I intend in this chapter to relate what I heard about the course of the war from the soldiers themselves. I came to know much that was interesting, and I think that most of what I have to say will be new to English readers.

The German soldier was trained in time of peace to be good at marching and in attack. A resolute and aggressive spirit was cultivated by every means known to such students of the psychology of war as the Germans have always proved themselves to be. Defensive measures were almost completely ignored. The digging of trenches, for example, was practised only once or twice in a soldier’s two years of training. Long forced marches under the conditions of actual warfare were frequent, and every year a number of men died through neglecting the precautions enjoined upon them as necessary in these marches. Even accuracy in shooting was made less of than endurance on the road. The soldiers were, moreover, deliberately made to go about their duties mechanically and to acquire the habit of doing things without asking the reason why. I remember that some German soldiers were much amused when they heard that English officers gave themselves the trouble at manoeuvres to explain to their men exactly what was taking place. Although this system of training was the rule, it was not universal in Germany. General von Haeseler was strongly opposed to it. Himself impatient of authority, he endeavoured to instil into his soldiers a spirit of responsibility and self-reliance. After the war broke out, the High Command saw how much better results had been achieved by French and English methods of developing the individual soldier, and Haeseler’s ideals were adopted throughout Germany. Our instructors used rather to bore us by continually harping on “individual responsibility,” and reminding us that the fate of the army depended on the private soldier’s ability to stand alone and act for himself when no officer was present.

At the beginning of the war, then, Germany had an army of good marchers, overflowing with aggressive spirit, its great masses trained to work together with mechanical perfection. She threw the bulk of the army against France and used two small portions of it to conquer Belgium and to hold the Russians in check. For the first three weeks of the war Germany was only bluffing in Belgium and Russia. Less than forty thousand men sufficed to take LiÉge. The town was won not so much by the big artillery as by the marching power of the infantry. Tunnels and bridges had been blown up and the line, wherever possible, destroyed. It was a race against time, in which the railway could not be used. The soldiers had to press forward by forced marches, and they described to me how, in order to lighten their steps, they threw away everything they could spare—knapsacks, bread bags, mantles, and trenching tools. Some even got rid of their tunics and marched in their shirt-sleeves. For miles and miles the roads were lined with the cast-off effects of the German soldiers. Many men could not keep up and fell fainting or dying by the wayside. Whatever opposition they encountered had to be crushed at once, regardless of cost. The slaughter was immense, one regiment being reduced to five hundred men by the time LiÉge was taken. In this case, at any rate, the training which the German soldier had received was justified by results. At the beginning of the war nothing seemed too wild and impossible for the German soldier to attempt. The tradition of audacity engendered in the army was always bringing in splendid prizes. At Namur, a lieutenant and four men bluffed into surrender the principal fort with its entire garrison.

The system had other aspects. I do not intend to discuss the terrorization of Belgium here, except to say that the worst allegations of the Allies are fully borne out by the tales the German soldiers relate to one another. Man after man has told me how, when he was in Belgium, he used to fill Feldpostpakete with jewellery and send them home. Looting was frequent, unashamed, and not reproved by those in command. The tales of murder were just as numerous. Children knee-high were killed, women and girls driven into a house, which was then set on fire, and they were deliberately burned alive. The Germans had a peculiar liking for humiliating their victims before killing them. The condemned were nearly always made to dig their own graves. I heard one particularly touching story of a girl. She had shot a German officer; the reason was not stated, but it may be guessed. She was sentenced to be executed next morning. When she came out to her death, her face showed that she had spent the night in dreadful agony of soul. And yet the soldiers insulted her and clubbed her with their rifles before shooting her. Educated men used to feel shame at times. One such wrote home to his mother in a fit of remorse and described how, before shooting a French officer, he had made him put on his coat inside out. His mother was beside herself. “How could my son,” she said, “do a thing like that?”

Another man told me about his experiences at Louvain. I give his words exactly. “We were sitting round the table in our room. Suddenly shots fell and some bullets whizzed past our heads and buried themselves in the wall opposite. The lieutenant said, ‘Put out the light, somebody.’ This we did. ‘Go out into the street, and wherever you see a Belgian or wherever you see a light in a house, shoot.’” The tale speaks for itself. The lieutenant had not the slightest evidence that the shots had come from the Belgians. This same soldier told me that from the first they had orders to give no quarter to the English.

I heard similar tales of rapine, arson, and murder in France. One army corps, I think it was the tenth, was especially famous for its record in these things. Villages were burned as a matter of course, without any military reason. Sheer savage lust of destruction was the motive and nothing else. The men of this corps were proud of what they had done and were regarded by the others with envy.

It was interesting to speak with those who had been at the Marne. They were unanimous in asserting that they had not been defeated, but had retired of their own free will. Some even spoke of having spontaneously retreated ninety kilometres in one day. The general opinion in the German Army was that the failure on the Marne was due to the Saxons. They could not march so well as the Prussians. The pace had been too much for them, so they had given up and left their comrades in the lurch. Others accounted for it by saying that just in the nick of time the Italians let the French know that they need not guard the Italian frontier. Whereupon all the army corps in the South of France were suddenly thrown into the battle and their appearance turned the scale. But of Joffre as a factor that counted in the battle of the Marne there was never a word.

