Chapter VI: Part 6

Nothing happened to us until about the first of April all the Americans were summoned to the Military Commandery, and here we were lined up and registered. The _Militär_ advised us to go home. The Foreign Office too gave us this advice. Even the American men were advised to leave, and none of them were held.

The last of April the Americans got notices that they would have to report to their local police every day to get official papers stamped. Also that they could not go from one city to another without a special permit which took three weeks to get, also that they could not go to the suburbs of Berlin without a permit--this last included Grunewald. The only bright spot was that we could stay out at night as late as we liked.

But for most Americans this did not last long, and they got off with reporting only once a week, and some of them had permanent permits for going to certain places in the suburbs of Berlin. As I was expecting to leave Germany, I never asked for one of these permits, for it was an awful task to go to the Military Commandery for anything, because there were always so many people there waiting, it took half a day to get anything. But I got off from going to the police every day. No Americans were allowed to go to either Potsdam or Spandau, Potsdam because of the royal residences, and Spandau because of the military stores. If you went any place without a permit, you were fined twenty marks and were liable to imprisonment.

I lived at a boarding-house where there were a lot of German officers, and on all the excursions that were made to the country by the boarders, I was asked to go along. The officers were very nice men, and they said that they would protect me if anything was said about my not having a permit, but I never went with them, for I don't look like a German and I was afraid I would be caught. I always stayed within the law.

I lived at that boarding-house seven weeks just before I left Germany, and I can honestly say that I never heard a word against my country. When I first went there I felt worried, for I was afraid that they would say things to me about America, and that I would answer back and maybe I would get into trouble and be arrested and held in Germany. But nothing like that happened. We hardly ever talked war--no one in Germany talks war as we do here in America--we talked about things to eat.

At this boarding-house I made friends with a very nice little German girl. One day we were talking and she said to me, "You and I have become very good friends. I never would have made up with you if you had been an English girl, but we Germans have no hate for America." And I have found this true of most of the German people--I am not speaking of the high officials and the big _Militär_, for I don't know anything about their sentiments--but the German folks, they have no hatred for us.

Amelia, the boarding-house maid, astonished me one day by asking if America was in the war. When I told her "yes" she wanted to know on which side, and when I told her she said, "_Donnerwetter_, we have so many enemies, I can't keep track of them. But I want to go to America, and I am going there after the war."

Every place I went I met Germans who want to come to America after the war; every man on the police force where I reported wants to come.

All the time all sorts of reports were being spread in America. My family heard that I was being held as a hostage, and another report was that an American lady in Dresden had been shot as a spy. The lady was called up by Mr. Oswald Schuette, an American correspondent, and the lady herself answered the phone. It was the first she had heard of it.

Personally I never heard of an American that was mistreated. I heard of one American that did a lot of blowing and talking, and he was forced to report to the police twice a day, and he had to be in at eight o'clock at night, but when he got a passage for America he was allowed to leave the country. All the American business houses were open as usual, and no American property was destroyed and no money was confiscated. Of course one has the feeling that one is in an enemy's land when one has to go to the police every week, and it did get on my nerves. And yet, every one was nice to me, and I was there five months after the break.

The German people have the greatest faith in their undersea-boats and the majority believe that the war will be over before America really gets into it. To them America seems far away. They don't know our power and our might, and they are hoping, hoping that the war will be over soon. Ask any German when the war will be over and the answer is, "In two months from now." "It can't last," they say.

I LEAVE GERMANY, JULY 1, 1917.

It is easier to cross the frontier going out of Germany than any other frontier in Europe. This statement includes neutral Denmark where they nearly tore my clothes off me searching for gold. You are not allowed to take any gold out of Denmark. There are two reasons why the German frontier is easy to cross. One is, that most people who come out of Germany are anxious to come out, and they are afraid to hide anything for if it was found they would be sent back and held. The second reason is that the Germans don't give suspicious persons a permit to leave the country.

The day before you arrive at the German frontier the officials there know all about you. They know the history of your life and every move you have made in Germany. They know whether you are to be well searched or to be put through a form of searching. At the frontier they ask you no questions, for everything has been sent to them by the military commandery in Berlin. An American newspaper man in Copenhagen told me, that if the man at the door of the searching-room at the frontier gives you a low number you are to be well searched, and if you are given a high number you are hardly searched at all.

It takes at least three weeks for a foreigner--neutral or enemy--to get a permit to leave Germany; that is unless you have influence, and then it can be done in a few days. But that influence has to be a powerful one, for the military authorities are very strict.

