SOLDIERS OF BERLIN.
Berlin is a city of soldiers. Every day is soldiers' day. And on Sundays there are even more soldiers than on week days. Then Unter den Linden, Friedrichstrasse and the Tiergarten are one seething mass of gray coats—gray the color of everything and yet the color of nothing. This field gray blends with the streets, the houses, and the walls, and the dark clothes of the civilians stand out conspicuously against this gray mass.
Soldiers Marching Through Brandenburg Gate.
When I first came to Berlin, I thought it was just by chance that so many soldiers were there, but the army seems ever to increase—officers, privates, sailors and men right from the trenches. During the two years that I was in Berlin this army remained the same. It didn't decrease in numbers and it didn't change in looks. The day I left Berlin it looked exactly the same as the day I entered the country. They were anything but a happy-looking bunch of men, and all they talked about was, "when the war is over"; and like every German I met in those two years, they longed and prayed for peace. One day on the street car I heard a common German soldier say, "What difference does it make to us common people whether Germany wins the war or not, in these three years we folks have lost everything." But every German soldier is willing to do his duty.
The most wonderful thing about this transit army is that everything the soldiers have, from their caps to their shoes, is new, except the soldiers just coming from the front. And yet as a rule they are not new recruits starting out, but men who have been home on a furlough or men who have been wounded and are now ready to start back to the front. To believe that Germany has exhausted her supply of men is a mistake. Personally, I know lots of young Germans that have never been drafted. The most of these men are such who, for some reason or other, have had no army service, and the German military believe that one trained man is worth six untrained men, and it is the trained soldier that is always kept in the field. If he has been wounded he is quickly hurried back to the front. By their scientific methods a bullet wound can be entirely cured in six weeks.
The Most Popular Post-Card in Germany.
German men have never been noted dressers, and even at their best the middle and lower classes look very gawky and countrified in civilian clothes. You cannot imagine how the uniform improves their appearance. I have seen new recruits marching to the place where they get their uniforms. Most of them have on old ill-fitting clothes, slouch hats and polished boots. They shuffle along, carrying boxes and bundles. They have queer embarrassed looks on their faces. Three hours later, this same lot of men come forth. They are not the same men. They have a different fire in their eyes, they hold themselves straighter, they no longer slouch but keep step. The uniform seems to have made new men of them. It should be called "transform," not uniform.
At the Friedrichstrasse Station one can see every kind of soldiers at once. There the men arrive from the front sometimes covered with dust and mud, and once I saw a man with his trousers all spattered with blood. The common soldiers carry everything with them. On their backs they have their knapsacks, and around their waists they have cans, spoons, bundles and all sorts of things. These men carry sixty-five pounds with them all the time. In one of their bags they carry what is known as their eiserne Portion or their "iron portion." This consists of two cans of meat, two cans of vegetables, three packages of hard tack, ground coffee for several meals and a flask of whisky. The soldiers are not allowed to eat this portion unless they are in a place where no food can be brought to them, and then they are only allowed to eat it at the command of a superior officer. In the field the iron portions are inspected each day, and any soldier that has touched his portion is severely punished.
Schoolboys' Reserve. Berlin.
A great many of the soldiers have the Iron Cross of the second class, but very rarely a cross of the first class is seen. The second class cross is not worn but is designated by a black and white ribbon drawn through the buttonhole. The first class cross is worn pinned rather low on the coat. The order Pour le mérite is the highest honor in the German army, and not a hundred of them have been given out since the beginning of the war. It is a blue, white and gold cross and is hung from the wearer's collar. A large sum of money goes with this decoration. The second class Iron Cross makes the owner exempt from certain taxes; and five marks each month goes with the first class Iron Cross.
The drilling-grounds for soldiers are very interesting. Most of these places are inclosed, but the one at the Grunewald was open, and I often used to go there to see the soldiers. It made a wonderful picture—the straight rows of drilling men with the tall forest for a background. The men were usually divided off into groups, a corporal taking twelve men to train. It was fun watching the new recruits learning the goose-step. The poor fellows tried so hard they looked as though they would explode, but if they did not do it exactly right, they were sent back to do it over again. The trainers were not the least bit sympathetic.
One day an American boy and I went to Potsdam. We were standing in front of the old Town Palace watching some fresh country boys drill. I laughed outright at one poor chap who was trying to goose-step. He was so serious and so funny I couldn't help it. The corporal came over to us and ordered us to leave the grounds, which we meekly did.
Soldiers Buying Ices in Berlin. A War Innovation.
Tempelhof, the largest drilling-ground in Berlin, is the headquarters for the army supplies, and here one can see hundreds of wagons and autos painted field-gray. The flying-place at Johannisthal is now enclosed by a fence and is so well guarded you can't get within a square of it.
Looking at Colored Pictures in an Old Book-Shop.
It is very interesting to watch the troop trains coming in from the front. When I first went to Berlin it was all a novelty to me and I spent a great deal of my time at the stations. One night just before Christmas, 1915, the first Christmas I was in Berlin, I spent three hours at the Anhalt Station watching the troops come home. They were very lucky, these fellows, six months in the trenches and then to be home at Christmas time! They were the happiest people I had seen in the war unless it were the people who came to meet them.
Cheering the Soldier on His Way to the Front.
Most of the soldiers were sights. Their clothes were dirty, torn and wrinkled. Many of them coming from Russia were literally covered with a white dust. At first I thought that they were bakers, but when I saw several hundred of them I changed my mind. Beside his regular paraphernalia, each soldier had a dozen or more packages. The packages were strapped on everywhere, and one little fellow had a bundle stuck on the point of his helmet.
A little child, perhaps three years old, was being held over the gate near me and all the while he kept yelling, "Papa! Urlaub!" An Urlaub is a furlough, and when the father did come at last the child screamed with delight. Another soldier was met by his wife and a tiny little baby. He took the little one in his arms, and the tears rolled down his cheeks, "My baby that I have never seen," he said.
This night the soldiers came in crowds. Everybody was smiling, and in between the trains we went into the station restaurant. At every table sat a soldier and his friends. One young officer had been met by his parents, and he was so taken up with his mother that he could not sit down but he hung over her chair. Was she happy? Well, I should say so!
At another table sat a soldier and his sweetheart. They did not care who saw them, and can you blame them? He patted her cheeks and he kissed her hand.... An old man who sat at the table pretended that he was reading, and he tried to look the other way, but at last he could hold himself no longer, and grasping the soldier's hand he cried, "Mahlzeit!"
A Field Package for a German Soldier.
We went out and saw more trains and more soldiers. A little old lady stood beside us. She was a pale little lady dressed in black. She was so eager. She strained her eyes and watched every face in the crowd. It was bitter cold and she was thinly clad. At 12 o'clock the station master announced that there would be no more trains until morning. The little old lady turned away. I watched her bent figure as she went down the stairs. She was pulling out her handkerchief.