STILL AT LARGE

“The Chinese Dragon Clue

“GUNTHER PLÜSCHOW, the German Naval-lieutenant, fugitive from Donington Hall, has now been at large seven days. The Chinese dragon tattooed on his left arm while on service in the East should, however, betray his identity.

“Further particulars of the escape with Lieutenant Trefftz, who was caught at Millwall Docks within twenty-four hours, show that last Sunday evening a violent thunderstorm raged over Donington Hall when the evening roll-call was taken. Instead of assembling with the other prisoners within the inner of the two rings of wire entanglements, the two hid within the outer circle. Their names were answered by other prisoners. A wooden plank near the outer ring showed how they got across the barbed wire.”

[Notice circulated in the Press one week after the escape.]

For days I loafed about London, my cap set jauntily at the back of my head, my jacket open, showing my blue sweater and its one ornament, the gilt stud, hands in pocket, whistling and spitting, as is the custom of sailors in ports all the world over. No one suspected me, and my whole plan hinged on this, for my only safeguard against discovery lay in the exclusion of even the slightest suspicion directed against myself. If anyone had paid even passing attention to me, if a policeman had asked me for my name, I could only have given my own. Therefore, it was quite superfluous that the warrants put such stress on the tattoo marks on my arm as a clue to my identity. If matters had got thus far, it would have meant that the fight was over.

On the second morning I had colossal luck! I sat on the top of a bus, and behind me two business men were engaged in animated conversation. Suddenly I caught the words, “Dutch steamer—departure—Tilbury,” and from that moment I listened intently, trying to quell the joyful throbbings of my heart. For these careless gentlemen were recounting nothing less than the momentous news of the sailing, each morning at seven, of a fast Dutch steamer for Flushing, which cast anchor off Tilbury Docks every afternoon.

In the twinkling of an eye I was off the bus. I rushed off to Blackfriars Station, and an hour later was at Tilbury. It was midday, and the workmen were streaming into their public-houses. First I went down to the river and reconnoitred; but my boat had not yet arrived. As I still had some time before me and felt very hungry, I went into one of the numerous eating-houses specially frequented by dock-labourers. In a large room a hundred of them were gathered around long tables, partaking of huge meals. I followed their example, and, by putting down 8d., received a plate heaped with potatoes, vegetables and a large piece of meat. After that I purchased a big glass of stout from the bar, and, sitting down amongst the men with the utmost unconcern, proceeded with my dinner, endeavouring to copy the table manners of the men around me, and nearly coming to grief when trying to assimilate peas with the help of a knife.

In the midst of my feast I suddenly felt a tap on the shoulder. Icy shivers ran down my back. The proprietor stood behind me and asked me for my papers. I naturally understood that he meant my identity book, and gave all up as lost. As I was unable to produce them, I was obliged to follow him, and saw to my dread that he went to the telephone. I was already casting furtive glances at the door and thinking how I could best make my escape, when the publican, who had been watching me through the glass door, returned and remarked: “If you have forgotten your papers, I can’t help you. By the by, what is your name? And where do you come from?”

“I am George Mine, an American, ordinary seaman from the four-masted barque Ohio, lying upstream. I just came in here and have paid for my dinner, but of course haven’t got my papers about me.”

He remarked: “This is a private, social-democratic club, and only members are allowed to eat here—you ought surely to know that—but if you become a member, you are welcome to come as often as you like.”

Of course I agreed at once to his proposal, and paid three shillings’ entrance fee. A bit of glaring red ribbon was passed through my buttonhole, and thus I became the latest member of the social-democratic trades union of Tilbury!

I returned to my table as if nothing had happened, gulped down my stout to fortify myself after the shock I had just had, but also soon left, for, to be quite frank, I had lost all my appetite and no longer cared for my food.

I now went down to the riverside, threw myself on to the grass, and, feigning sleep, kept a lynx-eyed watch.

Ship after ship went by, and my expectations rose every minute. At last, at 4 p.m., with proud bearing, the fast Dutch steamer dropped anchor and made fast to a buoy just in front of me. My happiness and my joy were indescribable when I read the ship’s name in white shining letters on the bow: Mecklenburg.

