Ways of War and Peace

He was shut up for several hours with a delegation who had invited him down. I have no idea what transpired at that important meeting, for no new work was undertaken to get us out of Germany. He was busy telling us about his hardships and that it had taken him thirty hours to make a five-hour trip. He got busy looking after the passports of those who were fortunate enough to have them and making a record of those who wanted them. He promised to get them emergency passports signed with the biggest red seals he had. As he spoke to each one of us in turn he asked for the name of some relative or friend in the United States, adding that if anything happened to us he could notify our friends at home. When the Americans worried him about how we should get home, he assured us that transports would be sent over in due time to get us all back safely.

On hearing this, my mother brought me before the vice-consul and asked him what he thought of our going to Holland by way of Berlin. The very question seemed to frighten him, for he argued that if it took thirty-two hours to make a five-hour trip, it might take weeks to go from Bavaria to Holland. He was sure that some of the tracks had been pulled up and that some of the rails and bridges might be laid with bombs. He argued that even if we escaped these difficulties we might be thrown out on the fields any time and might have to run miles crossing the frontiers. He said that the small coupés were so crowded with people that he had seen men and women stand at the stations for hours while the more fortunate ones were crushed into third-class coupés or into baggage cars. My mother was then resolved not to move until our government should send transports to take us home and we should go home in a private car. I said nothing, but had my eyes set on Holland as my goal.

A few days later I happened to go into the Holland American agency and told the man to wire to Rotterdam and see if he could get us a room. To my surprise and delight I was informed the following week that we could have a whole cabin on the Rotterdam, sailing on the 29th of August. Then my mother refused to pay the fifty dollars down, for she was confident that the Holland American ships would not run. I kept her in the office to hold the telegram while I tore up hill to consult a successful business man from St. Louis as to whether I should pay fifty dollars down on what seemed to be a good chance. He argued that woman's intuition was often better than a man's reason and that I should follow out my original plan. I won my mother over to our way of thinking by telling her what she had still left in American Express checks and that she could use them instead of money. When we had secured a cabin I felt as rich as John Bull does since he has secured control of the English Channel. Hardly a day passed but I looked at the ticket to see that it had not been lost. Then I began to tell people at the sanitarium and wired my friends in Berlin advising them how to get out of Germany.

By this time the first mobilization was over and there was an interim of about ten days before the calling of the Landsturm, which meant the boys from twenty-one to twenty-five and the men from forty to forty-five.

The ticket agent told us that we could go at any time, that the longer we waited the worse it would become, and that by delay we were considerably reducing our chances for getting away. He could sell us tickets for a stretch but that there were no more through tickets to be had. In contradiction to this statement, the doctor who had the sanitarium said that he had been at a committee meeting of the railroads and they admitted that there were many hardships in trying to get away at present. Every day I noticed men and women hurrying to the station carrying their hand luggage, and letting the maids from the pensions carry their small trunks.

There was an Hungarian couple at our sanitarium who had been waiting for weeks to get back to Budapest. One day the woman told me she had bought provisions for five days and they were going to start the next morning, for she thought they could make the trip in five days. This gave me new courage, for I believed that if she could get back to Budapest I could get to Berlin. At the same time I heard that long-distance telephone connections with Berlin had been reopened. After trying for some hours, I made a connection and got some friends who were stopping there. To my surprise, they told me that our Embassy in Berlin had chartered a special train and they were to be off in the morning. Still, I did not give up hope that I would meet them in Holland. The next morning I went off and bought two dress-suitcases and a straw basket, which were to hold my most prized treasures. I put on my good spring suit, jammed three good dresses and more than a dozen waists, set aside one winter hat, and a cape to carry on my arm. Then I proceeded to unpack the jewelry case and put the jewelry into satchels.

By the time I was ready to get my Swiss courier he was gone, so I had to take a swarthy German, who had acted as interpreter at the post-office, as a substitute. When the doctor called that afternoon and saw a stranger in my mother's room he wanted to know what he was doing. I admitted that we were planning to leave the next day and intended taking him as our aide. Another storm broke on the calm, for the doctor argued that neither was my mother strong enough nor I courageous enough to make the journey alone. I said little but thought much, and was determined that it must be now or never. I ate up in my room that evening, for I did not want to talk it over with anybody and wanted to finish on my own impulse. Our chambermaid, Marie, was both surprised and worried when she heard that we were going, and said: "Think over it well, for the geheimrath knows best." That night I was so feverish that I could not sleep and I told my mother that she must decide for herself, but that my advice was for her to go. In the morning there was another discussion as to whether I should take my French books and notebooks. My mother and maid said that if they were found on me I would be arrested as a spy, but I was determined to take a chance and I am glad now that I did.

