CHAPTER XVI
THE FIRST DAY OF CAPTIVITY
HAVING handed over their prisoner to the charge of a corporal and acouple of men, the marine guard marched off. The sub. was then curtlyordered into a large, almost unfurnished room, the windows of whichwere heavily barred.
Engaged in conversation at one end of the room were four officers.One was the governor of the prison--a fat German of middle height,whose most striking peculiarities were his bristling, upturnedmoustache and a shiny, bald pate surrounded by a natural tonsure ofraven black hair--another a subaltern who, having been wounded andrendered unfit for active service, was able to "get his own back" bysystematically jeering at the prisoners and making their hard liveseven yet more unbearable. The remaining officers were doctors.
"Take off all your clothes," ordered the lieutenant, with greatemphasis on the word "all."
Tressidar obeyed. As each garment was, discarded it was seized andclosely examined by the corporal, who seemed obsessed with the ideathat English officers invariably had confidential documents sewn intotheir clothing. The sub.'s watch, purse, pocket-book, keys, and, infact, everything in his pockets were handed to the junior Germanofficer, who handled them as if they were contaminated articles,although he took good care to pocket the timepiece and the purse.
Stripped to the buff, Tressidar was subjected to a prolonged andsearching verbal examination. Once when he demurred at answering acertain question, the governor reminded him that unless he repliedtruthfully and unhesitatingly he would have to remain without clothesuntil he did. And since the temperature was only a few degrees abovefreezing-point, the threat carried weight.
At the same time his replies were guarded and as inaccurate as theycould possibly be without running the risk of betraying the fact. Tomake a statement that was absolutely inconsistent with details whichhis inquisitors knew already would be asking for additional trouble.
The interview, having lasted for nearly forty minutes, was followedby a medical examination of a perfunctory nature. So long as theprisoners were not suffering from any disease that might be a sourceof danger to the garrison, nothing else mattered from theauthorities' point of view. The captives might die of starvationwithout raising a spark of compassion in the minds of the kulturedHuns.
"Now," thought the sub., who by this time was shivering with cold, "Isuppose they'll let me dress."
They did--but not in the manner he expected, for at an order from thegovernor, one of the soldiers kicked Tressidar's uniform into acorner of the room, while another emptied a small canvas sack full ofdirty and badly worn clothes on the floor at the prisoner's feet.
With feelings of repugnance Tressidar dressed. The trousers wereparti-coloured, a half being made from a French soldier's baggy redpair, the other part being of pale blue and indescribably greasy. Thecoat was a sort of civilian's lounge jacket, of dark grey, with adiamond-shaped patch of scarlet let into the back. It was impossibleto cut the distinctive mark away without leaving a correspondingopening in the coat. Wooden-soled shoes with canvas uppers and aflat-topped cap completed his grotesque outfit.
Preceded and followed by his guards, Tressidar was led along a numberof stone corridors, separated by metal doors. The cryptic writings onseveral massive doors opening out of the passages left little doubtin the sub.'s mind as to the uses to which the building was devoted.With typical Teutonic cunning the Germans were using the same roof toshelter explosives and prisoners, regarding the presence of thelatter as a shield to guard their warlike stores from the unwelcomeattentions of British airmen.
Presently the sub. found himself confronted by a double-locked doorprovided with a grille. Without stood an armed sentry,while--sinister fact--a couple of machine guns were trained throughthe lattice upon the occupants of the room. Ponderously the sentryunlocked and threw open the door, and Tressidar found himself urgedforward by the effective expedient of having the butt of the riflejammed into the small of his back.
Then the door clanged-to between himself and his guards. He was inthe common room of the Sylt prison for captured British officers.
There were between twenty to thirty grotesquely attired men in theroom, all engaged in the difficult task of killing time. Some weretalking, others reading the carefully selected and approvedliterature provided by their captors. Two were playing chess, withknots of critical onlookers crowding round the little table.
At Tressidar's entrance the occupants came forward to greet theirlatest comrade in misfortune. The reticence generally attributed toBritons both at home and abroad seemed to have vanished.
"You'll have to introduce yourself, old man," exclaimed apleasant-faced fellow of about the same age as the sub. "How did theybag you?"
In less than a minute conversation was in full swing. Everyone waseager to know the actual facts concerning the war, since it was onlyby the arrival of new members to the little party that the true stateof affairs could be known.
"How about the fleet?" asked one. "Has there been a generalengagement?"
"No, worse luck," replied Tressidar. "There has been a decided lackof opportunity."
