No doubt the Bosches will have plenty of Christmas trees, as they did last year, but, without attaching too much credence to the reports of an increasing difficulty in maintaining their rations. I think it is quite safe to say that they will fare very much more frugally than our own men. But may not their own consciousness of the fact result in an outburst of “strafing?” The principle that the next best thing to not getting well served yourself is to spoil the other fellow’s enjoyment is a good sound Hunnish axiom. There will certainly be no amenities nor anything in the nature of a truce so far as the British are concerned. All ranks are bidden to remember that war is war and that the Germans invariably have some sinister motive in all they do, especially under the guise of a gush of friendly sentiment.—Reuter.
No doubt the Bosches will have plenty of Christmas trees, as they did last year, but, without attaching too much credence to the reports of an increasing difficulty in maintaining their rations. I think it is quite safe to say that they will fare very much more frugally than our own men. But may not their own consciousness of the fact result in an outburst of “strafing?” The principle that the next best thing to not getting well served yourself is to spoil the other fellow’s enjoyment is a good sound Hunnish axiom. There will certainly be no amenities nor anything in the nature of a truce so far as the British are concerned. All ranks are bidden to remember that war is war and that the Germans invariably have some sinister motive in all they do, especially under the guise of a gush of friendly sentiment.—Reuter.
The last sentences must surely, in any generous heart (if the moral destruction of war has left us such), produce a feeling of acute shame. In all the multitudeof truces that occurred at Christmas, 1914, I have not seen a single case of German treachery reported. What is it that is feared in the truce? “In some places,” said a German officer, “we have had to change our men several times. They get too damn friendly.”[50]“If we don’t take care,” said an English officer that Christmas, “there will be a permanent peace without generals or c.o.’s having a say in the matter.” Is that thought really more terrible than the thought of unnumbered shattered bodies and hopeless hearts?
How ineffectual so far are all European attempts at democracy! Carlyle’s satire about the thirty men of Dumdrudge called out, they know not why, to kill thirty men from a Dumdrudge elsewhere is not referred to in these days; but it still expresses the essential absurdity of wars.
Here is an extract from theLabour Leaderof August 19, 1915:
My friend must not be identified. But here is an incident he told me I can safely relate. During the unauthorised Christmas truce of eight months ago so chummy did a British officer and a Saxon officer become that the Saxon officer gave his enemy “an invitation to visit him in Germany at the end of the war,” and “stay as long as you like,” he added. The British officer is still carrying the address in his pocket in the hope that one day he may be able to accept the invitation.
My friend must not be identified. But here is an incident he told me I can safely relate. During the unauthorised Christmas truce of eight months ago so chummy did a British officer and a Saxon officer become that the Saxon officer gave his enemy “an invitation to visit him in Germany at the end of the war,” and “stay as long as you like,” he added. The British officer is still carrying the address in his pocket in the hope that one day he may be able to accept the invitation.
TheLabour Leaderis much disliked by the orthodox of England, as is theVorwärtsby the orthodox of Germany. It seems to me that both may be rendering a fine service to the cause of humanity, and one may surely say this without implying complete agreement with the opinions or the policy of either.
Writing home to his mother in Somerset, a member of the R.A.M.C. says: “You will find inside a Germanbutton for a souvenir. It was given me by a wounded German prisoner. After he had had his wound dressed, he pointed to his buttons and made signs for me to cut one off. He hardly knew how to thank us after he had finished his tea, and his eyes gleamed with gratitude as he looked around at us.” (Daily News, August 26, 1915.)
From a private letter: “The following is first hand, and of interest. Dr. S. lectures on first aid to C.’s squad. During the course of a lecture on the heart he referred to a visit paid to the local hospital. In the hospital was a man who had been a prisoner in Germany. Dr. S. asked the man about his treatment. In the course of the talk the man said that if he had his choice he would prefer to be in a German hospital! Dr. S. smiled when he related this. ‘This is not the kind of statement,’ he said, ‘that is published in the newspapers!’”
There comes into my mind the photograph of a British prisoner in a German camp. The boy’s mother was delighted to see him looking so well. The photograph was the more striking as the lad was wounded in the stomach at the time he was taken prisoner.
From a private letter: “My nephew was in the Canadians and was wounded in the spine in a recent advance.... He was brought back to London, where I saw him, and he died in hospital shortly after. He told me himself all about it. He lay for several hours after being wounded, unable of course to move. When the ambulance came up, the stretcher bearers were Germans—prisoners of war. They saw he was cold and took off their own coats and wrapped him up. All the while they were under fire from the British guns.[51]One of them was wounded in the arm by shrapnel as they were carrying him, but he kept hishold. He called to his mate to let down the stretcher, but till it was on the ground, he never flinched. My nephew knew what this meant, and as he thought of what had been done for him by an ‘enemy’ his face lighted up, as he said, ‘That man is a hero!’ And he added, ‘We don’t feel hard towards them at the front.’”
Again, a wounded soldier who had been prisoner in Germany says: “I could not have been better treated, and I know ninety companions who say the same. But this is not the sort of story the newspapers want.” People very generally do not like to hear good of an enemy. In war-time this very human objection may become an important cause of continued strife. (cf., p.108.)
In the following, Philip Gibbs tells of a German doctor who tended friend and foe alike. “A number of Germans ... —about 250 of them—stayed in the dug-outs, without food and water, while our shells made a fury above them and smashed up the ground. They had a German doctor there, a giant of a man with a great heart, who had put his first-aid dressing station in the second line trench, and attended to the wounds of the men until our bombardment intensified so that no man could live there.
