GERMANY AND BERLIN
Berne, Saturday, November 28th. Donait and I left Paris at nine last evening for Lyons, Culoz, and Geneva with dispatches for Berlin. For many reasons we are particularly anxious to see Germany and Austria in war time, and look forward keenly to the experience which we face.
We arrived in Geneva at noon. We were very tired, for our train and compartment were overcrowded and we had to sit up all night. The responsibility of the sack of official papers which we carried, and on which one of us had constantly to keep his mind, hand, and eyes, was an additional element of fatigue.
We were forced to wait in Geneva until five o’clock for a train to Berne, where we finally arrived at nine this evening.
Sunday, November 29th. This morning Donait and I presented ourselves at the American Legation and delivered our dispatches. It is the custom to send all mail for the American Embassy in Berlin to the Legation in Berne, where it is opened, checked over, and re-forwarded. In the afternoon we paid our respects to the Military Attaché, Major Lawton.
German newspapers are accessible to us this morning for the first time since July. It is most interesting to view the reverse of the shield.
Monday, November 30th. Berne is almost as much in a state of war as Paris. The whole Swiss army of 500,000 is mobilized and has been on the frontiers since the end of July. The nation is on a war footing and seems to be about equally suspicious of all the nations concerned in the “present unpleasantness.” A certain quiet confidence, however, pervades Switzerland, a confidence which even a small nation may feel when it has an effective army. Every normal Swiss citizen is a trained soldier, for in his twentieth year he undergoes from sixty to ninety days of intensive military instruction.
I speak of the efficiency of the Swiss army. I might add that the Germans would undoubtedly have preferred to invade France through Switzerland rather than through Belgium. Their flank would then not have been exposed to the disastrous pressure of the British army and navy. The fact of the matter is that they feared the British and the Belgians combined less than the Swiss. So great are the advantages of reasonable military preparedness.
Preparedness and military system are not synonymous with a large standing army. A small, well-prepared army may be the nucleus around which an efficient military system can be built. The Swiss organization is at present most interesting, for it has saved that country from becoming involved in the present war. Had Belgium been as well prepared as was Switzerland, Germany would have observed sacred treaties and invaded France across the Franco-German border.
The efficient Swiss military system, which can put 500,000 trained and organized men into the field, costs less than ten million dollars a year. Our ineffective American standing army of 85,000 men costs us one hundred millions a year, on a peace footing. The difference is due to the fact that the frugal, thrifty Swiss, like most other nations, do not consider civilians competent to meddle with military matters—or that national defense should be subject to the vagaries of party politics—or that an army is a fit subject for the experiments of amateur social scientists.
In spite of the cruel calamities which have in the past overtaken the United States because of her perpetual unpreparedness, we still insist that because we do not believe in war we therefore need no military system. It is as if we held that since we do not wish to be ill we will abolish physicians—or as if we believed that because we do not desire to have our homes burn down we will do away with the fire department and with insurance. No matter how pacific a nation may be it cannot avoid war by signing peace treaties, either singly or by the bushel. Reasonable military preparedness is the only valid insurance against disastrous and ruinous war.
We did without this war insurance in the decade from 1850 to 1860, when we at that time needed insurance only to the amount of 100,000 trained soldiers. This would have cost about seventy-five millions. Had we possessed this insurance the Civil War would never have been fought. For the lack of it our country missed disintegration by a hair’s breadth, and escaped disaster only because we happened to have one of the great men of history as President. The ultimate victory was won at a cost of which the following items were only a part:
750,000 lives.
10,000 million dollars in national debt and pensions.
25,000 million dollars in property damage.
All this would have been prevented by a protective expenditure of 75 millions a year.
No more fatal delusion was ever cherished than the belief that “it takes two to make a quarrel.” In world history it has seldom needed two to make a quarrel. Did Belgium quarrel with Germany?
Our legation in Berne has always been the most isolated, humdrum spot on earth. People stationed here nearly died of ennui; nothing ever happened, until all Europe suddenly was plunged into the conflagration of war, and then Berne became, of necessity, the clearing house for the continent for dispatches, mail, telegrams, money, prisoners, and refugees. Every telegram which the American Embassy in Paris sends to the Embassies in Germany, Austria, or Italy is directed: “American Legation, Berne. Repeat to Gerard”—or Penfield or Page, as the case may be.
German prisoners in France are numbered in tens of thousands and for a long time the only means of communication from them and to them was by means of the two American Embassies through the American Legation in Berne. The little three-room Berne Legation with its small staff was simply overwhelmed with work.
