CHAPTER XI
THE BALKAN EXPRESS
Existence of the Balkan-Zug Denied—A Great Strategical Factor—The Publicity Train—German Economy—I Join the Balkan-Zug at Nish—King Ferdinand a Fellow-Passenger—His Condescension—Excellent Food—Ruined Belgrade—Arrival at Buda Pesth—A Tremendous Ovation—Russian Prisoners at Work—Arrival at Vienna—Another Tremendous Reception—Remarkable Punctuality.
I have seen it stated in Le Temps that the Balkan Express does not exist, that it is a bluff on the part of the Germans. I really cannot understand how a responsible editor of an influential paper can make such an assertion without first ascertaining whether or no he be writing the truth. Does he realise that he is misleading the people, which is calculated to do very serious harm to the cause of the Allies? The importance of the existence of this Balkan Express cannot be exaggerated, and its usefulness should not be under-estimated.
First of all, the Balkan Express does exist, as I have travelled by it myself. It is one of the most perfectly-organised railway services I have ever seen, and I have seen many. This service enables the Germans to transfer all sorts of matériel to and from Berlin to Constantinople, and is therefore one of a series of great factors in the present war. By its aid German troops can be rushed to Constantinople within 56 hours, and from there transferred to whatever front most needs them.
It took me five days to travel from Vienna to Constantinople, along a miserable route, changing trains frequently. On my return journey I entered my compartment in the train at Nish and never left it until I reached my destination, Vienna, and that within 40 hours.
The Germans themselves are by no means eager that their foes should appreciate the great value, to them, of the Balkan Express. If the Allies can be made to believe that it does not exist they will in consequence become re-assured as to German plans in the Near East, and thus unconsciously aid those same plans by not being in a position to upset them. The Germans have great ambitions as regards, not only the Near East but the Far East also, and much of their energy is at present concentrated upon the realisation of those ambitions in Turkey, the Balkans, and Asia Minor. “To Egypt!” is something more than a mere political cry.
The Germans have strength, resources, and a grim determination to materialise those ambitions which shall strike at the power of the hated English in what they conceive to be its most vulnerable point, the Suez Canal. Nothing would please them better than, by virtue of misrepresentation of the true situation in the countries of the Entente Powers, that they should be enabled to spring a great and dramatic surprise upon their enemies. That is why I write feelingly about the statement to which I refer above. The Balkan Express will in all probability become one of the great factors in the situation in the Near East. It must be remembered that it is something more than a train for the conveyance of passengers. It will become in all probability of great strategical importance. I had seen it suggested in British as well as foreign newspapers that the Balkan-Constantinople Railway is not working properly; the following account, I think, will be something of a revelation to many of the doubters.
The Balkan Express is the show train of the world. Never has there been a train with such grave responsibilities. It might well be called “the Publicity Train,” for its object at present is to advertise German victory and German thoroughness. Later it has sterner work to do. It is probably the handsomest train in Europe, and beyond doubt has been designed by the Germans with the object of impressing the thousands of people of various nationalities who gaze on it in wonder twice a week on its way from Berlin to Constantinople and twice a week from Constantinople to Berlin. The admiration of the Turks is tempered with alarm, for the Turk is no fool, and he sees that the efficiency which has enabled the Germans to reach Turkey may be the very barrier that hinders them from ever leaving it.
The Balkan-Zug, as it is called in the Central Empires, is, however, a source of unqualified delight to Germans, Austrians, Hungarians, Bulgarians, and the rest of the people who see it on its journey. Its name is blazoned in three-foot letters on each wagon. Engine and carriages are decorated with flags and flowers, and every passenger wears in his buttonhole a German flag on which appear the words “Balkan-Zug” and the date.
I had originally intended to join the Balkan Express at Constantinople, but as it would not be starting for two or three days I had booked my place upon it, securing my ticket at Constantinople, with the intention of boarding it at Belgrade, but circumstances had decided otherwise. When purchasing my ticket I had an illustration of the seriousness of the money question in Constantinople. Eight months previously when I was there gold was given at the banks in return for cheques, that, however, had developed into a shortage not only of gold but of silver, as I have explained, and for my ticket which really cost 870 piastres (£8), I had to pay the equivalent of £12 about, owing to the decrease in value of the Turkish £.
