- 'How We Stole the Tug-boat'
- told by Sergeant Maurice Prost
- of the Belgian Army
The Story of a Sensational Escape from the Germans
a tugboat on an inland waterway in Belgium
"Maurice Prost" — now a sergeant in the Belgian army, escaped from Belgium, with a party of over forty men and two women, in very romantic circumstances. How he and an Alsatian outwitted the Huns is here narrated in his own words, as recorded by a correspondent who met him in Paris. For obvious reasons all the names have been disguised in this tale in the Wide World Magazine.
Allied citizens interned in Germany
I — "I Was in a Café in Liege"
The outset of the whole affair dates from one intensely cold day in the middle of December, 1916. I had slipped into an obscure cafe in a small street in Liege as much in search of tranquility of mind as with the object of getting a comforting glass of hot coffee. With thousands of other Liegois I was trembling under the reign of terror caused by the daily slave-raids, which, ever since their inception a fortnight before by order of that arch- criminal, the Kaiser, had raised a mighty cry of anguish from the stricken city.
It was with a sigh of relief that I found the place was empty. Taking a seat at one of the little marble-topped tables, as near to the meagrely-heated circular stove as I could get, I prepared to snatch a brief spell of quietness from that day of sudden alarms and haunting fears.
But I had no sooner taken my first comforting gulp of the steaming hot liquid, served by a careworn woman in widow's weeds, than an incident occurred which sent a cold thrill to my heart. The cafe door opened, and in walked a German soldier, dressed as a feldwebel. After taking in the interior with a quick glance he clanked straight up to the stove, rubbed his hands vigorously, and, calling for a "Café bien chaud," in excellent French, sat down opposite to me with a formal "Bonjour!"
I responded to his greeting with all the indifference I could summon up, but, eyeing him suspiciously, my inner self uttered the word "Pince." There could be no doubt about it; I had "got dropped on" at last. Immediately my mind became once more engrossed with thoughts of the loathsome beast I had pictured the Huns to be — a huge octopus, faced by defeat and death, which had begun to suck the last drop of blood out of my unfortunate country by sending tens of thousands of men, women, and children into captivity. Now, at last, one of its tentacles had writhed my way and was about to seize me up! My heart was filled with a fierce hatred of the feldwebel sitting opposite me. A cynical smile seemed to lurk in his eyes — that look of inexorable cruelty which I had seen so often on the faces of the Huns as they went from house to house, dragging sons and daughters from the arms of their aged parents and driving them off into exile with the butt-ends of their rifles. These daily and nightly scenes, terrifying though they were had fascinated me. Should I make a clean breast of it and drag the mask from the rascal's smiling face, or spring at his throat and shake the life out of him?
Whilst I was in the midst of these conflicting thoughts the feldwebel drew forth a packet of cigarettes and, having pulled one half out held it towards me with a well-assumed air of good fellowship.
"Have a smoke?" he said. "It's a jolly cold day, mon ami. One's glad to be indoors to-day — even in a badly-warmed place like this. Mine's a particularly icy job, I can tell you."
I accepted his cigarette with the feelings of a condemned man who has been granted his last smoke. . ."Merci, I muttered. Then, becoming suddenly bolder, I added, not without a touch of scorn: "Yes; your job must be particularly cold these nights, going from house to house between twelve and one in the morning. How many did you rake in yesterday?"
"House to house? How many did I rake in?" repeated the feldwebel, reflectively, as he lit his cigarette. His smile quickly developed into a laugh, which would have exasperated me beyond measure had he not hastened to add: "Ah! I see. Eh bien, my friend, you're quite on the wrong track. My job is on the water, thank goodness. I've nothing to do with the raids. I've not sunk so low as that yet — and I don't intend to, either. You're a Belgian, aren't you?"
"Yes," I replied, still somewhat defiantly. "And you're a German, I suppose?"
"Malgré moi — in spite of myself. As the saying goes: 'The cowl does not make the monk.' I'm an Alsatian — Baldens by name."
The man was frankness itself. His open manner and the declaration of his nationality disarmed me at once. Whatever my first suspicions may have been, there was no gainsaying the sincerity of his attitude, the cordiality of that phrase, "mon ami," with which he interlarded his confidences, for we had not been in conversation more than ten minutes before both he and I dropped into the confidential tone of old acquaintances.
"Quite an excusable mistake on your part, when one comes to think of it," continued Baldens. "Well, as I was going to tell you, I'm on the water — that is to say, on the tug- boat Anna, stationed on the canal leading into the Meuse at Devant-le-Pont-lez-Visé. Ugh! it's cold work when the wind's blowing from the north or east! There are four of us on board, including the captain, and we've been in charge of the Anna ever since she was seized by the German Government. They're an uncongenial lot, and the captain's the worst of the three. If I were to tell you how deep my love is for France you'd be able to realize, mon ami, what my feelings are when I'm with those three Boches on a dark night on board the Anna. Many times, when on guard, I've thought of parting company with them. But that's easier said than done."
