All our little articles were taken from us and put into two parcels, which we were allowed to carry, but not keep, and which were eventually returned to us, and, whether it was done by carelessness or not I do not know, but by some fortunate circumstance my maps were left in my pay-book case and put in the package, but I did not see them until after my punishment was over.

[Illustration:  Map made from Paper which came in a Parcel, wrapped around a Fruit-Cake / Notice the stain caused by the cake.  This is the map that was hidden in the cigarette-box]

My notebook attracted the attention of the gendarme, and he took it from me.  I had made entries each day, and these he read aloud, translating them into German as he went, much to the apparent entertainment of the two women, who laughed at him, with a forced gaiety which confirmed my diagnosis of their relationship.  I think he was crediting me with entries I had never made, for the central figure seemed to be one “Rosie Fraeulein,” whom I did not have the pleasure of meeting.

We could see that although the privates were friendly, there was no semblance of friendliness in either the gendarme or the Sergeant Major.  I think they would have gladly shot us on the spot—­if they had dared.  They were pronounced cases of anglophobia.

The gendarme at last broke out into English, cutting his words off with a snarl: 

“What do you fellows want to get back for anyway?  England is no good!  England is a liar, and a thief.”

When he said this, I could see Edwards’s face grow white and his eyes glitter.  He was breathing hard, like a man going up a steep hill, and his hands were opening and closing.  He walked over to the gendarme and glared in his face,—­“What do I want to get back for?” he repeated in a steady voice, stretched tight like a wire, “I’ll tell you—­this is not any ordinary war, where brave men fight each other.  This is a war against women and children and old men.  I have fought with the Boers in Africa, but I bore them no ill-will—­they fought like men and fought with men.  I’ve been through Belgium—­I’ve seen what you have done.  I have boys of my own—­little fellows—­just like the ones you cut the hands off—­and I will tell you why I want to get back—­I want to serve my country and my God—­by killing Germans—­they’re not fit to live!”

The women drew back in alarm, though I do not think they understood the words.  Instinctively I drew up beside Edwards, for I thought it was the end; but to our surprise the brutal face of the gendarme relaxed into a broad grin, and he turned to the women and Sergeant Major and made some sort of explanation.  We did not know what was coming, and then a controversy took place between the two men as to what should be done with us.  The gendarme wanted to take us, but the ladies protested, and at last we were led away by the two privates, carrying our two little packages of belongings.