Outwitting the Hun

Outwitting the Hun

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Following the break-up of his relationship with Agnes McMillan who he had betrothed in San Francisco before the war, he found himself among the rich and famous including members of the New York mob and the burgeoning entertainment mecca of Havana, Cuba. While filming his moving "Shadows of the West," he married Virginia Dale who also appeared in his film. His death was declared a suicide and he was buried in Momence without a grave marker.

Locals provided a marker from Pat seventy-seven years later in The burial ceremony in led to the writing of the book, "Lt. The eight-hundred page novel covers Pat's entire life and also reveals new evidence indicating he was murdered. That mystery continues today.

While there has been much erroneous information about Pat O'Brien printed and online, the book "Lt. Pat O'Brien," is the most definitive and accurate account of O'Brien's life and family. Outwitting the Hun Pat Obrien. Outwitting the Hun Pat O'Brien. Outwitting the Hun Pat Obrien kr. Outwitting the Hun kr. There's a lot written about him, and his story ends sadly, but I'll let you discover that yourself.

Feb 10, Samantha Glasser marked it as to-read Shelves: Read this book for free online through Project Gutenberg: Jan 22, Phil Clymer rated it really liked it. A real gem, well written and dramatic, reads like a novel. American flier fighting for the Brits in WWI is shot down and captured. He was a POW for a relatively short time when he seized the opportunity for an escape attempt. He makes his way to neutral Holland mostly unaided on a two-month long journey through enemy occupied lands The details of the trek are what make the book. Jon-David rated it really liked it Dec 17, Ashish Seth rated it it was amazing Apr 17, Bobbi rated it really liked it Aug 25, Jenna rated it it was ok Aug 29, Harold R Kelsey rated it it was amazing Jan 19, Anna Martin rated it really liked it Sep 27, Borge Arild rated it liked it Apr 15, Emily Doggett rated it it was amazing Jan 14, Ronald Roche rated it really liked it Dec 29, Sara rated it liked it Jul 27, Kimberly rated it it was ok Aug 03, Kyle Huber rated it it was amazing May 10, BookDB marked it as to-read Sep 18, Kristina UK marked it as to-read Apr 29, Rachel marked it as to-read Dec 20, Toni Moore marked it as to-read Jan 26, Josh Nelson marked it as to-read Sep 28, Katelynn marked it as to-read May 31, Julie marked it as to-read Sep 03, Rohini Basu is currently reading it Mar 21, Darius Khan is currently reading it Nov 15, Evidently the German artillery saw me and put out ground signals to attract the Hun machine's attention, for I saw the observer quit his work and grab his gun, while the pilot stuck the nose of his ma- chine straight down.

But they were too late to escape me. Their only chance lay in the possibility that the force of my dive might break my wings. I knew my danger in that direction, but as soon as I came out of my dive the Huns would have their chance to get me, and I knew I had to get them first and take a chance on my wings holding out.

Fortunately, some of my first bullets found their mark and I was able to come out of my dive at about four thousand feet. They never came out of theirs!

Recensioner

But right then came the hottest situa- tion in the air I had experienced up to that time. The depth of my dive had brought me within reach of the machine- guns from the ground and they also put a "barrage" around me of shrapnel from anti-aircraft guns, and I had an oppor- tunity to "ride the barrage," as they call it in the R. To make the situation more interesting, they began shooting "flaming onions" at me. They are used to hit a ma- chine when it is flying low and they are ef- fective up to about five thousand feet.

If they hit the machine it is bound to catch fire and then the jig is up. All the time, too, I was being attacked by "Archie" the anti-aircraft fire. I escaped the machine-guns and the " flam- ing onions," but "Archie" got me four or five times. Every time a bullet plugged me, or rather my machine, it made a loud bang, on account of the tension on the ma- terial covering the wings.

None of their shots hurt me until I was about a mile from our lines, and then they hit my motor. Fortunately I still had al- titude enough to drift on to our own side of the lines, for my motor was completely out of commission. They just raised the dickens with me all the time I was descend- ing, and I began to think I would strike the ground before crossing the line, but there was a slight wind in my favor and it carried me two miles behind our lines.

