Chapter VIII: Part 8

My friend must not be identified. But here is an incident he
told me I can safely relate. During the unauthorised Christmas
truce of eight months ago so chummy did a British officer and a
Saxon officer become that the Saxon officer gave his enemy "an
invitation to visit him in Germany at the end of the war," and
"stay as long as you like," he added. The British officer is
still carrying the address in his pocket in the hope that one
day he may be able to accept the invitation.

The _Labour Leader_ is much disliked by the orthodox of England, as is the _Vorwärts_ by the orthodox of Germany. It seems to me that both may be rendering a fine service to the cause of humanity, and one may surely say this without implying complete agreement with the opinions or the policy of either.

WOUNDED ENEMIES.

Writing home to his mother in Somerset, a member of the R.A.M.C. says: "You will find inside a German button for a souvenir. It was given me by a wounded German prisoner. After he had had his wound dressed, he pointed to his buttons and made signs for me to cut one off. He hardly knew how to thank us after he had finished his tea, and his eyes gleamed with gratitude as he looked around at us." (_Daily News_, August 26, 1915.)

From a private letter: "The following is first hand, and of interest. Dr. S. lectures on first aid to C.'s squad. During the course of a lecture on the heart he referred to a visit paid to the local hospital. In the hospital was a man who had been a prisoner in Germany. Dr. S. asked the man about his treatment. In the course of the talk the man said that if he had his choice he would prefer to be in a German hospital! Dr. S. smiled when he related this. 'This is not the kind of statement,' he said, 'that is published in the newspapers!'"

There comes into my mind the photograph of a British prisoner in a German camp. The boy's mother was delighted to see him looking so well. The photograph was the more striking as the lad was wounded in the stomach at the time he was taken prisoner.

From a private letter: "My nephew was in the Canadians and was wounded in the spine in a recent advance.... He was brought back to London, where I saw him, and he died in hospital shortly after. He told me himself all about it. He lay for several hours after being wounded, unable of course to move. When the ambulance came up, the stretcher bearers were Germans--prisoners of war. They saw he was cold and took off their own coats and wrapped him up. All the while they were under fire from the British guns.[51] One of them was wounded in the arm by shrapnel as they were carrying him, but he kept his hold. He called to his mate to let down the stretcher, but till it was on the ground, he never flinched. My nephew knew what this meant, and as he thought of what had been done for him by an 'enemy' his face lighted up, as he said, 'That man is a hero!' And he added, 'We don't feel hard towards them at the front.'"

Again, a wounded soldier who had been prisoner in Germany says: "I could not have been better treated, and I know ninety companions who say the same. But this is not the sort of story the newspapers want." People very generally do not like to hear good of an enemy. In war-time this very human objection may become an important cause of continued strife. (cf., p. 108.)

In the following, Philip Gibbs tells of a German doctor who tended friend and foe alike. "A number of Germans ... --about 250 of them--stayed in the dug-outs, without food and water, while our shells made a fury above them and smashed up the ground. They had a German doctor there, a giant of a man with a great heart, who had put his first-aid dressing station in the second line trench, and attended to the wounds of the men until our bombardment intensified so that no man could live there.

"He took the wounded down to a dug-out--those who had not been carried back--and stayed there expecting death. But then, as he told me to-day, at about eleven o'clock this morning the shells ceased to scream and roar above-ground, and after a sudden silence he heard the noise of British troops. He went up to the entrance of his dug-out and said to some English soldiers who came up with fixed bayonets, 'My friends, I surrender.' Afterwards he helped to tend our own wounded, and did very good work for us under the fire of his own guns, which had now turned upon this position." (_Daily Chronicle_, July 5, 1916.)

It must be easy to tell bad stories of every furious fight, but the right spirit is surely that shown by Mr. Gibbs in another despatch (_Daily Chronicle_, July 7, 1916): "The enemy behaved well, I am told, to our wounded men at some parts of the line, and helped them over the parapets. This makes us loth to tell other stories not so good."

Again, on July 21, 1916: "It was the turn of the stretcher-bearers, and they worked with great courage. And here one must pay a tribute to the enemy. 'We had white men against us,' said one of the officers, 'and they let us get in our wounded without hindrance as soon as the fight was over.'"

"'This war!' said a German doctor, 'We go on killing each other to no purpose.'" (_Daily Chronicle_, July 5, 1916.)

And on this side:

The wife of a petty officer described to me the arrival of the
first batch of wounded. It happened that these were chiefly
Germans. "I thought I wouldn't care so long as I didn't see our
poor boys carried up," she said, "but when I saw them, Germans
or not, I couldn't help crying." I gathered that the sight of
the sufferers swept away every feeling but sympathy amongst the
onlookers. She told me of the funerals to the little churchyard
outside the barracks, and of the "loneliness" of the dead
Germans. She had wept by those nameless graves, thinking of
those that belonged to these strangers.--Louie Bennett in the
_Labour Leader_.

I remember a Cockney boy of fifteen telling me how at Southend he had gone for fun to see wounded Germans brought ashore. But the fun died out in his heart at the reality, and he ran away.

