I do not know which was more difficult, keeping up a German conversation
over the telephone or assuring them I was hard pressed for money. After
a dozen serious conversations over the 'phone, backed up by a number of
German postals, I got two hundred and fifty dollars from one and
seventy-five dollars from another. I also got two letters from friends,
one from Berlin and the other from Dresden, asking if I needed help, and
I hoisted the signal of distress in a hurry. Only a small part of this
money could be kept as a reserve fund, as we now owed two weeks' board.
Fortunately the banks had opened again and our government had sent
instructions to give us money on our letters of credit, using their own
discretion. I had to wait all day until I could get near a bank, and
then the cashier said one hundred and fifty dollars was all we needed.
When I explained it was not enough he became angry and accused me of
calling him names. He made a terrible fuss in his bank and for a few
moments I thought he would have me arrested. The question of money was
only one of the many difficulties. Germany was so excited by the
presence of spies in her midst that she at times accused the twinkling
stars of being bombs thrown into the air. Determined to rid her country
of spies, she sent policemen accompanied by watchdogs to search the
Russians and to find out the whereabouts of the others. One morning we
were notified we must all present ourselves at the schoolhouse where we
were to exhibit our passports or other credentials. It was really a
funny sight to watch nearly two hundred thousand Russians and Americans
trying to force a way into a small schoolhouse. When the work first
started, the soldiers and first aides tried to arrange the throng in
single, double and triple files, but after half an hour's venture the
rope gave way and the people found themselves where they started. I was
soon tired with the overpowering mob and went home to begin all over in
the afternoon. After two hours hard work we had gone from the first step
to the inner door. The actual work went more quickly, for when the
recorder saw passports marked with the red seal of Washington, D. C., he
was satisfied and asked few questions.
When the German mail man did not appear for a week it gradually dawned
upon us that we were not getting our mail and we wanted to know the
reason for this. We soon found out that if England had closed the cables
Germany had closed the mail, and that we could not have our letters that
were marked U. S. A. until they had been opened and read. Some of the
more energetic Americans went to the German minister of war and
complained. This complaint was sent on to Berlin. After a week's fuming
and worrying they were told that they must go and have their pictures
taken. Every one who wanted his mail had to pay fifty cents for a small,
ugly-looking picture made payable in advance. They presented it at the
ministry of war and only a small number were allowed through the gates
at a time. The most daring of the soldiers teased the Russians about
their names, and even had the impudence to tease the unmarried girls
about their age. By the time they had pasted the pictures upon the
papers, the funny-looking scrawl looked like certificates worthy of a
rogue's gallery. After these minor details had been attended to the
question paramount in our minds was: "How could Uncle Sam bring all his
children home?" There was a rumor that one of our warships, "The
Tennessee," was to be dispatched to the other side to deliver money and
good cheer. We heard that she was also authorized to buy ships, but we
wondered if ships could be bought, and, if they could be, would not the
other nations raise objections. A group of successful business men in
our sanitarium delegated themselves as captains and pilots for an
unknown ship and began studying the map of Europe. There was a great
diversity of opinion as to which way we should go if we went in a body.
First they recommended Switzerland, only to find out that Switzerland
had closed her gates because she feared a food famine. Then they
suggested Italy, but this was vetoed because Italy is hard to reach from
Bavaria and the ships sailing from Italy are very small. One of their
happiest suggestions was Belgium, until they heard that Belgium had been
drawn into the war against her will. I think a few recommended England,
but this was promptly vetoed because England was at war and the channel
was choked with mines. Strangely, no one thought of Holland. In the
leisure moments they busied themselves taking up a collection for the
Red Cross and sending important messages to Gerard, our ambassador in
Berlin. He consoled them by saying there was no immediate danger and
recommended that we send for our consul in Coburg. After patiently
waiting a few more days our vice-consul appeared.
He was shut up for several hours with a delegation who had invited him
down. I have no idea what transpired at that important meeting, for no
new work was undertaken to get us out of Germany. He was busy telling us
about his hardships and that it had taken him thirty hours to make a
five-hour trip. He got busy looking after the passports of those who
were fortunate enough to have them and making a record of those who
wanted them. He promised to get them emergency passports signed with the
biggest red seals he had. As he spoke to each one of us in turn he asked
for the name of some relative or friend in the United States, adding
that if anything happened to us he could notify our friends at home.
