The Adventures of the Pilot from Tsingtau -Pages 149 - 180

Dark Nights on the Thames Everything remained quiet. Thank God the teaming rain stopped. Full darkness enveloped the park. The faint light of a giant arc lamp shimmered. The regular footsteps of the guards marching back and forth in their guardhouses thumped dully. When they called out the quarter hour their voices sounded strange. The changing of the guard occurred at midnight. I followed this with heightened awareness. Then the watch officer arrived and shined a lamp on the daytime barrier—our area—by twelve thirty everything was dead quiet again. The moment of our activity had arrived. Gingerly, like a cat, I climbed out of my hiding spot, crept through the park up to the barbed wire barrier in order to convince myself that there really was no guard standing the watch. I ascertained that everything was alright. Once I found the place where we wanted to go over the fence,

I crept back and retrieved Trefftz. Now we made the crossing together. Once at the barrier I gave last minute details to Treffetz, then handed him my bundle. I started to climb. The fence was around three meters high and all twenty centimeters of wire had unusually long barbs. Electified wire was placed about sixty-five centimeters above the ground. Just one touch would have engaged the current and set off an alarm which would alert the entire camp. To protect against the barbs we wore leather leggings with padding at the knees and we wore leather gloves, but the barbs were very long and the pricking was horrible. However there was an advantage to it because they kept us from sliding and touching the electified wire. I scaled the first fence easily. Then Treffetz gave me both bundles and he climbed the fence just as quickly. Next came a heavy wire fence about ten meters wide and a meter high which had been built using the latest techniques to confound. We jumped over this one like cats. Then there was another barbed wire fence built like the first one and inlaid with electrified wire. We both smoothly got over this one, however I ripped the seat of my trousers on a barb. I had take the trousers off, then put them back on again. Thank God, the barrier was passed. Quietly Treffetz and I clasped hands. Quietly we looked at each other. We knew we had made it through. Now the greatest trial began.

Carefully we crept through the darkness, crossing a brook, climbing a wall, jumping into deep trenches and slipping past the guardhouse situated at the entrance to the camp. Then finally we reached freedom. On the large country road which led to Donington Castle we ran without stopping. We stopped after half an hour and took off the padded leggings and gloves. The palms of our hands were swollen, not to mention the soles of our feet and our seats. Even a week later momentos of the English barbed wire still itched. Now we opened our bundles, donned our gray civilian raincoats, stowed away residual odds and ends, linked arms and cheerfully went down the road as though we were on a nighttime binge. As Donington Castle came into view we had to have a plan. We had previously discussed everything we would do if we met anyone. Just as we went to turn at the village road we encountered an English soldier. As if on command Treffetz came close to me and as previously planned, we looked like a couple in love. Looking back at us curiously and with a flick of his tongue, the Englishman walked past. As he went by I recognized him in a flash. Three sergeant's stripes dully shone on his sleeve. This squat, fat, striking figure could only be our English camp sergeant. We walked on farther. After we went past the village we fortunately found the aforementioned bridge. Our next move was of critical importance. Three large routes proceeded from here and it was impossible to identify them without markers. Finally, in the dark we found a signpost, a rare thing in England.

Luckily it was made of iron. As Treffetz climbed up it he felt the raised lettering and decipher the word "Derby." At top speed we oriented ourselves to the North Star and marched off. Whenever we encountered people or automobiles, especially if they were coming up from behind, we hid in the side ditches and waited for the danger to pass. It was only natural to think that any auto on the road was there searching for us. When we felt hunger we ate the ham and chocolate we had brought along. Unfortunately the ham was too salty and the chocolate too sweet and we were plagued by dreadful thirst. It was so unbearable we could hardly keep going. Add to this the sweat caused by constant excitement and the grueling march. In our distress we went into the road ditches and licked the raindrops off the leaves of the bushes like goats until we finally found a puddle of dirty water into which we feverishly threw ourselves and drank. Oh, it was good! Slowly dawn arrived. Around four in the morning as we reached the first guardhouse of Derby the magnificent blood-red giant sun appeared on the horizon. We stood as though transfixed, captured by this wondrous drama, then we shook hands and happily waved at the sun. It was coming from Germany, directly from our homeland. It had turned red while going through the bloody battlefields and brought us the warmest greeting of our lives. A good omen! Now we sneaked into a small garden and made our morning ablutions. The clothes brush we had brought with us worked wonders.

