In the early days of the war Fort 9, Ingolstadt, had been, according to the oldest inmates of the prison-house, a quiet, well-behaved sort of place, but for the past six months the Germans had collected into the fort all the "mauvais sujets" from the German point of view, and all those prisoners-of-war who had made attempts to escape from other camps. There were about 150 officer prisoners in the place, and of these at least 130 had made successful attempts to escape from other camps, and had only been recaught after from three days' to three weeks' temporary freedom.
When Kicq and I arrived, 75 per cent. of the prisoners were scheming and working continually to this end. Some had tramped to the Dutch or Swiss frontiers and had been captured there; some had taken the train (those who could speak German) and had been eventually caught by some mischance; and all firmly believed that it was only the blackest misfortune which had prevented them from crossing the frontier, and were convinced that, if once more they could get clear of the camp, they would reach neutral territory and freedom. Escaping, and how it should be done, what to beware of and what to risk, what food to take, what clothes to wear, maps, compasses, and how to get them, how to look after your feet and how to light a fire without smoke, where to cross the frontier and what route to take, and a hundred and one things connected with escaping, were the most frequent subjects of conversation and rarely out of the thoughts of the great majority of the prisoners at Fort 9. Each man was ready to give the benefit of his experiences, his advice, and his immediate help to any one who asked for them. In fact, we pooled our knowledge. The camp was nothing less than an escaping club. Each man was ready to help any one who wished to escape and had a plan, quite regardless of his own risk or the punishment he might bring upon himself. For courts-martial no one cared twopence, and nearly every one in the fort had done considerable spells of solitary confinement.
There were in the camp, mainly among the Frenchmen, some of the most ingenious people I have ever come across. Men who could make keys which would unlock any door: men who could temper and jag the edge of an old table-knife so that it would cut iron bars: expert photographers (very useful for copying maps): engineering experts who would be called in to give advice on any tunnel which was being dug: men who spoke German perfectly: men who shammed insanity perfectly, and many, like myself, who were ready to risk a bit to get out, but had no parlor tricks. One had escaped from his prison camp dressed as a German officer: another had escaped in a dirty clothes basket, and another had been wheeled out of the camp hidden in a muck tub: another sportsman had painted his face green to look like a water-lily and had swum the moat in daylight under the sentry's nose. It is impossible to recount all the various means that were tried, and successfully tried, in order to escape from camps. Forgery, bribery, impersonation, with an utter disregard of risks of being shot, all found their advocates in Fort 9. In spite of the fact that every man was ready to do his utmost, at whatever personal risk, to help a friend who was trying to escape, each man was advised to keep his own plans of escape strictly to himself. It was not that we were afraid of spies among ourselves, but it was impossible to be quite sure of all the orderlies, who were either Frenchmen or Russians. There was one French orderly of whom we had serious suspicion but could never prove anything against him.