shoulder them and to fall in for the march to the camp. The noon heat
was terrible. The sun poured down unmercifully, and after twelve hours'
confinement in the stuffy railway carriages few could stretch their
limbs. But the military guards set the marching pace and we had to keep
to it. If we lagged we were prodded into activity by means of the rifle.

Sennelager camp lies upon a plateau overlooking the railway, and it is
approached by a winding road. The acclivity although somewhat steep is
not long, but we, famished and worn from hunger, thirst, and lack of
sleep, found the struggle with the sand into which our feet sank over
our ankles, almost insuperable. Those burdened with baggage soon showed
signs of distress. Many were now carrying a parcel for the first time in
their lives and the ordeal completely broke them up. Prince L---- had a
heavy bag, and before he had gone far the soft skin of one hand had been
completely chafed away, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound. To make
matters worse the hot sand was drifting sulkily and clogging his wound
set up untold agony.

Prince L---- made a representation to the officer-in-charge, showing his
bleeding hand, but he was received with a mocking smirk and a curt
command to "Move on!" The weaker burdened prisoners lagged, but the
bayonet revived them. One or two gave out completely, but others, such
as myself, who were not encumbered, extended a helping hand,
half-carrying them up the hill.

Reaching the camp the Commanding Officer, a friendly old General whose
name I never heard, hurried up.

"What's the meaning of this?" he blurted out in amazement.