Donait and I were sent by Minister Stovall to make a verbal report on the situation of the Germans in France to Baron Romberg, the German Minister to Switzerland. I was much impressed in this my first touch with a German official. He is rather small, slim of body, but keen of mind, with excellent repose and control. Like all German diplomats, he speaks faultless English. A startling evidence of the efficiency of the German Information Bureau was furnished by the fact that he already knew to the minutest details nearly as much about my work in Paris in caring for German subjects as did I myself.
He spoke quite unreservedly about many matters but did not attempt to draw us into indiscretions as do so many foreign diplomats when dealing with younger men.
This evening I walked out along the embankment in front of the Parliament Houses and watched a gorgeous sunset and Alpine glow upon the snow mountains of the Bernese Oberland.
One is not permitted to telephone in English or in any language except German or French (the native languages of Switzerland), and even then the telephone girls listen closely to one’s conversation.
Donait and I have made all our preparations to depart for Berlin early tomorrow morning, our dispatches having been sorted out, checked, and re-pouched.
Tuesday, December 1st. We reached the Swiss-German frontier at noon today. We descended from the train at Basle and drove three miles to the frontier. Here there were two barriers straight across the road, the nearer one guarded by numerous Swiss soldiers; the farther, some twenty yards behind, by soldiers wearing the spiked helmet. Before we were allowed to pass the first barrier our papers and luggage were minutely examined by Swiss military and customs officers. We then walked across the twenty yards to the second, or German, barrier, where we were conducted into a little guard-house. Here some dozen soldiers were sleeping or playing cards on cots in the background along the walls. An efficient sergeant examined our papers and then allowed us to pass the second barrier into Germany, showing marked respect for the Herr Lieutenant and the Herr Attaché.
We loaded our suit-cases in a second vehicle, a German one this time, and proceeded some two miles to the railroad station of Leopoldshöhe. While we stood on the station platform at Leopoldshöhe, heavy guns in battle could be heard off toward Mülhausen and once there came the typical crash of a big shell exploding much nearer, probably not more than three or four kilometers away. As near as that to a battle in France one sees a disorganized, deserted, wrecked countryside, with wagon trains going back and forth and wounded soldiers straggling toward the safety zone. Here in Germany everything was in the most perfect order, with no excitement or confusion, and passenger trains left on the minute by schedule time. It was difficult to realize that there was a battle within a thousand miles.
The moment one enters Germany one feels efficiency as if one had passed under a spell. The way the feeling immediately impresses itself upon one is a curious psychological phenomenon. One senses at once the wonderful civic consciousness of the nation and respects it. One does not throw waste paper out of a carriage window, nor take trivial short cuts, nor walk on the grass, nor attempt to pass through ticket gates before the proper time. Everything is regulated, all is done in order.
I was momentarily embarrassed and self-conscious when first I found myself rubbing shoulders with gentlemen in spiked helmets. During the past four months I had seen them only as prisoners or dead men, and their only greetings had been by way of their shells and bombs.
After an all-day trip from Leopoldshöhe down the Rhine Valley I arrived in Mannheim, where I am to remain over-night, as I have letters which I am instructed to leave with our Consul in this town. Donait stopped off en route for a day to visit the old family homestead from which his ancestors emigrated to America. I arrived safely in Mannheim about ten o’clock, went to the Park Hotel, which I selected from Baedeker, got an excellent room, and went immediately to bed.
Mannheim, Wednesday, December 2d. At half-past seven this morning I was awakened from a sound sleep by a pounding at my door. I climbed sleepily out of bed and, in pajamas, opened the door to two extremely polite and suave Secret Service men who, nevertheless, examined my papers with the greatest thoroughness and as carefully cross-questioned me as to my race, color, and previous condition. They asked to see my dispatches, whose seals they studied in order to be certain that I was really carrying some sort of official messages. Having listened with close attention to my story, they asked me out of a clear sky where Donait was and why he had left me. They capped the climax by reminding me that at Leopoldshöhe I had told the sergeant we were bound for Berlin, which was exactly what I had told him, not having considered the brief stop at Mannheim of sufficient importance to be mentioned. When they had received a satisfactory explanation of the discrepancy (the conversation having staggered along in German, of which my knowledge is limited) they thanked me politely and withdrew. I dressed, had breakfast, and presented myself at the Consulate just before the opening hour at ten.
