Book: Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons

H >> Henry Charles Mahoney >> Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons



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Transcriber's note:

The original printing contained gaps in the text, varying in
size from a few words up to several lines. This appears to have
been a deliberate act by the author, editor, or printer. These
gaps are indicated in this version with [*gap] or [*large gap].]





SIXTEEN MONTHS IN FOUR GERMAN PRISONS

WESEL
SENNELAGER
KLINGELPUTZ
RUHLEBEN

Narrated by
HENRY C. MAHONEY

Chronicled by
FREDERICK A. TALBOT
Author of "The New Garden of Canada,"
"Conquests of Science," Etc.







London and Edinburgh
Sampson Low, Marston & Co., Ltd.
1917




[Illustration: THE AUTHOR AS HE APPEARED ON THE DAY OF HIS RELEASE FROM
RUHLEBEN.

From an official photograph taken by the German Government for
attachment to the passport. The embossed imprint of the stamp of the
Kommandantur of Berlin may be seen.

_Frontispiece_]




TO
MY WIFE AND CHILDREN

WHO WAITED PATIENTLY AND ANXIOUSLY
FOR "DADDY," AND TO

A FRIEND,

STILL LANGUISHING IN RUHLEBEN, TO
WHOM I OWE MY LIFE




PRISONER'S NOTE


It was whilst suffering the agonies of solitary confinement in the
military prison of Wesel that I first decided to record my experiences
so that readers might be able to glean some idea of the inner workings
and the treatment meted out to our unfortunate compatriots who were
travelling in Germany at the outbreak of war and who have since been
interned.

From the moment of my decision I gathered all the information possible,
determining at the first opportunity to escape to the Old Country. As
will be seen I have to a degree been successful.

Owing to the grossly inaccurate and highly coloured reports which have
been circulated from time to time regarding the life and treatment of
prisoners of war, the story has been set out in a plain unvarnished
form. There are no exaggerations whatever. Much of the most revolting
detail has been eliminated for the simple reason that they are
unprintable.

In nearly every instance names have been suppressed. Only initials have
been indicated, but sufficient description is attached to enable
personal friends of those who are still so unfortunate as to be
incarcerated to identify them and their present situation. Likewise, in
the cases where I received kind treatment from Germans, initials only
have been introduced, since the publication of their names would only
serve to bring punishment upon them.

H.C.M.

[Illustration: Statutory Declaration]




CHRONICLER'S NOTE


On Friday afternoon, July 31, 1914, I shook hands in farewell with my
friend Henry C. Mahoney. He was going to Warsaw and was full of
enthusiasm concerning the new task which was to occupy him for at least
three months. Owing to his exceptional skill and knowledge, practical as
well as theoretical, of photography in all its varied branches, he had
been offered, and had accepted an important appointment abroad in
connection with this craft--one which made a profound appeal to him.
Despite the stormy outlook in the diplomatic world he felt convinced
that he would be able to squeeze through in the nick of time.

Although he promised to keep me well informed of his movements months
passed in silence. Then some ugly and ominous rumours came to hand to
the effect that he had been arrested as a spy in Germany, had been
secretly tried and had been shot. I did not attach any credence to these
vague, wild stories. I knew he had never been to Germany before, and was
_au courant_ with the harmless nature of his mission.

A year elapsed before I had any definite news. Then to my surprise I
received a letter from him dispatched from the Interned British
Prisoners Camp at Ruhleben. As a matter of fact I learned subsequently
that he had previously written six letters and post-cards to me, but
none had reached me; most likely they had been intercepted and
suppressed by the German authorities.

The letter intimated that he had prepared a voluminous account of his
experiences. Two or three days later I learned from another source that
he had been "having a hard, rough, and exciting time," and that he
could relate one of the most fascinating and sensational stories
concerning the treatment meted out to our compatriots by the German
authorities. I also learned that a closely written diary and a mass of
other papers were on their way to me; that they were in safe keeping
just over the frontier, the bearer waiting patiently for the most
favourable moments to smuggle them into safety. This diary and other
documents contained material which he desired me to make public with all
speed in order to bring home to the British public a vivid impression of
what our fellow-countrymen were suffering in the German prison camps.

