Sixth night.—The walk across the plain took us nearly two hours. Much of it was very marshy, and it was all sopping wet with dew, so that, before reaching the railway, we were wet to the waist. There was also a nasty obstacle in the shape of a canal. The only bridge was almost in a village, and as we approached, all the dogs in the place began to bark, so we tried to cross in an old punt which we found. Getting this afloat, however, made so much noise that we desisted and made for the bridge, which we crossed without mishap in spite of a regular chorus of dogs. Thank Heaven, they appeared to be all chained up. All the rest of the night we walked along the railway. Twice men in signal-boxes or guard-houses called after us. We always answered something in German and then made a short detour round the next building, small station, guardhouse, or signal-box which we came to. In every one of them there was a dog which barked as we passed. The detours wasted much time and were very tiring, so we deliberately took more risks and walked straight on, in spite of the dogs, as long as we neither saw nor heard a human being. That day we lay up in a lonely spot in a thickish wood on one side of a railway cutting overlooking the town of Treuchtlingen. Treuchtlingen was only marked as a small village on our maps, but it turned out to be a huge junction with an enormous amount of rolling stock and many sidings—all quite newly built, we thought—almost certainly since the war started.

Seventh Night.—As we thought we should run less risks, this apparently being a line of military importance and therefore possibly guarded, we decided to take a main road rather than follow the railway. We marched all night without incident and towards morning at the village of Monheim we turned back to the railway in order to reach some woods which were marked on the map. The woods turned out to be most unsuitable for our purpose. They were mostly well-grown oak or pine with no undergrowth whatever. Daylight found us still hunting for a decent hiding-place. At length we decided the best we could do was to lie between the edge of a wood and a barley field, a most exposed position if anyone should come that way. Soon we had no chance of changing our position if we would, as women at a very early hour began to work in the field within 100 yards of us. About 4 o'clock in the afternoon we heard a movement in the woods behind us. We had rigged up a sort of screen of boughs on that side, but we could scarcely hope that anyone would pass without seeing us if they came close.

For an hour or more we lay not daring to move, and at length saw an old woman gathering sticks. She came nearer and nearer, and suddenly looked up and saw us. We were pretending to be half-asleep, basking in the sun, so we just nodded to her and said "Good-day." She said something in patois which I did not quite catch, about sheep or shepherds. I said "Ja wohl," and she moved off rather quickly we thought, but it may have been that our guilty consciences made it seem so, and soon afterwards we heard her speaking to someone way off. As soon as she was out of sight we thought it best to move. There was no possible hiding-place to go to, so we walked farther into the wood and selecting the largest tree sat down one each side of the trunk. Our idea was to play hide-and-seek round the tree if anyone came by or if the old woman came back; and if there was a systematic search to trust to our legs. We had over four hours to wait before it would become dark and before we could feel at all safe. I think the old woman came back to the spot where we had been lying, but finding us gone did not trouble to search for us.

Eighth Night.—We got away from the wood about 9.30, and all that night we walked along the railway. I have rather a hazy recollection of the night's march, but as far as I remember it was quite without incident. Just north of DonnauwÖrth we had to cross an iron bridge over a tributary of the Danube, 100 yards or more long, and thinking it might be guarded we stalked it with the utmost care. There was no one there, however, but when half a mile beyond it, we thought we ought to have taken a branch line farther back; so we crossed the bridge again, each time making noise enough to wake the dead with our nailed boots on the iron. After another prolonged study of the map, I found we had been right after all, and for the third time we crossed that beastly bridge. Studying the map at night was no easy matter. The method was for me to sit down in a convenient ditch or hollow, and for Buckley to put his Burberry over my head. I then did the best I could by match-light. A few miles north of DonnauwÖrth we turned off to the right and marched at a distance of a few miles parallel to the north bank of the Danube. Just before morning it began to rain and we got into a good hiding-place in thick undergrowth, wet through and very tired. It was a miserable morning, but about 9 the sun came out and dried us and cheered us up.

For the last few nights my feet had been gradually getting worse. The backs of both heels seemed to be bruised, and from this night onwards the first half-hour's walk every night caused me intense pain. Once I was warmed up, the pain became less acute, but every step jarred me and sent a shooting pain up my legs. I was wearing boots I had bought in Germany and the heelings had sunk into a hollow, so that the weight of every step came on the very back of the heel. I am sure this made the marching very much more fatiguing for me than it would otherwise have been. We were not disturbed that day, and as we had a lot of bare country to walk over, we started rather earlier the next night.

Ninth Night.—The problem before us was how to cross the Danube, which about here was 200 to 300 yards broad. We thought it was only too probable that all the bridges would be guarded. Fifteen miles or rather more from where we were, the light railway, which we had been following for the last two nights, crossed the Danube. Within a mile of that railway bridge another foot or road bridge was marked on our map, but the insignificance of the roads or rather tracks which appeared to lead to this bridge made us doubt the existence of a 300-yard bridge in such an out-of-the-way bit of country. However, if it did not exist, we could always try by the railway. Some 8 miles from our hiding-place the light railway turned gradually south and crossed the Danube about 7 miles farther on. If we followed the railway and branched off from it when we were within a mile or two of the river it seemed impossible that we could lose our way. The night was a very dark one as there was a thick mist, but we made excellent progress, walking sometimes on the road and sometimes along the railway.