There could be no better omen for me, since I am a native of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. I crossed over to Gravesend on a ferry-boat, and from there unobtrusively watched the steamer. I adopted the careless demeanour and rolling gait of the typical Jack Tar, hands in my pockets, whistling a gay tune, but keeping eyes and mind keenly on the alert.

This was my plan: to swim to the buoy during the night, climb the hawser, creep on deck and reach Holland as a stowaway.

I soon found the basis for my operations.

After I had ascertained that nobody was paying attention to me, I climbed over a pile of wood and rubbish, and concealed myself under some planks, where I discovered several bundles of hay. These afforded me a warm resting-place, of which I made use on that and the following nights.

About midnight I left my refuge. Cautiously I clambered over the old planks and the litter strewn over the ground. The rain came down noisily, and, though I had taken my bearings during the day, it was almost impossible in the pitch-dark night to find the two barges which I had seen near the lumber pile.

Creeping on all fours, listening with straining ears and trying to pierce the surrounding blackness, I came closer to my object.

However, I perceived with dismay that the two barges which, in daytime, had been completely submerged, lay high and dry. Luckily, at the stern, a little dinghy rode on the water.

With prompt resolution I wanted to rush into the boat, but before I knew where I was I felt the ground slipping from under my feet and I sank to the hips into a squashy, slimy, stinking mass. I threw my arms about, and was just able to reach the plank, which ran from the shore to the sailing-boat, with my left hand.

It took all my strength to get free of the slime which had nearly proved my undoing, and I was completely exhausted when I at last dragged myself back to my bed of hay.

When the sun rose on the third morning of my escape, I had already returned to a bench in Gravesend Park, and was watching the Mecklenburg as she slipped her moorings at 7 a.m. and made for the open sea.

All that day, as well as later on, I loafed about London. For hours, like so many other wastrels, I watched from the bridges the position of the neutral steamers, the loading and unloading of cargoes, noting their stage and progress, in order, if possible, to take advantage of a lucky moment to slip on board.

I fed all these days in some of the worst eating-houses of the East End. I looked so disreputable and dirty, often limping or reeling about like a drunkard, and put on such an imbecile stare that no one bothered about me. I avoided speech, and sharply observed the workmen’s pronunciation and the way in which they ordered their food. Soon I had acquired such facility and quickness—to say nothing of amazing impudence—that I no longer even considered the possibility of being caught. In the evening I returned to Gravesend.

This time a new steamer lay at anchor in the river, the Princess Juliana.

I now proceeded to pay still more attention to the conformation of the riverside, so as to safeguard myself against further accidents.

At midnight I found myself at the spot I had chosen. The bank was stony and the tide just going out. I quietly discarded my jacket, boots and stockings, stowed the latter, with my watch, shaving-set, etc., in my cap, and put it on, fastening it securely on my head.

After that I hid the jacket and the boots under a stone, tightened the leather belt which held my trousers, and, dressed as I was, slipped gently into the water and swam in the direction of the boat.

The night was rainy and dark. Soon I was unable to recognize the shore which I had just left, but could just make out the outline of a rowing-boat which lay at anchor. I made for it, but in spite of terrible exertions could not get any nearer. My clothes were soaked through, and, growing heavier and heavier, nearly dragged me down. My strength began to abandon me, and so strong was the current that other rowing-boats which lay at anchor seemed to shoot past me like phantoms. Swimming desperately and exerting all my strength, I tried to keep my head above the water.

Soon, though, I lost consciousness, but when I recovered it, I lay high and dry on some flat stones covered with seaweed.

A kind fate had directed me to the few stony tracts of the shore where the river makes a sharp bend, and, thanks to the quickly outflowing tide, I lay out of the water.

Trembling and shivering with cold and exertion, I staggered along the river-bank, and after an hour I found my jacket and my boots. After that I climbed over my fence and lay down, with chattering teeth, on my couch of straw.

It was still pouring, and an icy wind swept over me. My only covering consisted of my wet jacket and my two hands, which I spread out protectively over my stomach so as to try at least to keep well and going for the next few days. After two hours, being quite unable to sleep, I got up and ran about to get a little warmer.

My wet clothes only dried when they had hung over a stove a few days later in Germany! I again went to London for the day. I hung around in several churches, where I probably created the impression that I was praying devoutly; in reality I enjoyed an occasional nap there.

