Overcome by the tidings of what was to be my fate I had no inclination for lunch before I left Antwerp. In the evening I was seized by the pangs of hunger, and as there was a dining-car on the train I suggested to my guardian that we should take dinner.

My companion, however, did not understand one word either of English or French. I was unable to speak German at that time so our only mode of communication was by gesture and signs. The spectacle must have been quite comical to an onlooker. Finally I made the man understand that I wanted something to eat. In the dining-car we met with little encouragement. I understood the conductor to explain that the tables were reserved exclusively for officers and persons accompanying them. As my escort was but a non-commissioned officer we were politely but firmly refused refreshment.

At Cologne our every attempt to reach the station restaurant failed. The place was overcrowded, and my guardian naturally was very apprehensive that I might escape amid the throng. In this event he would have been severely punished. There was nothing to be done, so we returned to the train.

What a night was spent in that compartment among German travelers, taciturn or snoring!

Happily the nights in June are short. Soon dawn appeared radiant. I marveled at this wonderful reawakening of nature. As early as four o’clock I was able to resume my reading.

At nine o’clock we reached Berlin and I saw for the first time the capital of the German Empire. On the station platform a man whose name I was never able to ascertain glided beside us. He was dressed in civilian clothes, and after exchanging a few words with the non-commissioned officer it became manifest that he had assumed charge of the party. Outside the station this civilian, in all probability an officer of high rank, motioned me to get into an automobile. Then, addressing me in excellent French, he said: “Is this your first visit to Berlin?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Berlin is a very beautiful city,” he asserted.

I made no reply. We proceeded to drive through the streets–where to, I did not know. I had been under the impression that I was to be conducted to Ruhleben, the internment camp for civilians. I wondered whether I was being conveyed to a hotel or a boarding house, where prisoners en route to the camp were temporarily lodged. My chief hope was that I might obtain some food. It was now more than twenty-four hours since I had anything to eat. On our way to Berlin the non-commissioned officer had nibbled some bread he had in his knapsack, but I had no opportunity to break my fast.

The automobile was passing along a beautiful avenue. “This is Unter Den Linden, the finest avenue in Berlin,” said my new companion. One can be anti-German, and at the same time acknowledge that this thoroughfare is a charming one to behold. It stretches from the Brandenburg Gate to the Imperial Palace on the river Spree.

We passed the Imperial Palace and immediately afterwards turned into narrower streets. After a drive of about fifteen minutes we arrived in front of a huge building whose walls were a dirty grey. It was, as the reader will have guessed, the jail. I had arrived at my destination.