There were many complaints at the beginning of the war about the quality of the reserve officers. From not one but from several regiments I used to hear strange stories about the difficulties these men got their regiments into. On a certain occasion in the Vosges, the Germans had to retire, and their commander, an officer of the reserve, thought it a great thing to lead them into a kind of little pocket or basin in the forest. The French, however, knew these hills perfectly, and were well aware that that was the only place where troops could find shelter. They swept it with a storm of shell and left scarcely a man alive. In the early days the mortality among the subalterns was horrible. Later on they were not expected to lead their company to the attack, but to go behind the first line or “wave.”

We used to have rare thrills in Bonn during the great fights. Officers were able to telephone straight from the field of battle to their families at home. You might sit in your study and exchange the time of the day with a friend in the trenches. It was not allowed officially, but it was done. Officers might telegraph if there was any important business to settle. So families in Bonn were continually receiving this sort of telegram: “Buy 10,000 war stock,” “By all means sell the house.” This did not mean that the Frau Hauptmann was to engage in these transactions really; it only meant that on the date the wire was dispatched, its sender was alive and well.

The Russian campaigns, like the Belgian, were won by bluff and good marching. In August, 1914, East Prussia was held by only a thin screen of troops, mostly Landsturm. But in order to deceive the enemy, trenches were dug and filled with dummy machine-guns and with scarecrows wearing the spiked helmets of the German infantry. In another district a division was employed for some time simply in marching between two points. In the daytime it marched from A to B, at night it entrained and was sent back to A, changed the numbers on its helmets and shoulder-straps and marched to B again. The Russians were thus led to believe that certain parts of the line were strongly held and that at other points a great concentration of troops was taking place. But for this they would have attempted a breakthrough and might really have reached Berlin. They were still more elaborately fooled at the winter battle of the Masurian Lakes. Here the Germans wanted to lure the Russians a second time into this dangerous territory. One would have thought it impossible, but the trap was set with masterly cunning. Reports appeared, not so much in the German as in the neutral papers, that East Prussia was being evacuated and that the peasants were leaving their homesteads and villages and fleeing westwards in a wild panic. The Germans, it was hinted, were so occupied in France that they could not spare any troops for the Russian front. Meanwhile, whatever forces the Germans had, seemed to be concentrated opposite Warsaw. The Russians fell headlong into the trap and lost the flower of what was left of their old army. Neither battle of the Masurian Lakes could have been won except for the marching powers of the German infantry. While the enemy was held in front, it was necessary to march round with extreme swiftness and take him in the rear before he could begin to move his armies out of the trap. The soldiers who took part in this battle told me that the forced marches tried them beyond anything they had experienced in the war.

On the whole, the German training found its best justification in Russia. Here the conditions were exactly those for which it had been devised. The enemy was superior in numbers, and he was to be overawed by German dash, enterprise, and mobility. The principle in Russia was to go for the enemy wherever you found him, and to count neither his numbers nor your losses. The Russian morale was badly shaken. Our servant at Irkutsk, who had fought against the Germans, used to wake us by shouting in his dreams, “The Germans are coming. Run! Run!” In time the Germans came to despise the Russians so much that they neglected the most obvious precautions. Our regiment once advanced to the attack without even reconnoitring the ground. When halfway across to the enemy’s positions, they were suddenly held up by a sunken ditch. They had to go forward as best they could, and the leading company alone lost eighty killed.

But with all their dash the Germans would have been lost without their superiority in artillery. They had plenty of guns and plenty of ammunition, and could always batter the Russian trenches to pieces before attacking. The Russians, on the other hand, could only fire a limited number of shells per day, and were practically helpless against a bombardment. Most people will remember that some time in October or November, 1914, Hindenburg was surrounded by the Russians. He afterwards broke the ring, taking 12,000 prisoners with him. He owed his release solely to the heavy artillery, to which the Russians could not reply. One man who took part in the battle said to me, “We began to batter a sector of the Russian line at eight o’clock in the morning, and by the evening we were through.”

The system of attack in massed formation, common to both the Germans and the Austrians, was most heartily disliked by the younger officers. They used to protest against it, but in vain. On one occasion a regiment had received an order to attack, and its adjutant telephoned to headquarters, “Attack impossible. Clear field of fire.” He received the answer, “Doesn’t matter. Go forward.” He did so, and not a man came back, except the wounded. Sometimes the men themselves took matters into their own hands. We were once attacking a Russian village, and were met by a hurricane of shrapnel and bullets. Fifteen times the bugle sounded the charge, and fifteen times not a man stirred from where he lay. At last the artillery came up, and the Russians retired. The losses entailed by mass attacks were staggering. At the first battle of Ypres the Germans lost 120,000 men. As I have mentioned, when I was trained, the Germans were beginning to see reason, and were taught to go forward in open formation.

In the Austrian Army, while things were similar, discipline was looser and protest more easy. One officer, when ordered to a hopeless attack, refused point blank. “Very well, then,” said the general, “if you don’t attack, I shall turn the guns on you.” The officer replied that if the general did that, he would order his men to right-about-turn and take the guns. The general gave in, and the officer received neither reprimand nor punishment.

