to lie down was to provoke a feeling of nausea which was worse than pacing.  Then as the night wore on I began to shiver with the cold because I was denied any covering.  How I passed the first night I cannot recall, but I am certain that a greater part of the time passed in delirium, and I almost cried with delight when I saw the first rays of the breaking day filter through the window.  They at least did modify the terrible darkness.

At 5.30 in the morning along came the gaoler.  The cell was opened and a broom was thrust into my hands.  To me that domestic utensil was as a new toy to a child.  I grasped it with delight:  it at least would give me some occupation.  I set to sweeping the cell furiously.  I could have enjoyed the company of that broom for hours, but a prisoner is only allowed two minutes to sweep his cell.  Then the broom was snatched out of my hands and to the droning of “Pace!” which rang out continually like the tolling of a funeral bell, I knew the next day had begun.

I fell back on to my bed almost broken at heart at being deprived of the humble broom.  But by now the significance of German solitary confinement had been brought home to me fully.  I would not be broken.  I would ward off the terrible results at all hazards.  So when the gaoler came with my breakfast he found me in high spirits—­assumed for the occasion I may say.  When he pushed in the basin of skilly I picked it up and set it beside the others.  Pointing to the row of untouched food I turned to him cynically and remarked, “Don’t you think you’re making too much fuss of me?”

“Ach!” he growled in reply.

“If you persist in going on like this I shall think I am in a nursing home!”

“Ach!” he retorted sharply, “If you think you are in a nursing home you’ll soon change your mind,” saying which he slammed the door with extra vigour.

The only interlude to the daily round is shortly after sweeping cells.  The doors are thrown open and each prisoner, armed with his water jug and sanitary pan, forms up in line in the corridor.  They are spaced two paces apart and this distance must be rigorously maintained.  If you vary it a fraction a smart rap over the head with the rifle brings you back again to the correct position.  The German warders never attempt to correct by words.  The rifle is a handy weapon and a smart knock therewith is always forceful.  Consequently, if you are dull of comprehension, your body speedily assumes a zebra appearance with its patches of black and blue.

We were marched off to a huge yard flanked by a towering wall studded with hundreds of heavily barred windows—­cells.  Only those resident in the “Avenue of the Damned” experience this limited latitude, the ordinary prisoners being extended the privilege of ordinary exercise.  Not a word must be spoken; to do so is to invite a crash over the head, insensibility being an effective protection against communication between prisoners.