My Ticket for the First Balkan Express to run from
Constantinople To Berlin and Vienna
My ticket for the Balkan Express, the outside of which is reproduced here, is an illustration of German economy and also of German fallibility. Surely a nation that is spending millions of money each day to achieve its object could have afforded the few hundred marks required for printing a special ticket for the Balkan-Zug. The tickets are the old sleeping-car tickets in German, with the words “Balkan-Express” printed across in English. Possibly this is due to a breakdown on the part of the printer entrusted with the preparation of the new ticket, but it would certainly have been more in keeping with German methods had there been prepared not only an elaborate ticket but a souvenir of the journey. It must be remembered that this was the first journey of the Balkan Express west, that is, from Constantinople to Berlin, and consequently it was historic.
After the Banquet I strolled about the town, then going to the railway station gathered together my possessions and waited. The Balkan-Zug was late. Night was upon us before it drew into Nish station, an impressive affair consisting of four sleeping cars, one dining-car, and one ordinary first and second class car. As it steamed into the station the German, Bulgarian, and Austrian National Anthems were played, and King Ferdinand and his two unprepossessing sons entered before the rest of the passengers. This was an interesting event also for the passengers from Constantinople, who leaned out of the windows, keenly interested.
The Kaiser had disappeared immediately after the Banquet, just as the Kaiser always does disappear, suddenly and mysteriously, no one knowing why or whither. Unceremoniously his Bulgarian Majesty climbed into the train, and we, the smaller fry, followed after him, I feeling rather like the camel of whom it is said that his supercilious air is the outcome of knowing the hundredth great secret of the Universe, whereas man knows only ninety-nine.
In the course of the evening King Ferdinand, without ceremony, entered all the compartments in the train and made a few general remarks to each person separately. He seemed desirous of displaying his Royal person. He was a king and a factor in the great political situation, and he seemed equally determined that no one on the Balkan-Zug should be allowed to remain in ignorance of that very important fact.
In the carriage next to mine there was traveling the Baroness von Wangenheim, the widow of the late German Ambassador at Constantinople, and with her were her three little daughters, whom Ferdinand took on his knees and fondled. It was obvious that he was mightily pleased with himself. When he waddled into my compartment we rose, clicked heels, and bowed. He graciously gave us the Royal consent to be seated, and spoke a few words to a Hungarian, who was one of the party, in his own tongue. This man afterwards told me that the King spoke the Hungarian language like a native. It is well known that Ferdinand is an excellent linguist. The other passengers in my compartment were two German flying-men in Turkish uniforms, who with ten others that were in the train had been suddenly recalled from Constantinople to take part, it was said, in forthcoming air raids on England. These raids, by the way, duly took place, and according to German official accounts reduced industrial England to a pile of ruins!
King Ferdinand adopts quite the Kaiser’s method of speech. He accepts the Almighty as an ally. “Thanks to God,” he said, “Who greatly helped us we can travel from West to East through conquered territory in a few days. We are going further. Give my Royal salute to all the people of your home country.” He then withdrew, and we permitted ourselves to relax our spines.
On the Balkan Express the food is infinitely better than can be obtained in Constantinople, Vienna, or Berlin. It may almost be said of the Germans that they have one eye on God and the other eye on advertisement in case of accidents. I felt convinced that the food on the Balkan Express was superior merely for advertising purposes. Bread-tickets are unknown, and for a mark I had an early breakfast of coffee, rolls, butter and marmalade without stint.
It was about ten o’clock at night when we reached Belgrade, which, as I have said, I was particularly anxious to see. On inquiry I found that the Balkan Express was to remain there for an hour and a half, and, determined not to be disappointed, I left the station to stroll around the town, or rather the ruins of the town.
