The Land of Deepening Shadow - Germany-at-War | Page 4

English, soldier on

the Yser had raised his rifle just a hairbreadth higher the other son
would be sleeping in the blood-soaked soil of Flanders instead of doing
garrison duty in Hanover while recovering from a bullet which had
passed through his head just under the eyes.

CHAPTER II
WHEN SKIES WERE BLUE
There was one more passenger, making three, in our first-class
compartment in the all-day express train from Cologne to Berlin after it
left Hanover. He was a naval officer of about forty-five, clean-cut, alert,
clearly an intelligent man. His manner was proud, but not objectionably
so.
The same might be said of the manner of the major who had sat
opposite me since the train left Dusseldorf. I had been in Germany less
than thirty hours and was feeling my way carefully, so I made no
attempt to enter into conversation. Just before lunch the jolting of the
train deposited the major's coat at my feet. I picked it up and handed it
to him. He received it with thanks and a trace of a smile. He was polite,
but icily so. I was an American, he was a German officer. In his way of
reasoning my country was unneutrally making ammunition to kill
himself and his men. But for my country the war would have been over
long ago. Therefore he hated me, but his training made him polite in his
hate. That is the difference between the better class of army and naval
officers and diplomats and the rest of the Germans.
When he left the compartment for the dining-car he saluted and bowed
stiffly. When we met in the narrow corridor after our return from lunch,
each stepped aside to let the other pass in first. I exchanged with him
heel-click for heel-click, salute for salute, waist-bow for waist-bow,
and after-you-my-dear-Alphonse sweep of the arm for
you-go-first-my-dear-Gaston motion from him. The result was that we
both started at once, collided, backed away and indulged in all the
protestations and gymnastics necessary to beg another's pardon, in

military Germany. At length we entered, erected a screen of ice
between us, and alternately looked from one another to the scenery
hour after hour.
The entrance of the naval officer relieved the strain, for the two
branches of the Kaisers armed might were soon--after the usual
gymnastics--engaged in conversation. They were not men to discuss
their business before a stranger. Once I caught the word Amerikaner
uttered in a low voice, but though their looks told that they regarded me
as an intruder in their country they said nothing on that point.
At Stendal we got the Berlin evening papers, which had little of interest
except a few lines about the Ancona affair between Washington and
Vienna.
"Do you think Austria will grant the American demands?" the man in
grey asked the man in blue.
"Austria will do what Germany thinks best. Personally, I hope that we
take a firm stand. I do not believe in letting the United States tell us
how to conduct the war. We are quite capable of conducting it and
completing it in a manner satisfactory to ourselves."
The man in grey agreed with the man in blue.
Past the blazing munition works at Spandau, across the Havel, through
the Tiergarten, running slowly now, to the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof.
A bewildering swirl of thoughts rushed through my head as I stepped
out on the platform. More than three months ago I had left London for
my long, circuitous journey to Berlin. I had planned and feared,
planned and hoped. The German spy system is the most elaborate in the
world. Only through a miracle could the Wilhelmstrasse be ignorant of
the fact that I had travelled all over Europe during the war for the hated
British Press. I could only hope that the age of miracles had not passed.
The crowd was great, porters were as scarce as they used to be plentiful,
I was waiting for somebody, so I stood still and took note of my

surroundings.
Across the platform was a long train ready to start west, and from each
window leaned officers and soldiers bidding good-bye to groups of
friends. The train was marked Hannover, Koln, Lille. As though I had
never known it before, I found myself saying, "Lille is in France, and
those men ride there straight from here."
The train on which I had arrived had pulled out and another had taken
its place. This was marked Posen, Thorn, Insterburg, Stalluponen,
Alexandrovo, Vilna. As I stood on that platform I felt Germany's power
in a peculiar but convincing way. I had been in Germany, in East
Prussia, when the Russians were not only in possession of the last four
places named, but about to threaten the first two.
Now