I was received by the Vice-Consul, Mr. Cochrane, and had not been in the Consulate five minutes when the police office called him up by telephone and asked politely if I was “all right.” It was my first lesson with the German Secret Service, but the only one I needed to prove that while I was in Germany my every move was noted and that I was to be constantly under police surveillance.
After delivering my packages to the Consulate I waited until after dinner for Donait, with whom I am to leave for Berlin at nine o’clock. I took luncheon with Vice-Consul Cochrane, spent the afternoon sightseeing in the streets of the city, and dined with Consul Leishman and his wife.
Berlin, Thursday, December 3d. Donait and I had a whole compartment to ourselves last night, which shows how normally German railroads are running. We arrived in Berlin at eight o’clock this morning, bathed, dressed, and had breakfast, at eleven o’clock presented ourselves at the American Embassy and delivered our precious dispatch pouch to Mr. Grew, the First Secretary.
I was surprised and much pleased to find that an old playmate, Charles Russell, was Private Secretary to Ambassador Gerard, a position in which he has achieved a great success.
Our duty discharged, we hastened to take our first walk along the famous Unter den Linden. The city of Berlin is well laid out, with wide avenues and numerous and ample park spaces, some of them very large, but the architecture of the city is a jumble of heavy, clumsy, gloomy buildings, fussed up with most extraordinarily crude and grotesque details. For an architect to be in Berlin is next door to being in hell.
Our Military Attaché, Major Langhorne, has been at the front almost continuously since the beginning of operations. In his absence, we called upon the Naval Attaché. I also called at the American Consulate to leave dispatches and found that the Vice-Consul had been one of my classmates at Yale. He remembered me as “Fish Wood” the runner, and probably in true Yale spirit considered my occupation of Attaché much less important.
The present conditions in Berlin are as unknown to the outside world as are the domestic affairs of China. In order not to make too many diplomatic faux pas, I spent the first day talking with the men whom I knew and in accumulating useful data as to danger points. As one in Germany senses efficiency, one as quickly becomes conscious of the all-seeing eye and the all-guiding hand of the Government. We have nothing like that in America, and for an American in France there is no such supervision. Life in Prussia is at present, for the diplomat of a neutral country, much like skating on thin ice. Several of the younger diplomats in Berlin have unconsciously committed acts considered indiscreet by the German Government, and so ended their usefulness in Germany.
It is a mistake to suppose that there are dissensions or differences of opinion in the German nation, or that the Kaiser or the military party has imposed war on the people. In modern times it would not be possible for even an absolute monarch to force an unwilling people into such a momentous step. The German Government is the product and expression of the German people. They have made it and, having created it, they are proud of their work. The Emperor is in popular estimation not much lower than God Almighty, and the two seem inextricably mingled in the public mind. The world-wide amusement created by “Me und Gott,” or by the Emperor’s firm conviction that he and he alone is worthy of divine aid and approval, is an amusement not shared by any Germans. If you say to them, “the Emperor seems to think the German people are the one race chosen of God and that He works only for them and their advancement,” the Germans will promptly and emphatically reply: “why, of course; all our past history proves that.” The God they appeal to, however, is the God of Battles of the Old Testament and of the ancient Hebrews, who slew His enemies, destroyed nations, and annihilated races, who was cruel and vindictive.
The German nation is, up to this date, but little cramped by the war. The people and the army lack for nothing. All the shops, hotels, restaurants, theaters, and dance halls in Berlin are open and well patronized. Several million men fit for military service have not yet been called out, because they are not needed. At the front they have such a great body of infantry that a certain proportion of them are by turns given a vacation and allowed to return to their homes. The German officers say that Germany did not count on a speedy termination of the war; they even believe that it may last four years and face this possibility with courage and with confidence of final victory. As for the famine conditions, I did not accept German opinion about the abundance or price of food supplies, but myself asked prices in shops and public markets and in various restaurants and hotels—all sure thermometers of any rise in the price of food.
If Germany ever pleads famine it will be for some purpose of diplomacy. In times of peace she raises each year more than she can herself consume and is an exporter of food-stuffs. This year she had a good crop, and, needless to say, it was, with characteristic efficiency, entirely harvested. She has retained for her own use the surplus usually exported. Every possible lack that war might bring had been anticipated and provided for, or a substitute suggested. The country does not produce as much wheat as she consumes, but German scientists have produced a potato flour which, when mixed with wheat, makes excellent bread, as I myself can testify. Potatoes are plentiful, as Germany usually exports large quantities.
