IN GERMANY
Overcome by the tidings of what was to be my fate I had no inclination
for lunch before I left Antwerp. In the evening I was seized by the
pangs of hunger, and as there was a dining-car on the train I suggested
to my guardian that we should take dinner.
My companion, however, did not understand one word either of English
or French. I was unable to speak German at that time so our only mode
of communication was by gesture and signs. The spectacle must have
been quite comical to an onlooker. Finally I made the man understand
that I wanted something to eat. In the dining-car we met with little
encouragement. I understood the conductor to explain that the tables
were reserved exclusively for officers and persons accompanying them.
As my escort was but a non-commissioned officer we were politely but
firmly refused refreshment.
At Cologne our every attempt to reach the station restaurant failed.
The place was overcrowded, and my guardian naturally was very
apprehensive that I might escape amid the throng. In this event he
would have been severely punished. There was nothing to be done, so we
returned to the train.
What a night was spent in that compartment among German travelers,
taciturn or snoring!
Happily the nights in June are short. Soon dawn appeared radiant. I
marveled at this wonderful reawakening of nature. As early as four
o’clock I was able to resume my reading.
At nine o’clock we reached Berlin and I saw for the first time the
capital of the German Empire. On the station platform a man whose
name I was never able to ascertain glided beside us. He was dressed
in civilian clothes, and after exchanging a few words with the
non-commissioned officer it became manifest that he had assumed charge
of the party. Outside the station this civilian, in all probability
an officer of high rank, motioned me to get into an automobile. Then,
addressing me in excellent French, he said: “Is this your first visit
to Berlin?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Berlin is a very beautiful city,” he asserted.
I made no reply. We proceeded to drive through the streets–where
to, I did not know. I had been under the impression that I was to
be conducted to Ruhleben, the internment camp for civilians. I
wondered whether I was being conveyed to a hotel or a boarding house,
where prisoners en route to the camp were temporarily lodged. My
chief hope was that I might obtain some food. It was now more than
twenty-four hours since I had anything to eat. On our way to Berlin the
non-commissioned officer had nibbled some bread he had in his knapsack,
but I had no opportunity to break my fast.
The automobile was passing along a beautiful avenue. “This is Unter
Den Linden, the finest avenue in Berlin,” said my new companion.
One can be anti-German, and at the same time acknowledge that this
thoroughfare is a charming one to behold. It stretches from the
Brandenburg Gate to the Imperial Palace on the river Spree.
We passed the Imperial Palace and immediately afterwards turned into
narrower streets. After a drive of about fifteen minutes we arrived in
front of a huge building whose walls were a dirty grey. It was, as the
reader will have guessed, the jail. I had arrived at my destination.