HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE A REFUGEE?
How would you like to be a refugee for four weeks, fleeing from the horrors and hardships of war? How would you like to be cut off all this time by mail and cable from relatives and friends? How would you like to be many thousand miles from home, with little money and no credit, trying to meet your obligations and at the same time sharing the little you have with those less fortunate than you are?
This is a brief summary of my experience won from the war. The situation looked so hopeless because the war came like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. I was at Bad Kissingen in Southern Bavaria when the news came that Austria was threatening Servia with war. Though some of the alarmists were confident that this meant the beginning of a world war, the German papers assured the nations that everything was being done to confine the war to Austria and Servia. Even the Austrian Emperor had said that his country had started the war and it was up to him to work out his own salvation.
I was therefore more surprised when the word came on Saturday that Russia had mobilized for the purpose of crossing the German frontier. This mere threat seemed to paralyze most of the Americans who were busy taking their cures in this Bavarian resort, for until then they had only heard war spoken of at far range. Many of them went mornings and afternoons to the Kurgarten and tried to drown their sorrows in the beautiful strains of the Viennese orchestra, which they listened to in a listless way. The thought uppermost in their minds was how would we get out if Russia really declared war on Germany?
The most panicky and energetic got busy and left, but most of the Americans tried to pull themselves together and to wait for further developments. Our unsteady nerves and heavy hearts were reassured by the articles in all the German dailies saying that they were doing their level best to stay out of the fight and to keep the war confined to Austria and Servia. The foreign diplomats, even of England, gave the same reassuring reports. This promise of good faith and friendship was given out on Saturday, so on Sunday when word came that Russia had been mobilizing for three days to cross the German frontier, it came as a shock. But Germany still tried to ward it off by granting Russia twelve hours to give some sort of explanation for this work. This Russia did by sending some of her forces across the German frontier.
By noon on Sunday our sanitarium was in a pandemonium of excitement, as it became known that many German officers were being recalled and were busy packing their trunks to catch the first afternoon train back to the Prussian capital.
I tore down-stairs two steps at a time. In the hallway I met a German countess weeping in real sorrow while her grandmother was trying to console her. When I inquired the reason for all this grief the grandmother said that her grandsons were officers and had been called to their different regiments.
In the dining-room that noon there were one hundred and seventy-five worried men and women of many different nationalities. They were plotting and planning how they could escape the war, or at least get to their homes. The Germans had soon decided to leave without any delay for Berlin, Frankfurt, Munich and other German cities so they could tell each other goodbye before the men started for war.
The Russian merchants and bankers were alarmed and they started for St. Petersburg and Moscow to escape being made prisoners in Germany. There were two Persian princes who hurried to the minister of war and obtained permission to take out their auto-car and started for Lucerne that very afternoon. Many Americans who had auto-cars with them made the same move trying to get to Berlin, The Hague or London, but most of these were shot at before they had gone very far. The two Persian princes barely escaped being shot as Turkish spies.
In less than two hours only thirty-five guests were left in the sanitarium; most of these were Americans and Russians who were wondering if they had not made a mistake by staying. They were comforted when they heard the next day that most of the people who had left had not gotten very far.
The thought that we were living in a military country on the eve of one of the world's greatest wars was just a little nerve-racking. That afternoon we took a carriage drive through the woods to one of the neighboring towns. It was a beautiful summer's day, and it was hard to think that a terrible war was about to break over this placid scene. The picture was made more attractive by the many peasants out for their usual Sunday holiday in their large farm wagons. These carts were crowded with German families of the usual size, children, parents and grandparents. Though they did not look jovial, the expression of their countenances never indicated that they realized that a great war was pending.
It was after five when my mother and I returned to the sanitarium that afternoon. I had been resting less than a half-hour in the large hall when a head-waiter came and threw an extra bulletin in my lap, which read that Germany had mobilized and declared war.
The men seated near me turned pale; they were too stunned to make any comment on the situation. I waited until I had calmed myself and then I bounded up to my room. My mother was resting at the time, and by the way I tore into the room she must have thought a tiger was about to break loose from the zoo.
"It's all up! It's all up!" I cried, as I sounded a bell for a porter to come and help me pack my book-trunk. I cleared the bureau drawers and the tables and he commenced to pack with as much enthusiasm as though we were going off to join a regiment. Then I proceeded to take the dresses out of the wardrobe and began to pile everything high on the beds.
"Have you gone crazy?" my mother said, only to get the determined answer, "No, but we are off tomorrow," as I continued to add more clothes to the great pile. I proceeded to explain that I had engaged a Swiss man to take us across the frontier and then we would decide whether to go to Holland, Belgium or England.
