My opponents were picked troops of the Russian Army—Finnish sharpshooters.
Health conditions with me are tolerable.
(In a later note, Gen. von Morgen added that Gen. von Hindenburg, his Commander in Chief, sent word that he would never forget the valorous deeds that had made possible these victories, and that even before the battle of Lyck the Iron Cross of the Second Class had been accorded to Gen. von Morgen. When he entered Lyck, Gen. von Morgen said, the inhabitants kissed his hands.)
A letter containing a personal touch was sent from the front in the early part of the war by Rudolf Herzog, one of Germany's greatest living poets and novelists. The letter, as originally published, was in rhymed verse. The poet, who visited this country about a year ago and was fêted by Germans in all the chief cities he visited, is the author of numerous novels and romances, dating from 1893 to the present. Herzog lives in a fine old castle overlooking the Rhine, mentioned in his letter, which is as follows:
It had been a wild week. The storm-wind swept with its broom of rain. It lashed us and splashed us, thrashed noses and ears, whistled through our clothing, penetrated the pores of our skin. And in the deluge—sights that made us shudder—gaunt skeleton churches, cracked walls, smoking ruins piled hillock high; cities and villages—judged, annihilated.
Of twenty bridges, there remained but beams rolled up by the waters—and yawning gaps.
Not a thought remained for the distant homeland and dear ones far away; the only thought, by day and by night: On to the enemy, come what may! No mind intent on any other goal. No time to lose! No time to lose! Haste! Haste!
And forward and backward and criss-cross through the gray Ardennes the Chief Lieutenant and I, racing day after day.
Captain of the Guard! You? From the Staff Headquarters?