Some idea of the accuracy of modern artillery fire may be gleaned from the fact that the besieging Austrian gunners were able to aim with such precision that not one shell had fallen on the railway station. It must be remembered that they were firing from the other side of the Danube at its widest part. The Austrian Staff had obviously realised that their advancing army would have need of the railway as soon as the Serbians had been forced back, and doubtless the artillery had been instructed at all costs to spare this important point. The remarkable thing, however, is that houses within a few yards of the station itself have been absolutely destroyed, yet there was not so much as a mark that I was able to see upon any of the station buildings themselves.
The Kaiser had already been in Belgrade, and the German Wireless Agency took occasion to inform the world at large that “Since the days of Barbarossa, who on a crusade to the Holy Land held a review of over 100,000 German Knights in Belgrade, no German Emperor has set foot on Belgrade’s citadel until that day, when the German Emperor arrived in splendid weather and was greeted by an Austro-Hungarian guard of honour and military music, shouting, and the roar of cannon.
“The Emperor visited the new railway bridge, and then went amongst the festively-clad population, who freely moved about, and afterwards rode to Kalimegdan, the excursion resort. The Emperor afterwards held a review of the German troops, which crossed the Danube, and addressed them with a speech thanking them, and felicitating them on their extraordinary exploits. The Kaiser personally delivered Iron Crosses to the soldiers.”
To me it seemed only a few days before that Belgrade had fallen into the hands of the Huns, yet already the river was spanned by a wonderful new wooden bridge, such as could not be constructed in a few weeks, or months, for that matter. In all probability this and many other bridges had been built years back in preparation for the great struggle that Germany and Austria alone knew was impending. This was no temporary makeshift, but as good as the fine American trestle-bridges in use on the best American railways.
The Germans seemed to be prepared for everything; in particular are they prepared against England, their most hated foe. I wish that I could get Englishmen to ponder over this, to them, vital fact. Had there been an invasion of England, a thing which now fortunately seems impossible, the truth would have been brought home to that country with tragic suddenness. Germans were not only ready for war, but as the war progresses they are ceaselessly improving their matériel. Everywhere I went I saw evidences of this.
As I returned to the station, having just seen the terrible fate that had overtaken the Serbian capital, I could not help wondering why it is that England seems incapable of appreciating her danger. I refer, of course, to the population in general, for many of those in high places, I am convinced, have no illusions as to the political and strategical situation.
I had been somewhat surprised to find that the Balkan-Zug had not received its usual enthusiastic reception at Belgrade. Possibly this may have been because of the late hour of its arrival, but more likely because the civil population of the town has practically ceased to exist. Belgrade is now the Austrian main headquarters on that front, and is essentially a military town.
We drew out of the station shortly before midnight, and arrived at Buda Pesth between nine and ten o’clock the next morning. In the Hungarian capital the Publicity Train received a tremendous reception—ovation would be a better word. At the Nord Bahnhof there was an enormous crowd, the greatest I have ever seen at a railway station. The excitable Hungarians tumbled over each other in their anxiety to get near the Zug. Wine was brought for the engine driver and fireman, and the passengers, with their little Balkan-Zug flags in their coat buttonholes, were promptly lionised, and—for once in their lives at least—experienced the sensation of being popular heroes. The crowd patted them on the back, insisted on shaking hands with them, cooed over them, crowed over them, and laughed with hysterical joy. What pleasure can possibly accrue to a man leaning out of a railway-carriage window from shaking hands with entire strangers, I cannot possibly conceive; yet it seemed to give intense satisfaction alike to the passengers and the populace.
At Buda Pesth the Balkan-Zug was tidied and made presentable. Windows were cleaned by men having little ladders, and the compartments and corridors swept. To my great surprise I found that this work was being done by big, bearded men in Russian uniforms. I spoke to one or two of them, but they had very few words of German. They explained that they were Russian prisoners. I was surprised that they had with them no guards of any description, and appeared to be without supervision. I commented on the fact to a fellow passenger, the Hungarian I mentioned before, who told me that the men were left entirely to themselves, and that they were too content with their lot to wish to make any endeavour to escape. He said they were kindly treated, and always expressed their satisfaction at being where they were, and much preferred it to returning to Russia to fight. I was under no illusion on this score, however. A Russian private soldier is not such a fool as to imagine that he stands the least possible chance of escape from an enemy country when he has at his command only a few words of the language in use in that country. Probably the Russians found that the best way to ensure good treatment was to simulate entire content.