Another notice:

On that day I nearly became an English soldier. On one of the platforms, erected in the midst of a public square, I saw an orator standing up and addressing the people—of course, angling for recruits. In the most brilliant colours, and with the highest enthusiasm, he depicted to the attentive crowd the entrÉe into London of victorious German troops. “The streets of London,” he said, “will re-echo to the tread of the ‘Huns’; your wives will be ravished by German soldiers and trampled on by their muddy boots. Will you allow this, free Britons?” An indignant “No” sounded back. “Very well, then—come and join the army now!”

I expected a general rush forward, for the man had spoken most impressively; but no one budged, no one volunteered, or believed that Kitchener specially wanted him. The orator now started all over again, but his flaming words fell on deaf ears.

In the meantime, English recruiting sergeants moved about the crowd. Everywhere people shook their heads. Not one of Albion’s valorous sons was having any. Suddenly my turn came.

A sergeant as tall as a lamp-post stood before me and felt the biceps of my forearms. He seemed very pleased with his examination, for he tried to convince me by all the means in his power that to be a soldier in Kitchener’s army was the most beautiful thing in the world. I refused. “No,” I said; “it is quite impossible. I am only seventeen.”

“Oh, that don’t matter; we shall simply turn it into eighteen, and that’ll be all right.”

“No, really, it’s quite impossible. Moreover, I am an American, and have no permission from my Captain.” The persistent fellow now produced an oleograph on which the English uniforms were depicted in the gaudiest colours. He simply would not let me go. To get rid of him I asked him to leave it with me, and promised to talk it over with my skipper, and to tell him next day which uniform I preferred. It goes without saying that I always made a great detour round this place.

I had by then acquired so much confidence that I walked into the British Museum, visited several picture-galleries and even frequented matinÉes at music-halls, without being asked questions. The pretty blonde attendants at the music-halls were especially friendly to me, and seemed to pity the poor sailor who had wandered in by chance. What amused me most was to see the glances of disgust and contempt which the ladies and the young girls used to throw at me on the top of the buses. If they had known who sat near them! Is it surprising that I should not smell sweetly considering my night’s work and the wet and slimy state of my clothes? In the evening I was back at Gravesend. In the little park which overlooked the Thames I listened quietly for hours to the strains of a military band. I had definitely given up my plan to swim to the steamer, for I saw that the distance was too great and the current too strong. I decided, therefore, to commandeer unobtrusively, somehow, a dinghy in which to reach the steamer. Just in front of me I saw one which I deemed suitable for my purpose, but it was moored to a wharf over which a sentry stood guard by day and night. But the risk had to be taken. The night was very dark when, about 12, I crept through the park and crawled up to the embankment wall, which was about 6 feet high. I jumped over the hedge and saw the boat rocking gently on the water. I listened breathlessly. The sentry marched up and down. Half asleep, I had taken off my boots, fastening them with the laces round my neck, and holding an open knife between my teeth. With the stealth of an Indian I let myself down over the wall, and was just able to reach the gunwale of the boat with my toes. My hands slipped over the hard granite without a sound, and a second later I dropped into the boat, where I huddled in a corner listening with breathless attention; but my sentry went on striding up and down undisturbed under the bright arc-lamps. My boat, luckily, lay in shadow.

My eyes, trained through T.B.D. practice, saw in spite of the pitch darkness almost as well as by day. Carefully I felt for the oars. Damn! They were padlocked! Luckily the chain lay loose, and silently I first freed the boat-hook, then one oar after the other from the chain. My knife now sawed through the two ropes which held the boat to the wall, and I dipped my oars noiselessly into the water and impelled my little boat forward.

When I had entered the boat, it had already shipped a good deal of water. Now I noticed to my dismay that the water was rapidly rising. It was already lapping the thwart, and the boat became more and more difficult to handle as it grew heavier and heavier. I threw myself despairingly on my oars. Suddenly, with a grinding noise, the keel grounded and the boat lay immovable. Nothing now was of avail, neither pulling nor rowing, nor the use of the boat-hook. The boat simply refused to budge. Very quickly the water sank round it, and after a few minutes I sat dry in the mud, but to make up for this the boat was brimful of water. I had never in my life witnessed such a change in the water-level due to the tide. Although the Thames is well known in this respect, I had never believed that possible.