Caption under photograph reads: As a Vagabund in London

My shoe leather showed heavy wear and I sewed up the seat of my pants with a sewing needle I had brought along. Lacking shaving cream we used our spit then worked our poor faces with the Gilette razors we had also brought along. Finally we buttoned up our collars and tightened our ties and left the clothes brushes and shoe polishing clothes for the garden's owner. Then stylishly, almost like dandies with a coquettish crease in our soft hats, we entered Derby. Luckily we soon found our way to the train station, left without incident, and experienced the maddening befuddlement which goes on a quarter of an hour before the train left for London. I parted with a return ticket, third class going to Leicester and armed with a thick newspaper I boarded the train. I got out at Leicester, bought a ticket for London. I entered the cabin and accidentally sat next to a man in a gray coat whom I was sure I had seen before, but naturally he paid me no mind. I believe in earlier times his name began with a T. Around noon the train finally arrived in London. As I went through the turnstile and surrendered my ticket I didn't quite feel right and my hand began to shake. But the stringent gaze of the inspector meant nothing and a few minutes later I disappeared into the confusion of the big city. It was a good thing that I had been in London two years before and I was sufficiently acquainted with it. The first thing I did was go into four different breakfast places where I ate and drank so much that all of it still hasn't been used up. Then I went to the Thames and revived my memories of all the streets, bridges and steamship docks via visual reexaminiation. I paid particular attention to where neutral steamers were at anchor.

I had imagined things would be easier. I had hoped to immediately find a steamship. Instead, to my regret, all I saw was that all wharfs and unloading docks along with most of the neutral steamers were being closely watched from the middle of the river. The foreign environment, the uncertainty in which I found myself for the first time, and above all else the continual feeling since the first day that despite what I believed everyone knew who I was, had their affect on me. It was written all over my face that I had escaped from Donington Hall. To all this was added in the last night the enduring agitation, the overabundant stress, and the feeling of total abandonment of being in a major enemy city. In vain I went to the trouble of searching the newspapers for steamship departure information. This was a particularly bitter disappointment. Was it any wonder that I stood completely discouraged and tired to the point of falling over before St. Paul's Cathedral at seven in the evening waiting for Treffetz? I waited until nine o'clock, but Treffetz didn't come. Firmly convinced that Treffetz had succeeded in securing a steamship and that he might already have left London, I dragged myself thoroughly depressed to Hyde Park. To my disappointment and contrary to earlier custom, the park was closed. What would I do? Where would I sleep? I couldn't stay on the streets without being picked up. I couldn't go to an inn. I didn't have a passport. Everyone in England had to have a passport these days. Under severe penalty no innkeeper would accept a guest without one. I went to a squalid bar to fortify myself with a glass of warm stout and a roll of crackers.

Everything else had been eaten up. When the bar announced closing time I sat out on the streets again. I turned onto one of the better avenues where magnificent mansions were surrounded by well-cared-for front gardens. I could barely stay on my feet. When the coast was clear I jumped over one of the garden fences and a hedge of boxwoods just a few steps from the pavement. I could scarcely describe my mood. My pulse hammered wildly and thoughts rushed through my brain. Covered by my rubber coat I crept like a thief into my hideaway. If anyone had found me in this situation I would have looked like a criminal rather than a German officer. I was determined never to tell anyone about this denegrating experience. Oh, if only I had known what I would be doing two days later I would have been so much more hopeful. After I had been laying in my hideout for about an hour the double doors to the magnificent veranda of the adjacent house opened and many ladies and gentlemen in flawless evening dress exited in order to enjoy the wonderful evening air. I could observe and hear everything from my hideout. After a while a grand piano sounded and a superb soprano voice sang a beautiful, nostalgic song by Schubert which churned up my soul. Eventually weariness overcame me and I slept the sleep of the dead, carried along by dreams of future prospects. The regular, strong stride of a policemen went back and forth along the street with its path but a few steps away from me.

