The Misery Begins
On the sixth day, having run out of energy pills, hunger pains became extreme. My thoughts were almost exclusively of food. Some hard vegetable came to my attention as I walked. With a terrible taste, and unable to bite into it I had to throw it away. (Later I learned that it was sugarbeet). Soon therafter, a plum tree offered its fruit. They were green and hard, but I picked and ate a handful. This shortly brought about a gastric explosion worthy of mention in the Guiness Book of World Records. It occured at about 2200 on a clear but chilly moonlight night. My misery index at that time was my lifetime's greatest (and least til now).
About this time, the roads began to go against my direction of travel. However, the countryside also changed to a gently rolling farmland. Marching across the fields, it occured to me that the farm might have a chicken coop from which eggs, even a chicken could be snatched. Entering such farm an hour or so later, I heard a "thump" and found it's source to be a pair of large rabbits in a hutch. So I throttled one of them with my hands. After carrying it in my shirt the rest of that night, early morning brought me to a large ravine and river blocking my path. Although not very wide, its depth was a big question mark, and was flowing briskly. Finding a bridge instead of attempting to swim across seemed the sensible thing to do. That ravine was deep enough to screen me from farmers, should they be working on the fields on the flat land above. And there were small trees sparsely growing there. The remainder of the day was taken up leisurely in gathering twigs and walking along the river bank. After skinning the rabbit, the parachute cloth made an excellent wrapper for it. At twilight I lit a small fire and roasted it.
Twighlight, it seemed to me, would be the time a local resident would least likely see my fire. Roast rabbit is great if you're really hungry, and was I ever! Without salt or other condiment, or anything to go with it, however, a great amount of rabbit remained for future eating.
Dawn was breaking. It was time to seek a hiding place. Passing a farm, I came upon another and another. Then came a bridge over the river--an excellent place to hide, as long as no one wanted to look there. No one did. I saw pieces of newsprint. It was not German! I didn't know what language, but it was likely this river was a border. At 0400, just barely light, I crossed the bridge. At the town square, as had happened on other occasions, I examined the village bulletin board in the Platz. One look confirmed that this village had a different language. A great burden was lifted from my shoulders. Feeling relieved, but also tired, I set out on the journey once more. The weather was clear, the moon nearly full, but it was cold!
I began to notice a pain in my right ankle. Increasingly insistent, it told me to rest. After a short while, my fingers became numb. Now I had to walk to get them warmed up. A hay stack near the road gave me the idea of burrowing in for warmth. That did not work: both hands and feet became numb. I kept walking and resting til daylight, doing neither at all well. I had "the miseries" for certain.
The "Friendlies"
Daylight found me in a area of rolling feilds, with occasional clumps of trees in various places amidst the cropland. Seeking a hiding place, I kept walking, but now less fearful of meeting someone face to face. In a previous encounter that I could not avoid, I had thrown up my right hand and called out "Heil Hitler!" with as disgusted a German accent as I could muster. Now, being very hungry, I kept walking, not overly concerned about avoiding people. About an hour later, I found two lady fieldworkers directly in my path, so I approached them and in bad German asked where I was. They took one look and paled, perhalps quaked a bit also. But they understood, telling me that I was in "Moravia". (Where, I wondered was Moravia?) Asking for food, they either did not understand, or they pretended they did not, and waved me to depart. Shortly thereafter, a brick farmhouse blocked my path. I had a decision to make. Hunger decided. Rather than avoiding it, I approached and knocked. The farmer tried to understand my bad German and my sign language to please give me something to eat. After some moments he signed me to follow him. We walked about a mile to a small village with, perhaps, as many as a dozen houses. We entered the largest house. Later, I learned the house was the mayor's, and I was being turned over to him.