A strange incident occurred that morning when the Swiss man whom I had at first secured returned, and the German appeared a few minutes later. Our maid and a porter favored the Swiss man, so I compromised by paying the other man five dollars for his trouble. I left my mother to pack the odds and ends and to give the final decision that we were going while I went back to the minister of war to get the permission to leave. We took our luncheon in our room as we did not wish to be bombarded with questions, but a number of friends heard that we were going and they came to wish us Godspeed, brought us candy and cookies, and begged us to take letters to friends across the sea.

When we reached the station we found it guarded and patroled by soldiers and no one could pass the gate without showing both a ticket and pass. It was even more difficult to get three seats in a coupé, for a Russian family was taking care of a sick man and said they had only places for their nurses. When we ventured into another compartment a German woman with her grandson tried to keep us out. After we had become friendly she admitted her reason was that I looked like a Russian and she refused to ride in the same compartment with a Russian woman.

We only rode a short distance when we had to get down and wait for another train going toward Berlin. We loaded up our compartment with six bottles of strawberry selzer, as we were more thirsty than hungry. At six o'clock we found ourselves seated in a small primitive station restaurant crowded with people. Among them were several active officers and a number of retired officers on their way to Berlin. After supper I was talking with one of the petty officers, who said that they were hopeful though they knew they had hard battle ahead. Moreover, they would never forget the friendly attitude America had shown them in this terrible world war. It was twelve o'clock before we were allowed to go through the gates and another hour before our train pulled out. The conductor explained that we would have to wait an hour until an Italian train had passed. He suggested that we should take great care in crossing the railroad tracks and when we got into our seats we should not change, the reason I do not know. There were signs posted on the window, "Keep your heads in and beware of bombs." This frightened my mother so that she would not move, but I was too curious to see what was going on outside to obey orders. For one hour a half-dozen guards went over the tracks looking for bombs and then they came into our coupé looking for spies. At one o'clock we were wondering if we would ever reach Berlin without being blown up with bombs. I had a weird, strange feeling, for I saw heads now and then bobbing up in the distance. I thought they were ghosts at first, but finally discovered that they were only cavalrymen riding in the baggage car. It was nearly four o'clock when I became so exhausted that I could keep awake no longer and slept for an hour and a half in an upright position. My travelling companions, including my mother and a Norwegian woman going to Christiania, were more fortunate in this respect. We had breakfast at Weimar, and I could hardly think of this lovely Saxon city and the center of German culture, the home of Goethe and Schiller, being disturbed by war. The large station was crowded with soldiers watching for spies. As usual, one of the soldiers believed that I was a Russian, and he was surprised to find my passport identified me as an American. I should not have minded being thought a Russian if they had not looked upon the most unsuspected people of Russia as spies. We reached Erfurt, which is known as the garden of Germany, for its beautiful flowers. Here my mother introduced me to a handsome German boy, seventeen years old, who had volunteered and was hurrying to Kiel to be accepted into the navy.

That day we counted thirty-two transports carrying German soldiers toward France, and it was only after I had seen them that I knew what German organization meant. In the baggage car was the cavalry – every man to his horse, and all had been instructed that consideration for horses came before themselves. The cannon and other field provision were on tracks, but I was told that the powder and dynamite was carried at night instead of in daytime. There were many automobiles with Red Cross doctors and officers accompanied by chauffeurs, who were to carry them into the enemy's country. Everywhere one met courage and enthusiasm. Essential marks showed printed in chalk on trains – "We shall eat our Christmas dinner in Paris" and "It is a short way from Berlin to Paris."

After luncheon I walked through the town down into the deep valley, where hundreds of young men were lying in the grass waiting to be enrolled that afternoon. At the end was a garden with a large house which was being turned into a hospital for wounded soldiers, and I saw a number of Red Cross nurses and doctors getting things into shape. At three o'clock a military train came along carrying soldiers to Berlin. There was only one coupé vacant and that contained a high officer and another high official. The officer was kind enough to get out and make room for us. It was long after twelve o'clock when we reached Berlin, and we noticed that the big bridges connecting the city were well protected with soldiers. Thousands of women and children were waiting to see the American refugees hurrying to Berlin, or soldiers hastening to spend a few hours with relatives before they went to war. Except for these great crowds at the station there was no disorder, and it was hard to imagine that the Prussian capital was in the throes of such a mighty war. Our hotel was out in the Thiergarten, the loveliest part of Berlin, and was cool even in summer weather. The hotel manager was a Dutchman, and he had great sympathy with the American refugees. He was kind enough to say that if he met any Americans he would keep them there as long as they wanted to stay on credit. Next morning, bright and early, we hurried off to the Embassy, which is a handsome and imposing building near to the German Embassy. Though it was only half-past nine, there were more than three hundred people waiting to get in. A number of young officials were trying their best to line the people up in double files and to keep order. Here again I had great difficulty in proving my identity. It was only after I showed my passport that I was allowed to enter. Within the doorway there was a jolly negro trying to keep the women happy – his aide was a German who was doing his best to try and keep order. This was no light task, as our Embassy was looking after the affairs of the English, French and Russians along with its own. A number of college boys waiting to be returned home had offered their services and were assisting the clerks in their work. Our Embassy had been so overburdened with work that Mrs. Gerard was there all day long helping her husband. This work included giving out of passports, the O. K. – ing of passports, selling of tickets on special trains and the giving out of money to stranded Americans.

