In the Claws of the German Eagle | Page 8

of the editorial policy of an
American magazine.
"But that doesn't mean that I am anti-German," I protested; "we can
retain our own private opinions."
"Tommyrot," exclaimed Javert, "tommy-rot!" Strange language in a
military court! Where had he laid hold of that choice bit of our
vernacular?
"You know perchance," he continued, "what the penalty is for
newspaper men caught on the German side." I thought that surely I was
going to reap the result of the adverse reports that the American
correspondents had made already about the Germans, when he added,
"But you are here on a different charge."
The judge started to cross-examine me as to all my antecedents. My
replies were in German--or purported to be--but in my eagerness to
clear myself I must have wrought awful havoc with that classic
language. I was forthwith ordered to talk English and direct my
remarks to Javert, acting now as interpreter. In the midst of this
procedure Javert, with a quick sudden stroke, produced the

scribble-paper which he had seized in the morning, held it fairly in my
face, and cried, "Whose writing is that?" The others all riveted their
gaze upon me.
I replied calmly, "It is mine."
"I want you to put it into full, complete writing," cried Javert. "As it
now stands it is a telegraphic code."
That is the most complimentary remark that has ever been made upon
my hieroglyphics. However, I shall be eternally grateful to Providence
for my Horace Greeley style. For, while that document contained by no
means any military secrets, there were, on the other hand,
uncomplimentary observations about the Germans. It would not be
good strategy to let these fall into their hands in their present mood. At
Javert's behest, I set to work on my paper, and delivered to him in ten
minutes a free, full, rapid translation of the abbreviated contents. On
inspecting it Javert said, irritably, "I want an exact, precise transcript of
everything here."
"I thought you wanted it in a hurry," I rejoined.
"No hurry at all. We have ample time to fix your case."
These words do not sound a bit threatening, but it was the general
setting in which they were said that made them so ominous, and which
set the cold waves rippling up and down my spinal column.
I set to work again, numbering every phrase in my scribble-paper, and
then in the same number on the other paper giving a full, readable
translation of it. I wrote out the things complimentary to the Germans
in the fullest manner. But how was I going to take the sting out of the
adverse comments?
Phrase No. 1 meant "Musical nature of the German automobile horns."
Their silver and flute-like notes had been a pleasing sound, rolling
along the roads. That was good.
Phrase No. 2 meant "The moderation of the Germans in not billeting
more troops upon the hotels." I wondered why they had not
commandeered quarters in more of the big empty hotels instead of
compelling men to sleep in railway stations and in the open air. That
was good.
Phrase No. 3 meant "German officers never refused to contribute to the
Belgian Relief Funds." These boxes were constantly shaken before
them in every cafe, and not once was a box passed to an officer in vain.

For all this I was very grateful and everything went on very merrily
until I came to phrase Number 4.
"If Bel I wld join posse Ger myself"; which, being interpreted, reads,
"If I were a Belgian, I would join a posse against the Germans myself."
That looked ugly, but I wanted to record for myself the ugly mood of
resentment I had felt when I saw Belgians compelled to submit to
certain humiliations and indignities from their invading conquerors.
German or non-German--it makes no difference; any one who had seen
those swaggering officers riding it rough-shod over those poor peasants
would have felt the same tide of indignation mounting up in him. In
that mood it would have given me genuine pleasure to have joined a
little killing-party and wiped out those officers. Now these self-same
officers were gathered round me trying to decide whether they were to
have a little killing-party on their own account.
There was sufficient justification for inciting their wrath in that one
sentence as it stood, and they were all combining to entrap me by every
possible means. Furthermore, they were hankering for a victim. I had
only my wits to match against their desires. I cudgeled my brains as I
never did before, but to no avail. Almost panic- stricken I was ready to
give up in despair and throw myself upon the mercy of the court when,
like a flash of inspiration, the right reading came. I transcribed