When the Americans worried him about how we should get home, he assured
us that transports would be sent over in due time to get us all back
safely.
On hearing this, my mother brought me before the vice-consul and asked
him what he thought of our going to Holland by way of Berlin. The very
question seemed to frighten him, for he argued that if it took
thirty-two hours to make a five-hour trip, it might take weeks to go
from Bavaria to Holland. He was sure that some of the tracks had been
pulled up and that some of the rails and bridges might be laid with
bombs. He argued that even if we escaped these difficulties we might be
thrown out on the fields any time and might have to run miles crossing
the frontiers. He said that the small coupés were so crowded with people
that he had seen men and women stand at the stations for hours while the
more fortunate ones were crushed into third-class coupés or into baggage
cars. My mother was then resolved not to move until our government
should send transports to take us home and we should go home in a
private car. I said nothing, but had my eyes set on Holland as my goal.
A few days later I happened to go into the Holland American agency and
told the man to wire to Rotterdam and see if he could get us a room. To
my surprise and delight I was informed the following week that we could
have a whole cabin on the Rotterdam, sailing on the 29th of August. Then
my mother refused to pay the fifty dollars down, for she was confident
that the Holland American ships would not run. I kept her in the office
to hold the telegram while I tore up hill to consult a successful
business man from St. Louis as to whether I should pay fifty dollars
down on what seemed to be a good chance. He argued that woman's
intuition was often better than a man's reason and that I should follow
out my original plan. I won my mother over to our way of thinking by
telling her what she had still left in American Express checks and that
she could use them instead of money. When we had secured a cabin I felt
as rich as John Bull does since he has secured control of the English
Channel. Hardly a day passed but I looked at the ticket to see that it
had not been lost. Then I began to tell people at the sanitarium and
wired my friends in Berlin advising them how to get out of Germany.
By this time the first mobilization was over and there was an interim of
about ten days before the calling of the Landsturm, which meant the boys
from twenty-one to twenty-five and the men from forty to forty-five.
The ticket agent told us that we could go at any time, that the longer
we waited the worse it would become, and that by delay we were
considerably reducing our chances for getting away. He could sell us
tickets for a stretch but that there were no more through tickets to be
had. In contradiction to this statement, the doctor who had the
sanitarium said that he had been at a committee meeting of the railroads
and they admitted that there were many hardships in trying to get away
at present. Every day I noticed men and women hurrying to the station
carrying their hand luggage, and letting the maids from the pensions
carry their small trunks.
There was an Hungarian couple at our sanitarium who had been waiting
for weeks to get back to Budapest. One day the woman told me she had
bought provisions for five days and they were going to start the next
morning, for she thought they could make the trip in five days. This
gave me new courage, for I believed that if she could get back to
Budapest I could get to Berlin. At the same time I heard that
long-distance telephone connections with Berlin had been reopened. After
trying for some hours, I made a connection and got some friends who were
stopping there. To my surprise, they told me that our Embassy in Berlin
had chartered a special train and they were to be off in the morning.
Still, I did not give up hope that I would meet them in Holland. The
next morning I went off and bought two dress-suitcases and a straw
basket, which were to hold my most prized treasures. I put on my good
spring suit, jammed three good dresses and more than a dozen waists, set
aside one winter hat, and a cape to carry on my arm. Then I proceeded to
unpack the jewelry case and put the jewelry into satchels.