Baldens, the patriotic Alsatian, obliged to serve as a non-commissioned officer in the German army, proceeded to enlarge on his devotion to la belle France and, growing still more confidential, told me of his dreams of attempted escape from Belgium. To make a long story short, he and I finally put our heads together, and, over many hot coffees and innumerable cigarettes, hit on a plan by means of which we hoped to gain our liberty and assist a number of others to gain theirs. How we managed it I will now explain.
II — The Kidnapped Crew on the "Anna"
Three days after this fortuitous meeting, Baldens and I met at Devant-le-Pont-lez-Visé, not far from Liege, in order to study the disposition of the land and water. At a short distance from the Anna — one of those massive, coal-black tug-boats so familiar to the inhabitants of the banks of our Belgian canals and rivers — was a public-house frequented by boatmen; and near to it we found an equally convenient private house, which, as it was to let furnished, we took on a monthly tenancy. You will comprehend the reason for this when I add that, having made these preliminary preparations, I returned to Liege and began getting together a party of citizens who, in hourly dread of deportation, were anxious to join in any well-thought-out scheme of escape. Presuming that we succeeded in getting possession of the Anna and navigating her out of the canal into the Meuse, and thence to Dutch waters (for that was the ambitious plan we had in view), we had to have some place where we could temporarily harbour our fellow- adventurers before they went on board. I had no difficulty, I can assure you, in finding volunteers. No fewer than sixty people expressed their willingness to join us, and did, in fact, assemble at the house in question on the night fixed for carrying out our plans. True, eighteen of these got frightened at the last moment and returned home, on the plea that the risk was too great, as the boat would have to run the gauntlet past German sentries. Over forty, however, including two brave women, remained staunch and stuck to us.
It was a pitch-black night just five days before Christmas when Baldens and I got our little party of fugitives under that convenient roof and started active operations by sauntering in the direction of the Anna, with the object of inviting the captain and crew to have a glass at the neighbouring "pub." The three topers took the hook, daintly baited by Baldens, in splendid fashion, and — one bottle leading to another — we kept them at it until turning-out time. But it takes a lot of liquor to fuddle a Boche completely, and, though we arranged to mix their drinks pretty often and let them have the lion's share, they were still in possession of their senses when they started back for their cabins on the Anna. However, the far-seeing, ingenious Baldens was with them, and I knew he could be trusted to finish the job, especially when he whispered to me, after wishing me a boisterous good night in which the others joined: —
"Everything will be ready, Prost, in an hour's time. You can all of you come aboard then and assist in the finishing touches. Au revoir!"
Back with my flock in the furnished house, where I found them waiting in great anxiety, I explained how-things were going, and an hour later (how the time did hang on our hands!) we all sallied forth. I led the party in single file through the darkness, and it was an immense relief to me on reaching the Anna to find that Baldens was waiting for us — a clear proof he had succeeded in his object and that the coast was clear.
When we got below we found the captain and his two men stretched out on the floor, dead drunk, and chloroformed into the bargain.
"Now, quick's the word and sharp's the motion," said Baldens. "Off with their uniforms. And who'll volunteer to put them on ? Prost, find three men who are about the same size as these fellows — three cool-headed men who don't mind facing danger."
It was not at all an easy task undressing and redressing those three helpless lumps of Boche humanity, but we managed it all right, in the dim light from a hanging lantern, and in a little over half an hour three Liegois, armed with Mausers, were impersonating the German guards on the deck of the Anna.
We were to be off on our voyage as soon as possible. Steam was to be got up without delay, so several of us, with the assistance of Baldens, who, of course, knew the tug- boat from end to end, set to work to do our best to light the furnaces. Whilst we were in the midst of this work, which required to be done with the greatest caution, in order not to arouse the suspicions of the German patrol, whose measured footsteps could be heard along the towpath every half-hour, a tremendous uproar arose in the cabin where we had left the three prostrate Germans. Baldens and I rushed in, with drawn revolvers, and were just in time to prevent the captain — who had come to his senses and taken in the situation at a glance — from dashing up on deck and raising the alarm. He was a powerfully-built man, and it took the two of us to master him. He fought like a tiger, literally with tooth and nail. Finally, however, we got him in a corner, and, whilst I was pinioning him from behind, Baldens kept him covered with his six-shooter, which he threatened to empty into his carcass if he moved another muscle. Thereupon the mastered man caved in and begged for mercy in the classic phrase: "Kamarades! Kamarades! Nicht kaput!"