About midnight we began to think it was time that the line should take the southerly bend as marked on the sketch map, and every ten minutes or so we took compass bearings of its direction. However, we knew by experience how easy it is for tired men to overrate the distance they have walked. I got into a ditch and looked at my map, and there was no other railway shown on it. At 1 o'clock we found ourselves walking north of west, and realized definitely that we were wrong somehow. Some arc lights showed dimly through the mist on our left. We walked on cautiously, and as so often happens in a thick mist found ourselves with extraordinary suddenness within 150 yards of some huge sheds each surrounded by five or six electric lights. What they were we neither knew at the time nor found out later. I had another look at the map and came to the correct conclusion that we had followed an unmarked branch line. We had just started back, when we caught a glimpse of a man. He was coming from the direction of the sheds, in a crouching attitude, and had a gun in his hands. He was about 100 yards away and it was certain that he could see us very indistinctly, because of the mist. So we ran. Once out of range of the arc lights he had no chance of finding us. From there we cut across country by compass, and half an hour later hit the railway east of Gundelfingel. At one time we had hoped to cross the Danube that night, but losing our way had made this out of the question. It was even doubtful now whether we should reach the woods on this side of the Danube, but we were most anxious to get to them, as it looked from the map as if the country between would be rather bare of hiding-places. For this reason we took rather more risks and walked boldly through the dark stations. At one place two men were about to cross the railway, but when they saw us coming they turned and ran. It was quite comforting to think that we had frightened someone.

At dawn we were still on the line, and the country seemed most unpromising for lying up. The mist was still pretty thick, and during the next hour it got thicker. One could see about 100 yards, and we never knew from one moment to another what we might run into. After half-past five, for instance, we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a village, probably PeterswÖrth, and as we hurried down a street we had no idea whether we were walking farther into a small town or through a small village. The mist, though it hid us to a certain extent, at the same time made it quite impossible to see what sort of country it was and to select a hiding-place. We knew there were woods ahead, and the only thing to do was to push on till we came to them. The thick mist had the curious effect of making it appear that there were woods on all sides of us. We several times turned off only to find that the imaginary woods retreated as we advanced. The worst of it was that, as can well be imagined, we were quite unfit to be seen, and a single glimpse of us must inevitably arouse suspicion. Clad in filthy khaki, filthy ourselves, limping along with ten days' growth of beard on our faces, and thick sticks in our hands, we were figures such as might well cause anxiety in a quiet neighborhood.

It was after 6 o'clock and broad daylight when we reached the woods. The undergrowth was thick and rank, and most of the ground almost a swamp. It was a most unpleasant spot, though pretty safe as a hiding-place. The day was a hot one, and we were pestered all day by stinging insects. Our faces and hands, and, when we took off our boots, our feet too, became swollen and pimpled all over from the bites. The bites on my feet came up in blisters which broke when I put on my boots and left raw places. As the insect bites did not seem to affect Buckley's feet to the same extent, he lent me his slippers. Slippers of some sort are almost an essential part of one's equipment. You can neither rest your feet nor dry your boots if you keep your boots on in the day. In this and every other way Buckley showed himself the most unselfish and cheering companion imaginable. That day we tried boiling some rice, using as fuel some solidified alcohol which we had; but it was not a success, as we had not sufficient fuel and all the wood in the place was wet. After a miserable day we started to hunt for our bridge, with faces, feet, and hands swollen and aching and clothes and boots still damp from the night before.

Tenth Night.—After a two hours' walk we found the bridge. It was a wooden one, with a broad road and a footpath on it. It was the biggest wooden bridge I have ever seen. There seemed to be no guard on it, so we walked across. As we were in the middle we suddenly saw a man coming to meet us, and thought we were fairly collared. Bluff was the only hope, so we walked straight on. The man turned out to be a young peasant, who took no notice of us, and we reached the other bank with a sigh of relief. After passing through Offingen we had to thread our way through a network of country lanes and small villages. We walked straight through them, for we now realized more clearly than ever that, if we were to reach the frontier on the food we had, we could afford very little time for detours. Sometimes we would get half-way through before a dog would bark and start all the rest, but usually we marched through to a chorus of barking dogs. It was a terrible strain on the nerves, but not, I think, so dangerous as one might imagine, as the dogs barked too often and too easily for their masters to be roused at one outburst of barking. Still, it effectually prevented us from ever trying to break into a house to get food. In one village we walked into five or six young men, soldiers on leave perhaps. There was no avoiding them, so we walked straight on through the middle of them, and said good evening as we passed. What they thought we were I don't know, but they did not try to stop us or call after us.

