Ways of War and Peace

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.

"Go tonight!" I exclaimed. "Why, we only came at one o'clock this morning. No, indeed; war or no war, I want one week of rest in this lovely, peaceful country."

"This is no time to romance," he explained. "You can enjoy pastoral beauties in our own U. S. A. There is talk that Holland may go to war tonight. If she does she certainly will flood the country before she stands for any nonsense such as Belgium has." With this he helped us into the 'bus and boarded the five-o'clock train for Rotterdam, to take his chance of getting four tickets at the eleventh hour.

When I got on to my splendid terrace window overlooking the garden I was ready to sell out at any price. I argued that it was better to be shot than to go crazy, and I knew that fifty-six hours without sleep or three days and nights without sleep in a week was too much of a strain. The beauty of these rosebeds and ponds seemed to comfort my jaded nerves more than the happy thoughts of home.

So I took tea on the terrace and forgot all about an ocean voyage until the face of my watch announced it was six o'clock and time to pack. By seven our little party of three were ready for supper, but we had no idea whether we were going to stay that night. We had two auto-cars for our party of eight, in case the added four joined the two couples who had passage secured on the Ryndam.

Our friends waited until nine and then they got ready to go, fearing that they might miss their boat if they were detained any longer. They suggested that they would give all the assistance they could, even to besieging the captain to wait a little longer.

By ten the guests started to retire and most of the lights had been put out. The doctor's wife, who was a young married woman, tried to read an exciting story in one of the English monthlies, but she was so worried about her husband I am confident she did not know a word she was reading.

We tried to get the Holland American line at Rotterdam but the wires were not working – were out of order. Shortly before twelve o'clock we got a telegraph message sent over the telephone which said, "Tell the Americans to come to the Ryndam at once." The message sounded so strange, and, being unsigned, we feared it might be a plot to get us and that we were being suspected as spies. This did not frighten the doctor's wife, who insisted on going and looking for her husband. We gave orders for the automobile to be called, and the man answered he did not want to make an hour and a half trip at that time of night. I answered that he must come around at once and set his price. It was nothing more nor less than forty dollars, and he insisted on having every gulden of it before he would turn the crank of the car. There were a number of other delays, for we could not find a porter, and the room waiter refused to carry our baggage to the car. Then the manager had promised to take us to Rotterdam, but he said it was too late for him to venture out in such times, and it was only when we offered the house porter a five-dollar bill that he consented to sit on the box with a revolver in his hip pocket.

Then our punctilious proprietor delayed us with our bill, for he was more anxious that he should not charge us one cent too much or too little than that we should catch our boat. We were even further delayed by feeing the help, who still stood around for their tips while our escort explained that money spoke in war times.

Finally we were off, and certainly this midnight ride compares favorably with Paul Revere's famous ride. I do not know how many kilometers we covered per hour, but I do know that if anything had bounced against us or we against anything we would not have lived to tell the tale. We went through deep woods, dark streets, through small villages and through long, narrow dams at breakneck speed. We had the right of way except for the tolls that had to be raised, for the soldiers watching at a distance and for an occasional drunkard that tumbled into the streets. We went so fast that every time our automobile took a bridge it flew several feet into the air. It was only kind Providence watching over us that saved us from being shot as spies – at least being taken prisoners. It was one o'clock when we entered the Holland American office and gave up a good cabin on the Rotterdam for two berths in the auxiliary cabin on the Ryndam.

As we came on board we saw our ambassador, Mr. Van Dyke, tell some of his friends goodbye and wish them Godspeed. We stopped to hear some people exclaim, "My, that was a splendid speech – I guess he is sorry he is not going home – well, if a man wishes to be an ambassador he must do his duty and watch his people – I wonder how many of us will take his advice and keep neutral in thought on this trip." As soon as we got on board we found that ours was not a choice cabin. It was one of the forty cabins made in a week in the hold of the boat usually made to keep the trunks.

I decided not to go to our cabin that night, as it was nearly two o'clock before the boat pulled out, and then we sat around and chatted some time about the mines in the channel and the possibility of our boat striking one and being blown to pieces. When we tired of sitting on deck we went down into the dining salon and slept on benches in impromptu manner. To tell the truth of the matter, we were reaching a point where a few hours seemed a luxurious amount of sleep. Many who did not find the early morning air too brisk camped out on steamer chairs outside.

Next morning my mother and I went down to see what our cabin was like. After reaching the lower deck we had to climb down a small ladder to get to our room. The company had tried to make the hold attractive by arranging palms and flowers around the walls. The center of the hall was usurped by trunks, for about one-third of the first-class passengers had been fortunate enough to save their baggage. Some of the flat trunks were useful, for they served as chairs and benches when our cabins became too crowded during the day.

