any paper. This duty completed we set out upon an exploring expedition,
intending to inspect all corners of the camp. But if we thought we were
going to wander whither we pleased we were soon disillusioned. We were
huddled in one corner and our boundaries, although undefined in the
concrete were substantial in the abstract, being imaginary lines run
between sentries standing with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets.

One and all wondered how we should be able to pass away the time. We
could neither write nor read owing to a complete lack of facilities.
Idleness would surely drive us crazy. Our recreations were severely
limited, depending upon our own ingenuity. For the first few days we
could do nothing beyond promenading, discussing the war and our
situation. These two subjects were speedily worn thread-bare since we
knew nothing about the first topic and were only able to speculate
vaguely about the second. The idea of being made to work never entered
our heads for a moment. Were we not civilian prisoners of war: the
victims of circumstances under the shield of the best traditions of
German honour?

But we were not the first arrivals at Sennelager. We were preceded by a
few hours by a party of French soldiers--captives of war. They were
extremely sullen. Travel and battle-stained they crouched and stretched
themselves upon the ground. Whence they came I was never able to
discover. One or two of our party who were versed in the French tongue
endeavoured to draw them into conversation, but to no purpose. They
either replied in vague monosyllables or deliberately ignored the
questions. There is no doubt the poor fellows felt their early capture
very sorely, and had accordingly sunk into the depths of despair. Sulky
and morose they glared fiercely upon any approach, and when they did
anything it was with an ill-grace impossible to describe. Indeed, they