The worst organized part of the German Army was the Red Cross work. From all I could hear, it seems that the German Red Cross arrangements badly broke down in the first year of the war. At first I thought the complaints I heard were exaggerations, but the same story came from every part of the front. The stretcher-bearers were all said to be cowards, for ever lurking about in the rear, not daring to face a bullet. Besides they were selfish thieves, and they drank all the cognac themselves, which they were supposed to reserve for the wounded. “Why,” the soldiers used to say, “even the Russians have organized their Red Cross better than we. Their stretcher-bearers do go forward with the soldiers in the front line.” These complaints received some confirmation from the fact that a cavalry lieutenant of my acquaintance was transferred to the medical corps in order to organize the stretcher-bearers and see if he could not get them to face the music of the shells. Wherever I went at the front, the stretcher-bearers were treated with contempt by the other soldiers. What I say does not apply to the doctors, I never heard anything against them.

Again, at the beginning, the distribution of comforts left much to be desired. At one time on the French front you could buy a horse for two cigars. Later on the supply of tobacco was improved. Of religious work, or Y.M.C.A. work, there was comparatively little. The Germans had a brilliant idea for fighting venereal disease. When a soldier fell ill, they sent his nearest relative a postcard to the effect that your son (husband, brother, as the case might be) was at “Hospital No. so-and-so, suffering from so-and-so.” Shame kept many straight, when nothing else would have prevailed.

The accounts which the Germans gave of their enemies were interesting. They freely admitted that the French and English were better at flying than they. Of Russian aviators they thought nothing. On the other hand, every one had the greatest respect for the Russian artillery. It was the universal opinion that the Russian artillerymen were the smartest in the war. One German officer said to me, “If we had the Russian artillery we should be in Kieff by now.” At a certain point on the Russian front we had half a battery—two guns—opposed to us. Yet so quickly did the Russians fire them off, boom, boom, boom, boom, that we thought they had a battery of four guns. And when the statements of prisoners placed it beyond a doubt that there were only two guns, our artillery were lost in wonder, and said that they themselves could not attempt such a thing. Of the Russian troops, the Cossack enjoyed a great reputation as a scout, but he was a poor fighter. The Austrians, who were in the disastrous retreat from Rava Ruska, told me wonderful tales of the Cossack cleverness in scouting. They would scarcely come within a kilometre of the position, and yet they would have noticed exactly how it ran, and the Russian artillery would soon confirm the accuracy of their reconnoitring. The Germans had an unbounded admiration for the French soldiers. It was the fashion to pity the French for having such a splendid army, but such a poor Government.

But, of course, I was chiefly interested in hearing their views about the English troops. Before they met them, the Germans were full of contempt. English soldiers were hirelings, and certainly could not stand up to such troops as the Germans. A week’s fighting sufficed to bring round their opinion to the exact opposite. Every English private, they said, fights like a sergeant and shoots like Buffalo Bill. In every branch of warfare they used to acknowledge the superiority of the Old Army. “Each single Englishman has to be dug out separately,” they said. When Russians were captured, whole armies at a time, they used to get impatient. “What is the use of that,” they said. “A thousand Russians are equal to ten Frenchmen and one Englishman.” Our colonel, in a speech he made to the regiment in May, 1915, said, “In a few months, perhaps weeks, we shall have finished with the Russians, but,” and here he turned to me, “I don’t think we shall ever get finished with your country.” I need scarcely say that I altogether dissociate myself from this estimate of Russian and French troops. The battles which broke the Austrian front at Rava Ruska in 1914, and the victories of Brusiloff in 1916, were among the most brilliant operations in the war. The French soldier it would be impertinent for me to praise, except perhaps to say that this war has added fresh glory to an army which already had the most splendid traditions of any in Europe.

And finally comes the subject of the treatment of prisoners. The evidence as to Russian prisoners is conflicting. Cossacks received no quarter; they were always killed. I have heard many vile stories on this point; let one suffice. Once two hundred Cossacks were caught and told to line up with their faces to Russia. They were very glad, and thought they were going to be exchanged. Then, without a word being said, a machine-gun was turned on them from behind, and they were all shot. There are stories of great cruelty to other Russian prisoners, Hindenburg being especially prominent in this. When Russian prisoners were quarrelling in their barracks, he had the artillery turned on them, “to quiet them,” as he said. For further stories of this kind I need only refer to the official papers of the Tsar’s Government. On the other hand, I know that the Germans wanted to keep the Russian workmen in Germany after the war in order that they should take the place of the men Germany had lost on the battlefield. The Russian labourers were said to learn quickly, and to do a good day’s work when under German direction. Employers had the strictest orders to show every kindness to their Russian prisoners. I had a talk with an escaped prisoner of war, and he had nothing but good to say of his treatment in Germany. He praised the order, punctuality, and cleanliness of German life, and was determined to go back there after the war. It is possible that those prisoners who were willing to work were better treated than the others who stayed in the camps. A doctor who had lived in the prison camps, and who had been exchanged, gave the most terrible account of the treatment which the Russians received there. He said they were worst treated of all, because the Russian Government were so slow in taking reprisals; while the English were the best treated, because our Government were the promptest in reprisals. This referred to the year 1916, while Mr. Asquith was still Prime Minister.

The Germans used captivity for political purposes. They would throw French, Belgian, and English together, and then issue gleeful reports that these “Allies” were always fighting. From my experience of prison life I know exactly how this was done, because the Russians tried the same methods on us. You have only to pamper the French and to starve the English, and the mischief is done. A starving man is an irritable man, and it takes a slight thing to make him an angry one.