The bright rays of the sun woke me up the next morning. I had overslept! I needed to be careful now. Unobservantly the policeman sauntered back and forth, not wishing to deviate from his course. A lovely, young chamber maid opened the door and quickly my policemen rushed over and started joking with the dewy-eyed little mop. Without either one of them seeing me I jumped over the fence and sprinted down the street. It was already six in the morning and Hyde Park was open. Since the subway wasn't running yet I went into the park and laid on a bench like many other vagabonds, who had already made themselves comfortable there. I put my hat over my face and slept soundly until nine o'clock. Refortified with courage I went down to the subway and rode to the docks. On the quay my attention was grabbed by giant yellow posters. How do I describe my astonishment as I read the bold, dark print: 1. Mr. Trefftz had already been apprehended during the night, 2. Mr. Plüschow was "still at large," and 3. Men were already on his trail. The first and third items were new to me; I already knew the second item. I quickly bought a copy of the Daily Mail, went to a simple breakfast shop, and read the below-rendered description with great interest. So, they had already grabbed poor Trefftz! I stood by my decision of what I would do next. The article describing me was of great service. The first thing I had to do was dispose of my gray rubber coat. I went to "Blackfriar Station" and stowed my coat in the luggage locker room.

EXTRA LATE WAR EDITION ================= HUNT FOR ESCAPED GERMAN. ___.___ HIGH-PITCHED VOICE AS A CLUE. _____ Scotland Yard last night issued the following amended description of Gunther Pluschow, one of the two German prisoners who escaped from Donington Hall Leicestershire, on Monday :-- Height, 5 ft., 5 ½ in.; 135 lb.; complexion, fair; hair blonde; eyes, blue; and tattoo marks, Chinese dragon on left arm. As already stated in "The Daily Chronicle," Pluschow's companion, Treppitz, was recaptured on Monday evening at Millwall Docks. Both men are naval officers. An earlier description stated that Pluschow is 29 years old. His voice is high-pitched. He is particularly smart and dapper in appearance, has very good teeth, which he shows somewhat prominently when talking or smiling; is "very English in manner," and knows this country well. He also knows Japan well. He is quick and alert, both mentally and physically, and speaks French and English fluently and accurately. He was dressed in a grey lounge suit or grey and yellow mixture suit. London Prisoner Recaptured. August Arndt, who escaped from internment at the Alexandra Palace, North London,, on Sunday, has been recaptured _____ The first description (Translation on next page)

[German Translation of Newspaper Article on Previous Page]

When I gave the attendant my gray coat he suddenly asked me, "What's your name, Sir?" The question filled me with fear. I wasn't prepared for it. My knees shook as I asked, "Mine?" Naturally I thought the man knew who I was. In shock I answered in German. Oh, I see, Mr. Mine. M, I, N, E." And with that he gave me the claim ticket for Mr. Mine. It was a miracle the attendant didn't notice my apprehension. I felt rather sick as I passed by the two policemen on watch at the entrance to the train station. During my flight I had donned a blue civilian suit which I had made for me in Shanghai. It had been worn by Mr. Brown and Mr. Scott and later by millionaire McGarvin, and then again by a certain locksmith turned castle keeper, Ernst Suse. Previously in better times it had been worn by a marine officer. Now it would end its life on the body of dock worker George Mine. Under the jacket I wore a blue crewman's sweater given to me by one of our captive naval ordinance officers at Donington Hall. In the pockets I carried a frayed sports cap, a pocket knife, pocket mirror, shaving gear, some string and two handkerchiefs. I further possessed the proud sum of one hundred and twenty Schillings, which I had managed to scrape together. I never possessed the passport or other papers each Englishman was now supposed to have. I went out to a remote point on the Thames. My beautiful, soft hat flew off by accident from London Bridge into the water.

Collar and tie went off in a difference direction. The beautiful goldplated button shined magnificently in the green pleat of my shirt (buttondown.) My hair became black and greasy with a combination of Vaseline, boot polish and coaldust. My hands scarcely looked better as though they had never come in contact with water. For good measure I diligently walked in a heap of coal until my appearance as striking dock worker G. Mine was complete. No one would never suspect I was an officer, and least of all describe me as "smart" and "dapper." I believe I played my role well and after I overcame my abhorrance to my new surroundings and that much filth I felt sure I really could become what I appeared to be: a lazy, dirty dock worker or crewman on a sailing ship. With my cap pulled down and covered with dirt, my jacket open and the blue seaman's sweater showing my collar studs and with my hands in my pockets as I whistled and spat and slouched I looked like thousands of other sailors in any port city around the world. I went about the city of London without eliciting the slightest amount of suspicion that I was anyone other than who I appeared to be. My entire plan depended on this. The best possibility of remaining undiscovered was to behave and appear this way so I would not awaken suspicion. It should never come to anyone paying the slightest attention to me and if a policeman were to ask me who I was I would only give him my proper name. In that case it would be totally unnecessary to refer to the description concerning the tattoo on my arm.

