The news of my capture had spread through Wesel like wildfire, and
public animosity and hostility towards me had risen to fever-heat.
During the night the crowd had swollen considerably, and it clung
tenaciously to the station in the hope of having some glorious fun at my
expense.

At six o'clock an officer entered with one or two subordinates and a
squad of soldiers. Certain formalities had to be gone through in which I
played a prominent part. These completed the officer stood before me
with all the pomposity he could command and delivered a harangue at high
speed in a worrying monotone. To me it was gibberish, but one of the men
who could speak English informed me that the gist of his wail was the
intimation that "if I moved a pace to the right, or a pace to the left,
or fell back a pace, or hurried a pace during the march to the Wesel
Arresthaus--Wesel Prison--I would be shot down immediately." I mentally
decided to obey the injunction to the absolute letter, and must admit
that never before or since during my life have I walked such a straight
line.

With four soldiers behind with lowered bayonets, four in front and two
on either side we moved out of the station. The clock was chiming seven,
but the droning of the clock was drowned by the howls of rage,
snarlings, screeches, shrieks and groans of fury which went up from the
mob the moment they caught sight of us. Despite my self-control I
winced. Directly we gained the roadway an ugly rush was made. I thought
I was doomed to be torn limb from limb, for I was overwhelmed by a sea
of itching hands, shaking fists, and gnashing teeth. The escort wavered
and was all but overwhelmed. Although it quivered ominously before the
mob assault it stood its ground. Swinging their rifles over their heads
the soldiers lashed out with the butt-ends. A sharp order rang out. We