While talking and working, I failed to notice that one of the nurses had been in the room giving my mother some medicine and had overheard the conversation. I was also unaware of the fact that she had gone down-stairs and told the head-doctor that I was informing the patients that Germany had declared war. He sent up one of his assistants, who said that I was creating a panic in his sanitarium. His remarks in German, translated into English, were somewhat like the following:
"You are an egoist to create all this excitement; don't you know that the maids are out in the hall crying?"
I answered that I was sorry if any of the women had been made hysterical by the news but I was in no way responsible for the war.
I soon saw that it was as difficult to combat the egotistical in peace as in war, so I decided to sit steady and await an opportunity. The next morning I went down at six-thirty to see what the fifty thousand guests were doing and how they took the situation. The place about the music-stand was packed with Germans and German-Americans who were listening to such strains as "Der Wacht am Rhein," "Deutchland über Alles," intermingled with our own "Star Spangled Banner." The only comment made on these strains were the cries of "Hoch! Hoch!" from time to time. At the other end of the grounds was another mob of men and women reading the extra bulletin that a Russian regiment had crossed the frontier and Germany had declared war. The men had a worried look and the women were pale and anxious, but all showed magnificent control. There were no cries heard of "Down with Russia!" or "Down with France!" Many of these Germans were still filled with hope that Sir Edward Grey would bring these foreign powers to a satisfactory understanding.
It was not until Tuesday that the first men enlisted and martial law was proclaimed. A large part of the promenade was roped off and guarded by petty officers. Nobody crossed this plot of ground under penalty of being shot.
The proclaiming of martial law was a new experience for me, so I stood behind the ropes for hours at a time, seeing the young men come to the front, take the oath and enlist. The first regiments were only boys, still unmarried, living in romance rather than actuality. But I soon decided that it was not as hard for them to bid their sweethearts goodbye as it was a little later for fathers to bid their wives and several clinging children farewell. A week later it was even harder to see the old men, many of whom had served in the war of '70 and '71, gladly come forth again to join the rank and file. More than twenty-five thousand men enlisted in a week. They ranged from nineteen to forty-five and came from all conditions of life; the richest and the poorest alike were eager to go and fight and if necessary to die for their country. They were impatient to change their civilian uniform for the earth-color uniforms. It was pathetic to see some of them hand over their old suits to their wives, for I wondered if they would ever use them again. But they seemed hopeful as they moved on, singing their favorite military strains. Each regiment had its favorite song; with one it was "Der Wacht am Rhein," with another "Deutchland über Alles."
This continued for a week, until twenty-five thousand men had been called out from Bad Kissingen and surrounding country. Most of these were farmers who had to drop their work before the harvesting of their grain. This work was turned over to women and children, while young boy scouts came and volunteered to work on the farms. The men were called into the different regiments mornings, noons and afternoons, until I wondered if it would ever stop. They marched off only to form new regiments. As I climbed the hill one day a middle-aged, kindly woman said to me in a choked voice, "I am giving everything I have in this world to this war, my husband and five sons. Four of them are to fight against France and two against Russia." She controlled her grief as she spoke, but it was not hard to see that her heart was broken. Many of the men working in our place were called out without getting a chance to tell wives or mothers goodbye, while one man confessed modestly that he was to be the father of a first child in less than two months. In a week's time the male population was so depleted that it was hard to find a man walking in town or out in the fields. The few young men left were so ashamed they had not been taken that they hastened to explain that they belonged to the Landsturm and that they would be called out during the next two weeks. That most of them went willingly is shown by the fact that in a week's time Germany had over a million in arms. When a young man was refused by one ministry of war he applied to another and did not give up until he had been refused five or six times. Even the tear-stained faces of mothers and sweethearts did not influence these young men from rallying around their flag. These German women were perfect Spartans and were glad when they had four or five sons to give to their country. They are trying to do their best to fill the gaps made by husbands and sons in homes, in the fields and in the shops, taking their positions in stores, in banks and on street cars.
In a few days these peaceful Bavarian people settled down to their daily routine. They were not surprised when France as well as Russia declared war on them, for it was what they naturally expected. But the news that England also had declared war came as a terrible shock. This news fanned the fire into a terrible flame and goaded the Germans on to a point where they felt they must lose all or win all.
Although the Americans were sympathizing with all this sorrow they had plenty of worries of their own. By half-past eight in the morning and at three in the afternoon, there were such crowds of people gathered before the small banks and ticket agents that it was next to hopeless to get in without being crushed, even if one wanted tickets or money. The Germans, Russians and English were foremost in these crowds, for the Germans felt they had to get home while the Russians or English wanted to escape being taken prisoners. Being an American, I felt that I was well protected until one morning I was stopped by a German and was accused of being a Russian. One day two of these men stopped me and I understood enough of what they were saying to know that they wanted to prove that I was a spy. Fortunately I had my passport with me, and that was enough to prove that I was an innocent American looking for friends and money instead of working with bombs.