The little incident I will next mention has special charm because of the beautiful spirit shown by every one concerned. A wounded German, Albert Dill, lay in hospital here. He was asked by a visitor if there was anything that he specially wished for. He answered. "Flowers for the dear English nurse, more than anything else." The flowers were sent and his letter of gratitude is touching. There were far more than he expected, he said, and his joy was the greater. "The pleasure of the nurses and the doctors too was great when they saw this rich gift of flowers (diese reiche Blumenspende).... This day will often remind me of the good and self-sacrificing nursing that I have had here in this hospital." And the "dear English nurse" writes: "The flowers you sent at the request of Albert Dill were indeed most beautiful.... I have been nursing the German patients for a considerable time, and their gratitude has always been most marked. We sincerely hope that while carrying out our duties we have been able to relieve their sufferings, and have perhaps helped them to bear the misfortunes of war a little more patiently." This little incident is surely the greatest of victories, for it is a victory of the spirit.

Nurse Kathleen Cambridge, who was near Mons at the time of the British retreat, spoke as follows of some of her experiences (_Daily News_, January 8, 1916):

After the battle I was very pleased to be of assistance to the
wounded, for whom my mother and I had arranged an ambulance. It
was at four o'clock that I saw the first party of British
prisoners being marched through from Mons to Brussels. A halt
was called just outside the Chateau. The Germans were very kind
at that time and offered their prisoners cigarettes and gave
them water from their bottles.

Two men, exhausted by terrible wounds, dropped into the ditch.
The baron went off to ask if we could be of assistance, and the
German doctor told him that he would be grateful for any help,
as he had to get on to Brussels and could not wait. The two men
were brought into the chateau. We did all we could for them, and
gradually, after some weeks, they recovered.

Neglect and honourable conduct are both recorded in the next cutting from the _Manchester Guardian_ (September 17, 1917).

A Scotsman wounded at La Bassée had lain for eight days in a
German dug-out which our troops had captured and from which they
had been driven. One party of Germans peering into the darkness
had bombed him, and added one or two slight wounds to the
twenty-two he already possessed. He managed to signal to the
second bombing party some days later, and was carried away to
the field hospital, where hundreds of wounded Germans were
lying. Here he was found by a young German engineer who had
spent years in Glasgow and Liverpool. "Hullo, Jock," the man
said kindly, "pretty bad, aren't you? I'll fetch a doctor for
you."

He did so, and the wounds were roughly dressed. Nothing more was
done for eight days, when the Scot managed to attract the
attention of some visiting officer to the fact that his wounds
were in a dreadful condition, septic and suppurating.

"He was furious," said the Scot: "made no end of a row about it,
and I was attended to at once. I have nothing to complain of
about my treatment when in hospital in Germany."

From the _Daily News_, April 16, 1918:

Here is a story vouched for by a young soldier now in hospital
in the North of England:--"I was shot in both legs during the
recent fighting. As I lay, helpless and almost hopeless, for our
lads had been pressed back, a German officer, also wounded,
crawled up to me. He spoke English fluently, and it turned out
that he had once worked in the town from which I come. When I
told him I was the last of the family left to my widowed mother,
and that I feared it would settle her when she heard I had gone
too, he said: 'All right, old chap; we'll see what can be done.'
As soon as it was quite dark he got me to pull myself on to his
back. In this way he crawled to within earshot of our outposts,
and only left me and dragged himself in the direction of his own
lines when he knew my cry had been heard."

From the same paper of April 11, 1918, I take the story told by a naval prisoner exchanged through Switzerland:

The sailor had one eye blown out and the other temporarily
damaged by a shell in a concentrated fire which sank his
destroyer in the battle of Jutland. He was picked up by an
already overcrowded British boat after swimming about for an
hour almost blind. Then a German destroyer ran alongside and
took aboard the whole boatload.

The voice of an officer hailed from the deck: "Don't forget the
British way, lads, wounded first." "He spoke such good English
that I took him for a Scottie," said my informant, "and I
thought it was a British destroyer that had picked us up. I was
hauled aboard, and I saw him look at my face and turn away.
'What's the matter, Jock?' I said. 'I'm not a Jock,' says he,
'I'm one of the Huns.' 'What, ain't this a British ship?' says
I. 'Throw me back into the sea, and let me take the chance of
being picked up by one of ours.' 'It can't be done, sonny,' he
says. 'You've got to go to Germany. But you'll be exchanged all
right. You're disabled.' It seems he had a relative in London,
and knew England well. All the time British ships were chasing
us and shelling us; and he hung a lifebelt near me, and said:
'If the British Fleet sink us that will give you a bit of a
chance yet.'"

The following is from _Lloyd's News_, May 12, 1918, under the heading of "Back from the dead":

Three years ago a Twickenham resident, Mrs. Maunders, received
official news from the War Office that her husband, one of "The
Old Contemptibles," had been killed in action.

Thrown on her own resources, and having a small family to keep,
she struggled on, and a very good offer of marriage came along
and was accepted. A few days before the wedding a letter came
from the supposed dead husband, stating that he was badly
wounded and left for dead on the battlefield, but was found by
the enemy and nursed back to health.

