I had been deprived of every belonging.  I was denied paper, pencil and reading material.  Solitary confinement in Germany is carried out in strict accordance with the interpretation of the term.  One is left alone with one’s thoughts.  At intervals of ten minutes the gaoler opens the peep-hole and peers within.  Consequently you are under constant surveillance, and this contributes towards the unhinging of the mind.  Night and day, without a break, the peep-hole opens with mechanical regularity.  Not only is all mental exercise denied but physical exercise as well.  All that one can do towards stretching one’s limbs is to pace the tiny cell.  The method is typically Prussian, and is complete in its Prussian thoroughness and devilishness.

I sat down upon my bed with my bleeding, aching head in my hands, an object of abject misery.  Not a sound beyond the clanging of doors was to be heard, punctuated at frequent intervals by the dull thud of blows, as some hapless wretch was being clubbed, the shrieks and howls of prisoners, and the groans of those on the verge of insanity.  It was just as if all the demons of the Nether Regions were at work worrying and harrying their victims.  While rocking myself to and fro I heard the turning of the key.  The gaoler entered with a bowl containing some evil-looking and worse smelling soup.  I ventured to speak, but he merely glowered threateningly and departed without uttering a sound.  The dinner was revolting, but recognising that I was considered to be a criminal, and as such was condemned to prison fare I ventured to taste the nauseous skilly.  I took one mouthful.  My nose rebelled at the smell and my stomach rose into my throat at the taste.  One sip was more than adequate, so I pushed the basin to one side.  I threw myself upon the plank bed.  Ten minutes later the peep-hole opened.  I took no notice but started when a gruff voice roared “Get up!”

I ignored the command.  The door opened and the guard came in.  He gave me a savage prod with his rifle.  I sat up.

“Get up!  Pace!” he roared.

I relapsed on to my bed without a murmur only to receive a resounding clout which set my head throbbing once more with accentuated intensity.

“Get up!  Pace!” came the roar again.

The guard pointed to the floor.

I saw what was expected of me.  I was to walk to and fro up and down the cell.  I was not to be allowed to sit down.  Wearily I got up and started to “pace!” One—­two—­steps forward:  one—­two—­steps back!  Only that and no more.  The guard watched me for a few seconds and then went out.

I continued to do his bidding for a short while, but walking two paces, then swinging round on the heels, taking two more strides, turning round again, to make another two steps, soon brought on violent giddiness.  But that doesn’t matter to the German.  Within a few minutes I felt as if I had been spun round like a top and stumbled rather than paced.  But to stumble was to court disaster because my ankles came into violent contact with the plank bed.  Again I had to keep my thoughts centred upon the pacing.  To allow them to stray was to essay a third step inadvertently which brought my face into violent collision with the wall.  More than once I made my nose bleed copiously from this cause.