Produced by Nick Wall, Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE SEQUEL
WHAT THE GREAT WAR WILL MEAN
TO AUSTRALIA.
Being the Narrative of "Lieutenant Jefson, Aviator."
By
GEORGE A. TAYLOR.
First Edition, June. 1915.
2nd Edition. July. 1915.
Printed and Published by Building Limited.
17 Grosvenor Street. Sydney,
Australia.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
1910.--"The Air Age and its Military Significance."
1911.--"The Highway of the Air and the Military Engineer."
1913.--"The Balkan Battles." How Bad Roads Lost a War.
1913.--"The Schemers." (A Story.)
1913.--"Songs for Soldiers."
1914.--"Town Planning for Australia."
"Ah! when Death's hand our own warm hand hath ta'en
Down the dark aisles his sceptre rules supreme,
God grant the fighters leave to fight again
And let the dreamers dream!"
--Ogilvie.
PREFACE
These are mighty days.
We stand at the close of a century of dazzling achievement; a century
that gave the world railways, steam navigation, electric telegraphs,
telephones, gas and electric light, photography, the phonograph, the
X-ray, spectrum analysis, anaesthetics, antiseptics, radium, the
cinematograph, the automobile, wireless telegraphy, the submarine and
the aeroplane!
Yet as that brilliant century closed, the world crashed into a war to
preserve that high level of human development from being dragged back to
barbarism.
And how the scenes of battle change!
Cities are being smashed and ships are being torpedoed. Thousands of
lives go out in a moment. And these tremendous tragedies pass so swiftly
that it is risky to write a story round them carrying any touch of
prophecy. I, therefore, attempt it, realising that risk. The story is
written for the close of the year 1917. Its incidents are built upon the
outlook at June, 1915.
It first appeared in an Australian weekly journal, "Construction," in
January, 1915, and already some of its early predictions have been
realised; as, for instance, the entry of Italy in June, the use of
"thermit" shells, and the investigation of "scientific management in
Australian work."
To many readers, some of the predictions may not pleasantly appeal. But
it must be remembered that, being merely predictions, they are not
incapable of being made pleasant in the practical sense. In other words,
should any threaten to develop truth, to materialise, all efforts can be
concentrated in shaping them to the desired end.
Predictions are oftentimes warnings. Many of these are.
The story is written to impress the people, with their great
responsibilities in these wonderful days--when a century of incident is
crowded into a month, when an hour contains sixty minutes of tremendous
possibilities, when each of us should live the minutes, hours, days and
weeks with every fibre strained to give the best that is in us to help
in the present stupendous struggle for the defence of civilisation.
GEORGE A. TAYLOR.
Sydney, Australia, June, 1915.
The map, on pages 6 and 7, shows the lines followed by the German
armies through Belgium and France during August and September, 1914.
The main line of the Allies' attack, through Metz, in August and
September, 1915, culminating in the defeat of Germany (predicted for
the purpose of this story) is also shown.
You can facilitate the early realisation of this prediction by
enlisting NOW.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
They often met before and fought.
To gain supremacy in sport.
They meet again now side by side.
For freedom in the whole world wide.]
CHAPTER I.
Winged!
It was the second day in February, 1915.
I'll not forget it in a hurry. That day I fell into the hands of the
German Army. "Fell," in my case, was the correct word, for my monoplane
was greeted with a volley of shots from some tree-hidden German troops
as I was passing over the north-eastern edge of the Argonne Forest.
I was returning from Saarbruck when I got winged. Bullets whizzed
through the 'plane, and one or two impinged on the engine. I tried to
turn and fly out of range, but a shot had put the rudder out of action.
An attempt to rise and trust to luck was baulked by my engine losing
speed. A bullet had opened the water cooler, and down, down the 'plane
glided, till a clear space beyond a clump of trees received it rather
easily. I let the petrol run out and fired it to put the machine out of
use. Then a rifle cracked and a bullet tore a hole through my left side,
putting me into the hospital for six weeks.
That forced idleness gave me plenty of time for retrospection.
I lived the previous energetic five months over and over again. I had
little time before to think of anything but my job and its best
possibilities, but the quietness of the hospital at Aix la Chapelle made
the previous period of activity seem a nightmare of incident.
I remember how surprise held me that I should be lying wounded in a
German hospital--I, a lieutenant in the Royal Flying Corps, who for
years before the war, had actually been a member of an Australian Peace
Society!
Zangwill's couplet had been to me a phrase of force:--
"To safeguard peace--we must prepare for war.
I know that maxim--it was forged in Hell!"
I remembered well how I had hung on the lips of Peace Advocate Doctor
Starr Jordan during his Australian visits, and how I had wondered at his
stories that Krupp's, Vicker's, and other great gun-building concerns
were financially operated by political, war-hatching syndicates; that
the curse of militarism was throttling human progression, and that the
doctrine of "non-resistance" was noble and Christianlike, for "all they
that take the sword shall perish by the sword."
I remembered how in Australia I had grieved that aviation, in which I
took a keen interest as a member of the Aerial League, was being
fostered for military purposes instead of for that glorious epoch
foretold by Tennyson:--
For I dipped into the future far as human eye could see,
Saw the vision of the world and all the wonders that would be,
Saw the heavens filled with commerce, Argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales.
I remembered I felt that the calm of commerce held far more glories than
the storm of war; that there was no nobler philosophy than:--
"Ye have heard it said, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth;
but I say ... resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy
right cheek, turn to him the other also. If any man take thy coat,
let him have thy cloke also."
Then came the thunderclap of war; and in the lightning flash I saw the
folly of the advocacy of peace. I felt that I, like others, had held
back preparation for this great war, that had been foreseen by trained
minds. I felt that extra graves would have to be dug, because
dreamers--like myself--had prated peace instead of helping to make our
nation more secure.
"Non-resistance" may be holy, but it encourages tyranny and makes easy
the way of the wrongdoer. If every man gave his cloak to the thief who
stole his coat, there would be no inducement for the robber to lead an
honest life. Vice would be more profitable than virtue.
"Non-resistance" may be saintly, but it would make it impossible to help
the weak or protect the helpless from cruelty and outrage.
All law, all justice, rests on authority and force. A judge could not
inflict a penalty unless there were force to carry it out.
Creeds, after all, are tried in the fires of necessity. "They that take
the sword shall perish by the sword." Well, the Kaiser had grasped the
sword. By whose sword should he perish except by that of the defender?
Christ's teachings are characterised by sanity and strength. He speaks
of His angels as ready to fight for Him; He flogged the moneychangers
from the temple: He said that no greater love can be shown than by a
man's laying down his life for his friend; and the Allies fighting
bravely to protect the oppressed, were manifesting to the full this
great love. Germany's attack on a weaker nation, which she had signed to
protect, called for punishment from other nations who had also pledged
their honor.
Unhappy Belgium called to the civilised world to check the German
outrages on its territory and people.
My peace doctrines went out like straw before a flame. I was a
"peace-dove" winged by grim circumstance; and that is how I became a man
of war.
[Illustration: HOW HISTORY REPEATED ITSELF.
England to Belgium, in 1870: "Let us hope they (Germany) will not
trouble you, but if they do--"
(Tenniel, in "London Punch," at the time of the Franco-Prussian War.)]
CHAPTER II.
The First Three Months of War.
I was in England when the war cloud burst, having just completed a
course of aviation at the Bristol Flying Grounds; so I volunteered for
active service; and, after a month's military training, was appointed a
lieutenant in Number 4 Squadron of the R.F.C.
I remember how the first crash of war struck Europe like a smash in the
face. How armies were rapidly mobilised! How the British Fleet steamed
out into the unknown, and Force became the only guarantee of national
safety!
It is hard to write of these things now that many days have passed
between, for events followed each other with the swiftness of a mighty
avalanche.
How Germany thrilled the universe by throwing at Belgium the greatest
army the world had ever seen. An awful wave of 1,250,000 men crashed
upon the gate of Liege.
How the great Krupp siege guns slowly crawled up, stood out of range of
the Liege forts, and broke them at ease.
How through the battered gate a flood of Uhlans poured to make up for
that wasted fortnight, preceded by their Taube aeroplanes spying out the
movements of the Belgium army; the German artillery following, and
smashing a track through France!
How that fortnight gave France and England the chance to interpose a
wall of men and steel, which met the shock of battle at Mons, but was
pushed back almost to the gates of Paris.
It was at the battle of Mons that the squadron to which I was attached
went into active operation, reconnoitring the battle line on our left
flank. It was my first taste of battle, but I do not remember any
strange feelings.
I was in that awful shock of forces that stopped the southern progress
of the German juggernaut like a chock beneath a wheel, when on September
2 it recoiled back--back to the Marne--back to the Aisne--back almost to
the Belgian frontier. Then winter dropped upon it, turning the roads
into pools of mud, checking all speed movements necessary to active
operations, and the troops dug in like soldier crabs upon a river bank.
[Illustration: "The Aeroplane had been a ... curiosity."--Chapter III.
(The first Aeroplane to fly in Australia.)]
All surprise movements had to be made at night; the dawn finding our
aeroplanes out in the frosty air spying out any changes in positions of
the day before. A smoke-ball fired as we flew above a new trench gave
our artillery the range; then till night fell a rain of shells would
batter that new position. In the dark our troops would creep forward,
rush that trench, and dawn would find them dozing in their newly won
quarters. The war had become a battle of entrenchments.
CHAPTER III.
The Flying Men.
For ages man walked the earth.
To-day he is the only living creature that can travel in the air by
other than its own substance.
'Till the Great War the aeroplane was a scientific curiosity. The Battle
of the Nations blooded it; and its wonderful utility in speeding the end
of the war has proved its right to be recognised as a distinct factor in
human movement.
When the war crash came there were two aerial types; the lighter than
air type, the dirigible balloon; and the heavier than air machine, the
aeroplane. This is how the Powers stood in aerial furnishing when the
first shot was fired. Germany and Austria had 25 airships, including 11
Zeppelins, as well as 556 aeroplanes.
England, France, Russia and Belgium had 33 airships and 1019 aeroplanes.
The English dirigibles had not made long flights, and not being very
dependable had not received much attention from the military
authorities. A non-dependable factor in war is worse than useless. A
mistake may be made in tactics, but when ascertained may be retrieved
and, perhaps, turned to good account. Non-dependability is fatal, as
many a commander would not know how to act, and in war, he who hesitates
is lost.
The French had experimented a good deal with the dirigible, but mostly
of the non-rigid type, which was a type "without a backbone" and was as
uncertain, so that its general non-dependability turned French attention
to the aeroplane.
The Germans, however, pinned their faith on the balloon, and for long
made it a feature for observation purposes, so that when Zeppelin
brought out his rigid framework balloon, Germany fancied she saw in it
the command of the air.
The Zeppelin, however, had many disabilities over the aeroplane. It had
to have its own kennel. It was almost impossible to get it into its shed
if the wind was against it. The kennels had, therefore, to be either on
wheels or floating. Furthermore, not being able to replenish its gas, a
Zeppelin had always to return to its base for supplies. But the gas
balloon suited the smug character of the German. Unlike the aviator who
threw himself into the air on a bundle of steel rods and rubber, a
propeller and a petrol engine, the phlegmatic German took no risks with
a balloon. He found, however, that Zeppelins were expensive freaks. They
had a habit of catching fire in the air, because the tail created a
vacuum and sucked back some escaping gas into the engine where the
contact spark ignited it.
One recently alighted in a field and a country bumpkin came over with
the crowd to see the fun. He had a pipe in his mouth. He was told to go
away. He wouldn't for a while, but he soon left in a hurry. After the
explosion they found bits of him and sixty-seven other people!
The Germans pinned their faith to the Zeppelin because it could carry a
heavy load of explosives and would be an easy way of damaging an enemy;
and it was only a few months before the war that considerable enthusiasm
ruled Germany because a Zeppelin had made a record trip from the
southern to the northern fringe of Germany, or, as "Vorwarts" said, "as
far as from Germany to England and back again."
Here, then, was an easy way to fight. Just rise up out of danger and
drop bombs.
They tried it at Antwerp.
On 25th August, 1915, a Zeppelin flew over the sleeping city, guided by
flash lamps from German spies on roofs. It was a night of terror--a bomb
dropped to fall upon the royal palace, missed and injured two women; a
bomb aimed for the Antwerp Bank missed and killed a servant; but one
fell into a hospital and another into a crowd in the city square. Five
people were blown to atoms.
It must have been an awful night, for it is recorded that the city
watchman of Antwerp announced: "12 o'clock and all's hell."
On September 2nd (the anniversary of Sedan), the Zeppelin came again to
give its stab in the dark, but finding it was recognised, retreated. It
did not rise higher to get out of danger of the air guns and put up a
fight. The German in the air takes few risks. It is his temperament. Not
so with the Frenchman. He is by nature dashing and volatile. The
easy-going of the dirigible little appealed to him. The risk, the speed,
the adventure of the aeroplane touched his soul, which explained why
France had 2032 military aviators, whilst Germany had only 300 qualified
military pilots.
The German lacks the dash, nerve, vim and initiative essential to a
successful flier. He is moulded as a cog. He is part of a system--out of
that he must not move. It has wrecked his initiative, and the sneer of
the greatest German in history, Frederick the Great, has to-day grim
significance.
"See those two mules," he said satirically to one of his officers, who
lacked initiative, "they have been in fifteen campaigns and--they're
still mules."
The German training system has taken all the humanity out of the men.
They move like machines, either destroying or rolling on to destruction,
and they often act with the dumb sense of the machine to pain and
suffering.
Lloyd George has very truly put it: "God made man to his own image, but
the German recreated him in the form of a Diesel engine."
No one questioned the efficiency of the German machine. The Allies were
disputing its right to go on destroying.
[Illustration: "The New Arm."--Chapter IV.]
CHAPTER IV.
The New Arm.
"It strikes me that these fool commanders don't know what to do with us.
We aviators seem to be too new to come into all their stunts. Here we've
been flying over eight years, and we're still novel enough to be
repeatedly fired on by our own side. Why the beggars in our own battery,
when they see an aeroplane overhead in their excitement let fly. They
don't bother to notice that the plane of our Bleriot hasn't claw ends
like the enemy's Taube. Neither do they note we carry our own
distinguishing mark. We're the circus show. We're the 'comic relief'
sure."
He was about to spit his disgust on an unoffending fly, but quickly
changed his mind.
He was a Yank from the U.S.A. Military School at San Diego, and "hiked
over the pond as there was nothing doing."
In appearance he was tall and wiry with a thin face and hooked nose that
suggested the bird-man. His name on the roll was Walter Edmund Byrne,
but his bony appearance won him his nickname--Nap.
We knew nicknames would shock those who stand for the rigid rule of
military discipline, but aviators clear the usual wall of demarcation
between officers and subordinates. A nod supplants the "heels together
and touch your cap."
The Aviation Sections seemed to be communistic concerns, in the air rank
being only recognised by achievement. In fact, the new arm was too new
to be brought under the iron rule of military etiquette or into most
Operation Orders. I told Nap as much.
"Yes," he said, "I guess we're too new. Even when cannon first came into
war it was novel enough to fire as often from the wrong end and teach
things 'to the man behind the gun'; but I've a bit of dope here that
ought to be pasted into every book of your field service regulations,
and every officer ought to repeat it before breakfast three times a
week. It's the flyers' creed."
Fumbling amongst some newspaper scraps in his note book, he produced
this bit of verse.
The snake with poisoned fang defends
(And does it really very well).
The cuttle fish an inkcloud sends;
The tortoise has its fort of shell;
The tiger has its teeth and claws;
The rhino has its horns and hide;
The shark has rows of saw-set jaws;
Man--stands alone, the whole world wide
Unarmed and naked! But 'tis plain
For him to fight--God gave a brain!
Far back in this world's early mists
When man began to use his head;
He stopped from fighting with his fists
And gripped a wooden club instead.
But when the rival tribe was slain,
The first tribe then to stand alone
Had once again to work its brain
And made an axe--an axe of stone!
The stone-axe tribe would hold first place;
And ruled the rest where'er it went.
Because then--as to-day--the race
Was first that had best armament.
But human brain expanding more
(Its limits none can circumscribe);
The stone-axe crowd went down before
The more developed bronze-axe tribe.
Then shields came in to quickly show
Their party victors in the strife:
By warding off the vicious blow
And giving warriors longer life.
The tribe's wise men would urge at length,
No doubt as now, for tax on tax,
To keep the "Two tribe" fighting strength
With "super-dreadnought" shield and axe!
The bow and arrow came and won
For Death came winged from far away.
Then came the cannon and the gun;
And brought us where we are to-day.
And now we see the shield of yore
An arsenal of armour plate;
With crew a thousand men or more;
And guns a hundred tons in weight.
Beneath our seas dart submarines,
Around the world and back again.
But every marvel only means
Some greater triumph of the brain.
For while the thund'ring hammers ring;
And super-dreadnoughts swarm the sea;
There flits above, a birdlike thing,
That claims an aerial sovereignty!
A thing of canvas, stick and wheel
"The two-man fighting aeroplane."
It screams above those hulks of steel:
"Oh! human brain begin again."
[Illustration]
Nap was busy with bad language, a size brush and some fabric remnants
patching the plane, whilst I read his treasure by my pocket lamp. Then
he came over.
"Mind you," he said, "I don't greatly blame folks here. It can't be
worse than in America--America, where the first machine got up and made
good--where the man the world had waited for for ages, Wilbur Wright
(though he's been dead some years), hasn't even got a tablet up to say:
'Good on you old man, God rest your soul.'"
We were standing by our machines, waiting for the dawn light to call us
aloft for our daily reconnaissance when Nap let his tongue loose.
"Five years ago, when the Wright Brothers first flew, Europe went dotty
and began to offer big prizes for stunts in the air. Wright took his old
'bus across the pond and won everything. Next year our Glen Curtis went
over and brought back all the scalps. Then America got tired. We live in
a hurry there. We're the spoilt kids of the earth, always wanting a new
toy. When we tired of straight flying, we went in for circus stunts;
such as spiral turning, volplaning, upside-down flying and looping the
loop. We interested the crowd for a while, as there was a chance of some
of us smashing up. But when flying got safe and sane and the aeroplane
almost foolproof, the public got cold feet, and the only men flying when
I left, were young McCormick, the Harvester chap of Chicago,
occasionally hiking across Lake Michigan in his 'amphoplane,' and
Beechy, dodging death in 'aeroplane versus automobile' races.
"Curtis has a factory that had been shooing the bailiff till Wanamaker
came along and financed that Atlantic aeroplane that was too heavy to
carry its weight; and Lieutenant Porte, who was to take it across, was
in a fix till this war came along and called him over. Orville Wright is
trying to make a do of his factory. It is significant that Captain
Mitchell, of the U.S. Signal Corps, the other day asked the U.S.
Government 'to help those fellows out or they'll have to quit the
business.' So you see Jefson, that's why I get the huff when I see the
same sort of thing over here, especially in times like these 'that try
men's souls.'"
Then the dawn light streaked the eastern sky rim. We pulled the plane
from under the tree screen. The propeller hummed, dragged us across a
dozen yards and up into the cold air of the early New Year morn.
[Illustration: "When flying got safe and sane."--Chapter IV.]
CHAPTER V.
The Tired Feeling.
Our quarters were outside Epernay, about fifteen miles south of Rheims,
with the Marne between us and the enemy.
To the north the horizon was fringed with the ridge-backed plateau cut
by the Aisne. The enemy had been holding that fringe since October,
having pushed back our almost daily attempts to get on to it. We got a
particularly bad smack early in 1915, after crossing at Soissons.
To the north east was the ridge covered by the Argonne Forest; a sealed
area to the man in the air.
We had been here three months, and our daily flight over the same area
robbed the view of any scenic interest.
Perhaps, in the clear air of the winter morning, we would see far off
silhouetted against the pale green of the brightening eastern sky, the
dove-like aeroplanes of the enemy moving over the distant forest like
bees above a bush.
Sometimes an "affair of aerial patrols" would result in the exchange of
long shots, but seldom with any effect, for the reason that our enemy
took few risks in the air and, furthermore, we could not pursue, as our
orders were for speedy reconnaissance and early report. This was no easy
matter over a country covered with the snowy quilt of winter, when even
trees were unrecognisable, except at an angle that would show the trunks
beneath: an angle that would call for low flying, bringing us within the
6000 feet range of the enemy's "air-squirts."
By day we "trimmed our ship," examined every screw and bolt and
inspected our bombs and fuses. These "cough drops" were radish-shaped
shells, each weighing thirty-one pounds; and were fired from an
apparatus which could be worked by the pilot and which carried a
regulator showing height and speed of the machine. Fair accuracy could
thus be achieved.
One evening, the commander of the battery to which we were attached came
over to our quarters, the skillion of a wrecked farm house.
He brought word that another Zeppelin had been rammed by one of our
machines. Both machines and their occupants had been smashed.
He spoke in French, and we understood, which explained why we were
stationed so far east on the fighting line.
"Magnificent it must have been," he said, "we groundlarks always have a
fighting chance, but there is no chance for you bird-men. Ah! who can
now say the romance has gone out of war with the improvement in range of
weapons. Time was not long since when the general headed his men with a
waving sword. As your Shakespeare said it--'Once more into the breach,
dear friends.' And my comrades are fighting through this campaign,
banging at an enemy they may never see. But the aeroplane has brought
back the romance again. Ah! it is fine."
When he strolled out Nap ventured his opinion.
"Romance in war! There's not a scrap of it. The fool-flyer who rams a
Zepp. deserves what he gets. It's wasteful for a flyer to so risk his
speedy plane, when he has a better fighting chance of rising and
dropping 'cough-drops' on the slow old 'bus beneath him; as Pegoud told
us the other day: 'The Zeppelins! Ah, they are slow as geese, but our
aeroplanes, they are swift as swallows.'
"The trouble is there's not enough opportunity here to do things. This
daily 'good-morning fly' and cleaning engines the rest of the day is
getting on my nerves, we've been marking time here for months. I want
something to happen along 'right soon.'"
And something did happen along next morning.
CHAPTER VI.
Civilised Warfare.
Nap was in a bad humor.
The breeze from the north-east had kept us up for three days. It came to
us over fields of long-unburied dead. It explained our morbid craving
for tobacco--and Nap, during the night, had lost a cherished half-cigar!
We felt the cold that morning, as we wheeled the 'plane into the open
space. The engine was also out of sorts, coughing like an asthmatic
victim.
The first sun ray shot into the sky and called us aloft. So with engine
spluttering the 'plane climbed over the Marne-Vesle Ridge and above the
cloud of smoke that hid Rheims 5000 feet below us.
Looking far to the north-west, a great fog cloud lay over the wet
country of the Yser. About twenty-five miles off, near Laon, we spotted
one of the enemy's observation balloons being inflated.
"Shall we drop a 'cough-drop'?" Nap shouted to me through the speaking
tube.
"No chance," I shouted back, "there's something coming at us."
A swift Taube was racing up to challenge. It was rising to get the
"drop" on us. We carried an aerial gun, but hesitated to fire, as we
wanted all our speed to get above our rival. Our engine lost its bad
temper for a change. Round and round we began to circle like game cocks
spoiling for a fight; rising, forgetting, in the excitement, the cold of
the upper air--higher and higher, till Nap shouted, "We'll get her
beneath us in the next round and then for a 'cough-drop' or the gun."
But the Taube had seen our advantage. It banked up on a sharp turn,
dropped like a stone fully a thousand feet, making a magnificent
volplane, and scurried away like a frightened vulture, dropping and
dropping in a series of gigantic swoops.
"We won't chase," said Nap, "she wants to bring us into range of their
'air-squirts,' and 'Archibalds' are not pleasant on an empty stomach."
[Illustration: "ONE OF THE ENEMY'S 'AIR-SQUIRTS.'"
A German Aerial Gun.]
We turned home and then the engine sulked again. I could see Nap was in
trouble. It was was just as well that the roar of the engine and the hum
of the propeller compelled the use of speaking-tube communication, for
when a man uses bad language he isn't cool enough to pour his sentiments
through a pipe. But we were coming down, gliding down on a long angle,
with the engine giving a spasmodic kick. Down, down towards a light fog
that the breeze had brought down from the north-west; down, down till we
could see below us trench lines that were not our own! Then the engine
stopped!
Nap looked out, turned to me and pulled a face. Putting his mouth to the
tube he shouted "Lean over and wave your hand like...."
Several grey-coated soldiers were now running over to a bare patch to
which we seemed to be sliding. I waved frantically--the soldiers
hesitated to fire and waved back again! Down, down, with Nap working
like a fiend at the engine! Down, down to within a few hundred feet of
the ground, when something happened. The engine, after a splutter, set
off at its usual rattle, the propeller caught up its momentum and
descent was checked.
Nap leaned over and joined in the waving demonstration and, knowing that
an attempt to rise abruptly would give away the fact that we were trying
to escape, he kept at a low level, flying over waving Germans, past a
long line of German troops breakfasting behind the trenches; then back
again to try and convince them that we were of their own, then circling
around till we reached a safe height above the thickening fog, our
aching arms stopped waving. We headed for home, and repaid the kindness
of our German friends by having their position shelled for the rest of
the day.
"That was a tight fix," Nap ventured, as I gave him a tribute from the
Squadron Commander--one of the most coveted of prizes of the campaign--a
cigar!
"Yes, that waving stunt was a bit of spice," he said.
"But what beats me," I replied, "is why they didn't fire on us, as we
carried our distinguishing mark."
"That's easy," said Nap, sucking his cigar, "they've got some of their
own 'planes carrying our mark and guessed we were one of them. But as
the song says: 'We're all here, so we're alright.' Some of these days
I'm going to invent an apparatus that can change signs--press a button
and the Germans' black cross will cover our mark, and so on--and then
we'll fly where we like."
"It's unfair to fly an enemy's flag, you know, Nap," I ventured.
"How?" he queried. "That's where the Allies, particularly you
hypersensitive British, make the greatest mistake. Everything in war is
fair. Get the war over, say I, even if it comes to smashing up the
enemy's hospitals. The wounded, nowadays, are getting well too quickly.
There's a fellow in that battery yonder who has been in the hospital
twice already, and, if this war lasts out Kitchener's tip of three
years, practically the whole of the armies will have gone up for
alterations and repairs, and be as lively as ever on the firing line.
The Geneva Treaty, that prohibits firing on the Red Cross in time of
war, is like any other 'scrap of paper.' I'd wipe out the enemy's
hospitals and poison his food supplies. It's an uncivilised idea, I
guess, but so is war. What's the difference between tearing out a
fellow's 'innards' with a bayonet, and killing him by the gentler way of
poisoning his liquor? What's the difference between poisoning the
enemy's drinking water and poisoning the enemy's air with the
new-fangled French explosive--Turpinite? It's all hot air talking of the
enemy's barbarism--scratch the veneer off any of us and we're back into
the stone age. If I had a free leg or free wing, I'd drop arsenic in
every reservoir in Germany. Why, we're even prevented dropping 'coughs'
on those long strings of trains we see every day, crawling far beyond
the enemy's line carrying supplies from their bases to the firing line,
feeding 'em up, feeding 'em up all the time."
We chafed at this restriction of our possibilities.
It gave Nap a fine opportunity for nasty remarks.
"Here we've got the most wonderful arm of the war, and the men over us
don't know how to appreciate it. It's the same old prejudices, as my old
Colonel, Sam Reber, used to say, 'every new thing has to fight its way.'
It's the same with wireless. Here they're only using it for tiddly
widdly messages, like school kids practising with pickle bottles, when
they could use it to guide a balloon loaded with explosives and fitted
up with a wireless receiver and a charged cell, so that it could be
exploded by a wave when it got over a position or a city. I'd like to
see this fight a war of cute stunts, a battle of brains against brains,
but I suppose we'll have to stick here till our fabrics rot whilst those
fellows out yonder are burrowing into the earth like moles, coming out
at night, like cave-men, and battling with a club."
CHAPTER VII.
What Australia was Doing.
That day I had a letter from Australia. Here it is:--
"Dear Jefson,--Your cheery letter from the front was full of the powder
and shot of action and riotous optimism. I'm afraid mine will be a
contrast.
"Our Australia isn't faring well. Our vigorous assertion of the strength
of our young nationhood has been manifested only in a military and naval
sense--commercially, we are nearly down and out.
"We are outrageously pessimistic. There was an excuse at the beginning
of the war, when we dropped behind a rock, stunned at the very thought
of an Armageddon; then we clapped our hands on our pockets, tightened up
our purse strings, and, with white faces, waited for the worst
and--we're still waiting. There was an excuse for us to be absolutely
flabbergasted when the Kaiser's crowd rushed on to Paris. There may have
been reason then for more than ordinary caution, but since the 'great
check,' there has been no valid reason for people to still sit tight and
wait. People with money to invest are holding up most of the former
avenues of activity. 'Till the war is over' is the only excuse they can
mumble.
"Take building investments in Sydney alone. A friend showed me a list of
ninety-one plans held up, totalling over L4,000,000; held up 'till the
war is over,' held up till the accumulated business will rush like an
avalanche, running prices that are now low to such a high figure that
the fools who waited will find they will have lost thousands. Building
prices are now fifteen per cent. cheaper than before the war and
twenty-five per cent. cheaper than they will be when the war has broken.
Twenty-five per cent. means a distinct loss of L1,000,000 in one avenue
of investment alone, not counting the tying up of the many hundreds
other lines depending upon building construction--and when you consider,
Jefson, that such inactivity is almost everywhere, you can guess we're
in for a bad time if people don't buck up. To make matters worse, some
firms are stopping advertising, forgetting that advertising is the
life-blood of their business, and by stopping advertising they're
stopping circulation of money. The firm that thinks it can save money by
stopping advertising is in the same street as the man who thinks he can
save time by stopping the clock.
"These are no ordinary firms, but what the local Labor League is so fond
of describing as 'capitalistic institutions.' They hold many thousands
in reserve and their annual dividends have been at least 10 per cent.
for years and years and years. Moreover their businesses have not
materially suffered. In some cases, indeed, there has been improvement.
But 'profits' evidently supersede humanity; the interests of gold are
greater than the welfare of human flesh and blood and even the call of
country. It seems hard, Jefson, that you should be risking your life and
other brave fellows shedding their blood, for such men who have neither
commercial instinct nor human feeling. I fully expected some of those
firms to start their jobs as an incentive to others. We only want
someone to start and do something big to galvanise the smaller investors
into action. It's not capital they lack, but confidence.
"I often wonder why the men who have had the acumen to amass money have
not the common sense to realise that unemployed capital is a
rapidly-accruing debt. Sovereigns by themselves are not wealth. It is
their purchasing capacity and their equivalent in the requirements of
life that represent fortunes. Investment, not idle capital, is wealth.
"Australia is being held back a great deal by the operation of State
Enterprise. It has always been extravagant, inefficient and slow; but
the effects are being more keenly felt at this time. At Cockatoo Island,
the Federal Shipbuilding Yard, a cruiser was built that could not be
launched. (I don't want you to mention this because we feel mighty
humiliated.) Someone blundered. Who that someone was I do not suppose we
shall ever know. That is the worst of being an employer of politicians.
They run your business when they like, how they like, and with whom they
like. You only come in on the pay day. However, the difficulty is being
got over by the construction of a coffer-dam--at a cost of L30,000. We
have been confidently assured by the men running our business that
everything will be all right in the long run. Perhaps that assurance is
intended as a guarantee that we shall get a long run for our money.
Anyhow, at time of writing the coffer-dam is being constructed.
"In N.S.W. the position of the Public Works Department must be much the
same as the Sultan of Turkey's--no money, no friends. And no wonder! It
drained the State of all spare cash for the edification of its day-labor
joss, and is about to pawn the State to foreign money lenders for more.
Being now on its absolute uppers, the Public Works Department is handing
over work to a private syndicate to be carried out on a percentage
basis. The longer the work takes and the more it costs, the better for
the private company. Here again the public pays.
"State Enterprise has wrecked the people's self-reliance and initiative.
As soon as a man gets out of work now his first aim is to demand that
the State make him a billet. This, of course, the State cannot do, and
the rejected job-seekers, who are growing in numbers daily, are like a
lot of hornets round the ears of Ministers.
"There is one way out of the difficulty, and that is, the abandonment of
the whole system of State Socialism and the re-establishment of private
enterprise. If that policy were to be endorsed to-morrow, plenty of
capital would be found for many schemes that are held up at present, and
Ministers would be relieved of all worry and responsibilities. But
they're not game, they're just hanging on--hanging on, and, I tell you,
something is going to snap somewhere, sometime.
"From a military point of view there is no reason to worry. We have a
big army in Egypt on the road to back you up, with more to follow. I
must not say much on that matter. The censor will chop it out, but we're
coming to the point that every man who doesn't go to the front must
learn how to shoot straight. Let's hope he'll also learn that he can do
a good deal to help fellows like yourself that are keeping the flag
flying abroad, by keeping up confidence and the flag flying at home."
I read the letter to Nap.
"There are two points in that letter," he said. "The funk at home and
the readiness to enlist. We've also got that funk-bee, sure. Why, when I
left U.S.A. a ten million dollar war tax was launched, unemployed were
swarming into the cities, factories were closing down because of the
falling-off of exports, and the situation was getting so desperate that
the Wilson-Bryan crowd were talking of forcing the British blockade of
Germany with ships of contraband stuff. But there's no readiness to
enlist, Jefson, not on your life. I'm sorry to say the physically worst
are offering themselves for their country's service, and only ten per
cent. of those offering are accepted; and though they advertise 'bowling
alleys,' 'free trips round the world,' and other stunts as inducements,
the response is so flat that when I passed through Chicago last August
to come here, the recruiting stations had a notice up 'colored men
wanted for infantry!' You know there's a sure prejudice against the
nigger, we grudge giving him a vote, but when it comes to fighting for
the country, well, he's as welcome as the 'flowers that bloom in the
spring, tra-la.' I guess you Australians lick us right there."
[Illustration: "Information had been received of a new type of
Zeppelin."--Chapter VIII.]
CHAPTER VIII.
A Prisoner in Cologne.
A military operation order is crystallised commonsense. It is a
wonderfully concise bunch of phraseology.
Our squadron commander read the latest by lamplight over a spread map of
the theatre of war.
The general situation of the campaign explained that a Zeppelin raid on
the east coast of England had been made on the 19th of January, thirteen
days before.
Information had been received that a new type of Zeppelin had been
constructed, a "mother" type, capable of carrying a number of
aeroplanes.
The intention of the operation order was to destroy all known Zeppelin
sheds; each air squadron supplying special officers for the purpose.
I well remember the particulars of that order. They printed their
details upon my memory because I had been selected to destroy the sheds
at Saarbruck. I was to leave three hours before the following dawn.
I remember Nap's disappointment that I was to go alone. He helped my
machine out without a word. He may have had a premonition that I was not
to return as I watched him silently fixing the compass and map-roller,
testing the spring catch and guide of the bomb-dropper and packing into
it its heavy load of "cough-drops." Then he stood like a dumb figure
waiting for my starting signal.
"Buck up, Nap," I ventured, climbing into the seat. "One would think
this was a funeral. I must get a hustle on as I've got to do 120 miles
before I can get to business, so if everything's right, I'll swoop up."
Nap looked up.
"Fly high, and good luck," was all he said as he gripped my hand. Then I
pressed the starter, the propeller hummed and pulled me into the
star-specked sky.
I steered easterly, leaving on my left the red fire-glow of Rheims and
passing over the sleepy lights of Valny. Within an hour I was over the
great black stretch of the Argonne Forest, and crossing the Meuse, a
long line of fog with Verdun 7000 feet below. The engine was working
well, throwing back the miles at about 60 per hour. A glow of lights to
the right showed Metz next to a streak of grey, the Moselle River; and
as the dawn-light came into the sky, the Saar River came under me,
covered by a fog with a fringe that flapped over its right bank and
covered Saarbruck.
According to the sketch-map the Zeppelin sheds were near the railway
station. So I flew low into the mist to get their correct position. The
noise of my engine brought a shot from an aerial gun, but the fog saved
me. A bunch of lights brought the station into view with the
unmistakable long hangar of the Zeppelin adjacent to it.
I turned to get the sheds beneath me, and three foot-treads sent as many
bombs chasing each other earthwards.
The first hit the ground near the shed, exploding without doing any
damage. The second crashed through the roof of the hangar, its explosion
being almost coincident with a fearful crash; the resulting air-rush
almost overturning my 'plane. The third bomb fell into the back end of
the shed, but I guessed it was not required.
My job was done, so I rose high above the fog line to get a straight run
for home. Three Taubes were patrolling high, evidently on the look out.
I saw they would have the drop on me, so I sank back into the fog and
under its cover swooped across the river for home. I was over the
enemy's country where I guessed I was being searched for, so taking
advantage of the fog I maintained a 1000 feet level and made a bee-line
for Epernay.
[Illustration: THE ZEPPELIN SHED, AT SAARBRUCK.
Chapter VIII.]
My job was done, and I remember I was particularly elated.
I got a surprise near the Argonne Forest, striking a breeze that
suddenly came up from the south, lifting the fog curtain and showing me
dangerously close to the earth.
I swiftly jerked the elevator for a swoop up as a rifle cracked. I was
spotted!
A volley of shots followed and--I was winged.
I remember, like a hideous dream, a long, evil-smelling shed in which I
lay, a stiffly stretched and bandaged figure on a straw-strewn floor.
I was afterwards told it was Mezieres Railway Station, and that I was
one of many hundred wounded being taken from the field hospitals to the
base.
I need not detail my experiences for the next six months. I was taken
from the hospital at Aix-la-Chapelle to Cologne to be attached to a gang
of prisoners for street cleaning.
I remember our daily march across the Great Rhine Bridge with its
wonderful arches at its entrance, and the great bronze horses on its
flanks. I had occasion to remember that bridge, for there, some time
later, the sunshine was to come into my life.
For six months I had not heard much of the war. My hospital friends had
been wounded about the same time as I. My street-gang mates, a Belgian
and a Frenchman, knew little except that up till June the Ostend-Nancy
fighting line was still held by both armies. The lack of news did not
worry me during my days of pain, but as the strength came back to me it
brought a craving for news of the Great Game. Where were the Allies?
What of the North Sea Fleet? How was Australia taking it? What was Nap
doing? were questions that chased each other through my mind. Five
Taubes had flown over us the day before, going south, but--what was
doing?
It was on the Cologne Bridge a week later that a rather pretty girl,
with an unmistakable English face, stopped to converse with one of my
guard. At the same time she pointed to me: at which the guard looked
round, frowned and spat with contempt.
"Are you English?" she queried.
"Yes," I replied, "I'm from Australia."
I had touched a sympathetic chord and she "sparked" up.
"Australia! Do you know Sydney?" she asked.
"I'm from Manly," was all I replied.
Then she did what I thought was a foolish thing--she came over and
nearly shook my arm off!
The officer of the guard resented it, but she jabbered at him and
explained to me that Australian prisoners were to have special
treatment, then glancing at my number she stepped out across the bridge.
I found she was correct. When my gang returned to the barracks my number
was called and I was questioned by the officer in charge. I was informed
that Germany had no quarrel with Australia, hence I was only to be a
prisoner on parole, to report myself twice a day and come and go as I
pleased.
That is how I came to win great facts regarding Germany and her ideals.
That is how I found out how it was that with Austria, Germany for nine
months could hold at bay the mighty armies of the world's three greatest
Empires, British, French and Russian, as well as the fighting cocks of
Belgium; and at the same time endeavor to knock into some sort of
fighting shape the crooked army of the Turks; how three nations of
109,000,000 people could defy for nine months the six greatest nations
in the world with a joint population of 622,200,000!
The facts are of striking import to-day and should be understood by
every man who is fighting for the Allies on and in the land, sea and
air.
[Illustration: "On the bridge across the Rhine, at Cologne."--Chapter
VIII.]
CHAPTER IX.
Some Surprises in Cologne.
My unexpected freedom in Cologne was but one of many surprise.
There was the surprise of meeting an Australian friend in such
unexpected quarters. I ascertained her name was Miss Goche. Her father
was a well-known merchant of Melbourne, but was now living in Sydney. He
had sent his daughter to the Leipsic Conservatorium to receive the
technical polish every aspiring Australian musician seems to consider
the "hall mark of excellence."
But the war closed the Conservatorium as it did most other concerns, by
drawing out the younger professors to the firing line and the older men
to the Landstrum, a body of spectacled elderly men in uniform, who felt
the spirit wake in their feeble blood and prided themselves as
"bloodthirsty dogs," as they watched railway lines, reservoirs, power
stations, and did other unexciting small jobs.
Miss Goche was staying with her aunt and grandfather in Cologne. At
their home I was made welcome.
Little restriction was placed on my movements, than the twice daily
reporting at the Barracks.
I wondered at this freedom.
"It is easily explained," said old Goche, who could speak English. "The
Fatherland knows no enmity with Australia. We have sympathy for the
Indians, Canadians and other races of your Empire, who have been whipped
into this war against their own free will."
"But," I interrupted, "there has been no whipping."
"Tut, tut," he continued. "We of the Fatherland know. Have we not proof?
Our "Berliner Tageblatt" tells us so. We have no quarrel with the
colonial people. Our hate is for England alone; and when this war is
over and we have England at our feet, we shall be welcomed by Australia
and the colonies, and we shall let them share with us the freedom and
the light and the wisdom of our great Destiny."
There was no convincing the old man to the contrary, and his
granddaughter informed me that the same opinion was universal in
Germany.
"The best proof that it is so is the freedom you enjoy," she said.
"And yet there are times," she continued, "that I feel there is a subtle
reason for this apparent kindliness for the colonies of the British
Empire. You know Germany cannot successfully develop her own colonies.
She has not that spirit of initiative that the Britisher has in
attacking the various vicissitudes that every pioneer meets with in the
development of a new land. That is why she let her colonies be snapped
up by Australia without a pang; that is why as you say, she let her
people hand over Rabaul and New Guinea to your Colonel Holmes without a
battle. She fancies that when she wins this war as she has convinced
herself she will, it will be a simple matter to step into the occupation
of ready made colonies of such wonderful wealth and development."
The chief surprise of my freedom, however, was my changed opinion
regarding the way Germany was taking the war.
I, like the average Britisher, had believed that in checking the German
rush on Paris and driving it to the Aisne, we had whipped Germany to a
standstill.
We had pictured her checked on the east with her Austrian ally on the
verge of pleading for peace; her fleet cowering in the Kiel Canal like a
frightened hen beneath a barn.
I, like every other Britisher, had fancied that Germany was undergoing
an awful process of slow death; that she was faced with economic ruin;
that her trade and manufacture had been smashed, causing untold
ruination and forcing famine into every home; that the German populace
were being crushed under the terrors of defeat, were cursing "the
Kaiser and his tyrannical militarism," and waiting for the inevitable
uprising with revolution and general social smash up.
And I knew such was the belief of the Allies and the world generally.
Never was a more mistaken notion spread!
Germany, notwithstanding what blunders and miscalculations she was
accused of making, believed she would win.
This belief obsessed her.
Every movement, whether it achieves its direct object or not was made to
nail that belief more secure.
A great philosopher wrote many years ago the following maxims:--
"To the persevering--everything is possible."
"They will conquer who believe they can."
Germany believed she would conquer, and for forty years she had been
building up that belief.
[Illustration: "German aeroplanes were built from English types."
Chapter X.]
CHAPTER X.
"Made in Germany."
Grandpa Goche told the story of Germany's development with mingled
pride, yet with a tinge of regret.
We sat before his wide fireplace where a great fire crackled.
Puffing at his long pipe Grandpa Goche peered into the fire for a space
before answering my query as to Germany's destiny.
"The destiny of the Deutschland?" he finally exclaimed. "Ah! It will be
great and wonderful. But where it will end--who knows! Will it be like
the Tower of Babel, great in conception, great in execution, but
overreaching in its greatness? Will our destiny be like the snowball,
accumulating as it rolls till it becomes immovable in its immensity?
Then--stagnation! And yet the start of that snowball was but 50 years
ago.
"I remember as a boy when Bismarck was Prime Minister of Prussia, and he
forced through the Reichstag his great army re-organisation scheme. In
'64 he attacked Denmark and took Schleswig-Holstein. That is how we got
Kiel. Two years after he crushed the Austrians in six weeks, and took
Hanover, Hesse, and Nassau; and four years after that he smashed the
French and took Alsace-Lorraine.
"Flushed with victory, proud Deutschland, with Denmark, Austria and
France humbled in the dust, wiped her sword and peered at the Dawn. But
she did not sheath that sword. No! In the ecstasy of triumph she was
trying to formulate a policy of carving a destiny great and glorious.
She looked first to peaceful development by legislation; and then, in
that passing period of uncertainty, Bismarck threw out his famous
declaration that the destiny of Deutschland was to be won, not by votes
and speeches, but by Blood and Iron.
"It was what you call a 'happy hit.'
"It appealed to the animal strength of the German race. Bismarck knew
that beneath the surface most of the men of Germany were of a wild
nature; he knew that in less than a century they rose from the
degradation of conquered barbarians to the heights of victors of three
nations, and the 'blood and iron' policy ran through Germany as a new
inspiration.
"Bismarck floated the great new Ship of State, and stood at the wheel
peering keenly into the troublous waters of the future. There was one
great rock of which he wished to steer clear, so on the Ship of Destiny
he placed a maxim. It was: 'War not with England.'
"There were other simple rules of navigation that irritated a new young
officer on the bridge, who felt that the Bismarckian policy, though
perhaps sure, was not speedy enough for his vaulting ambition.
"I remember well this young Kaiser, a man of wonderful vitality, who
revelled in the strength of developing manhood, and who early began to
assert himself. Those who tried to curb his youthful impetuosity went
down before him till there was but one great personality left who could
talk to him as a father would to his wayward son. It was Bismarck, he
who dragged Prussia from the depths and gave her the ideal for a world
power. The cool calculating wiseacre said, 'Steady, lad,' so--he had to
go.
"Then the Kaiser took the wheel.
"He found Germany a comparatively small country, with a great and
prolific population of sixty-six millions. He found the German woman not
the mild and simple 'hausfrau' of folk lore, but a virile woman with a
creed that the production of children was her first duty, not only to
her husband and herself, but to her country. He knew that in Germany
illegitimacy was no disgrace, and he saw Germany's population increase
ten millions in the course of ten years.
"He looked at his restricted boundaries and saw his people being bottled
up. That's why he gave the declaration that 'Germany's destiny is upon
the water'.
"We needed colonies, but all the colonies worth having were taken
by--whom? Your England!
"We were hungry for trade and influence in distant waters, but your
England held the gateways to the world's trade channels.
"The road to Asia and Australia was lined with England's forts, and
Gibraltar, Malta, Port Said and Aden watched the way like frowning
sentinels.
"It was then that we prepared for 'The Day.'
"Our Kaiser gave the call 'Deutschland Uber Alles' (Germany over all).
It was a new creed, and it soon gained the strength of a religion.
"I know you English ridicule the idea of the Kaiser and his Divine
Right--but do not forget an English King claimed the same thing."
[Illustration: "DROPPING THE PILOT."
Tenniel's Cartoon in "Punch," showing the reckless irresponsibility of
the Kaiser began early.]
"Yes," I interrupted, "and we chopped off his head."
He went on, ignoring my interruption--
"You English speak of God as the God of Hosts and the God of Battles,
but you only mouth it. We Germans believe in it, and we work for it. It
permeates our life like a divine call. It makes every man feel he is a
part of a great whole, a working unit in an immense machine, whether it
be in the field of battle or in the field of industry. We feel we are
doing a divine duty.
"And this divine spirit is in our work.
"We associate all our tasks with a sense of service to our fellow
citizens. We make trade and civic education compulsory to all boys from
14 to 18 years of age and to all girls from 11 to 16 years of age. Your
England has only 26 per cent. of children at school between those ages.
"We train our children and people to discharge specialised functions. We
associate practice with theory. We amalgamate science with manufacture.
"Your England at one time was the chief glass manufacturing country, but
thirty years ago a professor of mathematics at Jena joined a glass
maker, and to-day we lead in the world's glass manufacture.
"In 1910, your England exported one and a half million pounds worth of
glass, and Germany exported five million pounds worth.
"In 1880, your England led the world in the output of pig iron,
producing nearly eight million tons to four million tons produced by the
United States.
"In 1910, the United States produced twenty-seven million tons, Germany
fifteen million tons, and Great Britain ten million tons.
"In 1856 an Englishman named Perkins first produced a coal tar dye.
"In 1910, Germany exported nine and a half million pounds worth, while
Great Britain exported only L336,000 worth.
"So you see Germany has beaten England in peace as you will see we shall
beat her in war."
Then he spat into the fire, put his pipe away, and as he was going out
to bed flung this final shot:
"And there again we differ from you English. That is why we go into this
divine struggle as a grim and serious business. One great united army
with a hymn to God, and one great battle cry, 'Deutschland Uber Alles.'
You English take it as what you call 'a jolly sport,' with your battle
cry, 'Are we down-hearted?' and your battle hymn, 'It's a long long way
to Tipperary,' ah-ha-ho"--and he laughed his way up to his bedroom.
I sat looking into the dying flames, dwelling upon all his jibes.
I thought how each German felt he was a cog in the immense national
machine, and had his work systematised. I could then understand how that
killed initiative in the individual, and why Germany had not made any
great discoveries in science or manufacture, but had simply stolen ideas
of other countries and adapted them to her own ends.
Grandpa Goche had spoken of coal tar dye, then I recalled how Germany
had also taken Marconi's wireless invention and Germanised it; how it
had taken the French and the English ideas in airship and aeroplane
construction and worked upon them; how even the English town planning
movement was imitated. In the latter case I remembered reading that the
"Unter den linden" had been widened by the process of pushing the
dwellings back until they each housed 60 families. Germany, on this
occasion, had grabbed the idea but missed the spirit, in the absence of
which town planning is merely a name.
Even the manufactures of Germany had been built upon those of other
countries. There was a case I recalled, that of the Australian cordial
manufacturer, who desired to introduce his stuff into Germany. He was
met with a stiff tariff, but informed that if he established a factory
there there would be no need to import it. Why, now I came to remember
it, even the original "Rush-on-Paris" plan was stolen. Hilaire Belloc,
the Anglicised Frenchman, had written of it in the "London" Magazine, of
May, 1912. When that plan failed what had Germany done? Why, dug itself
in on the Aisne!
The idea of the German submarine raids was not original, as it formed
the base of a story by Sir Conan Doyle that appeared in the English
"Strand Magazine" and in the American "Colliers' Weekly" many months
before!
Germany, in fact, built its fame on assiduous imitation rather than
originality. But at what cost? Its people had degenerated in the process
from thinking humans to dumb, driven cattle, going, going, for ever
going, but non-comprehending the why or the wherefore of it all, beyond
the arrogant assumption of "welt-politik." Every refining trait was
subordinated to the exigencies of the gospel of force. Not only the
plebeian mass, but the exclusive aristocracy, revelled in the brutish
impulse that associated all appeals to reason with effeminacy and
invested the sword-slash on the student's cheek with the honor
ordinarily claimed by the diploma.
This gospel of exalting animal strength developed a living passion for
tyranny and grossness. We have seen it evidenced in the orgies that have
reddened Belgium and France.
And I had given my parole to a nation without a soul--a nation that
expected honor but knew not what it meant.
I crept to bed disturbed in mind, but resolved next day to take certain
action.
[Illustration: "I remembered our march across the great Rhine Bridge,
with its wonderful arches and great bronze horses."--Chapter VIII.]