Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 February 1915 — MONTH WITH THE GERMAN ARMY AS DESCRIBED BY AN AMERICAN [ARTICLE]

MONTH WITH THE GERMAN ARMY AS DESCRIBED BY AN AMERICAN

Efficiency of the Kaiser’s Great Fighting Machine Wins His Ad-3 miration— Pass, “Too Good to Be True,” Gives Writer an interesting Four Weeks Behind Teuton Lines In Belgium—Arrested and Escorted to Holland Border.

By C. LEROY BALDRIDGE.

(Correspondent Chicago Post.) Amsterdam. —The German occupation of Antwerp had already become a matter of routine when I arrived from Rosendaal. In five days the new city government had adapted itself perfectly to the burgomaster’s offices and was working smoothly. It had even instituted a regular motor bus service to Brussels. But finding a certain cheese merchant who owned a wobbly-kneed animal, too hopeless to be requisitioned, and who said he didn’t care where he went with it, I chose to go that way. We found a war-sw,ept road to the capital; on either side rich growing fields plowed with trenches; tattered remnants of villages and scattered graves. The way was jammed with homeless people carrying their belongings in carts, wheelbarrows, baby buggies—ever fleeing. At Brussels, through the courtesy of Brand Whitlock and the kommandantur, a certain amount of bluff and phenomenal luck, I obtained a pass to travel anywhere within the German lines in Belgium. Moreover it worked —for three weeks. Tries to Go Through Lines to Paris. Thus armed, I decided to attempt the impossible, and go through to Paris, in which I was encouraged by a French Red Cross nurse who was taken prisoner when the city surrendered, and who had a similar ambition. But not even my: freshly stamped papers would tempt any cabman or chauffeur to start with us. There was nothing for it but to walk. During two days we saw little of way except occasional sentries and speeding military automobiles of that famous greenish-gray which blends so well with distance. Peasants were already replanting crops on tor' of trenches and gathering beets, stolidly taking it all as a matter of course. Mme. Lottin, the French nurse, had been named by my Brussels landlord “le Grenadier;’’ and she was. We made 45 kilometers a day. But at Namur she found an opportunity of reaching Paris through Holland, so I proceeded along the Meuse to Dinant, town of terrible memories. This seems the most terribly picturesque city in Belgium. Its jagged walls and falling chimneys rise up hopelessly from heaps of debris in the midst of all that majestic natural grandeur along the two banks of the river. There is the Grotto where 800 women and children crouched in the darkness while the battle ebbed back and forth above them for two days; and the sidewalk near the water where hundr- d» of civilians were said to. have been lined up c.nd shot. Gets Lift In a Supply Wagon. From Dinant a military supply wagon gave me a .lift to Givet, France. But here for the first time my pass was not sufficient, and I narrowly escaped arrest. Walking by way of Fl'drennes I arrived at Thuln. On high ground near the clock tower I stood by a Belgian trench, with the country -spread out maplike all around, while an eye-wit-ness explained graphically about the siege; how the Germans came down under continuous fire, where they built a bridge; how the allies were forced back from point to point and the climax of bayonet charges on the hills behind. And he told me how in the midst of the fight a French officer turned mad and ran frothing at the mquth about the street, terrifying the few people who had remained hid in cellarß. . I advised my guide to practice up on his English to be ready for the curious American tourists of a few years hence. For none will miss Thuin. At the Hotel de Ville a newsboy was crying his papers. Thinking these ■were newspapers he carried under his arm, I bought one. It was an official death list, an«j sold at a penny. By this time my heavy United States army shoes were worn thin. Again I tried to rent some ~ind of vehicle* but not one remained in the city. Finally, however, I was offered a bicycle for 100 francs, which the owner had taken to pieces and hid from the Germans. So, secreting ourselves that night in a basement room, we reconstructed this machine. Btopped at Maubeuge. At Maubeuge, France, a soldier who could talk English was kind enough to explain that, though he had orders to shoot on sight any civilian riding a bicycle, he would be gentle and merely arrest me. Fortunately, the officer in charge had been in the Philippines for 20 years and considered himself almost an American. But I must return to Brussels, he said, and after much difficulty procured a pass for me "mit fahrrad.” I decided to take the long way back. One noon I stopped at a little “estaminet” It was half demolished and had been rechristened, for over thd door was a newly painted sign: “Case de la Battaille de Quatre Bras.” - - Wttbiir. several soldiers were drinking. But one: sat alone, holding the inn-keeper’s little girl in his lap. He stroked her hair and sobbed, declaring

that she was like his own whom he never expected to see again. A train of ten siege guns moved ponderously along the road. Each piece had its ammunition and equipment wagons, and company of soldiers tramping behind; and each was pulled with a large steam traction engine. On the engine boilers were stamped the words: “Made in Leeds, England.” ; The few people remaining In the villages grouped themselves on the high ground, discussing whether the sound of firing were stronger or fainter than in the days before; whether the Germans were retreating or advancing. Killing and Baking. The commissary was at work, killing cattle and hogs, baking bread and sending food to the trenches; ambulance wagons rushed by; wounded who were strong enough came walking to emergency hospitals; and occasionally mid the booming of German guns one heard the long whistle of English shrapneL Meanwhile soldiers marched by always, with their monotonous swinging stride. My pass still worked. And I rode slowly on among scenes which leave in the mind a nightmare of horror; a red vision of machine guns and dead men in bundles; and a feeling more of disgust than admiration for the cold business efficiency with which it is accomplished. At Roujers tyo men of the cycle corps offered to take me to the firing line, and we rode to Westroosebeke. There the gray men lorded and fired, loaded-and fired, never saw the enemy and were hauled back wounded and dead. Some 300 yards in front were the trenches. There other gray men thrust in their “clips of five” and shot at other men’s heads in other trenches. All around the men fell quickly like targets in a shooting gallery. Shells broke and left small clean-white clouds hanging in the sky till the wind waved them away I sat on a railing with a group of privates—several college boys, one professor—by a cottage used as a Red Cross station. We talked of many things, and there was wine—Belgian wine—and there were lots of good cigars—Belgian cigars. These men were resting. They had been out in the trenches and soon were going back. One had seen four classmates killed. Occasionally the sound of shrapnel would turn from whistling into a screech, and then all' would duck instinctively, grin at each other and wonder where It would break. A game, and an interesting (me. Twenty feet away a shot struck, splintered a tree and left-the top half to fall, in yellow smoke, across the road. “Too Good to Be Teue.” This, I felt, was quite near enough. But two of my new friends Insisted upon getting permission to visit the trenches with me. We saw an officer. “How did you get here?" he glared. Then, turning to the soldiers: “Put him under arrest!" “Isn’t my pass good?” I asked. “Too good to be true,” said he. My friends of the bicycle corps, now with loaded guns, one in front, one behind, took me on a day’s ride to Thielt. Here 4 I was stripped and searched and kept with a guard for several days. Then by two armed chauffeurs and a special messenger I was conducted to Ghent. My automobile belonged to a general’s staff and great was my conceit when at our approach all soldierß stiffened to a salute. From Ghent another

machine returned me at last to Brussels for further examination. 1 was left ont on parole, however, and after a week, at the instigation of the American consul, moat of my papers and sketches, which had previously been taken from me, were returned and I was escorted to the Holland border. My officer hosts assured me thattthey were most happy to have made my acquaintance, but that really all artists were “verboten."