a quiet amusement,
confident in my security, but could not resist remarking upon the
thoroughness of the search and the determination to leave nothing to
chance. My passport created the greatest interest. It was dated July 7th,
1914. The official looked at me queerly in silent interrogation as he
placed his finger beneath the date. I nodded and made no comment.
With a slight smile of self-satisfaction the officer turned on his heel and
beckoned me to follow him. At the same moment two soldiers clicked
their heels behind me and I saw that I was already under severe military
suspicion. I was taken to a long-bearded individual sitting in state on a
pedestal. The officer handed to him the papers he had found upon me.
There was a hurried whispering, the superior individual eyeing me
narrowly meanwhile. They compared the date of the passport with
August 2nd, Sunday, the day on which I was travelling, and also
examined the visé of the Russian Embassy in the corner.
Suddenly the long-bearded officer hurled a torrent of questions at me
and at such a velocity that I was quite unable to follow him. Observing
that his volcanic interrogative eruption was non-productive he slowed
down and repeated the questions.
"Why are you travelling at this time?"
"To take up an appointment in Russia. There is the name--Prince ----"
"Ah!" and his eyebrows were elevated so much as to mingle almost
with his hair.
"But why have you so much photographic apparatus?"
"It is necessary for the work I am taking up."
"Ah!" once again the eyebrows vanished scalp-wards.
"Have you a camera upon you?"

"No!"
"Ah!" another dance of the eyebrows.
He rapped out a short command and before I was aware of the
circumstance two pairs of hands were running rapidly over my body
and in and out of my pockets with the dexterity of men who had served
a long apprenticeship under an Artful Dodger. It proved a blank search.
I gave a sigh of relief, because had the searchers run their hands over
the lower part of my person they would have come across two cameras,
and my treasured little companion, wrapped in his leather jacket, alert
and ready for silent service, but concealed in a most unexpected corner.
I could scarcely repress a smile when I recognised that I was immune
from further search. Evidently the Pooh-bah was somewhat
disconcerted at the negative results achieved, because, after firing one
or two other desultory questions at me, he handed back my passport
and other papers, and told me I could continue my journey.
Desiring to disarm suspicion completely I did not hurry away but
lingered around the little court and even indulged in a short idle
conversation with my interlocutor, who, however, somewhat resented
my familiarity. I lounged back to the train, hugely delighted with
myself, more particularly as, quite unbeknown to the fussy individual
with the beard, I had snapped a picture of his informal court with my
little camera.
The frontier formalities at last concluded, the train resumed its crawl,
ambling leisurely along for some two hours, stopping now and then to
draw into a siding. On such occasions troop train after troop train
crowded with soldiers thundered by us en route to Berlin. The sight of
a troop train roused our passengers to frenzy. They cheered madly,
throwing their hats into the air. The huzzas were returned by the
soldiers hanging out of the windows with all the exuberant enthusiasm
of school boys returning home at the end of the term.
But we were not destined to make a through run to the capital.
Suddenly the train was pulled up by a military guard upon the line. We
were turned out pell-mell and our baggage was thrown on to the

embankment. This proceeding caused considerable uneasiness. What
had happened? Where were we going? and other questions of a similar
character were hurled at the soldiers. But they merely shook their heads
in a non-committal manner. They either did not or would not know.
Our feelings were not improved when the empty carriages were backed
down the line, the engine changed ends, and we saw the train steam off
in another direction. The hold-up of the train had taken place at a
depressing spot. We were completely stranded, without provisions or
any other necessities, and at an isolated spot where it was impossible to
obtain any supplies. The passengers pestered the guard for information,
and at