III — "We Bound and Gagged the German Captain"
When we had bound and gagged the obstreperous captain of the Anna we completed our work as stokers, and, with infinite care, lest we should attract the attention of the sentinels of a neighbouring lock, began to manoeuvre the boat along the canal. It was necessary to pass through this lock in order to reach the channel which leads into the Meuse. The Anna, with its crew of over forty fugitives, drew more than two metres of water, so we were confronted with the problem of the depth of the water in this channel. Was it sufficiently deep to accommodate us ? Please remember that amongst the members of our improvised crew there was not a single boatman, not a single homme du métier. And remember, too, that we knew that if we were caught in the act we should all of us be ranged in line against a wall and shot without mercy!
I must confess that at this juncture the situation began to look very black indeed; and a certain amount of panic reigned among our flock. Yet no one asked to be put ashore. On the contrary, when, after a little plain speaking, the German pilot and engineer (who had come to their senses and begged to be released from their bonds) consented to throw in their lot with ours and go to their respective posts, willing hands were ready on all sides to assist in opening the lock and measuring the water in the channel leading to the Meuse. The depth was found to be a little over two metres, and the lock was opened without difficulty.
Slowly and without any untoward incident the Anna entered the lock. When it was being closed behind her, however, the gates were worked too rapidly, with the result that the water was thrown into violent commotion. The tug began to roll from side to side, as if on an angry sea, and two of the three boats moored alongside her were smashed to matchwood against the walls of the lock. This accident, however, was actually in our favour, since it prevented the sides of the tug itself from being stove in and helped to propel her into the free water of the channel.
There was now a very faint glimmering of daylight, and the two German sentries stationed on the tow-path approached a little nearer to look on at our strange man- ceuvres. Luckily, however, their curiosity did not lead them to utter a word of comment or even to make a gesture. When we got into the channel (known as the Canal de la Sucrerie) and began the second part of our long and difficult work — the steering of the Anna into the river — these sentinels were joined by three or four other German soldiers, attracted by the unusual commotion at that early hour of the morning. They looked on, evidently quite amused at our efforts. Fortunately for us, it never occurred to them to put any questions to the singular feldgrauen with spiked helmets who were busily handling boat-hooks and ropes; and thus it was that the good tugboat Anna, flying the German flag, slowly floated in safety into the Meuse, between two Boche sentries with fixed bayonets.
What a relief it was to find ourselves in the river! The battle, we thought, was practically over. All we had got to do was to forge ahead at full speed towards Holland and liberty. But, as events proved, we were slightly mistaken in our calculations.
The boilers of the Anna were now heated to fourteen atmospheres, and away we went at as great a speed as was prudent in the semi-darkness. After we had proceeded for several miles, Baldens, who had been making sure that the captain was in a more reasonable state of mind, joined me on deck, and, with a grave face, said: — "Prost, we're not out of the wood yet. The captain's still inclined to foam at the mouth and make trouble, though I've granted him the favour of ungagging him. No sooner had I done that than he began to 'strafe' me and you and everybody, and swore we'd get caught yet, because of the electric cable which the Bodies have stretched across the Meuse between Lanaye and Eysden. We must now be getting pretty near the danger zone. Keep your weather-eye open, Prost, for I'm told there's a motor-boat there with machine- guns on board."
And, sure enough, a quarter of an hour later I spotted this electric cable. Instructions were at once given to the engineer to put on his utmost speed, and everybody save the man at the rudder, was ordered off the deck. The only thing to do was to try to cut through the obstacle.
There was no resisting the heavy weight of the Anna. She snapped the wire easily, but as it broke, with an immense flash like summer lightning, one end, unfortunately, got entangled with our screw and rudder, which broke as though it had been made of glass. However, the dreaded motor-boat did not put in an appearance (I suppose the men were still fast asleep), and the, tug drifted slowly onwards.
The Anna was now completely helpless, and before we had drifted very far she stuck in the mud — fortunately well within Dutch waters. Needless to say we lost no time in utilizing our third and last boat, and in about an hour everybody, including the still unruly Boche captain, whom Baldens disembarked last of all, was ashore. Meanwhile, the four German sentries in charge of the cable had awakened and, finding the line broken, had got their electric searchlights to work and ultimately located us. It was too late then, however, for them to think of capturing us. They dare not come on to Dutch territory, nor was it prudent for them to fire a shot in our direction. As to their searchlights, they were actually of use to us, since they lit up, here and there, the still dark and unknown ground on which, for a time, we wandered, ere we came to a friendly Dutch dwelling house, where we inquired our way to the nearest village.
After such an exciting and lucky adventure as this, Christmas, 1916, was the happiest I ever experienced. Baldens and I and a number of others who had shared in our dangers spent the day together. I will leave you to imagine the heartiness with which we toasted each other and our mental congratulations on our fortunate meeting in that Liege café.
