We passed through Bremen again, where we got a glimpse of white sails, and then on to Rotenburg, where we changed cars and had to wait for two hours.

Of course we were hungry—­the Oldenburg prison had not sent us out well fed to meet the world, and the one slice of bread had gone.  But we had prison-stamps, and our guard took us to the lunch-counter at Rotenburg, where we got a cup of real coffee, some bread, and an orange.  The guard paid for what we got with his own money, accepting our stamps in payment.  Our stamps were good only at Vehnemoor Camp, having the name “Vehnemoor” stamped on them.

I suppose we were two tough-looking characters.  The people seemed to think so, for they looked at us with startled faces, and a little girl who was crossing the platform ran back in alarm to her mother when she saw us coming.

We arrived at Dienstedt after nightfall, and walked out a mile along a rough road to the camp, which was one of the Cellelager group—­Cellelager I.

We saw that it consisted of two huts, and when we entered the hut to which we were taken, we saw nothing but Russians, pale-faced, dark-eyed, bearded Russians.  They were sitting around, hardly speaking to each other, some mending their clothes, some reading, some staring idly ahead of them.  We were beginning to be afraid they had sent us to a camp where there was no one but Russians, until we saw some British, at the other end.

“By Jove, I’ll bet you’re hungry,” a big fellow said, reaching up into his bunk and bringing out a pasteboard parcel.  “Here you are, matey; there’s a bit of cheese and biscuits.  I’ve a bit of water heatin’, too; we’ll get you something to drink.  Get something into you; we ain’t bad done for ‘ere with our parcels comin’ reglar.”

The other men brought out boxes, too,—­currant-loaf, sardines, fruit-cake, and chocolate.  There were three coal-stoves in the room, and on one of these a pan of water was steaming.  They had condensed milk and cocoa, and made us up mugs of it, and I never, anywhere, tasted anything so good.

There were two tiers of bunks in the room, but around the wall there was an open space where there were some little tables.  Two of the Englishmen, who were playing cards, put them away and offered us their table.

“Here, boys, be comfortable; sit right down here and let us see you eat.”

We let them see us!  We ate like wolf-hounds.  We ate, not until we were satisfied, but until we were ashamed!  And still the invitations to eat were heard on every side.  We were welcome to the last crumb they had!

When at last we stopped, they began to tell us about the camp.  It seemed that the distinguishing feature was lice! It had never been fumigated, and the condition was indescribable.  “We’re bad enough,” one of the Englishmen said, “but the Russians are in holes.”

Then they told us what they had done to attract the attention of the authorities.  The branch camps are never inspected or visited, as are the main camps such as Cellelager itself and Giessen, and so conditions in the out-of-the-way camps have been allowed to sink far below the level of these.