The army appears to lack nothing. Military necessities like wool, lead, gasoline, nitrates, ammunition, accoutrements, and hospital supplies they seem to have in superabundance.
Berlin, Friday, December 4th. William Iselin left Paris with dispatches for London and Berlin at the same time that we started via Berne.
In Berlin, restaurants, cafés, theaters, and concerts are going at full blast. Donait, Iselin, and I, who have for months been working like dogs in Paris, which is as dull as a country village and where cafés close at eight and restaurants at nine and no places of amusement are open other than a few poor cinemas, are thoroughly enjoying the contrast. We three dined together at a splendid establishment where we ate many elaborate courses while listening to a good band and watching an excellent variety show, which lasted until eleven. From then until two we wandered about to various dance and supper establishments.
All the banks in Berlin are open and will pay out gold in certain limited quantities to anyone who wishes to go to a foreign country. Gold brings par and no more. Auto-busses are running everywhere and many private automobiles are seen on the street which have not been requisitioned by the government. Trams and subways also run at all hours. In short, the life of the city seems to be pretty nearly normal. The only signs of war disasters are the convalescent wounded soldiers who walk about the streets.
One is impressed by the virility and vigor of the Germans as a race. Their national spirit also is wonderful, exceeded only perhaps by that of the Japanese. People who one day read the announcement of the death of a son, a father, or a brother, are seen the next day in the streets or cafés going about quietly, expressing or betraying neither sorrow nor regret. The loved one has died “für Gott, für König, und für Vaterland.” That is glory enough, and neither the Emperor nor the people feel that it is appropriate to mourn for one who has died for his country.
Saturday, December 5th. I went this morning with Donait to inspect the prison camp at Zossen, which is about forty kilometers from Berlin and holds at present twenty thousand French soldiers, guarded by fifteen hundred of the Landsturm. Their camp was surrounded by three lines of very high and effective barbed-wire fences. In each of the alleys between these fences German sentinels paced back and forth. The prisoners seemed to me to be excellently cared for and were healthy, well-fed, and fairly contented. They were physically better off than they would be in muddy trenches at the front. They have all been given some kind of work to do, such as caring for their own prison camps, cooking, and building sheds for themselves or barracks for the German army. We saw a procession of about two thousand who came in from a near-by forest carrying tremendous bundles of faggots for firewood. As they marched they were singing, with a good deal of spontaneous gusto, a ribald French song. We considered their condition a great credit to their captors.
We were shown the famous great parade ground of Berlin. It is an immense field, quite flat, beautifully turfed, and about one and a half miles square. In one corner is about one-third of a square mile of pine woods with little rolling hills and an imitation forest country where troops can be drilled in skirmish formation. Young soldiers were being trained thereon in advancing in echelons and in taking up well-hidden firing-line positions.
The regular army of Germany as it has been recruited each year has absorbed just over half of the eligible men of the nation. Military service therefore has by no means been universal, and there are several million men of military age who have never been utilized. Over two million of the latter have volunteered since August, only two hundred and thirty thousand of whom have as yet been accepted for training. In addition not all of the regular army has yet been brought into service.
The German officers have, since the opening of the war, adapted themselves to changed conditions with unexpected flexibility. They immediately relaxed their ordinary overbearing manner and assumed a closer relationship with the private soldiers. They do not, as their enemies report, drive their men but they themselves lead to battle. They are idolized by the nation as a whole and by the army in particular. They do not address the soldiers of the rank and file in the second person singular, but in the more respectful second person plural.
The Kaiser has already awarded thirty-eight thousand iron crosses. He takes the ground that he is nevertheless maintaining the standard of 1870. He says that the numbers now involved are so much larger and the demands in courage and endurance so much greater that thousands deserve to be decorated in the present conflict where hundreds won the honor in the Franco-Prussian war.
I lunched today with Commander Gherardi, the Naval Attaché, in order to discuss with him what we had each seen of the war on the western front. He is making an important study of operations on the eastern battle-lines and has several times been to the front.
Today I was told that although it was impossible to go into Belgium to observe operations, it was probable that I would soon be sent to Brussels with dispatches to the American Minister, Brand Whitlock.