“He took the wounded down to a dug-out—those who had not been carried back—and stayed there expecting death. But then, as he told me to-day, at about eleven o’clock this morning the shells ceased to scream and roar above-ground, and after a sudden silence he heard the noise of British troops. He went up to the entrance of his dug-out and said to some English soldiers who came up with fixed bayonets, ‘My friends, I surrender.’ Afterwards he helped to tend our own wounded, and did very good work for us under the fire of his own guns, which had now turned upon this position.” (Daily Chronicle, July 5, 1916.)
It must be easy to tell bad stories of every furiousfight, but the right spirit is surely that shown by Mr. Gibbs in another despatch (Daily Chronicle, July 7, 1916): “The enemy behaved well, I am told, to our wounded men at some parts of the line, and helped them over the parapets. This makes us loth to tell other stories not so good.”
Again, on July 21, 1916: “It was the turn of the stretcher-bearers, and they worked with great courage. And here one must pay a tribute to the enemy. ‘We had white men against us,’ said one of the officers, ‘and they let us get in our wounded without hindrance as soon as the fight was over.’”
“‘This war!’ said a German doctor, ‘We go on killing each other to no purpose.’” (Daily Chronicle, July 5, 1916.)
And on this side:
The wife of a petty officer described to me the arrival of the first batch of wounded. It happened that these were chiefly Germans. “I thought I wouldn’t care so long as I didn’t see our poor boys carried up,” she said, “but when I saw them, Germans or not, I couldn’t help crying.” I gathered that the sight of the sufferers swept away every feeling but sympathy amongst the onlookers. She told me of the funerals to the little churchyard outside the barracks, and of the “loneliness” of the dead Germans. She had wept by those nameless graves, thinking of those that belonged to these strangers.—Louie Bennett in theLabour Leader.
The wife of a petty officer described to me the arrival of the first batch of wounded. It happened that these were chiefly Germans. “I thought I wouldn’t care so long as I didn’t see our poor boys carried up,” she said, “but when I saw them, Germans or not, I couldn’t help crying.” I gathered that the sight of the sufferers swept away every feeling but sympathy amongst the onlookers. She told me of the funerals to the little churchyard outside the barracks, and of the “loneliness” of the dead Germans. She had wept by those nameless graves, thinking of those that belonged to these strangers.—Louie Bennett in theLabour Leader.
I remember a Cockney boy of fifteen telling me how at Southend he had gone for fun to see wounded Germans brought ashore. But the fun died out in his heart at the reality, and he ran away.
The little incident I will next mention has special charm because of the beautiful spirit shown by every one concerned. A wounded German, Albert Dill, lay in hospital here. He was asked by a visitor if there was anything that he specially wished for. He answered. “Flowers for the dear English nurse, more than anything else.” The flowers were sent and his letter of gratitude is touching. There were far morethan he expected, he said, and his joy was the greater. “The pleasure of the nurses and the doctors too was great when they saw this rich gift of flowers (diese reiche Blumenspende).... This day will often remind me of the good and self-sacrificing nursing that I have had here in this hospital.” And the “dear English nurse” writes: “The flowers you sent at the request of Albert Dill were indeed most beautiful.... I have been nursing the German patients for a considerable time, and their gratitude has always been most marked. We sincerely hope that while carrying out our duties we have been able to relieve their sufferings, and have perhaps helped them to bear the misfortunes of war a little more patiently.” This little incident is surely the greatest of victories, for it is a victory of the spirit.
Nurse Kathleen Cambridge, who was near Mons at the time of the British retreat, spoke as follows of some of her experiences (Daily News, January 8, 1916):
After the battle I was very pleased to be of assistance to the wounded, for whom my mother and I had arranged an ambulance. It was at four o’clock that I saw the first party of British prisoners being marched through from Mons to Brussels. A halt was called just outside the Chateau. The Germans were very kind at that time and offered their prisoners cigarettes and gave them water from their bottles.Two men, exhausted by terrible wounds, dropped into the ditch. The baron went off to ask if we could be of assistance, and the German doctor told him that he would be grateful for any help, as he had to get on to Brussels and could not wait. The two men were brought into the chateau. We did all we could for them, and gradually, after some weeks, they recovered.
After the battle I was very pleased to be of assistance to the wounded, for whom my mother and I had arranged an ambulance. It was at four o’clock that I saw the first party of British prisoners being marched through from Mons to Brussels. A halt was called just outside the Chateau. The Germans were very kind at that time and offered their prisoners cigarettes and gave them water from their bottles.
Two men, exhausted by terrible wounds, dropped into the ditch. The baron went off to ask if we could be of assistance, and the German doctor told him that he would be grateful for any help, as he had to get on to Brussels and could not wait. The two men were brought into the chateau. We did all we could for them, and gradually, after some weeks, they recovered.
Neglect and honourable conduct are both recorded in the next cutting from theManchester Guardian(September 17, 1917).
A Scotsman wounded at La Bassée had lain for eight days in a German dug-out which our troops had captured and from which they had been driven. One party of Germans peering into the darkness had bombed him, and added oneor two slight wounds to the twenty-two he already possessed. He managed to signal to the second bombing party some days later, and was carried away to the field hospital, where hundreds of wounded Germans were lying. Here he was found by a young German engineer who had spent years in Glasgow and Liverpool. “Hullo, Jock,” the man said kindly, “pretty bad, aren’t you? I’ll fetch a doctor for you.”He did so, and the wounds were roughly dressed. Nothing more was done for eight days, when the Scot managed to attract the attention of some visiting officer to the fact that his wounds were in a dreadful condition, septic and suppurating.“He was furious,” said the Scot: “made no end of a row about it, and I was attended to at once. I have nothing to complain of about my treatment when in hospital in Germany.”