There the balloons I had gone out to get had the sat- isfaction of "pin-pointing" me. Through the directions which they were able to give to their artillery, they commenced shelling my machine where it lay. Usually two men are stationed in each bal- loon. They ascend to a height of several thousand feet about five miles behind their own lines and are equipped with wireless and signaling apparatus.

They watch the burst of their own artillery, check up the position, get the range, and direct the next shot. When conditions are favorable they are able to direct the shots so accurately that it is a simple matter to destroy the object of their attack. It was such a balloon as this that got my position, marked me out, called for an artillery shot, and they com- menced shelling my machine where it lay.

If I had got the two balloons instead of the airplane, I probably would not have lost my machine, for he would in all probability have gone on home and not bothered about getting my range and causing the destruc- tion of my machine. I landed in a part of the country that was literally covered with shell-holes. Fortunately my machine was not badly damaged by the forced landing. In fact, I thought, if I could find a space long enough between shell-holes to get a start before leaving the ground, that I would be able to fly on from there.

I was still examining my plane and con- sidering the matter of a few slight repairs, without any particular thought for my own safety in that unprotected spot, when a shell came whizzing through the air, knocked me to the ground, and landed a few feet away. It had no sooner struck than I made a run for cover and crawled into a shell-hole. I would have liked to have got farther away, but I didn't know where the next shell would burst, and I thought I was fairly safe there, so I squatted down and let them blaze away.

The only damage I suffered was from the mud which splattered up in my face and over my clothes. After the Germans had completely de- molished my machine and ceased firing I waited there a short time, fearing perhaps they might send over a lucky shot, hoping to get me, after all. But evidently they concluded enough shells had been wasted on one man. I crawled out cautiously, shook the mud off, and looked over in the direction where my machine had once been.

There wasn't enough left for a de- cent souvenir, but nevertheless I got a few, such as they were, and, readily observing that nothing could be done with what was left, I made my way back to infantry headquarters, where I was able to tele- phone in a report.

A little later one of our automobiles came out after me and took me back to our aerodrome. Most of my squadron thought I was lost beyond a doubt and never expected to see me again; but my friend, Paul Raney, had held out that I was all right, and, as I was afterward told, "Don't send for another pilot; that Irishman will be back if he has to walk.

I had lots to think about that day, and I had learned many things; one was not to have too much confidence in my own ability. One of the men in the squadron told me that I had better not take those chances; that it was going to be a long war and I would have plenty of oppor- tunities to be killed without deliberately "wishing them on" myself. Later I was to learn the truth of his statement. That night my "flight" each squadron is divided into three flights consisting of six men each got ready to go out again.

As I started to put on my tunic I no- ticed that I was not marked up for duty as usual. I asked the commanding officer, a major, what the reason for that was, and he re- plied that he thought I had done enough for one day. However, I knew that if I did not go, some one else from another "flight" would have to take my place, and I insisted upon going up with my patrol as usual, and the major reluctantly con- sented. As it was, we had only five machines for this patrol, anyway, because as we crossed the lines one of them had to drop out on account of motor trouble.

Our pa- trol was up at 8 P. I knew right then that we were in for it, because I could see over toward the ocean a whole flock of Hun machines which evidently had escaped the attention of our scrappy comrades below us. So we dove down on those nine Huns. At first the fight was fairly even. There were eight of us to nine of them.

But soon the other machines which I had seen in the distance, and which were flying even higher than we were, arrived on the scene, and when they, in turn, dove down on us, there was just twenty of them to our eight! Four of them singled me out. Their tracer- bullets were coming closer to me every mo- ment. These tracer-bullets are balls of fire which enable the shooter to follow the course his bullets are taking and to correct his aim accordingly. They do no more harm to a pilot if he is hit than an or- dinary bullet, but if they hit the petrol- tank, good night! When a machine catches fire in flight there is no way of putting it out.