By the time I was ready to get my Swiss courier he was gone, so I had to
take a swarthy German, who had acted as interpreter at the post-office,
as a substitute. When the doctor called that afternoon and saw a
stranger in my mother's room he wanted to know what he was doing. I
admitted that we were planning to leave the next day and intended taking
him as our aide. Another storm broke on the calm, for the doctor argued
that neither was my mother strong enough nor I courageous enough to make
the journey alone. I said little but thought much, and was determined
that it must be now or never. I ate up in my room that evening, for I
did not want to talk it over with anybody and wanted to finish on my own
impulse. Our chambermaid, Marie, was both surprised and worried when she
heard that we were going, and said: "Think over it well, for the
geheimrath knows best." That night I was so feverish that I could not
sleep and I told my mother that she must decide for herself, but that my
advice was for her to go. In the morning there was another discussion as
to whether I should take my French books and notebooks. My mother and
maid said that if they were found on me I would be arrested as a spy,
but I was determined to take a chance and I am glad now that I did.
A strange incident occurred that morning when the Swiss man whom I had
at first secured returned, and the German appeared a few minutes later.
Our maid and a porter favored the Swiss man, so I compromised by paying
the other man five dollars for his trouble. I left my mother to pack
the odds and ends and to give the final decision that we were going
while I went back to the minister of war to get the permission to leave.
We took our luncheon in our room as we did not wish to be bombarded with
questions, but a number of friends heard that we were going and they
came to wish us Godspeed, brought us candy and cookies, and begged us to
take letters to friends across the sea.
When we reached the station we found it guarded and patroled by soldiers
and no one could pass the gate without showing both a ticket and pass.
It was even more difficult to get three seats in a coupé, for a Russian
family was taking care of a sick man and said they had only places for
their nurses. When we ventured into another compartment a German woman
with her grandson tried to keep us out. After we had become friendly she
admitted her reason was that I looked like a Russian and she refused to
ride in the same compartment with a Russian woman.
We only rode a short distance when we had to get down and wait for
another train going toward Berlin. We loaded up our compartment with six
bottles of strawberry selzer, as we were more thirsty than hungry. At
six o'clock we found ourselves seated in a small primitive station
restaurant crowded with people. Among them were several active officers
and a number of retired officers on their way to Berlin. After supper I
was talking with one of the petty officers, who said that they were
hopeful though they knew they had hard battle ahead. Moreover, they
would never forget the friendly attitude America had shown them in this
terrible world war. It was twelve o'clock before we were allowed to go
through the gates and another hour before our train pulled out. The
conductor explained that we would have to wait an hour until an Italian
train had passed. He suggested that we should take great care in
crossing the railroad tracks and when we got into our seats we should
not change, the reason I do not know. There were signs posted on the
window, "Keep your heads in and beware of bombs." This frightened my
mother so that she would not move, but I was too curious to see what was
going on outside to obey orders. For one hour a half-dozen guards went
over the tracks looking for bombs and then they came into our coupé
looking for spies. At one o'clock we were wondering if we would ever
reach Berlin without being blown up with bombs. I had a weird, strange
feeling, for I saw heads now and then bobbing up in the distance. I
thought they were ghosts at first, but finally discovered that they were
only cavalrymen riding in the baggage car. It was nearly four o'clock
when I became so exhausted that I could keep awake no longer and slept
for an hour and a half in an upright position. My travelling companions,
including my mother and a Norwegian woman going to Christiania, were
more fortunate in this respect. We had breakfast at Weimar, and I could
hardly think of this lovely Saxon city and the center of German culture,
the home of Goethe and Schiller, being disturbed by war. The large
station was crowded with soldiers watching for spies. As usual, one of
the soldiers believed that I was a Russian, and he was surprised to find
my passport identified me as an American. I should not have minded being
thought a Russian if they had not looked upon the most unsuspected
people of Russia as spies. We reached Erfurt, which is known as the
garden of Germany, for its beautiful flowers. Here my mother introduced
me to a handsome German boy, seventeen years old, who had volunteered
and was hurrying to Kiel to be accepted into the navy.
That day we counted thirty-two transports carrying German soldiers
toward France, and it was only after I had seen them that I knew what
German organization meant. In the baggage car was the cavalry--every man
to his horse, and all had been instructed that consideration for horses
came before themselves. The cannon and other field provision were on
tracks, but I was told that the powder and dynamite was carried at
night instead of in daytime. There were many automobiles with Red Cross
doctors and officers accompanied by chauffeurs, who were to carry them
into the enemy's country. Everywhere one met courage and enthusiasm.
