came down, without mercy.

* * *

On one of my light days the guard forgot to bring my soup. He brought
the coffee in the morning, and went out again at once. I thought
he had gone for the bread, but when he did not come, I drank the
coffee--which was hot and comforting. He did not come near me all
day. It may have been the expectation of food, together with the hot
coffee, which stimulated my stomach, for that day I experienced what
starving men dread most of all--the hunger-pain. It is like a
famished rat that gnaws and tears. I writhed on the floor and cried
aloud in my agony, while the cold sweat dripped from my face and
hands. I do not remember what I said... I do not want to remember...

That night when I saw the light growing dim in the cell, and the long
black night setting in, I began to think that there was a grave
possibility that this sentence might finish me. I might die under it!
And my people would never know--"Died--Prisoner of War No. 23445,
Pte. M. C. Simmons"--that is all they would see in the casualty list,
and it would not cause a ripple of excitement here. The guard would
go back for another one, and a stretcher... I shouldn't be much of a
carry, either!

Then I stood up and shook my fist at the door, including the whole
German nation! I was not going to die!

Having settled the question, I lay down and slept.

When I awakened, I knew I had slept a long time. My tongue was
parched and dry, and my throat felt horribly, but my pain was gone.
I wasn't hungry now--I was just tired.

Then I roused myself. "This is starvation," I whispered to myself;
"this is the way men die--and that's what--I am not going to do!"

The sound of my own voice gave me courage. I then compelled my
muscles to do their work, and stood up and walked up and down, though
I noticed the wall got in my road sometimes. I had a long way to go
yet, and I knew it depended now on my will-power.

My beard was long and my hair tangled and unkempt. I should have
liked a shave and a hair-cut, but this is part of the punishment and
has a depressing effect on the prisoner. It all helps to break a man
down.

* * *

I kept track of the days by marking on the wall each day with my
finger-nail, and so I knew when the two weeks were drawing to a
close. The expectation of getting out began to cheer me--and the last
night I was not able to sleep much, for I thought when the key turned
next time