A Scotsman wounded at La Bassée had lain for eight days in a German dug-out which our troops had captured and from which they had been driven. One party of Germans peering into the darkness had bombed him, and added oneor two slight wounds to the twenty-two he already possessed. He managed to signal to the second bombing party some days later, and was carried away to the field hospital, where hundreds of wounded Germans were lying. Here he was found by a young German engineer who had spent years in Glasgow and Liverpool. “Hullo, Jock,” the man said kindly, “pretty bad, aren’t you? I’ll fetch a doctor for you.”
He did so, and the wounds were roughly dressed. Nothing more was done for eight days, when the Scot managed to attract the attention of some visiting officer to the fact that his wounds were in a dreadful condition, septic and suppurating.
“He was furious,” said the Scot: “made no end of a row about it, and I was attended to at once. I have nothing to complain of about my treatment when in hospital in Germany.”
From theDaily News, April 16, 1918:
Here is a story vouched for by a young soldier now in hospital in the North of England:—“I was shot in both legs during the recent fighting. As I lay, helpless and almost hopeless, for our lads had been pressed back, a German officer, also wounded, crawled up to me. He spoke English fluently, and it turned out that he had once worked in the town from which I come. When I told him I was the last of the family left to my widowed mother, and that I feared it would settle her when she heard I had gone too, he said: ‘All right, old chap; we’ll see what can be done.’ As soon as it was quite dark he got me to pull myself on to his back. In this way he crawled to within earshot of our outposts, and only left me and dragged himself in the direction of his own lines when he knew my cry had been heard.”
Here is a story vouched for by a young soldier now in hospital in the North of England:—“I was shot in both legs during the recent fighting. As I lay, helpless and almost hopeless, for our lads had been pressed back, a German officer, also wounded, crawled up to me. He spoke English fluently, and it turned out that he had once worked in the town from which I come. When I told him I was the last of the family left to my widowed mother, and that I feared it would settle her when she heard I had gone too, he said: ‘All right, old chap; we’ll see what can be done.’ As soon as it was quite dark he got me to pull myself on to his back. In this way he crawled to within earshot of our outposts, and only left me and dragged himself in the direction of his own lines when he knew my cry had been heard.”
From the same paper of April 11, 1918, I take the story told by a naval prisoner exchanged through Switzerland:
The sailor had one eye blown out and the other temporarily damaged by a shell in a concentrated fire which sank his destroyer in the battle of Jutland. He was picked up by an already overcrowded British boat after swimming about for an hour almost blind. Then a German destroyer ran alongside and took aboard the whole boatload.The voice of an officer hailed from the deck: “Don’t forget the British way, lads, wounded first.” “He spoke such good English that I took him for a Scottie,” said my informant, “and I thought it was a British destroyer that had picked us up. I was hauled aboard, and I saw him lookat my face and turn away. ‘What’s the matter, Jock?’ I said. ‘I’m not a Jock,’ says he, ‘I’m one of the Huns.’ ‘What, ain’t this a British ship?’ says I. ‘Throw me back into the sea, and let me take the chance of being picked up by one of ours.’ ‘It can’t be done, sonny,’ he says. ‘You’ve got to go to Germany. But you’ll be exchanged all right. You’re disabled.’ It seems he had a relative in London, and knew England well. All the time British ships were chasing us and shelling us; and he hung a lifebelt near me, and said: ‘If the British Fleet sink us that will give you a bit of a chance yet.’”
The sailor had one eye blown out and the other temporarily damaged by a shell in a concentrated fire which sank his destroyer in the battle of Jutland. He was picked up by an already overcrowded British boat after swimming about for an hour almost blind. Then a German destroyer ran alongside and took aboard the whole boatload.
The voice of an officer hailed from the deck: “Don’t forget the British way, lads, wounded first.” “He spoke such good English that I took him for a Scottie,” said my informant, “and I thought it was a British destroyer that had picked us up. I was hauled aboard, and I saw him lookat my face and turn away. ‘What’s the matter, Jock?’ I said. ‘I’m not a Jock,’ says he, ‘I’m one of the Huns.’ ‘What, ain’t this a British ship?’ says I. ‘Throw me back into the sea, and let me take the chance of being picked up by one of ours.’ ‘It can’t be done, sonny,’ he says. ‘You’ve got to go to Germany. But you’ll be exchanged all right. You’re disabled.’ It seems he had a relative in London, and knew England well. All the time British ships were chasing us and shelling us; and he hung a lifebelt near me, and said: ‘If the British Fleet sink us that will give you a bit of a chance yet.’”
The following is fromLloyd’s News, May 12, 1918, under the heading of “Back from the dead”:
Three years ago a Twickenham resident, Mrs. Maunders, received official news from the War Office that her husband, one of “The Old Contemptibles,” had been killed in action.Thrown on her own resources, and having a small family to keep, she struggled on, and a very good offer of marriage came along and was accepted. A few days before the wedding a letter came from the supposed dead husband, stating that he was badly wounded and left for dead on the battlefield, but was found by the enemy and nursed back to health.
