My Ticket for the First Balkan Express
My Ticket for the First Balkan Express to run fromConstantinople To Berlin and Vienna
My ticket for the Balkan Express, the outside of which is reproduced here, is an illustration of German economy and also of German fallibility. Surely a nation that is spending millions of money each day to achieve its object could have afforded the few hundred marks required for printing a special ticket for the Balkan-Zug. The tickets are the old sleeping-car tickets in German, with the words “Balkan-Express” printed across in English. Possibly this is due to a breakdown on the part of the printer entrusted with the preparation of the new ticket, but it would certainly have been more in keeping with German methods had there been prepared not only an elaborate ticket but a souvenir of the journey. It must be remembered that this was the firstjourney of the Balkan Express west, that is, from Constantinople to Berlin, and consequently it was historic.
After the Banquet I strolled about the town, then going to the railway station gathered together my possessions and waited. The Balkan-Zug was late. Night was upon us before it drew into Nish station, an impressive affair consisting of four sleeping cars, one dining-car, and one ordinary first and second class car. As it steamed into the station the German, Bulgarian, and Austrian National Anthems were played, and King Ferdinand and his two unprepossessing sons entered before the rest of the passengers. This was an interesting event also for the passengers from Constantinople, who leaned out of the windows, keenly interested.
The Kaiser had disappeared immediately after the Banquet, just as the Kaiser always does disappear, suddenly and mysteriously, no one knowing why or whither. Unceremoniously his Bulgarian Majesty climbed into the train, and we, the smaller fry, followed after him, I feeling rather like thecamel of whom it is said that his supercilious air is the outcome of knowing the hundredth great secret of the Universe, whereas man knows only ninety-nine.
In the course of the evening King Ferdinand, without ceremony, entered all the compartments in the train and made a few general remarks to each person separately. He seemed desirous of displaying his Royal person. He was a king and a factor in the great political situation, and he seemed equally determined that no one on the Balkan-Zug should be allowed to remain in ignorance of that very important fact.
In the carriage next to mine there was traveling the Baroness von Wangenheim, the widow of the late German Ambassador at Constantinople, and with her were her three little daughters, whom Ferdinand took on his knees and fondled. It was obvious that he was mightily pleased with himself. When he waddled into my compartment we rose, clicked heels, and bowed. He graciously gave us the Royal consent to be seated, and spoke a few words to aHungarian, who was one of the party, in his own tongue. This man afterwards told me that the King spoke the Hungarian language like a native. It is well known that Ferdinand is an excellent linguist. The other passengers in my compartment were two German flying-men in Turkish uniforms, who with ten others that were in the train had been suddenly recalled from Constantinople to take part, it was said, in forthcoming air raids on England. These raids, by the way, duly took place, and according to German official accounts reduced industrial England to a pile of ruins!
King Ferdinand adopts quite the Kaiser’s method of speech. He accepts the Almighty as an ally. “Thanks to God,” he said, “Who greatly helped us we can travel from West to East through conquered territory in a few days. We are going further. Give my Royal salute to all the people of your home country.” He then withdrew, and we permitted ourselves to relax our spines.
On the Balkan Express the food is infinitely better than can be obtained inConstantinople, Vienna, or Berlin. It may almost be said of the Germans that they have one eye on God and the other eye on advertisement in case of accidents. I felt convinced that the food on the Balkan Express was superior merely for advertising purposes. Bread-tickets are unknown, and for a mark I had an early breakfast of coffee, rolls, butter and marmalade without stint.
It was about ten o’clock at night when we reached Belgrade, which, as I have said, I was particularly anxious to see. On inquiry I found that the Balkan Express was to remain there for an hour and a half, and, determined not to be disappointed, I left the station to stroll around the town, or rather the ruins of the town.
Some idea of the accuracy of modern artillery fire may be gleaned from the fact that the besieging Austrian gunners were able to aim with such precision that not one shell had fallen on the railway station. It must be remembered that they were firing from the other side of the Danube at its widest part. The Austrian Staff had obviouslyrealised that their advancing army would have need of the railway as soon as the Serbians had been forced back, and doubtless the artillery had been instructed at all costs to spare this important point. The remarkable thing, however, is that houses within a few yards of the station itself have been absolutely destroyed, yet there was not so much as a mark that I was able to see upon any of the station buildings themselves.