The papers never reached me. Why, is related in the following pages. In
prosecuting discreet enquiries to discover their whereabouts I learned,
early in October 1915, that "Mahoney will be home before Christmas." My
informant declined to vouchsafe any further particulars beyond the
cryptic remark, "He's got something smart up his sleeve."

Knowing full well that my friend was a man of infinite resource and
initiative I was not surprised to learn a week or two later that
"Ruhleben knew Mahoney no longer." He had got away. His plans had proved
so successful as to exceed the sanguine anticipations which he had
formed.

On December 9, 1915, the day after his return to his wife and children,
who had been keyed up to the highest pitch of excitement by the welcome
news, we met again. His appearance offered convincing testimony as to
the privations he had suffered, but I was completely surprised by the
terrible tale he unfolded.

When the story narrated in the following pages was submitted to the
publishers they received it with incredulity. After making enquiries
concerning Mr. Mahoney's credentials they accepted his statements as
being accurate, but my friend, to set the matter beyond all dispute,
insisted upon making a statutory declaration as to their accuracy in
every detail.

People in these islands were stirred to profound depths of horror by the
cold-blooded murders of Nurse Cavell and Captain Fryatt, of whose trials
nothing was heard until the sentences had been executed. A certain
amount of curiosity has been aroused concerning the Teuton methods of
conducting these secret trials. Henry C. Mahoney passed through a
similar experience, although he escaped the extreme penalty. Still, the
story of his trial will serve to bring home to the public some idea of
the manner in which Germany strives to pursue her campaign of
frightfulness behind closed doors.

FREDERICK A. TALBOT.




CONTENTS


PRISON ONE--WESEL

CHAPTER PAGE

I. ARRESTED AS A SPY 11

II. COMMITTED TO WESEL PRISON 29

III. HOW GERMANY DRIVES HER PRISONERS MAD 44

IV. MY SECRET MIDNIGHT TRIAL 60

V. WAITING TO BE SHOT 74


PRISON TWO--SENNELAGER

THE BLACK HOLE OF GERMANY

VI. OUR "LUXURIOUS HOTEL" 91

VII. BREAKING US IN AT SENNELAGER 105

VIII. BADGERING THE BRITISH HEROES AT MONS 119

IX. THE PERSECUTION OF THE PRIESTS 136

X. TYING PRISONERS TO THE STAKE--THE FAVOURITE PUNISHMENT 148

XI. THE REIGN OF TERROR 165

XII. THE REIGN OF TERROR--CONTINUED 180

XIII. "THE BLOODY NIGHT OF SEPT. 11" 196

XIV. THE GUARDIAN OF THE CAMP 209

XV. THE AFTERMATH OF THE 11TH 225


PRISON THREE--KLINGELPUTZ

XVI. FREE ON "PASS" IN COLOGNE 237

XVII. RE-IMPRISONED AT KLINGELPUTZ 253


PRISON FOUR--RUHLEBEN

XVIII. THE CAMP OF ABANDONED HOPE 266

XIX. ORGANISING THE COMMUNAL CITY OF RUHLEBEN 280

XX. HOW I MADE MONEY IN RUHLEBEN CAMP 301




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


The Author as he appeared on the Day of his Release from Ruhleben
_Frontispiece_
FACE PAGE

"The Bloody Night of September 11, 1914" 198

The Aftermath of the "Bloody Night" 226

Facsimile of the Pass issued by the German authorities to the
Author on his leaving Sennelager for Coeln-on-Rhein 238




PRISON ONE--WESEL




CHAPTER I

ARRESTED AS A SPY


"_Start August First. Book tickets immediately._"

Such were the instructions I received at Brighton early in July, 1914,
from Prince ----. A few days previously I had spent considerable time
with this scion of the Russian nobility discussing the final
arrangements concerning my departure to his palace in Russia, where I
was to devote two months to a special matter in which he was deeply
interested, and which involved the use of special and elaborate
photographic apparatus, microscopes, optical lantern and other
accessories. I may mention that the mission in question was purely of
scientific import.