The regular way to get the permit is to make a formal application at your local police. This application must be very politely written. I wrote out my application so, "_Ich ersuche um Erlaubnis, nach Amerika zu gehen._" My local policeman was horrified at this. "It is not polite enough," he said, "you must take it home and write it over." So I wrote beginning like this, "Honorable Gentlemen, I beg politely to have the honor to ask your gracious permission to leave Germany, etc." This letter made a great hit with the policeman.

After waiting a while, and if the police find that you have a clean record, you get a notice to come to the military commandery on a certain day. There you find your permit or _Passierschein_ waiting for you. The soldier in charge asks you what day you wish to leave and then he gives you a day before that date and a day after that date--three days upon which you can travel.

Then the soldier takes a stack of papers--about twenty sheets, and puts them--with your pass, four photographs and your permit ticket--in an envelope and tells you to go to the police headquarters. Then your running around commences, and it takes you at least two days to get all the necessary stamps and seals. Then the evening before you leave the country you must go to your local police and register. If you should forget to do this you would be sent back from the frontier.

You are not allowed to take with you any writing of any kind, or printed matter, books etc., out of Germany without having them first censored. They have a place where the letters are read and sealed, and if you have a lot of books they send a soldier to your house. He looks over the books and packs your trunk and then seals it, and it is not opened again at the frontier. You pay the soldier one mark an hour for the work.

You are not allowed to take anything that Germany might need, out of Germany--no tools, no instruments and no electrical apparatus; that is, if the things have been bought in Germany. If it is something of a foreign make you can take it with you.

I had a little electric stove that I was very fond of, and I knew that if I ever went to the frontier with that stove they would take it away from me in a minute, as it was new and German make. I went to an influential man I knew in the Foreign Office and I asked him if he would seal up my stove for me. He laughed but said, "The German Foreign Office can't seal up a stove." I was disappointed but not daunted, and I inveigled the military division of the Foreign Office to help me in getting a permit to take my stove over the border.

You are allowed to take one thousand marks out of Germany, so I got all my money over that amount changed into Swedish money. I took it to Dr. Roediger, the censor, and asked him to seal it for me.

"How many marks have you?" he asked.

"No marks at all," I answered, "that is Swedish money." As he was a nice, sensible, clever man, he asked no more questions but sealed it for me.

It was Sunday when I left Berlin. The train was almost empty. I had my money in my hand grip, and in the other hand I had my precious stove which had a case like a kodak. At Rostock a man came through the train and asked to see our passports. He only looked at the passports of the Germans in the coupé with me, but he took my pass and wrote a long list about it on a slip of paper. The people in the coupé stared at me.

At noon we came to Warnemünde. At the door of the military customs we were given a number. Mine was "J 19." Then we went into a room where a soldier called out the numbers. There were only about thirty of us in all, I was the only enemy--the rest were Germans and Danes. When the man called "J 19" I handed him my pass and my permit. "Oh, a _Passierschein_." he said. The passes were shoved through a little slot in the wall, and as soon as our pass examination was through, we were let into a room where our baggage was examined.

As I entered the room, a soldier stepped forward. He had my pass in his hand. "What is your name?" he asked, and that question was the only question that I was asked when I crossed the frontier out of Germany.

A soldier in a black uniform opened my trunk first. I showed him the permit I had for the stove. He looked at the sealed packages and then he passed me on to another soldier in gray. This soldier took the wrapping off all my sealed packages, and then he asked me if I had any other writing or books in my trunk, and when I said, "No," he closed the trunk again without taking one thing out of it or looking at it at all. This man spoke rather good English, and when I asked him where he had learned it he answered, "Talking to little American children that I know."

Then he told me that I would have to be searched and he gave me the number "91." He carried my baggage to the dressing-room for me. Here a woman searched me. I had to take off my skirt and waist and shoes, but I was not torn apart, and the searching was anything but thorough. When I came out I was given my pass again and told I could get on the boat. The whole performance did not take more than fifteen minutes.

On the boat I had to have my baggage searched again by the Danish officials, but this was merely a farce, for they knew well enough that nobody was trying to export anything out of Germany. The dinner on the Warnemünde boat was wonderful--everything possible and without a card. We all sat down and ate and ate and ate. After dinner, lovely girls came around selling the most wonderful strawberries. But when we were out about an hour the sea got very rough. Afterwards we left the boat and boarded a train on the island. Before the train started we all stood in the corridor of the train looking at the boat we had just left. It was all spattered down the sides with red. Our thoughts were all the same, and then in the silence, the piping voice of a little German girl was heard, "_Wie schade um die Erdbeeren!_" And we all echoed her thoughts, "Too bad about the strawberries."

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Transcriber's note:

Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.