With regard to the treatment of English prisoners I have no first-hand information. From the very beginning rumours were rife in Bonn that they were being badly used. These stories were told with great satisfaction, as if it were right to do so. The Germans themselves used to relate how English prisoners were incited by cruelty to revolt so as to have an excuse for shooting them. German soldiers used to tell me how naÏve the English soldiers were. “When they were taken prisoners they wanted to shake hands and be friends. And they had just been killing our men, too. We always used to give them a good drubbing with the butt-end of our rifles. It is what they deserved for killing Germans.” Let me add that at Cassel I met a German soldier who had been captured by the English and exchanged. He was full of gratitude for the kindness he had received. His captors gave him of their best before passing him on to the rear. When their transport reached Southampton station, a Red Cross nurse asked the officer if she might be allowed to give them some refreshment, and permission was readily granted. At Netley he had been much better off than at Cassel. There had been plenty to eat and drink, and, what was more, you could always help yourselves too.

The German is an inordinately vain man, and he likes to impress people (“imponiren,” he calls it). The English soldiers refused to be impressed. Their hard, indomitable temper filled the Germans with envy and despair, and the more brutal among them went to the utmost lengths in the endeavour to break the spirit of our men. I only once saw an English prisoner. It was at Cassel. He had been taken ill on a working-party, and was walking back to his camp. As he passed through our ranks, he bore himself with downcast eyes indeed, but with such pride and dignity that we all seemed to be mere recruits, and he the only true soldier present.

At the Front

Well, then, in the middle of August, 1915, we started for the Russian front. Our equipment even at that time was so bad that I am surprised Germany has held out so long. My tunic was made of shoddy; it tore easily and cockled up most pitifully in the rain. Leather was scarce in Germany and had to be quickly tanned, so what we received was inferior in quality and soon perished. Our helmets were of a variety of materials, some of aluminium, some of cardboard, but none of the good stout leather that was used before the war. The “pickelhaube,” as the spiked helmet is called, is the only good point about the German uniform. It is delightfully cool and airy in summer, and so flexible that it will fit any shape of head. The rest of the German uniform is an abomination of discomfort. The round fatigue-caps, besides giving one the appearance of a convict, are hot and oppressive, as no ventilation is possible in them at all. The tunic has every fault such a garment could have. It is made not only to button close, but to hook tight round the neck. When you are on the march and have the heavy knapsack pulling at the coat, and so making the throttle more painful still, the strain becomes almost unbearable. We were never allowed to unhook the collar on the march except when we had special orders to do so. There are only two pockets in front, and two others in the tail of the coat. This means that when you are in full uniform it is almost impossible to get at these pockets, and, as the soldier spends so much time lying about on the ground, the things you put there nearly always get broken. The army knee-boots are instruments of torture. They are roughly made, and are full of unevennesses of surface that rub painful sores, while the folds that form about the ankles are equally uncomfortable. They were stuffy in summer, heavy, and a serious impediment to quick movement. Low boots and puttees are infinitely preferable. Some of us wished to go to the front in low boots and leggings, but on account of the shortage of leather this was forbidden. Leggings could only be worn by officers. I had a pair of knee-boots made for me of fine smooth leather, but even then, under ideal conditions, they were anything but comfortable. In addition, we had to carry in our knapsacks a pair of low boots, to act as “slippers”; that is to say, to be worn to ease our feet when we were off duty. It was found, when we arrived at the front, that most of us had thrown these boots away rather than be bothered with their extra weight. German soldiers thought that the English kit was very much better than theirs. They were amused because every English soldier was provided with a razor. Even officers told me that it was folly to shave at the front.

We received our clothes with many jokes, which may, or may not, be usual in other armies. “Now then, be careful there with my grave-clothes. What am I to be buried in, if you go spoiling them already?” Witticisms of this sort were frequent. The German soldier is not the least squeamish about speaking of death. His songs are full of it. And the little books of devotion issued by his Government are written with great skill in order to make him feel that death is something pleasant and light, the entrance to a life of toilless ease. I never read these books without feeling an inclination to die then and there.

We marched off to the station in traditional German style, flowers in our rifles, flowers in our helmets, flowers in every nook and cranny of our uniform that would take a flower. The officers used to protest against this, saying that it made us look like prize oxen at the fair. Considering what the fate of prize oxen is, the simile was not altogether inapt. In any case, the fashion suited the peasant taste. Before we left, a short religious service was held on the parade-ground. The chaplain, who had already been awarded the Iron Cross, had gained my respect a few weeks before by a sermon he had preached to order on the special temptations of a soldier’s life. It was the only sermon of the kind that I have heard, which neither offended his hearers’ feelings nor in any other way violated the rules of good taste. But he was yet to show what he could do. At the end of the service he said, with indescribable unction, “Now let us all join in saying the Lord’s Prayer, and after that in singing, ‘Deutschland, Deutschland Über alles!’”

There was a great parade of secrecy about our destination. We were not supposed to know where we were going, and from the time we were selected for service we were not allowed to telegraph. As a matter of fact, the officials responsible revealed all that they ought to have kept secret, and we knew exactly for what part of the huge Russian front we were bound and all the details of our journey. And through us the whole of Cassel knew too.