It takes less than a minute for the fabric to burn off the wings, and then the machine drops like an arrow, leaving a trail of smoke like a comet. As their tracer-bullets came closer and closer to me I realized that my chances of escape were nil. Their very next shot, I felt, must hit me.

Once, some days before, when I was flying over the line I had watched a fight above me. A German machine was set on fire and dove down through our forma- tion in flame on its way to the ground. The Hun was diving at such a sharp angle that both his wings came off, and as he passed within a few hundred feet of me I saw the look of horror upon his face. I realized that my only chance lay in making an Immermann turn. This ma- neuver was invented by a German one of the greatest who ever flew and who was killed in action some time ago.

This turn, which I made successfully, brought one of their machines right in front of me, and as he sailed along barely ten yards away I had "the drop" on him, and he knew it. His white face and startled eyes I can still see. He knew beyond question that his last moment had come, because his position prevented his taking aim at me, while my gun pointed straight at him. My first tracer-bullet passed within a yard of his head, the second looked as if it hit his shoulder, the third struck him in the neck, and then I let him have the whole works and he went down in a spinning nose dive.

All this time the three other Hun ma- chines were shooting away at me. I could hear the bullets striking my machine one after another. In fighting, your machine is dropping, dropping all the time. I glanced at my instruments and my altitude was between eight and nine thousand feet. While I was still looking at the instruments the whole blamed works disappeared. A burst of bullets went into the instrument board and blew it to smithereens, another bullet went through my upper lip, came out of the roof of my mouth and lodged in my throat, and the 'next thing I knew was when I came to in a German hospital the following morning at five o'clock, German time.

I was a prisoner of war! It had evidently been used but a few days, on account of the big push that was taking place at that time of the year, and in all probability would be abandoned as soon as they had found a better place. In all, the house contained four rooms and a stable, which was by far the largest of all. Although I never looked into this "wing" of the hospital, I was told that it, too, was filled with patients, lying on beds of straw around on the ground.

I do not know whether they, too, were officers or privates. The other rooms, I imagined, had about the same number of beds as mine. There were no Red Cross nurses in attendance, just orderlies, for this was only an emergency hospital and too near the firing-line for nurses. The orderlies were not old men nor very young boys, as I expected to find, but young men in the prime of life, who evidently had been medical students. One or two of them, I discovered, were able to speak English, but for some reason they would not talk.

Perhaps they were for- bidden by the officer in charge to do so. In addition to the bullet wound in my mouth, I had a swelling from my forehead to the back of my head almost as big as my shoe and that is saying considerable. I couldn't move an inch without suffering intense pain, and when the doctor told me that I had no bones broken I wondered how a fellow would feel who had. They had to cut me out of my machine, which was riddled with shots and shattered to bits. A German doctor removed the bullet from my throat, and the first thing he said to me when I came to was, "You are an American!

You Americans who got into this thing before America came into the war are no better than common murderers and you ought to be treated the same way! He asked me if I would like an apple! I could just as easily have eaten a brick. As I began to realize my plight I worried less about my physical condition than the fact that, as the doctor had pointed out, for me the war was prac- tically over. I had been in it but a short time, and now I would be a prisoner for the duration of the war! The next day some German flying of- ficers visited me, and I must say they treated me with great consideration.

They told me of the man I had brought down. They said he was a Bavarian and a fairly good pilot. They gave me his hat as a souvenir and complimented me on the fight I had put up.

My helmet, which was of soft leather, was split from front to back by a bullet from a machine - gun and they examined it with great interest. The one on my left shoulder-strap they asked me for as a souvenir, as also my R. They allowed me to keep my "wings," which I wore on my left breast, because they were aware that that is the proudest possession of a British flying officer. I think I am right in saying that the only chivalry in this war on the German side of the trenches has been displayed by the officers of the German Flying Corps, which comprises the pick of Germany.

They pointed out to me that I and my comrades were fighting purely for the love of it, whereas they were fighting in defense of their country, but still, they said, they admired us for our sportsmanship. I had a notion to ask them if dropping bombs on London and killing so many innocent people was in defense of their country, but I was in no position or condition to pick a quarrel at that time.