Three years ago a Twickenham resident, Mrs. Maunders, received official news from the War Office that her husband, one of “The Old Contemptibles,” had been killed in action.
Thrown on her own resources, and having a small family to keep, she struggled on, and a very good offer of marriage came along and was accepted. A few days before the wedding a letter came from the supposed dead husband, stating that he was badly wounded and left for dead on the battlefield, but was found by the enemy and nursed back to health.
The following is from a private letter: “I am happy to be able to tell you that through the German Flying Corps dropping a message, we heard of [my son’s] safety early in July. He writes to us and appears to be well and comfortable.... He was shot through the neck. He has happily quite recovered after being about four weeks in hospital. He has spoken only of kindness and attention from doctors and nurses.”
Again: “As you have probably heard by now, I am a wounded prisoner of war.... I myself got my shoulder rather badly smashed up by a machine gun which knocked me out, and I lay in a shell hole for about ten hours while our guns strafed like hell and I expected every moment to be blown to bits. However, I at last managed to crawl up and stagger along, and as I was in German lines, ran into a lot of Germans. They were awfully kind to me, gave me food and drink and bound up my wound, and then sent me along to the dressing station. I am at presentin hospital in Belgium and expect to go to Germany almost directly. My address at the back will find me.” What follows from the same correspondent has some bearing on the feeding in hospitals. “You mentioned in your last letter whether you could send me anything. Well, dear old chap, if you are feeling an angel, plenty of good plain chocolate and other delicacies would be awfully welcome, also some Gold Flake cigarettes.” It was only “delicacies,” it will be observed, that were asked for. This was in the middle of 1917.
The next extract is fromCommon Sense, July 13, 1918:
“The following experience of an Ullet Road boy, Private Arthur Bibby (6th S.W.B.), who is now recovering from a severe wound, is recorded in the Ullet Road ChurchCalendarfor July:
The part of the line in which Private Bibby was placed was subjected to a heavy bombardment, after which the enemy delivered an attack. The order to retire was given “and our section made for a road which led into a village, but about a hundred yards up the road I received a bullet wound which passed under the shoulder-blade and pierced a portion of the lung.”
The part of the line in which Private Bibby was placed was subjected to a heavy bombardment, after which the enemy delivered an attack. The order to retire was given “and our section made for a road which led into a village, but about a hundred yards up the road I received a bullet wound which passed under the shoulder-blade and pierced a portion of the lung.”
“Private Bibby was forced to lie down by the side of the road, and shortly afterwards an advance party of the Germans came along delivering their attack. The first wave swept past, but of those who followed one stopped to give Private Bibby a cigarette, another took off his wounded foe’s equipment and made it into a pillow for his head, and put his water-bottle within reach, while a third made a pad out of his field dressing with which he staunched the wound. As he turned and followed his comrades, he assured his patient that the Red Cross would come soon.
“A German Red Cross orderly came up shortly afterwards, and was engaged in dressing the wound when the order came for the Germans to retire before a British counter-attack. ‘About ten minutes after thelast had passed down the road our lads, counter-attacking, were creeping up the road, and it was not long before the R.A.M.C. lifted me on a stretcher and took me to the advanced dressing station.’
“We congratulate Private Bibby on the recovery he is making from a severe wound, and are glad that he is able to bear this testimony of gratitude to a company of unknown but chivalrous foes.
“It is, of course, well known that the Northcliffe Press refuses to print experiences of this kind.”
“Many of our wounded have passed through the same conditions of captivity and deliverance. They bear witness to the honourable conduct of the German Army doctors (majors). Here, for example, is one of the stories that I have heard: ‘I found myself in a ditch after the battle, unable to move. A German doctor came by; he gave me bread and coffee and promised to come back in the evening if he could, or next day. That night and the following day passed without my seeing any one; the time seemed long. In the evening he came: ‘I had not forgotten you,’ he said, ‘but I have had no time.’ He had me carried away and gave me careful attention.’” (La Guerre vue d’une Ambulance, par L’Abbé Félix Klein, Aumonier de l’Ambulance américaine, p. 80.)
The writer continues: “Facts of this nature deserve to be recorded. Amidst this setting loose of horrors and hates it would be well to lay stress on some of those deeds which are able to soften the soul. This morning I see that an article has been passed in one of the most widely read French journals recommending that no prisoners should be made in forthcoming battles, but that our enemies should be ‘struck down like wild beasts,’ ‘butchered like swine’! Nothing, not even the sack of Senlis, nothing justifies such outbursts of fury.” The French soldiers, M. L’Abbé indicates, confine their denunciations to the Prussian regulars and speak well of the reserves. “They aremen like us, married men, fathers of families, fair-minded.” But for the doctors there is often a good word: “Le major allemand est venu, nous a soignés, nous a donné du café, du pain.” “Le major nous a soignés et donné de la soupe.” There was however, much plundering. The armies which do not plunder are indeedraræ aves. “The animosity of the English against the enemy,” says the Abbé, “is greater even than ours.” “In the evening,” runs one narrative, “the soldiers of the 101st put me in the wood where were many wounded Frenchmen and a German captain, wounded the day before. He suffered, he too, poor man (le pauvre malheureux).” When the Germans came, “some looked askance,” but the captain said the Frenchmen had been kind, and when the Germans had taken him they came back and attended to the French. It was a bad time in the retreat, but French and German wounded shared the same fate. (l.c., p. 98.)