Our life for the next three or four weeks till we reached our regiment was simply a jolly picnic. We were three hundred strong, under the command of two sergeants, genial fellows, who had never been to the front and who were anything but soldiers. Our train journey took us through Central Germany to Breslau, and thence vi Cracow to a station beyond Rava Ruska, the name of which I have forgotten. In High Germany we were greeted with enthusiasm at every station, in German Poland no one took any notice of us, in Austrian Poland our reception was directly hostile. The Austrians treated us like “matter in the wrong place.” We reached Cracow at ten at night, and were to have had supper there. Nothing had been got ready for us and no one knew anything about us. We stood waiting in the rain for two hours, and then we had to pass in single file before a small window and each receive his basin of soup. At Kattowitz, the last German station, our transport, now swelled to a thousand men, had been fed in less than half an hour. The Austrians were sulky at having to trouble about us and took no pains to conceal their feelings, and the Germans were wild with rage at the way they were treated.

This is, perhaps, the best place to speak of the relations between the Germans and the Austrians. There have been many discussions in the press as to whom the Germans hate most, whether it is the English or the Americans. I have no doubt at all that the German soldier hates the Austrian most. They felt themselves betrayed from the beginning of the war. When the Russians broke through at Rava Ruska, Hindenburg sent down an officer to find out what was wrong. He returned with the report: “Da ist eine bodenlose Schweinerei, wir werden alles selbst machen mÜssen” (“Things are in no end of a mess; we shall have to do everything ourselves”). Hindenburg used to allow himself witticisms at the expense of his Allies. Once he remarked, “I won’t have anything said against my Austrians. They serve to occupy the enemy till the military come up.” Stories were current of Prussian officers serving on the Austrian staff, who had discovered Austrian generals in the very act of telephoning to the enemy and had shot them dead on the spot. Meanwhile the Germans, by their behaviour, let the Austrians know that they remembered all these things. It was most amusing to watch Austrians attempting to fraternize with Germans. The Austrian, with his gay and careless elegance of manner, would approach the German and try to get into conversation with him. Most probably he would begin by asking where the other came from. The German would draw himself up stiff and straight till he looked as if he had swallowed the poker, and would put on an air as if he concentrated in his own person all the victorious majesty of his army. Then, in the sharp staccato dear to the Prussian drill-sergeant, he would answer, “Ich bin aus Cassel, Regierungsbezirk Cassel” (as who should say, “I am from Nottingham, Nottinghamshire”). The Austrian, recognizing the case as hopeless, would give him up with an amused glance and turn to something else. Meanwhile the German, having just wit enough to see that he was being laughed at but far too stupid to see what there was ridiculous about him, would go away, heaping fresh curses on the head of “Bruder Oesterreich” (Brother Austria).

The Austrian, if possible, hated the German just as bitterly. While we were on the march, we met an Austrian army corps going in the opposite direction. The officers deliberately rode their horses at us in order to edge us into the muddy parts of the road. It is significant that although we were some hours in contact with this army corps, we never exchanged a single greeting or taunt, such as is usual among soldiers meeting on the march. While it is true that there was much that was rotten in the Austrian Army, it must never be forgotten that some regiments fought magnificently, especially the Tyrolese. A common soldier of the Tyrol Rifles was wounded and taken prisoner by the Russians. As he lay in hospital, a general, making his rounds, came to his bed. On hearing who he was, the Russian general took off his helmet and saluted the Austrian private in honour of the splendid courage displayed by his regiment in the field.

The Austrians were in an unfortunate position, because their relations with the Hungarians were just as strained as with the Germans. The Hungarians, on the other hand, were extremely friendly with the Germans. They were good fighters in hand-to-hand fighting, indeed the most formidable troops in the armies of the Central Powers. They had never failed the Germans, who, in consequence, always treated them with especial respect. Prince Eitel Friedrich had at one time been studying Hungarian with a view, it was said, of becoming King of Hungary. The Austrians watched all these things with bitter jealousy and suspicion. They would affect to despise the Hungarian, and would tell you that he was not a European yet at all, and that Asia began at Buda-Pesth. The Hungarians never concealed their contempt of the Austrians. They did not value the union with Austria; all they wanted was an alliance with Germany. Three years ago Hungarian officers were openly talking of the coming revolution that was to drive the Hapsburgs out, make Hungary free, and to draw Hungary and Germany closer together.

On our journey we had plenty of opportunity to study Austrian feeling. The train took us through Galicia, and we passed the famous battlefields (now, alas! forgotten) of 1914-15, Jaroslav, the San, Rava Ruska, and so on. The large towns seemed to be in fairly good preservation, but in the country there was nothing but ruin and desolation. The fields were empty, and what peasants we saw scowled at us with hate. The hostility of the people we were supposed to be fighting for made a deeper impression upon us than the distress caused by the war.

We detrained and began a march in pursuit of our regiment, which lasted three weeks. The Russians were in retreat, the regiment pushed forward, and we had to follow after as best we could. Our way took us to Cholm, across the Bug at Wlodawa, then to Kobrin, and thence southwards among the marshes, where we struck the regiment at last. It was a jolly time. We had perfect weather, sunshine all day, but the air was bracing and fresh; it seemed impossible to get tired in that climate. We marched from eight to twelve, halted for the day, cooked our meals, bathed or walked about, and went to bed at nine. It reminded me very much of the continually recurring sentence in Xenophon: “We marched X parasangs and had breakfast.” We tried to do twenty kilometres (about fourteen miles) a day, and every four or five days we had one day’s complete rest. Wherever possible, we put up for the night at the country houses of the Polish nobles, because they had orchards that gave us apples and kitchen gardens that gave us potatoes. The houses were completely gutted, not a stick of furniture was left, and they were often defiled in the most disgusting manner. When we had no meat, we took from the peasants what we wanted. We paid by giving them a sham “bon,” with the reverse (eagle) side of a ten-pfennig piece rubbed in. They saw the eagle and thought it something wonderful, although it was quite valueless. Sometimes a cow would be shot and its flesh immediately cut up, and, still warm and trembling, be distributed among us to make soup of. All our peasants and labourers could cook, and they despised the educated men because they did not know what to do with the meat they received. I was three hours frying my first steak; nothing I could think of made any impression on it, and it remained obstinately leathery. The next time a “Kamerad” showed me how to beat it tender with the blade of my bayonet, and, lo! the steak was fried in ten minutes.