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That same day a German officer was brought into the hospital and put in the bunk next to mine. He lay there for three or four hours before I did take a real good look at him. I was positive that he could not speak English, and naturally I did not say anything to him. Once when I looked over in his direction his eyes were on me and to my surprise he said, very sarcastically, "What the hell are you looking at? At this time I was just beginning to say a few words, my wound having made talking difficult, but I said enough to let him know what I was doing there and how I happened to be there.

Evidently he had heard my story from some of the others, though, be- cause he said it was too bad I had not broken my neck ; that he did not have much sympathy with the Flying Corps, anyway. He asked me what part of America I came from, and I told him "California. I immediately asked, of course, what he knew about the Hofbrau, and he replied, "I was connected with the place a good many years, and I ought to know all about it.

He told me when war was declared he was, of course, intensely patriotic and thought the only thing for him to do was to go back and aid in the defense of his country. He found that he could not go directly from San Francisco because the water was too well guarded by the Eng- lish, so he boarded a boat for South Amer- ica. There he obtained a forged passport and in the guise of a Montevidean took passage for New York and from there to England. He said when they put in at Gibraltar, after leaving England, there were two suspects taken off the ship, men that he was sure were neutral subjects, but much to his relief his own passport and creden- tials were examined and passed O.

The Hun spoke of his voyage from America to England as being exception- ally pleasant, and said he had had a fine time because he associated with the Eng- lish passengers on board, his fluent English readily admitting him to several spirited arguments on the subject of the war which he keenly enjoyed. One little incident he related revealed the remarkable tact which our enemy displayed in his associations at sea, which no doubt resulted advantageously for him. In spite of his apparent loyalty, however, the man didn't seem very enthusiastic over the war and frankly admitted one day that the old political battles waged in California were much more to his liking than the bat- tles he had gone through over here.

On second thought he laughed as though it were a good joke, but he evidently intended me to infer that he had taken a keen in- terest in politics in San Francisco. When my "chummy enemy" first started his conversation with me the Ger- man doctor in charge reprimanded him for talking to me, but he paid no attention to the doctor, showing that some real Americanism had soaked into his system while he had been in the U.

I concluded, however, that he must have been a German Socialist, though he never told me so. On one occasion I asked him for his name, but he said that I would probably never see him again and it didn't matter what his name was. I did not know whether he meant that the Germans would starve me out or just what was on his mind, for at that time I am sure he did not figure on dying. The first two or three days I was in the hospital I thought surely he would be up and gone long be- fore I was, but blood poisoning set in about that time and just a few hours be- fore I left for Courtrai he died.

One of those days, while my wound was still very troublesome, I was given an apple ; whether it was just to torment me, knowing that I could not eat it, or whether for some other reason, I do not know. Of course, there was no chance of my eating it, so when the officer had gone and I discovered this San Francisco fellow looking at it rather longingly I picked it up, intending to toss it over to him. But he shook his head and said, "If this was San Francisco, I would take it, but I cannot take it from you here.

However, that did not stop one of the orderlies from eating the apple. One practice about the hospital which impressed me particularly was that if a German soldier did not stand much chance of recovering sufficiently to take his place again in the war, the doctors did not exert themselves to see that he got well. But if a man had a fairly good chance of recover- ing and they thought he might be of some further use, everything that medical skill could possibly do was done for him.

My teeth had been badly jarred up from the shot, and I hoped that I might have a chance to have them fixed when I reached Courtrai, the prison where I was to be taken. So I asked the doctor if it would be possible for me to have this work done there, but he very curtly told me that though there were several dentists at Courtrai, they were busy enough fixing the teeth of their own men without bother- ing about mine. He also added that I would not have to worry about my teeth; that I wouldn't be getting so much food that they would be put out of commission by working overtime.