Pluschow still free _____ The Chinese Dragon Clue. _____ Gunther Pluschow, the German naval lieutenant, fugitive from Donington Hall, has now been at large seven days. The Chinese dragon tattooed on his left arm while in service in the East should, however, betray his identity. Further particulars of the escape with Lieutenant Treffitz, 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 entanglement, 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. Article issued a week after the escape (Translation on verso)

[German Translation of Newspaper Article on Previous Page]

If it actually came to that, all was lost. On the second morning I had unexpected good luck. I sat on the rooftop of a bus. Behind me two merchants were in lively conversation. Suddenly I heard the words "Tilbury, the Dutch steamer is departing." I pricked my ears up. I had to hold onto my heart, otherwise it would have jumped out of my chest for joy. These two, careless gentlemen were discussing nothing other than that at seven each morning a swift Dutch steamer travelled to Vlissingen and each afternoon dropped anchor at the Tilbury Docks. With that one sentence I was off the bus. Quickly to Blackfriars Station, I bought a ticket and a good hour later I reached Tilbury. It was noontime and workers streamed into their local eateries. First I went down to the Thames and scoped out the region of my operation, then I convinced myself that my steamer had not yet arrived. I had time and a powerful hunger. I went back to Tilbury and entered one of the many eateries in which I had seen several dock workers enter. In one large room sat maybe a hundred workers at long tables polishing off huge bowls of food. As was the custom I went to a counter, laid eight pennies on the table and received a large plate piled with potatoes, vegetables and a huge piece of meat. Then I went to the bar, bought a large glass of stout, calmly sat down at a table with other workers and imitated their eating habits and mannerisms. I found eating peas with a knife especially difficult. While in best form I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder. Ice went through all my limbs.

As I turned around the owner stood there and asked me for my papers. I naturally assumed he wanted my identification papers, which were already lost. Since I couldn't produce them I had to follow the innkeeper. I felt sheer terror as he went to the loud speaker to use the telephone. I looked towards the door and wanted to run but the innkeeper watched me through the glass door. He came back over to me and said, "Since you forgot your papers I can't help you. By the way, what's your name and where are you from?" "I'm George Mine, an ordinary American seaman from the four-mast barque "Ohio," which lies at anchor over there. I just got here and have already paid for my food and beer. Naturally I don't have my papers with me!" Then he said, "This is a closed Social Democratic Union. Only members can eat here. You should have already known that. If you want to become a member then you can stay here for free." Naturally I didn't know this. I paid my three Schillings entry fee, received a bright red silk ribbon which was attached to my button hole and a membership card, so now I was the newest member of the Social Democratic Dock Workers Union of Tilbury! As if nothing had happened, I went back to my table and emptied my glass in one pull in order to recover from the gut-wrenching terror. Soon after I left the room because I lost my appetite and the food no longer tasted right. Now I went down to the river bank, sat on the grass, acted as though I were sleeping when I was actually as alert as a lynx. Steamer after steamer passed by me. My anticipation grew. Around four in the afternoon

a fast Dutch steamer majestically sailed directly past my nose towards a bouy. What happiness and joy I experienced as I read on the bow in bright, white lettering the steamer's name: "Mecklenburg." As a native of Mecklenburg and Schwerin this was the best possible omen. I took the ferry over to Gravesend from where I could observe the steamer inconspicuously. I strolled about with my hands in my pocket, carefree and whistling a tune, casually imitating the gangly seaman's gait while in reality carefully observing the harbor. My plan was as follows: During the night swim to the bouy where the steamer was moored, climb up the steel chain, sneak up on deck and travel to Holland as an unseen passenger. I quickly established my base of operations. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Once I assured myself that I had not been observed I climbed into a lumberyard and rubbish-filled storage area which extended out towards the waters of the thames. Under several boards here were many bundles of hay, into which I crept and waited for night to fall. These bundles of hay were my hiding place for all the nights I was there. Around twelve midnight I climbed out of my lair. During the day I became acquainted with all the nearby objects including the necessary compass directions. Carefully I crept over piles of rubbish and old beams. The rain pounded and the night was so black that I could barely see