We had an interesting three days’ stay at Cholm. There was a cholera camp here, at which it was said seventeen German soldiers died a day. The whole country from the San to the Bug was devastated with cholera. Cholm also had a dysentery hospital where the patients were so numerous that they had to lie about on the ground for days before they could be attended to. German order ruled in the town. Notices were posted up that only certain wells could be used, and bakers were especially warned about the water they took for baking. The attitude of the population was instructive. The Russians hated us, the Poles were afraid of us, the Jews received us with open arms. The German Government had already begun an extensive propaganda. Local newspapers had been founded which should bring the people round to Germany’s side. They certainly made some impression on the Jews, if on no one else. At Cholm the only good restaurant was strictly reserved for the use of officers. For us there remained a few dirty Jewish eating-houses. Y.M.C.A. huts or clubs would have been very welcome because we had nothing to do all day, and time hung very heavy on our hands. I consider it one of the greatest successes in the war that this side of a soldier’s life was so well looked after by the English and the French.

When we were not in the towns, we used to spend the time very happily. All the golden afternoons we used to bathe in the rivers or lakes and then run up and down in the bright sunshine to get dry. At times the whole village—men, women, girls, and children—would turn out to watch us. We were more puzzled than embarrassed at these attentions. There was something about them we could not account for. At last we heard that their popes had told them that every German soldier was a veritable devil with horns, hoofs, and tail complete, and they had come out to see with their own eyes whether it was so or not.

Almost every day we saw the site of some skirmish, and near by would be a little group of graves with wooden crosses bearing the names of the fallen. We would thus keep the track of our regiment, and often would find the names of those we knew among the dead. At last we reached the front. In the three weeks march, of three hundred who left Cassel, one hundred had already dropped out through sickness. All the Jews and all the Alsatians, with one exception, had drunk themselves into dysentery. If in a cholera country you go on drinking well water unboiled, you are sure to get dysentery sooner or later. When we arrived at the headquarters of the regiment, we had to undergo three formal receptions. The major commanding the regiment, the captain commanding the battalion, the lieutenant commanding the company, each delivered a speech, but the only thing that did us any good was the quiet little heart-to-heart talk the company sergeant-major had with us that evening before going to bed. Apparently the last set of recruits had proved unsatisfactory. They had even taken to stealing things out of their comrades’ knapsacks. The law in our company was that you might take anything that was not in a knapsack. It was the man’s own fault, if he lost it, for leaving it lying about. On the other hand, to steal out of a knapsack was the unpardonable sin and was severely punished. I do not know anything about the code of morals in other armies, but I do know this, the German working man will pilfer whenever he can, and no feeling of shame or good comradeship will restrain him. And the Socialism with which he becomes indoctrinated in the army makes it appear almost a virtue to steal from the rich.

We belonged to a flying division, the function of which was to pop in wherever things were going badly. Our march was steadily southward and we were destined, I believe, for Serbia. Usually we fought all day and marched all night and slept when we could. We were a crack regiment and the utmost was expected of us. There was scarcely any one in the company who had started out with the regiment in 1914; half of us were raw recruits, and even then we did not number more than one hundred and twenty. Much is said about the sternness of German discipline, but there was little of it to be seen here. There was rather a spirit of good understanding between officers and men. The officers knew that they could rely on their men, and the men trusted their officers. The weak spot was the young lieutenant commanding the company. He was nervous, excitable, and wild in his plans, but it was acknowledged that he looked after us very well and took great pains to see that we were comfortable. The strong point was the company sergeant-major, who was said on countless occasions to have rescued the company out of awkward positions into which the impetuousness of the lieutenant had led us. But perhaps that is said in all regiments. In any case the sergeant-major gave himself no trouble to conceal his opinion of the lieutenant. I remember when we were in a forest one dark night, the lieutenant ordered patrols to be sent out in order to get into touch with another battalion. Now, the forest was so dense that we had lost ourselves in it by day; it was perfect folly to dream of finding anybody in it at night. The sergeant-major told us of the lieutenant’s order with a flick of contempt in his voice, adding that he was not going to send any of us out on that wildgoose-chase. It seemed to me that he nursed a grievance, because no commission had been given him. He was the oldest officer in the regiment, and as competent and clear-headed as any one there, but he had not passed the requisite examination at school. In any case, to be ordered about by a mere chit of a boy went very much against the grain. Cases of this sort may explain the dramatic suddenness of the revolution in the German Army. If the higher N.C.O.s become infected by the prevailing discontents, then farewell discipline and order.