The Kaiser had already been in Belgrade, and the German Wireless Agency took occasion to inform the world at large that “Since the days of Barbarossa, who on a crusade to the Holy Land held a review of over 100,000 German Knights in Belgrade, no German Emperor has set foot on Belgrade’s citadel until that day, when the German Emperor arrived in splendid weather and was greeted by an Austro-Hungarian guard of honour and military music, shouting, and the roar of cannon.
“The Emperor visited the new railway bridge, and then went amongst the festively-clad population, who freely moved about,and afterwards rode to Kalimegdan, the excursion resort. The Emperor afterwards held a review of the German troops, which crossed the Danube, and addressed them with a speech thanking them, and felicitating them on their extraordinary exploits. The Kaiser personally delivered Iron Crosses to the soldiers.”
To me it seemed only a few days before that Belgrade had fallen into the hands of the Huns, yet already the river was spanned by a wonderful new wooden bridge, such as could not be constructed in a few weeks, or months, for that matter. In all probability this and many other bridges had been built years back in preparation for the great struggle that Germany and Austria alone knew was impending. This was no temporary makeshift, but as good as the fine American trestle-bridges in use on the best American railways.
The Germans seemed to be prepared for everything; in particular are they prepared against England, their most hated foe. I wish that I could get Englishmen to ponderover this, to them, vital fact. Had there been an invasion of England, a thing which now fortunately seems impossible, the truth would have been brought home to that country with tragic suddenness. Germans were not only ready for war, but as the war progresses they are ceaselessly improving theirmatériel. Everywhere I went I saw evidences of this.
As I returned to the station, having just seen the terrible fate that had overtaken the Serbian capital, I could not help wondering why it is that England seems incapable of appreciating her danger. I refer, of course, to the population in general, for many of those in high places, I am convinced, have no illusions as to the political and strategical situation.
I had been somewhat surprised to find that the Balkan-Zug had not received its usual enthusiastic reception at Belgrade. Possibly this may have been because of the late hour of its arrival, but more likely because the civil population of the town has practically ceased to exist. Belgrade is nowthe Austrian main headquarters on that front, and is essentially a military town.
We drew out of the station shortly before midnight, and arrived at Buda Pesth between nine and ten o’clock the next morning. In the Hungarian capital the Publicity Train received a tremendous reception—ovation would be a better word. At the Nord Bahnhof there was an enormous crowd, the greatest I have ever seen at a railway station. The excitable Hungarians tumbled over each other in their anxiety to get near the Zug. Wine was brought for the engine driver and fireman, and the passengers, with their little Balkan-Zug flags in their coat buttonholes, were promptly lionised, and—for once in their lives at least—experienced the sensation of being popular heroes. The crowd patted them on the back, insisted on shaking hands with them, cooed over them, crowed over them, and laughed with hysterical joy. What pleasure can possibly accrue to a man leaning out of a railway-carriage window from shaking hands with entire strangers, I cannotpossibly conceive; yet it seemed to give intense satisfaction alike to the passengers and the populace.
At Buda Pesth the Balkan-Zug was tidied and made presentable. Windows were cleaned by men having little ladders, and the compartments and corridors swept. To my great surprise I found that this work was being done by big, bearded men in Russian uniforms. I spoke to one or two of them, but they had very few words of German. They explained that they were Russian prisoners. I was surprised that they had with them no guards of any description, and appeared to be without supervision. I commented on the fact to a fellow passenger, the Hungarian I mentioned before, who told me that the men were left entirely to themselves, and that they were too content with their lot to wish to make any endeavour to escape. He said they were kindly treated, and always expressed their satisfaction at being where they were, and much preferred it to returning to Russia to fight. I was under no illusion on this score, however. ARussian private soldier is not such a fool as to imagine that he stands the least possible chance of escape from an enemy country when he has at his command only a few words of the language in use in that country. Probably the Russians found that the best way to ensure good treatment was to simulate entire content.
Advertising by train is nothing particularly new. I have seen it done in Canada and the United States of America; but advertising victory by train is about the most convincing method of spreading the splendid news that I have ever encountered. Everybody who has seen the Balkan-Zug will tell everybody else that they have done so, not once, but many times. These persons in turn will tell others, embroidering the story somewhat, and so the ball will go on for ever rolling. The Balkan-Zug is photographed and described in countless journals, and it appears on myriads of post-cards. I have never seen such enthusiasm in England except in connection with some famous football player, the idol of a crowd numberingfifty or sixty thousand persons. It would be invidious to draw a comparison between German and English methods in this respect.
