One cannot but look forward with feelings of deep emotion to the moment when he will leave a prison where he has been detained for three years and where he has made sincere and devoted friends. A large number of those who had been my companions in captivity had already left the jail, but there remained some ten prisoners of British nationality–particularly three or four–who were very dear to me.

On the Friday, some hours previous to the time of my departure, I obtained from the sergeant-major permission to receive in my cell, between 7 and 8 o’clock in the evening, all the British prisoners. The reader will remember that the cells were usually locked for the night at 7 o’clock. These men then assembled in my cell and there for this last hour we talked over the events of the war and the probable length of their detention. Notwithstanding the joy I felt at the prospect of getting out of this hell, I regretted leaving behind me those with whom I had shared the lonesomeness of captivity, shared the hardships received at the hands of our jailers, and deprived of liberty and the beneficence of their mother country.

The train was to start at 9 o’clock, and my escort and I were to leave the jail at 8 o’clock. It was at this hour that I said farewell to these worthy fellows. I was a free man. They were to remain prisoners. We were all under the influence of a powerful emotion.

The train was due to depart from Silesia Station. I was accompanied thereto by three military men: an orderly, a non-commissioned officer, and an officer. The officer was to accompany me as far as the frontier, and when we reached the station, he said he proposed to ask the authorities to allow us to occupy a compartment exclusively to ourselves, as we would have to spend the whole of one night on the train. With this end in view, he interviewed the station master, and when the train arrived at the station this official considerately placed a compartment at our disposal.

The officer had to give what was accepted as a valid reason of state in order to obtain this privilege. It was the transportation of a prisoner of British nationality through German territory. This was sufficient. The conversations “this British prisoner” might have overheard had he been allowed to mingle with others on the train, might have been indiscreet and of a nature calculated to harm the German interests should they be repeated in England!

Whether that was the correct view of the matter or not, or whether other reasons prompted my companion to make the demand, certain it is that a whole compartment was placed at our disposal, and in order that it should not be “besieged” by other passengers a notice was affixed to the glass pane of the door opening into the corridor of the train to the effect that in the compartment there was a British prisoner. To this intimation was added the one word: “Gefahrlich,” which in German means: DANGEROUS!

When I afterward read this notice, which had been posted against myself, I could not repress a smile.

All trains which leave the Silesia Station en route for Holland must cross the city of Berlin and pass in front of the famous Stadtvogtei prison. I was aware of this fact, and when we reached this point–the train was then traveling at full speed–I stood at the window to get a last look at those dark grey walls which during three long years had separated me from the outer world. To my great surprise, I saw that the sergeant-major had allowed my former companions in captivity to open one of the windows on the fifth story of the jail and there they stood waving their handkerchiefs as a sign of farewell. “Poor, unhappy fellows!” I said to myself.

The next morning at 8 o’clock, we arrived at Essen, the town where the famous Krupp works are situated. Here we had to change trains. The incoming train was late, and the officer and I had to pace up and down the platform of the station of that great city for fifteen or twenty minutes before the train, which was to convey us near the frontier, arrived. Then we took our seats and reached our destination at about noon. But my troubles were not yet over. I had to wait a little longer to obtain absolute freedom.

Through a mistake by the orderly my baggage had been checked through to a more northerly station. Inquiries were made by telegraph and we received a reply from the officer in command of the military post addressed advising patience and the baggage would be returned the following day. Thus we were compelled to remain for the night in this German frontier village of Goch, where it was a serious problem to obtain mid-day and evening meals as we were without food cards. However, when one, after prolonged confinement, is breathing the air of comparative liberty, and knows that the morrow will give him absolute freedom, he can, without much difficulty, overcome the pangs of a hungry stomach!

At noon the next day the trunks which had strayed returned to me safely, and I was ready and anxious to continue the journey over the remaining two or three miles which separated us from the frontier where final inspection was to take place and adieux said.

I was on that day–Sunday, May 11, 1918–the only passenger bound for Holland. The train consisted of a locomotive and one coach. We halted at a small temporary station and my personal belongings were duly deposited in line. The arrival of “a prisoner of British nationality,” had been anticipated, and German inspectors of both sexes surrounded me and my baggage. The duty of the women was to examine female passengers, and as they had nothing to do in the present instance they remained as spectators, passive, but interested!

The inspection was very minute, and, I must add, was not intelligently executed. The non-commissioned officer charged especially to inspect my baggage proved himself to be an extremely stupid fellow. In one of my trunks he observed a small leather note-book bearing the gold-lettered inscription: “Tagebuch,” which means a diary. He put it on one side with the apparent purpose of confiscating it. I protested, and I asked why he wished to retain what was really a new note-book, as there was no writing in it? He replied that the little book “contained printing,” that his instructions were to confiscate everything written or printed.

What stupidity! I thought to myself. I again pointed out that the note-book contained not one word of writing, and that the only “printed matter” was the small engraved label on the cover. But this did not convince the stupid fellow. He failed to grasp the fact that the passing of this innocent, unspotted little note-book could not possibly menace the German Empire with dire calamity!

Lieutenant Block, who accompanied me and knew me well, was manifestly annoyed. I ventured to remark: “I exceedingly regret such procedure as this in the examination of my personal property, because under such a process you must necessarily confiscate all my shirts, all my collars, and all my cuffs.”

The man looked bewildered.

“I don’t understand you,” he said. “Why must I confiscate those articles?”

“Because, like the note-book, they each and every one have something printed thereon,” I said. “And what is more serious, instead of the printing being German, which you understand, the names printed on the shirts, collars, and cuffs, are those of English or American firms, which you may not understand.”

The inspector was embarrassed, even vexed. The color rushed to his face and he handed the note-book to Lieut. Block with a gesture as who would say: “Here, take it, and the responsibility that attaches to it. If you like to run the risk of leaving this Britisher in possession of the note-book, do so. I wash my hands of the possible danger!”

Lieut. Block returned the book to me without a moment’s hesitation.

A large number of photographs addressed to me either from Canada or from Belgium were confiscated, although they had previously passed the censorship in Berlin. A certain number of photographs, however, escaped the eagle-eye of the inspector. They included those which the reader will find illustrating this story. As to the other printed or written documents which I brought out of Germany, they were subjected in Berlin to a severe censorship. They were those documents which had been placed in sealed envelopes and checked by the chief censor. These were passed at the frontier without further examination.

The moment had now arrived for me to go my way. The frontier was but a few yards distant. My baggage was put back into my compartment, the officer accompanied me to the door of the coach, we exchanged a few words, shook hands, and separated.

I will use a sentence here to testify on behalf of this officer, First-Lieutenant Block, that in the course of my sufferings he did all that lay in his power to obtain from the authorities the privileges I repeatedly applied for. Our efforts, as I have shown, were unavailing, but this was not Lieutenant Block’s fault.

Mr. Wallace Ellison, who published his “Recollections” in Blackwood’s Magazine, has given similar testimony regarding Officer Block. His two years’ contact with the prisoners of British nationality gave him an opinion of us far different to the misguided views he held previously.

The train started and an hour and seven minutes later we were at the frontier station, in Holland. From the window of my compartment, I could see inside the station the little customs inspectors of Queen Wilhelmina!

I was free! What a grand feeling is that of liberty after three years’ captivity! Every tree, every leaf, house, seems to smile on you!

At five o’clock the same afternoon, I was in Rotterdam.