Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 306, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 December 1916 — TRADING WRECKS OF MEN FROM WAR PRISONS OF GERMANY AND RUSSIA [ARTICLE]

TRADING WRECKS OF MEN FROM WAR PRISONS OF GERMANY AND RUSSIA

Correspondent Witnesses Repatriation of Teutons and Departure of Russians—Consumptives Selected by Germans From Various Camps to Avoid Infecting Other Released Captives.

By CYRIL BROWN,

Correspondent of (New York Times. (Carried by Submarine Deutschland.) Sassnitz. —I have experienced much on many fronts, but never so poignantly the pure essence of tragedy as "when the dead awaken”—the moment ■when hopelessly war-damaged prisoners are metamorphosed by the illusory hope of a new existence from dumb brutes, deadened by long captivity and physical into men again; when they touch home soil, if .they are Germans or Austrians, of leave the enemy’s shores forever if they are Russians. Generally once, frequently three times a week, this dramatic episode Is player! on the strand of the Baltic at the pleasant summer resort of Sassnitz, on the emerald island of Ruegen, five hours’ sail from the Swedish port of Trelleborg, when the good ship of mercy, the Swedish Red Cross hospital ship Aeolus, old seadog Captain Brand commanding, brings its pitiful freight of exchanged prisoners from Russia and loads a similar return cargo. Owing to the general Russian offensive, which so taxed the Russian strategic railways that no rolling stock could be spared for the shipment of prisoners to Sweden, this humane exchange had been suspended for several months, but I was able to witness its resumption. To get the complete picture you must begin with a tour of this little, oldfashioned, staid seaside town. The summer girl has gone home to Berlin and the provinces. The stoay strand is deserted of happy children and anxious grown-ups. (Deleted by censor.) The venders of amber souvenirs —a specialty of S&ssnitz—of picture postals, memorial shells and edibles are boarding up their booths. Save for a few belated holidaying stragglers, the modest seaside hotels are dead—yet your trained nose detects an unmistakable air of expectancy about town. For this is exchange-prisoner day, an event in the life of this fortunate far-off community, where otherwise the "waves of war cause hardly a faint ripple. Native beauties—young girls and others of a more matronly topography dressed in white, are hurrying strandward bearing bunches of early fall flowers and of oak leaves, with which to decorate the returning heroes. An All-Tuberculosis Shipment. The Times correspondent meanwhile visits the local music hall, where the Russian prisoners to be exchanged are bedded, having had a thorough enforced rest preparatory to standing the short but rough Baltic crossing to Sweden. I find more Russians in the Viktoria hotel and other hotels —about 280 of them—all victims of tuberculosis. This arouses curiosity, but proves no' coincidence. They have been carefully picked from the prison camps of Austria and Germany for an all-tubercu-losis shipment —sensible segregation—rather than to have a sprinkling of white-plague sufferers infecting a mixed shipment of cripples. These poor wretches lie hacking and coughing, many obviously In advanced stages of the disease, in cots on the floor and stage of the music hall, their faces are impressive, hopeless. Captivity has turned gray the unkempt hair and beards of many; but there are also broken youths, some mere bojs. The bulk of them have been shipped from Austrian camps, as the Russians have (deleted by the censor) more AustroHungarian than German prisoners and consequently exchange more AustroHungarians than Germans, The Austrians are sending home their prisoners in good shape as to equipment. A new pair of black leather boots stands at the foot of each cot, and beside them lies a newpdhvict suit of dark brown material, tmli a round cap to match. The equipment furnished to returning Russian prisoners was formerly not so good, I learned; there is obviously a laudable desire to improve, however. The Russians are* already having a foretaste of liberty—a touch of neutrality, at least —in the shape of a pretty little Red, Cross nurse, Miss Marie Oestlin, who has been in America; in fact, IWI nursehood conferred on her by Hie Illinois Training school of Chicago. Tdiss Oestlin, who has much to say in praise of American humanitarianism, notably of the splendid work done by American Red Cross surgeons and nurses during the war, lias been continuously on duty In Sassnitz since August, 1915, ministering to Russian exchange prisoners, and wears part of her material reward in the form of Austrian and German Red Cross medals'* on her starched Swedish uniform. , In a private room in the Viktoria hotel I meet and try to talk with a handful of Russian officers, the only nonconsumptives in the shipment, but make little headway, as one Is a Cossack captain, who does not speak Russian, and all are Impervious to Broadway German, bad French, and alleged Spanish. Town and Harbor Bedecked. Voices outside proclaim that the hospital ship Aeolus has been sighted. Armed Heftnan bandsmen, army and navy officers, soldiers, sailors, townsmen, women, caildren, dogs and neu-