Much to our surprise, we found that our small cabin was designed for four people, though it was only large enough for two during the day. I gave my mother the lower berth, and then the question became pertinent how was I to scramble into the upper one. I made many futile attempts trying to bolt and then taking a turn at the ladder. I succeeded in reaching the last step, but only went so far as bumping my head against the ceiling when I tried to crawl in.

The lady who had the other lower berth soon saw that my efforts were futile, and since she was extremely slight she kindly offered me her lower berth. Unknown to the authorities, we sent the fourth occupant into our friend's room and reduced the number to three. Thus we had one less person in our room than the rest of the people in the auxiliary cabin, but we found out that there were just two too many when rough weather came.

Though everybody on board that boat had said the day before they were willing to ride steerage and to suffer all conceivable hardships without complaint, providing they could get away from warlike Europe, our captain confessed that he never met so many complaining people at one time in his life.

This was just a little annoying to him when he remembered that he had already been placed as a naval officer on a Dutch man-of-war, and he had only been recalled because he knew where the mines lay, and the company felt he was competent to steer our ship safely out of the harbor.

Many of the passengers only muttered in a low voice as long as they were in the channel, for they feared the floating mines, though not a single mine broke loose and floated near our vessel. We were met by a number of English naval war boats. The ugliest of these was a small torpedo boat which stopped us before we were out of the English Channel. Our boat cried "Halt!" as soon as we saw this little English racer coming toward us with her guns leveled toward our bow. As soon as we were near enough to hear her words one of her officers gave the following queries: "Where do you come from?" "From Holland," was the prompt reply. "What have you on board?" "A cargo of humans," answered the captain, loud and clear.

"Where are you bound for?" came the pertinent answer.

"For New York," they were told. Then came the fearless command:

"You may follow me to Scilly Island, where we will examine your papers, and if they are satisfactory you may go on unmolested."

It was just luncheon time when our boat stopped and two of the English officers came on board to examine our papers. Before going up to the bridge he went down into the hold and looked at the baggage and into the cabins. After examining our papers carefully they found the nearest approach to German enemies were naturalized German Americans. With English tact, they chatted with some of the men awhile and then went down the side of the boat and were off.

We encountered a number of English men-of-war on our way out of the English Channel but were only held up twice. As soon as they saw our papers signed up by the first man-of-war they let us go very promptly. As soon as we got out of the channel away from mines and men-of-war our tired, jaded refugees began to nag the purser from early morning till late at night. There were those who said that they consented to go steerage because they thought steerage was fixed up like first cabin. When they saw that their complaints were futile they sent over one socialist leader to have it out with the overworked purser. The passenger exclaimed: "I tell you it is an outrage, we are not immigrants but good American citizens. I do not look like an influential man here but I am a strong factor in the socialist party in New York, and I will make this company look sick when I get there."

In marked contrast to this burly, rough man was the refined New England woman, a professor in one of our leading girls' colleges. She begged the purser to try and find three berths for her and two of her colleagues in either the first or second cabin, and asked if he in the meantime would see that the steerage was cleaned up and made a little more comfortable. A few days later I saw this professor walking on the first promenade deck telling some of her friends she felt like a culprit taking a first-class berth while her friends were left behind. More than a half-dozen worthies were brought over from the third cabin to the first. A college girl was among this number, who had been travelling with her brother. She had gotten into our cabin by mistake, and when I explained to her that her room was around the corner she begged me to leave her things in our room until she found her cabin, and she said: "I was in hysterics for joy when my brother took me out of the third class, and I know I shall die if I have to go back there."

There was a talented blind boy pianist who had been travelling with a friend giving concerts abroad and a committee of wealthy men brought him into the first class; he had such a sweet, kind face, I am sure he was as uncomplaining among the steerage as he was after he had been provided with a comfortable berth. Though there were not enough first-class cabins for all the women and children found in the third, the committee of wealthy men went down every day and saw that the steerage was kept as clean as possible. But there were just as many complaints among the first-class passengers, for those down in the auxiliary cabins tried to get rooms on the promenade deck, or at least have the privacy of their own rooms. Most of them who were at all comfortably placed found their complaints useless.

Gradually these passengers became more resigned, for we had five days of rough weather, and many of them were too seasick to worry about where they could lay their heads. A few of the humorous people on board soon discovered that the auxiliary cabins were all marked four hundred, so we dubbed ourselves "The Four Hundred"; because of the flowers we dubbed it the Palm Garden or the Ritz Carlton. As soon as the weather moderated some of the enthusiastic women were busy getting up a Red Cross collection for Germany. Then there was a petition gotten up by some German Americans, thanking the Germans for the kindly treatment the Americans had been accorded. The men in the meanwhile occupied themselves wondering if the stock exchange had been closed, discussing the merchants' marine and the duty of our increasing the navy.