The following is from a private letter: "I am happy to be able to tell you that through the German Flying Corps dropping a message, we heard of [my son's] safety early in July. He writes to us and appears to be well and comfortable.... He was shot through the neck. He has happily quite recovered after being about four weeks in hospital. He has spoken only of kindness and attention from doctors and nurses."

Again: "As you have probably heard by now, I am a wounded prisoner of war.... I myself got my shoulder rather badly smashed up by a machine gun which knocked me out, and I lay in a shell hole for about ten hours while our guns strafed like hell and I expected every moment to be blown to bits. However, I at last managed to crawl up and stagger along, and as I was in German lines, ran into a lot of Germans. They were awfully kind to me, gave me food and drink and bound up my wound, and then sent me along to the dressing station. I am at present in hospital in Belgium and expect to go to Germany almost directly. My address at the back will find me." What follows from the same correspondent has some bearing on the feeding in hospitals. "You mentioned in your last letter whether you could send me anything. Well, dear old chap, if you are feeling an angel, plenty of good plain chocolate and other delicacies would be awfully welcome, also some Gold Flake cigarettes." It was only "delicacies," it will be observed, that were asked for. This was in the middle of 1917.

The next extract is from _Common Sense_, July 13, 1918:

"The following experience of an Ullet Road boy, Private Arthur Bibby (6th S.W.B.), who is now recovering from a severe wound, is recorded in the Ullet Road Church _Calendar_ for July:

The part of the line in which Private Bibby was placed was
subjected to a heavy bombardment, after which the enemy
delivered an attack. The order to retire was given "and our
section made for a road which led into a village, but about a
hundred yards up the road I received a bullet wound which passed
under the shoulder-blade and pierced a portion of the lung."

"Private Bibby was forced to lie down by the side of the road, and shortly afterwards an advance party of the Germans came along delivering their attack. The first wave swept past, but of those who followed one stopped to give Private Bibby a cigarette, another took off his wounded foe's equipment and made it into a pillow for his head, and put his water-bottle within reach, while a third made a pad out of his field dressing with which he staunched the wound. As he turned and followed his comrades, he assured his patient that the Red Cross would come soon.

"A German Red Cross orderly came up shortly afterwards, and was engaged in dressing the wound when the order came for the Germans to retire before a British counter-attack. 'About ten minutes after the last had passed down the road our lads, counter-attacking, were creeping up the road, and it was not long before the R.A.M.C. lifted me on a stretcher and took me to the advanced dressing station.'

"We congratulate Private Bibby on the recovery he is making from a severe wound, and are glad that he is able to bear this testimony of gratitude to a company of unknown but chivalrous foes.

"It is, of course, well known that the Northcliffe Press refuses to print experiences of this kind."

"Many of our wounded have passed through the same conditions of captivity and deliverance. They bear witness to the honourable conduct of the German Army doctors (majors). Here, for example, is one of the stories that I have heard: 'I found myself in a ditch after the battle, unable to move. A German doctor came by; he gave me bread and coffee and promised to come back in the evening if he could, or next day. That night and the following day passed without my seeing any one; the time seemed long. In the evening he came: 'I had not forgotten you,' he said, 'but I have had no time.' He had me carried away and gave me careful attention.'" (_La Guerre vue d'une Ambulance_, par L'Abbé Félix Klein, Aumonier de l'Ambulance américaine, p. 80.)

The writer continues: "Facts of this nature deserve to be recorded. Amidst this setting loose of horrors and hates it would be well to lay stress on some of those deeds which are able to soften the soul. This morning I see that an article has been passed in one of the most widely read French journals recommending that no prisoners should be made in forthcoming battles, but that our enemies should be 'struck down like wild beasts,' 'butchered like swine'! Nothing, not even the sack of Senlis, nothing justifies such outbursts of fury." The French soldiers, M. L'Abbé indicates, confine their denunciations to the Prussian regulars and speak well of the reserves. "They are men like us, married men, fathers of families, fair-minded." But for the doctors there is often a good word: "Le major allemand est venu, nous a soignés, nous a donné du café, du pain." "Le major nous a soignés et donné de la soupe." There was however, much plundering. The armies which do not plunder are indeed _raræ aves_. "The animosity of the English against the enemy," says the Abbé, "is greater even than ours." "In the evening," runs one narrative, "the soldiers of the 101st put me in the wood where were many wounded Frenchmen and a German captain, wounded the day before. He suffered, he too, poor man (le pauvre malheureux)." When the Germans came, "some looked askance," but the captain said the Frenchmen had been kind, and when the Germans had taken him they came back and attended to the French. It was a bad time in the retreat, but French and German wounded shared the same fate. (l.c., p. 98.)

WHOSE FAULT?

The poor soldiers, obliged to obey orders under penalty of death, defending (as they believe) their homes from wanton attack, are surely, in the mass, but little to blame. The blame rests elsewhere. A body of Russian prisoners was brought into a village in East Prussia. The sufferings of the inhabitants during the invasion had made them bitter, and from the crowd of onlookers there was a scornful outcry. "At that one of the prisoners bent forward, shook his head and said slowly, with great, sad eyes, 'It is not your fault, and it is not mine.'" (Dr. Elisabeth Rotten in _Die Staatsbürgerin_.) Looking at it all with fresh knowledge, after more than three years of war, I feel that this Russian spoke for all the peoples, "It is not your fault, and it is not mine." Meanwhile there still goes on what my wounded friend, writing from Rouen described as "this orgy of slaughter, this incredible and criminal lunacy."