tral correspondents ‘are all hurrying downhill to the strand as the small Sassnitz Hafeq railroad station, well known to Americun tourists who have voyaged to or''from Sweden by the Trelleborg route. The Aeolus is rounding the long breakwater; at her foremasthead she flies the Red Cross flag, and, like all neutral ships that travel these precarious world-war waters she has her national colors —yellow cross on blue field—pointed on her sides. She also wears full gala flag dress; but the little port is flagged, so are the great steamer ferries that transport whole freight trains between Sweden and Germany, and flagged, too, is the German trawfer fleet within the breakwater.

The usual agitation that accompanies steamer arrivals the world over seizes those on shore, including the two score of white-dressed young girls and matrons who garrison certain long, low, gray sheds where flower-bright-ened tables have been set for 300, including also the local landsturm band, which goes into battle formation beside the landing stage; including also certain German officers replete with a sense of duty and importance; including also the inevitable prince who is to be the orator of the sad, happy occasion, and who, I dare say, is thinking hard of those well-chosen words he is about to deliver. A pathetic touch, it seems, that there are no friends or relatives to welcome those sorry, broken war tourists. And then follow a few moments which even hardened war correspondents won’t forget, as the little Swedish hospital steamer creeps shoreward and moors at the quay. It is as strange a ship’s company as you are likely ever.to see docked. The exchange prisoners are massed on the fore and after decks, and line the rail, some eagerly leaning over toward land and liberty, others too far gone, sunk in apathy from which seemingly nothing can arouse them. The overwhelming majority are Austro-rfunga-rian soldiers; there is a sprinkling: of officers and of Germans.’ When they are within fifteen feet of shore the landsturm band begins playing the German national anthem, “Hell dir lm Siegeskranz,” which is likewise “God Save the King” and “My Country, ’Tls of Thee,” those on shore joining in discordant chorus. It is interesting to note how the magic of music stirs the souls of the sorry prisoner crew; how military discipline slowly triumphs over physical und mental suffering. The few Austrian officers on the deck of the Aeolus are the first to salute and stand snappily at attention, though several are propped on crutches, together with the sprinkling of German prisoners whose iron discipline is the quickest to reassert itself. The lame, halt, and blind, the one-armed, and one-legged, and the paralyzed, including one hideously misshapen gargoyle hung between two crutches —these Germans all react as one man to the patriotic air and struggle to straighten up, and some of them painfully succeed in stiffening rigidly to parade posture and salute their flag in regulation fashion, while the worst damaged, for whom this is a physical impossibility, salute with rigid heads, some only with their eyes. The less damaged Austro-Hungarian soldiers (deleted by the censor) joined their German comrades in misfortune, and were moved to spirited enthusiasm when the Landsturm band next played the Austrian national anthem, which slowly affected even the most seriously crippled and roused them from their dead stupor. Austrian caps, one after the other, were doffed; bared, bowed heads wefe thrown back again with something of pride; these frowzy, shabby wrecks of soldiers, (deleted by the censor), being of softer metal than the Germans, were many of them moved to tears by the tune of their national anthem.

They were not allowed to come ashore at onc.e. There was still some official ceremonial to be run off. While women on .shore tossed flowers, cigars, and cigarettes to them, which the physically able eagerly grabbed after, the Swedish national anthem had still to be played and sung as a deserved tribute to the good neutral offices that had made possible this humane exchange of prisoners; the prince of Putbus, gray-haired and gray-bearded, and wearing the field gray uniform of a colonel of Prussian Uhlans, blazing with orders, there as the kaiser’s personal representative, and owning half the Island of Ruegen, on which the prisoners were about to land, had still to mount an improvised rostrum bowered with pine branches and deliver his address of welcome. Welcomed by a Prince. “Comrades,” he said in that husky bark peculiar to German officers long accustomed to command, “in the name of the kaiser and all Germany I'welcome you, returning heroes, to home soil.” The damaged heroes continued to stand at patient, respectful attention. “Your term of languishing In enemy imprisonment is happily over; your fatherland will do all it possibly can to repay your sacrifice by caring for you. “Yet stand our joined fatherlands in