At this moment I found myself in the most critical position of my escape. I was surrounded on all sides by slushy, stinking slime, whose acquaintance I had made two evenings before at the risk of my life. The very thought caused me to shudder. About 200 yards off the sentry marched up and down, and I found myself with my boat 15 feet from the 6-foot-high granite wall.

I sat reflecting coolly. One thing appeared a sheer necessity—not to be found there by the English, who might have killed me like a mad dog.

But the water was not due to rise before the next afternoon. Therefore it behoved me to muster my energy, clench my teeth, and try to get the better of the mud. I slipped off my stockings, turned up my trousers as high as I could, then I placed the thwarts and the oars close to each other on the seething and gurgling ooze, used the boat-hook as a leaping-pole by placing its point on a board, stood on the gunwale, and, gathering all my strength to a mighty effort, I vaulted into space—but lay, alas, the next moment 3 feet short of the wall, and sank deep over knee into the clammy slush, touching hard bottom, however, as I did so. Now I worked myself along the wall, placed my boat-hook as a climbing-pole against it, and found myself in a few seconds on top, after which I slid into the grass of the park, where a few hours previously I had been listening to the music. Unbroken silence reigned around me. Unutterable relief flooded me, for nobody, not even the sentry, had noticed anything.

With acute discomfort I contemplated my legs. They were covered with a thick, grey, malodorous mass, and there was no water in the vicinity to clean them. But it was impossible to put on boots or stockings whilst they were in that condition. With infinite trouble I succeeded in scraping off the dirt as far as possible, and waited for the rest to dry; then only was I able to resume a fairly decent appearance.

My first plan had miscarried, but in spite of this I felt I had had such luck with it that I was ready to undertake a second venture.

I now made my way to the little bridge, which was guarded by my sentry, and, impersonating a drunken sailor, I reeled about until I gently collided with the good fellow. He, however, seemed quite used to such happenings, for remarking pleasantly, “Hallo, old Jack! One whisky too much!” he patted me on the shoulder and let me pass.

A hundred yards farther on, and I had regained my normal demeanour. After a short search I found the place from which I had started the night before on my ill-starred swimming attempt.

It was about 2 a.m., and in a trice I had undressed and sprang, agile and unhampered—as God had made me—into the water. For the first time the sky was covered with clouds, and the outlines of rowing-boats, anchored at a distance of about 200 yards from the shore, appeared vague and shadowy. The water was quite unusually phosphorescent, and I have only observed it to that degree in the tropics. I swam, therefore, in a sea of gold and silver. At any other time I would have admired this play of Nature immensely, but now I only felt fear that my body would flash suspiciously white in this clear golden light. At the start, all went well. But as soon as I had passed the left bend of the river, where the shore afforded some protection, I was seized by the current, and had to fight for my life with the watery elements. As I was losing my strength I reached the first boat, made a final effort and hoisted myself noisily into it. Oh, persecution of a pitiless fate! The boat was empty—no scull, no boat-hook with which I could have put it in motion. After a short pause I again slipped into the water and drifted on to the next boat. And this, too, was empty! And the same happened with the three next. And when I reached the last one, after I had rested a little, I again dipped into the glittering but now unpleasantly cold water. Two hours after I had started on my adventure, I again reached the place where I had left my clothes.

As I was trembling like an aspen leaf with cold and exposure, I found it particularly hard to get into my sodden and sticky togs.

Half an hour later I was back in my sleeping-place amid the hay, beginning to feel serious doubts in the existence of my lucky star!

Could I be blamed if my spirits fell a little, and if I became quite indifferent to my interests? I confess I was so discouraged that the next morning I did not find sufficient energy to leave my hiding-place in time, and only escaped over my fence after the proprietor of the timber-pile had passed close in front of my retreat several times. That day I walked up to London on foot from Gravesend, and returned by the other side of the Thames to Tilbury. All this, in order to find a boat that I could purloin unnoticed. It was quite incredible that I could not do so; several lay there, as if waiting for me; but they were only too well guarded. I gave it up in despair.

That evening I went to a music-hall, with the firm intention of blowing my last pound, and then staking everything on one card, and try to get to the docks and hide there on a neutral steamer. And if this plan miscarried—as it had with Trefftz—I decided to give myself up to the police.