the two masted freighters which I had seen that day next to the lumberyard. Creeping along on all fours, straining to hear any sound, my eyes boring through the absolute darkness, I approached my target. To my shock I saw that the two freighters, which had floated in deep water that afternoon were now practically on dry land. However behind the stern, thank God, there was a small dinghy in the water. Deciding quickly I raced towards the boat but before I knew it the ground gave out from under me and I rapidly sank to my hips into the thick, slippery and bad-smelling ooze. My arms flailed about and my left hand just reached a plank, which had floated from the pier to the sailing ship. With extreme effort I freed myself from the disgusting muck, which had almost become my grave. Totally exhausted, I dragged my way back to the hay bundles. By the time the sun rose on the third day of my escape I had already hopped over the picket fence and was lounging on the park bench at Gravesend. Promptly at seven o'clock the "Mecklenburg" cast off from the dock and went downstream to the open sea. During the entire day and later at night I went around London. I stood on the bridge for hours like so many other dawdlers and observed the location of the neutral steamer and above all else its loading procedures so that at some favorable moment I could sneak onboard unnoticed. During all these days I ate at the usual workers eateries of East London. I looked so dissolute and

filthy, swayed and limped so intentionally, made such wacky and vacant expressions, and went about so crookedly and gangly that no one took notice of me. I avoided speaking and paid close attention to the manner of speech and pronunciation with which the workers ordered their food. Soon I was certain and prepared and even brazen. I no longer thought I would be detected. In the evening I went back to Gravesend. Again there was a steamer but this time it was the "Princess Juliana." I paid even closer attention to everything, especially the conditions on the riverbank until I was sure I knew everything about it. At midnight I was in my appointed spot. The shore was pebbly and the time of low tide started. I carefully took off my boots, socks and jacket, stowed my socks, watch, shaving gear, etc. in my cap, placed the heavy cap on my head and tied it to my head. I then hid the jacket and boots under a rock, tightly secured the belt of my pants, and dressed as I was I crept into the water and swam in the direction of the steamer. The night was rainy and dark. Soon I was unable to see the shore which I had just left. I could vaguely make out the outline of a rowboat which lay at anchor before me. I headed for it though the closer I got the more dreadfully nervous I became. My water-soaked clothing got progressively heavier and threatened to pull off of me. My strength began to falter as the shadow of several rowbaots swept by. In reality they were anchored and I was one one being swept along by the strong tide.

Cramping, I swam on with all my might and tried to keep my head above water. Soon I lost consciousness and when I came back to my senses I was laying high and dry on a smooth, seaweed covered rock. A fortunate bit of luck had driven me to one of the few rocky sections of beach where the river makes a sudden shift, and I drifted to dry land because of the low tide. Shaking and shivering from the cold and the overexertion, I pulled myself together and stumbled to the shore. After an hour I recovered my jacket and boots. Then I climbed over my picket fence and laid in the bundles of hay as I shivered and my teeth chattered. The rain poured down and the wind swept over me. My only cover was my damp jacket. I protectively put my hands flat on my stomach to keep myself together and maintain enough strength for the next day. After two hours without closing my eyes I couldn't hold out against the cold anymore. I left my hiding place and ran about at least to keep warm. My damp clothes finally dried as thought they had spent days suspended over a German stove! I went back over to London for the day. I visited many churches in which I gave the appearance of being a pious supplicant when in fact I slept for a while. On this day I almost became an English soldier. As happened every day, an orator stood on the platform at several sites and spoke to the people. It was a ploy to enlist recruits!