During the discussion of these final arrangements a telegram was handed
to the Prince. He scanned it hurriedly, jumped up from his seat, and
apologising for his abruptness, explained that he had been suddenly
called home. He expressed the hope that he would shortly see me in
Russia, where I was promised a fine time, but that he would instruct me
the precise date when to start. Meanwhile I was urged to complete my
purchases of the paraphernalia which we had decided to be imperative for
our purpose, and he handed me sufficient funds to settle all the
accounts in connection therewith. That night the Prince bade me farewell
and hurried off to catch the boat train. My next communication from him
was the brief instruction urging me to start on August 1.[1]

[Footnote 1: I have never heard since from the Prince. A day or
two after the outbreak of war, upon joining the Russian forces,
he, with an observer, ascended in an aeroplane--he was an
enthusiastic and skilled aviator--to conduct a reconnaissance
over the German lines. He was never seen nor heard of again.
Searching enquiries have been made without result, and now it is
presumed that he was lost or killed.--H.C.M.]

Shortly after his departure there were ominous political rumblings, but
I, in common with the great majority, concluded that the storm would
blow over as it had done many times before. Moreover, I was so
pre-occupied with my coming task as to pay scanty attention to the
political barometer. I completed the purchase of the apparatuses, packed
them securely, and arranged for their dispatch to meet me at the train.
Then I remained at home to await developments. I was ready to start at a
moment's notice, having secured my passport, on which I was described,
for want of a better term, as a "Tutor of Photography," and it was duly
vised by the Russian Embassy.

Although the political sky grew more and more ominous I paid but little
attention to the black clouds. The receipt of instructions to start at
once galvanised me into activity to the exclusion of all other thoughts.
I booked my passage right through to destination--Warsaw--and upon
making enquiries on July 31st was assured that I should get through all
right.

I left Brighton by the 5.10 train on Saturday afternoon, August 1st.
There was one incident at the station which, although it appeared to be
trivial, proved subsequently of far reaching significance. In addition
to many cameras of different types and sizes stowed in my baggage I
carried three small instruments in my pockets, one being particularly
small. I had always regarded this instrument with a strange affection
because, though exceedingly small and slipping into a tiny space, it was
capable of excellent work. As the train was moving from the station I
took two parting snapshots of my wife and family waving me farewell. It
was an insignificant incident over which I merely smiled at the time,
but five days later I had every cause to bless those parting snaps. One
often hears about life hanging by the proverbial thread, but not many
lives have hung upon two snapshot photographs of all that is dearest to
one, and a few inches of photographic film. Yet it was so in my case.
But for those two tiny parting pictures and the unexposed fraction of
film I should have been propped against the wall of a German prison to
serve as a target for Prussian rifles!

Upon reaching Victoria I found the evening boat-train being awaited by a
large crowd of enthusiastic and war-fever stricken Germans anxious to
get back to their homeland. The fiat had gone forth that all Germans of
military age were to return at once and they had rolled up _en masse_,
many accompanied by their wives, while there was a fair sprinkling of
Russian ladies also bent upon hurrying home. An hour before the train
was due the platform was packed with a dense chattering, gesticulating,
singing, and dancing crowd. Many pictures have been painted of the
British exodus from Berlin upon the eve of war but few, if any, have
ever been drawn of the wild stampede from Britain to Berlin which it was
my lot to experience.

As the train backed into the station there was a wild rush for seats.
The excited Teutons grabbed at handles--in fact at anything protruding
from the carriages--in a desperate endeavour to be first on the
footboard. Many were carried struggling and kicking along the platform.
Women were bowled over pell-mell and their shrieks and cries mingled
with the hoarse, exuberant howls of the war-fever stricken maniacs
already tasting the smell of powder and blood.

More by luck than judgment I obtained admission to a saloon carriage to
find myself the only Englishman among a hysterical crowd of forty
Germans. They danced, whistled, sang and joked as if bound on a
wayzegoose. Badinage was exchanged freely with friends standing on the
platform. Anticipating that things would probably grow lively during the
journey, I preserved a discreet silence, and my presence was ignored.

The whistle blew, the locomotive screeched, and the next moment we were
gliding out of the station to the accompaniment of wild cheering, good
wishes for a safe journey and speedy return, and the strains of music
which presently swelled into a roar about "Wacht am Rhein." The melody
was yelled out with such gusto and so repeatedly that I hoped I might
ever be spared from hearing its strains again. But at last Nature
asserted herself. The throats of the singers grew hoarse and tired, the
song came to a welcome end, and music gave way to vigorous and keen
discussion upon the trend of events, which was maintained, not only
during the train journey, but throughout the cross-Channel passage to
Flushing, which we reached at six o'clock the following morning.