I stood in the upper gallery of the biggest music-hall in London and watched the performance. An inner voice whispered to me: “Your place is at Gravesend, working for your escape. Your duty is to throw off this slackness, otherwise you are not worthy to be a German sailor!”

So when I saw the tableaux vivants, scenes from the trenches and allegories of the coming Victory and Peace, in which the Germans naturally figured as fleeing and conquered, when at last, in the chief picture, Britannia appeared—a shining figure with the Palm of Victory in her hand, and a field-grey German soldier lying prostrate beneath her right foot—I felt consumed by a flame of righteous anger, and in spite of the forcible protests of my neighbours I fled from the theatre, and was able to catch the last train to Tilbury.

Only then did I feel happy again. And I felt so certain now that my plan would come off, that no room was left for doubt.

After I had passed the first fishermen’s huts of Gravesend, I found a small scull. I took it with me. In mid-stream, just near the landing-place of the fishing-vessels, a little dinghy bobbed on the water. Not more than twenty feet away sat their owners on a bench, so absorbed in tender flirtation with their fair ones that the good sea-folk took no heed of my appearance on the scene.

It was risky, but “Nothing venture, nothing have,” I muttered to myself. And, thanks to my acquired proficiency, I crept soundlessly into the boat—one sharp cut, and the tiny nutshell softly glided alongside a fishing-boat, on whose quarter-deck a woman was lulling her baby to sleep.

As there were no rowlocks in the boat, I sat aft, and pushed off with all my strength from the shore. I had, however, hardly covered one-third of the distance, when the ebbtide caught me in its whirl, spun my boat round like a top and paralysed all my efforts at steering. The time had come to show my sailor’s efficiency. With an iron grip I recovered control of the boat, and, floating with the tide, I steered a downstream course. A dangerous moment was at hand. An imposing military pontoon-bridge, stretching across the river, and guarded by soldiers, came across my way. Summoning cool resolution and sharp attention to my aid, looking straight ahead and only intent on my scull, I disregarded the sentry’s challenge and shot through between the two pontoons. A few seconds after the boat sustained a heavy shock, and I floundered on to the anchor-cable of a mighty coal-tender. With lightning speed I flung my painter round it, and this just in time, for the boat nearly capsized. But I was safe. The water whirled madly past it, as the ebbtide, reinforced by the drop of the river, must have fully set in. I had now only to wait patiently.

My steamer lay to starboard. I wanted to bide my time until the flow of the tide made it possible for me to get across.

I was already bubbling over with cock-sureness when the necessary damper was administered. Dawn was breaking, the outlines of the anchored ships became clearer and clearer. At last the sun rose, and still the water ran out so strongly that it was impossible even to contemplate getting away. Anyhow, it was impossible to carry out my flight just then. But at last, happy in the possession of the long-desired boat, I slid downstream and, after an hour, pulled up at a crumbling old bridge on the right bank of the Thames. I pushed my boat under it, took both sculls with me as a precautionary measure, and hid them in the long grass. Then I lay down close to them, and at eight o’clock I saw my steamer, the Mecklenburg, vanishing proudly before my eyes. My patience had still to undergo a severe test. I remained lying in the grass for the next sixteen hours, until, at eight o’clock that night, the hour of my deliverance struck.

I again entered my boat. Cautiously I allowed myself to be driven upstream by the incoming tide, and fastened my boat to the same coal-tender near which I had been stranded the night before. Athwart to me lay the Princess Juliana moored to her buoy.

As I had time to spare, I lay down at the bottom of my boat and tried to take forty winks, but in vain. The tide rose, and I was once more surrounded by the rushing water.

At midnight all was still around me, and when at one o’clock the boat was quietly bobbing on the flow, I cast off, sat up in my boat, and rowed, with as much self-possession as if I had been one of a Sunday party in Kiel Harbour, to the steamer.

Unnoticed, I reached the buoy. The black hull of my steamer towered high above me. A strong pull—and I was atop the buoy. I now bade farewell to my faithful swan with a sound kick, which set it off downstream with the start of the ebb. During the next few minutes I lay as silent as a mouse. Then I climbed with iron composure—and this time like a cat—the mighty steel cable to the hawse. Cautiously I leaned my head over the rail and spied about. The forecastle was empty.

I jerked myself upwards and stood on the deck.