I have recently been introduced to many very interesting Germans, both diplomats and officers, and have obtained many valuable ideas. The reply I receive whenever I ask Germans what they want and expect to gain in this war, and what terms of peace they, at present, hope to secure, is almost invariably the same. They all say: “we will never give up Belgium; we mean to keep Poland; we would like to have Calais and hope eventually to get it, but....” They point out that they have so far constantly taken the offensive rôle, which must often fail in modern war, being by far the more difficult part to play. They declare with conviction that when once they take the defensive they can never be beaten back. They cite the fact that for the last three months they have on the Aisne in temporary positions maintained an unbroken front, despite the persistent efforts of the Allies to drive them back. They add that except Calais and Warsaw they now hold virtually everything they want, and to keep it permanently they need only to stand on the defensive.
A few weeks of victory or defeat will naturally modify their present ambitions. From a material standpoint it is difficult to refute their argument, but moral and sentimental reasons have before now turned the tide against the “strongest battalions,” despite Napoleon’s verdict. Germany herself begins to suspect that her brutal invasion of Belgium has turned the moral sentiment of the world against her, and that her defeat would grieve few people not of German birth.
Berlin, Sunday, December 6th. About the atrocities in Belgium there is, apparently, no question, but considering the way the Germans controlled themselves in France, some explanation of their brutality farther north in Belgian Flanders is necessary. The Germans say that the cruelties were not all on one side; that the Belgians practised sniping, impeded the German army, and mutilated German wounded. The only one of these charges that seems to have been proved is that of sniping, but even if other cruelties were committed it must be remembered that the moral status of the Belgians was entirely different from that of the Germans. The Belgians were aroused to blind fury by the disregard of their neutrality rights and the unwarranted invasion of their peaceful country. Even from Germans I have heard no excuses for the violation of Belgium which might not have been equally well put forward by a needy burglar who breaks into an unprotected house and plunders it after bludgeoning its helpless inmates. Is it remarkable that the liberty-loving Belgian peasant who saw his home destroyed or his family abused, knew no sufficient reason why he should stand supinely by and welcome the destroyer? More brave than wise, too furious to reason calmly, he did what he could to retaliate, which is against the rules of war. Consequently a merciless foe inflicted the uttermost penalty upon him, his family, and the whole region in which he lived. The world has never witnessed more frightful and disproportionate punishments.
The Germans on the other hand were morally in quite a different case. They were the aggressors, the treaty breakers, and the invaders of a peaceful country of neighbors and friends. Their part was to be tolerant and to make allowance for individual violations of the rules of war. The world at large will never concede that occasional instances of sniping can justify the destruction of whole villages, the execution of thousands of men, and the violation of thousands of women. When our American marines occupied Vera Cruz similar instances of sniping were frequent. Our men did not, however, burn, kill, rape, and pillage. They were forced to fire at the custom-house because it was occupied by snipers and in so doing they incidentally damaged the tower of the building. After the fighting was over, the Americans felt such regret for even this necessary bit of destruction that they rebuilt what their shells had damaged. Their only retaliatory action was to shoot snipers when they were caught red-handed.
Monday, December 7th. The German infantry, after spending a certain length of time at the front, are given a vacation and sent home. I could not ascertain the exact length of their stay in the trenches although it seems to be about a month. The artillery stay continuously on the battle-line as their work is less arduous and nerve-racking, since they are always somewhat toward the rear and usually well housed. Moreover, they fire only occasionally and have long periods of inactivity. The cavalry spends one week in action and then one week in the rear, some ten or fifteen miles behind the firing-line.
Recently I had a long conversation with a German statesman of ambassadorial rank, who spoke with intense feeling of the plight of the thousands of German subjects, men, women, and children, who had been caught in France at the opening of the war and interned in detention camps. He said: “It is ridiculous for the French to suspect any of these people of being spies, for German spies are not weak or unprotected, but strong, picked men and women, highly trained to make technical observations. In the present scientific age untechnical observations are valueless. When I was Minister Plenipotentiary at —— there were many thousands of German subjects in that city and not one of them could have given me information of any possible value to our great General Staff. German spies in France are neutral or French in nationality, or pretend to be such, and they all carry unimpeachable papers. For a man to admit frankly and openly that he is a German is proof enough that he is not a spy. We in Germany recognize this and do not shut up alien enemies who frankly announce their nationality.”
It was not fitting that I should enter into diplomatic discussion with a high German official, but if I had been talking as man to man, I could have reminded him that the spy panic which seized Paris at the outbreak of the war was entirely the fault of Germany herself, for it is an open secret that her spy system is her pet weapon of offense; her enemies therefore, naturally, see a spy in every Teuton. It is also well understood that, spy or no spy, every German man, woman, and child is admonished, when traveling in foreign countries, to “watch, record, and report anything of interest to the German Government.”
