MY PRISONER
A SKETCH FROM THE BATTLEFSELD (By "A' Gunner," in tho "DJlily Mail.") . ' He was not a prisoner to be premd of. He was not a prisoner I would! have chosen myself, but he thrust llimself upon me and would not go away.. Even when I threw a tin of pork and .beans at him lie only ducked and looked re» proachfully at me through a ptiir of large round spectacles. : When he adopted me I was very busy repairing a. telephone wire so that'the Boche shells could cut it into nice curly lengths. The infantry had' jiisikgone "over the top," leaving an untidy mess on top of the ridge, and I was struggling with half a yard of adhesive tape and a pair of pliers when something tripped over my wire, mixing itiself up with the sticky tape which dangled from dirty fingers held above the head, and murmured: "Mercy! I am a prisoner. \ I submit. I desire to le taken away." . ■ .. I picked the tape from its fingers, looked it full in the spectacles, fjnd saw it was a.Fritz—a very unhappy, smallsized Fritz, entirely surrounded by clay.
"Go away. Can't you see I'nii busy?" I. said aptly plagiarising. "I am your prisoner," he repeated, wiping the clay from bis moustache. "You're a liar," I replied severely. "You run away and be somebody else's prisoner. You are not the sort of prisoner that appeals to me; I am not having any prisoners thrust utpon me. Besides, I'm busy—very busy. 'J his is one of our 'busiest days. Give me back that yard of wire .from around your leg." . He looked nonplussed for a moment, tut only for the,. moment. A sly smile cracked the clay on his face, and ; diving into a pocket, he produced l a stiver watch, a cheap Swiss watch. "For you," he beamed. "W,hat for?" I inquired. "I'm your prisoner," he said confidently, • The man's persistence~worried me. ■"Look here," I said, "let's have this out. I'm not a. collector of prisoners. _ Signallers are not illowed to j havo prisoners. I don't want you, I hato the sight of you. Go mid give yourself up to somebody of your own size." He kept the smile full on and continued to dangle the watch. #.. * ♦ » It was then I threw tho pork and beans at his head. Thereupon he burst into tears 'which mado a streaky canal down his cheeks and flowed into bis moustache. Between sobs he told me that he had' walked „ through hellfire, he had fallen.into shell-holes, he had tripped over wire (my wire, I reminded him), his feet were olistered and his head ached, and' he was weary— 0h,.50 weary of the war. I told ,him I could not help his troubles. . If ho chose to get born on the wrong side of a war like this he muse take the consequences: "But I'm your prisoner," he insisted, picking tapo from his Angers. The man's stubborness irritated me. I talked to him seriously. I asked him if he really thought he was the sore of prisoner that any self-respecting soldier could be proud of. 1 asked him what he had-done that he should be made a prisoner, by what-light did bo inflict himself on a perfect stranger and a sworn enemy at that. I even appealed to his better nature. • I recalled the happy da.\s when lie had imbibed beer more , or less like a human being, and I implored him to go like a good German and find a nice quiet •bell-hole and cease to be a blot on the landscape. Whereupon he wept some more, and tho tears dripped from his moustache. I told him that if ho cried over my wire he would cause a short circuit. Then he lost his temper. "I'm your prisoner," he snapped 'savagely. "I insist on being your prisoner. It is tho fortune of war. You shall take me to safety and give me food." . ' I gazed reflectively at the tin of pork and beane, and up went his hands. "Mercy I" he murmured. , Then —I am ashamed to confess it—l gave in. Tho man's persistence wore me down. Giving him a reel of cable to carry and holding the tin of pork and beans at the "Present!" I marched him~-to the nearest dressing station, wishing that the next shell would hide us from the public gaze. "What have you got there, corporal?" inquired an 8.A.M.0. man as we turned the corner of a captured pillbox. • ' "I have hero my first and last prisoner," I said. "He was mine and I give him to you. All that I can say in explanation is that he was not of fny own choosing. He came to me out of the clay, and.l wash my hands' cf him." My prisoner scowled. "English swine!" he said. Then, turning to the R.A.M.C. man, he smiled sweetly and offered him the Swiss watch. J.D.
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Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 81, 29 December 1917, Page 3
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823MY PRISONER Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 81, 29 December 1917, Page 3
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