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Contents
PAGE
OLD ENGLAND AND YOUNG GERMANY . .21
WITH THE EASTERN ARMY TO CALAIS . . 45
CROSSING THE CHANNEL .... 69
BATTLES IN THE SOUTH OF ENGLAND . 85
HEROES 117
THE NIGHT BETWEEN THE BATTLES . . 145
FIGHT OF AIRMEN OVER THE THAMES . . 161
THE LAST BATTLE OF THE CENTURY . .179
BEFORE THE GATES OF LONDON . . . 207
THE ENTRY INTO THE CITY . . . .225
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Introduction
PROBABLY no book has so taken possession of
the popular imagination of any country as
" The March of Hindenburg into London" has
taken hold of that of Germany, where it is at
present selling in hundreds of thousands as fast
as publishers can turn it out, and being devoured
by man, woman, and child, from the Statesmen
in the Wilhelmstrasse down to the babes of
the kindergarten.
A few years ago a book on the same lines,
dealing with the taking of Paris* and the final
division of France between Germany and Italy,
produced a similar sort of furore, but this was
nothing compared with the outburst produced
by the present volume, for of course England
is now openly acknowledged to have been all
along the real objective of the world war which
* " How Germany Crushed France," by Adolf Sommerfeldt.
A translation, edited with a Preface, by L. G. Redmond-Howard.
II
Hindenburg's March into London
is now threatening the very foundations of
civilisation.
Such an admission is of the very first
importance, even though it comes from such
a source as an indiscreet romance as this,
which might be aptly described as "a
diplomatist speaking in his cups," for while it
incriminates Germany up to the very hilt it is
the final justification of our belated and much-
debated intervention.
Nay, more — events have added a certain
element of Nemesis to our respective attitudes,
one to the other, for while on the one hand
another twenty years of peace would have
finally consolidated the hard-won victories of
painstaking German science and determination,
on the other hand nothing but a European
conflagration could have roused lethargical
England from a comatose state, which was as
much of a danger to herself as, witness the
event, it was to the whole evolution of
mankind.
In fact, a paradox as undeniable as it was
unexpected, has gradually been appearing, till
it now dominates the whole of the sixteen
12
Introduction
months of war, namely, that far from being the
first step in a series of downward strides,
England probably owes more to the Kaiser's
folly than to anything else in her history since
the Armada, by the folly of another sovereign,
finally established her freedom of religion.
Instead of the war tending to an invasion of
our shores by German hordes, nothing has
more thoroughly , cleansed them from aliens
whom we had been inclined to enthrone in our
midst with a semi-superstitious respect which
would have made any respectable demi-god
blush. In the process we were led to over-
rate their strength as much as they were led
to underestimate our power, so we have as
much reason to bless our good fortune as they
have to curse their ill- fortune that this persistent
illusion is finally dispelled.
Had the present bombastic adventure been by
way of warning, or even by way of threat, and
had it come from the pen of an Englishman,
like, say, " The Battle of Dorking/' or Wells'
" War in the Air," or even William le Queux's
" Invasion," we might have questioned its
good taste, but we could have felt no qualms
13
Hindenburg's March into London
in taking it as a tribute to Germany's greatness ;
but coming at this belated hour from the pen
of an unknown poet of the Fatherland after
months of continual fiascos, which only their
colossal proportions prevent from becoming
apparent, it simply indicates a blindness and
an unconscious sense of irony, which will some
day place " Hindenburg's March into London"
among their masterpieces of satirical self-
criticism.
In a word, nearly every one of the plans
of the German Government have miscarried,
and this to such a degree that the day must
inevitably come when the German people will
call it to reckoning for the colossal catastrophe
which now threatens all their labours and
efforts, and it is only a matter of time for the
realisation of the fact that, far from advancing
the threatened invasion of England, the Kaiser
has made it for ever impossible.
Thus, when the German Gibbon, sitting upon
the banks of the Rhine, takes up his pen to
start " The Decline and Fall of the Teutonic
Empires," he will probably start his first chapter
with the invasion of England, and how the
14
Introduction
Kaiser stopped it at the very moment when
to all appearance it was within an ace of success.
Possibly he will not find it necessary to warn
his readers that he does not use the word
" invasion " in any military sense, for he will
go on to explain that he uses the word
"invasion" in a far more complete sense than
the mere militarism sense, when he might
begin in this fashion : —
"About the year 1914 there was hardly any department
of life or thought in which Germany was not the dominating
influence, and this not merely in countries like France and
Russia and England, but throughout the world.
" In another twenty years of peace the Fatherland would
have held the world within the palm of her hand had it not
been for the colossal folly of Wilhelm II., who, by an
unexpected declaration of war upon Europe in the August
of that year, suddenly withdrew the clutch of her life force
and precipitated the country upon a downward career which
was destined to end in financial and moral catastrophe.
" Critics and philosophers," he will probably add, " are
to this day incapable of giving a satisfactory explanation
for the coupe defoudre by which the last of the Hohenzollerns
plunged Europe into war, save upon the supposition of a
tinge of insanity which had become hereditary.
" Suffice it to say that within six months the seas had
been absolutely swept of our shipping, our trade brought to
a standstill, and our country encircled with a ring of steel
which was gradually to strangle us to exhaustion.
15
Hindenburg's March into London
" The tragedy was all the more colossal in that it was a
step so absolutely unnecessary, for on all sides we had
already won the hearts of those whom our own folly — or
rather that of our ruler — had turned into our enemies.
" Thus, for example, England, which even then controlled
the world's commerce and directed the democracy of
civilization, was as completely under our control as she
could have been under an army of occupation, but not-
withstanding the combined warnings of her most able
politicians and the most important sections of her Press, she
was sublimely unconscious of the fact.
" England, in other words, was already passively in our
power — practically a German colony — and it only needed a
few more years of persistent, organised co-operation before
her whole empire should fall into our hands as naturally as
a ripe pear falls to the ground.
"Already in her colonies our goods were flooding her
own markets and cutting out the Mother Country, and
where German trade did not do so, American trade was
doing it, so that England's commercial downfall was prac-
tically within a measurable distance, and as America was
fast becoming Germanised, this would have meant a com-
plete world victory for the Fatherland.
" German citizens sat in England's Parliament and were
members of her Privy Council, and from these high places
down to the lowest stations every position of importance in
office and factory was becoming filled with our advance
agents, and even so-called British firms were often financed
entirely from Berlin and Frankfort.
" In her Universities, German thought had long become
a synonym for culture and science. German philosophers
like Kant, Fichte, Haeckel, and Nietzsche ruled supreme.
Historians like Lord Acton openly avowed their admiration
16
Introduction
of our methods and thoroughness as exemplified by the
models of Ranke and Dollinger. Doctors and scientists
revelled in the latest German invention or discovery, like
those of Koch and Ehrlich. Literary men and dramatists
found in our native masterpieces endless sources whence
to draw a national school. Schiller, Heine, and Goethe
were looked upon as the greatest poets that ever lived,
while Bernard Shaw was regarded as a genius simply
because he was a good translator and adaptor of Teutonic
ideals. The music of Wagner, Bach, and Beethoven could
fill the Queen's Hall or the Albert Hall any night when
native talent might starve for years • while nearly all the
younger men in art looked to Munich with hardly less
reverence than they did to Athens. Politicians likewise
caught the craze ; bill after bill went through the House of
Commons, such as Old Age Pensions and Insurance, simply
because they were already in force in Germany • in a word,
the Englishman was being deprived of his individuality.
" In one thing alone did he retain it, and that was in the
matter of militarism, which was, after all, the least important
of all, for even the Englishman's religion was being
Germanised away into modernistic negations, like Tyrrel's
and R. J. Campbell's, who had only to mention some
unknown professor from one of the German universities
to have the most astounding statements believed under
the title of the New Theology.
" It was at such a time as this that Wilhelm the Second
suddenly came in with the one move that could arouse the
Englishman's resentment and awake him to the conscious-
ness that his country was already invaded.
" In vain did our economists warn the Kaiser of the
danger of an open attack, and point out the inevitable
victory unaided peace would bring to Germany, viz., that
17 c
Hindenburg's March into London
the whole world would wake up only when it was too late,
and the last prize had been secured.
" He could not have played more into the hands of the
British had he been in the pay of their Government ; he
could not have freed England more thoroughly had he been
at the head of an army of victorious invaders, like the
Norman Conqueror, and then suddenly ordered them to
re-embark; and however humiliating it may be for us
Germans to admit, history endorses the verdict that it was
the Kaiser who saved England, and in so doing began the
decline and fall of the German Empire."
There is no necessity, however, to resort to
prophecy, for we can actually see the process
of National Salvation going on before our eyes.
England but a few years ago was looked
upon by Europe as the world's greatest tyrant,
she is now enthroned over all as the champion
of outraged right and nationality, while Germany,
that was to have led Europe against the Yellow
Peril, has stooped to acts which have not only
disgraced the white races but even disgusted
the black races, who are flocking over under
England's standards in order to break her
barbaric power.
A few mad months of debauch by your
regiments, oh ! hapless Monarch, have robbed
of their reward a century of your people's toil
18
Introduction
and idealism, which might have taken the place
of England as pioneer of civilisation.
The only possible rival to England as ruler
of the waves, you have by one single act — the
sinking of the Lusitania — showed a horrified
world what you meant by your freedom of
the seas, and made the nations realise what our
Fleet has saved them from.
All these things and more we owe to you —
Kaiser Wilhelm — and we cannot but tell you
of our gratitude for the way you have averted
the invasion of our land.
We leave our vengeance to your own people-
it is their's in a far truer sense than it is our's.
You fondly hoped that, like the Roman
Caesars, these thousands of gladiators you
would send to their doom would still hail you
" faire well " on the threshold of death ; instead,
it is they who are witnessing your own suicide,
in the full consciousness that your fall will
mean their salvation.
That is why we say, " Not we who are about to
die," but " we who are about to live, salute you."
L. G. REDMOND-HOWARD.
London: Lincoln's Inn, 1915. C 2
Old England and
Young Germany
HINDENBURG'S MARCH
INTO LONDON
OLD ENGLAND AND YOUNG
GERMANY
OLD ENGLAND was the most successful and
the most ruthless schoolmistress the world had
ever seen.
Zealously and with extreme talent, she had
adapted herself to playing the part of a political
schoolmistress, whose aim for centuries had
been to educate the countries of the European
continent in accordance with England's wish
and will ; England, indeed, had reason to be
satisfied with the results of her exertions. This
rare teacher set bounds and limits to any strong
will or youthful force which might arise, or
strive for supremacy anywhere in Europe.
Favourites were fostered, the strengthening of
whom might be of use to her later ; England
overthrew the plans of others and helped to
forge new plans. She delighted in those
countries who, not rising above a mediocre
23
Hindenburg's March into London
level in their attainments and ability, were
satisfied with the endowments Nature had
given them, and gave England no trouble in
any way. England, indeed, wanted her rest.
She looked with no friendly eye upon any
strenuous and forceful disturbers of the peace.
Above all, she did not like zeal for geography
in her proteges, and could show herself extremely
ungracious if the Continental States poked their
noses out of Europe and wanted to have a look
in and see what was going on in the big world.
The little would-be Powers on the Continent
were to rest satisfied with the study of the map
of Europe ! What lay beyond that was a
private matter for Old England.
Her primary aim was to keep the Continental
countries as average-size Powers. With the
zeal of an anxious guardian, she watched to see
that none of them had too much pocket-money
to spend and become too enterprising. If one
of them wished to look at the wide world, and
even to settle down somewhere in it, Old
England took care that the domestic peace
of these foolhardy Powers was disturbed, and
they always had enough work inside their
four frontiers to keep them away from other
objects.
Towards needy parasites and starvelings she
might on occasion be very friendly and ready
to assist, but, notwithstanding all sympathy,
abated never a jot of her school-teacher's
24
Old England and Young Germany
dignity. The Channel maintained the distance
of authority between her and those whom she
sought to take under a guardian care, full of
noble love for one's fellows. She was at all
times ready to make the greatest financial
sacrifices if the rate of interest was a good
one.
It must be put down to the credit of Old
England that her political professions bore a
decidedly liberal stamp. She was by no means
anxious that her compeers on the Continent
should sit with folded hands, but, on the con-
trary, looked on approvingly if now and again
they flew at each other's throats. It was a
pleasurable sight to schoolmistress England
to see the little Continental soldiers play and
go to war. War, indeed ! She laughed then,
as only the Devil can laugh. She was remote
from the fighting, and at most, if the war did
not take the required course, brought her silver
bullets into play. When fighting stopped,
however, she was always on top, and always
managed to lead the peace negotiations into
such a course that even the victorious country
was enfeebled for years to come. That England
at the peace negotiations would at last play
some trump was as established a fact as the
" Amen " after the sermon.
"If two quarrel, the Briton rejoices" has
long been a proverb. In the course of centuries
but few had seriously endeavoured to catch
25
Hindenburg's March into London
the measure of Mephistopheles, and none had
succeeded.
The wilder the turmoil in Europe, the more
might England rejoice, for the countries which
had got their heads battered were afterwards
easily the most docile. England took counsel
of her big banks as to whether European peace
should be maintained or whether it was expe-
dient in the policy of power, and in the interests
of business, to rig up a war again. The business
books of her banks and trading-houses are
the best sources for the history of European
countries, for in them the ultimate subterranean
connections are laid bare.
Old England wished to attend upon earth to
the business of God Almighty. And while she
looked with godly dignity to the maintenance of
order in Europe, and liked to keep in leading
strings those who would fain be great on the
Continent, she was free, undisturbed to develop
her world-wide business, establishing herself
comfortably on the shores of all oceans, parcel-
ling up entire continents, sated with prosperity,
and living magnificently and joyously. Yes, it
was a pleasure to live ! England had a con-
siderable patrimony at the bank, and knew
herself to be respected and feared in her
educational dignity, and she now hoped to
enjoy repose.
26
Old England and Young Germany
Then in the year 1870 something quite
unheard of happened. About that time there
all at once appeared in Europe in the fore-
ground a youth in the fullness of his strength —
young Germany ! He was a sprig of the good,
stupid old-German Michael, who had fared
especially badly owing to his horizon bounded
by the church tower, and his secluded mode of
living. Michael had to sit very far behind in
the European State class, and during the last
five hundred years he was always several
decades behind the others. Young Michael,
however, the fair-haired, blue-eyed fellow, was oi
a different mould ! To the schoolmistress on
the other side of the Channel he looked a very
slippery fish ! She could not turn an eye away
from the fellow as he carried on all sorts of
suspicious games, built guns diligently and with
surpassing skill, speedily developed engineering
and weaving as good as the British, and made it
his task to overtake his mistress in all depart-
ments in which Germany had been the pupil of
Britain. He had assiduous talent in working,
experimenting, investigating and inventing, had
drawers full of patents, and wanted to know
things better than anyone else in chemistry and
medicine. Fortunately, the young fellow was
still very far from worldly wise and allowed
everybody to peep into his laboratory and
workshops, so that even countries of prey such
as Japan might imitate many things.
27
Hindenburg's March into London
The young fellow was endowed with a
capacity for taking pains and a self-conscious-
ness quite inadmissible in this age. He joined
in all great movements, and positively played
the part of the discoverer of Europe. He
discovered the French painters before the
French ; English poets before the English ;
Slavonic dramatists before the Russians ; and
Roman beauty before the Italians. Young
Michael knew something and could do some-
thing, and who could know what he still had
up his sleeve ? With rash temerity he
wished first of all to renew humanity on
sentimental principles, and one of his most
fanciful ideas was, indeed, the so-called " social
care." By this, of course, one only spoils the
poor and reduces the profit of contractors.
Such humanitarian tendencies were not to the
liking of the English schoolmistress, who said
in the philosophy of Jeremy Bentham : " Let
every Briton do what is of use to him. Let
every Briton see that he is good at arithmetic
and church-going — as regards love of one's
fellows, it is quite sufficient to occasionally
encourage those who are laden and weary with
a pious proverb ! Or can anyone seriously
assert that social care is required for money-
making ? A curious people these Germans ! "
The young fellow developed visibly. He
lived entirely his young, strong life and bothered
little about the good tone in which England
28
Old England and Young Germany
wished to educate him. He continually called
forth blame and fault-finding, but young Michael
continued quite unabashed to concern himself
with world-wide commerce, diligently studied
over-seas geography, laboured arduously, and
cared not two straws for what other people
thought about him.
In his relations with his European neighbours
he was of an honesty which has now grown
quite old-fashioned. He paid so little attention
in his diplomacy to craftiness and ingratiating
methods, that he often watched with a sigh how
Albion got the better of him in diplomatic world
business. This honesty was an inheritance from
the old worthy, unsuspicious, and thereby often
befooled, led by the nose, and sorely tried
German Michael.
Greatly to his detriment, young Michael had
no idea of adopting the new methods of diplo-
macy, but looked upon himself as unfortunately
unfitted for diplomatic flirting, renounced the
creation of a lying press abroad in his favour,
and missed the opportunity for many relations
which can only be opened in drawing-rooms
when smoking a good cigar.
Full of worthy simplicity and blissful trust-
fulness, he thought that with honest work he
would do more in the world than by coquetting
and skirmishing, by taking pleasure in small
liaisons, and striving against solemn ententes
cordiales. He, with a proud half smile, passed
29
Hindenburg's March into London
by all the useful, petty English statesmen's
craft, unfortunately did not count wire-pulling
and the tricks of past masters in the art of
intrigue as being the work of diplomacy, and
failed to see that Bismarck was now out of date,
and that modern diplomacy of the English
school must often be encountered by employing
similar tactics. With his large blue eyes he
walked a straight road through the world and
worked bravely onwards. His art and his
science gained him fame, his industry accumu-
lated money, and his trade conquered country
after country.
To the Briton the doings of the young fellow
became more and more distasteful. Old
England wanted to have rest and enjoy the
rich patrimony of her fathers, and now this
pushful and go-ahead fellow came along—
naturally she felt herself threatened more and
more every day in the comfortable enjoyment
of life. England had, on the other hand, no
need to work six days in the week ; the country
could afford to devote at least two days to
sports and games. In Germany, with its own
peculiar trend of ideas, it was thought that in
the age of world economy only that party could
be on top which worked to the limits of its
strength, and gave the utmost to earnest
creation.
Old England and Young Michael — a cleft
between two worlds.
30
Old England and Young Germany
In addition to harvesting fame and earning
money, young Michael did many other things
which were no less distasteful to the school-
mistress of Europe. His most suspicious pastime
he indulged at the water's edge. This ill-
advised scion of good old Michael began to build
big shipyards and to create for himself, so far
as he could, a serviceable fleet !
Was he so rash, such a megalomaniac as
seriously to desire a voice in the business of the
world ?
Against the suspicious games of the young
coxcomb on the seashore measures must abso-
lutely be taken ! England might, perhaps,
have admitted a strong military Power as having
equal rights, but never again a seafaring people
as serious competitors ! For so venturesome a
country, looking forward to the future, as young
Germany, his deliberate building of a fleet might
finally only form the stepping-stone for the
development of strength which opened up
limitless possibilities ! Even without an equal
fleet, young Germany had one for commerce,
and ran undaunted around the whole globe, in
order to look for customers for its industry ;
even without a strong fleet its merchant navy
was in all the corners of the world and earned
money, much more than it ought to. What if
it created a fleet of the same rank as the
English and placed it at the service of its trade
and industry ? The suspicious doings in Kiel
Hindenburg's March into London
and Stettin and Wilhelmshaven gave Old
England many sleepless nights.
Envy and fear taught the English to hate
young Germany, but they did not at first quite
know how to give vent to this hate. Though,
it is true, those who talked politics over their
beer and gin, recommended a very simple
means for Britain to rid herself of the German
Alps : Young Michael must first be harassed
with diplomatic pin-pricks, and then fallen upon
and attacked from all sides with bludgeons !
His ambitions should be driven out of him and
his Zeppelins blown up ! He should be made
as powerless and lamb-like as Michael in the
pre-Bismarck period. With pen and sword
steps must be taken to compel this people, these
tillers of the soil, to return once more to the
existence for which it was fitted in the poverty
of 1815 or, still better, 1648 !
Those who did not talk politics over their
beer, but in the St. James's district over their
whiskies-and-sodas, recommended the same
fighting tactics, though by a different path. In
their incendiary speeches in Hyde Park they
reasoned thus :
" Men of England ! That Germany has
become so provokingly prosperous and is not
yet content with its wealth, that it takes our
customers away and reduces the receipts of the
British Empire, is well known, but that is not
its most dangerous activity. The claws of the
32
Old England and Young Germany
German phantom clutch deeper ! The un-
broken, primeval strength of young Germany,
the whole of that red-cheeked existence, this
strenuousness — that, men of England, is the
lasting threat to the world's peace ! Just look
at this young Michael ! Those muscles ! That
entire frame breathing strength ! That posi-
tively criminal and provoking health ! Look,
that is how his militarism agrees with this
barbarian ! The moral for us is : militarism
must be driven out of him ! Is it not con-
ceivable that this coarse-natured fellow would
knock out both Russians and French at once ?
But what would then become of the balance of
power, my men ? Would England then be the
man at the helm ? Nothing less than European
equilibrium is in danger, and therefore the hour
is one of bitter earnestness ! . . ."
After such speeches even the public-house
politicians felt that their devilish plans were
ennobled. The war-seekers of the streets had
got wind into their sails.
Balance of power — that was the word !
Translated into German : English predomi-
nance and vindication of threatened school-
masterly dignity !
Old England wanted to sit comfortably and
in unrestricted enjoyment at the well-covered
table, and suddenly a stressful new-comer, full
of ideas, appeared. Against these far-reaching
plans one had to be on one's guard every
33 D
Hindenburg's March into London
moment ! Well-to-do England was really not
called upon to put up with discomfort for any
length of time, and possibly to allow its
authority as mistress of the world to be under-
mined. And that, too, by a young jackanapes !
Really, England must give him at once a
thorough drubbing ! There would have to be
a thorough account, sooner or later, with the
impudent coxcomb ! Germany must be thrown
back into that poverty so essential to English
well-being and which was the reason of its
docility in past centuries, and thus in all secrecy
they egged on war. A deciding war between
the sleepy culture of England and the alert
youthfulness of Germany.
To venture upon the struggle alone with
young Michael was positively dangerous. In
order to get the sturdy fellow under, England
had to secure quite a number of confederates.
And then it would one day fall with all its
weight on the fellow ! Under the motto,
" Down with Prussian militarism ! " England
founded the world-historical " Isolation Society
for the Destruction and Dividing Up of
Germany."
They first succeeded in getting the French
shouters for revanche to join. How could
Marianne have withstood the tender Edward !
Against German militarism ! With this battle-
34
Old England and Young Germany
cry Russia also had to be decoyed. That
Russia had a few divisions more under the
colours than Germany was unimportant. The
Isolation Society was not petty and narrow-
minded in connection with the entrance for-
malities. A noble picture this, showing how
the gentlemen from the Thames embrace the
Muscovite brother heart, how John Bull pressed
friend Wanzislaus to his breast ! What did it
matter that the faithful ones from the paradise
of the Little Father could not read or write,
and smelt of vodka ! Albion could not help
herself. Stimulated by repulsion for German
militarism, she could no longer restrain her
heartfelt liking for Russian despotism. Being
unable to endure listening to the shooting on
German troop drilling-grounds, she turned, full
of fervour, to Holy Russia, where, alongside
the rifle-fire of the giant army, the crack of the
knout could be heard, and occasionally, too,
bomb explosions.
A paragraph in the articles of the Isolation
Society provided that Russia should first
ignite the torch of war. Criminal desires
sought a noble pretext — what could be nobler
than to protect the murderers of Royal
children ?
As it was a question of holy crusade, of
chivalry, and of truly pure moral humanity
against the truly worthless German Huns,
Japan, Italy, and Montenegro were also
35 D 2
Hindenburg's March into London
invited. And the same Albion which in
measureless conceit and mocking Phariseeism
turned up her nose at having to sit at the table
of the nations along with German barbarians,
concluded a bond of sweet union with the
Bashkirs and Congo niggers, with Senegalese
and Gurkhas, Basutos and Australians.
The devilish plan for the destruction ot
Germany was settled in London, had been
considered for years carefully in all its details,
and if signs and wonders had not happened, it
must, in human judgment, have led to com-
plete success. In a couple of weeks Michael's
arrogance and temerity were to be crushed !
Crawling on his knees, he should helplessly
implore mercy !
* * * *
The great day had come. On the English
tree of poison the fruit was ripe. Accord-
ing to the articles of the British Isolation
Society the torch flamed up in Russia first. It
was, in truth, ignited two years too soon ; but
otherwise everything went as laid down in the
programme : the powder of half the world
caught fire on these great August days.
To God-given Albion, which was chosen
from aforetime only for the maintenance of
peace, and hated nothing more passionately
than the thunder of cannon on the Continent,
the outbreak of war came as such an entire
surprise that in the first days of August it
36
Old England and Young Germany
suffered from a severe nervous shock. The
attack manifested itself in sudden and serious
loss of memory. It suddenly knew no longer
that, with France, it had long since made mili-
tary arrangements with Belgium ; it no longer
believed in the least that in Maubeuge, as early
as 1913, it had had mountains of munitions
piled up. The fact quite escaped its recollec-
tion that it had compelled Belgium to develop
Antwerp into the most powerful fortress in the
world — Albion suffered a very complete loss of
memory. The cry ''War!" had struck the
peace-loving people like a bolt from the blue :
the consequence was this dreadful paralysis of
the power of memory. But Albion's heart,
which beat only for peace and human rights,
had still remained the old one, and therefore it
could not look on inactive when Germany now
marched into Belgium. Full of holy indigna-
tion, it called upon the entire civilised world to
avenge the malignancy of the Huns in falling
unexpectedly on bashful and virtuous Belgium.
When Britain had gathered all her accom-
plices for praiseworthy deeds, and the capital
of the Isolation Society was to begin work and
pay out dividends, the English newspapers one
day blurted out bluntly what Grey, Sazonoff,
and Delcass6 had in mind :
" The new German Michael is to be shot
down and cut up into pieces, so that he only
keeps his eyes to weep for his misfortune."
37
Hindenbuag's March into London
Poor young Michael ! Why wert thou un-
willing to walk in the footsteps of the good
old stupid Michael ? Now your future is black
as thunder. And all this you have yourself to
thank for. It is owing to your ruddy health,
quite out of keeping with modern fashion.
* * * *
So pious and gentlemanlike a nation as the
British waged war, of course, for very high
ideals — namely, for freedom and lofty human
rights. It was a war of civilisation against the
uncivilised habits of barbarians, and for that
reason England has set itself the great and
noble task in the war, in beautiful association
with Kaffirs and Cossacks, of starving German
women and children ! The British had only
mobilised as defenders of international law, but
soon they thrust international law aside with a
superior smile, and acted on the model of those
merry Bavarians who had joyously shouted :
" Now for a jolly scrimmage and no policeman
near ! " Albion, too, was happy at having
speedily got rid of the policeman of the world
State, international law, with its troublesome
limitations of crude high - handedness and
despotism.
It was the war of gentlemen against Boches
and Huns, and these gentlemen indulged
themselves in the most repulsive suspicions
against our Kaiser. Gentlemen ministers took
as the bases of their inflammatory speeches
38
Old England and Young Germany
army orders in which the Kaiser was said to
have ordered his troops in secret to slaughter
the British. Their clergymen interposed in
the Church prayers the words : " Lord God,
thou hast clouded over the spirit of the German
Kaiser with madness : let Thy wrath be
appeased and be gracious unto him again ! "
In the Press they discussed the question
whether Attila, after the overthrow of his
vandal hordes, is simply to be deposed or
banished, or whether short shrift is to be given
him !
Every fresh day brought new and shameful
slanders — it was the war of gentlemen against
German want of culture.
