Behind the Scenes in Warring Germany

t I kept from five o'clock in the evening of Janu

dquarters. I can see though only a dirty brick farmhouse; its door is open and the light of a lamp falling on the yard seem

the ruined walls of Houthem are hiding in the thickening dusk, but the grayish steeple whe

re covered with boards, so that no light is visible. But the front door is visible. Yes, but that faces Houthem where the Germans are, and these rear windows face Ypres and the English and the French. About that silent house broods mystery. Hauptmann Kliewer is knocking and the door opens just enough for us to pass in one at a time, and is hurriedly closed. I wonder if a French observer could have seen that narrow bar of light. Probably not, for in the r

hen to assure the man at the other end of the wire that he is getting every word. I wonder where that other man is? Down in a trench, perhaps, or possibly in the regimental headquarters. What is he saying? Have the French attacked? The other man

the old-fashioned piano with its rack of torn music, the red-cushioned stool with the stuffing coming out, a hideous colored print of Antwerp on the wall, the oil lamp with the buff china shade, it all seems so utterly un-European. And then the door to an adjoining room opens and a slender, nervous-looking man in the fi

Hauptmann. General Major Clauss is shak

substance of what had been said, "if they cannot let us go t

our wishes, but he too smiles, and spreads out his hands-th

to assume the responsibility for us. As if to bid us good-by, the staff is standing at attention. We urge the Hauptmann to telephone. "I shall try," he says, with rare good nature. General Major Clauss has closed the door behind him in his bedroom, and the Hauptmann buttonholes a Major. The Staff officers look at each other in sur

elephones are and then, smiling broadly, Hau

ters of the Seventeenth Regiment. You will spend the night there, and

g with us, Captai

regiment in Commines," the Hauptmann explains. "One of the o

that betraying light filled door, we file, one at a time, into the stable yard. It is still dusk, and as we follow our officer towards the narrow road, that meets the one we had taken fro

tomobile ever goes up this road. The French w

om Houthem. We are on our way to the headquarters of the Seventeenth Regiment, The dream of every corr

ht has grayed, but even far up the road I can still distinguish the posts of the wire fence. We have just passed a lonely, br

th that easy way of authority, "we sha

areful to keep an eye on the others, ready to warn them if they draw too close; and they are keeping an eye on you. You expect something to happen. Uneasy, you watch the sky, but no shrapnel is bursting nearby. Ahead somewhere the artillery is booming, but here everything is quiet. This walking along, pacing your dist

llenbeck," I am saying to Poole; "I heard the Major say we'd pass through it." And then it seems as though the air is being sucked in all around us; it shrills to a multitude of strange whistlings. The fence wire rings; a twig rattles along the dried limb

ely I lurch forward and fall on one knee. Forgetting his blanket, Poole bends over me. "Did you get it?" he asks. I

n't have let us come up here if we were. These must be wild bullets

, but over our head the loud whining of the German shells keeps up the sound of war. Passing the last house we come upon two squads of soldiers waiting in its shelter, and as we go on out into the open road, they grin. The dusk i

ddy, and as, walking in single file, we cross on planks, the liquid ground sloshes beneath our feet. As we approach what seems to be the stable of a farm, those in front walk slower, and even slower descend into the ea

in the ground, at the other end of which a genial, gray-haired man, whom you instantly decide is Colonel Meyer of the Se

in German. "So you got

ions are over, I ask: "Colonel, there were too many

communication. It is watched and is covered by French s

at Brigade Head

of the room. It is about ten feet from where I sit to the strip of burlap covering the earthen wall behind the opposite bench. I should say that from the shelf, where the Colonel has his personal belongings, down to the other end of the room, which the glow from our big oil table lamp only lights faintly, is about twenty

, it seems safe in here; slowly we began to forget about the road. The Colonel excuses himself to study a map that seems to have been done by a stencil, and I cannot help but notice that it has bee

n the frame are five or six cards bearing the names of officers and their regiments. Somebody is taking good care of the Colonel-I imagine he's married-for the shelf is filled with luxuries, boxes of cigars and cigarettes, bottles of liquor, and there's a

is a colored print, a Station of the Cross. I begin to know the Colonel better than if I had observed him for months in his Bavarian home. As I gaze at him now, bending over the map, that in his preoccupation he has pushed farther across the table, the lamp's yellow glow shows me his face in relief against the shadowed wall

s, the Colonel looks up. Then, appearing suddenly to remember someth

e the smallest square, "was dug next to the shed where the farmer kept his wagons. This place is known as...." Were I to name this place, it would, upon publication, be cabled to France, and telephoned out to the French artillery positions. "Now," and the Colonel smiles and runs his finger along a thick blue line that makes an angle and then

e this gaiety real, "is the point that we

ther road," Poole suggests, "

s his head with a

iebzehn Bayrischer Regiment," he calls, and hands the instrument across the table to the Colonel. "Hier ist Oberst Meyer," says the Colonel, "Ja ... Jawohl ... Adieu." With a chuckle, he turns to us. "Th

om the French trenches, and every scrap of food must count. An electric torch flashes on the wall outside the door; some one is coming down. A black mustached, young Bavarian comes in, and picking up the varnished box, which I now see sprouts with vine-like wires that climb up the

