"Our last chance! Give them to us! English spies! Seize them, comrades!
Lynch them! Lynch them!" were the coarse cries which rang out without
ceasing.

It was a thrilling and critical moment. The mass of screaming men and
women was now so dense that we could not move. The soldiers could no
longer even swing their rifles. The outstretched hands of the mob were
snapping and tearing within an inch or two of my coat. Had I swayed a
trifle they must have grasped me.

A shrill whistle rang out. The prison door was flung open and a number
of soldiers came out at the double with arms lowered, while the officers
were waving their swords. The crowd around the entrance fell back, and
the next moment a passage was being cleaved through the mass of raving
humanity. This sudden appearance of extra force created a diversion of
which our escort took advantage. We slipped through the gap which had
been cut in the crowd, and the next moment were in the prison. As the
gate closed with a resounding bang I gave a sigh of relief. We were safe
from mob violence whatever other fate might be in store for us.
Personally, although I passed through many exciting experiences
subsequently, and was often a victim of Prussian brutality, I regard
that march from the station to the prison at Wesel as the most dangerous
few minutes which I have ever encountered.

We were promptly taken into an office and subjected to another
inquisition. The questions were merely repetitions of those I had
already answered half-a-dozen times previously. Then I was submitted to
my second search. I was ordered to throw my hands above my head, a
bayonet point being held at my stomach to enforce the command. Searchers