AN ORDER AGAINST KINDNESS.

A girl who, with others, was attending to the enemy wounded, writes: "Doubtless we should have more consolation among our little soldiers, since here _we are forbidden to give little kindnesses and attention;_ but I believe that before the end we shall disobey the order, because we put our hearts into our devotion and our pity." (_La Guerre vue d'une Ambulance_, p. 116.) It is a little startling to learn of orders against kindness to enemy wounded. In a country one of whose chief newspapers advocated slaughter of the enemy like swine, such orders seem unwise. They can surely scarcely be made except when we wilfully blind ourselves and imagine that our enemies do not share our humanity.

OUR COMMON HUMANITY.

Here is a letter found on one of the German dead, a man with "a good face, strong and kindly," so wrote the _Daily Mail_ correspondent. "My dearest Heart," runs the letter, "when the little ones have said their prayers and prayed for their dear father, and have gone to bed, I sit and think of thee, my love. I think of all the old days when we were betrothed, and I think of all our happy married life. Oh! Ludwig, beloved of my soul, why should people fight each other? I cannot think that God would wish it...."

Here in this leafy place
Quiet he lies;
Cold, with his sightless face
Turned to the skies;
'Tis but another dead:
All you can say is said.

Carry the body hence;
Kings must have slaves;
Kings rise to eminence
Over men's graves;
So this man's eyes are dim.
Cast the earth over him.

What was that white you touched,
There by his side?
Paper his hand had clutched
Tight ere he died?
Message or wish, maybe?
Smooth out its folds and see.

* * *

Ah! That beside the dead
Slumbered the pain!
Ah! That the hearts that bled
Slept with the slain!
That the grief died. But no!
Death will not have it so.

These words of Austin Dobson were written of a French sergeant in an earlier war, yet they serve equally well for the German soldier in this. Strange that we leave it to the dead to prove their brotherhood and ours.

Philip Gibbs tells us how in a German dug-out he picked up some letters. "They were all written to 'dear brother Wilhelm,' from sisters and brothers, sending him their loving greetings, praying that his health might be good, promising to send him gifts of food and yearning for his home-coming." They were anxious, for here had been no news for some time. "Every time the postman comes we hope for a little note from you." Can any generous heart think of that anxious waiting unmoved? Shall we children of one Life wait till we have wholly darkened each other's homes, and then call our handiwork peace?

But by that time, by the judgment of God, our eyes will be opened.

We who are bound by the same grief for ever,
When all our sons are dead may talk together,
Each asking pardon of the other one,
For her dead son.[52]

It is we at home who seem to yield only to this dread proof. With the fighters it is often different, as we have seen, and though the stories savour of repetition, the repetition is surely worth while. I have aimed here at no literary production, but simply at a collection of facts that may reach the heart. "We sing," said a soldier from Baden, "to the accompaniment of the piano--especially during the interval for dinner. We have indeed entered into a tacit agreement with the French to stop all fire between 12 and 1 o'clock, so that they and we might not be disturbed when we feed." (_Zeitung am Mittag_, as quoted in the _Daily Chronicle_, November 10, 1914.) "One of our teachers, a lieutenant in the R.F.A., who has been out most of the time, had a few days' leave some weeks ago. He said to the school, assembled to do him honour, 'Boys, do not believe the stories you read about the Germans in the newspapers. Whatever they may have done at the beginning of the war, the German is a brave and noble soldier, and after the war we must be friends.'" (From a private letter.) A soldier writes that a diary he kept was blown to bits by a shell. He gave what remained of it to a wounded German who pleaded for it. He had met many German Socialists in the fighting. "It is a blessing to meet such men and amid all the slaughter brought about by our present system, it seems heaven upon earth." (_Labour Leader_, June 24, 1915.)

ARE WE ALWAYS CHIVALROUS?

It will only be making the _amende honorable_ if we do our best now to spread reports of good deeds of the enemy, for in the early stages of the war we deliberately deleted them from messages, and we have certainly done a great deal to conceal them ever since. Writing to the _Times_ in October, 1914, Mr. Herbert Corey, the American correspondent, said: "The _Times_ leader quotes the _Post_ as charging that I 'flatly made the charge that dispatches had been altered for the purpose of hiding the truth and blackening the German character.' I do not recollect this phrase. I did charge that dispatches of German atrocities were permitted to go through unaltered, and that sentences in other dispatches in which credit was given the Germans for courtesy and kindness were deleted. I abide by that statement."