At Buda Pesth the Publicity Train divided itself into two parts. Another beflagged locomotive appeared, like a bridegroom seeking his bride: in this case it was only half a bride. One half of the train goes to Berlin and the other half to Vienna. As it was my object to get to England as speedily as possible, in order to give my account of the Kaiser’s health and King Ferdinand’s famous Banquet toThe Daily Mail, I determined to go to Vienna. I was one of the very few of the passengers going to the Austrian capital. The officers and the flying men proceeded to Berlin. Those of us who had come from Constantinople were looking forward to somewhat improved food, which we hoped to obtain in Vienna. As yet the newly-opened line to Constantinople has had time merely to take the Balkan-Zug and the military trains carrying army supplies, men, and munitionsfor the Baghdad, the Caucasus, or the Egyptian ventures, possibly for all. My last glimpse of the Berlin half of the Balkan-Zug was of the still hysterical mass of people endeavouring to buy the little flags worn by the passengers. Later, in Vienna, I was offered 20 kronen (about 16s.) for mine, but I refused it. Subsequently I was offered a much larger sum.
During the journey to Vienna I talked with a Turkish gentleman and his wife and daughter. I was greatly amused to hear that, although the women had left Constantinople veiled and dressed in Eastern costume, as soon as they crossed the border both put on European clothes and dropped the veil. They expressed the opinion that now the Germans had opened up Turkey with the famous railway, the state of semi-starvation in Constantinople would cease. Personally, I had doubts, which I tactfully refrained from expressing.
I had seen Germany in war time and been in several of its principal towns, and I knew that, whatever the German newspapers maytell to the world, there is no surplus food in any part of the country that I had visited. The old Turkish gentleman was shrewd and kindly, and he expressed his regret at the closing of all the French schools in Constantinople. He volunteered the information that, in order that his son should not absorb the principles of German militarism, he had sent him to be educated at a school in French Switzerland.
Vienna gave the train what the newspapers call a rousing reception. Even the official mind gave way before it, and the Custom House officers and other functionaries spared us the usual examination and interrogation. Not even our passports were examined. I came to the conclusion that there was great virtue in being a traveller by the first Balkan-Zug running from Constantinople to Vienna. Knowing, however, the ways of the military authorities in the war zone, and that later on I should be obliged to prove my arrival in Vienna, I insisted on having my papers stamped bythe military authorities at the railway station.
At Vienna tickets were collected from the passengers as they left the station. I had determined to make a great effort to retain mine, of all my papers the most important next to my passport. As I was about to pass through the barrier, an official held out his hand for my ticket. I explained to him that as I had been a passenger on the Balkan Express I was anxious for sentimental reasons to retain it. I gilded my remarks with a tip of five kronen, which seemed to satisfy him, as he very kindly tore off a portion of the ticket and returned to me the remainder. But for this official venality I should not have been able to reproduce this valuable evidence in this volume.
My journey from Vienna to Constantinople by way of Bucharest had occupied five days. The opening of the direct Vienna-Constantinople line reduces this to two nights and two days—50 hours, to be exact. Even now the train arrives at the variousstations with remarkable punctuality, always within five minutes of the scheduled time, which in itself is a triumph for German organisation.
FRENCH THOROUGHNESS
I Leave Vienna—I am Ordered Back—I Risk Proceeding on My Journey—A Friendly Hungarian Officer—Over the Swiss Frontier—My Frankness My Undoing—The French Super-Official—I am Detained Somewhere in France—My Protests Unavailing—I am Suspected of the Plague—Left Behind—The Daily Mailto the Rescue—Profuse Apologies—I Proceed to Paris—“You Will Never Convince England”—London at Last—Rest.
I Leave Vienna—I am Ordered Back—I Risk Proceeding on My Journey—A Friendly Hungarian Officer—Over the Swiss Frontier—My Frankness My Undoing—The French Super-Official—I am Detained Somewhere in France—My Protests Unavailing—I am Suspected of the Plague—Left Behind—The Daily Mailto the Rescue—Profuse Apologies—I Proceed to Paris—“You Will Never Convince England”—London at Last—Rest.