I have often been asked if I witnessed any atrocities at the front. I saw nothing to speak of, but then I was there only a very short time. Whatever stores of food the inhabitants had were ruthlessly plundered. But there again a soldier is allowed by the traditions of war to take whatever he wants to eat wherever he finds it—in a conquered country, at any rate. The plundering was unnecessary in the majority of cases, we were well enough fed, and the men simply took because it was there to take. Often it meant black ingratitude. A peasant and his wife would receive us kindly in their house, make a fire for us, and help us to cook. Then some one would begin to search the house, and whatever could be carried off, would be taken. One incident I shall never forget. We had arrived at a village which was still full of poultry. The men dispersed, taking what they could. In one farmyard I saw a girl, just in time, whip the two fattest hens under her shawl. The men came up, demanding to know where the poultry was. She stood there, pressing the hidden birds to her bosom, mocking defiance in her eyes, the picture of saucy courage. Then, with a gesture of contempt, she indicated some geese in the distance. The men, deeply grateful to her, went off in pursuit. A tame goose-chase does not sound very exciting, but is rather good sport. You make a ring round the bird, and just when you think you have got it, it rises in the air and escapes you. The scene was suggestive—the clumsy soldiers in their heavy boots perseveringly stalking a goose, that every time eluded them with ease—surely an apt emblem of much in German life—and the girl, their muse and inspirer, watching them with a contempt that deepened till she seemed Disdain personified.

I did not see any instances of violation of the rules of war in battle. The Austrians were often to blame for the use of dum-dum bullets. They had soft-nosed tracer bullets for finding the range, but the common soldiers, as might have been expected, did not restrict themselves to using them for this purpose only. Once they shot away whole cases full of this ammunition. The Russians captured a battalion of Austrian infantry next day, shot them all except one, and sent him back to say what they had done and why.

The thing which angered me most was the brutal treatment of prisoners. Those kept just behind the front were always hungry and in rags, and yet they were made to work at tasks of great severity. Thus I have seen Russian prisoners hauling huge trees along the road. We invariably greeted them with insult and jeers. One of the favourite taunts to hurl at them was, “Nikolaus entlaust” (“Nicholas has got rid of his lice”). The common soldier had not a trace of chivalry or generous feeling in him. The only one to protest against this sort of thing was the Alsatian, who tried in vain to bring his comrades round to a humaner point of view.

I have already mentioned that the relations between officers and men were good. In this connection it is as well to say that those stories one sometimes reads of German officers flogging their men are quite impossible. It is unthinkable that a German officer should hit a soldier. I have never heard of its being done, and redress is so quick and certain, that even if it had occurred by mischance in any regiment, it could never have become a regular practice. Brutality, however, had plenty of opportunities to manifest itself. I heard a story of two old school friends who had a quarrel in the trenches. One was a private, the other a corporal. Unfortunately the private forgot himself and used bad language to his friend the corporal. The latter immediately reports the affair, the private is court-martialled and sentenced to twelve years’ imprisonment. Before he is sent away, the battalion is drawn up on parade, the major in command lectures them on the heinousness of the crime, spits at the criminal, and then, turning his back on the men, says, “I now leave you to do what you like with him.” They take the hint and give him a good drubbing with the butt-ends of their rifles. I do not think that such a thing could have happened in our regiment, but there was nothing in the regulations of the army to prevent it.

Although the relations between officers and men were good, those between the various social classes among the common soldiers were very bad. In England the war seems to have drawn the classes together, they have come to understand and respect one another. In the German Army exactly the opposite has happened. Theoretically from the moment war was declared, all classes were equal in the army. Promotion was to be by merit alone. In practice, the educated men were marked out from the beginning for promotion, if only they showed any promise at all, and they were not only more quickly promoted, they could rise higher, they could receive a commission. The uneducated, no matter what his abilities, never got beyond a sergeant. On this account the “lower” classes bore the “upper” classes a grudge, and did what they could to make their life miserable. The educated men, on the other hand, were disgusted by the continual thieving of the working-man, his brutality, and his utter want of comradeship. I know of no educated man in the German Army whose thinking had not taken on an anti-Socialist and pro-Conservative tendency as the result of his experiences in the war. To know the German labourer was not to respect him. My experiences with the working-man were uniformly wretched until almost the last, when I made the acquaintance of some artisans at Irkutsk. These men one could respect, and it was possible to form such friendships with them as we read of in the English Army. But then they belonged to the aristocracy of labour, some of them had thriving businesses of their own, and I do not think they regarded themselves as ordinary labourers. Be that as it may, from all that I could hear and see, the war has greatly intensified the bitterness of class feeling in Germany, inasmuch as it has taught the different classes of society in the army to hate and distrust one another.

For the rest, our life was like that of soldiers in the classic wars of older times. There was nothing in it of the terrors of modern battle which made the Western Front so dreadful. We marched and fought, pursuing an enemy that retreated further and further and avoided a decisive battle. It was warfare as Marlborough or Napoleon knew it. The strategy was simple, and the means of destruction were comparatively simple—the bayonet, the rifle, the field-gun. Our men affected to despise the Russians, but I noticed that the longer they had been at the front, the more they thought of the enemy. The Russians neither harried nor pressed us, they simply gave way. Provided only that they held Hindenburg in the north round Riga, they were content to let us take as much of the barren marshland of Central Russia as we chose. This continual expectation of a battle that never came strained our nerves more than actual fighting did. I remember once advancing on a Russian village, which was situated on the top of a hill. We toiled upwards in that tense and sultry mood which always precedes action, each of us too occupied with his own thoughts to speak. Further and further we trudged, and after some time the sergeant behind me began to point out where he thought the Russian artillery must be posted. On we went, every moment expecting the hail of shrapnel to begin. Finally the suspense became unbearable and the sergeant quite lost his temper. “Why to —— don’t those —— Russians begin shooting at us?” he screamed. “They ought to have begun long ago.” The ungrateful man soon knew, for in a few minutes we came upon the Russian trenches quite deserted. They were beautifully dug, and would have cost us half our strength to storm; and yet, in order to keep the line intact, the Russians had preferred to retreat.