There have been many angry references to unfair German attempts to influence neutral opinion. A letter such as Mr. Corey's makes me able to understand why some neutrals have accused England of the very same unfairness. There is other testimony to the same effect. Mr. Edward Price Bell, London Correspondent of the _Chicago Daily News_, has, in a pamphlet published by Fisher Unwin, indicted the British censorship in the following terms:

I call the censorship chaotic because of the chaos in its
administration. I call it political because it has changed or
suppressed political cables. I call it discriminatory because
there are flagrant instances of its not holding the scales
evenly between correspondents and newspapers. I call it
unchivalrous because it has been known to elide eulogies of
enemy decency and enemy valour. I call it destructive because
its function is to destroy; it has no constructive function
whatever. I call it in effect anti-British and pro-German
because its tendency--one means, of course, its unconscious
tendency--often is to elevate the German name for veracity and
for courage above the British. I call it ludicrous, because it
has censored such matter as Kipling's "Recessional" and
Browning's poetry. I call it incompetent because one can
perceive no sort of collective efficiency in its work. And
because of the sum of these things I give it the final
descriptive--"incredible."--_Daily News_, January 7, 1916.

There is no doubt that people often _fear_ to tell of German good deeds. An acquaintance of mine told me that his boy got decorated for bringing in a badly wounded comrade from near the German trenches. A little shamefacedly my informant went on: "I don't mind telling _you_, but I _shouldn't like it to be known generally here_, that I know the Germans act well sometimes. My boy wrote he would have had no chance, but he heard the Germans give the order to cease fire." My informant evidently feared the neighbours would call him pro-German if he told this to them, but he thought he might venture to tell a pacifist.[53]

One notices this fear sometimes in rather amusing ways. In a railway compartment with me were a loud-mouthed patriotic woman "war-worker" and a mere soldier back from the front. I'm afraid I got a little at loggerheads with the war-worker, who adopted in argument a kind of furious grin which revealed a formidable row of teeth that in my mind-picture of her have become symbolically almost gigantic. I turned for relief to the mere soldier, and while the train was moving we had a pleasant dip into soldier philosophy. "I've come to the conclusion that there's good and bad everywhere," he said. "I've known bad Germans, and I've known Germans to look after our wounded as well as a British Tommy could look after his chum." There was more to this effect, but whenever the train stopped and our voices became audible to others, we were silent. The fear of that row of teeth was, I think in both our hearts, and I could see the mere soldier looking timid before them.

Fair play to the enemy's character is a concession not quite so easy to the average Englishman as he supposes. "The Anglo-Saxon race has never been remarkable for magnanimity towards a fallen foe." Just now, when we are inclined to be almost afraid of the excess of chivalry which possesses us, there may be useful corrective in these words of Lieutenant-General Sir William Butler, K.C.B. There has been much searching of old history books of late to find out what was said in the days of Tacitus against the Germans.[54] (What Tacitus said in their favour is not considered.) Perhaps on the other side there are investigators searching their history books for ancient opinions of the English. "Strike well these English," said Duke William to his Normans, "show no weakness towards these English, for they will have no pity for you. Neither the coward for running well, nor the bold man for fighting well will be better liked by the English, nor will any be more spared on either account." Butler approved this verdict. We shall not readily agree with him. Yet he did not speak without cause: he had known an English general kick the dead body of an African King, who "was a soldier every inch of him," and he had known the colonists spit upon an African chief brought bound and helpless through Natal. ("Far Out," p. 131.) I believe myself there is a great and ready generosity in the hearts of the English people, but he must surely be a man invariably on the "correct" side who has not more than once come across the official Englishman who could be a bully to those in his power.

SOME BRITISH OPINIONS.

"I am disgusted by the accounts I see in the papers of the inferiority of Germans as soldiers. Don't believe one word of it. They are quite splendid in every way. Their courage, efficiency, organisation, equipment and leading are all of the very best, and never surpassed by any troops ever raised. They come on in masses against our trenches and machine guns, and come time after time, and they are never quiescent, but always on the offensive. I am full of admiration for them, and so are all who know anything about them. It is a pity that such fine soldiers should have behaved so badly in Belgium and here; they have behaved badly, there is no doubt about it, but nothing like what is said of them--any way in parts I have been through." These words from a General Officer commanding a brigade occur in a letter published in the _Times_ of November 19, 1914. Yet these "quite splendid" fighters are the men of whom a learned professor appointed by the Government has written that they are "rotten to the core." There is some discrepancy here. "They are great workers, these Germans," wrote Philip Gibbs (_Daily Chronicle_, July 5, 1916), "and wonderful soldiers."

"An officer of the _Sydney_ gave a quite enthusiastic account of the officers of the _Emden_. 'Vitthoef, the torpedo lieutenant, was a thoroughly nice fellow. Lieutenant Schal was also a good fellow and half English. It quite shook them when they found that the captain had asked that there be no cheering on entering Colombo, but we certainly did not want cheering with rows of badly wounded men (almost all German) laid out in cots on the quarter deck. Captain von Müller is a very fine fellow.... The day he was leaving the ship at Colombo, he came up to me on the quarter-deck and thanked me in connection with the rescue of the wounded, shook hands and saluted, which was very nice and polite of him.... Prince Hohenzollern was a decent enough fellow. In fact, we seemed to agree that it was our job to knock one another out, but there was no malice in it.' This is the ideal fighting, 'with no malice in it.' It has been achieved by many English and Germans, and that gives hope for the future. Let us make the most, not the least, of what points towards a better understanding.... At the beginning of November 'Eye-Witness' records how English prisoners had been sheltered by the Germans in cellars to protect them from the bombardment of their own side. An Anglo-Indian tells of a wounded havildar who was noticed by a German officer. 'The German officer spoke to him in Hindustani, asking him the number of his regiment, and where he came from. He bound up his wounds, gave him a drink, and brought him a bundle of straw to support his head. This will be remembered to the credit side of our German account.'