MUCH ESCAPED FUGITIVE. _____ PLUSCHOW'S AEROPLANE FLIGHT FROM TSING-TAO _____ By the Chinese Dragon clue the authorities still hope to trace Lieutenant Gunther Pluschow, of the German Navy, who escaped from Donington Hall on Monday. The dragon is tattooed on the fugitive's left arm in Oriental colours. It was probably worked by a native artist, for although but 29 years of age, Pluschow has had an adventurous career in the Kaiser's navy. He was in Tsing-tao when the British and Japanese besieged that German fortress. Shortly before it fell Pluschow escaped in an aeroplane, and some weeks later he was found on board a Japanese trading ship at Gibraltar. He will probably endeavor to sign on as a seaman in a neutral ship sailing from a British port, and, with this in view, a very careful watch is being kept at all ports throughout the country. Pluschow is a typical sailor, about 5 ft. 6 in. in height, with fair hair and fresh complexion. He would pass for a Dutchman with his broken English. Nothing he can do can remove the Chinese Dragon from his left arm, and his recapture should be but a matter of time. =================== Yet another detailed article (Translation below)

[German Translation of Newspaper Article on Previous Page]

In striking tones and wild frenzy the orator describes to the listening crowd what it would be like if German soldiers made their first victorious entry into London. "The streets of London," he said, "would echo with the footsteps of barbarians. Your women would be violated by German soldiers, then trodden under their muddy boots. Do you want that, free British men?" A vehement "No!" was the response. "Well good, then come and ... join the army now!" I expected a downright stampede. The man really made an enthralling speech. No one moved. Not one of them believed that Kitchener really wanted him. The speaker began again but his enflaming words fell of deaf ears. In the meantime English junior recruiting officers mingled in the crowd. Everywhere they went they saw heads shaking. None of the brave sons of Albion were about to bite. Suddenly I was next. A tall-as-a-tree sergeant stood before me and felt my upper arm. He seemed highly pleased with the examination. Then he used everything in his power to convince me that the soldiers assigned to Kitchener's army were the finest in the world. I declined. "No," I said. "That won't work. I'm only seventeen years old." "Oh, that doesn't metter. Well just change that to eighteen and everything will be all right." "No, it really wouldn't work. Besides, I'm an American and can't get leave from my ship's captain." Then the bothersome fellow pulled out a portfolio which contained pictures of the most colorful English uniforms. He just wouldn't let up. Eventually to get rid of him I said he should lend me one of the portfolios.

In the evening I would talk to my navigator and the next day I'd let him know which uniform I liked best. My going around in a wide circle away from that place after that incident was understandible. However with that I gained so much confidence in myself that I went to the British Museum despite my filthy clothes. I saw a few of the large picture galleries and I attended some afternoon vaudeville performances without ever being asked where I came from or why I was there. In the vaudeville theaters there were some very lovely and blond female cloakroom attendants who seemed to be particularly friendly towards me. They seemed to sympathize with a poor "sailor" who had wandered into the finer vaudeville theaters by accident. The most peculiar thing was when I took a seat on the upper deck of the bus. The ladies and young girls would often crumple up their noses in disgust, shy away from me, and give me a scornful look. If only they had known who sat next to them! I certainly didn't smell like perfume after my nighttime operations and damp, mud-encrusted clothing. By evening I was again back at Gravesend. Military music played in the small park next to the Thames shoreline. I quietly sat on a bench right on the beach for many hours, listened to the music and observed my surroundings like a lynx. I had finally given up on my plan of swimming over to the steamer once I saw that the span was too wide and the current was far too strong. Now I came up with the idea of getting a rowboat and rowing over to the steamer.

A suitable rowboat lay ahead of me. It was tethered to a sluice gate, which would be guarded both day and night. But I had to risk it! Around midnight I again sneaked into the pitch-dark park and crept to the approximately two-meter high harbor wall. A leap over a garden fence and the boat bobbed below me. I listened breathlessly. The guard, only ten paces away, tottered drunkenly back and forth. I had removed my boots and tied them around my neck by the shoelaces. The open knife was between my teeth. As smooth as an Indian I glided over to the wall. I angled the boat with a push of my foot on the gunwale. Quietly my hand reached the hard granite and a second later I sat huddled up in the boat. Breath-clenching tension. The guard continued to go back and forth under his bright spotlight. Thank God I could lay in the boat in the dark. Despite the blackness I could see as much as during the day due to the time spent using my eyes at night on torpedo boat missions. Carefully I grabbed for the oars. Damn, they were wrapped around a chain, but luckily they were not drawn tight. I gently moved towards the boat hook then drew the oars away from the chain. With a sawing motion of my knife I cut the ropes, which fastened the boat to the wall. Silently the oars sunk beneath the water and the boat moved forwards. When I had gotten into the boat it already had a lot of water in it. To my horror the water level was rising quickly. Soon the water covered the seat on which I sat. The large boat became more difficult to control and I doubled my efforts