Meyer seems to be apologi

s, and I hear it rattling throu

soldier. He passes the shaded window, a faint orange square in the shadowy wall, and his bayonet flashes. As we cross this open space the Adjutant is asking us to turn off our electric lamps, for their

as it on the day the Germans came? "Sit down, gentlemen," the Colonel is saying, indicating a round kitchen table, around which six chairs are crowded. On a snow white cloth our places have been set. There are not enough forks to go round so some have soup spoons. I see only three knives, so some of us will have to use our pocket knives. A comfortable yellow light falls from the yellow lamp in the center of the table. We begin to feel as snug as a fireside cat. "Our knives and forks are ra

em around, we succeed in drinking the Colonel's health. As we take our seats at the table I notice that while four of the chairs seem to belong to the kitchen, the other two are richly tapestried. There must be a chateau near here. The Colonel is sitting in one of them a

Colonel hasn't any left for himself," exclaims Poole; but the Colonel is holding up his hand. "There is plenty," he says, and the s

Canned boiled beef follows the stew; more of the tall, dark bottles appear. I see a soldier open a green door in the wall at my left and, reaching into what is evidently a

hind me, "what did you do, have those windows

ughing and rubbing his

writing it," and Koller nods towards the smiling, good-looking private with the Iron Cross, who is writing at the mixing table. "Without warning, for our battery was not in action and there was

ee cots against the wall. "I was sitting on the edge of that

him as if to make sure that he

es. Above the Colonel's head there is an Empire mirror that never hung in any farm

twenty-eights.' It fell there one day and didn't burst. We had one of our ordnance experts

ld piece in the woods close by has opened fire. Suddenly the night is roaring with the bursting of shells, and down in the trenches the rifles begin their incessant harsh croaking

shelled Mouchy at three; they put grenaten in Houthem every evening at six; they concentrated th

ve for two hours. We know exactly what to expect from them. They're hammering on us, for we hold the

us something abou

e them now, lying out there between the trenches in columns of fours. They were mowed down, and for a month the fighting has been s

Colonel, do you s

hundred g

on an average ar

some points only 400 men of a regiment are in the trenches, at a time; a

red soldiers and an officer want to surrender.' The soldier kept him covered, and sent for an under officer. They telephoned me from the trenches and I told them to let the Frenchmen come over if they threw down their arms. And two hundred Frenchmen with their officers, did come over. I asked their officer why they had surrendered

clock Koller takes down a box of cigars, piling on it a tin of cigarettes, while with the other hand he picks up a bottle of Anisette. "They're Austrian cigars," he says, "but they're all right." While we are lighti

n Wyckoff, New York, and I'm afraid that by reading your newspapers, she think

ephone. He moves it down the mixing table quite close

ods. "At eight thi

h a wave of his hand, "Gentlemen, be my

es up the instrument and holds it to his ear. "Come," he says, beckoning me. I pick up the receiver and almost drop it in my amazement. Somewhere an excellent pian

gasp, coming ov

e Colonel nods, smiling, as with a surprise well planned. "That was Gene

ed hand!" I exclaim. Po

istening to the music a heavy shell burst down in the trenches, killing eight of his men. But I am not following half of what he says. Everything seems to be in a daze. It is all too incredible. We have finished what seemed to be one of the best savory dinners I hav

g bars-perhaps my nerves are overstrained-but I hear a noise that sounds like a bullet hitting a wire fence, and the music is still. Snatching up the 'phone the orderly tries in vain for a conn

e Colonel is stuffing one of the letters inside his coat. His eyes are wet and, not to embarrass him, I watch Hauptmann Koller measuring out the cognac. Prob

, beginning with eleven o'clock last night and lasting until one." What time is it now? Ten thirty-three. Soon the shelling starts. It is a very detailed report and, unfolding his map, the Colonel spreads it on the table and indicates a position. The Major studies it and offers some t

th the Iron Cross salutes.

are sitting around a wooden table. They look like the comic band of the music halls. One has a harmonica, another a flute, another sits before an inverted glass bowl, which he is ready to tap with a bayonet tip and beside him is the guitar man-a wonderfully made guitar, its wires, telephone strings, its box, a case for canned goods, planed thin; and there is a serious-fac

he time of his life. They play some old German Folk songs, and once the harmonica man is late in starting and receives a boisterous reprimand from the leader. They are singing now, "R?slein auf der Hei

s," and the Colonel is beaming on them all. The orderly with the Iron Cross, who, unable to speak a word of English, has been smiling

slowly go down the open space between the buildings, that we had rushed past earlier in the evening, plastering ourselves agains

sh. "Our seven answering them," Koller is pointing towards where a greenish light seems to flash in the sky. "Over there about a mile," he says, "is the Ypres Canal. The Thirty-sixth Division i

e. Don't scorn the shelter of those trees. Keep them betw

that I almost slip and fall. The whistle of a bullet will make you move faster than you ever thoug

he earth is scarred with flame. I see the rockets swishing up from the trenches, breaking with the weird light that would reveal any enemy creepin

hear their fierce, harsh croaking and their deafening boom. I see, in the burst of a roc

e with those hideous lights. And the rockets spread their fiery trail and spill their hideous glare; and the line of fire brightens and grows dim and brightens again; perhaps as men are falling and others are springing to their places, and

gh," I tell Ha

gh the bullets still whistle and rattle among the dried trees. We lie down on the benches in th

poor devils down in the trenches.... The cannonading sounds fainter and fainter.... The handsome orderly with the Iron Cross is flashing a lamp on Koller's blanket. "All right," calls Koller

"The orderly was in a minute ago. Br

s the hour when the