_August 15th._
Went to Herringsdorf on the one o'clock train Saturday with Lithgow
Osborne and Christian Herter. The Ambassador was in Herringsdorf with
Aileen and Lanier Winslow....
After dinner we went for a walk on the pier. I was with the Ambassador,
who kept making his dry, humorous remarks about everyone. Soon a guard
turned us back.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"You are in Germany," replied Mr. Gerard. "Don't forget that. They wait
until they find out that people like to do a thing, and then at once
they forbid it."
"What I'd like best, Mr. Gerard," said I, "would be to hear you talk to
the powers that be in Germany. It must be rather difficult for them to
understand all your jokes."
"It is," he replied. "They can't make me out at all here."
He makes the most glorious remarks to every one. I heard that, apropos
of the _Lusitania_, the Ambassador said to the Chancellor:
"Your argument about the _Lusitania_ amounts to just this. If I were
to write a note to your sister and say: 'If you go out on the Wilhelm
Platz, I will shoot you!' and if she did go out on the Wilhelm Platz
and I shot her--that would be her fault, wouldn't it?"
And one day when Zimmerman remarked: "The United States couldn't
go to war with us, because we have 500,000 trained Germans in the
United States," the Ambassador replied: "You may have 500,000 trained
Germans in the United States, but don't forget that we have 500,001
lamp-posts."
"A STUDENT IN ARMS"--IN THE RANKS WITH KITCHENER'S ARMY
_Resurrection of the Soul on the Battlefield_
_Told by Donald Hankey, Who Was Killed in Action on Western Front on
October 26, 1916_
The high spiritual idealism which actuates so many thousands in the
ranks of the Allies finds its voice in Donald Hankey. The horrors
of War are so appalling that the heart faints when we think only
of the body. But when the eye is turned to the spiritual side it
is a magnificent spectacle of the self-sacrifice of men. This
young Britisher with inspiring nobility tells of his experiences
in his book "A Student in Arms," which is one of the most notable
contributions to the War's literature, dealing with the deeper things
of human life. His sketch of "The Beloved Captain" is here told by
permission of his publishers, _E. P. Dutton and Company_.
[16] I--STORY OF "KITCHENER'S ARMY"
"The New Army," "Kitchener's Army," we go by many names. The older
sergeants--men who have served in regular battalions--sometimes call us
"Kitchener's Mob," and swear that to take us to war would be another
"Massacre of the Innocents." At other times they affirm that we are
a credit to our instructors (themselves); but such affirmations have
become rarer since beer went up to threepence a pint.
We are a mixed lot--a triumph of democracy, like the Tubes. Some of
us have fifty years to our credit and only own to thirty; others are
sixteen and claim to be eighteen. Some of us enlisted for glory, and
some for fun, and a few for fear of starvation. Some of us began by
being stout, and have lost weight; others were seedy and are filling
out. Some of us grumble, and go sick to escape parades; but for the
most part we are aggressively cheerful, and were never fitter in our
lives. Some miss their glass of claret, others their fish-and-chips;
but as we all sleep on the floor, and have only one suit, which is
rapidly becoming very disreputable, you would never tell t'other from
which.
We sing as we march. Such songs we sing! All about coons and girls,
parodies of hymns, parodies about Kaiser Bill, and sheer unadulterated
nonsense. We shall sing
"Where's yer girl?
Ain't yer got none?"
as we march into battle.
Battle! Battle, murder, and sudden death! Maiming, slaughter, blood,
extremities of fear and discomfort and pain! How incredibly remote all
that seems! We don't believe in it really. It is just a great game we
are learning. It is part of the game to make little short rushes in
extended order, to lie on our bellies and keep our heads down, snap our
rifles and fix our bayonets. Just a game, that's all, and then home to
tea.
Some of us think that these young officers take the game a jolly sight
too seriously. Twice this week we have been late for dinner, and once
they routed us out to play it at night. That was a bit too thick! The
canteen was shut when we got back and we missed our pint.
Anyhow we are Kitchener's Army, and we are quite sure it will be all
right. Just send us to Flanders, and see if it ain't. We're Kitchener's
Army, and we don't care if it snows ink!