I had only four hours in Vienna, and in that time there was a great deal to do, which I had better not detail here lest I get someone into trouble. The train for Feldkirch, the station on the Austrian-Swiss frontier from which I had set out a few weeks previously, was just on the point of starting when I climbed into the carriage, my hand luggage being bundled in behind me.
I was beginning to breathe more freely now that I was on my way to a neutral country. At the end of about an hour,when I really felt justified in congratulating myself upon being practically safe, an official came through to my compartment of the train, asking to see the passport of each passenger. He examined mine with that slow and irritating deliberation peculiar to these officials, and, looking up suddenly, said:
“This has not been signed by the police.”
“What police?” I inquired.
“The police of Vienna,” he responded.
“Surely that is not necessary,” I remarked. “I only arrived by the Balkan Express at three o’clock, and had my passport stamped at the station.” It will be remembered that I had insisted upon this being done, foreseeing possible difficulties.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that you will have to get out at the next station and go back.” He was extremely polite, but very firm.
I said that I was just returning from a most important visit, and showed him the document which I had obtained at the War Office (the Kriegsministerium Pressbureau)in Vienna, and which had already many times saved the situation.
“Well, if you can satisfy the frontier authorities,” he replied, “I have nothing to say.”
I became very uneasy, but I decided to proceed. It would indeed be an irony if I were to be discovered within hail of safety. I slept very little that night, and when we arrived at Feldkirch, on the following afternoon, I braced myself up for a final struggle with the authorities. I looked about me anxiously to see if the official whom I had encountered in the train had come on to Feldkirch, and I was greatly relieved that he was nowhere to be seen.
We were all ushered into a large waiting-room, the same waiting-room that I had entered a few weeks previously when setting out on my journey. One by one the other passengers were admitted to the adjoining room, just as they had been admitted previously, and at the same table were to be seen five military officers, smoking, and sitting in judgment. As I entered the roomI felt like a prisoner going up the steps to the dock at the Old Bailey to receive sentence.
However, the good fortune that has attended me throughout my journey did not desert me at the last moment, for my examining officer was a very nice young Hungarian, who was so interested in the narrative of my journey, and what I had seen in Constantinople, that he subjected my papers to a very cursory examination. The papers themselves were, thanks to my careful precautions, in perfect order save for the absence of the ridiculous and unnecessary superscription by the police at Vienna. This young officer then accompanied me to the train, gave me his card, and asked me to look him up next time I was in Buda Pesth. Needless to say I shall not do so, but he was not in the least to blame for passing me through. The worst he could have done would have been to send me back to Vienna that my passport might be signed by the police, and my friend the Hofratwould have seen that no difficulty would be allowed to arise in that direction.
Once over the frontier at Buchs in Switzerland, I breathed as a prisoner might be expected to breathe on regaining his freedom. For seven weeks I had been in constant danger of discovery, and during that time I had been forced to act and dissimulate, and for ever watch myself and others lest some chance remark of mine might arouse suspicion in the minds of those about me. The mental strain had been tremendous, and this had reacted upon the body, for during those seven weeks I lost more than a stone in weight.
I do not think that I am a coward, at least not a greater coward than the average man, but I was greatly delighted to find myself safe once more. No one who has not been through such an experience as mine can understand the feeling of elation and delight that comes with the knowledge that at last he is absolutely a free man.
My journey from Constantinople to Switzerland had probably established a record,at least since the beginning of the war; but, alas! my future progress was not to be so rapid. The officials at the French frontier were far more exacting than those of the enemy country through which I had passed, and I cheerfully tender this tribute as to their efficiency, although at the same time I should like them to know that they caused me considerable inconvenience. At Berne I had to wait four hours for the train, which no longer goes direct to Paris, the passengers having to change at Pontarlier. On the previous occasion when I had travelled by that route the train had travelled direct from Berne to Paris. The reason for this change I discovered was that it had been found that spies secreted documents in the carriages before being personally examined, and when they were “passed” they recovered their missing papers and continued the journey with the documents upon them. Accordingly the authorities very wisely so arranged it that passengers had to change trains at Pontarlier on the Swiss-French frontier. It will be seen that cleverness andsubtlety are not the monopoly of the Germans.