Advertising by train is nothing particularly new. I have seen it done in Canada and the United States of America; but advertising victory by train is about the most convincing method of spreading the splendid news that I have ever encountered. Everybody who has seen the Balkan-Zug will tell everybody else that they have done so, not once, but many times. These persons in turn will tell others, embroidering the story somewhat, and so the ball will go on for ever rolling. The Balkan-Zug is photographed and described in countless journals, and it appears on myriads of post-cards. I have never seen such enthusiasm in England except in connection with some famous football player, the idol of a crowd numbering fifty or sixty thousand persons. It would be invidious to draw a comparison between German and English methods in this respect.
At Buda Pesth the Publicity Train divided itself into two parts. Another beflagged locomotive appeared, like a bridegroom seeking his bride: in this case it was only half a bride. One half of the train goes to Berlin and the other half to Vienna. As it was my object to get to England as speedily as possible, in order to give my account of the Kaiser’s health and King Ferdinand’s famous Banquet to The Daily Mail, I determined to go to Vienna. I was one of the very few of the passengers going to the Austrian capital. The officers and the flying men proceeded to Berlin. Those of us who had come from Constantinople were looking forward to somewhat improved food, which we hoped to obtain in Vienna. As yet the newly-opened line to Constantinople has had time merely to take the Balkan-Zug and the military trains carrying army supplies, men, and munitions for the Baghdad, the Caucasus, or the Egyptian ventures, possibly for all. My last glimpse of the Berlin half of the Balkan-Zug was of the still hysterical mass of people endeavouring to buy the little flags worn by the passengers. Later, in Vienna, I was offered 20 kronen (about 16s.) for mine, but I refused it. Subsequently I was offered a much larger sum.
During the journey to Vienna I talked with a Turkish gentleman and his wife and daughter. I was greatly amused to hear that, although the women had left Constantinople veiled and dressed in Eastern costume, as soon as they crossed the border both put on European clothes and dropped the veil. They expressed the opinion that now the Germans had opened up Turkey with the famous railway, the state of semi-starvation in Constantinople would cease. Personally, I had doubts, which I tactfully refrained from expressing.
I had seen Germany in war time and been in several of its principal towns, and I knew that, whatever the German newspapers may tell to the world, there is no surplus food in any part of the country that I had visited. The old Turkish gentleman was shrewd and kindly, and he expressed his regret at the closing of all the French schools in Constantinople. He volunteered the information that, in order that his son should not absorb the principles of German militarism, he had sent him to be educated at a school in French Switzerland.
Vienna gave the train what the newspapers call a rousing reception. Even the official mind gave way before it, and the Custom House officers and other functionaries spared us the usual examination and interrogation. Not even our passports were examined. I came to the conclusion that there was great virtue in being a traveller by the first Balkan-Zug running from Constantinople to Vienna. Knowing, however, the ways of the military authorities in the war zone, and that later on I should be obliged to prove my arrival in Vienna, I insisted on having my papers stamped by the military authorities at the railway station.
At Vienna tickets were collected from the passengers as they left the station. I had determined to make a great effort to retain mine, of all my papers the most important next to my passport. As I was about to pass through the barrier, an official held out his hand for my ticket. I explained to him that as I had been a passenger on the Balkan Express I was anxious for sentimental reasons to retain it. I gilded my remarks with a tip of five kronen, which seemed to satisfy him, as he very kindly tore off a portion of the ticket and returned to me the remainder. But for this official venality I should not have been able to reproduce this valuable evidence in this volume.
My journey from Vienna to Constantinople by way of Bucharest had occupied five days. The opening of the direct Vienna-Constantinople line reduces this to two nights and two days—50 hours, to be exact. Even now the train arrives at the various stations with remarkable punctuality, always within five minutes of the scheduled time, which in itself is a triumph for German organisation.