The poor soldiers, obliged to obey orders under penalty of death, defending (as they believe) their homes from wanton attack, are surely, in the mass, but little to blame. The blame rests elsewhere. A body of Russian prisoners was brought into a village in East Prussia. The sufferings of the inhabitants during the invasion had made them bitter, and from the crowd of onlookers there was a scornful outcry. “At that one of the prisoners bent forward, shook his head and said slowly, with great, sad eyes, ‘It is not your fault, and it is not mine.’” (Dr. Elisabeth Rotten inDie Staatsbürgerin.) Looking at it all with fresh knowledge, after more than three years of war, I feel that this Russian spoke for all the peoples, “It is not your fault, and it is not mine.” Meanwhile there still goes on what my wounded friend, writing from Rouen described as “this orgy of slaughter, this incredible and criminal lunacy.”
A girl who, with others, was attending to the enemy wounded, writes: “Doubtless we should have more consolation among our little soldiers, since herewe are forbidden to give little kindnesses and attention;but I believe that before the end we shall disobey the order, because we put our hearts into our devotion and our pity.” (La Guerre vue d’une Ambulance, p. 116.) It is a little startling to learn of orders against kindness to enemy wounded. In a country one of whose chief newspapers advocated slaughter of the enemy like swine, such orders seem unwise. They can surely scarcely be made except when we wilfully blind ourselves and imagine that our enemies do not share our humanity.
Here is a letter found on one of the German dead, a man with “a good face, strong and kindly,” so wrote theDaily Mailcorrespondent. “My dearest Heart,” runs the letter, “when the little ones have said their prayers and prayed for their dear father, and have gone to bed, I sit and think of thee, my love. I think of all the old days when we were betrothed, and I think of all our happy married life. Oh! Ludwig, beloved of my soul, why should people fight each other? I cannot think that God would wish it....”
Here in this leafy placeQuiet he lies;Cold, with his sightless faceTurned to the skies;’Tis but another dead:All you can say is said.Carry the body hence;Kings must have slaves;Kings rise to eminenceOver men’s graves;So this man’s eyes are dim.Cast the earth over him.What was that white you touched,There by his side?Paper his hand had clutchedTight ere he died?Message or wish, maybe?Smooth out its folds and see.***Ah! That beside the deadSlumbered the pain!Ah! That the hearts that bledSlept with the slain!That the grief died. But no!Death will not have it so.
Here in this leafy placeQuiet he lies;Cold, with his sightless faceTurned to the skies;’Tis but another dead:All you can say is said.
Carry the body hence;Kings must have slaves;Kings rise to eminenceOver men’s graves;So this man’s eyes are dim.Cast the earth over him.
What was that white you touched,There by his side?Paper his hand had clutchedTight ere he died?Message or wish, maybe?Smooth out its folds and see.
***
Ah! That beside the deadSlumbered the pain!Ah! That the hearts that bledSlept with the slain!That the grief died. But no!Death will not have it so.
These words of Austin Dobson were written of a French sergeant in an earlier war, yet they serve equally well for the German soldier in this. Strange that we leave it to the dead to prove their brotherhood and ours.
Philip Gibbs tells us how in a German dug-out he picked up some letters. “They were all written to ‘dear brother Wilhelm,’ from sisters and brothers, sending him their loving greetings, praying that his health might be good, promising to send him gifts of food and yearning for his home-coming.” They were anxious, for here had been no news for some time. “Every time the postman comes we hope for a little note from you.” Can any generous heart think of that anxious waiting unmoved? Shall we children of one Life wait till we have wholly darkened each other’s homes, and then call our handiwork peace?
But by that time, by the judgment of God, our eyes will be opened.
We who are bound by the same grief for ever,When all our sons are dead may talk together,Each asking pardon of the other one,For her dead son.[52]
We who are bound by the same grief for ever,When all our sons are dead may talk together,Each asking pardon of the other one,For her dead son.[52]
It is we at home who seem to yield only to this dread proof. With the fighters it is often different, as wehave seen, and though the stories savour of repetition, the repetition is surely worth while. I have aimed here at no literary production, but simply at a collection of facts that may reach the heart. “We sing,” said a soldier from Baden, “to the accompaniment of the piano—especially during the interval for dinner. We have indeed entered into a tacit agreement with the French to stop all fire between 12 and 1 o’clock, so that they and we might not be disturbed when we feed.” (Zeitung am Mittag, as quoted in theDaily Chronicle, November 10, 1914.) “One of our teachers, a lieutenant in the R.F.A., who has been out most of the time, had a few days’ leave some weeks ago. He said to the school, assembled to do him honour, ‘Boys, do not believe the stories you read about the Germans in the newspapers. Whatever they may have done at the beginning of the war, the German is a brave and noble soldier, and after the war we must be friends.’” (From a private letter.) A soldier writes that a diary he kept was blown to bits by a shell. He gave what remained of it to a wounded German who pleaded for it. He had met many German Socialists in the fighting. “It is a blessing to meet such men and amid all the slaughter brought about by our present system, it seems heaven upon earth.” (Labour Leader, June 24, 1915.)
It will only be making theamende honorableif we do our best now to spread reports of good deeds of the enemy, for in the early stages of the war we deliberately deleted them from messages, and we have certainly done a great deal to conceal them ever since. Writing to theTimesin October, 1914, Mr. Herbert Corey, the American correspondent, said: “TheTimesleader quotes thePostas charging that I ‘flatly made the charge that dispatches had been altered for the purpose of hiding the truth and blackening the German character.’ I do not recollect this phrase.I did charge that dispatches of German atrocities were permitted to go through unaltered, and that sentences in other dispatches in which credit was given the Germans for courtesy and kindness were deleted. I abide by that statement.”