At one time Pontarlier looked like being the Waterloo of my little trip. By certain means—which it is not my intention to disclose—I had placed myself in a position that I could verify every stage of my journey by documents, which I intended to produce should the Germans deny the veracity of my statements, or should my truthfulness be questioned in other quarters. Knowing the Germans as I do, I am convinced that Dr. Hammann, the head of the German Press Bureau, would adopt one of two courses. He would either forbid the publication in the German newspapers of a single word of my story, or he would frankly challenge its accuracy. Apparently he has chosen the former course, as not a word about it has appeared in any German paper, or Austrian, for that matter, most of which I see. The German accounts of the Banquet at Nish represent the Kaiser as in a merry mood. What a travesty of truth!
As I was now in France, and consciousof my own sympathies with the Allies, I thought that there would be no harm in disclosing the whole of my documents. Accordingly when my turn came to be examined by thecommissaire, I said straight out that I had come from Constantinople. Instead of being hailed as a hero, I was given to understand, albeit politely, that in all probability I had adopted this course of showing all my papers because I was not merely a spy, but a super-spy, who had conceived the brilliant idea that the best plan of getting past the French authorities was to affect an attitude of colossal candour. In vain I protested and expostulated. In vain I pointed out that it was essential that I should arrive in London with the utmost possible expedition. I suggested that if they distrusted me they could send with me an official, every official they possessed for that matter, whose expenses I would pay to Paris, where they could easily satisfy themselves at the Paris office ofThe Daily Mailthat I was what I represented myself to be. Talk of German thoroughness, Germancaution, and German patriotism! The Germans have much to learn from those excessively courteous but severe French officials, who cannot be won over by the flattery which goes so far in Germany. If the official I had encountered thought that I was a super-spy, I am convinced that he was a super-official. Now that it is all over I have for him nothing but admiration, but at the time his persistent courtesy made me feel that I should like to hit him.
Nothing would satisfy him but that I should be stripped, and this fact he conveyed to me in the most courteous phraseology, at which I suggested with some acerbity that he would still be courteous even were he leading me to the guillotine! None the less, stripped I had to be.
My collection of papers, which has proved a source of such interest to so many distinguished and highly placed people in this country, was minutely examined, and certain maps and other important documents, whose interest is rather military than journalistic, were temporarily taken from me.I was in a panic of anxiety. The minutes were passing, and the time for the Paris train to start was drawing near. I implored the authorities to telephone to Paris, and then it was that they played their trump card. They intimated that seeing I had come through Austria, and understanding that the Plague was prevalent in Hungary, they felt obliged to detain me for medical examination next morning. It was then midnight. Neither my expostulations nor my entreaties produced the least effect upon the impassively polite Frenchman. I verily believe that had there been no Plague in Hungary as an excuse for my detention, that they would have had me examined for foot-and-mouth disease, glanders, or rinderpest. One of the most anguishing moments of my life was when I heard the Paris express slowly moving out of the station. I, of all the passengers, being the only one left behind, and I of all the passengers the one in the greatest hurry to get to Paris.
Soon philosophy came to my aid, and I argued that how like life it was. After themany risks that I had run in enemy countries, where I had never been even detained by the officials, here was I, immediately on getting to what should have been friendly soil, being examined and cross-examined and re-examined again and again by officials whose every word spoke suspicion. I had been equal to every previous examination to which I had been subjected, and here was I stranded at the very moment of success in the country of one of the Allies for whom I had so great an admiration. “Gott im Himmel!” I muttered, “spare me from my friends.”
Within a few minutes of the departure of the train there came a reply by telephone from Paris guaranteeing my integrity, accompanied by a request that every possible facility should be given to me. This produced an officialvolte face. The courtesy remained the same, but there were full and adequate apologies. The French authorities seemed genuinely distressed at the inconvenience they had caused me. Indeed, nothing could be more kindly and courteousthan the treatment I received at Pontarlier. In spite of the delay that these men had caused me, I respected them for their thoroughness. It is better in war time to err, if error there must be, on the side of caution.
I doubt if I could have written these friendly words at the time. I was feeling too irritated to recognise virtue in anyone, least of all in a French official. There was no train until five o’clock the next afternoon, and that, I was informed, was an omnibus train, stopping at every station between Pontarlier and Dijon.