"And the strafed Huns swore that their High Canal Fleet was out andoff the east coast for over a fortnight," added another officer. "Ofcourse we didn't believe it. And is it true that half London is inashes?"
"Not by any means," said the sub. "Their Zepps. have come and gone.We bagged one the other day. They've done damage in various parts ofthe country, but not one-tenth of the amount they claim."
"And the Government?" asked an elderly fleet paymaster. "Are theydoing anything yet? They were still gassing when I was nabbed, aboutthree months ago."
Tressidar shook his head.
"Sorry I cannot report much progress in that direction," he said."Until they decide to intern every German in the country things won'tget much forrader at home, as far as the Government is concerned."
"The rotters!" exclaimed the fleet paymaster. "And they started withevery prospect of doing something great. All factions were united,differences laid aside. The country was solidly behind them. And yetthey shilly-shally and mess everything up. If we had had technicalmen to run the show--naval and military officers ofexperience--instead of twenty-three (or is it thirty-three by thistime?) wobblers, the war would have been over by this time."
The accountant officer had voiced the sentiments of hisfellow-captives. Optimism, a sure faith that all's well with theNavy, had evidently gripped their minds, but beyond that there was avague suspicion that a brake was being applied to the enormoussea-power at the Empire's command.
Conversation proceeded briskly until the clanging of a bell announcedthat tea--the last meal of the day--was to be served. Into adining-hall trooped the prisoners--to be counted en route for thethird time in sixteen hours.
"Tea" consisted of a nasty beverage made from acorn "coffee" andchicory, with black bread and margarine. This was supplemented bydelicacies that had been sent from home, all supplies from thatsource being placed into a common stock. The quantity received,however, represented but a small proportion of that sent, foralthough everything entrusted to American societies reached theirdestination safely--a large camp not far from Berlin--pilfering bythe German authorities during the additional journey to Sylt was amost frequent occurrence.
At sunset the prisoners were ordered to bed. No lights were allowed.The dormitory was divided into cubicles, two officers being put ineach. Privacy there was none, as the doors were only four feet inheight and a couple of sentries continually paced up and down thedividing corridor.
Ronald Tressidar's cubicle was shared with a young flightsub-lieutenant R.N.R., John Fuller by name, who three monthspreviously had fallen into the hands of the enemy on the occasion ofa raid upon the fortifications of Borkum. At an altitude of less thana thousand feet a piece of shrapnel had pierced the petrol tank ofFuller's biplane, compelling the machine to alight in the sea withina mile of the coast. With a steady off-shore wind there was a chanceof the seaplane drifting to within r
each of the waiting destroyers,but for the fact that one of the floats had been perforated on theunderside by a fragment of shell. In a waterlogged condition thecrippled aeroplane's plight was observed by a German patrol boat,and, half dead with cold and exposure, Fuller was haled intocaptivity.
Doubtless owing to the fact that the flight-sub. had succeeded indropping his bombs with disastrous results to the German works, hiscaptors had transferred him to Sylt, where he stood a good chance offorming an integral part of a target for his brother-airmen in anexpected raid.
"You'll find it desperately slow work, Tressidar," remarked Fuller"This is my eighty-second night in this hole, and it seems like adozen years."
"Suppose you haven't tried to get away?"
"There's not a dog's chance, believe me," replied the flight-sub."Apart from the risk of being plugged by a bullet from the sentry'srifle, the almost certainty of getting brought up all standing on thelive wire----"
"The live wire?" repeated Tressidar.
"Rather. That barbed wire entanglement contains a highly chargedelectric cable. The current is switched on every night and off againin the morning. The Huns were particularly gleeful in informing us ofthe cheerful fact. Then there are those mastiffs to take intoconsideration, so you see there's little chance of success. On theother hand, failure, even if one does escape the dangers I havementioned, means forty days' solitary confinement. Danvers, of thesubmarine service, tried it, and he swears it's almost worse thanbeing buried alive. He was a physical and moral wreck when he turnedup amongst us again."
"So you think it's no go?"
"My dear fellow," said Fuller, "you have my best wishes, and Ibelieve those of the rest of us here. But that won't help you.Nothing short of an earthquake or a few tins of explosives will cleara way until the Allies beat the strafed Huns absolutely to theirknees. That's my opinion, but I may be wrong. In any case, if there'sthe faintest possible chance, I'm on it."
"Then we'll call it a bargain?"
Without speaking a word Fuller extended his hand. The two menexchanged grips that formed a mutual understanding.
Then Tressidar turned in. For a long time he tossed uneasily on hishard straw mattress. Already captivity was weighing heavily on him,and as yet he had been but a few hours in the hands of the Huns.