"A wounded officer addressed some students at one of our universities. He protested humorously that he was not a 'pro-German,' and then spoke up for a fair view of the enemy. When he was being carried into hospital, he noticed an anti-aircraft gun just outside the hospital. This struck him as, to say the least, unwise. He expected the hospital to be shelled, and this occurred. He did not blame the Germans. On another occasion a farm near the firing line was used for first aid. It was not obviously a hospital and was fired on. The Commanding Officer sent a note to Von Kluck to explain matters, and the farm was never after exposed to fire.[55] He had seen a church damaged by German shell fire, but this was one which he had himself seen used by the French for observation purposes.[56] The same officer uttered a warning against believing all that was in the 'Tommies' letters. At one time when he was censoring letters, one passed through his hands from a Tommy only just arrived in France, and never in the firing line. He described an immense battle in which the English did wonders and he himself had marvellous duties to perform. As far as the military situation was concerned the letter was quite harmless, so it was allowed to go through. It was something like the intelligence to the publication of which the Press Bureau 'does not object.'"[57][58]

In her book, "My War Experiences on Two Continents," Miss Macnaughten writes of the Germans: "Individually, I always like them, and it is useless to say I don't. They are all polite and grateful, and I thought to-day, when the prisoners were surrounded by a gaping crowd, that they bore themselves very well." (p. 127). Again, "I found one young German with both hands smashed. He was not ill enough to have a bed, of course, but sat with his head fallen forward trying to sleep on a chair. I fed him with porridge and milk out of a little bowl, and when he had finished half of it he said, 'I won't have any more. I am afraid there will be none for the others.'" (p. 37.) Unfortunately, Miss Macnaughten too readily accepted war stories. She writes of "country houses" where he heard German prisoners here lived in luxury, "and they say girls are allowed to come and play lawn tennis with them." The humour of this will be apparent to any who have visited internment camps. Lawn tennis was, however, possible at some camps, both here and in Germany--there were seven courts at Ruhleben. Some of the atrocity stories many of us will recognise as not so reliable as Miss Macnaughten supposed. It is her personal experiences which are important, and, like the Scotchman[59] (whom she quotes) she has, not hatred, but respect, for the Germans whom she herself meets.

THE EASE OF ACCUSATION.

Again and again, everywhere, we find readiness to accept stories against the enemy on very slender evidence. At the time of the loss of our three cruisers I saw in one of the better newspapers a large heading, "German Treachery. Fighting under the Dutch Flag." I looked down the columns for evidence. No mention of such a circumstance in the official report, none in the letter from the chief correspondent; but at last I found that some one at Harwich had "heard of" such an incident. We must remember that only cool and clear intellects are likely at such a time to give an accurate account of facts. Between others mutual recrimination may readily arise. An officer on H.M.A.S. _Sydney_ wrote after the attack on the _Emden_: "It was very interesting talking to some of the German officers afterwards. On the first day they were on board one said to me, 'You fire on the white flag.' I at once took the matter up, and the torpedo-lieutenant and an engineer (of the _Emden_) both said emphatically, 'No, that is not so; you did not fire on the white flag.' But we did not leave it at that. One of us went to the captain, and he got from Captain von Müller an assurance that we had done nothing of the kind, and that he intended to assemble his officers and tell them so." Note how readily on the other side, amongst those less responsible or less cool-headed, a tale may grow up against _us_. Let us observe in considering tales against them the same caution that we should wish them to exercise in considering tales against us.[60]

TROOPS IN OCCUPATION.

Witnesses from Brussels and from Ghent have spoken well of the personal behaviour of both soldiers and officers. A neutral correspondent writes in the _Times_ of January 28, 1915:

"On the whole it cannot be said that the behaviour of the German
officers and soldiers towards the population of Ghent is bad.
When the German troops entered the city, strict injunctions were
given them to refrain from pillaging, and to pay for everything
they bought in the shops, very much to the disgust of many...."

Mr. Gabriel Mourey has written an account of his custody of the Palais de Compiègne during the invasion. The _Times_ review of this book is so interesting that I propose to give some extracts from it:

First the palace served as the general headquarters of the
British Army during the last stage of the strategic retreat to
the Marne; and in the closing days of August, M. Mourey looked
out of his window to see Generals French and Joffre walking up
and down the terrace in consultation, while in the park English
soldiers were shaving themselves calmly before little pieces of
broken mirror. In a night they had left Compiègne, blowing up
the Louis XV. bridge ("utterly improved," and therefore no great
loss). On the next day came the Uhlans, by no means so terrible
as they had been painted.... Von Kluck was to make his
headquarters there for a day, and the first announcement of the
doubtful honour was brought by an engineer lieutenant, who came
to make a wireless installation on the palace roof. He was very
quick, but he found time to inform the conservator that his name
was Maurin, that it was a French name. He repeated it many
times, "C'est un nom français," and he was plainly proud of it.
Then came Von Kluck himself, asking in polite and excellent
French that he might be shown over the palace. Of him M. Mourey
draws a by no means unattractive picture, urbane yet reserved,
with real admiration for the treasures of the Palace, discreetly
murmuring "Je sais" at the close of every explanation, not
offensively, but as though some long forgotten memory had
returned to him, making his frequent "Kolossal" sound in his
conductor's ears as gently as the continual "Very nice" of the
British Officer, and, his visit over, promising that respect
should be paid to the monument of Imperial France.