By taking it rather than wait for the later express, I was informed, I should save two hours on the road to Paris. The Hotel de la Poste, at Pontarlier, had long since been asleep, but I aroused it, delighted at the opportunity of myself being able to inconvenience somebody else, and I spent a wretched night of chagrin and worry. Would there be further difficulties? Should I ever get to London? Should I for any possible reason be detained in Paris? Itmust be remembered that I had a great story burning in my brain. None but a journalist can understand that instinct which prompts a man who has obtained “good copy” to dash for the nearest point where that copy can be turned into print.
Only those who have moved about in war time with documents and maps in their possession have the least conception of the difficulties that arise with the authorities, who naturally have every reason to be suspicious.
It was at three o’clock in the afternoon on January 25th, exactly a week after the historic Banquet at Nish, that I reached London, and without a pause proceeded to the offices ofThe Daily Mail, where I had scarcely sufficient strength to write the account of my meeting with the Kaiser at Nish. I then made for my hotel, enjoyed a luxurious bath, and a long, long sleep. I was utterly exhausted.
It must be remembered that I had been travelling continuously for a week, that is, from the evening of the Banquet at Nish,January 18th, until three o’clock on the afternoon of the 25th. In Serbia and Austria all the sleeping-cars had been requisitioned by the authorities, which added greatly to the fatigues of travel; but I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had carried out my instructions, and had brought back what I had been told to bring back—a living story.
I have had the satisfaction of opening the eyes of the British public to the strange migration of Germans to the Near East. I can tell them with a conviction, that with me is almost passionate, that unless the Allies obtain a smashing victory, the German occupation of Asia Minor will threaten England’s hold on India, England’s hold on Egypt, the Russian security in the Caucasus, and will open up to Germany a vast granary that will completely destroy the effect of the British Blockade and alter the whole history of the world. I am not an alarmist, I am a journalist who has seen many strange things, things which no other man of either a neutral or Entente Powerhas seen, and being a journalist I understand to some extent the relation of cause and effect. “You will never convince England of her danger,” someone recently remarked to me. “But why?” I asked; “what possible object can I have in exaggerating or lying? I am not a politician, I am not even an Englishman, and certainly I feel very deeply the danger the Entente cause is running, owing to the spell of apathy that seems to have fallen upon certain sections of the public.” My friend’s reply was a smile.
It has been a great pleasure to me, too, to be the instrument of showing how a highly organised newspaper can act as an effective means of obtaining information for a nation at war. The police of this country have long since recognised the value of the Press in detecting crime, and I think the Government will now have an equal respect for the journalist as a secret service agent, albeit an honorary one. I know of at least one newspaper that has a most wonderful organisation in the enemy countries forsecuring information, and that organisation is not excelled by any Government of the Entente Powers.
One word of warning to British officials at present occupying posts as Consuls and Ministers. They must appreciate the fact that this war concerns their country’s very existence, and they must not allow themselves to be lulled to a false security by mendacious statements that appear in the press. One distinguished English diplomatist in a neutral country, a man whose name is well known in the diplomatic world, said to me only a few weeks ago, “And do those silly Germans really think they are going to win?” and his remark was accompanied by a superior and incredulous smile.
“Why, of course, they do,” I replied, “and unless England wakes up perhaps they will.” I felt annoyed with the man.
THE GERMAN MENACE
After Thoughts—The Great Factor—National Service—False Ideals as to the German Soldier—The Danger of Under-estimating Germany’s Resources—Great Britain’s Helpers—Crush the German—“Wait Till We Get to England.”
After Thoughts—The Great Factor—National Service—False Ideals as to the German Soldier—The Danger of Under-estimating Germany’s Resources—Great Britain’s Helpers—Crush the German—“Wait Till We Get to England.”
Now that I am back in London quietly meditating on my recent experiences, I cannot help feeling ill at ease. I see in my mind’s eye once more, just as if I were sitting at a kinematograph show, those thousands of young, sturdy-looking Germans on their way to the Near East. I see the magnificent new bridges and the reconstructed tunnels in Serbia. I hear the crowds at different stations cheer the Balkan Express on its way back to Berlin. “Are people in this country,” I ask myself, “fully aware of the seriousness of the present situation? Does the Government of this country fully realise that unless the British Fleet be left to show its might in cutting off whatis the food of the German War-Machine, the war itself cannot be brought to a successful issue?”