The military and economic forces of an entire
world were conjured up against Germany and
its ally. In alliance with lies and cunning, the
British succeeded in temporarily angering
Germany by a series of petty tricks, meannesses,
and pin-pricks, but one thing they failed to
effect : they could not bend the neck of the fair
German youth ! Young Michael in the second
year of war possessed the same laughing con-
fidence of victory as on the first day of
mobilisation ! Meantime the young fellow had
developed ! Heavens ! What elbows he had !
The left in Flanders, and the right on the
Black Sea. With legs wide spread he stood in
39
Hindenburg' s March into London
Central Europe and pushed his iron-mounted
soldier's boot every day a bit further into the
enemy country. He let the furious English
pack yelp on and only spit now and again over
the Channel : Hurrah ! for the Zeppelins and
the valiant German fliers !
Seven or eight against two or three and no
success, and for the future only bad bills in
pocket — the distress was great. The Isolation
Society was confronted with the most terrible
collapse a group of speculators had ever
experienced, and the fault for the enormous
bankruptcy, the loss of thousands of millions,
was ascribed to the man whose name was
pronounced with a shiver, and yet secretly with
a solemn reverence —
Hindenburg !
Unless signs and wonders happened, Eng-
land's diabolical plans should have led to
complete success. Now signs did happen,
and a true son of the people among these
miracles was Hindenburg.
He was already before the gates of St.
Petersburg. If this great battle leader, who
with puzzling perspicacity always marched his
armies up at the point where they were most
disagreeable to the Russians at the moment,
should one day have no occupation in the East ?
What then ?
Could this genius among generals read only
Russian maps and not English ones also ?
40
Old England and Young Germany
Those were questions of despair, to which
there was no answer.
Beside herself, Albion saw how the Russian
legions which had once, with the primeval force
of the Flood, broken into East Prussia and
Galicia, fell to pieces under the merciless pursuit
of Hindenburg's inferior numbers ; how the
war-mongers of the Quadruple Alliance, the
men after the pattern of Grey, from Nikolai
Nikolaiewitch to the divine Gabriele, one after
the other sank down into the darkness of the
world's history.
Would this uncanny Hindenburg, after
settling Russia, take a holiday for recuperation,
or lead his armies to the West ? Might Hin-
denburg be the stormer before the gates of
London ? Such ideas shook people's nerves on
the other side of the Channel.
• As the Allied Powers got no further with
their own strength, and in spite of large
premiums gained over no new satellites, they
looked around among the members of their
company for the scapegoat on whom they should
throw the responsibility for the failure of the
carefully contrived surprise attack.
While the noble gentlemen under the banner
of the faithful ones mutually decorated each
other with orders, they secretly clenched their
fists against each other, and the sweet-bitter
world war began to bloom forth in a humorous
aspect.
Hindenburg's March into London
The Russian newspaper contained the Paris
report that Joffre was preparing a great new
offensive, and appended to the report the
caustic comment that this time success could
not be wanting because it was the twenty-fifth,
the jubilee of the offensive ! The French
growled against the British because they made
themselves comfortable in Calais like a pig in
clover. England was angered with Italy for
being unable to smash up Austria, for it would
like to send nobles of Rome to accompany its
niggers in the trenches ! Italy, however, re-
proached the English with niggardliness and
meanness in paying out the Judas millions, and
declared that, made wise by experience, it
would only carry out big offensives on the
Isonzo and South Tyrol in the future, provided
the amount was remitted beforehand. The
Italians also railed against the Serbians and
Montenegrins ; and to complete the circle,
Serbia vented her spleen at the menacing
military position against its holy protector, the
patron of her Sarajevo murderers.
The Russian bear, however, was bleeding
from nose and ears, and all four paws, even if
he was no longer in a position to dance to
England's whistle. The lying Press of the
Allied countries, it is true, continued, under the
able guidance of Albion, to declare that Russia
stood before the world, the most ready for
battle of all the countries.
42
Old England and Young Germany
One fine day, however, the editor of the
Times made a painful mistake. He had inserted
the consoling article which was then due with
regard to Russia's enormous reserves and new
working plans of the steam roller, and in another
column of the same number he had to record
the very latest news, the world-wide event
fraught with such consequences — the conclusion
of a separate peace between Germany and
Russia. The sorrow round about was great.
Russia had given notice to the London managers
of the Isolation Society of its withdrawal from the
firm. It had retired from the scene of war and
now had to concern itself with its own troubles,
because everywhere in the country lightning
was in the air, as though the severest storm
was only now to visit the Empire of the knout.
Hindenburg, however, ordered ten thousand
special trains of Falkenhayn.
43
With the Eastern
Army to Calais
With the Eastern Army to Calais
WITH THE EASTERN ARMY
TO CALAIS
WITH the dawn the alert conquerors of the
Russians appear like the missionaries of a new
age. For fourteen days the trains roll along
uninterruptedly on the great lines from East
to West. They travel amid merry songs and
mirthful speech, and bring to the Western
frontier the joyful confidence and the whole
of the great stress of action of the Eastern
frontier. The people gather about the rail-
way lines as if they were festive streets. The
journey of the Eastern Army to the Western
front is a triumphal progress without compare.
Now the great days have come, when the
faithful sentinels there in the West become
outposts, advanced posts of a giant army,
habituated to victory and lusting for deeds—
an army which has accomplished its first great
task, and is about to seek a new sphere of
work.
On their waggons the soldiers have written
Russian and Galician place names ; these
names are not merely inscribed in the record
of honour of the regiment, they are also entered
in the books of the world's history. The
47
Hindenburg's March into London
regimental colours will carry many names on
them for thousands of years to come.
The advance in the West will now be
impetuous. The anticipation of crowning the
proud German work by decisive deeds burns
like tropical fire in their stout hearts. The
will to decide the fate of the world fills them
all to the last man ; they all feel mighty and
holy.
The enthusiasm with which the grey-clad
soldiers are greeted on their passage even
exceeds the jubilation of the August days of
1914. For now joyous confidence is accom-
panied by the satisfaction of success. Enthu-
siastic and joyously expectant men of storm
and stress at that time marched out in the dark
uncertainty of a world-wide war, but now an
army of men tried in the storm assembles for
the last deed. Waves of jubilation roll along-
side the trains through the country. The
troops need not this time keep secret the fact
that they are going from one frontier to the
other ; the whole world may know now.
Hurrah ! The Eastern Army in now marching.
On the chalk cliffs of Dover the German cry of
jubilation shall resound : Hindenburg's million
army is on the road with seven-league boots !
In all regions through which our Eastern
armies pass, people who have been compelled
to stay at home in these years of war, come
thronging from miles around. On the railway
48
With the Eastern Army to Calais
stations where the troops get refreshments, the
people press in dense crowds in order to greet
its victorious sons. They wish to look the
brave men in the eyes and shake the hands of
those who now travel from the storms of one
world to those of another.
They are lusty fellows going to reap new
laurels. Wind and weather on Russian soil
have imparted a healthy brown to their faces.
All is muscle and steel in these sinewy frames.
Faces are as if carved in oak ; clear-cut, tough
features are firmly outlined. Plump cheeks
have, it is true, had to yield up something of
their fullness in snow and ice, in marsh and
burning sun, and to many a man of the Land-
sturm hard nights of war have added a few
wrinkles. The war has been a wholesome
training for those who had waxed fat in peace ;
and if war, that iron-bearded doctor, and close-
handed cook undertake the treatment, they do
not rest before the last ounce of superfluous
flesh has melted away. Quill-drivers, however,
have had their breasts expanded by the war ;
many of them will feel stifled when again com-
pelled to sit at the desk. Many an eye which
seemed to grow tired in a monotonous occupa-
tion now gleams with fresh life. These eyes
have looked through hell on the Russian battle-
fields ; they know no more fear. The town-bred
generation of these times has once again come
to know gnomes and elves, and gods of the
49 E
Hindenburg's March into London
woods and forests, and has led an heroic life of
nature. Those who had been mildewing in the
towns were here thrown upon themselves, and
many a man first discovered himself. Many of
them went into the field as Mr. Nobody, and
now high orders adorn their breasts. All have
felt the hardening breath of Mother Earth, and
are in process of moulding their future according
to their plans.
The people wishes to do the impossible ; it
wishes to reward the bravery of its sons with
small gifts. It wishes to do good in some way
to those who have given it new life. Hearts
are overfilled with thankfulness and with secret
wishes — each one would like to whisper secretly
into the ear of the grey-clad man : " Go hard
at them over there during the coming weeks !
Be it an evil day for him who seeks to stop you !
He will do not so a second time ! Thus
Goethe admonishes you."
An old mother has bought a dainty morsel
out of her meagre resources, and hands the
modest gift of love to a soldier with the
words :
" Take it, do ; it is a long way to London ! "
In the German journey to England she
also intimately participates, for in France and
Russia her sons have fallen. Many a small
but precious thing is also stowed away in the
knapsack — many an old man in the Landsturm
is now having the time of his life. The troops
50
With the Eastern Army to Calais
are travelling from one bloody field to the
other, but their heart is as though their way
lay through the Land of Plenty ; the most
choice delicacies come through the windows
into the waggons. They have scarcely been
half a day's journey on their way to the heart
of Germany, but already they begin to pick
and choose among what is offered them by men
and beautiful girls. The young maidens of
Berlin who wish to treat the passing battalions
with chocolates and savoury sandwiches hear a
fellow from Munich say to them quite openly :
"If you had a measure of Hofbrau beer and
a veal sausage ! — I have had enough of cold
cake and lemonade ! "
Even wreaths are now declined with thanks
by the lionised Bavarians, for in their small
travelling warehouses they have already created
a department for flowers. A corporal of the
Light Horse, who, however, cannot refuse a
lovely giver, says :
" Throw it in, for Heaven's sake ! I tell you
we have had flowers enough to make a garland
from Zeebrugge to Grey's Ministry of Lies !
And we have still got to settle our account
over there . . . ! "
They are a merry people. They do not talk
about the storm of battle and the labour of war
which again awaits them ; they only want " to
get a peep at the Englishmen at close
quarters " !
51 2 E
Hindenburg's March into London
The waggons are not big enough to contain
all the merry conceits and poems in chalk, the
rhymes in which are more difficult to find than
the enemy in the best masked positions ! The
popular rhyme of " John Bull " and " Vest
Full " is repeated in scores of doggerel verses.
Indeed, the John Bull rhymers already suspect
a professional poet of being the author of
" Tsarislaus is done for ; now, Englishman,
your turn has come ! "
The pontoon men are, of course, described as
the " Channel Fleet." And on a munition
waggon, connoisseurs of the English ladies'
world have hung a small placard :
" With great care ! Incendiary bombs !
Mark : Pride of the suffragettes ! "
Berlin Army Medical Corps men have written
over their department :
" Medical Society for combatting the English
disease. We shall teach the youngster how
to walk ! "
On one waggon merry Landwehr men, who
have known London on their travels, have hung
puppet figures : one puppet represents an
Englishman with considerably developed jaws ;
right and left of him hang Indians, Congo
niggers, Gurkhas, Zulu Kaffirs and cannibals.
Above them are the words :
" All-British Shopping Week ! A patriotic
week in which a good Briton will only buy
goods of British origin."
52
With the Eastern Army to Calais
It had been since 1911 a favourite method of
fighting the insinuating " Made in Germany "
goods. Fifty- two times in the year an " All-
British Shopping Week," and then the tottering
German industry would have been completely
disposed of !
Now they are off! Thousands of handker-
chiefs wave a last greeting, and longingly fair
maiden lips murmur, "Au revoir !"
" We shall be back before long ; we only
want just to run over to London and to insure
Germany with the London Political Society
against burglary for all times. We only want
to clear the General Post Office of the four
thousand telegraphists, of the manipulators of
lies who have brought the whole thing
on . . . ! "
"Au revoir ! "
The next giant train contains joyous Saxons.
In one compartment the merry superscription
appears :
" Notice ! The Corps Midwife. Applications
for delivery* of the Agreement of London con-
cerning a separate peace may be made here."
Another train carries a giant gun to the
Western front.
" Fat Bertha in her nightdress."
" The poor girl has a bad cough. ..."
* " Dissolution " — a play on the two meanings of the
word. — TRANS.
53
Hindenburg's March into London
And one of the gunners of fat Bertha says
gravely :
" Just you wait and see how she will thrive
when she is able to work in sea air ! "
Now " Halloas" and " I have the honour"
resound. Merry Austrians come in. Kaiser-
jagers, Bosnians, blue-eyed Saxons from Tran-
sylvania and the Tyrolean Landsturm, fellows
from the Otztal and Pinzgau, Passei and Ober-
vintschgau ; Styrians, who have made their
homes in the interior of rocks and by stone
firesides ; Honveds, who once hewed them-
selves a victorious path over the storm-swept
slopes of the Carpathians — all are proud at
being able to fight on under Hindenburg !
They wish to do their share in order that the
great days may come soon, very soon, with
which the historian will one day begin a new
chapter of the world's history. No one is under
any illusion ; it will be no easy task to get at
the breakers of the world's peace on their island.
The last victories of the German and Austrian
flags will demand their toughest strength. The
climber along the winding path to the last proud
height finds each ridge more steep — of that
these Austrian Alpinists are well aware.
Joyous confidence flows out of their carriages.
Over one compartment they have written
"G.m.b.H."* They really mean them to
stand for " Grenzregulierungskommission mit
* A kind of German limited company. — TRANS.
54
With the Eastern Army to Calais
brillantem Humor" (Boundary Regulating
Commission with brilliant Humour). Yes,
indeed, they have the golden humour of
Vienna. They chaff every girl, but appear to
be experienced philosophers in more serious
things of life. A man of the battalions of
Vienna excavation engineers, a fellow with the
Virginian wisp of straw behind his ear and
adorned with a full beard which appears to
have been cut with the Bessarabian hedge-
trimming shears, is watching a Prussian Hussar
who is saying farewell to his girl on the plat-
form. Seeing the young cavalryman about to
clasp the maiden passionately to his breast at
the parting kiss, he says warningly :
" Just you listen to me and stop all that
silly sadness ! Be sensible and do not play
the fool ! Many a fellow has gone unscratched
through a dozen battles and at the end, by
gum, has at last been clean knocked out by a
bullet ! "
All the wits have their tongues wagging.
With " God preserve you ! " and " Victory and
safe home ! " the train rolls out, and the next
one is received with a rousing hurrah.
Thus it is on all lines from East to West
from early morning to late at night, and then
again till the morning. And joyful confidence
is the keynote of them all. The German people
stands around gratefully to greet its valiant
sons. And all those who cannot join the
Hindenburg's March into London
colours still have a fiery wish, an important
commission to give the Channel voyagers. . . .
Certainly many a man now breathes with
relief when he has passed the noisy station and
can once more be alone with wood and meadow,
together with a few genial comrades. For
many the journey through the lands of Germany
is far too solemn for them still to be responsive
to small jokes. For the army of 1914 is the
people. And as manifold as the aspect of the
soul of the Germans, of so many kinds of soul
are the soldiers in this war made up. This
army has no mind for the pleasures of the
barracks ; each one looks upon the things of
life quite in his own way.
Many would prefer not to be acclaimed, not
even to be addressed on this journey. For
they are now once more in process of discover-
ing their German fatherland ; like children who
travel by railway for the first time, they feast
their eyes on the landscape. For months they
have marched through an enemy country and
have seen nothing but want and care, devastated
meadows and torn-up fields, with bloody shreds
of clothing and scattered household goods.
They have fought on the ruin-covered fields of
Galicia, have marched over hideous mounds of
Russian skulls, and now they again see German
soil ! Around uninjured villages extends the
56
With the Eastern Army to Calais
kindly solemnity of the German forests ; hamlets
set in poplars peep out of the cradles of the
valleys ; proud country mansions greet them
from undevastated meadow. German soil and
above it the radiant German sky — take off thy
shoes, for the ground is holy !
When they had to seek shelter in Polish
stables and within carbonised Russian walls,
when they marched through lands which bled
from a thousand wounds, distant Germany
appeared to them in blessed dreams as in a fairy
tale — now they are for two days allowed to
dwell within this golden reality ! When
crossing the German frontier, many of them
ceased the games upon which they were
engaged.
Now the eyes brighten up and feast to satiety
on the uninjured magnificence of the meadows
and stretches of forest ; it is as if they found all
this for the first time. For long months they
have lived in thick air, impregnated with iron,
and seen untold misery ; now they come out of
the air of death into the fragrant air of the
German forests, and they would like to absorb
the fragrance of German soil into every fibre.
Longing pent up within the heart now descends
upon the German landscape like a storm of
birds into a field of sweet fruit.
Can it be really true that this country has
stood in combat with a world of enemies ?
As far as the eye can reach there is pastoral
57
Hindenburg's March into London
happiness and undisturbed arable soil. Was it
this thrice-blessed land which England desired
to put to hunger ? Curls of smoke above the
houses speak eloquently of a goodly evening
meal. . . .
The soldiers travel onwards intoxicated with
the pleasure of home ; the rough-skinned men
are lost in longing thoughts . . . somewhere
over there behind the forest lies their
home . . . !
Songs ring out. " Thee, my silent valley, I
greet a thousand times ! " For soldier songs
they now have no heart ; they strike up old
German national songs deeply imbued with
feeling and speaking of the dear home. For
the army of 1914 is the nation.
But this happiness which fills the hearts of
the soldiers when journeying through the land
of their home no longer intoxicates ; it stimu-
lates more and ever more ; it calls them out !
They wish no longer to be onlookers at this
homely peace ; they want to have the good
right to their home. They wish to stake all in
order to secure the world's peace ! Between
the verses of their home songs they clench
their fists. Their thoughts go in quest of those
who grudged the Germans their peace ; their
hearts fill to overflowing with hate against the
pedlars and envious men of Albion !
There are many refined natures among the
soldiers, who, at the beginning of the war,
58
With the Eastern Army to Calais
disliked nothing more than all poems of hate
and preachings of hate, and all that increased
hate among nations. Since they have realised,
however, what Albion with her hypocrisy was
aiming at — how she bought over traitors to
Germany with her base money ; how craftiness
and jealousy were brought into the field against
the German sword ; how Albion used coloured
vermin to destroy highly cultured German men
— then their motto became :
" Give unto peace that which is of peace,
and unto war that which is of war ! "
He indeed is an unworthy man who in peace
sows discord between the nations, but unworthy
likewise is he who in this war desires to abate
a hating heart.
Peering, dreaming, and clenching their fists,
Hindenburg's men voyage on through the
German lands. No, they do not want for long
to be dreamers of German home blessings and
comfort ! They desire with their swords to
conquer the peace of the world. They wish
with the whole of their strength to fight down
what still stands between them and that
happiness.
* * * *
In Berlin the rumour has spread abroad that
Hindenburg was going through to the Western
front in the evening ; he will certainly be the
guest of the Kaiser for a couple of hours !
The whole of Berlin remained on foot till late
59
Hindenburg's March into London
at night, and contrived all sorts of honours for
the great vanquisher of the Russians.
Hindenburg did not come. He was already
over the Rhine. A word of the great Field-
Marshal passes from mouth to mouth :
" The Russian collapse is a remarkable past
success, but it is not yet time for festivities and
rejoicings."
And many of his faithful warriors have become
one in sentiment with him. Without great talk
they go out to new struggles, calmly, with
restrained strength and keen eye, but without
boastfulness. For over there they have lived
the elevated life of action, and clearly distinguish
words from war and its essentials. They wave
away all great hymns of heroic deeds. What
they did was to them a matter of course. They
will not, however, be able to avoid the word
" heroism " if they should ever have to write
history about themselves. Russia's power, with
its fabulous proportions ; Russia's army, with its
gigantic figures overthrown ! He who has put
his hand to the accomplishment of this German
master work may, in truth, accept a laudatory
word from a faithful heart. If there ever were
heroes, he is a hero. And if no enemy ever
came under his sword in the Russian campaign,
he is a hero in what he has suffered.
They do not like noise, and have grown un-
accustomed to all ceremoniousness. As the
trains roll on through the country, many of
60
With the Eastern Army to Calais
them look back meditatively into the past.
Here on these tilled fields the great Frederick
once drilled his Guards. When England was
already comfortably endowed with wealth, the
sweat still poured from men's brows here. And
where the small troop from which the Prussian
army sprung was trained, a victorious million
army rushes by after the lapse of a century and
a half. It wants at last to be at the nation
against whom Frederick the Great uttered
warnings.
On the long journey there is hardly a district
within which a place does not recall a battle.
Germany has had to fight its way hard, bitterly
hard, through the centuries. Germany may
truly be proud of the victorious army which,
after long schooling in the spirit of Frederick
the Unique, had performed the unexpected,
and now bears up its spirit to meet a second
thundering battle.
On the journey towards the Rhine the
thoughts of many go delving deep ; many
among them have had their views enlarged
as to the world's horizon for the first time by
this war. The teacher in field-gr^y passes by
a village school. When he again stands before
his boys, he will no longer speak at length about
Ludwig the child and Karl the fat ; he will
show what Mother Earth means to the nations
of to-day, and how the power of the soil and
history combine as secret educators and give its
61
Hindenburg's March into London
importance to the nation. And thus he will let
his scholars know their own mind as men of the
present time.
And the young clergyman in field-grey who
sees soldiers at the stations standing by the
mourning mothers of their fallen comrades, has
in this man-devouring war become fully aware
of the last philosophic and social content of the
simple words which Jesus spoke on the Cross :
" Mother, behold thy son ! Son, behold thy
mother ! ''
War-time teaches us to dig deep.
And amid the far-travelling thoughts of one
and the longing, melancholy songs of the other,
yet another good-humouredly cracks bad jokes.
And perhaps it is well so.
While two Landwehr men here were going
into the connection of the ultimate things of
existence in war and peace, they heard in the
neighbouring compartment two Landsturm men
talking of English financial policy. One says :
"In the Dardanelles you see the entire
shabby sordidness in money matters of the
English. For the head of a German-Turk
delivered dead or alive to the English Army
they have offered in all six pounds ! Our
Kaiser is more liberal. For a certain head he
has offered the order ' Pour le Merite ' ! "
"Which head?"
" For the bridge-head of Calais ! "
Moods of inspiration, and oaths, and good
62
With the Eastern Army to Calais
and bad jokes intermingled — such is the life of
the soldier in the pauses between the fight.
The first troops from the East now see the
Rhine ! The soldiers grow silent and look into
the distance. Solemnity encompasses them,
they breathe deeply ; they have gone cross-wise
through the German Fatherland, and they know
what peace is. ...
A brilliant sunlit day wafts blue and golden
hues over the land of the Rhine. On the
shores of the river joyous children gambol.
Young wayfarers pass singing on their road.
14 You boys down there, wander merrily far
over hill and dale, steel your body and feed
your souls by looking ! Enjoy your youth with
all your heart, and value the happiness in that
you will at one time reap what we now sow for
you ! Remain thus simple in your ways, ye
young wandering youths with the oak twigs in
your shaggy hats, and let your eyes drink deep
of the beauty of the German meadows ! Do
not become old-fashionedly wise in these great
days ! Do not feed your young souls with
book-learning alone! Wander through the
German countries in merry mood and light
humour, as though the German land had from
the inception of the world lain so, free from
care in the sun, and as though it cannot be
otherwise for all eternity. Life will soon
63
Hindenburg's March into London
enough make known to you her marginal
notes ! Keep your love for your native soil,
and honour your German mother-speech — that
is for the present all that you have to do ! Be
proud of your native land, for in this pride is
all : the will never to yield up a morsel of this
happiness, the courage of a strong man's life,
readiness for war."
This is the last will and testament of the
soldier, the last holy will before they march out
to new battles.
What the valiant men feel as they pass over
the Rhine is deeper than all words. A golden
consciousness of happiness is within them, and
the determination to fall with might and main
upon those who deprived Germany and the
world of peace by wanton intrigue.
* # # #
Between Aachen and Brussels Kaiser William
holds the greatest review of troops of all times.
The conquerors of the Tsar's army march once
more before their Kaiser before going on to the
last decisive battles at the front. Full of pride,
the German hosts once more feel the keen blue
eyes of the mightiest prince of the earth resting
upon them. They greet him whom in love
and blind hate the thoughts of the entire world
surround, who was for twenty - five years
guardian of the peace of the world, who now
stands at the centre-point of the greatest war
in the world's history, and will perhaps live on
64
With the Eastern Army to Calais
through the thousands of years to come as the
greatest German in the history of Germany !
How much moral force must lie in the Kaiser
if the political pedlars and intrigue weavers of
Albion feel themselves so severely endangered
in their business success by the nature and
action of the Kaiser that they rage against him
and call to their aid common lies and slander !
In the eyes of his soldiers the Kaiser reads the
reply to all the repulsive attacks from the other
side of the Channel.
And side by side with the Kaiser the troops
of the East see their Hindenburg again !
He is the soldier after the heart of the god
of war !
He is the general with mildly beaming eyes,
which, however, at times shine with a keen
glint of steel which recalls Moltke.
The great German of powerful old Germanic
figure, in whose rough features, chiselled by
iron power of will, there is something of the
pride which Bismarck displayed when in arms
against all the assailants of Germany.
He is the Director of battles fertile in
strategic forms, whose plans show the great
forecast of the master, the creative artist who,
regardless of all obstacles and with implacable
sternness, aimed at the final objective, and yet,
to the discomfiture of the enemy, made
ingenious use of the clause " Alterations of the
programme reserved ! "
65 F
Hindenburg's March into London
He is the mysterious wizard who knew how
to put the cap of Fortunatus on his troops, who
at times appeared to hesitate long, and then
suddenly hit out so vigorously that the prisoners
were counted in tens of thousands.
The man of deeds whom the times have
exalted as they rarely have anyone ! The
immortal hero who will live long among the
people in the splendour of his knightly accoutre-
ments of steel !
And now our faithful watchers of the Western
front are released from the unspeakable tortures
of trench warfare. Heroism of unique
magnitude lay in the tenacity with which they
held out in their tough endurance in their clay
holes, in the bravery with which they baffled
forward lunges like the rushes of a mad bull,
and in their behaviour under the nerve-racking
hail of shells which raged day and night and
scarcely gave an instant's breathing space.
Now the time is come for preparing the storm-
ing ladders in the trenches.
The Eastern motor batteries and the Essen
giants which jointly blew away the Russian
fortress ramparts, now reach the French and
English entrenchments and earth bastions, bring
out the enemy columns from their concealments
and dug-outs, and set the avalanche rolling
westward. They beset Dunkirk and Calais in
masses, shoot the two fortresses to atoms, and
prepare the way for the world-famed collapse
66
With the Eastern Army to Calais
of the French army and the British Continental
troops.
Various field battles, as to the issue of which
the world is not in doubt for an instant, break
out, for now the German army, for the first
time, has an ally in its ranks which alone, it is
true, can do nothing, but in combination with
bravery must force the victory — that is,
numbers, superiority in numbers.
The millions of the Eastern Army overrun
all the trenches in the Channel. Now shudder,
Albion !
A giant swarm of Zeppelins, of whose size
even German soldiers did not venture to dream,
travelled one foggy morning to the west coast
of England and sought out the British Navy.
With a thousand bombs fifty full hits were
made. Explosions completed the work of
destruction. Almost at the same time a
gigantic fleet of submarines broke into the
British naval harbour and completed the work.
England had-' her Sedan. She was now to
experience her Paris !
67 F 2
Crossing the
Channel
Crossing the Channel
CROSSING THE CHANNEL
IT is night.
Off Zeebrugge, Dunkirk, and Calais one ship
after another lies moored. There is a bustle
and business in the harbours, as though the
entire continent had packed up its bundles in
order to emigrate to another world ? Was it
to a better world ? It was into one of the cold
hells of which Asiatic religions tell. To be at
the throat of a cold devil who for hundreds of
years has carried on politics from office
chairs, and, cold to the heart, has sought with
skill and success to determine the fates of
nations according to the entries of his business
books.
Along the coast of Dunkirk numberless
German regiments are bivouacked, awaiting
the command to go on board, and in Calais and
Zeebrugge lie the mighty ships under steam
which will bring after the troops munitions and
provisions and the thousand varied implements
of war which a giant army requires in its
train.