There have been many angry references to unfair German attempts to influence neutral opinion. A letter such as Mr. Corey’s makes me able to understand why some neutrals have accused England of the very same unfairness. There is other testimony to the same effect. Mr. Edward Price Bell, London Correspondent of theChicago Daily News, has, in a pamphlet published by Fisher Unwin, indicted the British censorship in the following terms:
I call the censorship chaotic because of the chaos in its administration. I call it political because it has changed or suppressed political cables. I call it discriminatory because there are flagrant instances of its not holding the scales evenly between correspondents and newspapers. I call it unchivalrous because it has been known to elide eulogies of enemy decency and enemy valour. I call it destructive because its function is to destroy; it has no constructive function whatever. I call it in effect anti-British and pro-German because its tendency—one means, of course, its unconscious tendency—often is to elevate the German name for veracity and for courage above the British. I call it ludicrous, because it has censored such matter as Kipling’s “Recessional” and Browning’s poetry. I call it incompetent because one can perceive no sort of collective efficiency in its work. And because of the sum of these things I give it the final descriptive—“incredible.”—Daily News, January 7, 1916.
I call the censorship chaotic because of the chaos in its administration. I call it political because it has changed or suppressed political cables. I call it discriminatory because there are flagrant instances of its not holding the scales evenly between correspondents and newspapers. I call it unchivalrous because it has been known to elide eulogies of enemy decency and enemy valour. I call it destructive because its function is to destroy; it has no constructive function whatever. I call it in effect anti-British and pro-German because its tendency—one means, of course, its unconscious tendency—often is to elevate the German name for veracity and for courage above the British. I call it ludicrous, because it has censored such matter as Kipling’s “Recessional” and Browning’s poetry. I call it incompetent because one can perceive no sort of collective efficiency in its work. And because of the sum of these things I give it the final descriptive—“incredible.”—Daily News, January 7, 1916.
There is no doubt that people oftenfearto tell of German good deeds. An acquaintance of mine told me that his boy got decorated for bringing in a badly wounded comrade from near the German trenches. A little shamefacedly my informant went on: “I don’t mind tellingyou, but Ishouldn’t like it to be known generally here, that I know the Germans act well sometimes. My boy wrote he would have had no chance, but he heard the Germans give the order to cease fire.”My informant evidently feared the neighbours would call him pro-German if he told this to them, but he thought he might venture to tell a pacifist.[53]
One notices this fear sometimes in rather amusing ways. In a railway compartment with me were a loud-mouthed patriotic woman “war-worker” and a mere soldier back from the front. I’m afraid I got a little at loggerheads with the war-worker, who adopted in argument a kind of furious grin which revealed a formidable row of teeth that in my mind-picture of her have become symbolically almost gigantic. I turned for relief to the mere soldier, and while the train was moving we had a pleasant dip into soldier philosophy. “I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s good and bad everywhere,” he said. “I’ve known bad Germans, and I’ve known Germans to look after our wounded as well as a British Tommy could look after his chum.” There was more to this effect, but whenever the train stopped and our voices became audible to others, we were silent. The fear of that row of teeth was, I think in both our hearts, and I could see the mere soldier looking timid before them.
Fair play to the enemy’s character is a concession not quite so easy to the average Englishman as he supposes. “The Anglo-Saxon race has never been remarkable for magnanimity towards a fallen foe.” Just now, when we are inclined to be almost afraid of the excess of chivalry which possesses us, there may be useful corrective in these words of Lieutenant-General Sir William Butler, K.C.B. There has been much searching of old history books of late to find out what was said in the days of Tacitus against the Germans.[54](What Tacitus said in their favour is not considered.) Perhaps on the other side there are investigators searching their history books for ancient opinions of theEnglish. “Strike well these English,” said Duke William to his Normans, “show no weakness towards these English, for they will have no pity for you. Neither the coward for running well, nor the bold man for fighting well will be better liked by the English, nor will any be more spared on either account.” Butler approved this verdict. We shall not readily agree with him. Yet he did not speak without cause: he had known an English general kick the dead body of an African King, who “was a soldier every inch of him,” and he had known the colonists spit upon an African chief brought bound and helpless through Natal. (“Far Out,” p. 131.) I believe myself there is a great and ready generosity in the hearts of the English people, but he must surely be a man invariably on the “correct” side who has not more than once come across the official Englishman who could be a bully to those in his power.
“I am disgusted by the accounts I see in the papers of the inferiority of Germans as soldiers. Don’t believe one word of it. They are quite splendid in every way. Their courage, efficiency, organisation, equipment and leading are all of the very best, and never surpassed by any troops ever raised. They come on in masses against our trenches and machine guns, and come time after time, and they are never quiescent, but always on the offensive. I am full of admiration for them, and so are all who know anything about them. It is a pity that such fine soldiers should have behaved so badly in Belgium and here; they have behaved badly, there is no doubt about it, but nothing like what is said of them—any way in parts I have been through.” These words from a General Officer commanding a brigade occur in a letter published in theTimesof November 19, 1914. Yet these “quite splendid” fighters are the men of whom a learnedprofessor appointed by the Government has written that they are “rotten to the core.” There is some discrepancy here. “They are great workers, these Germans,” wrote Philip Gibbs (Daily Chronicle, July 5, 1916), “and wonderful soldiers.”