But Von Kluck could not stay. He was followed by Von Marwitz, no
less polite, no less sympathetic to M. Mourey's natural fears,
and generous enough to write and sign a proclamation forbidding
his troops to lay their hand upon the palace. He, too, went his
way. Von Kluck's Quartermaster-General seized the opportunity of
making a private levy of 5,000f. upon the town before he sped
like Gehazi after his master's chariot. Then ensued the brief
reign of lesser men, stupid, brutal, blustering, bullying,
insulting, because they feared a civilisation which they could
not understand.

I think we know such men, and many privates know such men, elsewhere than in the German army. Germany may have cultivated them in greater numbers--that is highly probable--but they are rife everywhere, and under favourable circumstances they thrive exceedingly.

Their insolent arrogance culminated in a certain aide-de-camp,
who arrived post-haste to say that the Palace must be instantly
made ready to receive an Excellence _par excellence_. A man of
imagination this aide-de-camp, for when at his command M. Mourey
showed him over the palace and pointed out the gaps in the
collections made by the soldiers' pilfery, he said with an
all-explanatory air, "But why didn't you get souvenirs ready for
the officers?" The Excellence whom this right Brandenburger
heralded was no less than the Kaiser himself, and M. Mourey is
convinced that it is to the Imperial intention that the safety
of Compiègne is owing. It may be: but we prefer to think that
honourable foes such as Von Kluck and Von Marwitz had their
share in the unusual consummation.[61]

"The Irish Nuns at Ypres" gives an account of their experiences by a member of the Community. In a review (May 27, 1915), the _Times_ Literary Supplement says:

For us in England it is hard to realise the feeling of sickening
anxiety with which, on October 7, these defenceless ladies
witnessed the arrival in Ypres of the devastators of Belgium. On
this occasion, apart from a certain amount of looting, the
Germans behaved "pretty civilly," and the Abbey had nothing to
complain of but want of bread.

Another French account of the invaders in Northern France is given by Gabriele and Margerita Yerta, "Six Women and the Invasion." Their experiences were variable. "It is clear," writes a reviewer in the _Nation_, "that Herr Major, and 'Barlu,' and 'Crafleux' and the two 'model Prussians,' who replenished the house with coal and provisions, and offered the ladies game they had shot, only sinned by their over-gallantry. But things changed for the worse with the coming of a hundred Death's Head Hussars and Lieutenant von Bernhausen.... Nothing very outrageous is recorded, but there was dragooning, inquisition, drunkenness. Bernhausen's reign lasted two months." As to outrages on women, Madame Yerta writes: "To be sure there were rapes, but, thanks be to God, these were few, and they took place at the beginning of the invasion.... I must confess that many a woman was the victim of her own imprudence." The book is, naturally, fiercely anti-German, its facts are, however, those of any war story.

Again, "On the whole the Germans behaved well at St. Quentin. Their rule was stern but just, and although the civil population had been put on rations of black bread, they got enough, and it was not, after all, so bad." This testimony is the more noteworthy because, "as one of the most important bases of the German Army in France the town was continually filled with troops of every regiment, who stayed a little while and then passed on." (Philip Gibbs, "The Soul of the War," p. 152.) It is a little startling to read some more that Mr. Gibbs has to say. French-women were ready to sell themselves to German soldiers, and "such outrageous scenes took place that the German order to close some of the cafés was hailed as a boon by the decent citizens, who saw the women expelled by order of the German commandant with enormous thankfulness." I am not so surprised at this now as when I first read it. An English soldier has since told me that the "silliness" (as he called it) of women for soldiers leads them, in more cases than he could have imagined, to bestow themselves on either friend or enemy. Women with child had said to him quite proudly that it was by a German soldier!

From a private letter: "One of the party is a French officer who tells the tale. After the Marne retreat he was crossing over the territory evacuated by the Germans, and made inquiry of the villagers who had housed the enemy, how they had been treated, what barbarities had been committed, and so forth. The villagers were surprised. The Germans had behaved like gentlemen, had paid for what they used, and had treated them with perfect courtesy. What, no looting? On the contrary, the German officer had a soldier shot for a very small act of pillage.... 'We're soldiers, not robbers,' he said." I cannot vouch for this story, but it gives just the same impression as the account given by Dr. Scarlett-Synge (see pp. 149ff). It is also remarkably similar to experiences recounted by C. A. Winn (Baron Headley) who was with the Prussians in 1870. ("What I saw of the War," p. 44.) When he himself had taken some vegetables from a garden, he was told by his officer friends that any sort of pillage was the "greatest offence a friend of the Prussians could be guilty of." And Mr. Winn speaks of "the many instances of the remarkable efforts of the authorities of the Prussian army to prevent plunders by their soldiers." It must be remembered that deliberate destruction for military reasons, or as punishment (carried out by all armies) is very different from theft. I do not for a moment suppose that this standard is always reached by the German armies. That it has often been aimed at is something to remember.

