could these men have
loaded their rifles so ostentatiously? And why were there so many
soldiers? Their numbers plainly indicated the firing party.

My eyes grew dim with tears in spite of myself. Visions of my wife and
family at home, waiting and momentarily expecting "Daddy," who had
notified them of his return, flitted through my brain. A lump rose in my
throat and for the first time I was within an ace of breaking-down. But
smothering my thoughts, I pulled myself together. Assuming a bravado I
was far from feeling, I demanded to see the Commandant. To my surprise
the request was granted. This functionary was seated at his desk in a
corner of the room, and I was escorted to him. Seeing me he curtly
demanded what I wanted.

"Can I write to my wife?"

The officer who accompanied me explained the situation, and although I
did not understand what transpired I caught the words "Englische Spion!"
The Commandant glared at me.

"Where is she?" he roared.

"In England!"

"England!" and the word, full of venom and hate, burst out like the cork
from a pop-gun. "Nein! Certainly not! It is impossible! Get out!"

Assisted by a vigorous prod I was brought alongside my two companions.

The soldiers lined up to march. My head was swimming, but all thoughts
of my own plight were dispelled by an incident which was as unexpected
as it was sudden. At the command "March" one of the two Indian students,
positive that he was now going to his doom, staggered. I caught him as
he fell. He dropped limply to the ground, half-dead with fright, and
with his face a sickly green.

"Are we going to be shot? Are we going to be shot?" he wailed
agonisedly.

He clutched the sleeve of a soldier, who, looking down and evidently
understanding English, motioned negatively. Then he added as an
afterthought, "Not now!"

While his negative head-shake revived my drooping spirits, his words
afterwards sent them to zero once more. I hardly knew whether to feel
relieved or otherwise. It would have been far better had the soldier
curbed his tongue, because his final words kept us on the rack of
suspense.

We were hustled out of the room. As we passed out I glanced at the
clock. It was just nine o'clock--Tuesday morning, August 4. I shall
never forget the day nor the hour. Like sheep we were driven and rushed
downstairs, the guards assisting our faltering steps with sundry rifle
prods and knocks. We tramped corridors, which seemed to be interminable,