Essential marks showed printed in chalk on trains--"We shall eat our
Christmas dinner in Paris" and "It is a short way from Berlin to Paris."
After luncheon I walked through the town down into the deep valley,
where hundreds of young men were lying in the grass waiting to be
enrolled that afternoon. At the end was a garden with a large house
which was being turned into a hospital for wounded soldiers, and I saw a
number of Red Cross nurses and doctors getting things into shape. At
three o'clock a military train came along carrying soldiers to Berlin.
There was only one coupé vacant and that contained a high officer and
another high official. The officer was kind enough to get out and make
room for us. It was long after twelve o'clock when we reached Berlin,
and we noticed that the big bridges connecting the city were well
protected with soldiers. Thousands of women and children were waiting to
see the American refugees hurrying to Berlin, or soldiers hastening to
spend a few hours with relatives before they went to war. Except for
these great crowds at the station there was no disorder, and it was hard
to imagine that the Prussian capital was in the throes of such a mighty
war. Our hotel was out in the Thiergarten, the loveliest part of Berlin,
and was cool even in summer weather. The hotel manager was a Dutchman,
and he had great sympathy with the American refugees. He was kind enough
to say that if he met any Americans he would keep them there as long as
they wanted to stay on credit. Next morning, bright and early, we
hurried off to the Embassy, which is a handsome and imposing building
near to the German Embassy. Though it was only half-past nine, there
were more than three hundred people waiting to get in. A number of young
officials were trying their best to line the people up in double files
and to keep order. Here again I had great difficulty in proving my
identity. It was only after I showed my passport that I was allowed to
enter. Within the doorway there was a jolly negro trying to keep the
women happy--his aide was a German who was doing his best to try and
keep order. This was no light task, as our Embassy was looking after the
affairs of the English, French and Russians along with its own. A number
of college boys waiting to be returned home had offered their services
and were assisting the clerks in their work. Our Embassy had been so
overburdened with work that Mrs. Gerard was there all day long helping
her husband. This work included giving out of passports, the O. K.-ing
of passports, selling of tickets on special trains and the giving out of
money to stranded Americans.
The expressions of the people waiting outside seemed to say I care for
nothing save "Home, Sweet Home" or "Take me back to Grigsby's station."
After getting our passports signed we were told to come back next day
for our tickets for the special train. In the meantime we had to turn
over our passports to the German minister of war and get them back at
our own Embassy. The rest of the time was put in visiting a few of the
galleries left open, watching the great crowds of people that surged
around the Emperor's house, trying to get a glimpse of him, and in
trying to get the latest news of war from our own papers. Sunday morning
I went up to the Dom Church, the great church of Berlin, which was
packed to the doors with German men and women bent in solemn prayer. For
the Landsturm had been called out that morning and thousands of men knew
that they would have to be off to the war in the morning. At noon, when
the many church doors were thrown open, thousands of people passed out,
the men with heads uncovered, the women pale and earnest, but all
resigned and willing to do their best. All eyes were bent to the palace,
for the lowered flag showed that the Emperor was at home making his
preparations for leaving that night. This was the first day for a week
that there had been quiet around the palace. Until Sunday thousands of
people were gathered all day long singing the Kaiser's favorite songs
and shouting "Hoch! Hoch!" every time they caught a glimpse of him, and
especially when he ventured out on the balcony to make a speech to his
people. That afternoon hundreds of people gathered with their children
in the Thiergarten to enjoy the animals and to listen to the military
band play many patriotic airs. This was the last peaceful Sunday that
hundreds of husbands spent with their families. Next morning many a
tired woman commenced to work to help the Red Cross, and to put the
different hospitals and royal homes that had been turned into hospitals
ready for the wounded soldiers. The Empress did her share, and the Crown
Princess gave one of her palaces for this work. On every street corner
there were young girls and women hard at work getting contributions for
the Red Cross. Berlin became so deserted of men that it was next to
impossible to find men salesmen in the shops, while they were even
trying the women out as conductors on the street cars. The banks were
more than half emptied of their clerks and the police work was being
done by the older men.