All the accusations that have been brought against France, that she did not properly provide for her interned prisoners, that she did not adequately care for her own wounded or the wounded of her enemy, that she did not give efficient support to her English allies on the retreat from Mons to Compiègne, resolve themselves into one conclusion, that she did not want or expect instant war and was not prepared for all the emergencies which the German attack precipitated. But all the world knows that she speedily supplied deficiencies and remedied defects with great ability and indomitable courage.
In saying that alien civilians in Germany were not interned in prison camps the German diplomat evidently thought I knew nothing about the vile detention camps at Ruhleben and of the English men and women who are there incarcerated to suffer beyond anything that the Germans ever endured in France.
Tuesday, December 8th. I went to the American Embassy this morning to obtain the necessary paper for my departure tomorrow for Vienna. Mr. Grew called me into his private office and said that Ambassador Gerard was particularly anxious that I should go to London instead as he had dispatches of the utmost importance to send and would feel indebted to me if I could take them. He warned me that the undertaking would not be pleasant or altogether safe. I promptly accepted the mission,—indeed such requests are, in the Army, the Navy, and the Diplomatic Service, made only to be accepted. I am to leave Berlin Thursday morning at 8:59 and go through Germany and Holland to Flushing, where I shall take a boat across the North Sea to Folkestone and thence to our Embassy in London.
This evening I looked over the casualty lists posted on the walls of an official building. These lists are published on numerous very large sheets of white paper. Each sheet has three columns in fine print. The names are grouped by regiments and companies, so that all the casualties of one company appear together; each name is given in full, is prefixed by the rank, and followed by the nature of the casualty, which is one of five things: Gefallen (fallen, killed); schwer verwundet (badly wounded); verwundet (wounded); leicht verwundet (lightly wounded); vermisst (missing). A casualty list is published every day, comprising from forty to fifty of the above-mentioned sheets, each sheet containing nearly three hundred names.
The last seven sheets were as follows:
| No. 90 | published | Dec. | 1—40 | sheets |
| No. 91 | “ | “ | 2—50 | “ |
| No. 92 | “ | “ | 3—52 | “ |
| No. 93 | “ | “ | 4—44 | “ |
| No. 94 | “ | “ | 5—52 | “ |
| No. 95 | “ | “ | 6—48 | “ |
| No. 96 | “ | “ | 8—48 | “ |
This gives a rate of more than 12,000 casualties a day. The lists are complete up to October 30th. Only the last ten lists are kept posted and thus tonight there were numbers 87-96. The sheets of these ten lists were posted in a double row on the outside wall of the building along the sidewalk. They extended the length of a block and then around the corner another block. As the columns of one regiment finished, those of the next commenced. I copied the record of a battalion chosen at random.
Eighty-second Bavarian Casualty List
11th Infantry Regiment of Regensburg
Third Battalion
(Here followed a list of places and dates of actions in which the Regiment had taken part):
Faxe, August 20th; Manhouè, August 23d; Maize and Drouville, August 25th; Tourbeffeaus, Sept. 7th to 9th; Spada, Sept. 24th; St. Mihiel, Sept. 28th and Oct. 7th to 24th; Ailly, Oct. 1st and 2d; Han-sur-Meuse (date illegible).
(Then followed a detailed list of casualties suffered by the four companies of the battalion):
Company 9 had a list of 148 casualties, of which 18 were killed, 35 missing, 42 wounded, and badly wounded, and 43 slightly wounded;
Company 10 followed with a list of 146 names, of which 19 were killed, 51 missing, 66 wounded and badly wounded, and 46 slightly wounded;
The Eleventh Company with a list of 188 names.
The Twelfth Company with a list of 143 names;
A German battalion is composed of four companies of 250 men each. Thus among one thousand men there were more than six hundred casualties in the first three months of the war, and this seemed to be about an average list. These lists take no account of those who “died of wounds,” and “missing” is usually a polite way of saying “dead.” It means that the man was too badly hurt to escape, to be helped by his comrades, or to crawl back, and probably was left “between the lines” to die. This explains what at first appears to be a singularly small percentage of killed.
Berlin, Wednesday, December 9th. This afternoon I made my final arrangements for the trip to London. Whenever a special messenger departs with dispatches from the Embassy a Jäger accompanies him to the train, carries the mail-bags and pouch, and sees him safely settled in his compartment. When he arrives at his final destination another Jäger from the Embassy to which he is going meets him at the station.