“But the train to Weimar is gone!” shouted the second officer.
As I had a hand on the car door, I became so bold as to contradict him.
“But yes, it has gone!” gasped a third sergeant, who stood behind the others. “It is gone! The guard has already said ‘All aboard.’”
The train stood at the edge of the platform long enough to have emptied and filled again; but, as it was gone ten minutes before it started, I was obliged to wait for the next one at ten-thirty.
I managed to board the next one. It was a box car with wooden benches around the sides and a door at each end. Almost before we were well started, the most uncombed couple aboard stood up and began to yell. I was alarmed at first, for I did not know what was the matter with them. But after a time I realized that they thought they were singing. Many of the passengers seemed to think so too, for before the pair left at the first station they had gathered a handful of pennies from the listeners.
We stopped at a station at least every four miles during that day’s journey. At the first village beyond Frankfurt the car filled with peasants and laborers in heavy boots and rough smocks, who carried farm tools of all kinds, from pitchforks to young plows. Sunburned women, on whose backs were strapped huge baskets stuffed with every product of the country-side, from cabbages to babies, packed into the center of the car, turned their backs on those of us who sat on the benches and peacefully leaned themselves and their loads against us. The car filled until there was not room for one more.
A guard outside closed the heavy door with a bang, then gave a mighty shout of “Vorsicht!” (“Look out.”) The station-master on the platform raised a hunting-horn to his lips, and blew such a blast as echoed through the ravines of all the country round. The head guard drew his whistle and shrilly repeated the signal. The engineer whistled back. The guard whistled again; the driver gave forth another wild shriek to show that he was ready to start; the man on the platform whistled once more to cheer him on; a heroic squeal came from the cab in answer; and, with a jerk that sent peasants, baskets, farm tools, lime-pails, and cabbages all in a struggling heap at the back of the car, we were off. To celebrate the start the engineer shrieked again and gave a second yank, lest some sure-footed person among us had by any chance kept his balance.
Boundary line between France and Germany. It runs through wheat fields on either side. The nearest sign post bears the German eagles and the further one reads “Frontière.”
There were times during the journey when the villages seemed to be too far apart to suit the engineer. For, having given all the toots, he would bring the car to a sudden stop in the open country. But, as German railway laws forbid passengers to step out, crawl out, or peep out of the car at such times, there was no way of learning whether the engineer had lost his courage or had merely caught sight of a wild flower that took his fancy.