Hindenburg's March into London
The ambition of the troops who here await
the hour of crossing has not achieved its great
object. When the young heroes went west-
wards from Ukraine, they hoped to be the first
to tread the coast of England, and now they
have learnt that fifty battalions have been over
there for the past two days.
" Oh, the deuce take it ! During two
months' fighting I was always in the front rank,
and whenever, after a thousand years, our
children's children still talk of the great event,
they will say we came too late ! " says one,
stroking his yellow stubbly beard, which in
droll fashion recalls his home among the goats
of the Swabian Alps. " Our German fellows
must have swept over John Bull like bad
weather ! "
Yes, the first blows in 'preparation of the
invasion were dreadfully hard, but brief.
" Tragic, but simple." The storming of the
Fortress Britannia was so boldly and safely
carried up to the ramparts of the Straits, as
though the English fortress were only one in a
dozen. For eight days new giant Krupp guns
had felt their way over to Dover and Folke-
stone, and had destroyed everything living on
the south coast of England, reducing all the
work of human hands to nothing. Under the
sustained fire of the monsters of Essen and
Pilsen the great fortification works were ham-
mered into dust. While landings of troops
72
Crossing the Channel
were simulated between Yarmouth and the
mouth of the Thames, the three waterways
from Zeebrugge, Dunkirk, and Calais to England
had been secured east and west by a steel wall
of torpedo boats and mines and submarines.
Finally the Kaiser sent his cousin the promised
little surprise . . . and for the last forty-eight
hours two army corps had stood on the shores
of the island.
The whole of England is aroused in wild and
furious hate against the Germans. They are
now once more calling upon the entire world to
assist them against the intruders. But no one
crowds on to a sinking ship. It is true England
has still assembled a respectable number of
foreign battalions and coloured people from all
parts of the world on its island in order to repel
the invasion, but they will no longer succeed in
bringing in foreign reserves. Now for the first
time in centuries England is thrown on her own
resources. Now she shall show what she can
do when she gets no foreign team to draw her
State wagon ! The need over there is great
just now. . . .
All night long the cranes rattle at the new
German moorages in North France. Boxes
and cases, items of equipment, many thousands
of necessary things, lie heaped up on the
wharves — requirements for man, animal, and
guns. One goods train after the other traverses
Flanders, and the treasures which they bring
73
Hindenburg's March into London
from the well-filled storehouses of Germany are
lowered into the holds in Zeebrugge and
Calais.
In the district of Dunkirk there is scarcely a
house or a shed in which German troops do not
pass the night. From here during this night
happy dreams wander by way of England to the
home, for the last thought of this outward
journey to hard, decisive battles is peace — a
world peace !
Major Sigwart and Lieutenant Eickstadt can
get no sleep, and they go out upon voyages of
discovery. In the vicinity of the town they
see pioneers and companies of engineers still
engaged in building an enormous shore hotel
at midnight. A bomb-proof roof frame quite
peculiar in shape is being built for it. ...
High guests are expected — Zeppelins ! Four
at a time. At the side of this hall a peculiar
cross stands erect. On the trunk of an ash-
tree, the crown of which has been shot away
by shell, a propeller blade has been nailed
crosswise, and a wooden tablet bears the
inscription in handwriting :
" Here rest the brave men of the Jubilee
airship Z 100. In the fog of the Channel they
came too near to the fortress works. . . .
The cross and the hall behind it — these were
a picture from which Major Sigwart could not
tear himself away for some time.
" The picture is, as it were, a simile of
74
Crossing the Channel
German character," he says to Lieutenant
Eickstadt. " Failures do not hold back the
German ; they only bring pride in his diligence.
Behind the cross of the dead is ... the Will
to Conquer ! "
During the entire night our " Blue Jackets,"
in field-grey, put away the travelling luggage
of his Lordship the German Army — cavalry
horses, motor-cars, oversea outfit down to the
proverbial last spat-button.
In the midst of the busy turmoil the warning
call of watchful posts cries out from the distance.
Sirens howl. A squadron of aeroplanes is
coming flying along from the Channel. The
horrid guests in field-grey are now on the
threshold of England, and the latter is
making the last endeavour to prevent the
shipment of new armies. The need is great
over there. . . .
There they come ! The French and Italian
machines appear here and there among the
English. In her hour of utmost need England,
by merciless financial operations, has compelled
her impoverished vassal States to support her
with soldiers and weapons and munitions . . .
the soldiers, the guns, and the munitions have
been appropriated by our submarines, but
the flying men have punctually joined their
allies, in order to ward off unimaginable evil
75
Hindenburg's March into London
from the money supplier of the three-fourths
bankrupts.
The buzzing comes nearer and threateningly
nearer.
Bombs fall down like rain and hail in pre-
historic times. A thunder resounds, as though
stars crushed to atoms fell from the heavens.
German guns growl. A couple of German
aeroplanes have bravely accepted battle two
thousand five hundred metres high, but must
yield to a ten-fold superior force. Infantry
take sporadic aim. Every second a flash of
lightning illumines the clouds, and every flash
is a hit. Our gunners keep steady and aim
well. One aeroplane drops into the sea ; four,
five, find a grave along the fringe of the coast.
And many of them stagger like a lame bird,
and will scarcely find their way home.
A terrible hit : a German ship is on fire !
A sinking ship, with lakes of blood and rust
of powder, fragments of aeroplanes, gurgling
waves, men writhing in anguish — that is the
result of a few minutes. The dreadful ghost
went as quickly as he came.
An English battle aeroplane while still in
the air receives orders to fly to the Irish Sea,
because from there British submarines have
reported by wireless that their compass has
been destroyed. The bird will pilot the fishes
to the harbour.
The swell foams with a murmur against the
Crossing the Channel
breakwater. Searchlights scrutinise earth and
sky. On swaying stages the companies leave
the European continent, but their confidence
passes as surely as on iron bridges over to the
British Isle. They would now like to strike
up a merry song, but must restrain their
German pride and the longing for action which
would express itself in song — the water might
have ears ! Furthermore, in German fashion,
the fact has not been concealed from the troops
that yesterday a British submarine succeeded
in sinking a German troop transport.
There was no handkerchief waving, no
beckoning of women's hands, and all lights were
shaded, but in all eyes was the fire of enthu-
siasm ! And this holy fire in the eyes of the
grey seafarers will be shaded no more by any
power in the world.
Man and steed are weary beyond expression ;
they still have in their limbs the fatigues of the
last battle for Boulogne. But the pride of
being now in at the finish keeps the troopers
awake ! When the anchors are raised and
two torpedo boats attend as convoy, the last
rifleman becomes aware that he is now living
through a great and memorable moment in the
world's history. Now he is penetrating into
the sanctuary of the British ! Now for the
tables of the traffickers and money-changers,
who still offer the doves of peace for sale in
the market of the world, when they thought
77
Hindenburg's March into London
they had already completed the work of
isolation, and the Russian war party had already
given the signal. Now the All-holiest of the
British Nation is in danger, the treasures
between Threadneedle Street and Princes
Street ! The need in the business region of
the Bank of England is great.
The engines throb ; the ship seeks its way
through the night. No sign of light on the
shore betrays how far behind Dunkirk already
lies. Enormous fires farther back inland write
upon the nightly sky that the European
continent, thanks to England's zealous and
well-directed exertions for many years, has
become a sea of blood. It contains, however,
two uninjured and blooming oases — the German
Empire and the Danube country.
Diffidently at first, and then full of proud
will to conquer, the day dawns.
In the Eastern sky the struggle of light
against darkness has broken out, a few ramparts
of cloud have already been gained by the
outposts of day, and this Eastern Army also
passes over to take the West by storm.
Sullen black masses are called up, but radi-
antly the young day appears ! In front of it
the North Sea, it is true, lies like a blood-red
carpet. . . .
The morning colours the chalky cliffs of the
English coast a pink hue, and greets the
German army hosts. The eyes of the young
78
Crossing the Channel
heroes gleam afresh. They would, however,
not have been good Germans if here and there
one of them had not been made meditative by
the morning dawn which filled their souls with
pictures of home and a gentle melancholy.
Silent and quite lost in themselves, many of
them wonder what the day will bring . . . and
how things will be when they cross again. . . .
Will the return passage be over the Channel or
over that black stream which washes the Isle of
the Dead ?
Here is seated a group of young enthusiasts
in front of the picture of Nature, while there one
greets the morning light thus :
" There you are, I can write a picture post-
card at last ! " War poetry and Landsturm
prose !
But all of them are to-day writing picture
cards, both the poets and the realists among
those clad in field-grey. To-day even the
negligent one, who otherwise gives the field
post little to do, will write.
" Dear Sweetheart, — To-day we have at last
got so far. Gott strafe England ! . . ."
" Dearest Gustel ! Hurrah ! Now we are
at them ! We are just going over now, and
shall give the British business offices a good
fumigation and kill the envy germs ! " . . .
" Dear old Gal, — We are on the job now !
As soon as you get this 'ere letter your bloke
will have run his sword through the knot which
79
Hindenburg's March into London
that crafty old Edward thought he tied so
smartly ! " . . .
They had not written with such enthusiasm
since the days of August, 1914.
Gazing, writing, and dreaming, the troops
get nearer to their goal ; soon they will be
islanders !
" Stop ! "
The ship trembles in all its joints, it has been
brought to a stop so suddenly.
A mine is floating before the bow !
This fragment from the gigantic iron rampart
of England escaped the mine fishers. But the
two smart battle steeds which, with long trail-
ing manes of smoke, leap along and athwart
the vessel have sharp eyes ! Soon the ominous
monster of the sea has been deprived of its sting.
From England distant rolling thunder of
guns is wafted. Things may be already pretty
hot over there ! But the confidence of our
soldiers is unshakable. They see endless black
clouds floating above the Channel, funnel after
funnel : Germany is on the march. And they
see the three fighting comrades who are cross-
ing with them — three heavy guns, which, with
their cruel, hard blows, have helped to smash
down the ramparts of the Russian fortresses.
The three forty-two-centimetre guns are now
asleep like buffaloes worn out with fatigue.
The gunners will awaken them over there and
teach them to rumble again !
80
Crossing the Channel
A stiff breeze arises. The ever-living
waters of the Channel breathe hot. On the
port side the waves greedily lick the ship's
walls. To landsmen it is a movingly beautiful
picture to see the waves spray over the torpedo
boats and mount high along the sides of the
steamer. During the millions of years in which
the waves of the sea have washed the round
ball of the earth, the sea has never been fed
with so many ships as during these years of
war, and now it seems that its voracity had
grown with the plenitude of its indulgence. A
toothsome morsel certainly it would have been,
a war-equipped regiment of German world-war
victors ! Watchful the deck officers stand, and
with their keen-eyed glasses scan the horizon.
Each sailor peers with vulture eyes . . . now
the rank and work of the individual fighters can
no longer be measured by the idea of duty ;
now each one from the enormous stress of his
soul gives his last, for each one knows that
Germany from hour to hour is waiting for news,
and that the entire world is holding its breath
during these days! It is now a fight to the
last man ! Now each one has the fate of
Germany in his hands.
The chalk cliffs have moved nearer and
nearer.
" Hurrah ! Dover ! "
A picturesque bay it may have been in time
of peace, but now the sea swells about a
81 G
Hindenburg's March into London
heap of ruins. In the clefts of the rocks
there are still here and there trails of smoke
showing where shots have fallen, and fires
raging.
Rattling, the anchor seeks the bottom. The
two small, smart little steeds with floating
manes snort for a couple of minutes, then they
gallop back to convoy another regiment. Per-
haps they are already bringing over him who,
with his staff, dwells in Dunkirk in the vicinity
of the Telefunken wireless apparatus, and
directs the battle which has flamed up in
England.
After the troops have climbed up and have
passed the ruins of the fortifications and
barracks, they halt at a field altar. At the
threshold of England the clergyman wishes
to speak to the soldiers of watching and
praying : that the heart should be humble
before God, and the neck stiff before the
enemy ! That the heart should pray and the
eye be watchful ! He reads from the Bible
the text in which all his thoughts are to be
summed up :
" The Lord will be with thee and not with-
draw His hand from thee, nor abandon thee,
until thou "
" An aviator ! "
" Fall out ! "
" Seek cover ! "
As soon as the troops are able to creep
82
Crossing the Channel
forward out of their cover they once more gather
round their preacher. He reads on :
" The Lord will be with thee and not
withdraw His hand from thee, nor abandon
thee, until thou hast accomplished every-
thing ! "
" Until thou hast accomplished every-
thing . . . ! "
This is what the soldiers take with them from
the divine service into the battle.
83 G 2
Battles in the
South of England
Battles in the South of England
BATTLES IN THE SOUTH OF
ENGLAND
THE main roads on which the troops landed
to-day march into the south-eastern counties
of England present a harrowing picture. The
German corps, which after the keenly contested
battle in the hopfields of Kent are now already
on their victorious march passing through the
county of Sussex, so richly endowed by nature
with landscape beauty, have had to face a
sharpshooters' warfare, exceeding in its
atrocities the performances of Belgian black-
guards. The German commanders have been
compelled to take stern measures of reprisal.
They will be a warning to English craft and
cunning.
In order to make the position of things quite
clear to his King's Grenadiers of Dresden,
Major Sigwart assembles them around him
and reads over to them a proclamation taken
yesterday from a miscreant caught red-handed
and shot on the spot, the chairman and leader
of some local council.
87
Hindenburg's March into London
" Fellow citizens ! The hordes of German
Huns have raised their coarse barbarian fists
against us ! The deadly enemies of all pro-
gress of civilisation, the tramplers on all human
rights, graze their horses on the holy fields of
Britain ! The Moloch of Prussian militarism
opens wide its evil-smelling jaws and threatens
to grasp us between its teeth ! Gentlemen of
Britain ! we ask you, will you suffer these
Germans — who, owing to their notorious want
of education, could only find a footing in
London, the City of Culture, as waiters and
barbers — will you suffer them to be in your
native land for one hour longer ? Ladies of
Britain ! we ask you, will you allow the fat
sons of the sauerkraut ' Hausfraus ' to pass
through the streets of your home ? If you will
not suffer this, then ' To Arms.' Your King
appeals to you in a difficult hour. See that
each parish, each house, becomes a trap from
which not a single German rat shall escape
alive."
The soldiers now know how comfortable
it will be in the quarters of this battle
area ! With revolver heroes and mixers of
poison !
Major Sigwart enjoins the utmost caution
upon his men, and admonishes them to be
mistrustful at every step.
He concludes his address by saying :
" For hatred there is no such thing as the
88
Battles in the South of England
world's history. Hate has never learnt from
the past. The heart of England will not be
instructed even by the fate of Belgium ! We
shall repeat the lesson of Louvain upon the
shooters from behind hedges if need be ! We
want an honourable battle with soldiers !
But bandits shall not harm the hair on a
German soldier's head with impunity ! "
For the Major no further stern orders or
forcible measures are necessary on the forward
march. The German advance companies have
already become wary. . . .
If the troops are preceded by dreams of
happiness in the direction of London, they
march gallantly forward ! Our field-grey clad
men are merry and of good cheer.
But soon the bitterly hard reality breaks into
their dreams. The frightful traces of furious
recent battles already show themselves. Every
hedge, every farm, has become a red milestone
to the German and Austrian armies on their
victorious march. Many a hastily knocked
together cross of rough birch on the road
carries a helmet of field-grey.
The road runs through landscapes of devas-
tated beauty. The parks of English lords
have been crushed under foot and overturned
by the war. Yew trees, centuries old, bleed
out of wet, gleaming, splintered wounds. They
89
Hindenburg's March into London
have survived for many hundreds of years, and
knew nothing of the fact that upon earth there
is at times the turmoil of war. Yes, Old
England has in the course of centuries been
fortunate indeed ! It waged war often enough,
and allowed other nations to suffer and paid
vassals to fight for it, and its old yews learnt
nothing of all the unspeakable heart's suffer-
ing which the much-tried Continent had to
endure !
The gardener War has worked wondrous
changes in the park-like meadows in which
huge shell holes yawn. And on the green
sward he has intertwined his poppy-red tendrils.
He has ploughed over all the gardens of Sussex,
and where War runs his plough along the
digging is deep. What can the giant shell
have been looking for in the elegant old man-
sion ? It has fetched out weapons, stones,
pillars, shreds of concrete, table slabs — with
all these things it laid about it and extinguished
all life far around.
And on the fields of these fertile lands there
now grow nothing but steel sheaves with steel
ears, pyramids of rifles. Every bend of the
land swarms with German and Austrian troops
hastening to battle.
At a railway junction in South Sussex a large
number of prisoners from the recent battles may
be seen.
" War puts many a man on his feet ! But
90
Battles in the South of England
many cavalry men above all ! " jokes a Grenadier
officer, as several English cavalry squadrons in
smart khaki uniforms passed the German troops
towards the railway station, in order from there
to undertake that journey to the heart of
Germany and the Danube which had been
dreamt of some ten years before, though in a
somewhat different way.
The caravans of prisoners there resting are
really strange medley of peoples. Indian horse-
men with false precious stones in their turbans
lie alongside ragged Montenegrins ; North
Indian Sikhs, men of Madagascar, Senegalese,
Basutos from the Cape, Gurkhas, Indians,
Black South Sea Islanders, and City of London
Reservists are encamped side by side. England
has shrunk from no expense in the service of
humanity : pioneers of civilisation from the
darkest corners of the world were to show
the vile German Huns what education and
manners are.
Repellent Congo negroes, whose torn faces
still bear all the marks of Belgian colonial
atrocities, relate gleefully how noble ladies of
London, formerly murdering Suffragettes, had
kissed them as liberators ! They show how
their arms were allowed to encircle the fair
ones — their hands look like the claws of beasts
of prey.
" Phew, deuce take it ! " says a German
Landwehr man. " They do not know that for
Hindenburg's March into London
the pious English ladies there is nothing now
more worthy of worship than a noble gentleman
from a heathen land. And what should one
not do indeed to promote the comfort of the
brave forces who are to free the world from the
German barbarians ! "
Some prisoners look serious and meditative,
but the coloured ones have not yet realised
that on the British Islands they were employed
as wretched serfs, and that only by chance
have they escaped their higher destination of
terminating their life as miserable food for
cannon in England.
Under the leadership of a man from Monaco,
an international public organise a little game in
the street trench. Soon, however, they give a
thorough drubbing to their banker, the expert
from Monte Carlo, for having tricked them.
The game room is cleared by the German
Landsturm.
Major Sigwart asks his adjutant to take a
photo of the encamped caravans.
" Write under the picture : ' English Muni-
tions/ "
# # # #
In the west of Sussex the storm of battle
rages hard. The reserves are hurried forward
to this field. They march swiftly onwards.
It now begins to smell of chlorine. Our
Grenadiers are approaching the fields where
the battalion will no doubt be used to-morrow.
92
Battles in the South of England
The parks and meadows bear harrowing
testimony to the recent combats. Perforated
helmets lie here, wheel spokes smashed, horse
trappings. Steel fragments of gigantic shells
glitter in the sun like iron-pointed clubs of the
Middle Ages, in the hands of the torturers.
For hours by road the shells came here to help
build a cemetery of many miles in extent.
With widely opened eyes and convulsively
outstretched legs the horses lie. Stately race-
horses they may have been. They were in-
tended, no doubt, to be shown at Epsom before
hundreds of thousands. Instead of the many-
coloured jockeys, crows and ravens are riding
on them.
The acrid pestilential smell would bar the
road to novices. Our soldiers have become
inured to this, and it would have to pour
thickly indeed on the heroes of Arras and
Gilgenburg before it weakened their courage.
They know that the road to victory looks a
little different from what it is pictured at times
in festive addresses. . . .
After many hours of march the Grenadiers
reach that portion of the recent battlefield where
the Army Medical Corps columns are still at
work. Waggons travel by from which pitiful
groaning is heard. Here from a heap of
boulders a couple of boots project dripping
with blood. The feet; are still within them.
The hospital assistants will hardly find the
93
Hindenburg's March into London
body which corresponds to that smashed skull
over there. An English horseman has had his
veins burst by the air pressure of a shell, so that
his face is overrun with black blood. On a
railway embankment hewn-down Pomeranians
lie alongside Highlanders torn to pieces. And
on the same embankment there still stands a
big board on which the words appear in huge
letters :
" Off to Berlin ! Great tennis tournament.
Balls supplied by the Government ! Great
attraction ! Fine sport in Flanders ! Followed
by winter festival on the French Rhine ! Feasts
of victory in the ruins of Krupp in Essen !
Visit to the caves of militarism, the barracks of
Berlin ! Apply at once ! Good sport guar-
anteed ! Hurry up, and be sure you are there
before the great finish."
Now the great finish has come and they were
there. At the foot of this repulsive board lies
a heap of corpses. They will certainly have
fought bravely, those sinewy figures of tough
young sporting men, before they were mown
down by machine-guns.
The entire landscape, which may have pre-
sented most attractive pictures during peace, is
desecrated by ugly advertising boards. While
our battalion rests it lies opposite a huge
board :
" Beecham's Pills are the best. Beecham's
Pills cure."
94
Battles in the South of England
A company clerk climbs up and corrects it in
red pencil :
" Germans' Pills are the best. Germans'
Pills cure."
Major Sigwart takes pleasure in such little
merry pranks. His motto is : " Cheerfulness
helps men valiantly forward, but a sullen face is
certainly concealed desertion of colours."
To your guns ! Onwards and ever onwards !
The day of the last great victory must be
achieved by infantry on the move.
They march until evening. Then our
Grenadiers put up their tents.
Even before midnight an orderly comes
rushing to the city of tents. . . .
An alarm !
The Major calls the outposts in. In a
couple of minutes the battalion is ready for the
march. Stumbling they go onwards in the
night.
After midnight the organ of battle begins to
play through its entire gamut. Dull, growling
songs of bards. In the nightly sky flicker the
searchlights. The, battalion is getting nearer
to the area of battle, where there is no night
and no rest.
Now the gun-fire can be heard shot after
shot. Machine-guns rattle off hardjjessons.
Shells moan. Now heavy battalions of howitzers
95
Hindenburg's March into London
shriek out their battle-cry. Alongside the growl
of these huge beasts the rifle fire sounds like
the wretched pattering of rain, and the short
and hasty rattle of the machine-guns resembles
the harmless noise of a woodpecker.
Pale dawns the morning, and the Grena-
diers march and still march. Their brows
are wet and their knapsacks weigh hundred-
weights.
Behind the bushes miserably clad forms come
slouching forward, hunger driving them from
their lairs. They raise their arms high and shout
and lament, and behave as though possessed
by the devil. They only calm down when
they are assured again and again by German
officers through interpreters that they will
not be used on Krupp's shooting ranges as
targets.
Orderlies dash from the commander's head-
quarters to the staffs. The battalion is ordered
on by forced marches.
The regiments of artillery overtake in mad
gallop the quick-stepping Grenadiers. Brigades
of horsemen fly by on the dusty roads and
powder the infantry with dust. No cloth dyes
could in so masterly a fashion clothe the infantry
men in protective colour and impart to their
uniforms the exact creamy hue of English land-
scapes as the cavalry and artillery do in an
instant.
Orderlies bringing new orders come flying
96
Battles in the South of England
up. The battalion is to be carried forward
in cars.
What an outcry as the first troops get into a
captured London motor-bus on which there
still stands in big letters :
" Come with us ! Kitchener wants you !
This car is at the disposal, free of charge, of all
who wish to enter."
Hurrah for Kitchener ! We accept the
kindly offer with thanks ! We are coming !
Our Grenadiers arrive punctually on the
border of the battlefield. Every thicket of
trees swarms with troops. Alongside the
battalion are mounted Silesian Jaegers
waiting the telephone call. They have sat
up and once more slapped the necks of their
horses.
Artillery, too, is in readiness in the thicket,
and awaits the command to join in the battle,
which rages ever more thunderously towards
the west.
On the outskirts of the wood Major Sigwart
informs his officers of the position :
Over there, on the westerly horizon, lies
Gibbet Hill, and in front of it, on its eastern
slope, passes the embankment of the railway
from London to Portsmouth. These are the
first objectives on the road to London.
On the border of the battlefield ! Here the
line pregnant with meaning is drawn which
divides two worlds.
97 H
Hindenburg's March into London
Up to this point manoeuvre experiences
suffice, together with the careful preparatory
work of the military scientists. Here, however,
the work of will begins, and the mobilisation of
the highest moral forces. Up to here it was a
question of the readiness for marching of the
great mass, but now each individual must set
up his man. Up to here the conduct of war
has been wise and semi-mechanical manipulation,
but now a keen eye, speedy decision, and a
courageous heart are needed.
Riders dismount ! The interior of the
modern battlefield belongs to the infantry.
The reserve battalions on the margin of the
battlefield receive the order to make their way
into the foremost trenches, in order to
strengthen the firing line. Much blood has
been shed there. The battalions are to jump
into the hard-fought trenches . . . and the
soldiers burn to go to the assistance of their
sorely pressed brothers.
The battalion falls out into thin lines and
groups, and each small group must now see to
make its own way forward safely. The ground
is not favourable for bringing up reserves.
Hedges, walls, and clumps of trees offer cover.
Where, however, the reserve troops have to
run over an open piece of ground an awful rain
of iron pours down on them. Between the
98
Battles in the South of England
tree clumps Death stands and demands toll of
the passers-by.
The storm of battle rages dreadfully. The
reverberation of the explosions never dies
down, as the declining growl is at once caught
up by the next shell. Although over there,
behind bush and trench, the lust of death looks
out greedily for what it may grasp ; though
in the battered trenches, scarcely affording any
shelter, death and suffering encompass them
about, the groups yet have the will victoriously
to advance, and this will finds the way. Now
here, now there, they dash forward without
intermission and without hesitation. The
foremost trenches, miles in length, draw to
themselves like magnets the small iron chips of
the companies.
A long and dangerous stealthy march brings
the battalion of Major Sigwart to the trenches
in front. Death has called only twelve of his
brave fellows to pass another way.
The Grenadiers have run breathlessly, as if
a paradise opened before them, and now they
have reached a hell.
"They don't fire badly, those English
chaps ! "
This means, when translated into civilian
language, "The battle is raging fiercely." In
none of the battles of this world-wide war did
the fury attain to the terrific pitch, to the
desperate blind rage,, of the collisions and
99 H 2
Hindenburg's March into London
contests which are to be fought out on English
soil.
Hiss and scream and buzz go on unceasingly.
And the English shots do not travel up into
the blue of the sky. They know their way well
about these parts, are able to locate the enemy
and strike upon the roof of his subterranean
dwellings. Ramparts break down, wire en-
tanglements are reduced to shreds, and waves
of earth are dashed into the trenches. A glance
at the battle area makes it clear how obstinate
the struggle will be ! From a hundred thou-
sand bloodthirsty guns fire is belched — from
machine-guns, howitzers, and armour-plated
cannon.
The German guns leave no shot unanswered,
and the German gunners, too, if they had been
unskilled beforehand, would have learnt to aim
on the great Russian and French shooting
ranges. And the Austrians have had their
o
war training at the Isonzo. The mine-throwers
—the machines revived from the Middle Ages,
resembling a crouching dog in shape — belch
death and destruction, and where heavy torpedo
shells alight it is a holiday there too.
True, the troops have during the lengthy
struggles of this world-wide war learnt the way
to protect themselves like cave bears against
the dangers of the battle, but the German
soldiers have no further liking for fresh position
warfare ! When the English lyddite shells waft
100
Battles in the South of England
their stinking greenish-yellow sulphur fumes
against them, they feel the desire grow within
them to get fresh air by storming the enemy
positions and thus get nearer to the great
objective. The longings of both general and
private look beyond the enemy entrenchments
away to London ! For only there can the
world's peace be secured, and nowhere else.
The enemy has his eyes and ears everywhere.
He is well-informed as to the strength of the
advance German regiments, and knows that in
the German trenches storming columns are
assembling who are to be directed towards
Gibbet Hill. He then begins to feel his way
with his heaviest guns from this hill into
the German entrenchments. His shots fall
slowly, like the thunderous step of some
invisible fabulous being. At each step an
approaching monster strikes fire from the earth.