“An officer of theSydneygave a quite enthusiastic account of the officers of theEmden. ‘Vitthoef, the torpedo lieutenant, was a thoroughly nice fellow. Lieutenant Schal was also a good fellow and half English. It quite shook them when they found that the captain had asked that there be no cheering on entering Colombo, but we certainly did not want cheering with rows of badly wounded men (almost all German) laid out in cots on the quarter deck. Captain von Müller is a very fine fellow.... The day he was leaving the ship at Colombo, he came up to me on the quarter-deck and thanked me in connection with the rescue of the wounded, shook hands and saluted, which was very nice and polite of him.... Prince Hohenzollern was a decent enough fellow. In fact, we seemed to agree that it was our job to knock one another out, but there was no malice in it.’ This is the ideal fighting, ‘with no malice in it.’ It has been achieved by many English and Germans, and that gives hope for the future. Let us make the most, not the least, of what points towards a better understanding.... At the beginning of November ‘Eye-Witness’ records how English prisoners had been sheltered by the Germans in cellars to protect them from the bombardment of their own side. An Anglo-Indian tells of a wounded havildar who was noticed by a German officer. ‘The German officer spoke to him in Hindustani, asking him the number of his regiment, and where he came from. He bound up his wounds, gave him a drink, and brought him a bundle of straw to support his head. This will be remembered to the credit side of our German account.’
“A wounded officer addressed some students at oneof our universities. He protested humorously that he was not a ‘pro-German,’ and then spoke up for a fair view of the enemy. When he was being carried into hospital, he noticed an anti-aircraft gun just outside the hospital. This struck him as, to say the least, unwise. He expected the hospital to be shelled, and this occurred. He did not blame the Germans. On another occasion a farm near the firing line was used for first aid. It was not obviously a hospital and was fired on. The Commanding Officer sent a note to Von Kluck to explain matters, and the farm was never after exposed to fire.[55]He had seen a church damaged by German shell fire, but this was one which he had himself seen used by the French for observation purposes.[56]The same officer uttered a warning against believing all that was in the ‘Tommies’ letters. At one time when he was censoring letters, one passed through his hands from a Tommy only just arrived in France, and never in the firing line. He described an immense battle in which the English did wonders and he himself had marvellous duties to perform. As far as the military situation was concerned the letter was quite harmless, so it was allowed to go through. It was something like the intelligence to the publication of which the Press Bureau ‘does not object.’”[57][58]
In her book, “My War Experiences on Two Continents,” Miss Macnaughten writes of the Germans:“Individually, I always like them, and it is useless to say I don’t. They are all polite and grateful, and I thought to-day, when the prisoners were surrounded by a gaping crowd, that they bore themselves very well.” (p. 127). Again, “I found one young German with both hands smashed. He was not ill enough to have a bed, of course, but sat with his head fallen forward trying to sleep on a chair. I fed him with porridge and milk out of a little bowl, and when he had finished half of it he said, ‘I won’t have any more. I am afraid there will be none for the others.’” (p. 37.) Unfortunately, Miss Macnaughten too readily accepted war stories. She writes of “country houses” where he heard German prisoners here lived in luxury, “and they say girls are allowed to come and play lawn tennis with them.” The humour of this will be apparent to any who have visited internment camps. Lawn tennis was, however, possible at some camps, both here and in Germany—there were seven courts at Ruhleben. Some of the atrocity stories many of us will recognise as not so reliable as Miss Macnaughten supposed. It is her personal experiences which are important, and, like the Scotchman[59](whom she quotes) she has, not hatred, but respect, for the Germans whom she herself meets.
Again and again, everywhere, we find readiness to accept stories against the enemy on very slender evidence. At the time of the loss of our three cruisers I saw in one of the better newspapers a large heading, “German Treachery. Fighting under the Dutch Flag.” I looked down the columns for evidence. No mention of such a circumstance in the official report, none in the letter from the chief correspondent; but at last I found that some one at Harwich had “heard of” such an incident. We must remember that only cooland clear intellects are likely at such a time to give an accurate account of facts. Between others mutual recrimination may readily arise. An officer on H.M.A.S.Sydneywrote after the attack on theEmden: “It was very interesting talking to some of the German officers afterwards. On the first day they were on board one said to me, ‘You fire on the white flag.’ I at once took the matter up, and the torpedo-lieutenant and an engineer (of theEmden) both said emphatically, ‘No, that is not so; you did not fire on the white flag.’ But we did not leave it at that. One of us went to the captain, and he got from Captain von Müller an assurance that we had done nothing of the kind, and that he intended to assemble his officers and tell them so.” Note how readily on the other side, amongst those less responsible or less cool-headed, a tale may grow up againstus. Let us observe in considering tales against them the same caution that we should wish them to exercise in considering tales against us.[60]
Witnesses from Brussels and from Ghent have spoken well of the personal behaviour of both soldiers and officers. A neutral correspondent writes in theTimesof January 28, 1915:
“On the whole it cannot be said that the behaviour of the German officers and soldiers towards the population of Ghent is bad. When the German troops entered the city, strict injunctions were given them to refrain from pillaging, and to pay for everything they bought in the shops, very much to the disgust of many....”
“On the whole it cannot be said that the behaviour of the German officers and soldiers towards the population of Ghent is bad. When the German troops entered the city, strict injunctions were given them to refrain from pillaging, and to pay for everything they bought in the shops, very much to the disgust of many....”
