I went up to Trafalgar Square and saw the military demonstrations and then went up the Strand and looked about a bit, and at four o'clock went back to Whitehall. I was ushered into the presence of the colonel. He was in all his glory. Trappings of every kind adorned his person, shoulder straps and all. But surprising as it was to me, he was not at all officious and I had a very pleasant hour with him. At first he was a little curious. He wanted to know my reasons for going to Holland and so forth, but after a little he became very cordial and said, they simply wanted to be careful, as people going to Holland were getting very near the enemy and might tell something even unwittingly which would hurt the cause. He then said he would get me a special permit to go that night on a certain boat on the Zelande Line at eight o'clock. He called Mr. Haldane-Porter on the telephone and told him he was sending me over, and also gave me a letter to him requesting him to give me his special pass. I later figured out that it wasn't any special honor at all that he was favoring me with, but that his words and actions meant I was to go at the hour he said and on the boat he indicated and have every movement I made thoroughly known to Scotland Yard.
Nevertheless I felt fortunate and glad. Then I had to go to the Dutch Consul in London and get his permit to enter his country. He was neutral and didn't give a rap where I went, so I didn't have to spend much time on him, but only ninety cents. My khaki uniform I checked at the North London Railway. I didn't care to have any khaki about me when I went to Germany. They don't like it over there. I stuck the check in a safe hiding place in the back of a book of cigarette papers which a poilu had given me as a souvenir. Then I caught my boat and sailed for Holland. On the boat I noticed a sign saying that no letters were to be carried across, on pain of summary justice. It scared me, as I had several letters that I did not want to part with. Two were addressed to Brand Whitlock, the American Minister in Brussels, and one to a woman who is the mother of one of my ecclesiastical flock in America. Nevertheless, I kept them.
When I got to Holland I went straight to The Hague. The first thing I did was to have two photographs taken, one with my arm band on my sleeve, and the other without it. Doctor Van Dyke I found in his office, and his son also, who remembered me in college. However, the doctor said that he had serious doubts whether I could get into Belgium. He recently had received word from Mr. Whitlock to be very careful about letting people come over from Holland, as there was not much for them to do and they often made a lot of trouble.
The Doctor suggested that I write Mr. Whitlock and ask him if he had something for me to do in the relief work. Well, as a matter of fact, I did not want to do this. There were two reasons. One was that I knew it would take a week to get a reply, and I did not want to wait. The other was I was afraid he might say no, thus effectually blocking my plans and hopes. I wanted to get to Belgium above all things. At last, Dr. Van Dyke said he did not feel he should be the one to visé my passport, but I had better go down and have a talk with Colonel Listoe at Rotterdam. He was the real official who should do it, being the closest to the border, but the Doctor was doubtful if he would do it. I gathered from the conversation that he and the Colonel were very intimate friends. I then went to a hotel, l'Américain, on the Wagonstraat and went to bed to sleep over it. The next morning a happy thought struck me. I said to myself, "I'll try some diplomacy on these diplomats." Again I went over to Dr. Van Dyke's office, and said, "Doctor, I haven't much identification, and I wonder if you would be willing to give me a note saying that I am the person I purport to be, and an American citizen. He said, "Why certainly," and wrote me such a note on the official stationery. I put the note into my pocket, gleefully. I forgot to tell him that I had come all the way from France and England to have a visit with him, but nevertheless I had had it. I now thanked him and bade him good-bye. I hastened by electric to Rotterdam, and hunted up the American Consulate. I knocked on the door and asked, "Is Colonel Listoe in?" "Yes, the name, please?" "Mr. Benson." A man rose and stepped cordially forward to greet me. I said, "Colonel Listoe, I believe, I just came down from my old friend, Doctor Van Dyke; I was under him at college, and his son was in my class. I have a letter from him here and I am going over to Belgium."
"Oh, oh, Dr. Van Dyke; well, well, to be sure!" He took my passport and had the vice-consul visé it before ever he looked at the note. Then while I was getting out the letter I explained that it was just a formal note of identification; but my passport was already fixed and everything was fine.
I chatted with him for an hour, smoked one of his fine black cigars and, of course, found him a delightful man. Then I said, "Colonel, is there anything else I need to do before I can go to Belgium?" "Oh, by George!" he said, slapping himself upon the knee, "I almost forgot the most important part. Sure, you must go over to the German Consuls and get their consent, and go before four o'clock." Ah! there was the rub. I knew it. But I went. And I had some whale of a time getting their consent, too. When I went into the room there were six of them sitting behind the table. I went up to the first one and told him I wanted to go to Belgium. I was now in my civilian clothes and I had put the set of photographs with the Red Cross arm band on, in my left pocket and the set without the arm band in my right pocket. The man asked me, "What do you want to go to Belgium for?" I replied: "Relief work." "What kind?" "Red Cross." "Are you a Red Cross man?" "Yes, sir." "Have you a commission?" "N-n-no." "How do you prove you are a Red Cross man?" I began fumbling for my photographs. For the life of me I couldn't tell which kind were in which pocket. I reached and shuffled, and turned red, and pulled out—the wrong one! Well, it didn't make much difference. I said, "That's just a civilian picture for putting on my passports, but here is my Red Cross picture." Then I pulled the other on him. He seemed satisfied. That Red Cross on the sleeve seemed to do the business. He said "You will offer yourself to the Red Cross in Belgium?" I said, "Yes, sir." When he was about finished, another consul passing by became curious. He said, "What is it this man wants?" And about the time I had satisfied him, still another came. And if you don't think it is some job to convince six Germans to be of the same mind at the same moment, try it sometime. The man finally said, "I shall write it on your passport that you will offer yourself to the Red Cross in Belgium?" I knew that he meant business, and if it was written on there it meant for me to do it, but I was ready to do anything. I wanted to get into Belgium. I had been five days making the trip up to the doors of Belgium, a trip that would take ten hours ordinarily, and I did not want to be balked. I said, "Yes, sir, you may write it on my passport." He did it, too. He then said, "Eight marks!" and I fished out two dollars. That passport is one of my valued souvenirs today. I was now getting poor, as every consul had been bleeding me both to leave and to enter his country. The Americans were the only ones whose stamp was free. My pass was given me to Brussels and the next morning I embarked. When we crossed the border a mile or two in, the train stopped at Esschen. Most of the cars were locked and the passengers, a few at a time, were taken out and searched. I was among them, and it was not a pleasant sensation. But I was in Belgium, had come from the enemy and had literally bluffed my way through.