to man the oars. Suddenly the keel ground to a halt and the boat was completely unmovable. No amount of rowing, reversing the oars or adjusting the boat hook helped. The boat remained stuck and water level quickly fell. A few minutes later I sat high and dry in the mud but to compensate the water inside the boat was up to the rim. I had never before witnessed such a quick change in water level due to ebb and flow. Even if the Thames was noted for this phenomenon I never would have considered this possible. I found myself at a critical juncture of the current. I was surrounded by soft, stinky mud, the acquaintanceship of which two nights ago had almost cost me my life. The thought of it still makes me cringe. The guard marched back and forth only two hundred meters away and I found myself in my boat about five meters from the two-meter high granite sea wall. I calmly deliberated as I sat on the row boat's seat. One consideration stood firm: the Englishmen must not find me here because they would shoot me like a dog. However the water level would not rise until the next morning. There was only one thing I could do: summon up all my energy, clench my teeth in determination and attempt to get out of the mud. I took off my socks, rolled my pant legs up as high as they would go, then I laid the boat planks and the oars next to each other on the shifting, unstable mud. I used the boat hook like a pogo stick and placed it at the edge of a plank. I placed myself at the rim of the boat, gathered my strength, planted the hook and sprang. With a loud splat I landed a mere meter away from the sea wall and sank into the cold muck up to my knees. However I felt firm ground under my feet.

I worked my way up onto the wall, used the boat hook as a climbing pole, and a second later I was up and sitting in the middle of the grass in the park, where I had heard music playing just a few hours before. Now silence surrounded me. A sigh escaped my lungs but no one, not even the guard, heard me. I looked discontentedly at my legs. They were covered with thick, smelly, gray muck up to my knees. Water for washing was nowhere in sight. It was impossible to put my socks and boots back on. With effort I scraped the ooze off with my fingers as best I could and once a dried crust formed I managed to get my shoes and socks back on and to lower my pant legs. The first plan had failed but I was fortunate enough to still have sufficient audacity to plan a second attempt. With hands in my pockets and looking like a drunkard I teetered up on the small bridge which was watched by my guard. In my faux-drunken state I gently bumped into the guard, who was used such behavior, and cheerfully said, "Hello, Old Jack. One whiskey too much!" He clapped me on the shoulder and let me pass. A few hundred paces later I was back to my old self. After some searching I found my way back to the stony dock where the evening before I had attempted my nearly fatal swim. It was around two at night. In a moment I undressed and immediately jumped into the water. However this time I did it unincumbered by any clothing just the way the Good Lord had created me. At first the sky was covered by clouds

and I could barely make out the outline of the row boat which was about two hundred meters from the dock. The water glowed with unusual intensity. Previously I had only seen similar phosphorescence in the tropics. I swan in a sea of gold and silver. At another time this phenomenon would have enchanted me but now I feared that the lighting of my naked white body in the bright gold current might disclose my presence. At first things went according to plan, but as soon as I left the protective edge of the dock the current grabbed me and once again it was a struggle between life and death. Just as my strength started to falter I reached the first boat. I summoned up the last of my strength and with a powerful shove I got inside it. It was a disaster! The boat was empty. There were no oars and no boat hook with which I propel the boat forward. After a brief rest I climbed back into the water and let the current take me to the next boat. That boat was empty too. And so I went to three other boats, and even the last one was empty. After I caught my breath I went back into the water but now there was an unwelcome coldness to it. Two hours later I had managed to swim back and put my clothes back on. I was shaking like a leaf from the cold, but as wet as I was I took great pains to get my damp and sticky clothing. Half an hour later I laid in my pile of hay and dubiously counted my lucky star. Did I resent myself for being so discouraged? And above all else apathetic? Yes. I was so depressed that I had no energy the next morning to leave my hiding place on time.