Naturally such experiences had left their mark on the older men. The continual refrain of their talk was, “We should not mind if we knew that in the next action we were going to stop a bullet. It is the uncertainty that is so awful.” At home our corporal had told us that if we were wounded, we should be ready to jump a yard in the air with joy. And to get a “heimatschuss”—a wound serious enough to send you home—was the great desire of most soldiers. After the first action we had been in, we all crowded round the wounded, cheering and congratulating them on their good luck. I do not wish to be misunderstood. None of our men were slackers or malingerers at the front—except our only Jew. When a dangerous job was to be done, there were always plenty of volunteers. But the men hated their work, and they had an especial contempt for the man who could fall so low as to be a soldier by profession.

There were, of course, oases in this life, moments of exquisite beauty, and other times when laughter ruled. There was the spectacle of Russian villages burning by night—enormous masses of smokeless flame leaping to the sky, vivid colour in its intensest and purest form. (Lest any one should think that I was a Nero to gloat over such sights, let me repeat that nothing of value was destroyed in these villages.) Then there were the days and nights we spent in the forest. In those thickets our eyes did not help us much; all we could do was to listen. Our ears grew so subtle that we could distinguish and interpret all the sounds of the forest, and we lived so close to nature that we seemed to become a part of it. So quiet were we that the wild deer used to trip along our line without taking any notice of us. Other German soldiers were not so fortunate in their encounters with the wild beasts of the forests. I have known men so upset by the stillness of the woods that the mere rustling of animals in the undergrowth has made them throw down their arms and take to their heels. A Prussian major was once leading his battalion to the attack, when a wild boar rushed out from his hiding-place and, scuttling between the major’s legs, floored him! The major is said to have cried out, “The enemy is upon us!” and run for his life. But I do not believe that so easily of a Prussian major.

Our chief care was to get enough sleep. We marched by night, in order, I suppose, that the enemies’ spies should not know where we went. The Russians were kept well informed of our movements. This was not wonderful when we consider that wherever we marched we met refugees returning to their homes. We even advanced to battle once through a crowd of these people. Among them there must certainly have been a large number of spies. But by marching at night, when all Russians had to be indoors, we were able suddenly to reinforce threatened positions and give the enemy some disagreeable surprises. The first thing we did after digging ourselves in, was to go to sleep. One of my earliest lessons in the art of war was when I was posted as sentry—in my simplicity I thought against the Russians—while the rest went to sleep. Suddenly the company sergeant-major appeared in our midst and wanted to know why the others were all snoring. Afterwards my corporal took me aside and explained to me that the company sergeant-major was a far more dangerous man than the Russians, and that I had been posted to prevent surprise from him. That afternoon, however, I was able to retrieve my reputation. We advanced a little, dug ourselves in again, and all went off to sleep leaving me as sentry, and I was just able to wake them in time to receive the lieutenant commanding the company. At last, one night the Russians made a surprise attack and caught us in our sleep. There are all sorts of questions connected with this surprise I should like answered. Theoretically our arrangements made such things impossible. We had patrols all night long in No Man’s Land, we had outposts half a mile from billets, and we had patrols whose only business was to go from sentry to sentry and collect news. Finally, there was a sentry posted at the billets who ought to have given the alarm if he heard firing going on. The old regiment which marched out in August, 1914, would not have allowed itself to be caught napping so badly. It could only have happened to a regiment of recruits. By the last thing I saw of the sergeant-major, it seemed he had lost his head for once. Instead of organizing the defence, he was screaming with fury at the sentry for letting the Russians in upon us, all the while busily kicking him fore and aft.

For myself, I plunged in the direction of the firing, when suddenly the earth to my left seemed to become alive with flame. To my excited senses it appeared that a whole regiment was firing at point-blank range at me alone. We were in a country of low sand-dunes; I tried to run, but the sand hindered my steps, and the volleys of fire still pursued me. Russian rifles fire much too high, so the bullets went over my head, but I had no time to think of that. I plumped down and shammed dead. The firing stopped at once. Then I made a sudden start, got a little way, and then managed to get over the crest of the dune into the valley below. In a minute or two the same thing had to be repeated all over again. The Russians seemed to be everywhere. I can well believe the huntsmen who say the fox enjoys being hunted. I really did enjoy this crowded hour of glorious life. All my faculties were stretched with the one endeavour to escape. Of consequences to myself I did not think. That part of me that could think was simply the spectator at a particularly thrilling drama. At last I met a corporal who gave me instructions to proceed in a certain direction. I went as he instructed me, and I saw in the distance dim shadowy figures moving. I hailed them, they stopped, I approached, and found myself before a party of Russian soldiers. They grinned and made me welcome. A few minutes later a burst of loud cheering announced that the Russians had taken our position by storm.