But his comrades in other compartments were not so well-disposed.  With true Prussian fiendishness they refused to permit their prisoners to buy anything for themselves, and to drive them to exasperation and to make them feel their position, the guards would ostentatiously devour their own meals and gifts.  While we did not really receive sufficient to stay us, still our guard did his best for us, an act which we appreciated and reciprocated by making a collection on his behalf.  When we proffered this slight recognition of his courtesy and sympathetic feeling he declined to accept it. [gap] He was one of the very few well-disposed Germans I ever met.

Upon arriving at Sennelager Station we were unceremoniously bundled out of the train.  Those who had trunks and bags were roughly bidden to shoulder them and to fall in for the march to the camp.  The noon heat was terrible.  The sun poured down unmercifully, and after twelve hours’ confinement in the stuffy railway carriages few could stretch their limbs.  But the military guards set the marching pace and we had to keep to it.  If we lagged we were prodded into activity by means of the rifle.

Sennelager camp lies upon a plateau overlooking the railway, and it is approached by a winding road.  The acclivity although somewhat steep is not long, but we, famished and worn from hunger, thirst, and lack of sleep, found the struggle with the sand into which our feet sank over our ankles, almost insuperable.  Those burdened with baggage soon showed signs of distress.  Many were now carrying a parcel for the first time in their lives and the ordeal completely broke them up.  Prince L——­ had a heavy bag, and before he had gone far the soft skin of one hand had been completely chafed away, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound.  To make matters worse the hot sand was drifting sulkily and clogging his wound set up untold agony.

Prince L——­ made a representation to the officer-in-charge, showing his bleeding hand, but he was received with a mocking smirk and a curt command to “Move on!” The weaker burdened prisoners lagged, but the bayonet revived them.  One or two gave out completely, but others, such as myself, who were not encumbered, extended a helping hand, half-carrying them up the hill.

Reaching the camp the Commanding Officer, a friendly old General whose name I never heard, hurried up.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he blurted out in amazement.

“Prisoners of war for internment!” replied our officer-in-charge.

“But I don’t know anything about them.  I have received no instructions.  There is no accommodation for them here!” protested the General.

Our officer produced his imposing sheaf of papers and the two disappeared into the office.

The feelings of the party at this intelligence may be conceived.  The majority dropped, in a state of semi-collapse in the sand, their belongings strewn around them, utter dejection written on their faces.