The dreadful hoof blows come nearer and
nearer. Soon the monster has reached the
entrenchments of our Grenadiers, and steps
and hovers about them, crushing down the
artificial structures here and there until evening.
It is a torture which no words can describe to
have to suffer under the steps of this fury-
breathing, invisible, giant-hoofed monster. The
Grenadiers, however, keep undismayed to their
work, and keep also their underground prisons
and excavations in as good condition as they
are able.
101
Hindenburg's March into London
Suddenly a shot fired at a high angle hits
the bottom of the trench ; it gets jammed
between the boards and is held a moment as
though it had first to think of the command
with which the gunners sent it on its way. A
tremendous burst ... a clap of thunder . . .
a spout of fire and smoke ... a wild whirlwind
dance . . .
A little afterwards a similar uncanny visitor
finds its way into the trench of the other wing
of the battalion. Will the men survive the
next few moments ? The steel visitor lies
powerless, inanimate. It seems to have lost
its will of destruction in its tearing flight. Any
moment, however, its senses may return, and
its rage . . . those few seconds are pregnant
with awful fear.
Two Pioneer non-commissioned officers take
the hot mass of steel on the straps of their
guns and drag it carefully away.
The soldiers grip the hands of both of them
with quite unmilitary heartiness. Many a quiet
heroic act of this great war will remain hidden
in oblivion.
The enemy also brings up reinforcements-
East Yorkshire Volunteers, Highlanders,
London Scottish. Has a trace of humanity
been moved in British hearts ? Has Albion
done away with this coloured animal vermin ?
No, it is only saving its Blacks, as it still
has ammunition of its own and of American
102
Battles in the South of England
manufacture. The Africans and Indians will,
however, certainly be used up to the last man
before a treaty of peace is signed. The niggers
are now still enjoying drill, or an easy time—
whichever you like.
The telephone brings the order to the
corps :
" To-morrow morning at four o'clock the
artillery will open fire on the enemy positions
on the railway embankment and Gibbet Hill.
Charge to take place at 7.30."
A bit of railway embankment and Gibbet
Hill ! . . . In the decision of the fate of the
world it is a question of the possession of
hedges, craters torn by shells, waste heaps. . . .
Late in the afternoon the artillery fight still
continues along the entire front, as in the
morning. Pillars of refuse and dust as high as
houses blow over the trenches. The inter-
change proceeds mercilessly. One would think
that the shells must at last rend apart the blue
silk of the heavens. They appear to lunge
blindly forward into the horizon, but each has
its carefully computed instructions to kill and
destroy. An aiming device contrived by human
cunning shows them how they are to satisfy
their lust of blood upon human beings.
The evening comes. The battle, however,
does not cease. The guns continue coughing
103
Hindenburg's March into London
during the night as though to clear the powder
smoke out of their mouths.
At a late hour the Berlin Landwehr man
Watzlit reports himself to Major Sigwart. He
no longer looks smart ; his comrades call him
44 Quizzy lugs," because his ears stand out at an
angle, and he has a very dry humour. He
hands the Major quite a respectable little bag
of gold pieces.
Reservist Watzlit has been on patrol duty
during the day. On a silent meadow an
English airman descended near him, being
compelled to land by our artillery. This air-
man, with a mistaken notion of the German
character, wanted to bribe him with fifty thou-
sand marks in bright gold.
44 I said to him, 4 Set I set /'
44 What did you say?"
44 That's English, sir. In English 4 i ' is
pronounced like 4 ei ' and 4 e ' like 4 i,' sir. 4 Sie
Esel' (4 You donkey '), I said to him in English.
4 Do you think I am an Italiano that you want
to bribe me ? ' I certainly won't have it said of
us that we are uneducated."
44 Did he understand your English ? "
44 Didn't look as if he did, sir. But I kept
hold of him by the collar and spoke to him in
German : then he understood. I said to him :
4 Gold must be paid into the Reichsbank in
Germany. The nearest office of the Reichs-
bank is Doberitz. I shall get you a ticket to
104
Battles in the South of England
Doberitz, so that you can pay in your gold
yourself.' '
While merry laughter was aroused for an
instant by this colloquy, a shell fragment as
big as a fist came flying along and claimed a
young ensign as its victim. War is a
capricious master, and will at times suffer no
merry face.
* * * *
Now it is night.
The Grenadiers are now converted into
treasure seekers of rare ability. They are
burying their dead brothers who were the
victims of the hoof blows of the giant monster.
The Pioneers dig their way into saps, and
behind steel shields work their way forward in
the open field to the enemy entrenchments.
Fire leaps to meet them from trench and bush.
They stick doggedly to their difficult work,
however, and prepare the way for the charging
troops to-morrow morning.
Sleep well, young Grenadiers ! To-morrow
morning at half-past seven Fate will deal
hardly with you ! Master Hindenburg
requires all from those who fight under his
colours !
* * * *
In the small hours of the morning, on the
stroke of four, a noise like an inferno resounds
across the battle area. Over the German line,
105
Hindenburg's March into London
miles in length, numberless steel throats spout
fire. The earth quakes beneath the feet. Black
masses of smoke gather above the enemy
positions. The enemy does not remain idle.
From Gibbet Hill the British guns send down
their thunder shots. The salvoes ring out
uninterruptedly. High flames up the de-
structive wrath of the German battalions. The
explosions of mines thrown forward like rockets
tear up the wondrous land traversed by Martian
canals.
" Boom ! boom ! " sing out the cannons.
" Ha, ha, ha ! " reply the rifles, as though
laughing at the call of death.
Suddenly a hideous uproar breaks forth.
Has the Lord God given the sign for the
destruction of the world ? No, the forty-two-
centimetre Pilsen and Essen guns join in the
battle. They cover up the enemy trenches,
lift up English batteries, and grind enemy
entrenchments to dust and ashes. They plant
the railway embankment between Goclalming
and Petersfield with dark vegetation as high
as a house, and the small guns hang up their
shrapnel clouds like enormous caps of wool on
the black thicket.
For hours the fearful battle of guns rages.
Now those buffaloes who had slept during the
journey across are awakened. Now they
snort, and out of their nostrils pointed flames
project,
1 06
Battles in the South of England
The great hour draws nearer and nearer.
The clocks in London strike seven. The
storming columns are already assembling in the
German trenches. It is now high time to
make the final preparations. But look, two
worthy Saxon Grenadiers on the left wing
there are still sitting and drinking a cup of
canteen coffee.
" What ! " says one. " The English starve
us ? If they have not succeeded in doing so
by sea, it is jolly certain they won't on land !
And now just let's have a Dresden good fat
sandwich. Boys, if the marmalade fellows
over there knew what a jolly life we still have
here ! "
. And with unshakable calmness they drink
their coffee and eat their sandwich twenty
minutes before the order to charge.
These two Grenadiers won the world war.
Their merry calm is indeed not indifference nor
yet gallows humour. It is a feeling of pride
in a consciousness of strength. They know
that success will be theirs. In them is the good
German spirit of unshakable confidence that a
right cause must conquer, and when the ladders
are put up for the charge these two men will be
in front.
Shortly before seven- thirty the infernal
thunder of battle suddenly ceases. It is the
rest of the lion crouching for a spring.
107
Hindenburg's March into London
On the stroke of seven-thirty the young lions
stretch their limbs. God be with you, valiant
German youth !
" Hurrah ! " resounds somewhere. Now
there is no further hesitating for German
soldiers whose blood is up. The first line
bursts out. The hurrah swells into a jubilating
storming song which leads the troops into
the battle over an immeasurable front,
the battle in which man will stand against
man.
In three minutes the first English trench is
captured. The English retire in flight to
their second line. With wonderful speed and
without a fight they at the last moment
evacuate their trenches. . . . Cowardice or
cunning ?
Forward ! There is no time to philosophise
here ! Eyes front and steady ahead.
Lieutenant Eichstadt leaps up out of the
conquered trench.
" Hurr ! "
He does not end the hurrah. He turns as
in a circle, having received a shot in the head.
A sergeant-major springs forward and finishes
Lieutenant Eichstadt's hurrah. Then he, too,
feels about him.
Farther down a first lieutenant tries to dash
forward with a group. A machine-gun smashes
his body.
A cruel hail of shrapnel bullets pours down
108
Battles in the South of England
on to the valiant conquerors of the British
trench.
A new storming line has moved forward
from the German trenches. These brave
fellows, too, are swept when half-way by the
fire coming from hitherto unlocated guns. In
this land, of which it is difficult to obtain a
general view, the German artillery has not
succeeding in detecting all the enemy batteries.
Now the men hidden in ambush fall upon the
German storming columns.
The latter, taken by surprise when half-way,
throw themselves on the ground and endeavour
to protect themselves with the sandbags and
protective shields which they have taken with
them.
Dreaded moments have now come for the
brave Grenadiers. They are in deadly peril.
English guns, which have got the range exactly,
pour down a hail on their ranks from Gibbet
Hill. They can go neither forward nor back-
ward, nor get away from this place of horror.
No torture of the Middle Ages could have
contrived such suffering.
Now the Scots charge forward from the other
side against our Grenadiers — two battalions of
the brave Scots Black Watch regiment. They
have made a sad mistake, little thinking what
small effect this slight set-back would have on
the warriors' wrath and the battle readiness of
German troops.
109
Hindenburg's March into London
The broken German charge has, however,
had one great result : it has effectively cleared
up the position. The German artillery now
knows in what lairs destruction is concealed.
While our brave German warriors crawl back
to their trenches, the artillery takes up the
work with double energy.
The English army commander thinks the
moment favourable for converting the " de-
feated "... troops by leaflets. An aviator
drops bombs which are filled with leaflets
instead of dynamite.
" German soldiers ! You have been dragged
over the Channel in order to shed your blood
uselessly ! They have not ventured to tell
you you are already cut off from your home !
England is surrounded by our submarines.
There is no escape for you ! Already the
French are crossing the Rhine and carrying
devastation into your land, where your wives
and children weep for you. . . . Austrians !
In the Vienna Prater the Italians and Serbians
are already celebrating feasts of victory ! Your
leaders keep you tied here, although they know
they are committing against you the greatest
crime known to the world's history ! They
will, however, rather sacrifice your blood than
their vanity. While you are driven on English
soil to meet the bloody collapse of German
militarism, your children are starving, your
mothers are weeping, and your wives and
no
Battles in the South of England
sweethearts are despairing ! Deliver up your
arms ! Report yourselves to our advanced
posts ! Then we, full of mercy, will open the
trap in which you must meet a miserable end !
You have furnished proof enough that you love
your Fatherland and know how to wield your
arms. Your plans were great ; your end is
terrible ! We hardly venture to answer to the
world's history for what circumstances compel
us to do — to destroy a brave army to the last
man ! Break away from Hindenburg, the
wretched barbarian, in whose eyes you have
failed, and surrender ! "
Thus a happy fate at times on English soil
provides something which helps on the German
soldiers in their darkest hours as a gallant and
cheery companion — humour !
The German artillery has now settled its
account with the English guns, and thoroughly
searched out all hiding places. With clenched
teeth and burning eyes, the Grenadiers await
the order for the second charge.
For some moments the firing abates.
And now forward once more ! Many a brave
German who led the first charge is no more.
The heroes are dead, but their fury lives on in
the hearts of their comrades. And this fury
now again resounds over the long front, and
swells into a battle song which drowns the
English naval guns and grips and drags for-
ward the last man.
in
Hindenburg's March into London
Now there is no further halting. The enemy
lines begin to waver. Mightily our troops dash
on. Over the railway embankment they
swarm ! An enormous quantity of war material
is already ours.
German reserves press on behind. Men
without arms plead for mercy.
The iron hurricane sweeps up the eastern
slope of the Gibbet Hill. Thousands are hauled
out of their caves and sent back as prisoners to
the German trenches.
A few bold Englishmen remain calmly
aligned, taking aim with their guns.
"Hi!"
" You there ! "
They are dead. . . .
Below the cross on Gibbet Hill a few stub-
bornly defended entrenchments still hold out.
One fort after the other is captured by means
of hand-grenade attacks.
Hurrah ! On the cross which crowns the
ridge the German, Austrian, and Bulgarian
colours are already hoisted.
A black boxer strikes about him right and
left like a madman, his voice overtopping the
din of battle. He gets into a hand-to-hand
engagement with several men from up above.
" It's my turn."
Our artillery whips the last strength out of
the horses. The guns take the height. And
now Fate descends on the back-flowing tide. of
112
Battles in the South of England
the English divisions. The gunners see that
fleeing groups are pinned to earth and will
never again serve the will of a general.
A group of Austrians has already taken up
its post on Gibbet Hill ; they are motor battery
observers. Soon the big guns sing out " Rule
Britannia " in the metallic roaring bass after
the fugitives, and complete the work of destruc-
tion of several hard-hit battalions.
Twilight sinks over the field. It brings no
evening peace. With fiery breath the guns
work on. Amid the roar of howitzers and the
thunder of motors long trains run into the
other world !
The day has been a hard one. And still no
fresh and joyful chase begins ; no Blucher's
victorious march with flying colours. The
British are bringing fresh reserves up and
building new entrenchments under the cover of
night against the North Downs, in order to
keep off the Day of Judgment from London.
Major Sigwart endeavours to collect his
battalion. He counts twenty different regi-
mental numbers on the helmets of his storming
columns. Of his brave officers he finds not one,
and many a well-known face in the ranks of his
brave men is missing.
Again it is night. The stars twinkle and
look upon pain increased ten thousand fold.
J«3 I
Hindenburg's March into London
And the night is so mild, not a night in which
one would wish to die. . . .
Towards midnight the Commander-General
sends a joyful message, just to hand by orderlies,
to the encampments of troops :
" Germans, Austrians, and Turks have fought
the decisive battle at the Pyramids ! The British
Army is in great part broken up ; the rest have
been captured."
The battle most pregnant in consequences in
the world war won by the new Triple Alliance.
Now the refrain is struck up joyously through
the German ranks :
" Deutschland, Deutschland iiber A lies ! "
Now the song has first received its last deep
meaning. It now rings out with the solemnity
of a choral song over the night-clad land.
An English searchlight has been picking out
the ground. Suddenly enemy rearguards direct
a murderous shell fire on them. As soon,
however, as the howling of this night storm
abates for an instant, one hears the men here
and there singing on the more joyously :
" Deutschland, Deutschland iiber A lies / "
No German stage manager has ever been
able to stage the song so effectively as was
done this night by the British.
Here and there rockets are sent up on the
other side. They look like feelers of the two
gigantic fabulous creatures who face each other
snarling and baring their teeth.
114
Battles in the South of England
Our Grenadiers look forward full of holy
confidence to the coming days. And if the
English build a hell around London the
German will break through. The Grenadiers
still have in their memory the golden words in
which the chaplain explained the Scriptural
word before Dover :
" The Lord will be with thee and not take
away His hand from thee, nor abandon thee,
until thou hast completed all."
115 i 2
Heroes
HEROES
WHILE the nations contend grimly rand
doggedly against the fate which the enemy
seeks to impose upon them, many a soldier has
to struggle against forces of fate known to him
alone. Many a soldier is, at times, faced by
greatly superior forces of attack and whispering
devils, and grits his teeth, defends himself, and
hews his way through, conquers, and yet
remains a hero not known to Fame. But even
he contributes his share to the fame of the
Army.
The fame of the Army is like a bar of gold ;
each soldier has contributed his carat to it.
The literature of war is the endeavour to coin
this bar and to return to each individual what is
his. The gallant men out there do not want to
have what is theirs returned to them ; they do
not want a great noise to be made of their own
deeds. They, however, call upon the poets of
their land to write what has not happened
anywhere or ever, and what is yet cut from the
tree of living reality.
119
Hindenburg's March into London
From the fame of the Allied Armies, that
precious bar of gold, I strike a few medals and
tender them to the nameless heroes. And we
also speak of an Englishman — every inch a
man.
LEOPOLD VON IMMENTOFL AND ANNEMARIE
As a hero unsung First Lieutenant von
Immentofl fell upon English soil.
The young man of Vienna, Baron Leopold
von Immentofl, had two tastes which hardly
seemed to go well together : he diligently
searched through castles and cloisters for
old paintings, and side by side with this paid
homage to equine sports. He cultivated the
study of the history of art, and his means
enabled him to keep a small racing stable in
England. He had, indeed, himself ridden at
Epsom.
When, in quest of a Joshua Reynolds
portrait, he had reached New York in the
early weeks of 1914, he came to know and
love Miss Edith, the daughter of a multiple
Chicago millionaire who was esteemed and
feared on the Corn Exchange. Late in the
summer the wedding was to be celebrated in
Trouville, and then the young couple intended
to go to Dorking, in the neighbourhood of
Epsom. Edith's father had had a country
1 20
Heroes
house built for them there, a romantic little
castle in an old park on the southern slope of
the North Downs.
As Leopold von Immentofl necessarily
thought himself to be well secured in financial
matters, he had, in the rashness and intoxica-
tion of his happiness, indulged freely his
inclination as an amateur of works of art. In
his enthusiasm for classical paintings, he had
taken advantage of a favourable opportunity
for purchase, and had employed a part of
his fortune of three-quarters of a million crowns
in the acquisition of a fine coast landscape by
Turner, the picture of a girl by Gainsborough,
and some Hogarth caricatures of the eighteenth
century. He had had a picture gallery fitted
up at his manor of Dorking, and was just on
the point of going to America and fetching his
bride away, when the political situation of the
world suddenly grew strained. He was first
lieutenant in a Heavy Howitzer Division, and
was required to report himself in Prague on
August 3rd.
In the first weeks of 1915 he wrote from
Poland to Miss Edith :
" . . . And am I to write to you also about
the fate of my pictures ? They will, I hope,
be well taken care of by my English friends.
Such art treasures are the property of mankind.
I have received no news, and do not wish now
to hear anything about horses and pictures . . .
121
Hindenburg's March into London
Heavens, what things happens here in the field !
Do not think me a sentimental visionary on
account of what I am writing to you about my
experience. War is not a handicraft ; it
requires more than a sharp eye and a skilled
hand. War is a stern and wise teacher, taking
all mankind into the school and testing its very
heart. Eye to eye, it puts deep questions to
which it requires no answer. However much
one may struggle against it during the first
black war nights on Russian soil, they come,
those questions — even those which concern
wealth and property — and, behold, overnight
many an idol is shattered. So much money
we both of us could not get together as I have
given away in this night in a heavy dream of
the need of the world. . . .
" And after the nights with their questions
come the days with their great experiences !
As an enthusiastic soldier, I have always been
in favour of going heart and soul into the
struggle, but I shall never forget the hour
when for the first time I directed my death-
dealing monsters against men. The first shell
fell in a marching Russian column ; the second
rent asunder soldiers of an ammunition division
who were just sitting around the saucepan — at
such a moment one clenches one's jaws an
instant ! But one gets used to putting one's
feelings out of the question and doing in cold
blood what is required by a soldier's holy duty.
122
Heroes
Soon the bloody work of the furies of war do
not affright you further.
" And yet, what I to-day passed through has
again unsettled everything within me. Let me
relate to you briefly, and you will ask whether
a human heart is strong enough to bear what I
have borne. It was necessary to find the range
of a Russian entrenchment with our heavy
howitzers ; the shell pierced a hill and tore up
unshrouded bodies from the earth and threw
the rigid limbs in a ghastly whirlwind dance
high in the air. The mound of earth covered
a grave where masses lay buried ; the
shells had torn the dead from their eternal
slumber. . . . Let who can j get over such an
experience.
" And do you now still wish to know about
the pictures ? . . ."
Thus had written Leopold von Immentofl,
the man of the picture craze.
As an experienced connoisseur of English
conditions, and an enthusiastic admirer of
Hindenburg's able conduct of war, he had,
after the collapse of Russia, only the one wish
to continue fighting under Hindenburg. And
his division might well pride itself, for it was
included in the Army of Invasion.
The hero Hindenburg had built an iron
rampart on the elevation of the forest ridge,
against trre English battalions and cavalry
123
Hindenburg's March into London
squadrons ; against this ridge the blind and
furious force of their storming attacks broke,
and their last hope of freeing the island from
the invaders was shattered. Now the time
has come for the German regiments again to
fly their colours. They march onward to
London.
The division of Lieutenant von Immentofl,
which in its laborious onward march gained
the direction towards Redhill and Reigate,
suddenly received orders, by a half-turn to the
left, to advance towards Dorking. Dorking !
The town to which, in his visions of happiness,
he was a pilgrim ! There where his manor
awaited him and his future bride ! He thanked
the Fates. In smiling colours he pictured to
himself how he would march in there with the
German victors. He would then know for
certain whether his precious pictures were
among the cat spa ws of war. No ; this region
had hitherto been spared all the stress of war,
and he would be able to thank the guardians of
the pictures.
Next morning, when the sun had fought the
fog down, looking through the telescope he saw
the distant towers of Dorking gleam. And
now, red-gabled, cumbrous, rises the manor
with its three proud towers out of the mists !
Incomparable works of art are contained within
this house on the outskirts of the wood ;
generations have helped to get together the
124
Heroes
fortune which lies in those pictures — 750,000
crowns.
There is a liveliness among the German
columns, as though for this place on the
southern slope of the North Downs the test of
fate were impending. The coming fight will be
a hot one ! Now Leopold von Immentofl no
longer finds himself helped over questions of
bitter earnestness by the cheerful talk of his
comrades.
In the vicinity of a battery of soldiers a flying
division makes its last preparations. There is
a flight lieutenant who is a good friend of
ImmentofTs, and the latter would like to ask
him to spare his private castle from bombs
should he have to send his devil's gifts to this
region. Here, however, no whispered request
is of any use ; there is only one thing he
knows, and that is duty.
The stream of battle breaks loose.
Shrieking and hissing, the guns rage against
each other ; machine-guns rattle off their songs
of hate, and rifle alongside rifle forms an iron
hedge as far as the eye stretches. A hellish
growling and spitting fills the air. Death and
destruction rain from the skies.
The telephone rings :
'The division of First Lieutenant von
Immentofl is to demolish "
No, surely that is impossible ! He inquires
again, as though he had not rightly understood.
125
Hindenburg's March into London
The voice of the adjutant repeats sharply
and clearly :
11 The division of First Lieutenant von
Immentofl is to destroy the castle-like building
with the three towers in front of Dorking.
Enemy observation posts have been observed
on the towers."
Night swims before the first lieutenant's
eyes ! Irreplaceable art treasures ! And a
fortune ! All his belongings, those costly
treasures which are the property of the whole
of mankind, he is to devote to destruction !
Was ever a human breast torn by such anguish ?
Was ever brain driven into such a conflict -of
emotions?
He had once written from Russia to his
future bride that in the field of battle greater
things were at stake than money and property
and earthly treasures, and that in his breast he
had already cast down many idols — and now,
when he is ordered to destroy his picture
gallery, he becomes suddenly aware that what
he had written then were mere resounding
phrases. Only now war, the great elucidator,
tears the mask of phrases from his soul.
The struggle between duty and amour prop ye
lasts but a few seconds.
He gives the order to load.
Never did any order issue from Leopold's
lips so hoarsely and brokenly. The gunners
train the howitzers on the object, but he does
126
Heroes
not check the aim, because there is a mist
before his eyes.
It must be ! He pulls himself together.
The thunderous word "duty" stands before
him like an implacable superior requiring strict
obedience, and not allowing himself to be
moved one iota from a command, he then
tries quadrant and level and the whole of the
wondrous work of the modern aiming apparatus,
and corrects the aim — this time it must be a
hit.
" Ready to fire ! "
The upward pointed tube looks like the neck
of some rearing beast of prey. Leopold von
Immentofl delays the last order one second
more, as a counter order might come which
would put an end to all the torture of his soul.
No telephone. No orderly.
The division has been waiting a couple of
seconds longer than usual for the short word
which will send the picrine-filled cylinder on
its frightful journey. If the soldiers had known
that this word would, perhaps, decide a human
fate, and as to the existence or non-existence of
sacred things from the Temple of Art, and as
to the future of the first lieutenant . . .
Finally he chokes out the word :
" Fire ! "
All hands are raised to the ears. One man
pulls the long cord as though he was opening a
cage containing a dangerous bird of prey.
127
Hindenburg's March into London
With a shriek of unearthly shrillness, the fire-
spitting giant shell mounts up and away, swings
as high as Mont Blanc, and looks around from
above for its prey.
The mad flight lasts for minutes. First
Lieutenant von Immentofl stands at the tele-
scope awaiting the monstrous ... he is pale,
red, and then again deathly pale. The minutes
are of untold length to him, and his feet refuse
their function.
There, now the bird of prey swoops down
with the avidity of a vulture ; the shell tears its
way through the roof of the little castle, tears
up the masonry, envelops the building in a
cloud of dust and ashes and greenish-yellow
smoke.
Flames now burst out of the windows. They
complete the work of destruction. The flames
are now feeding on a morsel worth three-quarters
of a million ; they are now licking the colours
of old Masters.
Leopold von Immentofl reports to head-
quarters through the telephone that he has
scored a hit — yes, he had.
To his bride he writes that he now stands
before the void.
The letter will never reach her, because
Miss Edith has come to Europe with ladies
and gentlemen of the American Red Cross
Corps and is already on German - English
soil.
128
Heroes
Hot went the battle on the following day.
The wrath gleams white hot. Each side plies
the other hard with metal. Between the forest
ridge and the North Downs runs the battle
line. Lightnings dart from small white clouds.
Small shot comes pattering down — shot for
man's sport. The mood is that of a dying world.
Close by Leopold von Immentofl an English
shell lands. He stands amid a column of clay,
powder smoke, and iron fragments.
" Boys . . . keep at it ! " he breathes, and
then falls.
" Lord, our first lieutenant . . . ! "
A gunner jumps forward and sees the blood
streaming from the legs of the lieutenant.
Another lifts up a fragment of steel beside the
lieutenant, which is moist with blood, and
throws it back, muttering, into the clay. Three
pairs of ready hands are round Leopold von
Immentofl ; they cut the trousers and boots
from his body with the shears for cutting steel
wire, and bind up his wounds roughly.
He is carried back on an ammunition truck.
In a small English cottage Annemarie, the
German nurse, takes him in hand. She will
stand faithfully at his side during those difficult
hours, and under her care he will patiently
await the surgeon's knife.
Miss Edith has, after wandering to and fro
for days, found Leopold's division. She has
129 K
Hindenburg's March into London
at last reached the cottage where her intended
bridegroom lies prostrate on a bed of straw
with smashed legs.
It is evening. In the flickering light of a
candle Edith stands by the bed of her bride-
groom in the cottage and spreads treasures of
wool and linen before him, feeds him with the
costliest dainties, and regards it almost as an
insulting suspicion that Sister Annemarie
should always see that things are right here
and not leave entirely to her the care of
Leopold. The latter holds Edith's hand as
though it was the last treasure which has
remained to him through all the vicissitudes
of fate. By cheerful chatter she endeavours
to while away the time ; with her millions she
builds golden bridges into the future, but she
cannot get rid of the feeling that talk of this
kind has lost all meaning to him. He puts
questions which lie remarkably far away from
gold and property. It is no longer her Leopold
of formerly.
Now, listen ! Is not that the inhumanly
shrill, bloodthirstily strident hiss of a shell ?
A roar of thunder bursts upon the silence.
The shell must have struck quite near.
Did it by pure hazard find its way to the
vicinity of the cottage with the Red Cross flag,
or was it sent there by devilish computation ?
The cottage in which Edith and Sister Anne-
marie are with Leopold, appears to have
130
Heroes
cracked in all its framework under the bursting
of the exploding shell. A poisonous breath
fills the air and causes the lungs to labour.
Gleaming lights glide ghost-like past the
window.
Suddenly outside the hasty clatter of horses'
hoofs and despairing cries. With bated breath
it is handed on from man to man :
" Save yourselves ! "
In a house which is already on fire mountains
of hand grenades lie. When the flames eat
their way through to the heap the explosion
will be frightful.
Signal horns blare out. Death lurks prowl-
ing in the village, in order, at one stroke, to
reap an ample harvest and convert the hamlet
into a cemetery.