At the Dutch port the wild excitement and hubbub broke out with
increased virulence. The report was circulated that the train now
awaiting us would be the last through express to Berlin. There was a
frantic rush for seats. Men, women, and children participated in the
wild melee. The brutal shouts of the men contrasted vividly with the
high-pitched adjurations of the women and the wails and cries of the
terrified children. Within a few minutes the train was packed to
suffocation, not an inch of standing-room being left, while the
corridors were barricaded with the overflow of baggage from the guards'
vans.

For two hours we stood there scarcely able to breathe. The heat of the
waxing summer's day began to assert itself, with the result that it was
not long before the women commenced to show signs of distress. Their
spirits revived, however, as the train commenced to move. There was one
solace--one and all were advancing towards home and the discomfort would
not last for long.

So keen was the desire to get to Berlin that the great majority of the
passengers had neglected to provide themselves with any food, lest they
should lose their seats or miss the train. But they confidently expected
that the train would pull up at some station to enable refreshments to
be obtained. They were supported in this belief by the withdrawal of the
usual dining car from the train. Those who trusted in luck, however,
were rudely disappointed. The train refused to stop at any station.
Instead, it evinced a decided preference for intermediate signal posts.
It was described as an express, but a tortoise's crawl would be a gallop
in comparison. It travelled at only a little more than a walking pace
and the stops were maddeningly frequent.

The women and children speedily betrayed painful evidences of the
suffering they were experiencing, which became accentuated as we
advanced. The close confinement rendered the atmosphere within the
carriages extremely oppressive. The weaker men and the women commenced
to faint but no assistance could be extended to them. One could move
barely an arm or leg. The afflicted passengers simply went off where
they were, sitting or standing, as the case might be, and prevented from
falling by the closely packed passengers around them, to come round as
best they could when Nature felt so disposed. The wails of the children
were pitiful. Many were crying from cramp and hunger, but nothing could
be done to satisfy them, and indeed the men took little notice of them.

The arrival--in time--at the frontier station at Goch somewhat revived
the distressed and drooping. Everyone seized the opportunity to stretch
the limbs, to inhale some fresh air, and to obtain some slight
refreshment. The Customs officials were unusually alert, harrying, and
inflexible. There was the eternal wrangling between the passengers and
the officials over articles liable to duty and it was somewhat amusing
to me, even with war beating the air, to follow the frantic and useless
efforts of old and experienced travellers to smuggle this, that, or
something else through the fiscal barrier.

The Customs were so far from being in a conciliatory mood as to be
absolutely deaf to entreaty, cajolery, argument, explanation or threat.
They cut the operations summarily short by confiscating everything
liable to duty. As may be imagined a rich harvest was garnered at the
expense of the luckless returning patriot. While the Customs were busy
the military officials, who appeared to be swarming everywhere, were
equally exacting. They boarded the train and literally turned it inside
out. Every man and woman and child was subjected to a close personal
investigation and cross-examination. Foreigners were handled with even
greater stress and with less ceremony. I saw four fellow passengers
sorted out 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
vise 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 last the officers,
to still any further enquiry, declared that they were going to do
something, to carry us "somewhere."

Some two-and-a-half hours slipped by when a loud cheer rang out at the
appearance of a train of crazy carriages which backed towards us. The
passengers scrambled in and made themselves as comfortable as they
could. But where was the baggage to go? The soldiery had overlooked this
item and they surveyed the straggling mass of bags and trunks littering
the embankment ruefully. But they solved the problem in their own way.
What could not be stacked within the trucks would have to go on top.

We forged ahead once more to pull up at a small station. Here there was
a mad scramble for supplies and the refreshment room was soon cleared
out of its small stock. On the platform an extortionate German drove a
brisk trade selling small bottles of lemonade at sixpence a bottle. More
excitement was caused by a newsvendor mounting a box and holding aloft a
single copy of the latest newspaper which he would sell to the highest
bidder.

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