One night we had a terrible electric storm which was a beautiful sight. It was so strong it fairly lit up the rooms, but every time a crash came we thought our end was near. The women, who were most afraid of the storm felt doomed; they got dressed and went up into the upper cabin, concluding that they would rather be shot at by cannon than to be drowned at sea. The climax to all of our troubles was the making out of our declaration and being held in quarantine at Ellis Island. Many objected to this treatment and argued that they were good American citizens and not immigrants. This was not much more than a form, for the health officers only glanced at our papers. It is strange what an influence this war had on women's consciences. There was not one woman who had been born in this country, though she had lived abroad several years, that wished to call herself a non-resident. In spite of heavy luggage lost the women were so glad to get home that they made most honest declarations. As our boat landed the dock was so packed it was hard to distinguish our friends among the thousands standing on land waving their hands and shouting a welcome home. Since we only had dress-suitcases left our baggage was soon inspected, and in less than a half-hour later we found ourselves in a comfortable New York hotel. It only took a hurried breakfast and a refreshing bath to make me soon forget my own hardships. Still, I shall never forget the suffering I saw as I fled from the horrors of war, and I am now confident that the expression "War is hell" is as sure and true as the fact that there are stars in heaven.

WHAT MOBILIZATION MEANS

Have you ever been to war? Unless you can boast of the Civil War or the Spanish-American War this question may sound futile.

Have you ever seen a manœuvre? Unless you have been an invited guest at one of the French or German manœuvres you have but a faint idea of what a gigantic review for active military service is.

Have you ever seen a mobilization? Probably not, unless you were one of those who rallied around our flag in the Spanish-American War or in the late Mexican crisis.

Much as you may have read how the European countries have been gathering their forces, it is all a faint picture compared with the actual gigantic work that has been taking place during the early periods of the war.

Until I had seen a small part of this tremendous work, I had always thought of mobilization as the task of gathering a certain number of regiments led by their officers, and sending them off with their horses, cannon and provisions to a point of attack. Though these are all a small part of a great undertaking, mobilization is a gigantic, living, breathing, throbbing force, where millions of men may act in concerted action and still every individual must play a small part in this melodramatic action.

I was fortunate enough to have been in Germany when the word was sounded that Russia was mobilizing, and that Germany would do the same unless Russia gave her some satisfactory explanation for her aggressive action.

When no answer came, at least no satisfactory reply, a declaration was made that Germany was mobilizing. What did this mean? It meant the bringing together of the most perfectly trained and equipped military force of modern times. For just as England has seen to it that she may retain the proud title of "Commander of the Seas," Germany has been equally proud of her magnificently equipped military forces.

It may take years to answer the question whether this army was being organized and trained for aggression to make other nations bow to Germany's will, or whether the intelligence of the German nation realized that the issue at stake during the Franco-Prussian War had not been threshed out and would have to be answered later. For, as Bismarck said in a conversation with the interviewer, W. B. Richmond, "Germany is a new empire and it must be protected from possible assault by one or two or both powers, one to the east, the other to the west of us. You must remember that the next war between France and Germany must mean extinction for one. We lie between two lines of fire; France is our bitter enemy and Russia I do not trust. Peace may be far more dishonorable than war, and for war we must be prepared. Therefore, while Germany's very life as a nation is at stake, I cannot give the attention that I would otherwise wish to as regards the encouragements of the arts of peace, however much I may believe them to be, as you say, necessary to the highest development of the nation as a whole."

The German people of all classes were familiar with this prophecy, therefore they were not surprised, and more, they were prepared, when Russia and France in turn threw down the gauntlet of war. In most of the cities and towns you heard the familiar words spoken by men of all ranks, "Well, it doesn't matter much; it had to come, today or tomorrow, only the allies had planned to wait three years longer; then the French soldiers would have their three years' service and the Russian Army would have been reorganized. The allies thought that we might be found napping, but we are pretty well awake, and it is to be a fight to a finish."

Therefore, when the word mobilization was spoken throughout Germany it was more than a call. It meant that every boy and man capable of carrying a gun was more than ready – he was dead anxious to join his regiment and die for his country. Whatever a man's rank might be, whatever his daily occupation was, and however responsible the work, he forgot it all in the eagerness to go to the front. One day I happened to be in a large bank in Berlin when the president received his call. He read it as though he were getting an an invitation to a Bankers' Association banquet instead of its being a call to go to the front. He had all his affairs in shape to go, and after a short talk with some of the directors and a friendly goodbye to his associates, he closed his large rolltop desk, put his hat upon his head and was off.

I chanced to be in a restaurant in Berlin one day when I noticed a group of soldiers already dressed in their dark gray uniforms drinking their afternoon coffee and smoking their cigars leisurely. Between the puffs of smoke, I heard the following conversation: "Shooting down Frenchmen will be rather different work than singing Sigfried and Tannhauser at a thousand dollars a night."

"You musn't be so mercenary," answered another. "A campfire and a bed on the ground will make me appreciate the comforts of a New York hotel another season, more than the other, while sauerkraut and Wiener wurst are fair exchange for lobster à la Newburg and chicken patties."