I wanted to tell him that from the way things looked he would not be wearing his out very soon, either. My condition improved during the next two days and on the fourth day of my captivity I was well enough to write a brief message to my squadron reporting that I was a prisoner of war and "feeling fine," although, as a matter of fact, I was never so depressed in my life. It was enough for her to know that I was a prisoner. She did not have to know that I was wounded.

I had hopes that my message would be carried over the lines and dropped by one of the German flying officers. That is a courtesy which is usually practised on both sides. I recalled how patiently we had waited in our aerodrome for news of our men who had failed to return, and I could picture my squadron speculating on my fate.

That is one of the saddest things con- nected with service in the R. You don't care much what happens to you, but the constant casualties among your friends is very depressing. You go out with your "flight" and get into a muss. You get scattered and when your formation is broken up you finally wing your way home alone. Perhaps you are the first to land.

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Soon another machine shows in the sky, then another, and you patiently wait for the rest to appear. Has he lost his way? Has he landed at some other aerodrome? Did the Huns get him? When darkness eomes you realize that, at any rate, he won't be back that night, and you hope for a telephone-call from him telling of his whereabouts. If the night passes without sign or word from him he is reported as missing, and then you watch for his casualty to appear in the war-office lists.

One day, perhaps a month later, a mes- sage is dropped over the line by the Ger- man Flying Corps with a list of pilots capt- ured or killed by the Huns, and then, for the first time, you know definitely why it was your comrade failed to return the day he last went over the line with his squadron.

I was still musing over this melancholy phase of the scout's life when an orderly told me there was a beautiful battle going on in the air, and he volunteered to help me outside the hospital that I might wit- ness it, and I readily accepted his as- sistance. There were six of our machines against perhaps sixteen Huns.

Outwitting the Hun: My Escape from a German Prison Camp by Pat O'Brien

From the type of the British machines I knew that they might possibly be from my own aerodrome. Two of our machines had been apparently picked out by six of the Huns and were bearing the brunt of the fight. The con- test seemed to me to be so unequal that victory for our men was hardly to be thought of, and yet at one time they so completely outmaneuvered the Huns that I thought their superior skill might save the day for them, despite the fact that they were so hopelessly outnumbered.

One thing I was sure of: Of course it would have been a com- paratively simple matter for our men, when they saw how things were going against them, to have turned their noses down, landed behind the German lines, and given themselves up as prisoners, but that is not the way of the R.

A battle of this kind seldom lasts many minutes, although every second seems like an hour to those who participate in it 48 CLIPPED WINGS and even onlookers suffer more thrills in the course of the struggle than they would ordinarily experience in a lifetime. It is apparent even to a novice that the loser's fate is death. Of course the Germans around the hos- pital were all watching and rooting for their comrades, but the English, too, had one sympathizer in that group who made no effort to stifle his admiration for the bravery his comrades were displaying.

The end came suddenly. Four ma- chines crashed to earth almost simultane- ously. It was an even break two of theirs and two of ours. The others ap- parently returned to their respective lines. The wound in my mouth was bothering me considerably, but by means of a pencil and paper I requested one of the German officers to find out for me who the English officers were who had been shot down. A little later he returned and handed me a photograph taken from the body of one of the victims.

It was a picture of Paul Raney, of Toronto, and myself, taken to- gether! He was the best friend I had and one of the best and games t men who ever fought in France! Poor fel- low, he little realized then that but a day or two later he would be engaged in his last heroic battle, with me a helpless on- looker!

The same German officer who brought me the photograph also drew a map for me of the exact spot where Raney was buried in Flanders. I guarded it care- fully all through my subsequent advent- ures and finally turned it over to his father and mother when I visited them in Toronto to perform the hardest and sad- dest duty I have ever been called upon to execute to confirm to them in person the tidings of poor Paul's death.

The other British pilot who fell was also from my squadron and a man I knew well Lieutenant Keith, of Australia. I had given him a picture of myself only a few hours before I started on my own dis- astrous flight. He was one of the star pilots of our squadron and had been in many a desperate battle before, but this so LIEUT. This picture, found on the body of Raney when he fell behind the German lines, was handed to O'Brien to identify the victim. He put up a wonderful fight and he gave as much as he took. The next two days passed without in- cident and I was then taken to the In- telligence Department of the German Fly- ing Corps, which was located about an hour from the hospital.

