The following letter, written from the field by Rudolf Herzog, one of the leading German novelists and poets, was published in rhymed verse in No. 41 of Die Woche.
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.
Over there a stone pit; faces grown like the faces of beasts, a picked-up rabble of assassins. A short command. A howling of death. Squarely across the road we surge. A bloody grappling coil; batteries broken and shattered; iron and wood and bits of clothing and bones.
And upon the just and the unjust alike, the lashing rain for days and nights.
We rushed through the gray Ardennes woods, the Chief Lieutenant and I, racing along day after day, wrapped up tightly, our rifles ready, through wood and marsh. No time to lose! No time to lose! Down into the valley of the Meuse!
Of twenty bridges, there remained but beams rolled up by the waters—and yawning gaps.
Now comes the order: In three days new bridges must be finished!
Haste, men! Haste! Rain or no rain, it must be done!
Pioneers and railway builders working together, hunt up material, drag and hammer and ram it together; take the rain for the sweat of their brows; look like fat toiling devils; hang along the banks, lie in the water—after all, in this weather, no one can get any wetter! They speak very little, and never laugh. Three days are short. Nothing, nothing but duty!
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!