Our special train that was to take us to Holland left on Tuesday, so we
had to be at the Embassy on Monday for our tickets. Though the tickets
were not sold until eleven o'clock that morning, by nine many were
waiting patiently to put in their orders. There were first, second and
third class tickets sold, but these could only be bought by Americans. I
tried to get one for our Swiss courier, but I was told that this was a
special train for Americans, and so I had to leave him behind. As I look
back to those few days spent in Berlin, many pleasant incidents in the
midst of the Prussian capital in the throes of a world war recur to
mind. One of these was the approach of the Kaiser, accompanied by a high
government official, as they rode through the Brandenburger Thor along
Unter den Linden to the ministry of war. He was simply swarmed by his
people, who yelled, "Unser Kaiser! Unser Kaiser! Hoch! Hoch!" Although
he appreciated their loyalty and patriotism, his face showed great care
and worry and he seemed to have grown ten years older in a few weeks.
A pathetic incident was the great crowds of people who came and went out
of the Dom Church Sunday morning, where they went to pray for strength
and resignation. The crowd was so great that only Germans were allowed
to enter church that morning. It was an inspiring sight to see men of
all ages, accompanied by their wives, children or sisters, come out
with resolute faces, realizing the danger but determined to give their
all for the cause.
It was Tuesday afternoon that our special train was ready at five
o'clock to take us from Berlin into Holland. Though the train was not
ready much before five, hundreds of anxious Americans were on the
platform by three in the afternoon. Most of them had plenty to do in the
two hours before our train pulled out. Some had to look after their
trunks, make sure that they were being placed in the baggage car, while
those who were not fortunate enough to have trunks with them discussed
at length the probability or lack of probability of ever having their
luggage again. There were many people lost in the crowds; mothers had to
look for their children, wives for their husbands. A large delegation of
newspaper men and publishers appeared with high mounds of literature on
the war, begging the Americans to see that this reading matter should be
scattered broadcast in our country. Even more interesting were the
crowds of American women left behind, who brought all the way from one
to a dozen letters, asking us to post them when we reached New York.
Many had tears in their eyes as they asked this favor, and not a single
man or woman on that special train was hard-hearted enough to refuse.
Among the number of women who came to me with letters was a sweet-faced
brunette about thirty. She said that she had just made her début in
Berlin with much success as a singer. This was what she had told her
husband, along with the fact that she was living in a nice pension where
she had become acquainted with a well-known tenor and his family, who
were taking good care of her until she would be able to come home. She
gave me all this information because her letter was written in German,
and she feared I might not take it unless I knew its contents. In less
than a quarter of an hour's time she returned with a large bouquet of
roses, saying this was a mere expression of her appreciation.
Our train pulled out at five o'clock sharp with much yelling and waving
of handkerchiefs and fans. Out of this noise one heard the cry,
"Godspeed!" "Give my love to all the dear ones at home!" "Good luck!"
"Auf wiedersehen!" which was answered by the refrain of the song,
"Deutchland über Alles!"
This special train was packed with anxious-looking men, women and
children. They seemed so happy to get out of a land of war into one of
peace, that they never grumbled at the thought of sitting in a day coach
thirty hours without any sleep except what they got napping.
All along the line we saw beautiful fields waiting for the harvest to
be taken in by the women and children. They were doing their best to
supplement the work of their fathers and older brothers. Whenever they
noticed our train pass and realized that we were Americans they waved
their hands and shouted in friendly greeting. Our coupé had four seats,
so by taking turns every one got a chance to rest an hour or two.
It was not until two o'clock the next day that our train reached
Bentheim, which is on the Dutch frontier. Our train did not pull up to
the platform as usual, so all the passengers in turn had the pleasure of
taking a three-foot leap. This was the German side, so our luggage had
to be examined before we could pass over the Dutch frontier. There were
only two ticket windows for nearly three thousand people, so we were
wedged in like sardines. There were no porters to carry our hand
luggage, so we had to hoist it on as best we could. A short ride brought
us to the Dutch frontier, where we were all told to get down and have
our luggage, even to our hand luggage, examined again. As we could not
get any porters many of us refused to get down, with the plea that we
were refugees and not tourists.