Miss Edith dashes out thinking only for her
own safety. She implores help for her bride-
groom, and runs crying and lamenting into the
night ; her exertions for Leopold exhaust them-
selves in desperate cries for help.
Sister Annemarie, however, faithfully per-
forms her duty. She is busying herself quickly
about Leopold and endeavours to drag him out
as best she can.
Only a few steps. A blinding flash. A roar
of thunder. The earth trembles. The village
is torn asunder by a hail of iron.
Annemarie is no more.
Leopold von Immentofl has also been thrown
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Hindenburg's March into London
to the ground by fists of steel, and from many
veins his heart's blood soaks into the English
soil. But by a miracle he has remained
alive.
Laboriously, with a rare gleam in his eyes,
he scribbles his last letter.
" Thus it shall stand as a sign in the field
and shall press like a mighty army corps into
the future. Whoever has lived through this
war dies rich ! That is written by a beggar
who directed the guns against his own property,
and he then spun his dreams about his last
anchor, thou, dearest Edith, and he now sees
that thou also hast become apostate. Weep
not for me ; apostate you have become, and
even though you adorn my grave day after day
with red roses.
" You came to please with money and goods,
to alleviate want, and you meant well. But
there is something which stands high above the
services of your love and your cold gold. Your
love, Edith, was great, but there was not a
readiness for death. Now, however, the only
thing which avails in Europe is to be prepared
with the rest.
" Tens of thousands of undaunted men I
saw step before the devouring fire, and I saw
thee, Annemarie, thou German woman — the
song of heroism and duty will also sing of you,
German nurse. War is more, Edith, than
the great sensation of the old world, which
132
Heroes
one must, without fail, view from a vantage
point.
" Every day brought me testimony of the
old German truth. Therefore I say it again :
even though he were as poor as a beggar, who-
ever has lived in this war dies rich ! Money,
it is true, is no longer happiness and wealth,
just as death is no longer suffering and
darkness. Heroes of duty you call those
who now march behind victory's accustomed
flags ? More they are ! Warriors of primeval
stress, fighters for the soul of the world ;
fighters for the world of Goethe, Kant, Durer,
and Beethoven.
" Great is the aim and great the stake.
Thousands and again thousands have been
claimed by death ; but all, Germans and
Austrians, died in the Germanic longing. This
longing is the happiness of this age. Where
now, Death, is thy sting ? Where is thy
cruelty ? Come, poor wretch ! Thou hast lost
thy sting and thy scourge, and all thy weapons
are dull. For a long time now our thoughts
have no longer receded from thee in cowardly
fashion. Come, perform your bloody office.
Thou thoughtest to do us harm, but hast been
to us the gates to the great German future.
Thou hast in these days grown to be the
greatest event in life ; oh, bony visitant, to die
is to the valiant as a holy sowing in the certain
hope of a good harvest. For our great
Hindenburg's March into London
German Fatherland, from Hamburg to Trieste,
the century of greatest happiness shall open
out from this war "
On this Death took the pencil out of the
tremulous hand and drew a line beneath the
records of an unsung hero of this great time.
SIR JOHN FALCONER
In the trenches of a Prussian Garde du
Corps Regiment huge missiles from the heaviest
English naval guns have penetrated, and no
German aviator's camera has yet succeeded in
discovering the Cyclopean cave in which these
appalling one-eyed giants lurk. The battered-in
trench has to be evacuated. In the first attempt
to retake it brave German soldiers remained
lying between the two lines. Six severely
wounded Lifeguardsmen writhe since this
morning in death agony between the entrench-
ments, and none can help them.
Two German Army Medical Corps men have
endeavoured, under cover of the Red Cross, to
reach them with a stretcher, but the Gurkhas
and Kaffirs over there shot them both down-
shot them down mercilessly, and their animal
yell of joy was distinctly heard. The six hold
up their hands imploring assistance like chil-
dren, but they must continue to bear their
cruelly hard fate. They have but the one
hope — that aid may reach them in the night.
134
Heroes
Night — that did once exist. In the battles
of to-day there is no more night. Searchlights
take care that the riflemen shall have a toler-
able field even during the night. Before the
time comes for a German charge, the six can
have no aid. The reserves are still far off.
The poor tortured men, therefore, must look
forward to that night from which only the Lord
God will some time awaken them.
The new morning dawns, and death has
released one of them. Five groan like dying
animals, and their moans rend the hearts of the
soldiers. If one were, however, to venture
towards them, it would mean but one more
lying on the field. Those who lie there com-
plaining and imploring in their deathly need
lie in the close vicinity of a thousand feeling
people, before the eyes of faithful regimental
comrades, and must die as though lost in the
desert. It is beyond human power to think
this thought out to its last issue. Advanced
outposts narrate how the negroes and Indians
take delight with sardonic grins in the sight of
the dying Lifeguardsmen. For the latter are
five of the wretched vermin who had been
declared by the British to be a barbarian race.
The Huns must be destroyed who sought to
attack a knightly, civilised nation ! The
Gurkhas and Kaffirs will see to that.
Then an English officer leaps forward out ot
the trenches. It is Major John Falconer.
135
Hindenburg's March into London
When making an inspection of the trenches
of the coloured people he arrived at this
place of torture and heard the moaning of the
Guardsmen.
" A Samaritan, however, was journeying
and came that way, and when he saw the five
who had fallen among the murderers he had
compassion on them "
Major Falconer throws down his sabre and
waves a white handkerchief.
Our Guardsmen are no longer taken in by
such crude trickery. They have been made
wary by experience. The white cloths of the
Gurkhas have often done service for the pur-
pose of criminal attacks and cost the blood of
many trusting comrades. They shoot at the
Major, and aim well. He appears to have
received a shot in the lung ; he clasps his hand
to his chest, but continues running. With
tottering steps he comes to where the wounded
men lie writhing.
The Guardsmen put their guns down from
their shoulders.
As well as he can, John Falconer helps the
five men to creep like lame animals towards the
German trenches. He then wants to drag
himself back to his line.
Now the captain of the Garde du Corps
Company climbs over the rampart of the trench,
goes towards the English Major, and shakes
his hand silently.
136
Heroes
" Bravo ! Bravo ! " resounds at this moment
from the German throats.
John Falconer falls. The Prussian captain
beckons to two Gurkhas to take the Major
away. They carry him back. No further
commands will issue from his mouth in this
war.
Amid the most embittered struggle in the
world's history, men with hearts stood for a
moment face to face. Through the black
clouds of war the sun radiated for one instant
and shone upon the deed of a British nobleman.
LIEUTENANT HAUSSMANN
The Germans in their onward march have
overrun the property of Lord Charles Westbury.
The English troops who had converted the
romantic old park into a strong fortress were
compelled to evacuate this section of country
without a fight, in order to avoid the danger
of being completely surrounded. Lieutenant
Haussmann is to take possession of his
lordship's country house with a company of
Pomeranian infantry, late in the afternoon.
The house is locked. On the lieutenant
ringing, a servant in livery appears and asks,
as though they were on some happy island far
away from the din of war :
" Your name, sir ? "
The soldiers laugh at the solemn formalities,
137
Hindenburg's March into London
but in the house of an English lord people know
what is proper.
" Announce a German officer."
After the servant has made the announcement
in the drawing-room, Lieutenant Haussmann is
asked to enter. He is there received by the
master and lady of the house with an amiability
stamped with the best Society form, as though
the lieutenant were an old club friend who had
accepted an invitation to a reception of the
British aristocracy.
Lord Charles Westbury regrets that they
were brought together in the hour of need of
his unhappy country, and does not conceal how
deeply it wounds his British honour to have to
shelter a German.
" I will tell you quite honestly that I sincerely
hate the Germans. As, however, Fate has now
decreed otherwise than what the just English
cause deserves, I bow to the irrevocable. I
know my duty as a host. You may rest assured,
sir, that a Britisher honours a gentleman even
in his opponent."
Lieutenant Haussmann at once feels as
though the noble lord only gives such a
straightforward expression to his hatred of
Germans to produce, for some reason or other,
the impression that he was sans peur et sans
reproche. Sacred assurances that all friction will
be avoided are very cheap when a draft of
Pomeranian infantry are in the vicinity.
138
Heroes
Lord Charles Westbury gives Lieutenant
Haussmann to understand during the conversa-
tion that he himself had not been satisfied with
the new course of things in England. He had
never approved the war, and he counted the
revolting free-lance work with which they
had sought to stay the invading army in the
South of England as among the most
rascally malpractices which man had ever
been capable of. Quite by chance his glance
appears to fall on Bernard Shaw's " The Man
of Destiny."
" Look here," he says, " I hold with Shaw,
who once wrote : ' The Englishman is never
embarrassed for a great moral gesture. Nothing
is so bad and nothing so good that you will not
see an Englishman perform it, but you will
never prove to an Englishman that he is
wrong, because he does everything on principle.
He conducts warfare on patriotic principles, he
commits fraud on business principles, he con-
verts free nations into slaves on principles of
moral policy.' It is regrettable that I should
have to say this to an enemy of England : I
echo Shaw's words from the bottom of my
heart."
Lieutenant Haussmann gets the impression
that this lord, with his sharp judgments on
modern England, only wishes to say : " Yes,
look at me ; I am one of the Good Old School !
Do not, for heaven's sake, be mistrustful in my
139
Hindenburg's March into London
house, which it is true you have every reason
to be."
Lady Ruth, the lady of the house, asks
Lieutenant Haussmann to go to the dining-
room, as he must certainly be hungry.
In the dining-room Lieutenant Haussmann
is introduced to the daughter of the house,
Lady Margery, who is married to an English
officer. Her husband is at the front. The
young Lady Margery appears to be a merry
war grass widow. She talks with Lieutenant
Haussmann and makes his stay at her father's
country house seem very agreeable in every
respect. She has curled her hair after the
style of the Madonna of Botticelli. The
Gurkha-coloured silk dress with the French
red scarf only strikes one as a narrow setting
in which, broad and deep and in well-cared-for
fulness, her dtcolleti bosom is exposed. How
she hates these Germans ! But her glances
aim at bewitching them.
Lieutenant Haussmann notes these glances,
and also partakes of the choicest delicacies on
the table. He is not afraid of poison ; a draft
of Pomeranians is a good antidote. He makes
a cheerful repast and also drinks a glass of dry
wine. In spite of assiduous persuasion, he
only takes one. Although for weeks his only
beverage has been canteen coffee, he feels that
this post requires a sober man with all his wits
about him. He feels as though for some
140
Heroes
reason they are trying to prevent him from
being on his guard.
Casually, as it were, the hostess says to him :
" Of course, your men will be well looked
after so far as we can serve them up a simple
dinner in haste."
Lieutenant Haussmann enjoins upon his
men to be very much on their guard.
" Apparently modelled," he says, "on the
Belgian School division. Siren tricks "
That is enough for them. They have already
observed themselves that no great marches will
be necessary to surround and take prisoners
the strikingly complaisant " Kitchen Dragoons "
of this estate.
Lady Margery will now be quite pleased to
show the lieutenant the sights of the park, the
centuries-old idyllic natural foliage, the romantic
grottos. For many months no person of the
fair sex has been in the company of Lieutenant
Haussmann, and now he is at liberty to walk
in the sunny favour of a benign young lady,
who beams upon him, the motto is : Keep your
eyes open, young man.
He has more important things to do now
than to go promenading. He politely but
decidedly gives orders to check all the persons
on this estate. That is certainly not nice action
on the part of a guest, but it is extremely
useful ; quite a suspiciously large number of
people come to light during this inventory.
141
Hindenburg's March into London
Footmen, chauffeurs, gamekeepers, a mani-
curist, a poodle washer, and numbers of
villagers who say they are here in connection
with supplies. Lieutenant Haussmann shakes
his head at this party and gives a hint to his
Pomeranians.
He then asks that a room should be shown
him. There, with sharpened senses, he collects
further observations as to what is proceeding in
this house. The Belgian rascals of the August
days of 1914 were only willing pupils of British
instigators ; now our brave troops have to deal
with the masters of the game of intrigue them-
selves. Keep your eyes open, you fair young
Pomeranian country squire. Do not fall into
the trap.
Lieutenant Haussmann, towards evening,
has another conversation with Lady Margery,
who can talk so charmingly and engagingly.
It would be nicer for him to pass his time
chatting to her. In truth, in this long and
indescribably hard war, the hour comes for
many a field soldier in which the sight of a fair
maiden offers him more pleasure than the
greatest victory after a hot field battle could
afford him.
He struggles awhile with the devil whisper-
ing temptation within him. The service to
which he belongs, his sense of duty is clear and
sharp ; he conquers and remains a hero. As a
true German he remains on the watch.
142
Heroes
In the evening, when the measure of his
suspicion is full, he goes out and knocks at the
door of a room in which he suspects a hotbed
of craft and cunning.
Lady Ruth is at once most serviceably on the
spot. " That," she says, "is Lady Margery's
bedroom ; you will not have the presump-
tion "
" I require you to open at once ! "
A voice from within :
" But, sir, I have just undressed "
His Lordship joined them.
" Sir, I do not venture to think that the evil
reputation that German officers are barbarian
chiefs should be in the least degree justified."
" I order that the door be opened at once ! "
Lieutenant Haussmann alarms the sentinels
by firing off a revolver.
The door is thrust in by gun-stocks.
"What is this?"
The lieutenant points to an extensive tele-
phone plant and carrier pigeon baskets.
" There used to be carrier pigeons in these,
but, of course, since the Germans have been in
the country "
A squad of men come breathless up the
stairs. At this very moment a flight of carrier
pigeons have gone out of this room, and a
stupid fate is so careless as to allow a little
letter to fall into Lieutenant Haussmann's
hands, which a village maiden who had just
H3
Hindenburg's March into London
turned up had brought out of her stocking :
11 Three brigades of Germans and twenty heavy
guns are half-way between Lenham and Head-
corn ! "
Lieutenant Haussmann gives orders to take
away all the persons in the house.
They raise a great outcry. Asseverations of
innocence, wringing of hands, fainting fits,
kicking and scratching — sirens become ter-
magants. Margery falls foul of the ungentle-
manly Hun officer and clenches her fist at him.
The Pomeranians make as though to grasp
their gun-stocks.
The noble lord is as white as a sheet and,
tottering, bears the sweat of dread on his brow.
He knows that to-morrow perhaps the sighs of
death will go forth, against a wall.
That Lieutenant Haussmann made these
prisoners is a fact which will be praised by no
commemorative tablet. But this result was
only brought about after a severe struggle. A
young lieutenant had fought and won a splendid
victory over himself.
144
The Night Between
the Battles
The Night Between the Battles
THE NIGHT BETWEEN THE
BATTLES
DEAR JOHANNA, —
It was a hard day ! Now it is night, and I
am with you in thought. I am not merry to-
day, not one of the always contented warriors
of whom you read in books of the moment. At
night one sometimes gets moods of all serious-
ness. Yes, by day merry speeches and old
soldiers' songs calm one's nerves ; but these
nights on foreign soil . . . ! If at night one
lies on the borders of the battlefield, and the
ocean storm sweeps over the British Islands, it
is as though the field of combat had something
mysterious and uncanny about it, as though
somewhere there the gigantic paws of a great
unknown fate waited upon the child of man in
his powerlessness. These nights grip your
heart. . . .
I saw Landwehrmen moist-eyed sitting at
the candle-light. They said they had taken
strong pinches of snuff, but I knew better ;
they had been telling themselves about their
147 L 2
Hindenburg's March into London
children. I saw a fellow sitting by the grave
of his lieutenant and playing on the mouth-
organ the song which his lieutenant was fond of
hearing. Then he threw the mouth-organ into
the river, as though it had no further sound.
During these nights the heart of the most
hardened soldier is at times penetrated. And
the storm-tried field soldier gives way to the
softest emotions of the soul.
In the hours between the battles one lies
miles away from the stress and din of combat ;
these night hours are detached from the course of
time, they belong to memory and to Providence.
They belong to wife, mother, the fair-haired
girl — to thee, Johanna !
At night the soul deserts the colours. As
soon as it has no superiors with stern com-
mands over it, it mounts up and flies away like
a bird of passage which goes seeking the land
of the sun : it wings its flight to the land of
longing. Each night I celebrate my union
with thee, beloved !
Amid the wild shell-fire one dreams the most
blessed dream that ever a warrior dreamt : one
enters London in stately procession, marching
with bands playing past Grey's windows, and
bringing the world's peace home to one's
Fatherland ! As the conquerors of the world
war one returns to the house of one's German
maiden.
Upon this hot feast of dreams the telephone
148
The Night Between the Battles
at times breaks in ... that small, cold devil
in my dug-out recalls me from Nirvana
back to the border of the battlefield. The
birds of passage of longing have at once
vanished in the clouds, and the entire man
once more belongs to his hard duty.
The candle in the trench has burnt low, and
slowly the minutes creep by. One leaves the
care of the moment to the watching sentinels,
and care for the future to the stars and the
God above the stars. Then I am again with
thee, beloved ! True, into my blessed dream
other pictures peer, streaming with blood,
frightful. In ghostly semblance there appear
to me the massive-toothed jaws of an English
Minister and war-maker, or I see bloodstained
English, claw-like hands, which greedily grasp
the globe. ... In the wonderful interplay of
the pictures I may then again perceive quiet
pictures of home, and once more there is a
telephone call. The latter suddenly converts
Hans tb^ dreamer into a sober field soldier. I
am on my service round. For to-day the
night's rest is over.
On English soil the armies get no more
sleep. The nights are filled with noise and
haste like the days. On the roads behind the
front all night long the measured tread of
battalions is heard, and the rapid clatter of
hoofs.
The fronts do not grow rigid by night, the
149
Hindenburg's March into London
battalions always remain in motion, reserve
columns grow denser at the point where
to-morrow the General Staff desires to drive
in the wedge. The line becomes a mighty,
gigantic springboard, as hard as iron. Care-
fully, late in the evening, the canteen bring up
their steaming coppers, and the soldiers partake
of their breakfast, dinner, tea and supper.
The pioneers hammer out straight in front of
the trenches those ramparts which have been
shot in, and sharpen again the barbs of blunted
wire entanglements.
Plump in the middle of the entrenchment a
shot and an outcry — an English shell has struck
home. One killed ! And all this a minute
incident which gets not a moment's attention.
Listening posts report what they have heard,
and shortly afterwards the drums far behind
the line again call the utterly weary combatants
to the gun, now here, now there . . . the roll
of the drums reverberates through the night,
as though Death were playing with bony fingers
on coffin lids.
These nights on English soil are not black,
nor yet silvery with moonlight. These nights
are fiery red. As if from sacrificial altars,
gigantic red flickering flames leap up to the
sky, and speak to the gods of the plight of the
world. Over yonder a brilliantly white blinding
flash — is Death already swinging his steel
scythe ? They are the erratic beams of the
150
The Night Between the Battles
searchlights which probe heaven and earth.
Like saucer eyes, these machine suns peer into
the night, but the apparently vacuous eye
belongs to an indeed fine brain ; behind these
eyes quiver the nerves of battalions eager for
action. Suddenly one looks right into the
heart of these giant silver funnels, with which
the enemy sucks up all that he desires to know.
Like the eye of a gendarme the searchlight
looks around it, and wherever a group of rash
nightly loiterers are not punctually at their
quarters in the trenches and dug-outs, the
artillery flashes out in an instant !
When the lids have fallen on these eyes,
night lies darker than before, for the space of
a minute. Radiating, long-tailed stars now ris9
in the heaven, balls of light. Circumspectly,
saving their light, they rise up ; at the climax
of their arc they throw down their magnificence
of light in squandering plenty over the field of
battle, and then die away. They have seen
all that the General seated at the map table
wishes to know. They, however, bring not
only news of lusty life, they also gleam into the
cleft and undergrowth and spy out the suffering
of a thousand hearts.
Suddenly to the north-east the horizon flames
over with the clearness of day. In the German
lines a ray of light has shot up — a fearful clap
of thunder, and soon after it a far more dreadful
growl comes through the air : a giant shot has
Hindenburg's March into London
blown up an English munitions depot, and
inflicted fearful punishment. Now the shots,
thirsting for blood, search out the night-clad
land, flames shoot gleaming out of the cannon's
mouth. It is a sight of awful beauty and
picturesque charm, because the trajectories of
the shots become singing rainbows by night.
A falling star drops. It really looks as
though the howitzers with their vertical fire
had smashed a star. Coloured signalling balls,
a dance of the searchlight rays, rains of sparks
before the mouths of the heavy guns flashes of
light from the rifles, gleams from the mortars,
whole towns and villages burning — such are the
light festivals, O Lord, of your earthly children !
Pyrotechnic grotesques, such as the earth has
not yet seen ! And their stage manager ?
Death the Tartuffe.
This nightly aspect of the battlefields of
to-day is harrowing. And only the dawn of
the morning can drive it out.
Thus, dearest, are the nights between the
battles. By night everything which must fear
by day creeps out on the edge of the battlefield.
They are not creatures fearing the light. Now
those of the Red Cross are passing over the
battlefield.
I shortly accompanied the field service of our
war dogs, which, under the guidance of our
152
The Night Between the Battles
brave men of the Army Medical Corps, went on
a nightly patrol through bush and brushwood
in order to save those miserable beings who
have lost the last thing that helps them over
all need — their comrades.
One of the unkempt fellows called us to a
hedge bush and showed us a piteous picture.
A young Bavarian cavalryman, with a pretty
boy's face, lay there in the throes of death. A
shell had crushed his limbs. He raved in wild
fever. I wanted to hand him my flask, but his
soul appeared to have already travelled too far
for him to take any pleasure in food and drink
and earthly comforts.
I stroked his brow. He then grew calmer.
He might have felt as if his mother was placing
her hand on him with a blessing, for after a
time he burst out as in a wild dream :
" Mother, don't let me miss it ... don't let
me miss it ... London . . . London . . .
Mother, don't let me miss it. ..."
We placed him on the stretcher.
He will, however, miss it. His mother will
never waken him again. He must sleep
through the great day on which his comrades
with bands playing will enter London
And again war dogs call from a thicket of
box-trees, one here and another there. . . .
Soldiers take the squirming bodies of their
comrades on their backs and save friend and
enemy from the dance of death, spectrally
153
Hindenburg's March into London
swaying on the battlefield. Thanatos, the
Demon of Death, passes with black wings and
lowered torch over the blood-besprinkled
ground. . . .
I once at night helped to look at those whom
the storm of battle had dashed to the ground.
I helped to examine where, in a thousand com-
rades, there was still life. Only he who has
done this knows what war is.
Grey in black — beloved, such are the pictures.
And yet these quiet nightly feasts of Death
have something unspeakably elevating, some-
thing which grips man entirely to his inmost
heart and shakes him, and puts great and
infinitely deep questions to him. For each one
of the fallen is a hero. Each of the dead here
is an Amen to the prayer of the German Army :
" Lord, let us subdue England ! "
# # # *
Yesterday we buried the funny man of our
company, Theodor Nietzelmeyer, a sunny
person whose splendidly ironical sayings always
called forth fresh laughter amid these long
struggles full of privations. We are not
foing home even though day is breaking !
hortly before the storming of Kiev he was
allotted to me as a Russian interpreter, the
loyal Landsturm man, Theodor Nietzelmeyer,
a locksmith by profession, baptised in genuine
Spree water, and gifted with a humour which
extracted from the most ticklish situation
154
The Night Between the Battles
something to maintain good temper, even
though it was a dry, saucy joke. Dear
Johanna, will you have believed that I should
ever take pleasure in little Berlin jokes ?
Many a thing to which one attaches one's soul
is reduced to naught in value by war. And
other things, which one turned up one's nose
at, it teaches us to treasure. One of the
greatest gifts of Heaven is, to the soldier in
campaigning, a ready humour. Where pious
sense and good humour are combined, with
such people I would lie for ten years in the
trenches ! But mockers and ill-humoured
sulkers are the secret allies of England.
If a despondent mood seemed likely at any
time to spread in the company, Theodor
Nietzelmeyer, in a lecture lasting for hours,
would describe a parting from his " better
half." " Theodor," said she, " don't get putting
yourself in front, because they shoot fast at
superiors ! " Nietzelmeyer was a lance-corporal.
On his patrol rounds he was regularly exposed
to sly attacks by doves, hens, and geese, and,
in self-defence, as is well known, shooting is
permitted. His whole pride was his helmet,
shot through six times. He asserted that it
had been worn by the chief of the parish of
Kuhschnappel, in the battle of Gilgenburg, and
that, after the six shots, the poor fellow had
had his brain "amputated." He had now
returned to office, and no one in the parish had
155
Hindenburg's March into London
observed any change in the gracious head.
Nietzelmeyer, in a fight in East Prussia, had
shown his helmet above the trench in order to
tease the Russians, and this had brought his
helmet the six holes.
Quite a specially brilliant piece of his Berlin
art of narration was when he told of the trick
he played at Tannenberg. As a capable
locksmith and interpreter he had, in the turmoil
of that gigantic battle, connected himself up
to a Russian telephone wire, had conversed
with the Russian Army Corps commander on
the military position, and convinced him that
it would be advisable to send several regiments
to the immediate vicinity of the Masurian
Marshes. . . .
Some would have liked to sift his anecdotes
and find out the grain of truth in them, but his
stories were a true balsam ! During the first
months of war I read once again " Faust " and
Fichte's " True War," but now one's nerves do
not allow the mind to collect itself sufficiently
for philosophical reading. After the first six
months of war, heavy literature has no further
attraction for the men in the trenches. Their
motto is : Good humour is half the victory !
And this sunny man was yesterday called up
by Death into his world of shades. Last night
we buried Theodor Nietzelmeyer.
He had learnt that his son, the young
volunteer Grenadier Guard, had fallen in the
156
The Night Between the Battles
vicinity. Throughout the night he had searched
for him who was all on earth to him. The
stars of God and the fire at the edge of the
battlefield helped him to find the body. Then
out of tent canvas he prepared a shroud to bear
him to his last resting-place. . . . Quickly he
began to dig a grave for him ... in blind
ardour he worked onwards, when a ball of light
was pointed at him — and a column of enemy
rifles ! Now his helmet, in addition to the six
humorous holes, bore the seventh, the dreadful
last.
Without pain, Nietzelmeyer died a splendid
soldier's death.
Last night I stood with the comrades of his
draft around both of them, the young Grenadier
and our hero of fatherly love. How I closed
his eyes, which had so often with their roguish
laughter cheered up the company, is a thing I
shall never forget. He held his right hand to
the helmet, as though in death he still wished
to greet his Kaiser. Nietzelmeyer had been
present at Lyck ! And he who saw the Kaiser
there, as he stood in the market-place amid
fragments and boulders, smoking ruins and
cruel devastation, and yet in the most magni-
ficent victor's wreath, amid a crowd of field-
grey jubilating victors from all regions of
Germany — whoever saw this will retain this
world-historical picture of the Kaiser before his
eyes until death !
Hindenburg's March into London
I had both put into the same grave. It was
done silently, no one speaking a word. With
compressed lips, we threw earth upon the dead,
but no word of preaching speeds the departed
into eternity here. What avail words here in
the field ! In a corner of the great European
cathedral in which the Master of the World
now preaches to humanity, there is no chatter.
We stood yet awhile impressed with the
weight of this touching and heroic action
of the father who went on English soil to
look for his son. With tear-dimmed eyes we
prayed. One cannot believe that with a couple
of blows of the spade and a wet hole in the
clay, far from wife and child and bride and
friend, now day after day thousands of human
lives are to be ended, and one cowers as
beneath an implacable fate that has come upon
the whole of mankind, and that can be nowhere
better conjured up than on British soil ! And
that by German weapons !
We bound poles together into a cross for the
grave, crowned it with the perforated helmet,
and wrote on a shield of wood :
" Here father and son lie,
Dreaming of Greater Germany."
When we took off our helmets in the last
greeting, the solemnity of a high office was
about us, and the field bells were tolling—
the guns.
158
The Night Between the Battles
We went back to our underground cavern.