There I was kept two days, during which time they put a thou- sand and one questions to me. While I was there I turned over to them the mes- sage I had written in the hospital and asked them to have one of their fliers drop it on our side of the line. They asked me where I would like it dropped, thinking perhaps I would give my aerodrome away, but when I smiled and shook my head they did not insist upon an answer. In all my subsequent experience the fact that there is a heap of fight left in the Huns still was thoroughly brought home to me.

We shall win the war eventually, if we don't slow up too soon in the mistaken idea that the Huns are ready to lie down. The flying officers who questioned me were extremely anxious to find out all they could about the part America is going to play in the war, but they evidently came to the conclusion that America hadn't taken me very deeply into her confidence, judging from the information they got, or failed to get, from me.

At any rate, they gave me up as a bad job and I was ordered to the officers' prison at Courtrai, Belgium. It was about an hour's ride. My escort was one of the most famous flyers in the world, barring none. He was later killed in ac- tion, but I was told by an English airman who witnessed his last combat that he fought a game battle and died a hero's death. The prison, which had evidently been a civil prison of some kind before the war, was located right in the heart of Courtrai.

The first building we approached was large, and in front of the archway, which formed the main entrance, was a sentry box. We passed through the arch- way and directly into a courtyard, on which faced all of the prison buildings, the windows, of course, being heavily barred. After I had given my pedigree my name, age, address, etc. I was shown to a cell with bars on the windows overlooking this courtyard. I was promptly told that at night we were to occupy these rooms, but I had already surveyed the surroundings, taken account of the number of guards and the locked door outside, and concluded that my chances of getting away from some other place could be no worse than in that particular cell.

As I had no hat, my helmet being the only thing I wore over the lines, I was com- pelled either to go bareheaded or wear the red cap of the Bavarian whom I had shot down on that memorable day. It can be imagined how I looked attired in a British uniform and a bright red cap. Wherever I was taken, my outfit aroused consider- able curiosity among the Belgians and Ger- man soldiers. They afterward told me they wondered who the "big Hun" was with the bandage on his mouth.

This cap I managed to keep with me, but was never allowed to wear it on the walks we took. I either went bare- headed or borrowed a cap from some other prisoner. At certain hours each day the prisoners were allowed to mingle in the courtyard, and on the first occasion of this kind I found that there were eleven officers im- prisoned there besides myself. They had here interpreters who could speak all languages.

One of them was a mere boy who had been born in Jersey City, New Jersey, and had spent all his life in America until the beginning of Then he moved with his folks to Germany, and when he became of military age the Huns forced him into the army. I think if the truth were known he would much rather have been fighting for Amer- ica than against her. I found that most of the prisoners re- mained at Courtrai only two or three days. Whether it was because I was an Amer- ican or because I was a flier, I don't know, but this rule was not followed in my case.

I remained there two weeks. During that period, Courtrai was con- stantly bombed by our airmen. Not a single day or night passed without one or more air raids. In the two weeks I was there I counted twenty-one of them. The town suffered a great deal of damage. Evidently our people were aware that the Germans had a lot of troops concentrated in this town, and, besides, the headquarters staff was stationed there. The Kaiser himself visited Courtrai while I was in the prison, I was told by one of the inter- preters, but he didn't call on me and, for obvious reasons, I couldn't call on him.

The courtyard was not a very popular place during air raids. Of course, I watched these bat- tles at my own risk. Many nights from my prison window I watched with peculiar interest the air raids carried on, and it was a wonderful sight with the German searchlights play- ing on the sky, the "flaming onions" fired high and the burst of the anti-aircraft guns, but rather an uncomfortable sensa- tion when I realized that perhaps the very next minute a bomb might be dropped on the building in which I was a prisoner. But perhaps all of this was better than no excitement at all, for prison life soon be- came very monotonous.