The Americans in our sanitarium were fairly quiet until the word came that the banks were closed; at least, they would only give out money on German letters of credit. This information was aggravated by the fact that England had closed the cable in Germany. Paradoxical as it may seem, it was strange to us that the days moved on just the same, the days multiplied themselves into a week, and we had a board-bill staring us in the face with no prospect of money. I thought our host might be kind enough not to present us with a bill at the end of the week, but it came in just as usual. I was so angry that I left it there for a week without looking at it. I soon made up my mind if I could not get out of Germany the best thing to do was to bring some money into Germany.
I had some friends living in Frankfurt to whom I confided our distress. I do not know which was more difficult, keeping up a German conversation over the telephone or assuring them I was hard pressed for money. After a dozen serious conversations over the 'phone, backed up by a number of German postals, I got two hundred and fifty dollars from one and seventy-five dollars from another. I also got two letters from friends, one from Berlin and the other from Dresden, asking if I needed help, and I hoisted the signal of distress in a hurry. Only a small part of this money could be kept as a reserve fund, as we now owed two weeks' board. Fortunately the banks had opened again and our government had sent instructions to give us money on our letters of credit, using their own discretion. I had to wait all day until I could get near a bank, and then the cashier said one hundred and fifty dollars was all we needed. When I explained it was not enough he became angry and accused me of calling him names. He made a terrible fuss in his bank and for a few moments I thought he would have me arrested. The question of money was only one of the many difficulties. Germany was so excited by the presence of spies in her midst that she at times accused the twinkling stars of being bombs thrown into the air. Determined to rid her country of spies, she sent policemen accompanied by watchdogs to search the Russians and to find out the whereabouts of the others. One morning we were notified we must all present ourselves at the schoolhouse where we were to exhibit our passports or other credentials. It was really a funny sight to watch nearly two hundred thousand Russians and Americans trying to force a way into a small schoolhouse. When the work first started, the soldiers and first aides tried to arrange the throng in single, double and triple files, but after half an hour's venture the rope gave way and the people found themselves where they started. I was soon tired with the overpowering mob and went home to begin all over in the afternoon. After two hours hard work we had gone from the first step to the inner door. The actual work went more quickly, for when the recorder saw passports marked with the red seal of Washington, D. C., he was satisfied and asked few questions.
When the German mail man did not appear for a week it gradually dawned upon us that we were not getting our mail and we wanted to know the reason for this. We soon found out that if England had closed the cables Germany had closed the mail, and that we could not have our letters that were marked U. S. A. until they had been opened and read. Some of the more energetic Americans went to the German minister of war and complained. This complaint was sent on to Berlin. After a week's fuming and worrying they were told that they must go and have their pictures taken. Every one who wanted his mail had to pay fifty cents for a small, ugly-looking picture made payable in advance. They presented it at the ministry of war and only a small number were allowed through the gates at a time. The most daring of the soldiers teased the Russians about their names, and even had the impudence to tease the unmarried girls about their age. By the time they had pasted the pictures upon the papers, the funny-looking scrawl looked like certificates worthy of a rogue's gallery. After these minor details had been attended to the question paramount in our minds was: "How could Uncle Sam bring all his children home?" There was a rumor that one of our warships, "The Tennessee," was to be dispatched to the other side to deliver money and good cheer. We heard that she was also authorized to buy ships, but we wondered if ships could be bought, and, if they could be, would not the other nations raise objections. A group of successful business men in our sanitarium delegated themselves as captains and pilots for an unknown ship and began studying the map of Europe. There was a great diversity of opinion as to which way we should go if we went in a body. First they recommended Switzerland, only to find out that Switzerland had closed her gates because she feared a food famine. Then they suggested Italy, but this was vetoed because Italy is hard to reach from Bavaria and the ships sailing from Italy are very small. One of their happiest suggestions was Belgium, until they heard that Belgium had been drawn into the war against her will. I think a few recommended England, but this was promptly vetoed because England was at war and the channel was choked with mines. Strangely, no one thought of Holland. In the leisure moments they busied themselves taking up a collection for the Red Cross and sending important messages to Gerard, our ambassador in Berlin. He consoled them by saying there was no immediate danger and recommended that we send for our consul in Coburg. After patiently waiting a few more days our vice-consul appeared.
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.
"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.