I may add here a rather interesting quotation from Colonel F. N. Maude's book, "War and the World's Life." On page 11 he writes: "I do not suggest that life in the Prussian army has at any time been ideal, but I do assert, from personal knowledge, that relatively to their respective stages of civilisation the treatment of the Prussian soldier, since 1815, has at all times been fairer and more humane than in any other army. The fact is proved by the very high standard of discipline maintained, together with the extraordinary absence of military crime which has so long distinguished it."

I am reminded, too, of one of the first experiences of a friend of mine in France. He reached a village through which the Uhlans had passed. Had the inhabitants any complaints of their behaviour? None whatever.[62] Their only indignation was directed against some English soldiers who (if their story be correct) had behaved abominably. It was a curious shock of reality for my friend. He realised that sometimes the enemy might behave well, and sometimes bad stories of English soldiers might be circulated (even amongst Allies). I am quite sure that no soldiers in the world would, in general, have more natural humanity than the British, and perhaps none would have as much. I contend only against the belief that one side is impeccable, and the other hopelessly barbarian.

FROM THE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW; A COMMON MEMORIAL.

Here are a few extracts from the _International Review_, a periodical published at Zürich, and with co-operators in Russia, Denmark, Germany, Austria, Italy, America, Great Britain. "The yearning of human beings towards mutual understanding needs to-day a new organ for its expression." Hence this review--a review naturally pronounced pro-German by our Junker Press, since it presents, amongst other things, moderate statements of the German standpoint. The only internationalism which this Press can recognise is one that is exclusively English. So exactly, _mutatis mutandis_, do German and English chauvinism coincide. The extracts which follow are taken from the first number of the review. "Under the title, 'German-French Chivalry,' the _Volksstimme_, of Frankfurt a.M. (June 19, 1915), describes the dedication of a memorial to three thousand dead at Sedan on June 12. The leaders of the German army were present, and the French authorities officially shared in the proceedings. The short inscriptions on the simple monuments are in both French and German. They refer alike to the seventeen hundred French and the thirteen hundred Germans who fell on August 27 during the battle on the heights of Noyers."

A STORY FROM FRANCE.

From _L'Action Française_, Paris (June 12, 1915), is cited a description of the poignancy of war, of which the following is a translation:

There had been a fierce fight in front of a fortress. Many dead
lay on the ground, and a few wounded who were dying. In the
night we heard weak cries, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' We answered,
thinking it was a German who wished to give himself up. The
cries were repeated. We thought of treachery, and each took his
stand in readiness. Suddenly, there came in pure French:
'Camerades Français!' 'What is it?' 'A wounded man lies near
you.' 'No.' 'Yes, in front of the trench.' 'We have just made a
round, and found only dead.' 'Yes, but there _is_ a wounded man
there who is calling. Can you not look for him?' 'No.' And then
in the silence we hear again, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' The German
officer speaks again, very politely: 'French comrades, may we go
to look for the wounded man?' An inflexible 'No' is the answer.
Is not some trick concealed under his apparent humanity and his
persistence? 'Well, then,' calls the German again, 'go yourself
and look; we shall not shoot.' Can we trust a German's word,
after all that they have done? But there is no long delay. A man
from Lille springs forward: 'All right, I will go to fetch him,'
he says. 'I will go with him,' I say to the Lieutenant. The
leader of my squadron brings some others. The wounded man calls:
'Kamerad! Do not kill me!' We reassure him as to our intentions,
and as he has a shattered hip we carry him to our lines, and on
the way in spite of his suffering, he keeps on repeating with
every kind of modulation, 'Good comrade.' He was a young man,
scarcely eighteen years old, of the 205th Infantry.

I call to the enemy trenches: 'We have brought in one wounded
man, are there any others there?' 'Yes. 20 metres further to the
right.' We look round. 'There are none there, only dead.' 'Wait,
we will give you some light.' A few words in German which we
cannot understand. Will they simply shoot us down? Suddenly two
splendid rockets go up: we can see as if it were midday. We are
half a dozen marines and are standing twenty metres from the
German trenches. On the other side of the wire entanglements an
officer and men, behind the breastwork pointed helmets and caps.
All remains quiet. We look round carefully. 'Nothing. There are
only corpses here. We are going back, you go back, too.' 'Merci,
camerades français!' calls the officer, and his men repeat the
greeting of their superior. As soon as we are behind our
breastwork our Lieutenant gives a command loud enough to be
heard at sixty metres. 'In the air--Fire!' From over there once
more, 'Thank you, comrades,' as answer to our salvo, and all
falls back once more into the silence of the night; the work of
death can go on again. But for this one night not a shot was
heard around us.

How much sanity is there in a world that sets such men to kill each other, and eggs them on to hate?

GERMAN HELP OF "ALIEN ENEMIES."

In Germany (as already mentioned in Chap. IV.) is a 'Committee for advice and help to natives and foreigners in State and international affairs.' It deals with those of all nationalities, and one branch of it corresponds in many ways to the similar Emergency Committee in England for assistance of Germans, Austrians and Hungarians in distress.