One certain Hun seemed to find par- ticular satisfaction in flying right down over the prison nightly, for my special dis- comfort and benefit it seemed, as if he knew an airman imprisoned there was vainly longing to try his wings again over their lines. But I used to console myself by saying, "Never mind, old boy; there was never a bird whose wings could not be clipped if they got him just right, and your turn will come some day. A number of German officers came into my room, and they all seemed very much frightened. I jokingly remarked that it would be fine if our airmen hit the old prison the per- centage would be very satisfactory one English officer and about ten German ones.

They didn't seem to appreciate the joke, however, and, indeed, they were appar- ently too much alarmed at what was going on overhead to laugh even at their own jokes. I saw thousands of soldiers in Court rai, and although they did not impress me as having very good or abundant food, they were fairly well clothed. I do not mean to imply that conditions pointed to an early end of the war. On the contrary, from what I was able to observe on that point, unless the Huns have an absolute crop failure, they can, in my opinion, go on for years!

The idea of our being able to win the war by starving them out strikes me as ridiculous. This is a war that must be won by fighting, and the sooner we realize that fact the sooner it will be over. Rising-hour in the prison was seven o'clock. Breakfast came at eight. This consisted of a cup of coffee and nothing else. If the prisoner had the foresight to save some bread from the previous day, he had bread for breakfast also, but that never happened in my case. Sometimes we had two cups of coffee that is, near- coffee.

It was really chicory or some cereal preparation. We had no milk or sugar. We also re- ceived a third of a loaf of bread war- bread. This war-bread was as heavy as a brick, black, and sour. It was supposed to last us from noon one day to noon the next. Except for some soup, this was the whole lunch menu. Dinner came at 5. This "tea" was a sad blow to the Englishmen. If it hadn't been called tea, they wouldn't have felt so badly about it, perhaps, but it was adding insult to injury to call that stuff "tea" which, with them, is almost a national institution.

Sometimes with this meal they gave us butter instead of jam, and once in a while we had some kind of canned meat. This comprised the usual run of eatables for the day I can eat more than that for breakfast! In the days that were to come, however, I was to fare considerably worse. I am priscwT of war in Germany. Improper to be erased Date Au C.

Do not reply -to Li in burg, await further information. Once I took advantage of the privilege to send my shoes to a Belgian shoemaker to be half -soled. They charged me twenty marks five dollars! Once in a while a Belgian Ladies' Relief Society visited the prison and brought us handkerchiefs, American soap which sells at about one dollar and fifty cents a bar in Belgium tooth-brushes, and other little articles, all of which were American-made, but whether they were supplied by the American Relief Committee or not I don't know.

At any rate, these gifts -were mighty useful and were very much ap- preciated. One day I offered a button off my uni- form to one of these Belgian ladies as a souvenir, but a German guard saw me and I was never allowed to go near the visitors afterward. The sanitary conditions in this prison- camp were excellent as a general prop- osition. One night, however, I dis- covered that I had been captured by "cooties.

Outwitting the Hun: My Escape from a German Prison Camp by Pat O'Brien

When I discovered my condition I made a holler and roused the guard, and right then I got another example of German efficiency. This guard seemed to be even more per- turbed about my complaint than I was myself, evidently fearing that he would be blamed for my condition. The commandant was summoned, and I could see that he was very angry. Some one undoubtedly got a severe reprimand for it. I was taken out of my cell by a guard with a rifle and conducted about a quarter of a mile from the prison to an old factory building which had been converted into an elaborate fumigating plant.

While I was waiting for my things to dry it took, perhaps, half an hour I had a chance to observe about one hundred other victims of "cooties" German sol- diers who had become infested in the trenches. We were all nude, of course, but apparently it was not difficult for them to recognize me as a foreigner even without my uniform on, for none of them made any attempt to talk to me, although they all were very busy talking about me. I could not understand what they were saying, but I know I was the butt of most of their jokes, and they made no effort to conceal the fact that I was the subject of their conversation.

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