heavy struggle against half the world. A hew and treacherous enemy has joined our foes, but I am glad to oe able to tell you that German-Buigari-ans under Field Marshal von Mackensen are advancing victoriously in *the Dobrudja. In telephonic conversation with his majesty the kaiser last night, his majesty ordered mty to tell you that a decisive victory had been won over the Roumanian and Russian armies.” This announcement of Roumanian defeat moved the cripples and consumptives to a pathetically weak “Hurrah,” which strengthened as the aged prince called for three cheers for Kaiser Wilhelm and Kaiser Franz Joseph. Then they were allowed to come ashore. With the neatness of a longpracticed military evolution, German ambulance men swarmed up the gangplank, and two and two they led, more often carried, the released prisoners off the ship, set them on their feet and led them to be presented to'.the prince and his entourage, after which they were placed in chairs about the tables in the long dining sheds. Cigars, cigarettes, picture postal cards and German newspapers were distributed among them; bunches of oak leaves were fastened on them by enthusiastic women; they were dined and wined and beered to the limit, and enjoyed the process hugely, but they were also required to do some work. Soldiers of the ideal garrison passed from table to table, submitting printed lists and photographs of missing German soldiers and officers to them, which they were asked to examine and, if they cou% identify any of the names or photographs, give any information possible regarding *the missing. Then, one at a time, the exchanged German prisoners were led out of the dining room to a nearby dressing room and there stripped of their worn uniforms, which were replaced by brandnew equipment. The pride on their faces as they limped back looking like real soldieus again was worth noting, and more than one looked as if he still had a lot of fight left in him. It was one of the most remarkable lightning changes I had seen in the course of the war. The Landsturm band never stopped playing during these proceedings, discoursing chiefly military marches, with native dances thrown in for the benefit of the Austro-Hungarians, the Germans -Well knowing and making ample use of the tonic effect of brass band music; and it was worth while patching the rapid reaction of the liberated prisoners to it. Returned Prisoners Quarantined. Three hours later all were loaded into waiting hospital trains, the Germans to be transported to a quarantine hospital in Bremen, the Austro-Hun-garians to quarantine stations on the German- Austrian border, where they will be detained for an observation period of 17 days. Then they will be allowed to return to their homes. These occasional little war cameos bring home to you the seamy side of the war as no great battle picture can; you realize what the war means to the innocent individual, and not a field of a thousand dead will fill you with such horror and repugnance to the whole business as this prisoner ship film. And just as moving as the return of the Austro-Germans was the departure of the Russian exchange prisoners early this morning. The local stages that had carried summer guests between the station and the hotels, these coughing consumptives were brought from town down to the waterfront, where they (deleted by the censor) were led or carried by German ambulance men on to the Aeolus and (technically) Swedish soil. They were free men, but they didn’t look it. They drooped in steamer chairs and on the benches that paralleled the steamer rails like a lot of very wet chickens. They looked broken in body ai)d spirit, but this appearance was in part deceptive. Swedish nurses circulated among them and gave each Russian a paper bag containing a first breakfast —a white roll sausage sandwich. The released prisoners brightened up and proceeded to take a new interest in life, Swedes Feed the Russians. Even before the Aeolus sailed, immediately after the first, a second breakfast was Served to the Russians by thd hard-headed Sw.edes, who went on the sensible theory that the best cure for melancholy is a full stomach. Swedish Red Cross nurses now distributed plates heaped with boiled sausages and potatoes, with a knife, fork and spoon, to each Russian prisoner, to the great puzzlement of not a few of them. One Russian, whom I watched carefully, tucked the knife in his boot top and sat on the plated fork and spoon, then comfortably ate boiled potatoes and tore up the sahsage with his fingers. One of the young Swedish girls gave him his first instruction in the manipulation of polite table hardware, and as long as she watched him made a noble effort to carve the sausage with his knife; the moment she left he relapsed into the primitive again. , The members of this consumptive crew were obviously going home but to die. Yet as the hospital ship slowly headed into the Baltic they too saw some bright mirage of a new existence. Those who could stand rose to attention and saluted the German officers on the pier, who returned the salute; and as the Aeolus moved off Swedenthe continuous consumptive coughing of those Russians, sounding like a distant machine gun, was broken by a faint feeble cheer to the watchers on shore. To date. In round numbers 17,000 Russians have been exchanged here at Sassnitz for 8,000 Austro-Hungarians and 2,000 Germans. /