Great changes have taken place since I left London at the beginning of November. On my return I find that National Service has been adopted by the Government and accepted by the people. To me this was the best news I had heard for many months. A step nearer victory, I told myself.
At last the British people have realised that compulsion to defend the country of their birth is no disgrace, and they have learned that it in no way threatens their personal liberty. The French and Dutch, to mention two countries famed for their love of independence and liberty, never have and never will consider it against their freedom to be compelled to learn how to defend themselves in the hour of need. An Englishman does not consider it a disgrace to be compelled to pay his rates and taxes; why should it be regarded as anything but an honour, and a very great honour, to be compelled to defend the greatest freedomthat subjects of any country have ever known—to give up his life for his Motherland?
The adoption of the National Service Scheme has caused me the liveliest possible satisfaction, but there is still another danger to be met by, not only the British people, but the British Government itself; that is, the under-estimation of the power and resources of the German menace. The misleading statements which for the past year have figured in many English journals, to the effect that men of fifty and boys of fifteen are sent to the front on account of the exhaustion of German man power, have done incalculable harm in convincing thousands of people that the end of the war is at hand, and that the end will be victory for the Entente Powers. The Germans have now been fighting for eighteen months, and they are very far from being beaten.
A man may, to his own entire satisfaction, come to the conclusion that given the Spring and sufficient munitions that the German resistance will crumble. TheGerman resistance will never crumble; it will fight as fine a defensive campaign as it has fought a series of offensive campaigns. To under-rate an enemy is to undermine your own chances of victory.
Shortly after my return to England I was talking with a Frenchman who for some time has lived in this country. He seemed to be convinced that the Germans had only old men and boys in the trenches in France, and that they were a mere army of cowards.
“If that be the case,” I replied, “if they really are an army of cowards who throw down their arms and hold up their hands as soon as they are attacked, then why does not the glorious French Army hurl them back across the Rhine?”
To this my friend made no reply. I relate the incident merely to show how many excellent people hypnotise themselves into the belief that the Germans are cowards. Any British “Tommy” who has participated in an attack on the German trenches, or who has helped to hold the lines against a German onslaught, will confirm me in myopinion that the Germans are very far indeed from being cowards.
It will aid the Allies nothing to underestimate German cunning and German efficiency. I firmly believe that in the long run Great Britain can hold out far better than her foes; but Great Britain is not fighting alone, she has to consider France, Russia and Italy, and finish this fight with the utmost possible expedition.
It is incumbent upon this country to put forth its entire manhood, as well as to husband all its resources for the great struggle that is looming in the very near distance. In short, all must wake up to the great German danger. Away with kid gloves! Away with all thought of the Hague Convention! Fight the reckless, ferocious, wild animal which has broken loose over Europe, fight it with every weapon at your disposal! If Great Britain allows this animal to conquer it, there will be no pity, and the glorious British Empire will be a thing of the past. Those thousands and thousands of young men of the Empire from every cornerof the globe who have died on the battlefields of France and Gallipoli shall then not have died in vain, and the most glorious monument to the memory of those fallen heroes will be the complete defeat of the brutal Hun.
This is not the hour for seeking personal glory, but it is the moment for searching for efficiency, be it in the field of battle or on the Government benches in the House of Commons.
Britons, as well as neutrals, who love this, to me, dear old country and all that it stands for should give their all to crush Germany. The blunders that have been made are for the most part almost excusable blunders. No one can expect that in a short time a country that has always been anti-militarist can turn into a highly organised military power. The Germans themselves have taken some forty years to achieve this. I repeat, Germany is still very far from being beaten. Personally I firmly believe in the eventual victory of the Allies, but only if every man according to his ability throwsthe weight of his influence, his money, or his life into the scale. Then, and then only, shall we see the German War Machine break down, one part after another, and once more peace shall be restored to a Europe torn with strife and soaked with blood.
France, Russia and Italy are merely Great Britain’s helpers. Great Britain is the real opponent to German Militarism. She is the great store-house from which supplies and munitions pour, and without which her Allies cannot continue the struggle. It is she who is fated to be the great factor in the crushing of German ambition, and its mad lust for world-wide domination. Germany is to this century what Napoleon was to the last, a menace to individual and national independence. It has been seen what German Kultur did for Belgium and Serbia. “Wait till we get to England!” is a remark I have heard from German lips, uttered in a tone so significant, so sinister, that I have involuntarily shuddered.