The expressions of the people waiting outside seemed to say I care for nothing save "Home, Sweet Home" or "Take me back to Grigsby's station." After getting our passports signed we were told to come back next day for our tickets for the special train. In the meantime we had to turn over our passports to the German minister of war and get them back at our own Embassy. The rest of the time was put in visiting a few of the galleries left open, watching the great crowds of people that surged around the Emperor's house, trying to get a glimpse of him, and in trying to get the latest news of war from our own papers. Sunday morning I went up to the Dom Church, the great church of Berlin, which was packed to the doors with German men and women bent in solemn prayer. For the Landsturm had been called out that morning and thousands of men knew that they would have to be off to the war in the morning. At noon, when the many church doors were thrown open, thousands of people passed out, the men with heads uncovered, the women pale and earnest, but all resigned and willing to do their best. All eyes were bent to the palace, for the lowered flag showed that the Emperor was at home making his preparations for leaving that night. This was the first day for a week that there had been quiet around the palace. Until Sunday thousands of people were gathered all day long singing the Kaiser's favorite songs and shouting "Hoch! Hoch!" every time they caught a glimpse of him, and especially when he ventured out on the balcony to make a speech to his people. That afternoon hundreds of people gathered with their children in the Thiergarten to enjoy the animals and to listen to the military band play many patriotic airs. This was the last peaceful Sunday that hundreds of husbands spent with their families. Next morning many a tired woman commenced to work to help the Red Cross, and to put the different hospitals and royal homes that had been turned into hospitals ready for the wounded soldiers. The Empress did her share, and the Crown Princess gave one of her palaces for this work. On every street corner there were young girls and women hard at work getting contributions for the Red Cross. Berlin became so deserted of men that it was next to impossible to find men salesmen in the shops, while they were even trying the women out as conductors on the street cars. The banks were more than half emptied of their clerks and the police work was being done by the older men.

Our special train that was to take us to Holland left on Tuesday, so we had to be at the Embassy on Monday for our tickets. Though the tickets were not sold until eleven o'clock that morning, by nine many were waiting patiently to put in their orders. There were first, second and third class tickets sold, but these could only be bought by Americans. I tried to get one for our Swiss courier, but I was told that this was a special train for Americans, and so I had to leave him behind. As I look back to those few days spent in Berlin, many pleasant incidents in the midst of the Prussian capital in the throes of a world war recur to mind. One of these was the approach of the Kaiser, accompanied by a high government official, as they rode through the Brandenburger Thor along Unter den Linden to the ministry of war. He was simply swarmed by his people, who yelled, "Unser Kaiser! Unser Kaiser! Hoch! Hoch!" Although he appreciated their loyalty and patriotism, his face showed great care and worry and he seemed to have grown ten years older in a few weeks.

A pathetic incident was the great crowds of people who came and went out of the Dom Church Sunday morning, where they went to pray for strength and resignation. The crowd was so great that only Germans were allowed to enter church that morning. It was an inspiring sight to see men of all ages, accompanied by their wives, children or sisters, come out with resolute faces, realizing the danger but determined to give their all for the cause.

It was Tuesday afternoon that our special train was ready at five o'clock to take us from Berlin into Holland. Though the train was not ready much before five, hundreds of anxious Americans were on the platform by three in the afternoon. Most of them had plenty to do in the two hours before our train pulled out. Some had to look after their trunks, make sure that they were being placed in the baggage car, while those who were not fortunate enough to have trunks with them discussed at length the probability or lack of probability of ever having their luggage again. There were many people lost in the crowds; mothers had to look for their children, wives for their husbands. A large delegation of newspaper men and publishers appeared with high mounds of literature on the war, begging the Americans to see that this reading matter should be scattered broadcast in our country. Even more interesting were the crowds of American women left behind, who brought all the way from one to a dozen letters, asking us to post them when we reached New York. Many had tears in their eyes as they asked this favor, and not a single man or woman on that special train was hard-hearted enough to refuse. Among the number of women who came to me with letters was a sweet-faced brunette about thirty. She said that she had just made her début in Berlin with much success as a singer. This was what she had told her husband, along with the fact that she was living in a nice pension where she had become acquainted with a well-known tenor and his family, who were taking good care of her until she would be able to come home. She gave me all this information because her letter was written in German, and she feared I might not take it unless I knew its contents. In less than a quarter of an hour's time she returned with a large bouquet of roses, saying this was a mere expression of her appreciation.

