Five hours away from Berlin, on the monotonous Luneberger Heide (Luneberg Heath), has sprung up this great town with the speed of a boom mining town in Colorado.

On arrival at the little old town of Soltau we were met by a military automobile and driven out on a road made by the prisoners to the largest collection of huts I have ever seen.

There is nothing wrong that I could detect in the camp, and I should say that the 300 British prisoners there are as well treated as any in Germany.  The Commandant seems to be a good fellow.  His task of ruling so great an assemblage of men is a large and difficult one, rendered the easier by the good spirit engendered by his tact and kindness.

I had confirmation of my own views of him later, when I came across a Belgian who had escaped from Germany, and who had been in this camp.  He said:—­“The little captain at Soltau was a good fellow, and if I am with the force that releases the prisoners there after we get into Germany, I will do my best to see that he gets extra good treatment.”

Our inspection occupied six hours.  Halil Halid Bey, who talks English perfectly, and looks like an Irishman, was taken for an American by the prisoners.  In fact, one Belgian, believing him to be an American official, rushed up to him and with arms outstretched pleaded:  “Do you save poor Belgians, too, as well as British?”

The physical comfort of the prisoners is well looked after in the neat and perfectly clean dormitories.  The men were packed rather closely, I thought, but not more than on board ship.

One became almost dazed in passing through these miles of huts, arranged in blocks like the streets of an American town.

We visited the hospital, which was as good as many civilian hospitals in other countries.  There I heard the first complaint, from a little red-headed Irishman, his voice wheezing with asthma, whose grievance was not against the camp itself, but against a medical order which had reversed, what he called his promise to be sent to Switzerland.  He raised his voice without any fear, as our little group, accompanied by the Commandant and the interpreter, went round, and I was allowed to speak to him freely.  I am not a medical man, but I should think his was a case for release.  His lungs were obviously in a bad state.

We were also accompanied by an English sergeant, one Saxton—­a magnificent type of the old Army, so many of whom are eating out their days in Germany.  He spoke freely and frankly about the arrangements, and had no complaint to make except the food shortage and the quality of the food.

The British section reminded one now and then of England.  Portraits of wives, children, and sweethearts were over the beds; there was no lack of footballs, and the British and Belgians play football practically every day after the daily work of reclaiming the land, erecting new huts, making new roads, and looking after the farms and market gardens has been accomplished.