Flares blazing over burning villages held the
watch of death without.
Dear Johanna, such are the nights between
the battles. They are the time of our silent
celebration of the dead. I torture you with
dark pictures, and I will never write to you
again at night. . . .
By day, between merry songs, I shall write
you ! When we have hit out lustily, and when
the radiant eyes of our comrades are about me !
When the order for the last great charge is given,
which, if God wills, is to bring us over the
barrier chain of the North Downs — then I will
write you !
Lord God, fulfil in me what the young
Bavarian horseman implored in vain : " Mother,
let me not miss it ... let me not miss it . . .
London . . . London . . . Mother, let me not
miss it. . . ."
Farewell, beloved ! For us here the short
night is over. The gates of the East already
garb themselves in ruddy hue to the young day.
Now bursts forth the morning song of the birds,
the birds with bombs. And machine-guns say
their morning greetings. As of iron stands the
German guard, his eye directed to the north.
Ready to fire, we look out for the enemy. The
stubborn field-grey faces are coloured bronze
159
Hindenburg's March into London
by the ruddy morning. This German wall of
iron and bronze will be broken by no enemy.
In the evening soft longing for peace and
home is uppermost in the soul, and the holy
wrath of combat weakens. But in the morning
it blooms again a fiery red ! One longs furiously
to break through and compel the coming of the
hour which gives us the great about-face, and
command that restores us to our homes.
This great hour, beloved, is no longer distant !
Only London now — and the British blood-
guiltiness is avenged, and a world war is at an
end!
Sleep well, beloved !
1 60
Fight of Aviators
Over the Thames
M
FIGHT OF AVIATORS OVER
THE THAMES
IN the trough of the valley at Cuckfield lies
the aviation camp of the Third Corps of
Invasion. Shortly after midnight the telephone
rings in the subterranean business room of the
Aviation Dep6t :
" The squadron to go out on scouting duty
at sunrise in the direction of Aldershot, Guild-
ford, and Reigate."
The chief object is to ascertain the strength
of the English reserves brought forward.
In the half-darkness eighty Taubes carry out
their grand toilet. So many busy hands are
about them as though eighty brides were being
prepared for the altar. Every little metal strip
and band, every seam in the canvas, every loop
of steel, is once more checked. A dozen little
things have to be thought of, as the slightest
manipulation is important in the success of the
flight. It is as everywhere in life : whoever
wants to do something great must first of all
dispose of a host of necessary petty things.
Wedding flight ? Revolvers, carbines, bombs,
and arrows — it is a wedding of blood.
Towards the East the morning mists are
filled with feeble light. The engines are ready.
The motors whirr and the propellers practise
163 M 2
Hindenburg's March into London
once more on the earth what they are to do in
the clouds. Impetuously the engines tug at
their fetters ; they chafe and roar with
impatience ; their^gaze is directed northwards,
to the chain of the North Downs, behind
which extends the broad depression of the
Thames Valley.
" Let loose ! " orders Captain von Brendecke,
the commander of the squadron, and he mounts
first. He is the observer, Lieutenant Prohl
steering.
The eighty aircraft set out in small swarms.
First they grope a few yards, clumsy and
ungainly ; then they dart forward, snorting
with rage, like prehistoric monsters. Now the
wonder is repeated : the heavy colossi become
easily controlled birds. Doves,* indeed ?
They are eagles with widespread wings-
German eagles, which to-day at last wish to
see what their minds have been bent on for
months — London !
They do not fly high, because the mist still
fills the air. Thin curtains of gauze enshroud
the stage on which the final act of the greatest
tragedy of the war is to be shortly played.
According to map, watch, and compass, they
must now be near the enemy. Every nerve is
tense. The airmen know that their reports
play a part on Hindenburg's map table.
Hurrah ! There is movement now in the
* A play on the word Taide, which means Dove.
164
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
mist ! Gentle morning gusts tear apart the
troublesome veil. No sooner, however, have
the glasses detected assemblages of troops,
than the first infantry shots come whistling up,
with as much promptitude and decision as
though the riflemen had been all night long on
the watch for these birds of prey. The airmen
open the admission valve full, and at seventy-
five miles per hour the machines rise in great
curves into the blue sky.
The barometer shows 220 metres.
Suddenly clouds of shrapnel stand next to
the machines. The guns which were directed
against the German lines have now been
turned towards them — eighty aircraft are an
attractive thing, and must pay to fire at. As
the motors absorb every sound, the airmen do
not hear the firing of the shrapnel. Therefore
it is somewhat uncanny to see suddenly spring
up out of nothing next to the aircraft these
white ghost-like giant fists, which wish to grip
and set fire to and crush.
The machines dart onwards and drown the
noise around them. They resemble frightened
children who sing in bad weather so as not to
hear the thunder. No ! the valiant scouts in
the air know not fear. Until they can give a
reply to whence and whither, how many of the
enemy troops, they do not think of seeking
protective shelter. Let the guns spew shot
after shot ! Let the machine-guns below cast
Hindenburg's March into London
their thousand lightning forks into the air, they
will not succeed very easily in hitting a bird.
The barometer now shows the dizzy height
of 2,800 metres.
Calmly the observers scan the landscape.
A flash is seen over there.
44 Oh ! that is it, is it ? "
The oblong quadrangles down there amid
the wood of the park are those guns which
yesterday sent down their shots like lightning
from a clear sky and remained undiscovered till
now. So that is their hiding-place. Quickly
a note is made of everything worth knowing
about them. Every suspicious spot which can
be detected on the distorted face of the English
parkland is recorded by the observers on the
map ; they scan and measure, make notes, bend
overboard again, allow their hungry soldier's
eyes to gaze upon the land, and write and
draw, and with the prism glass continuously
detect new zigzag lines, new entrenchments.
Be careful, you imitators of Icarus in field-
grey ; the shells are finding their way nearer
and nearer to you, and aim at your life.
Truly, the dizzy height is no longer habitable.
The air pressure of the exploding shells strikes
so hard on the machines that they stagger as
though no longer subject to a conscious
will. Here and there English lead already
licks the wings. But in the north gleam
the roofs of London — with that proud pros-
166
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
pect German soldiers will find even Hell
habitable.
The aircraft, surrounded by death, are not
without defence. They now spout out their
poison. The first bomb drops. As soon as it
has left the car it unfolds its black, white,
and red band — thus adorned it cannot disappear
from the eye of the airman. With a fluttering
strip of ribbon in his heart, thus death rides
down on to the earth. Waving colours with
destruction as heavy as the lead attached to
them — such is war !
Thus the squadrons aimed at become in
an instant a swarming heap of ants. During
the days of the hard calamities of war with
which England and her accomplices have
visited the entire world, it is an indescribably
majestic feeling to send down lightnings on
English soil, to exact retribution for the crime
of the English intriguers who, in frivolous
temerity, once began to play with the idea of
the world-wide war.
Strong gusts arise — what is majestic man
then in his feebleness ? The aeroplanes oscil-
late, they dart upwards and slip downwards
as in a witches' dance. But the iron will
conquers. The propellers whirl, the taut wires
sing. The pilots in the whirlwind and amid
the shrapnel fire have their hands firmly on
the steering gear and lever ; the observers have,
in smartly drawn lines, securely noted the
167
Hindenburg's March into London
positions of the troops below, and now and
again, almost mechanically, they throw a sur-
reptitious triumphant glance on the roofs of
London, which will, in a few days, no doubt
witness the bloodiest struggle in the world's
history.
As the sun has now risen, and the morning
light imparts shadow and light to the land-
scape, the camera starts work. With a single
glance it spies out every corner, and does not
forget like the human eye. It hauls good
booty out of the enemy camps, between the
forest ridge and North Downs and grips it
firmly. Its keen eye and its memory helps to
win the battles of to-day.
The valiant scouts are suddenly filled with
affright. Two comrades have been hit home.
The aeroplane is torn to shreds and tatters.
Bits of steel and limbs — human limbs — drop
down. Blood drips from the sky.
Then anger gives animation. A train is
coming along ; it seems to be bringing ammu-
nition. They fly over it, and when eighty
battle-planes aim misfortune follows and deadly
distress. Was it even a troop transport
train ?
The day brightens up into one of rare clear-
ness. The shells hiss ever more fiercely. Still
higher the machines mount.
The Germans look steadily into the opponent's
cards ; they now know where are his trumps.
1 68
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
Another hour and Hindenburg will lead his
cards.
Tiny black points suddenly appear in the
northern horizon. The points grow and assume
wings. Five, six, eight, twenty, fifty, one
hundred — it is a giant squadron.
" Rise ! " Captain von Brendecke shouts
above the roar of the motor, and points out
to Lieutenant Prohl, sitting at the steering-
wheel, swarms of approaching attackers. There
are one hundred and twenty ! Such squadrons
the world has not yet seen ! Hands grip the
steering-wheel more firmly, and hearts beat.
Now the moment has come ! Loosen the
rifle and take aim ! Up here there is no war
of position ; here only Blucher's spirit conquers.
" Upwards ! " An ascending war is the war
in the air ; he who is highest is the victor.
They rise almost to the height of twenty
Cologne Cathedrals.
The squadrons now go at each other full tilt.
The aeroplanes greet each other with powder
and lead, dash hard by their opponents to get
off their path ; they turn at sharp angles and
abrupt curves, and seek to checkmate each
other by cunning and force. They swing their
cars round at a speed which makes them cant
over on the tips of their wings, and while lying
in the curve the carbines seek their living
target.
169
Hindenburg's March into London
It is a wondrous, a blood-red, harrowing
witches' dance up there.
The Englishman succeeds in flying over
Captain von Brendecke's aeroplane at a short
distance. He throws a bomb. By a hair's
breadth it escapes the tail end of the German
craft. Once on its way it seeks for victims ;
in a couple of seconds it kills the horses of a
British squadron.
The English flying men shoot with sang-
froid and with sure aim ; many a German is
already setting his teeth together to overcome
the pain of his injury. The German machine-
guns, rotating on their pivots, also do not fire
into the blue sky. One English pilot seat
carries nothing but a corpse. The machine
staggers, fires aimlessly hither and thither,
then, falling from the fighting swarm, carries
with it another aeroplane, and both fall, burning,
into the abyss.
The guns below have long been silent, but
against friend and foe the common enemy
comes rushing along with ever-increasing
violence, and, wildly roaring, the storm rides
from the ocean over the land. The forcible
gusts convert the empire of the air into a
battle country, full of difficult obstacles. Just
as though pits had been dug up aloft, the
aeroplanes glide into holes, get jammed, and
are held stationary for seconds together. But
the battle continues. Each seeks to gain the
170
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
higher position over the other. The machines
are taxed to their utmost. The propellers
revolve with mad speed. Eyes gleam. Every
muscle is tense.
Lieutenant Prohl received a blow on the
head as though struck with a mallet. He feels
his helmet and finds a bullet. The steel framing
of the helmet has stopped it, but it must have
embedded itself a couple of millimetres in the
cranium ; blood runs down his temples.
The captain has heard the short shout, and
looks round at Lieutenant Prohl.
The lieutenant, casually :
" Nothing, Captain. A small splinter ran
into me."
And they continue the fight. Here none
can get away, for they are three to two. The
air battle consists of single combats, of surprise
attacks and duels, a cruelly hard tournament
for life and death. Revolver balls rattle against
the armouring of the frames ; rifle balls crash
into the aluminium of the radiator plates. Here
the lining of the framework is smashed up, there
a revolution counter is dashed to pieces. At
times the craft of the individual groups gather
together into a battle of masses and lamed birds
drop head over heels into the depth. Whether
friend or enemy, it will be difficult to find out
below.
And in the thick of the fight for life or death,
the German airmen again and again cast a
171
Hindenburg's March into London
glance to the sea of stone — London, the world
city, the cold city of envy. There will be hot
days for London ! A glance at the roofs of
London fills the German outposts, hard pressed
by superior forces, with fresh courage.
Now they are the witnesses of a heroic deed
of thrilling greatness. As though they had
vowed themselves voluntarily to death, two
English aircraft dash, like men running amok,
at a specially dreaded German battle-plane,
which is equipped with new and mysterious
weapons, and has already shot down seven
English birds. They grip it fore and aft, hook
themselves in its rods, a couple of last shots —
a cluster dashes down from the height of the
Zugspitze. Below there is motion among the
fragments for barely a second. Such harrow-
ingly great deeds only mature where the world's
history stands in front of final decisions fraught
with the greatest consequences.
Captain Brendecke has also met his death.
The weather is so fascinatingly transparent to-
day that for an instant he bent overboard to
get a view of a simulated artillery station and
the work of a Fougass minefield. And he
would have been able to make important
reports — if lead had not entered his spinal
marrow. The car now floats like a ferry on
the Acheron. The captain is dead. And the
helmet of the lieutenant is stuck by blood to
172
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
his head. This war is at times endless murder ;
only the greatness of the object and a clear
conscience can sustain German men to endure
such horrors.
The observer is no more. A blind bird,
however, is of no use to us. Lieutenant Prohl
drops sharply down a couple of hundred metres
in order to escape the attention of the enemy.
They will look upon him as finished. He will
then return to the aviation camp.
On looking out at a height of 2,000 metres
he notes that during the fight he has quite
lost his bearings. To be out of contact
with the enemy is bad enough, but to lose
control of that contact with the enemy country
is death or captivity. But look on the map
and on the land — the two pictures do not
agree.
Fate, however, is seldom satisfied with one
prank ; the motor begins to run irregularly.
In the fine work something has gone wrong
in the levers — possibly a bit of lead has got
entangled. The cylinders miss fire. The
position is now serious.
In a volplane the bird, wounded to death,
glides down. German England he can no
longer reach, and now Lieutenant Prohl looks
around for a piece of land free from people,
where he can come down.
In a meadow adjoining a river, between wood
and park trees, the aeroplane lands.
173
Hindenburg's March into London
A ball has hit a small tube and throttled the
motor. The damage can be repaired ; but not
with the speed with which, for miles around,
the report will be spread that a damned German
has landed !
The first to arrive on the spot is a well-
dressed elderly squire, having his estate there.
He is of the old English build and thick-set ;
he has smuggled his old-fashioned corpulency
from pre-sport times into the England of to-day.
In his grey top hat and riding boots he looks
almost like a typical John Bull in the pages
of Simplicimuss. Behind the well-to-do and
respected squire walk armed peasants and
noisy women.
When the squire is still fifty metres away
he fires a revolver at the aeroplane.
Lieutenant Prohl lets him approach and then
fires off two shots with the machine-gun to
frighten him. They are the two last cartridges.
Now boldness of action and speech are the
only things left.
" Take your seat or die ! " says Lieutenant
Prohl to him harshly, for another crowd of
armed peasants are approaching, and it is an
urgent matter to secure a hostage.
The gentleman and hero of the revolver
preferred to take his seat rather than get a
machine-gun bullet, and mounts, grunting, into
the car, while Lieutenant Prohl proceeds to
repair the motor. When armed peasants are
174
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
growling a stone's throw away, minutes become
eternities.
"One step forward and the hostage loses
his life."
Now the peasants know. Hastily he sets
to work to sew up the slightly torn main artery
of his bird. Soon the last touches are added.
Lieutenant Prohl is placed before a difficult
choice. Shall he now bring the body of his
captain to the aviation camp, or rise up with
the country squire ? The roughly repaired
machine cannot carry both. If he releases the
squire, he may be sure that the growling
peasants will craftily fire at the aeroplane when
it rises, and will certainly kill him mercilessly
if compelled to land a second time.
For the present he places the body along the
skirt of the wood. As soon as he can, he will
carry it behind the German front.
To the peasants he says : " If any sacrilegious
hand touches this dead man, the one I have
here will answer for it ! "
He then rises with his rare booty.
High in the air Lieutenant Prohl learns that
the river over there is the young Thames.
So far had the German aviators advanced to
the north-west during the fight. Lieutenant
Prohl now reveals to his guide that he need
not be afraid of the machine-gun, as all the
ammunition, to the last cartridge, had been
fired off.
175
Hindenburg's March into London
The squire would have liked to box his
own ears.
At last the landing cross is perceived. That
is the German Fliers' camp. In narrow spirals
the machine descends. Officers of the General
Staff come towards Lieutenant Prohl to con-
gratulate him and regale him with port and
cigarettes. With acclamation they take receipt
of the caricature of John Bull ! But then the
jubilation changes to pain. They learn that
on the banks of the Upper Thames the body
of Captain Brendecke rests, and that the battle
in the air has cost much precious blood.
The army surgeon wishes to remove
Lieutenant Prohl's blood-incrusted helmet ; the
latter prevents him. He first wishes to
recover the body of his captain. He enters
one of the few aircraft which have remained
uninjured in the hard fight, supplies the
machine-gun with ammunition, and rises up for
the second time, accompanied by another.
Now the German airmen return victoriously
to their nest. Eighty pairs of flying men had
gone up in the morning dawn, and barely fifty
have returned. But surely as glorious con-
querors ? German science and German industry,
in combination with German heroism, must
have accomplished great things in the air !
For the battle was two against three.
A long, long row of dead. But war does
176
Fight of Aviators Over the Thames
not leave the heart long to attend to impulses
of feeling. Later ! Later on. In this hour
the Fatherland wishes to have photos, sketches,
and reports of its flying men. Telephone,
telegraph, and motor-car convey important
news to headquarters. Pencil and camera
have to-day brought home valuable booty !
A general to whom one of the flying men is
making interesting observations says, at the
close of a short address, in which he has sent a
brief word into Eternity after the fallen :
" Gentlemen, you have already earned high
honours in Russia and France. External
tokens of this the Fatherland can now hardly
give you. But, gentlemen, you have yourselves
to-day reaped the finest reward : you have seen
London on the wings of your German eagles."
177
The Last Battle
of the Century
N 2
THE LAST BATTLE OF THE
CENTURY
FOR eight days heavy thunderstorms have been
lowering over the valley of the Medway. They
have been caught between the heights of the
North Downs and the Forest Ridge and seem
unable to get free from the slopes. The
vehemence of the tempest is almost prehistoric.
Forests are uprooted and rocks broken and
splintered. From hour to hour the force
increases, the thunder growls more and more
threateningly, and the lightning becomes more
selective in the choice of its victims. London
sees this lightning in the south. For eight
days it has heard the roll of thunder in the
distance, and from early morn till eve, and yet
again till morn, is terrified. Will the storm
sweep over the hills ? . . .
London, Britain, the whole world, looks with
fear or in anticipation of infinite joy towards
the storm-swept corner of the North Downs.
These North Downs traverse the counties of
Surrey and Kent in the form of a ridge of hills
some ninety miles in length. Four hours
south of London they rise out of the valley
trough of the Medway like the Saxonian
Erzgebirge from the Eger plain. The circular
Forest Ridge resembles the Bohemian hills in
1*1
Hindenburg's March into London
the south of the Eger plain. Although these
English hills are but a third as high, they
protect the plain of the Thames like a wide
fortress rampart.
Since the first threatening signs in the Near
East brought anxiety to the heart of Albion,
and since like a phantom the fear of a collapse
of Russia has haunted the confederacy for the
abolition of Germany, the English had converted
this natural rampart into a fortress, which
dwarfed all the masterpieces of military science
ever created.
The construction of the fortifications round
London was a task undertaken by the whole
English nation. By the daring and wisely-
thought-out plans of British engineers who
profited by the world war, bands of architects,
and countless battalions of engineers converted
the North Downs into a glorious monument of
national strength. Using immense quantities
of concrete and nickel steel armoured forts,
shell-proof housings for artillery and infantry
works were built into the ridges of hills. The
summer residences of the wealthy situated on
the ridges were razed to the ground so that
the giant fortress might be stripped of all
tinsel which might prove dangerous to its
defenders. Every park in this beautiful country
was now a bastion with pits, treacherous wire
entanglements, traps of all kinds, and mysterious
obstacles pressed into the service of a cunning
182
The Last Battle of the Century
defence. In a word, the North Downs formed
a fortress which, according to human calcula-
tion, could not be taken by storm. Truly had
they become an 4< Erzgeblirge " (Iron mountains).
Opposite, on the northern slope of the
Forest Ridge, lie the Germans, and the will of
a Hindenburg seeks for them the way to the
north.
The roar and surge of the waves of battle
between the two ridges of hills is of terrifying
force. It means death ! The tumult rings across
the valley, and its echo answers, Distress !
A tract over which the English repeatedly
attempted to advance is called by our soldiers
the " God help us acre." The fearful din
sounds as if all that is left from the world
war in material and force is here pitted against
each other, and if all the arsenals were being
rapidly emptied and not even a single useless
grenade left for the long period of the peace
that is to follow this last decisive struggle.
Like gigantic herds of wild beasts the guns
roar at each other, and they have not yet
grown hoarse during the eight days. And the
guns must now speak loudly, for all the five
continents wish to hear ! The last battle of
the century has commenced — the fight for the
world !
Since the morning the artillery in duel has
183
Hindenburg's March into London
tried to excel itself in fury. A terrific contest
of the engineers and gunners rages over the
long front stretching from Midhurst to Ash-
ford. Opposite these two wings of the German
front the English have entrenched themselves
strongly, for they know Hindenburg as a
master of gigantic claw-like operations, and
they are afraid of his encircling them.
But a genius of strategy does not feed on
schemes.
Hindenburg plans to pierce the enemy's
position by means of two " bull's horns " and
to lift out the whole front. From the small
railway junction of Three Bridges he intends
to advance by way of Horley, and eighteen
miles farther to the east from Paddock Wood
to Sevenoaks. During the last few days he
made sham advances here and there to induce
the enemy to waste ammunition and cudgel
his brains, confused in guessing as to where
the German attempt to pierce the line is to
be made. Meantime he secretly collected his
heaviest material for piercing and impact
purposes at the two points where the bull's
horns were to be applied.
From six o'clock that morning the guns
sweep the enemy's front like red-hot rakes.
At the two points of the planned piercing
attack, Essen and Pilsen volcanoes come into
action.
On the other side the lava is flowing.
184
The Last Battle of the Century
Scarcely an hour later the English show
their cards. Almost at the centre, between the
two points where the Germans mean to break
through, they intend pushing forward their
wedge ! Seeming to have copied Mackensen
at Gorlice and Tarnow, they pour a murderous
fire on the section of the front between Eden-
bridge and Penshurst. Naval guns of the
heaviest calibre pound the trenches, and under
their smashing blows the German earthworks
are pounded to chaff. At the point where the
attack has been planned, tons of steel are
every minute thrown against the German lines.
Masses of earth fly in all directions. Breast-
works are reduced to dust, and shelters and
foundations rent. The projectiles raise whirling
clouds of smoke. A mad dance of beams and
splinters of steel and flagstones is taking place
around the trenches.
It is like reducing the world to ashes !
Continuously fresh grenades pierce the
German ramifications. The English guns
angrily search for the German batteries, and
they cannot find them, and their fury increases.
With their uncanny m-m-m and o-o-o and s-s-s,
they seem always to spell the word mors —
death !
Nothing remains unhit. The complex laby-
rinth of the trenches of our battalions is
reduced to dust. From seven o'clock this
destructive artillery fire has been playing on
185
Hindenburg's March into London
the German positions, and now it is midday.
Every peephole of the observers is shot away.
The grenades have cut the telephone wires.
Now each little group is left to act on its own
initiative, and every man can show what there
is in him.
Although the trench lines are closed and
their retreat cut off, the advanced listening-
posts must now get back to the trenches, even
at the cost of their lives ; for they have to
report an important observation. They rush
over open tracts, a hail of shrapnel following
them, like game crossing a forest clearing, and
safely reach their comrades.
The enemy is removing his obstacles !
The English artillery is sending fog-shells
across, and throwing up in front of the German
positions a black wall of dense thick smoke,
through which no eye can penetrate, compelling
the field-greys to use thick eye bandages, while
the enemy columns arrange themselves in battle
order.
For a moment the curtain is torn asunder.
In the valley the enemy is rolling up in broad
dark waves — wave after wave. The enemy's
artillery is collecting its full strength for a last
concentrated fire to clear the way for the
storming columns through the entanglements.
The English artillery is now silent. The
1 86
The Last Battle of the Century
smoke curtain slowly lifts. Nothing is to
be seen. Was the impression of advancing
battalions only a mirage ? The telescope
knows better : it sees what threatens the
German lines.
5 The Albion who speaks of culture in high-
sounding phrase is sending coloured troops
against the invading hosts.
Here and there something springs up sud-
denly, to disappear again on the instant. With
animal-like perseverance and cunning, they
creep up the slopes. Horde after horde is let
loose by the opposing side.
Over a space of two miles the enemy crawls
nearer and nearer on, on, with a grim, set
purpose. The whole valley is now filled with
these Native troops.
The German artillery is in action, here
shelling a train and there destroying a whole
company. By a terrific hail of shrapnel it
seeks to drive back the onrushing hordes
from our infantry, but behind the corpses
of a thousand slain two thousand more creep
on. Against an enemy who holds life so
cheap, the fire of the best artillery in the
world can do but little. Undismayed by
enormous losses, always fresh, unending swarms
of black and brown figures approach the German
positions.
Hindenburg's March into London
Half an hour later the signal is given. The
advancing waves are to form billows, and with
the roar and all-destroying force of a storm-
flood surge against the German lines.
Over the slopes of the forest ridge wild
battle-cries fill the air.
Not the jubilant and liberating note of the
German " Hurrah ! " but a beast-like roar of
the lust of killing and murder. Indians in
coloured rags howl like dervishes, swinging
their weapons over their heads in juggler
fashion. They dash forward with frenzied
courage. In the delirium of battle the natural
instinct of self-preservation seems to be stifled ;
they have only one aim — to beat the German
barbarians to pieces !
Our soldiers allow the hordes to approach
within 300 yards. The machine-guns then
begin to work. They do not shoot, they mow.
The swarms upon the slopes begin to waver,
but there is no retreat for them, The corpses
lie in heaps.
Ever fresh hordes of Indians steal up.
The corpses are piled up higher still. Now
188
The Last Battle of the Century
they send forward the Senegal Natives in blue
coats, with their ancient knives, made before
the outbreak of the war in Paris. Beneath
turbans of lemon colour grin the brownish-
yellow faces of the Moroccans. Maori warriors
roll up with wild animal-like cries, and show
their large white teeth to our men in grey.
Fresh groups of Gurkhas drive forward,
fresh lines of Pathans with piercing battle-
song. The din and roar are awful to the ear.
They act as if possessed by evil spirits.
Some have put on German helmets instead
of their turbans, not in order to deceive, but
to intoxicate themselves, to enjoy the idea
that the German soldiers will foam with
anger.
The German machine-guns give them their
reply ; they select a few dozen fellows . . .
never again will they outrage a German helmet.
Small calibre-guns riddle the attackers with
steel, and here and there the German hand
grenades make spaces clear. Once more the
Native lines commence to waver ; but on the
other side the English are on the watch and
handle roughly those who show signs of
turning back.
189
Hindenburg's March into London
The last coloured reserves are advanced.
They do not charge, they sweep onward. No
matter how pitiless the tribute in blood exacted
of them by the German arms, the chain is
immediately linked up again where death had
broken it. The barrels of the German rifles
are red-hot ; the machine-guns have nearly
exhausted their immense store of ammunition.
Twenty rows deep, the Native troops press
forward to the decisive attack !
In the end they penetrate the German
trenches.
They attack our men in grey like jackals.
Bayonet is opposed to daggers and stiletto-
like instruments of murder. It is now tooth
for tooth.
Young Germans who, until the time of military
service came, sat on school forms and learned
and ever learned, are slaughtered like cattle
by these hordes. Such thoughts cause the
blood of the German warriors to boil, and,
190
The Last Battle ot the Century
anger poisoned, turn to thirst for revenge.
Fresh arrivals of German reserves do not
treat the foe with kid-glove methods; they
defend themselves against the overwhelming
numbers until the last blow with the butt of
the rifle.
Our men in grey fight like lions, and the
song of the brave men rings out loud ! But all
their heroism is of no avail. Even the
reserves now arriving cannot prevent the
disaster. The tenacity of the attack of
superior numbers weakens the first German
lines till they bleed to death. The battle
seems to convict of error the mad Germans
who think that in warfare mental and moral
forces play some part. . .
