Ways of War and Peace

by Delia Austrian

Most interesting of all were the military trains, forty-two in number, packed with soldiers and their officers. Though some of them were wedged so tight they had little moving space, they laughed, smoked, and waved good-naturedly as they were being hurried across the frontier.

I saw many regiments hurried, at meal-time, into depots. They were led across into open fields where large, wooden houses with many wooden benches had been erected. The work was being done under contract, and in this way thousands of soldiers were fed in a short time.

The baggage cars were crowded with cavalrymen and their horses. Though their horses and the straw in the car were immaculately clean, these soldiers were less well off than the infantrymen in the third-class coupés, for it seemed to me that the horses were getting more than their share of the room.

Besides these regular coupés, there were many freight cars which carried all kinds of canned goods and other provisions. Others carried a great number of small collapsible boats, which are used as pontoons in crossing rivers. More interesting than all this were the cannons. Some of these were the common cannons, while now and then loomed a great siege-gun.

I was told that the cannon-balls, bombs and other explosives were carried into the country at night, as they did not want to take any chance of igniting and killing the soldiers.

Besides those designed for active warfare, many were used to carry messages over the battlefields and for the Red Cross service. I saw dozens and dozens of handsome automobiles lined up on these car-trucks carrying messengers and doctors across the frontier.

But German mobilization means every precaution possible for their country as well as foreign aggression. Now and then I passed gangs of workmen making ditches and trenches, repairing railroad tracks and laying new ones. Every station was guarded by one or more sentries, according to its size. They kept their eyes on every passenger who went in and out of the station, and when they were the least bit doubtful they asked for one's passport on short notice. I shall never forget a picture of the morning I breakfasted at six o'clock in Erfurt. I and some friends were just seated at table when a sentry approached us and asked for our passports. He scrutinized each one carefully, and when he was satisfied we were not spies he left us and approached a group of Russians. They looked as exhausted as they were frightened as they explained they had gotten permission to go home. When they reached the frontier they were told they could not go across, and they found so many of their countrymen on the border that there was not half room enough for them, and they were on their way back.

Everywhere there were vigilant watchers looking for spies. Some were so alert that they tried to make Russians out of harmless American refugees, while others went so far as to accuse them of being spies. I myself was sometimes accused of being a Russian, and had hard work to prove my identity. Those Americans who had the daring to venture out in their automobiles got the worst of it. The soldiers on watch thought nothing of shooting at their cars and taking the innocent occupants prisoners. A gentleman and his wife who went from Baden-Baden in the Black Forest to Bad Kissingen were shot at and arrested five times before they got there. Word was brought to the village that some French spies were coming and that they should wait for them. The mob was there to greet them with pitchforks and axes, and when they saw the French car the peasants were sure that these were the people they were after.

The case became more complicated, as none of the party, including the chauffeur, could speak German, and only understood their gesticulations—not their threats and volleys. They were only saved from being shot by the appearance of two officers who, after examining their pockets carefully, found some American papers and letters. Still, these officers did not wish to rely on their own judgment, and so they took their prisoners to the burgomeister. He explained that he could not give any opinion until he took their films from their kodak and had them developed. Their innocence rested on the kind of pictures they had taken. As the woman told her story, she said, "It was only a miracle that her husband hadn't taken pictures of soldiers, as that was his favorite kind of photography."

Next day the burgomeister returned the kodak and the developed films, explaining he was sorry he had detained them, and he did not see any reason why they should not go on. So he sent the soldier who had been guarding them day and night to act as their protector.