At the next village, Goldbach by name, there were sounds of shouting and singing, so we made a long and difficult detour and most unfortunately came back on the wrong road on the far side—a very easy thing to do. We only discovered this an hour later, when the compass bearing of the road was found to be wrong. This necessitated a long and tiring cross-country march to reach the right road; and, very wet and tired, we got into an excellent hiding-place in a small spruce fir wood just after dawn. If ever we had to walk through standing crops—and this was unavoidable in any detour of cross-country march—we were always wet through to the waist from the dew. One notable thing happened just before we got into our hiding-place, which was to prove our salvation. We came across a field of potatoes. The haulm was on the average only 6 to 8 inches high, and no potatoes were as yet formed; but in most cases the old seed potato had not yet gone rotten, so we used to pick these out and replant the haulm. Much cheered by this addition to our rations, Buckley and I tramped on for another mile or so before selecting our hiding-place for the day. We ran little risk, as up the hill to our left were thick woods, on the edge of which we were walking, while on our right the ground sloped away over ploughed fields to a rich valley. Soon after dawn we found an almost ideal place in which to spend the day. It was a thick copse of small pine trees with thickish undergrowth, about a mile northeast of the village of Billenhausen—on the whole, about the pleasantest place we found during the expedition. Here Buckley, who has something of the boy scout in him, started to make a fire without smoke. I went outside to veto the fire if much smoke appeared above the tree-tops. It was most exasperating. On that still morning a thin column of smoke rose perpendicularly high above the trees. Buckley came out and had a look at it and agreed to abandon the fire, and to eat our potatoes raw. It was a warm, sunny day, and we remained quite undisturbed; so, at the usual hour, feeling much fresher and cheerier, and thanking God for the raw potatoes, we started off on our eleventh night's walk.

Eleventh Night.—We had another reason for feeling more hopeful, for the last two nights we had been walking south, and this night we expected to cut into the direct route from Ingolstadt to the frontier—a route which we had studied for months with the greatest care and almost knew by heart. Many other escaping prisoners had passed that way, and those who had been recaught (much the greater part of them, unfortunately) had given us the benefit of their experiences. After a short walk we came to Billenhausen, where many lights were showing, but through which it was necessary to pass, as we wished to cross the stream to the west bank, and the only bridge was in the middle of the village. After a council of war we decided to march boldly through at 10.30. This we did without attracting undue attention. It was always nervous work walking through a village when lights were showing and dogs barking. The risk, however, was not so great as it seemed, so long—and here was the danger—as we did not lose our way in the village and turn into a blind alley. After an hour or more along a good road we came on a light railway and followed that for some time, standing aside, I remember, at one place, to let a train pass. About midnight we saw the town of Krumbach ahead of us.

Krumbach was on the route that we knew, so, leaving it on our left, we cut across country to our right, through some extremely wet crops, and hit the main road west of Krumbach. For the rest of the night, after crossing the river at Breitenthal, we made excellent progress, the road leading us through huge pine forests, and it was not until half an hour before dawn that we came out into more open country. It was then somewhat after 4.30. There was a steep hill in front of us with the village of Nordholz on a river at the bottom of it. There was an excellent hiding-place where we were, but on the far side of the village my map showed that there should be extensive woods. A village close in front of your hiding-place means a late start on the next night; but then we might find no suitable hiding-place on the far side—for not only had we little time to spare before people would be about, but also there was a thick mist, which, as we knew from our experience just before crossing the Danube, added greatly to the difficulties of finding a hiding-place. Buckley was for going on. I was for staying where we were, my vote being influenced by the fact that my feet had been more than usually painful that night. However, we went on, and half an hour later saw large woods through the mist on our left. On investigation they proved quite useless for hiding-place purposes. It was now becoming dangerously late, and when we had spent another ten minutes in a futile search we decided that we must return to the first place. At this hour in the morning it would be most dangerous to go back through the village, so we tried to go round it. After getting wet to the waist going through some meadows, we came to a river 5 yards broad, which looked very deep. Swimming was not to be thought of, as it was a very cold morning and we were exhausted, so we went back through the village the way we had come. It was 5.30 when we passed through and several people were about, but we met no one, and the mist hid us to a certain extent. At last, very tired indeed (for an hour we had been walking at high pressure), we threw ourselves down in our hiding-place.

We were awfully wet and cold, and after we had lain shivering with our teeth chattering for a couple of hours, the sun rose and drove away the mist. No sunlight reached our hiding-place, it was too thick, so we crept out to an open space in the wood and sunned ourselves. A little-used footpath ran close by us, and we soon considered the position we were in to be too dangerous, and retreated to the edge of the wood to a spot which was more or less screened by bushes from the path. I slept and Buckley watched. As we were lying there, a man with a gun, a forester probably, came along the path, and passed without seeing us. He could not have missed us if he had glanced our way. Buckley woke me, and we crept back into the dank wet undergrowth, feeling much annoyed with ourselves for the unnecessary risk we had taken. As the day got warmer we revived, and passed it not unpleasantly, and without further disturbance. Unfortunately, the night before we had been unable to collect potatoes, but we promised ourselves that in future one of our most urgent duties would be to collect a pocketful each. We believed then, but I don't know how true it is, that there were some very savage laws against the stealing of seed potatoes. If we were caught with potatoes on us, we could scarcely expect to be leniently treated, and our reception by the villagers was also doubtful; so we made arrangements to throw our potatoes away immediately if chased.