Divisions of coloured troops overrun the
German trenches between Edenbridge and
Penshurst over a front of nearly six miles.
The commanding general is compelled to order
the survivors to retreat.
This is the signal for the enemy. Now the
regiments of white Englishmen may advance.
Very politely, however, they allow even now
Canadians and the French Foreign Legion to
go first.
With rejoicing battle-cries some hundred and
fifty thousand men between Edenbridge and
Penshurst take up the pursuit of the Germans.
At the English headquarters the report is
already received that five thousand prisoners
191
Hindenburg's March into London
were taken — amongst whom, however, there is
not a handful of unwounded !
In the meantime the English airmen have
collected over this section of the front and
engage in the battle. Bombs are thrown on
all parts of the rear, where ft is suspected
places of high command are located, and on all
railway stations. They endeavour to muddle
up the giving of orders, and prevent the
bringing up of German reserves.
"Succeeded in breaking through! Five
thousand prisoners ! Germans in disorderly
flight ! Area of six miles breadth and three
miles depth in our hands ! The King just
arrived at the front ! " These are the jubilant
messages sent at this hour from London to all
parts of the globe.
The moment has now arrived for the
London stockbrokers to make something for
themselves by immoderately exaggerating the
German reverse .... before Hindenburg fixes
with his sword the latest quotations. . . .
The Stock Exchange puts life into the News
Agency Munchausen.
The cry " Special ! Special ! " may be heard
throughout the whole of London.
" The most terrible retreat ever experienced
by any nation on this earth is in progress."
" From all parts of the globe the sons of
Britain hasten to free their mother country
from the barbarians ! The complete dissolu-
192
The Last Battle of the Century
tion of the invading army has already taken
place ! "
The newspaper boys now cry " Extra
special," and from Fleet Street career through
the whole of London.
An illustrated gutter rag already has a
picture showing how Hindenburg in his
despair grips a revolver. " Extra special !
Extra special ! "
Enlightened reporters of the sensational
Press know how to feed the mob. Recruiting
again revives.
" Under the leadership of d'Annunzio, the
immortal, a battalion of French and Italians
dressed as Prussian guardsmen has taken
Hindenburg and his whole staff prisoners !
Can a headless trunk still carry out an
invasion ? Can the miserably beaten German
army ever collect again on English soil ? "
London is now mad with joy.
The Bank of England is the most highly
decorated building.
The German invasion is finished !
* * * *
On a ridge of hills farther in the rear German
reserves collected the small number of brave
men who survived this storm.
Hindenburg sits in Brighton surrounded by
his staff.
He moves his compasses over the map of
the Forest Ridge.
193 o
Hindenburg's March into London
He then addresses Ludendorff :
"The front wall is six miles wide, the side
walls each three miles. A hundred and fifty
thousand English are within. ... If we now
close the rear wall we would then have a nice
cage for the savages and their trainers and
drivers . . . ! Yes ! The cage shall have its
back wall ! Bavarians, Silesians, and West-
phalians will make it their business to see that
the front wall resists immovably all further
English attacks, the men of Allgau and
Thuringia will keep guard on the East and
on the West, while the Saxons, Swabians,
Moravians, and the Hungarian Imperial Hussars
close up the rear wall in the North."
The quickly thought-out plan becomes a well
considered command. The command emanating
from Brighton splits up into a thousand small
commands before it reaches the last man. The
Saxons, Swabians, and Austrians soon set out
on their great encircling march. After hours
of hardship they stand densely packed and
protected from the eyes of the enemy in the
north-east and north-west of the tract where
Hindenburg intends erecting the cannibal cage.
Scarcely a quarter of an hour's rest after
these forced marches comes the command to
take up rifles and fix bayonets ! The battalions
start the fan-shaped advance. They must
march over corpses, for during the last part of
their march they must tread the way of horror
194
The Last Battle of the Century
already taken by the negroes and Gurkhas.
At the same time all the German troops around
the gigantic rectangle prepare for the attack.
When the Saxons catch sight of the com-
mander of a Baden regiment lying with his
nose cut off and his ears torn out by these
savages, there is no holding them back. The
blind fury of their attack incites the battalions
near to unheard of bravery. From all sides
the German troops victoriously advance against
the positions of the English mercenaries !
Sooner than expected Hindenburg can be
informed that the rear wall of the cage has
closed as he had ordered.
The next step is to draw the bars of the
cage tighter. A fearful shedding of blood
commences ! Everything confronting the Ger-
man arms falls, and those who fall are trampled
underfoot by those behind. Gurkhas writhe in
their death agony like dying beasts of prey.
The blacks with red poppies in their woolly
heads roll on the ground showing their teeth
and making appalling grimaces. Some stutter-
ingly ask for pardon and make to kiss the
hands of the German soldiers, but they would
have no more of those souls of slaves. . . .
Thousands upon thousands of dead lie around.
A black scoundrel apparently dead suddenly
rises and cuts down from behind a German
captain of the guards. At this the fury of the
German soldiers knows no bounds. Now, they
195 o 2
Hindenburg's March into London
show no mercy ; everyone lying there receives a
stroke which settles him ; not only those who
treacherously sham death but those long dead
are roughly handled. The German soldiers
angrily defend themselves against criminal
attacks and designs. Horror is in supreme
command.
Once more the express order is given to
take no prisoners.
Too late ! The shame of England is too
great to be borne by human hearts. Whoever
sets mad dogs on human beings is no longer
protected by the rules of war. When fighting
bestial, snarling scum, the German soldier
observes only the laws of the hunt of beasts of
prey. The troops can no longer obey the
command. No more prisoners remain to be
taken. The cage has become a chamber of
death.
-When Hindenburg hears that a number of
corpses are strewn over the thirty square miles
twice greater than the area of those engulfed
in the Masurian lakes, a feeling similar to that
of those great August days stabs him for a
moment. . . .
England has now received its Tannenberg ;
nay, even more ; it has given its battle in the
Tentoburg Forest, in which out of every hun-
dred a hundred were slain. The battle, it is
true, has cost the Germans twenty-five bat-
talions of their heroic sons. England, however,
i96
The Last Battle of the Century
has lost twenty-five brigades — twenty-five
brigades of those white and coloured noblemen
who were to meet the Cossacks and the Eastern
illiterates at Potsdam !
The English army of the offensive has had
its German battle. And now the German
trumpets may sound the attack on the fortress
of the North Downs.
The piercing of the German lines by the
English hordes had spoilt the morning for
Hindenburg. His intention was to advance at
the railway junction of Three Bridges via
Horley, and eighteen miles farther to the East
from Paddock Wood towards Sevenoaks, but
suddenly he had found himself compelled to
deal with a more pressing task ; to build an
iron cage for gigantic hordes of beasts of prey.
As soon, however, as the report was received
that the ring around the hundred and fifty
thousand was complete and -closed, he imme-
diately gave the order to push forward the
bull's horns by means of which he intended
lifting out the whole front of the enemy. And
now, when it is nearing five o'clock, the East
Prussians, Hungarians, and Hanoverians are
already in the foremost trenches at these two
points, where the Essen and Pilsen monsters
have been clearing up for eleven hours. The
table ground is free, and the attacking troops
197
Hindenburg's March into London
have an easy task to perform. The points of
the bull's horns are already in the flesh of the
enemy.
Now the supreme moment in Hindenburg's
plan has arrived. By means of captive balloons
he gives the signal for a general attack on the
North Downs ! The terrible thunderstorm
which has been raging for eight days over a
front of ninety miles, between the North Downs
and the Forest Ridge, and which had lost
nothing of its primaeval force, tearing up
forests, splintering rocks, is now to sweep over
the hills to London.
Punctually on the stroke of five something
creeps from out the trenches along the whole
side front, and a hurricane of iron howls and
expends its fury on the hills. The German
troops, proud of the great task they have to
perform, storm up the hills, with only their own
desire to exact reparation from the British for
all the blood which has been shed in Europe.
The paths leading up the hills are full of
horror. The track of the tempest lies through
blood, through a cemetery stretching for miles.
Behind torn wire entanglements and broken
walls of parks death has stored its prey. Whole
battalions, which during the eight days collected
here in blind eagerness for the attack on the
German positions, lie in gigantic graves, fallen
and forgotten.
At Hindenburg's headquarters a message is
198
The Last Battle of the Century
received from the Front which would not be
believed had it not originated from^a German
commander : —
• "The English drive before them all captive
I Germans, soldiers, and civilians as bullet
I shields."
At a pause in the fighting German negotiators
take the following urgent reply to the English
camp : —
"If the commander of the English army does
not at once remove from the field all captive
Germans being driven in front, a corresponding
number of English officers now prisoners will
be shot without delay."
Albion, however, prefers sacrificing its cap-
tive officers rather than that London should
now sacrifice its last semblance of world-power.
The English think that if the Germans have
hearts in their bodies, they must stop when
dealing with their kinsmen .... and in the
meantime the fortune of battle might be
favourable to England !
The German generals see from this mad
obstinacy that those at the helm in England,
tortured by anxiety and desperation, are ino
longer in possession of their right senses.
Nobody, however, punishes madness. Ger-
many would not like the English officers, of
whom many have fought a gallant fight, to be
sacrificed to blind men in power. The storm-
ing of the North Downs, however, must not be
199
Hindenburg's March into London
delayed another minute. What is to be
done ?
A Bavarian general knows a way out of the
difficulty. He orders his Bavarians to put
aside their rifles and cartridge belts, and sends
them on their way only with hand-grenades
and spades. Thus his battalions advance and
carefully distinguish between separate Germans
and English .... their great mission makes
them feel like little gods, they place the sheep
on the right and the goats on the left. . . .
Their bullets might have hit their German
kinsmen, the spades and the knives of fighters
of Upper Bavaria, however, do not miss their
mark. The Bavarian lions hack themselves
through the bullet shield. The English
officers from the German camps for prisoners
may, perhaps, one day shake hands with
them !
In the meantime the witches' revel continues
all along the' line. The German attacking
columns resist desperate counter attacks and
continue to gain ground, step by step. The
confusion in the English camp seems to
become chaotic, the confusion of command
and counter-command aids the Germans con-
siderably. Nothing can resist the approaching
flood-tide ; it surges and roars over earthworks
and steel fortifications and engulfs everything
in its path.
The heartrending moans of the badly
200
The Last Battle of the Century
wounded can be heard on the battlefield,
which extends for many miles, and it comes
from the woods, the ditches and the
trenches.
A Scotch officer is wedged in a recumbent
position between blocks of concrete, so that
one only sees his head — ribs and limbs are
broken. A German Landwehr man frees one
of his arms, and is about to hand him the
water flask. The officer, however, gathers
together his strength once more, pulls out his
revolver and shoots himself.
The battle rages pitilessly on, heedless of all
these great and small tragedies. How many
dead and wounded ? Numbers have lost their
significance. The pool of blood of Serajevo
has grown into a sea of blood. Figures merely
resound in the ears and no longer become clear
ideas. The conception of the value of life is
changed into mere noise and emptiness by this
gigantic battle, and only one word still sounds
meaningly — London !
While English troops retreat without halt,
and German regiments already besiege a last
infantry work, suddenly cries of joy ring out
on the other side, which swell up into wild
jubilation :
44 Poor Germany ! Great torpedo attack on
201
Hindenburg's March into London
German transport fleet ! One hundred thousand
dead ! "
A young Viennese infantryman presses his
lips together and quiveringly grips the stock of
his gun. A Landsturm man of Berlin taps him
on the shoulder and laughs :
" Comrade, that was their last lie ! "
From the German front, however, another
" Hurrah ! " comes — a hurrah louder than any
ever yet sounded on earth :
" Prussian guards have taken Height 262 at
Woldingham, and see London ! With the
naked eye they see London ! "
All the battalions wish to have a share in
this precious result of the historical contest of
these days! And on the entire front, 150
kilometres in length, the last small elevations
are gradually taken which afford a view of
London !
London in the afternoon sunshine !
A general halt is called !
And hurrahs ring^out !
The day has been a hot one, the struggle
bitter. A wounded lion in the agony of death
once more lifted his paws for a terrible struggle.
Now, however, he will have only one desire-
peace !
In a battle report on the broken attack of
the German front by the British, which was
202
The Last Battle of the Century
found in the afternoon on a captured adjutant,
the words appeared :
" The battle on the North Downs will be
described by the history of the world as the
death-blow to German militarism " !
It will be described as the battle of the
Kaffirs, illiterates, British, and beasts of prey.
In wild flight the remainder of the British
army seeks safety behind the walls of London.
Our heroes rest in their last bivouac, and
now cannot tear themselves away from the
picture. London in the light of the setting
sun ! The rough warriors now begin to see
symbols with poet's eyes. . . .
They throw their knapsacks away and tear
their helmets from their heads, so that the
evening wind may cool their heated brows.
What would not the German soldiers in
exuberant exaltation have done in order at
some time to see the roofs of London ? They
would have liked to perform dances of joy and
shout their gaiety throughout the night ! They
had seen themselves hard pressed by death
in fifty battles, and the bitter sufferings of war
had been visited upon them, but they had
still always looked forward feverishly to this
last decisive battle. They would have liked
to dance and be merry and sing : The Russian
is dead, the Russian is dead, England lies
dying. The German is coming, the German
is coming and will inherit all ... But in this
203
Hindenburg's March into London
hour, when they have achieved their great
object, they are in no street mob's mood.
They do not dance or laugh, they fold their
hands in silent prayer. The price has been
heavy, but the stake was great. Many have
fallen in these days. And to die on the
threshold is tragic.
The German soldiers had wanted out of
their small savings to buy up the entire stock
of every market vendor, and prepare for them-
selves a meal of the gods when they once
should stand before the gates of London. . . .
And they no longer have even the iron ration
in their knapsack. German men are seated
over the Durra which they have captured,
over the Negroes' millet, and consume with
it goat flesh, of which Gurkhas have already
eaten.
It is evening, and the world wishes to sleep ;
London will have to remain awake. It must
watch and pray, for it will experience much
suffering of heart in this last night of war . . . !
In Calais and Dunkirk fearful enemies are
equipping themselves at this moment, who
have long waited to give each arrogant town
its death-blow. . . .
The soldiers are mortally weary. First,
however, a card must be sent home to mother
and sweetheart. No diffuse messages to-day,
they only write the three fateful words : " God
has punished England ! "
204
The Last Battle of the Century
No sooner has sleep stroked the brows of
the brave soldiers and calmed their nerves in
which the entire great excitement of these last
few days is reverberating, than they are
awakened by a dull growling murmur. Are
hosts of riders of the clouds coming over with
muffled drum beat ?
Zeppelin's giant cruisers sail away to the
north of the German positions. They are
twenty, thirty, fifty in number.
Now the tired eyes brighten up again, and
one hundred thousand throats send joyful
greetings to the nightly sky.
Hurrah, Zeppelin !
A captain of horse says merrily to his men :
" Boys, even though it means a ten marks
fine to the funds of the squadron, we must just
once greet our Zeppelin in English."
''All right ! The day is here, the great
day 1 All right, Zeppelin."
Now no German soldier has time to be tired.
With bated breath they look after the ghostly
night birds whose feathers gleam mysteriously
in the pale moonlight! A giant squadron is
moving out to the destructive battle for which
Germany has been hungering for long, long
months. . . . Now each one feels that the last
act of the great tragedy of the people is to be
played — a people who would have liked to
declare the stars in heaven to be colonies of
Great Britain !
205
Hindenburg's March into London
Lightning already flashes in the distance,
fiery trees with gigantic branches grow up out
of London's wilderness of houses. The reflec-
tion of terrific explosions rends asunder the
darkness of night. A terrible retribution has
fallen upon the city of pedlars, the city
of envy.
Bomb after bomb shoots down. These are
the last wonderful strokes in the European
concert dreamed of by Edward the Seventh. . . .
the final chorus was, it is true, to be blown
solemnly before the Gates of Berlin !
London's fire bells during this night ring out
the last battle of the century.
206
Before the Gates
of London
Before the Gates of London
BEFORE THE GATES OF LONDON
THE same night the bells of victory are re-
sounding in Berlin.
All day long Berlin has been a prey to
pleasant yet secretly worrying restlessness, a
feeling which precedes proud achievements.
Early in the afternoon the special newspapers
carried the superscription : " Before the Gates
of London ! " The commander of the army
has announced that a great battle, promising
a favourable issue, is developing on the North
Downs. Whoever has ears to understand
Hindenburg's language knows that the die is
cast. Even the strategists of the street, always
eager to interfere in our generals' tactics, who
arrange their maps according to hearsay, feel
with sure instinct that to-day final decisions are
taking place over the way.
To-day reports are as cheap as blackberries
in Berlin, and the cuckoo may guess where
people get the underlying atom of truth from.
209 p
Hindenburg's March into London
At the Exchange a flag is hung out towards
evening. It flutters in the air as if it would
fain know what was happening, but no one can
give it a decisive reply.
Meanwhile, in spite of the nerve-racking
guessings and imaginings, the night descends.
It is eleven o'clock. The heart of Berlin is
beating. There is no thought of sleep. The
business premises of the great newspapers
resemble beleaguered forts. Wherever a map
of England is hung, there is the semblance of
an excited sitting of a military council.
At half-past eleven Wolffs Bureau issues the
information that the gigantic armada of all
available German airships has overwhelmed the
City of London with bombs, and that salvos of
our forty-two's have been thrown into the town.
The Tower and two bridges over the Thames
are in ruins !
Berlin shouts with joy ! During the night
the streets become a many-coloured fairyland
of flags. The waves of enthusiasm are surging
high. The multitude increases by leaps and
bounds. Whole suburbs seem to migrate to
the central parts of the town by means of the
night trains. For no inhabitant of Berlin
would like to hear an hour later than necessary
the news of what is happening on the Thames.
210
Before the Gates of London
At one of the street corners someone is
making a speech, and this is his first attempt
in public. He manages to utter a few cheap
expressions . . . everyone, however, is aware
that this is not the impulse of a phrasing
amateur, but that his heart is welling over with
enthusiasm. These are great hours of the
world's history.
The church clocks announce midnight as
new specials are issued :
" The Lord Mayor of London has surrendered
the keys of the Mansion House to Hindenburg,
and has begged him to spare the town ! '
London before the occupation by the troops !
Hindenburg London's Overlord ! This in-
formation is the signal for a delirium of delight
surpassing Germany's joy in the days of August,
1914, and in the autumn of 1915.
" Germany, Germany over all ! " Like a
mighty wave it roars in multitudinous chorus
up to the starlit sky. All are crowding to the
" Linden." In front of the palace hearts are
bubbling over with rapture. There is singing
in the streets, and it continues through the
Mark Brandenburg and resounds throughout
the mighty fortress of Germany founded on
rock, and yet so hard pressed at the beginning
of the war.
211 p 2
Hindenburg's March into London
" A firm fortress is our God ! " Berlin does
not think of going to sleep ! Hindenburg, the
Overlord of the British capital ! Such news
does not conduce to sleep. Many tinted lamps
in German, Austrian, Hungarian, and Turkish
colours are carried through the streets. There
is singing and shouting everywhere, and
though the night is throbbing with gay life, it
is the first care-free night since the ist of
August, 1914.
When the church clocks have rung out the
second hour of the night, the motor-cars ot
the great newspapers again pass through the
streets ; new specials are thrown to the crowd.
Joyous voices carry it in all directions.
" In order to save London from the
threatened destruction, the English Govern-
ment has accepted Hindenburg's demand that
the entire English army, wherever it may be,
is to lay down arms without delay ! "
This announcement is received with a delight
such as Germany hardly experienced after
Arminius, when the Roman Legions perished,
or in the October days of the battle of Leipzig,
or after the capitulation of Sedan ! A Cabinet
Minister buys a whole bundle of specials from
one of the vendors and sells them at ten marks
each. In a quarter of an hour he has provided
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Before the Gates of London
many a Berlin war-widow with a sum of
money !
There is a moving throng in Berlin as if it
were broad daylight. It is more than a New
Year's glamour, for it means not a New Year,
but a new period of history !
At three o'clock all the bells are ringing.
The clangour is as deafening as if the bells of
the whole world were pealing and ringing out
the war — the terrible, cruel world war.
Till daybreak shoutings of hurrah and
patriotic songs are heard through the streets.
When the song is started, " . . . In the Home-
land, in the Homeland, there we meet again ! "
the singing reaches a joyous, jubilant height !
For soon Germany will have her brave sons
back again !
In the late hours of the afternoon on the
following day the invading army hold a stately
parade march at Croydon, three hours south of
London, expecting their Marshal, who has
called them together for review and short army
service before he directs their ceremonial entry
into London.
It is a memorable moment when Hindenburg
with his staff comes riding up the hill, and sees
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Hindenburg's March into London
from the heights south of Croydon the roofs of
London for the first time ! A town of seven
and a half millions is lying at his feet. The
capital of a country which has been able to
subdue one-fifth of the whole human race, and
the extent of whose colonies spreads over a
surface equal to thirty-two German empires.
This proud city that was the world's banking-
house, the world's exchange, the world's wharf,
the world's guardian. . . .
Hindenburg is riding slowly on, and thought-
fully he glances at the Canaan of the German
dreams of conquest. ... At last ! at last !
he has succeeded in subduing that English
commander reputed far more mighty, more
skilful, more experienced, and more success-
ful than he. . . . Hindenburg has conquered
the lie !
In the first months of the war the lie gained
great strategic victories in its expedition against
the Germans. With its poison it infested public
opinion everywhere, with deceit and wicked-
ness it raised a whole world in arms against us.
By well-laid schemes and falsehoods, with
detestable deception, and unheard-of obstinacy
it succeeded in enmeshing the healthy human
sense of whole nations. . . . What value had
the triumphs of the taking of Tannenberg or
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Before the Gates of London
the conquests on the River Bug to that ? Its
weapons were the cable, the telegraph, and the
Press, its munition silver bullets, and the soil
undermined with all the means of modern
technics was Germany's honour.
Even when German truthfulness had cut
angrily into the web of this miserable lying
worm, in whose cobwebs the thoughts of whole
nations were taken prisoners ... in a second
they were again patched together with back-
biting and suspicions.
In Paris and in Rome the lie was busy
weaving its nets ; but there its meshwork was
too clumsy for deception. The French and
Italian lie, laid on too thickly — reports of severed
hands and mutilated breasts, of the shooting of
inconvenient members of the Reichstag, and of
boxes on the ears occasionally applied to the
Crown Prince by the Emperor. The more
finely-spun — and therefore more dangerous —
English lie whispered into the world's ear that
Germany had had a friendly smile for Europe
only because she wished to store up munitions
in order to stab murderously the innocent,
guileless, God-fearing Briton in his sound
sleep, and in the midst of a blessed dream of
peace. . . .
For months the nations of the earth saw the
215
Hindenburg' s March into London
German soul described as the nesting place of
all imaginable evils.
Lies are said to have short legs ! With
long, sturdy legs the English lie has been
running round the world, has daily received in
London new instructions, has sown hatred of
Germany in the remotest corners of the earth,
and has escaped all snares laid by truth.
Now at last it was surrounded ! Hurrah !
Now the German regiments are standing round
the cave of this London dragon ! Hurrah !
The lie has succumbed to the broadsword of the
hero Hindenburg !
Hindenburg is riding through the regimental
lines and greeting his army of heroes. The
battalions move closer to a pulpit erected by
gunners from a munition wagon and fir-
branches.
The sound of hymns is borne across the field,
and then the army chaplain ascends the green
pulpit.
" Comrades, the Lord has done great things !
He has blessed our arms and has given over
to us the proud city before whose gates we now
gratefully lift up our hands to God.
" In such mighty hours of fate we do not stop
216
Before the Gates of London
to think of the inscrutability of God's inten-
tions, but look for connections which make His
wise actions clear to us. And thus we ask
to-day : Why has the Lord God so deeply
chastised the great and proud nation in these
days, when He gave it such rich blessings at
other times ? And after letting it rest under
His sun of grace for so many centuries ?
" Truly, the Lord was with it ! This nation
skilled in statescraft ruled a mighty empire
from its little island and made and levied
tribute on a large part of the earth. Canada
gave England wheat and fur, Australia meat
and wool, India rice and spices, Africa gold
and jewels, Ceylon coffee and tea ; millions of
fish swam to its shores. Immense wealth
coming from all parts of the world was stored
in its banks and in its warehouses, its soil had
been left untouched by all the bloody wars of
centuries — God had blessed the Briton, and it
seemed almost as if he were called to be lord
of the universe.
" And now this nation is humbled by devas-
tating blows of the sword.
" I answer this question with the words of the
Lord : * What shall it profit a man if he gain the
whole world and lose his own soul ? Or what
can man give in order to redeem his soul ? '
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Hindenburg's March into London
" The English were not content with the
treasures given them by God ; the desire for
pleasure and always greater possessions and
unlimited world power poisoned and im-
poverished their souls. They wished to gain
lightly and speedily in order to enjoy sport and
amusements, and to be early safeguarded in the
extravagant luxury of the clubs of the West
End of London from the cares and worries of
life. Their social life became more and more
separated from higher mental and social
interests. Many a Briton spent his days in
horse-breeding, yachting, football playing, and
followed the political life of unscrupulous war-
instigators. When the mental activity of a
contemporary won success in cash, he was not
denied respect ; but according to the British
view of the world spiritual striving and moral
worth for their own sakes were things he did
not know how to treat.
" History praises many a Briton who was per-
sonally a hero of moral worth ; but the ideals of
a few individuals did not react on the fashioning
of the nation as it did in Germany.
" Ideals which have no market value and are
not convertible into cash, Albion did not include
in the price list of its soul stocks.
" To this poverty was joined jealousy.
218
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" Already two generations ago Bismarck
wrote : ' England hates to see us gain anything
in maritime development or in our navy, and
envies us our industrial success.' Since Bis-
marck's time Albion's envy has grown yellower
and more bitter year by year.
" England became steadily wealthier, but
impoverished at the same time, so that her
originally healthy sport turned to sport idiocy,
and her originally healthy interest in the activity
of the world became the policy of self-seeking,
envious tradesmen.
" England is the land of moral weaklings. This
town lying at our feet holds within its walls
fifteen hundred churches. But far more than
fifteen hundred temples have been built to that
other god, the golden calf ! You cannot serve
God and Mammon, says the Lord. That is
why in a short time they carried God's word only
on their lips, and with their whole souls served
the shining idol which made English rule the
most treacherous of all governments. Truly
they have taken grievous harm in their
souls !
"Two words belonging to the Britons are
difficult to translate into our language. One is
cant — that is, ' to pretend ' real sorrow for one
whom one slowly tortures to death. And the
219
Hindenburg's March into London
other is called business, * to gain profit under
any conditions.'
" There are also two words in our language
which are possessed alone by Germany and
which cannot be translated into English in all
their meanings. One is ' Gemuet ' (innermost
fine feeling), and the other * Froemmigkeit '
(religious sense), for piety is no less than the
thorough penetration of the whole inside human
being with true, active, godly resignation. In
the pious town of the fifteen hundred churches
the devilish plan was nurtured of inciting
Kaffirs, Gurkhas, and Australian blacks against
you, comrades !
" The Briton seemed to be rich in aristocratic
qualities. How is that now ? We praise the
war, the great God-sent clarifying valuer, that
he has torn the mask from the pious aristocratic
people of Britain, and has shown the world the
fetters with which their soul was bound !
" But what can a man give that he may
redeem his soul ?
" The Britons did not become conscious that
their soul had been harmed, for philosophers
arose and blessed their greed of gain. Do
what is of use to you ! taught Bentham. Try
to subdue the outer non-English parts of
humanity — always full of fairness — into ser-
220
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vility ! Let your money — always full of
cringing politeness — work in all parts of our
planet at high interest ; let millions work them-
selves to death, in order that you may sit in
Pall Mall in your club, and that you may
devote yourselves to all branches of sport !