Our train pulled out at five o'clock sharp with much yelling and waving of handkerchiefs and fans. Out of this noise one heard the cry, "Godspeed!" "Give my love to all the dear ones at home!" "Good luck!" "Auf wiedersehen!" which was answered by the refrain of the song, "Deutchland über Alles!"

This special train was packed with anxious-looking men, women and children. They seemed so happy to get out of a land of war into one of peace, that they never grumbled at the thought of sitting in a day coach thirty hours without any sleep except what they got napping.

All along the line we saw beautiful fields waiting for the harvest to be taken in by the women and children. They were doing their best to supplement the work of their fathers and older brothers. Whenever they noticed our train pass and realized that we were Americans they waved their hands and shouted in friendly greeting. Our coupé had four seats, so by taking turns every one got a chance to rest an hour or two.

It was not until two o'clock the next day that our train reached Bentheim, which is on the Dutch frontier. Our train did not pull up to the platform as usual, so all the passengers in turn had the pleasure of taking a three-foot leap. This was the German side, so our luggage had to be examined before we could pass over the Dutch frontier. There were only two ticket windows for nearly three thousand people, so we were wedged in like sardines. There were no porters to carry our hand luggage, so we had to hoist it on as best we could. A short ride brought us to the Dutch frontier, where we were all told to get down and have our luggage, even to our hand luggage, examined again. As we could not get any porters many of us refused to get down, with the plea that we were refugees and not tourists.

When the custom officials saw that some of us stood firm, they boarded the train and examined our things in a superficial way. The more obedient, who did as they were told, fared badly by their obedience. There was such a mix-up inside that many came back minus valises, dress-suitcases, carry-alls, steamer coats, and even lost their seats in their coupés. The passengers were divided between Amsterdam, Rotterdam and The Hague. A large number of these were without steamer passage, but they were hurrying to Rotterdam determined to get something, even if it was steerage. There were plenty who had boarded our train without a dollar in their pockets beyond a railroad ticket to help them out, and they were trusting to good luck or what friendships they might make on the way for help. Many were loud in their praise of Mr. and Mrs. Gerard for the friendly advice and the financial aid they had been given by them. In spite of the hardships endured by the financial embarrassment, loss of trunks, lack of sleep, there was much humor and joviality, which is so valuable to the American people in difficult situations.

It was after one o'clock when we reached Wassenaar, a small suburb of The Hague. The hotel had been originally built for a golf club. It was a large, red brick building, set in a beautiful garden with such wonderful flowers as only Holland can grow. Surrounded by this splendid wealth of scenery, it was hard to imagine ourselves in the midst of countries that might be racked and ruined by war. The next morning we visited the Palace of Peace, handsome but imposingly simple. As we looked upon its splendid rooms, decorated with pictures dedicated to peace, it seemed a blasphemy to God and man that such a building should remain if men are to fight out their differences with the cruel weapons of modern warfare. For a short time we abandoned these disquieting thoughts and visited some of the lovely Dutch shops, where we found a few inexpensive souvenirs for our friends who were anxiously awaiting us at home. We had our luncheon in a quaint Dutch restaurant where dainty sandwiches and Dutch cakes were served on the prettiest of Delft china.

Then we hurried to our Embassy to find out if the Tennessee had landed, as we all expected letters and hoped for money from home. One of the clerks said that the Tennessee was expected in England that day and would probably reach the Dutch coast in a day or two. Our Embassy was crowded with Americans asking for passports, money and information. Mr. Van Dyke and his clerks, assisted by boy scouts, were working overtime to gratify all these demands.

A number of our clerks looked anxious that afternoon, as gossip had it that the German Consul had been called back to Berlin that day, and if Holland were thrown into war she would flood her entire country in less than twenty-four hours' time. Our men thought it was an exaggerated rumor, but still they were advising people to leave Holland as early as possible. As we hurried along the streets and past the vacant lots, we saw hundreds of soldiers going through their daily exercises so that they could join the regular army when needed.

There was a great crowd of people waiting before the palace, anxious to see their Queen start off for a daily drive. Soon the automobile appeared, carrying the Queen and a friend for a drive out in the woods. Though she has grown older she is as sweet and girlish as ever. Her friendly smile shows that she has the determination to meet cheerfully the most difficult situations that may confront her before the war is finished.

We were about to take the 'bus up to our hotel when one of our friends stopped us and said, "Are you willing to leave tonight if I can secure passage for us four on the Ryndam?" I was so surprised by this question that I thought our friend, who had been studying in one of the German clinics, was losing his mental balance as a result of overstudy and war talk.