I just sat beyond the wooden fence as the owner of the lumber yard walked past my hiding place several times. The next day I went on foot from Gravesend to London and from London on foot to the other side of the Thames to Tilbury. All this to find a boat I could borrow without being noticed. You wouldn't believe how many boats there were but they were all well guarded by their owners. Discouraged, I gave up the plan. In the evening I went to the vaudeville show with the firm intention of having fun with the last twenty Schillings I possessed. Then in the nighttime I would place everything in a carton, try to reach the docks, and hide in a neutral steamer. If I failed and ended up like Trefftz then I'd take myself to the police. I stood in the upper gallery of the great London Vaudeville Theater and watched the performances. An inner voice constantly whispered to me: You're supposed to get to Gravesend. It's your duty to overcome your weariness otherwise you're no longer a German seaman! As living tableaus presented scenes from the trenches and exalted images of future victories and peace treaties in which the Germans are seen as defeated and fleeing; and as the embodiment of Britannia herself glows in the sunshine with the palm branch of victory in her hand and her right foot on the chained and prostate field-gray German soldier, I was seized with righteous anger. Despite the protests of my neighbors I hastily left the theater and caught the last train for Tilbury. Once again I felt inspired. Within myself I was thoroughly convinced that my plan would succeed today and nothing could stop me.

As I passed the first fishing hut of Gravesend I found some small boat oars. For reassurance I took them with me. In the middle of the dock, lying directly where the wharf indents, a small dinghy swayed back and forth. Only twenty paces away the owner of a fishing vessel sat on a garden bench talking to the owner of the dinghy. Since these good seamen were caressing their beloved ones they didn't notice my presence. It was risky, but I murmured to myself "the world belongs to the brave." Thanks to previously acquired training I crept silently to the boat, made a quick cut of the line, and quietly glided the tiny nutshell to the fishing vessel on the aftdeck of which a woman rocked her child to sleep. Since there were no oarlocks on the boat I sat astern and used all my strength to row to the shore. I had scarcely gotten a third of the way as I was suddenly grabbed by the irresistable force of the ebb tide. My boat spun like a top and all my efforts to maintain course were useless. Here's where seaman's ability shines through. With an iron fist I brought the boat back under my control and floating with the current, I steered downstream. Now the most dangerous moment arrived. A huge pontoon bridge spanning the river and closely watched by soldiers was in my way. A moment of icy silence, intense pressure, the call of a guard ignored by me as I kept my eyes on the oars, the little boat shooting between two pontoons. After only a few seconds the boat stopped with a jolt and I was stranded on the anchor chain of a huge coal barge. Quick as lightning I tied my boat rope securely to the chain. There was a fraction of a second in which the boat nearly tipped over. Now I was secure.

Rapidly the water gurgled over the boat planks. Full ebbtide, reinforced by the river's downhill grade, must have already commenced. I couldn't do anything other than wait patiently. The steamer laid to my starboard side. I wanted to wait until the backwater returned and then I'd row over to it. I was overjoyed by my sheer cockiness as the steamer approached. Early morning darkness began to fade and the outline of the anchored boat gleamed ever brighter. Finally the sun rose and the ever churning water passed by so forcefully that continuing was out of the question. Flight this night was equally impossible. However I was fortunate that at least I now possessed the required boat, which allowed me to float downstream with the last weak ebbtide and after about an hour to reach one of the old collapsed bridges on the right side of the Thames. I hid my boat under the bridge. To keep them safe I took the oars onto land with me and shoved them into the tall grass. Then I laid down nearby and observed. Early around eight o'clock my steamer proudly sailed by. It was the "Mecklenburg." Now came the difficult test of my patience. I stayed prone in the grass for sixteen hours. At eight in the evening the hour of my freedom chimed. I climbed back into my boat. Attentively I let myself be propelled downstream by the river current. I tied up to the same barge on which I had been stranded the night before. Directly opposite me, about five hundred meters away, the "Princess Juliana" was moored to a bouy. Now I had time to lie down in the boat and attempt, without success, to take a little nap. The current swelled and soon I was surrounded by bubbling water.

Around midnight all was quiet around me and at around one o'clock the boat bobbed in the back water. I cast off, sat at the back of the boat and calmly rowed towards the steamer as if I were at a Sunday party in Kiel Harbor. I reached the anchor buoy unnoticed. The crisp, black stem post of my steamer rose up as high as a house before me. A mighty heave ho and I was up on the buoy. Now I strongly pushed off the buoy and it was pushed downstream by the swift ebbtide. I laid mouse-still for many minutes on the iron cask. Then, filled with iron resolve, I climbed like a cat onto the mighty steel horse to the hawse pipe. Carefully I stuck my head up beyond the waterway and looked about. The forecastle was empty. A quick leap and I was up there.

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Imaging and translation by Susan Kriegbaum-Hanks