In her desire for gold, Albion stretched out
her tentacles like a deep-sea octopus, and
fastened herself to all the corners of the
earth.
" Everything became her business. But her
greatest business she sought with the German
love of peace and with the German Michael's
diplomatic honesty, and she founded the world
war undertaking. . . .
" God's mills grind slowly. Comrades, it is
something precious and lofty that God should
have chosen you for His instrument ! That He
made your swords write in the English soil :
' What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole
world ? '
" What can man give to redeem his soul
again ?
" Look, comrades, there in the East End are
London's slums. Pitiable endless misery fills
this the greatest poverty den of the world.
There Albion might contrive to redeem her
soul, for she was immensely rich and became
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Hindenburg's March into London
immensely hard, she was religiously pious and
heartlessly heathenish.
" England's Holy of Holies was its Ex-
change.
" The lofty clock-tower of the London Ex-
change carries instead of a weathercock a
huge gilded locust. Yes, like a plague of
locusts, it must be owned, the spirit of jobber
and broker and profit-hunter were also coming
to our German Fatherland . . . But the golden
locust shall remain. The magnificent flowering
meadow of German ideals shall never be sacri-
ficed to the locust plague of English money-
greed and profit-hunting !
" Comrades ! Great things the Lord God
hath done to us ! And if He now makes a
jubilant Germany rich in earthly goods, may
the all-generous God preserve the old German
mind of our forefathers ! For what shall it
profit a man if he gain the whole world and
lose his own soul ? "
After the singing of the last hymn, a corps of
cavalry and some artillery regiments received
orders to enter London the same evening. They
were to inquire with regard to the situation in
London, and to take measures of safety, so that
the entry of the troops might be undertaken on
the morrow without mishap !
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In addition, two battalions of Pioneers are
sent to town in rapid cars, for a terrible con-
flagration is raging in London, as the Zeppelin
bombs have wrought sad havoc in the city. As
the fire has now completed its share in the
education of Englishmen, the Pioneers are to
help in subduing the raging element.
During the night the rest of the troops are
brought by rail close to the city. Up to
early morning the trains are bringing them in.
The engines for the long military trains groan
and wheeze as if they found it extremely
difficult to carry these grey guests closer to the
Thames.
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The Entry into
the City
THE ENTRY INTO THE CITY
THE streets and squares round London Bridge
Station on the following morning are a huge
military camp. Soldiers from all parts of
Germany, gallant Austrians, sons of the Prussia
who have stood the touch of war, make them-
selves as tidy as possible and anxiously await
the hour which will make history.
It is Hindenburg's entry into London ! Our
soldiers have kept these four words in their
hearts as a blessed promise. They have scarce
dared whisper them in the midst of the battles,
lest luck might have turned aside if they had
invoked it loudly, and Albion has for months
seen these four words like the writing on the
wall.
Hurrah ! Hindenburg has entered the station
grounds. At nine o'clock sharp he mounts his
horse. He rides between Ludendorff and Count
Zeppelin. The battalions unfurl the flags. To
the strains of the " Entry into Paris March " of
1814 the troops proceed to London Bridge.
On this stately Thames bridge, close up to
227 Q 2
Hindenburg's March into London
which even the largest ocean steamers may
moor, the pace becomes involuntarily slower,
as the eye is anxious to take deep draughts of
the variegated pictures offered by the view.
The soldiers look at the riggings of the cargo-
boats which have escaped, not without difficulty,
from a dangerous fate, and have come to the
docks to have the wounds inflicted upon them
in the Channel by the German submarines
attended to.
Is a forest fire raging down the river ? The
Zeppelins the day before yesterday set fire to
this forest of masts and many warehouses.
Black clouds of smoke, interspersed with
sparks, set threateningly ablaze the powerful
cranes and a few still undamaged warehouses.
There, on the left bank of the Thames, where
clouds of smoke are still lowering like a storm
over the ruins, the Tower had stood for 900
years up to the day before yesterday. One of
the thirteen 42-c.m. guns had transformed into
rubbish and ashes this old citadel on the eastern
edge of the City. The arsenal, with its walls
and proud battlements, is now a heap of sweep-
ings. The Bloody Tower stands out as a
dismal token amid the stones of the ruined
fortress.
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The Entry into the City
The soldiers cast a hasty glance at the lofty
dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, which reminds
them of St. Peter's Church in Rome, and now
they enter the streets of the City, which has
been jestingly called the capital of London.
German military pride swells the breast of the
conquerors of the world battle ; a cold shudder
of awe strikes the veterans in thoughtful mood
as they become conscious they have been called
to witness those noble days which mark a turn
in the fate of the world. Now to the heart of
London !
The goal of the troops is St. James's Park.
They cannot reach this place by the shortest
way, as between Cannon Street and Queen
Victoria Street a tremendous fire is raging,
which destroys goods worth millions and sends
them flying up in black clouds of smoke. They
will spray all over the ocean what remains of
these treasures, and the storm will whistle to
them the little song of the tradesman whose
most precious goods were eaten by the rust
and the moth.
Such an uproar reigns in the quarter of the
City round London Bridge that the clang of
the military bands is drowned by the noise. As
London and Charing Cross bridges are shaking
229
Hindenburg's March into London
under the weight of the German heavy artillery,
a threefold traffic is congested here. Tram-
cars, omnibuses, barrows, taxi-cabs, luxurious
carriages, and amongst them noisy street
hawkers and newspaper boys — all these noises
blend together and deafen the ears. The
people fight to get on top of the omnibuses,
thousands and thousands hurry to have a look
at this dismal Hindenburg and his guard of
Huns. Shame grasps many onlookers by the
throat, shame makes to-day many would-be
German haters and detractors of the Kaiser
low-spirited, but greater than the shame of the
mob is, as always, its curiosity.
By the side of the Piccadilly girls, in their
best attire, may be seen ragged, slouching
figures which have been eaten by vice and
hunger. More poor than there are soldiers in
an Army Corps live a miserable existence in
the workhouses of the town of seven million
inhabitants, and a still larger rabble, shy of the
daylight, wander here and there entirely
homeless. The necessity of the war months
has also brought these gloomy battalions of
Londoners to war strength. Honourable citi-
zens and -smart young sportsmen look at the
military spectacle with a sullen gaze. Gentle-
230
The Entry into the City
men and foppish mongrels, righteous and
unrighteous, all clench their fists in their
pockets against the Germans. Let them hate
us if they like, provided they fear us !
In many streets there are crowds as at a
fair in peace times. At the corner of the
street a Punch and Judy show detains idlers.
On the stage Kaiser William is fetched by the
devil every five minutes. This theatre manager
would not change places to-day with the
manager of the London Opera House !
From the Thames the troops have gone
through King William Street, the houses of
which are blackened by the dark grey London
fogs, and the soldiers have now reached the
square of the World where the traffic is greatest
—that is to say, the square between the Mansion
House, the Bank, and the Exchange.
The Mansion House is the residence of the
Lord Mayor. The Lord Mayor in the last
decade has been a much-plagued man. He
had the Presidency of Honour when at the
Mansion House the Committee for German-
English understanding exchanged good words
around the festive tables and declared that they
231
Hindenburg's March into London
were engaged on fruitful work. A few days
before the Lord Mayor welcomed in the same
rooms the " Union Jack Industries League,"
whose wish was at any price to put a halter
round the neck of the highly obtrusive German
industry. Again, a few days afterwards, the
Lord Mayor spoke at the meeting of the British
Chambers of Commerce, in which, dissatisfied
with the victory gained by the German mark
of origin " Made in Germany," some members
recommended the creation of a " British Empire
Trade Mark." And before the German
members of the Committee for the German-
English Entente had turned their backs on
London, the Lord Mayor welcomed with
special cordiality the " Entente Cordiale
Society " in the rooms of the Mansion House.
" Entente Cordiale Society " ? That is
English-French-Russian, and means, in German,
Society for freezing out Germany. Its first
propagandist was Edward VII. and its last
was Grey.
The Lord Mayor will in the future be
deprived of any representative functions.
Germany will give her hand in understanding
to the British as cordially as she can, but in
the future Michael will never be deceived by
232
The Entry into the City
the festive meetings at the Mansion House, by
peaceful declarations between Russian caviare,
English roast beef, and French chickens.
And likewise there, in the Bank of England,
the cash desks, towards which moneyed people,
hungering for gold, hurried from all parts of
the world, will become slacker. There they
will mourn for the Golden Fleece, which has
gone to America. In this Banking House,
which once was the richest treasury in the
world, the receivers in bankruptcy of the
Isolation Company will have to make up
accounts during a whole generation, with a
gigantic army of clerks.
In the sacred rooms of the Bank and
Exchange, near which the German troops are
now passing, Edward VII. once had an esti-
mate for the big war of 1916 got out for him,
which war, by mistake, broke out two years
too soon. The financial experts were able
very confidently to call His Majesty's attention
to the historical fact that declarations of war
in Europe had always been for old England
the most promising for industrial securities,
and that the level mark which indicates the
development of English welfare has always
risen sharply when Continental nations have
233
Hindenburg's March into London
been tearing at one another. On this favour-
able Bankers' report the Isolation Company was
founded. As the World War of 1916 had to
be the grandest English financial undertaking
of all times, propaganda money was lavishly
spent, large newspaper undertakings were
bought up in foreign countries, an army of
spies was recruited in Belgium, and high
salaries were paid to the silent members of
the Company. So soon as beaten Germany
should lie prostrate on the ground, with her
flourishing economical life annihilated, England
would snatch with greedy hands the gold
treasure of the German Reichsbank, and annex
the State property of Prussia in railways,
forests, and domains. " There would be mil-
liards and milliards as war indemnity." This
was what a Minister had dangled before the
people's eyes. And so long as England had
not recouped from the World War transaction
the capital invested, together with unheard
usurious interest up to the last farthing,
Dresden and Breslau would have Russian
garrisons, the King of Belgium would reside
in Cologne, Coblenz and Mainz would remain
the principal towns of French Departments,
and the English would make themselves at
234
The Entry into the City
home in Hamburg, Bremen, and Frankfurt-on-
the-Main.
And now past this bank, in the secret
archives of which the nicely calculated estimate
lies hidden, German troops are marching,
troops from Dresden and Breslau, from Coblenz
and Mainz, and even from Bremen, Hessen,
and Frankfurt-on-the-Main. The German
soldiers look with rare pleasure at the machine-
guns and anti-aircraft guns standing on the
roofs of the banks, and gaily enter Cheapside ;
with great noise and shouting, the street
hawkers, amongst whom are wretched, small
children, not taller than three cheeses placed
on top of each other, in dirty rags, formed in a
line, offer to the loiterers all their penny
articles, for the most part small toys and
figures supposed to be funny. The novelty of
this week is " Hindenburg on the Gallows."
For a penny everyone can execute this
annoying hero as many times as one likes !
Let the London mob take their pleasure in
childish games, but the cavalry general who
yesterday entered the town has put a stop to
the business of those running hawkers, who
bawled out in the streets the latest novelty —
" Revanche." As long as German troops are
235
Hindenburg's March into London
in London, the thought of revenge must be
kept silent — afterwards let the English poli-
ticians foster or suppress this Parisian disease
of children !
The troops march past the proud St. Paul's
Cathedral and soon arrive in Fleet Street and
the Strand, where one square yard of ground
costs more money than thirty German majors
receive as salary in a month.
Here is the district of the music-halls, the
place of birth of the political street tunes which
gallantly helped in preparing the World War.
In these well-attended halls there were sung
during the last decade those exciting couplets,
the chorus of which was always the challenge
cry :
" The world for Great Britain, and a rasher
for Germany."*
And night after night the crowd joined in
this song.
With a view to facilitate the recruiting
business for 1916, the invasion songs, "An
Englishman's Home " and " A Nation in
* In English in the original.
236
The Entry into the City
Arms," have been produced since 1909, and
Germany and her great Kaiser were vilified
until the mob broke into a horse-laugh. . . .
It is from this part of the town that the
English people were attuned quite methodically
to the pitch of the World War. The man
in the streets had to learn to shudder in fear
of the German Dreadnoughts and Zeppelin
cruisers. In the music-halls, mad, stupid
nigger dances were performed, and in the
audience the idea finally grew ripe that for a
nation which could have as allies these supple,
austral negroes with their looks of beasts of
prey, these Zulu-Kaffir dancing-masters, it
would be quite easy to venture a small dance
with Germany.
And the newspapers suitably completed the
formation of opinion begun in the music-halls.
Fleet Street, through which our troops are now
passing, is the newspaper street of Great
Britain. During the last five years there has
been scarcely a paper offered for sale which did
not carry in capital letters as a heading :
11 THE GERMAN DANGER."
" GERMAN INVASION." " GERMAN SPY."
" BEWARE OF GERMAN SPIES AND ZEPPELIN
SECRET AGENTS ! "
237
Hindenburg's March into London
In this part of London imaginative pam-
phleteers faithfully assisted their Parisian
colleagues and toadies in completing the vile
literature for the million on the German
abomination.
A young student and volunteer in the Grena-
diers makes a sign to a newspaper boy and
buys from him a copy of TJie Times. It has a
mourning border. The leading article says :
" We do not mourn because we have come to
grief in this war which has been prepared for
decades by Germany, but we mourn because
the civilisation of the whole world now lies on
its deathbed. What will indeed remain of the
treasures of civilisation in those countries in
which the horses of the Brandenburg Dragoons
graze and the Potsdam Generals swing their
sabres ? The treasures of civilisation, the ideals
of which we took up arms against, the material-
istic. . . ." The young Grenadier does not
translate any further ; his glance falls on an
advertisement in the same copy :
" Wanted, a cook, wages 600 mk., and a
tutor speaking perfect English and French,
salary 450 mk. ..."
The chaplain at Croydon might have inter-
238
The Entry into the City
woven this advertisement into his sermon when
he expounded the biblical text: " What will it
profit a man if he gain the whole world. . . ."
When the troops enter the Strand the
adjutant calls the attention of Major Sigwart,
who is riding close to him, to the fact that here,
in a small by-street, the Tsar Peter the Great
had lived when he went to Holland and
England to learn the shipbuilding trade as a
simple dockyard workman. It would be a fine
parallel, thought the major, if the King of
England had some day to enlist as a recruit in
a Potsdam by-street to study German military
science. If King Edward had done so, this
world war would surely have been spared us.
From the business part of the city our troops
have now arrived at the West End, in the city
of palaces, club-houses, and Government offices.
Here people spend in idleness their easily-
earned money, and here laws are made.
To the joyous strains of the German naval
song the troops come to Trafalgar Square.
The four bronze lions at the foot of Nelson's
Column have mourning veils over their manes.
To-day they lie, not as crouching for a spring,
they lie as lame with terror. Our troops look
at the proud Corinthian column, as high as a
239
Hindenburg's March into London
church tower, which was built on the model of
the columns of the Augustan temple in Rome.
The temple was consecrated to Mars, the
avenging God of War. An avenging, all-
bountiful God has assisted our soldiers in
winning their way to London ; but on their
faces nothing of revenge is to be read.
Lieutenant Haussmann hears in Trafalgar
Square two Berlin soldiers speaking of Nelson,
the popular British hero. One says :
" To win so easily a sea battle — it is surely
an extravagant adventure."
"Yes, Karl," says the other, "it happened
in Schoneberg in the month of May, and no
German U boat was present. ..."
Thus some of them go on joking in a gay,
humorous manner, but most of them march
along in silence and look at this brooding place
of Germanophobia as if this noble success of
arms was only a dreamy unreality. . . .
Through the imposing gate of the Admiralty
Arch our troops enter the Mall, a magnificent
street of the Victorian era. Now they are in
the great district of the English clubs. Here
is Pall Mall and St. James's Street, with their
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The Entry into the City
beautiful club-houses, in which the West End
millionaires, in as lavish and royal a fashion as
Continental kings, are attended to by an army
of pages and footmen. Here these fortunate,
and yet such poor, sons of Britain meet each
other, men who have no profession and no
other care than not to miss anything which
may happen in the five parts of the world
which should be witnessed — any sensational
event in the domain of fire, water, air, or earth.
Towards Whitsuntide the young gentleman
of the Pall Mall Club goes to the Derby at
Epsom. A fortnight later he bets at Ascot.*
After the racing week in Windsor Park he
attends the great boat regattas at Henley, and
in July he goes to a fashionable seaside town
on the social level of Scarborough. After a
trip to the Berner Oberland, he goes shooting
the coveted grouse in August on the moors
of England. In September he shoots the
partridge. In October and November he
attends the great hunting meets, the climax
of which is stag hunting. In December
he goes to Cairo, in January he does not
decline an invitation to a tropical hunt, but
early in March he finds himself in due time at
the gaming table in Monte Carlo. In April he
241 R
Hindenburg's March into London
resides on his estate in the outlying neigh-
bourhood of London. He will soon leave his
country house to attend the season in London.
When he has rested there in a club armchair,
he again goes travelling all through the year,
having as his only aim three things — sporting,
flirting, and gambling.
And now the war has struck out the items of
the travelling programme he had carefully
prepared. The war has barred the way to
Cook's Express Tours in Belgium and the
North of France. And the guide who will
accompany the would-be traveller to the East
is called Hindenburg! In the St. James's
district the sorrow is great . . . !
Such a crowd of arrogant men who enjoy life
without doing anything can only vegetate in
their idleness in a country which has made all
other nations tributary. Thousands of ladies
resplendent with diamonds can only find a
home in a country which understands cleverly
how to distribute the work amongst its
contemporaries all round the world, and
who in dividing up the world acted in the
same manner as that Englishman whom the
French poet, Leconte de Lisle, had the honour
to meet.
242
The Entry into the City
The meal was nearing its end when the
servant girl put a basin of strawberries on the
table. Without saying a word the Englishman
pulled the basin towards him and emptied its
entire contents on his plate. " But, my dear
sir," said Leconte de Lisle, " I also like straw-
berries." "Oh ! not so much as I do," replied
the famous Englishman.
Our soldiers have seen in the City the
diligent English merchant, in front of the
Lloyds business rooms the gallant English
seamen, and on the streets the well-groomed
dignified English citizens ; but here in the Pall
Mall district they are reminded of the braggart,
inconsiderate, selfish man who elbows his way
ruthlessly everywhere, the terror of the German
traveller.
Over a good liqueur and a brandy cocktail
London men during the last decade used to sit
in their club palaces listening to the revelations
of the Harmsworth Press, and discussing
politics. They were thinking of the throttling
of Germany. They had been on good terms
with Germany as long as she had remained the
late comer amongst the European nations,
and as long as she had been considered as
harmless, as a playground of poets and
243 R 2
Hindenburg's March into London
dreamers. As soon, however, as this Germany
sprang out of her shell as a clever, diligent,
inopportune intruder amongst the nations,
disarranging England's circle, and bringing
German trade and German industry into the
economical world, it was decided in St. James's
to cut short the career of this upstart . . . . !
And now the Prussian pointed helmets are
marching in.
The spirits of Albion are past consolation.
Against this " damned " devil of Hindenburg
nothing avails, neither a new lie nor the fist
clenched in the pocket. The once happy
homes of " Merry old England," which by day
used to look after its racing horses and in the
evening to chat with club friends, while her
wars were carried on by mercenaries and
hirelings — abodes of deceptive happiness — have
to-day hoisted crape-covered flags at half-mast.
The gentlemen of Pall Mall do not mourn
out of sentimentalism. They are afraid of the
future, as war reduces most the estate of those
who do not work. Hard-working Germany,
filled with new strength, will take away still
more customers from the British ; and then
there is the danger that roast beef will become
scarce. That is a sad look-out ! In the Park
244
The Entry into the City
district of London, where the cry to arms for
the most sacred treasures of civilisation had
resounded, heads are now drooping — the Roast
Beef of Old England is in danger !
Even in front of the palatial quarter the
London poster business has not stopped. An
advertising post praises in huge letters, " Respi-
rators for protection against gas from Zeppelin
bombs."
" Protective means against poisoning from
Zeppelin bombs ought not to be necessary in
this century," says a captain to his comrade,
" but the English Government should at some
time look for a respirator as a protection against
the poison of the English Press, if they have the
world's peace at heart in the future."
St. James's Park, Buckingham Palace — all
halt!
All columns halt ! A cry to the whole world !
The last command in the world war !
Round Buckingham; Palace the troops erect
their tents. St. James's Park, with its delight-
ful groups of trees, allows of a few unimpeded
glances at the Government buildings, and the
officers explain to their men in what a renowned
245
Hindenburg's March into London
corner of the world they are encamping. There
is the Admiralty building, the proud fortress of
the Sea Lord, from whom the men of wealth
had for centuries required an unconditional
autocracy over the world's seas. In this house
it was also decided to send the German fleet
remorselessly to the bottom of the sea, as had
been done before to the Spanish, Dutch, French,
and Danish fleets. And suddenly, like a
mischievous spirit, the name of the Emden had
appeared there, and day after day the bad news
of the deeds of our submarines had been
received !
To-day our troops still see in front of the
doors of this palace women and girls crying,
who ask to be told the truth about their
husbands and brothers.
That dull, gloomy building is the War Office.
Before the war it had to look after an Army
characterised by a most strange honour. A
London girl who had any self-respect never
went out in public with a soldier, and an officer
would never have been forgiven had he ventured
to wear his uniform in Society. It is with such
hirelings, afraid of daylight, that the masters of
that house expected to crush the proud German
Army, even at the cost of the last drop of blood
246
The Entry into the City
of the French soldier or the last Cossack's
horse.
Further down to the right is Grey's domain,
and all the other Government offices follow
in a row. This has been for centuries the
business place for the division of the world.
It is here that the politicians of the isolation
plan carried out their intrigues ; from here
French Chauvinism was carefully kept under
steam ; it is here that on the map of
Germany and Austria- Hungary the objects of
Panslavism were explained to the Slavs. From
here an advance of billions was shown with the
grin of a tempting demon to wretched Italy,
and the grip was not relaxed until she had
taken the Judas shilling, and committed the
most miserable perfidy known to the world's
history. From here the English plotters of
desolation let loose the great war, which was
to finish with the restoration of the Vienna
Convention and a small wretched Germany on
the Biedermaier pattern. " War without mercy !
War to the last drop of blood ! " It is with this
battle-cry that they went out and tried to
raise from Central Europe that heavy block
which, in Bismarck's words, nobody can touch
without crushing his fingers.
247
Hindenburg's March into London
And that lofty building there on the bank of
the Thames is the House of Parliament, where
a short while ago Germany's guardians used to
sit and solemnly dictate to German leaders
what they had to do and what they were to
leave undone.
" There is, further, a very curious custom in
there," says Major Sigwart to his Grenadiers.
" The Lord Chancellor presides over the
debates from a woolsack. Queen Elizabeth
caused the woolsack to be sent as a chair
cushion to a Lord Chancellor so that the
legislators should be always reminded of the
prohibition of the export of cotton."
"Then it would be advisable," says one of
the Grenadiers, "that the Lord Chancellor
should sit on an image of Hindenburg so that
no further thoughts of a policy of isolation
should ever rise in the House of Parliament."
It was in these luxurious buildings that it was
considered how, through the strong welding of
all the countries of the world which are under
English sovereignty, a Federal State, a group
protected by Customs duties, might be formed,
which would simply close the world's trade to
the non-British. It was also on this house that
the London people, so fond of placards, should
248
The Entry into the City
have posted up a notice, " Under New Manage
ment." ^ At the commencement of the great
war, when Albion was still living in the
secret hope that the French Hotspurs and the
Russian steam-roller would settle England's
business satisfactorily and clear up matters
with Germany, the Lords in the Parliament
buildings struck their British chests and
vowed that English freedom would never be
assailed, and they slandered German militarism
as the vilest any European mind had ever
imagined. And now all the gentlemen in
St. James's district had become suddenly full
of ardent desire for national military service,
and the Prussian Military Articles, and the
celebrated Miss Freedom, thanks to her tender
relations with the Eastern gentlemen of the
Knout, suddenly experienced the pleasure of
giving birth to three fine childen : Prohibition
of Strikes, the Munition Act, and Compulsory
Registration !
249
Hindenburg's March into London
Palace after palace ! And
before the windows of these proud palaces,
where the motto was " The Englishman is on
earth to command and control the globe,"
German troops are to-day encamped. Yes,
there are even among them Austrians and
Hungarians, whereas one of the results of the
war, and not the least, was to have been the
complete overthrow and political death of
Austria.
In the beautiful streets in which, between
lunch and tea, expensive ostrich feathers
used to nod from the motor-cars, and lords
and ladies used to drive to Rotten Row for
flirtation, Prussian Uhlans are now riding
their horses. The sorrow and secret shame
are great !
War invalids from the Scottish highlands
approach with their bagpipes the camp of our
troops, and maimed Italian heroes from Isonzo
come with their barrel-organs and entertain the
German troops to gain a halfpenny. Our
soldiers then remember that the troops of the
Quadruple Entente expected to enter Berlin
with drums beating and trumpets sounding. . . .
If the hour were not so serious and the sight
250
The Entry into the City
so pitiful, they would laugh heartily at this
band of the Quadruple Entente.
Towards the evening a stiff breeze comes
from the sea over the West End, and plays
a mischievous trick on London. The storm
carries away from Queen Victoria's National
Monument in front of Buckingham Palace the
gigantic veil which London ladies have had
wound round the statue of freedom, twenty-five
metres high, and covers with mourning veils
two large statues at the foot of the monument
— Justice and Truth.
In the evening Hindenburg orders the
great bell of Big Ben, the tower clock of
Saint Stephen's, to be rung. Then all the
army bands assemble for the great tattoo on
foreign soil !
Never had the sounds of the trumpets
penetrated so deeply in a soldier's heart !
Many a comrade who lies buried in the clay
trenches of Arras and Ypres, or in the white
sand of Galicia, had dreamt at the hour of his
death of this entry into London and this tattoo,
and death has called him away from the world's
theatre before this last and most pleasing
251
Hindenburg's March into London
act ; such thoughts go to the depths of one's
heart !
The London mob gaping round the German
troops witnesses something unheard of. The
poor simpletons who have been led by the nose
by their mischievous Press hear the anthem
" Now Praise ye God " roaring through Hyde
Park, and they ask each other, " Do the Huns
believe in God ? "
Hindenburg will to-night start his homeward
journey to the Continent, but before leaving
he addresses to his gallant men a few short
words to take with them on the path of life :
" Soldiers ! It has been a hard fight, but
you have carried your flags from victory to
victory, and have shown to the world that
none can set the German frontier ablaze with-
out his own house being burnt. When you
return to Germany shortly, go to church and
thank God. And tell your children the great
things you have witnessed in these days, and
write all this with a firm stylet on your family
tablets, so that in the future, if in the course
of the next centuries a war-like feeling arise
again in Europe, your children's children shall
say, to your honour and to the confusion of
our enemies : " One of my forefathers once
252
The Entry into the City
bivouacked before Buckingham Palace after
helping to subdue a whole world of enemies.
Good night, comrades ! "
As the great German war-hero whose
ruthless, hard " must " on the battlefields
extracted from the last man the last atom of
strength now once more rides through the
ranks of his battalions, many eyes fill with
tears.
Now, friends, fall out !
A veteran, returned from the front, took the
pencil from my hand and said : " You dreamer,
are you not satisfied with all that our glorious
arms have already accomplished ? If you
want to praise, praise then the proud German
work of to-day, and not the castles in the air
of to-morrow ! What are big words and
political fairy tales in such golden times of
action ? " " There will be no big words," I
said ; " they will be a few strains from the
song of the German aspiration, as whis-
pered by our people. A fairy tale ? The
story of England's inviolability — that is a fairy
tale ! No, here are words of German reliance,
as firm as a rock, which will lead the way
253
Hindenburg's March into London
through London to a world's peace, even
quicker than we suspect. Then the God who
has stood at our side during this severe war of
liberation and given us a Hindenburg will also
lead us over the Channel. Who would then
not irresistibly follow to the banks of the
Thames Hindenburg's flags, those flags accus-
tomed to victory ? Who would not be then
full of joyous pride ? "
In the shining eyes of the soldier I read the
answer.
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