Mr. Gabriel Mourey has written an account of his custody of the Palais de Compiègne during the invasion. TheTimesreview of this book is so interesting that I propose to give some extracts from it:
First the palace served as the general headquarters of the British Army during the last stage of the strategic retreat to the Marne; and in the closing days of August, M. Mourey looked out of his window to see Generals French and Joffre walking up and down the terrace in consultation, while in the park English soldiers were shaving themselves calmly before little pieces of broken mirror. In a night they had left Compiègne, blowing up the Louis XV. bridge (“utterly improved,” and therefore no great loss). On the next day came the Uhlans, by no means so terrible as they had been painted.... Von Kluck was to make his headquarters there for a day, and the first announcement of the doubtful honour was brought by an engineer lieutenant, who came to make a wireless installation on the palace roof. He was very quick, but he found time to inform the conservator that his name was Maurin, that it was a French name. He repeated it many times, “C’est un nom français,” and he was plainly proud of it. Then came Von Kluck himself, asking in polite and excellent French that he might be shown over the palace. Of him M. Mourey draws a by no means unattractive picture, urbane yet reserved, with real admiration for the treasures of the Palace, discreetly murmuring “Je sais” at the close of every explanation, not offensively, but as though some long forgotten memory had returned to him, making his frequent “Kolossal” sound in his conductor’s ears as gently as the continual “Very nice” of the British Officer, and, his visit over, promising that respect should be paid to the monument of Imperial France.But Von Kluck could not stay. He was followed by Von Marwitz, no less polite, no less sympathetic to M. Mourey’s natural fears, and generous enough to write and sign a proclamation forbidding his troops to lay their hand upon the palace. He, too, went his way. Von Kluck’s Quartermaster-General seized the opportunity of making a private levy of 5,000f. upon the town before he sped like Gehazi after his master’s chariot. Then ensued the brief reign of lesser men, stupid, brutal, blustering, bullying, insulting, because they feared a civilisation which they could not understand.
First the palace served as the general headquarters of the British Army during the last stage of the strategic retreat to the Marne; and in the closing days of August, M. Mourey looked out of his window to see Generals French and Joffre walking up and down the terrace in consultation, while in the park English soldiers were shaving themselves calmly before little pieces of broken mirror. In a night they had left Compiègne, blowing up the Louis XV. bridge (“utterly improved,” and therefore no great loss). On the next day came the Uhlans, by no means so terrible as they had been painted.... Von Kluck was to make his headquarters there for a day, and the first announcement of the doubtful honour was brought by an engineer lieutenant, who came to make a wireless installation on the palace roof. He was very quick, but he found time to inform the conservator that his name was Maurin, that it was a French name. He repeated it many times, “C’est un nom français,” and he was plainly proud of it. Then came Von Kluck himself, asking in polite and excellent French that he might be shown over the palace. Of him M. Mourey draws a by no means unattractive picture, urbane yet reserved, with real admiration for the treasures of the Palace, discreetly murmuring “Je sais” at the close of every explanation, not offensively, but as though some long forgotten memory had returned to him, making his frequent “Kolossal” sound in his conductor’s ears as gently as the continual “Very nice” of the British Officer, and, his visit over, promising that respect should be paid to the monument of Imperial France.
But Von Kluck could not stay. He was followed by Von Marwitz, no less polite, no less sympathetic to M. Mourey’s natural fears, and generous enough to write and sign a proclamation forbidding his troops to lay their hand upon the palace. He, too, went his way. Von Kluck’s Quartermaster-General seized the opportunity of making a private levy of 5,000f. upon the town before he sped like Gehazi after his master’s chariot. Then ensued the brief reign of lesser men, stupid, brutal, blustering, bullying, insulting, because they feared a civilisation which they could not understand.
I think we know such men, and many privates know such men, elsewhere than in the German army. Germany may have cultivated them in greater numbers—that is highly probable—but they are rife everywhere, and under favourable circumstances they thrive exceedingly.
Their insolent arrogance culminated in a certain aide-de-camp, who arrived post-haste to say that the Palace must be instantly made ready to receive an Excellencepar excellence. A man of imagination this aide-de-camp, for when at his command M. Mourey showed him over the palace and pointed out the gaps in the collections made by the soldiers’ pilfery, he said with an all-explanatory air, “But why didn’t you get souvenirs ready for the officers?” The Excellence whom this right Brandenburger heralded was no less than the Kaiser himself, and M. Mourey is convinced that it is to the Imperial intention that the safety of Compiègne is owing. It may be: but we prefer to think that honourable foes such as Von Kluck and Von Marwitz had their share in the unusual consummation.[61]
Their insolent arrogance culminated in a certain aide-de-camp, who arrived post-haste to say that the Palace must be instantly made ready to receive an Excellencepar excellence. A man of imagination this aide-de-camp, for when at his command M. Mourey showed him over the palace and pointed out the gaps in the collections made by the soldiers’ pilfery, he said with an all-explanatory air, “But why didn’t you get souvenirs ready for the officers?” The Excellence whom this right Brandenburger heralded was no less than the Kaiser himself, and M. Mourey is convinced that it is to the Imperial intention that the safety of Compiègne is owing. It may be: but we prefer to think that honourable foes such as Von Kluck and Von Marwitz had their share in the unusual consummation.[61]
“The Irish Nuns at Ypres” gives an account of their experiences by a member of the Community. In a review (May 27, 1915), theTimesLiterary Supplement says: