A Duelist From Marburg
A squad of soldiers stretched out on a bank beckoned me to join
them; I did so and at once they begged for news. They were not of
an order of super-intelligence, and informed me that it was the
French they were to fight at Liege. Unaware that England had
entered the lists against Germany, "Belgium" was only a word to
them. I took it upon myself to clear up their minds on these points.
An officer overheard and plainly showed his disapproval of such
missionary activity, yet he could not conceal his own curiosity. I
sought to appease him by volunteering some information.
"Japan," I blandly announced, "is about to join the foes of
Germany." As the truth, that was unassailable; but as diplomacy it
was a wretched fluke.
"You're a fool!" he exploded. "What are you talking about? Japan
is one of our best friends, almost as good as America. Those two
nations will fight for us--not against us. You're verruckt."
That was a severe stricture but in the circumstances I thought best
to overlook the reflection upon my mentality. One of the soldiers
passed some witticism, evidently at my expense; taking advantage
of the outburst of laughter, I made off down the road. They did not
offer to detain me. The officer probably reasoned that my being
there was guarantee enough of my right to be there, taking it for
granted that the regular sentries on the road had passed upon my
credentials. However, I made a very strong resolution hereafter to
be less zealous in my proclamation of the truth, to hold my tongue
and keep walking.
In the midst of my reflections I was startled by a whistle, and,
looking back, saw in the distance a puff of steam on what I
supposed was the wholly abandoned railway, but there, sure
enough, was a train rattling along at a good rate. I could make out
soldiers with guns sitting upon the tender, and presumed that they
were with these instruments directing the operations of some
Belgian engineer and fireman. In a moment more I saw I was
mistaken, for at the throttle was a uniformed soldier, and another
comrade in his gray-green costume was shoveling coal into the
furnace. One of the guards, seeing me plodding on, smilingly
beckoned to me to jump aboard. When I took the cue and made a
move in that direction he winked his eye and significantly tapped
upon the barrel of his gun. The train was loaded with iron rails and
timbers, and I speculated as to their use, but farther down the line I
saw hundreds of men unloading these, making a great noise as
they flung them down the river bank to the water's edge. They
were destined for a big pontoon bridge which these men were, with
thousands of soldiers, throwing across the stream. Ceaselessly
the din and clangor of hammerings rang out over the river. My way
now wound through what was, to all purposes, one German camp,
strung for miles along the Meuse. The soldiers were busy with
domestic duties. Everywhere there was the cheer and rhythm of
well-ordered industry in the open air. In one place thousands of
loaves of black bread were being shifted from wagon to wagon. In
another they were piling a yard high with mountains of grain. The
air was full of the drone of a great mill, humming away at full
speed, while the Belgian fields were yielding up their golden
harvests to the invaders. Apples in great clusters hung down
around the necks of horses tethered in the orchards. With their
keepers they were enjoying a respite from their hard fatiguing
exertions.
Here and there among the groves, or along the wayside, was a
contrivance that looked like a tiny engine; smoke curled out of its
chimney and coals blazed brightly in the grate. They were the
kitchen-wagons, each making in itself a complete, compact
cooking apparatus. Some had immense caldrons with a spoon as
large as a spade. In these the stews, put up in dry form and
guaranteed to keep for twenty years, were being heated. A savory
smell permeated the air and at the sound of the bugle the men
clustered about, each looking happy as he received his dish filled
with steaming rations.
Through this scene the native Belgians moved freely in and out.
Tables had been dragged out into the yard, and around them
officers were sitting eating, drinking, and chatting with the peasant
women who were serving them and with whom they had set up an
entente cordiale. Indeed, these Belgians seemed to be rather
enjoying this interruption in the monotony of their lives, and a few
were making the most of the great adventure. In one case I could
not help believing that a certain strikingly-pretty, self-possessed girl
was not altogether averse to a war which could thus bring to her
side the attentions of such a handsome and gallant set of officers
as were gathered round her. At any rate, she was equal to the
occasion, and over her little court, which rang with laughter, she
presided with a certain rustic dignity and ease.
The ordinary soldier could make himself understood only with
motions and sundry gruntings, and consequently had to content
himself with smoking in the sun or sleeping in the shade.
Everywhere was the atmosphere of physical relaxation after the
long journey. So far did my tension wear off, that I even forgot the
resolution to hold my tongue. Two officers leaning back in their
chairs at a table by the wayside surveyed me intently as I came
along. Rather than wait to be challenged, I thought it best to turn
aside and ask them my usual question, "How does one get to
Liege?"
One of them answered somewhat stiffly, adding, "And where did
you learn your German?" "I was in a German university a few
months," I replied. "Which one?" the officer asked. "Marburg," I
replied.
"Ah!" he said, this time with a smile; "that was mine. I studied
philology there."
We talked together of the fine, rich life there, and I spoke of the
students' duels I had witnessed a few miles out.
"Ah!" he said, uncovering his head and pointing to the scars
across his scalp; "that's where I got these. Perhaps I will get some
deeper ones down in this country," he added with a smile.
Ofttimes in the early morning hours I had trudged out to a
students' inn on the outskirts of Marburg. As many times I had
heard the solemn announcement of the umpire warning all
assembled to disperse as the place might be raided by the police
and all imprisoned. That was a mere formality. No one left. The
umpire forthwith cried "Los," there was a flash of swords in the air
as each duelist sought, and sometimes succeeded, in cutting his
opponent's face into a Hamburg steak. It was a sanguinary affair
and undoubtedly connived at by the officials. When I had asked
what was the point of it all, I was told that it developed Mut and
Enschlossenheit--a fine contempt of pain and blood. That dueling
was not without its contribution to the general program of German
preparedness. Only now the bloodletting was gone at on a
colossal scale.
"Yes, that's where I received these cuts," this young officer said,
"and if I do not get some too deep down here I'll write to you after
the war," he added with another smile. As I gave him my address,
I asked for his.
"It's against all the rules," he answered. "It can't be done. But you
shall hear from me, I assure you," he said with a hearty
handshake.
Only once all the way into Liege did I feel any suspicion directed
towards me. That was when I presented my paper to the next
guard, a morose-looking individual. He looked at it very puzzled,
and put several questions to me. His last one was,
"Where is your home?"
"I come from Boston, Massachusetts," I replied.
Encouraged with my success with the last officers, I ventured to
ask him where he came from.
Looking me straight in the eyes, he replied very pointedly, "Ich
komme aus Deutschland."
Good form among invading armies, I found, precluded the guest
making inquiry into anyone's antecedents. I made a second
resolution to keep my own counsel, as I hurried down the road.
There was no release from his searching eyes until a turn in the
highway put an intervening obstacle between myself and him. But
this relief was short-lived, for no sooner had I rounded the bend
than a cry of "Halt!" shot fear into me. I turned to see a man on a
wheel waving wildly at me. I thought it was a summons back to my
inquisitor, and the end of my journey. Instead, it was my officer
from Marburg, who dismounted, took two letters from his pocket,
and asked me if I would have the kindness to deliver them to the
Feld Post if I got through to Liege. He said that seemed like a God-
given opportunity to lift the load off the hearts of his mother and his
sweetheart back home. Gladly I took them, with his caution not to
drop them into an ordinary letter-box in Liege, but to take them to
the Feld Post or give them to an officer. I went on my way rejoicing
that I could add these letters to my credentials. I now passed down
the long street of Jupilles, which was plastered with notices from
the German authorities guaranteeing observance of the rights of
the citizens of Jupilles, but threatening to visit any overt acts
against the soldiers "with the most terrible reprisals."
I arrived on the outskirts of Liege with the expectation of seeing a
sorry-looking battered city, as the reports which had drifted to the
outer world had made it; but considering that it had been the
center around which the storm of battle had raged for over two
weeks, it showed outwardly but little damage. The chief marks of
war were in the shattered windows; the great pontoon bridge of
barges, which replaced the dynamited structure by the Rue
Leopold, and hundreds of stores and public buildings, flying the
white flag with the Red Cross on it. The walls, too, were fairly white
with placards posted by order of the German burgomaster Klyper.
It was an anachronism to find along the trail of the forty-two
centimeter guns warnings of death to persons harboring courier
pigeons.
Another bill which was just being posted was the announcement of
the war-tax of 50,000,000 francs imposed on the city to pay for the
"administration of civil affairs." That was the first of those war-
levies which leeched the life blood out of Belgium.
The American consul, Heingartner, threw up his hands in
astonishment as I presented myself. No one else had come
through since the beginning of hostilities. He begged for
newspapers but, unfortunately, I had thrown my lot away, not
realizing how completely Liege had been cut off from the outer
world. He related the incidents of that first night entry of German
troops into Liege. The clatter of machine gun bullets sweeping by
the consulate had scarcely ceased when the sounds of gun-butts
battering on the doors accompanied by hoarse shouts of "Auf
Steigen" (get up) reverberated through the street. As the doors
unbolted and swung back, officers peremptorily demanded
quarters for their troops, receiving with contempt the protests of
Heingartner that they were violating precincts under protection of
the American flag.
On the following day, however, a wholehearted apology was
tendered along with an invitation to witness the first firing of the big
guns.
"Put your fingers in your ears, stand on your toes, and open your
mouth," the officer said. There was a terrific concussion, a black
speck up in the heavens, and a ton of metal dropped down out of
the blue, smashing one of the cupolas of the forts to pieces. That
one shot annihilated 260 men. I shuddered as we all do. But it
should not be for the sufferings of the killed. For they did not suffer
at all. They were wiped out as by the snapping of a finger.
The taking of those 260 bodies out of the world, then, was a
painless process. But not so the bringing of these bodies into the
world. That cost an infinite sum of pain and anguish. To bring
these bodies into being 260 mothers went down into the very
Valley of the Shadow of Death. And now in a flash all this life had
been sent crashing into eternity. "Women may not bear arms, but
they bear men, and so furnish the first munitions of war." Thus are
they deeply and directly concerned in the affairs of the state.
The consul with his wife and daughter gave me dinner along with a
cordial welcome. At first he was most appreciative of my exploits.
Then it seemed to dawn on him that possibly other motives than
sheer love of adventure might have spurred me on. The harboring
of a possible spy was too large a risk to run in the uncertain
temper of the Germans. In that light I took on the aspects of a
liability.
The clerks of the two hotels to whom I applied assumed a like
attitude. In fact every one with whom I attempted to hold converse
became coldly aloof. Holding the best of intents, I was treated like
a pariah. The only one whom I could get a raise from was a
bookseller who spoke English. His wrath against the spoilers
overcame his discretion, and he launched out into a bitter tirade
against them. I reminded him that, as civilians, his fellow-
countrymen had undoubtedly been sniping on the German troops.
That was too much.
"What would you do if a thief or a murderer entered your house?"
he exploded. "No matter if he had announced his coming, you
would shoot him, wouldn't you?"
Realizing that he had confided altogether too much to a casual
passerby, he suddenly subsided. The only other comment I could
drag out of him was that of a German officer who had told him that
"one Belgian could fight as good as four Germans." My request for
a lodging-place met with the same evasion from him as from the
others.