Part 15

We arrived late in the evening, secretly hoping that we should get a night in bed, and were rather rejoiced at finding that there were no wounded there at all at present, though a large contingent was expected later. So we camped in the two rooms allotted to us: Princess, Sister G., and myself in one, and all the men of the party in the other. No wounded arrived for two or three days, and we thoroughly enjoyed the rest and, above all, the beautiful woods. How delicious the pines smelt after that horrible Lodz. Twice a day we used to go down the railway line, where there was a restaurant car for the officers; it seemed odd to be eating our meals in the Berlin-Warsaw International Restaurant Car. There was always something interesting going on at the station. One day a regiment from Warsaw had just been detrained there when a German Taube came sailing over the station throwing down grenades. Every man immediately began to fire up in the air, and we ran much more risk of being killed by a Russian bullet than by the German Taube. It was like being in the middle of a battle, and I much regretted I had not my camera with me. Another day all the débris of a battlefield had been picked up and was lying in piles in the station waiting to be sent off to Warsaw. There were truck-loads of stuff; German and Russian overcoats, boots, rifles, water-bottles, caps, swords, and helmets and all sorts of miscellaneous kit.

We often saw gangs of prisoners, mostly Austrian, but some German, and they always seemed well treated by the Russians. The Austrian prisoners nearly always looked very miserable, cold, hungry, and worn out. Once we saw a spy being put into the train to go to Warsaw, I suppose to be shot--an old Jewish man with white hair in a long, black gaberdine, strips of colored paper still in his hand with which he had been caught signaling to the Germans. _How_ angry the soldiers were with him--one gave him a great punch in the back, another kicked him up into the train, and a soldier on the platform who saw what was happening ran as fast as he could and was just in time to give him a parting hit on the shoulder. The old man did not cry out or attempt to retaliate; but his face was ashy-white with terror, and one of his hands was dripping with blood. It was a very horrible sight and haunted me all the rest of the day. It was quite right that he should be shot as a spy, but the unnecessary cruelty first sickened me.

There were masses of troops constantly going up to the positions from Skiernevice, and as there was a short cut through the park, which they generally used, we could see all that was going on from our rooms. On Sunday it was evident that another big battle was pending. Several batteries went up through our woods, each gun-carriage almost up to its axles in mud, dragged by eight strong horses. They were followed by a regiment of Cossacks, looking very fierce in their great black fur head-dresses, huge sheep-skin coats, and long spears. There was one small Cossack boy who was riding out with his father to the front and who could not have been more than eleven or twelve years old. There are quite a number of young boys at the front who make themselves very useful in taking messages, carrying ammunition, and so on. We had one little boy of thirteen in the hospital at Warsaw, who was badly wounded while carrying a message to the colonel, and he was afterwards awarded the St. George's Cross.

There were enormous numbers of other troops too: Siberians, Tartars, Asiatic Russians from Turkestan, Caucasians in their beautiful black-and-silver uniforms, Little Russians from the south, and great fair-haired giants from the north.

The little Catholic Church in the village was full to overflowing at the early Mass that Sunday morning with men in full marching kit on their way out to the trenches. A very large number of them made their Confession and received the Blessed Sacrament before starting out, and for many, many of these it was their Viaticum, for the great battle began that afternoon, and few of the gallant fellows we saw going up to the trenches that morning ever returned again.

That afternoon the Prince had business at the Staff Headquarters out beyond Lowice, and I went out there in the automobile with him and Monsieur Goochkoff. We went through Lowice on the way there. The little town had been severely bombarded (it was taken two or three days later by the Germans), and we met many of the peasants hurrying away from it carrying their possessions with them. You may know the peasants of Lowice anywhere by their distinctive dress, which is the most brilliantly colored peasant dress imaginable. The women wear gorgeous petticoats of orange, red and blue, or green in vertical stripes and a cape of the same material over their shoulders, a bright-colored shawl, generally orange, on their heads, and brilliant bootlaces--magenta is the color most affected. The men, too, wear trousers of the same kind of vertical stripes, generally of orange and black. These splashes of bright color are delicious in this sad, gray country.

III--THE GENERAL STAFF AT RADZIVILOW CASTLE

The General of the Staff was quartered at Radzivilow Castle, and I explored the place while the Prince and Monsieur Goochkoff did their business. The old, dark hall, with armor hanging on the walls and worm-eaten furniture covered with priceless tapestry, would have made a splendid picture. A huge log fire burning on the open hearth lighted up the dark faces of the two Turkestan soldiers who were standing on guard at the door. In one corner a young lieutenant was taking interminable messages from the field telephone, and under the window another Turkestan soldier stood sharpening his dagger. The Prince asked him what he was doing, and his dark face lighted up. "Every night at eight," he said, still sharpening busily, "I go out and kill some Germans." The men of this Turkestan regiment are said to be extraordinarily brave men. They do not care at all about a rifle, but prefer to be at closer quarters with the enemy with their two-edged dagger, and the Germans like them as little as they like our own Gurkhas and Sikhs.

The next day the wounded began to arrive in Skiernevice, and in two days' time the temporary hospital was full.

The Tsar had a private theater at Skiernevice with a little separate station of its own about 200 yards farther down the line than the ordinary station, and in many ways this made quite a suitable hospital except for the want of a proper water-supply.

The next thing we heard was that the Russian General had decided to fall back once more, and we must be prepared to move at any moment.

All that day we heard violent cannonading going on and all the next night, though the hospital was already full, the little country carts came in one after another filled with wounded. They were to only stay one night, as in the morning ambulance trains were coming to take them all away, and we had orders to follow as soon as the last patient had gone. Another operating- and dressing-room was quickly improvised, but even with the two going hard all night it was difficult to keep pace with the number brought in.

The scenery had never been taken down after the last dramatic performance played in the theater, and wounded men lay everywhere between the wings and drop scenes. The auditorium was packed so closely that you could hardly get between the men without treading on some one's hands and feet as they lay on the floor. The light had given out--in the two dressing-rooms there were oil-lamps, but in the rest of the place we had to make do with candle-ends stuck into bottles. The foyer had been made into a splendid kitchen, where hot tea and boiling soup could be got all night through. This department was worked by the local Red Cross Society, and was a great credit to them.

About eight o'clock in the morning the first ambulance train came in, and was quickly filled with patients. We heard that the Germans were now very near, and hoped we should manage to get away all the wounded before they arrived.

The second train came up about eleven, and by that time a fierce rifle encounter was going on. From the hospital window we could see the Russian troops firing from the trenches near the railway. Soon there was a violent explosion that shook the place; this was the Russians blowing up the railway bridge on the western side of the station.

The second train went off, and there were very few patients left now, though some were still being brought in at intervals by the Red Cross carts. Our automobiles had started off to Warsaw with some wounded officers, but the rest of the column had orders to go to Zyradow by the last train to leave Skiernevice.

The sanitars now began to pack up the hospital; we did not mean to leave anything behind for the enemy if we could help it. The few bedsteads were taken to pieces and tied up, the stretchers put together and the blankets tied up in bundles. When the last ambulance train came up about 2 P.M. the patients were first put in, and then every portable object that could be removed was packed into the train too. At the last moment, when the train was just about to start, one of the sanitars ran back and triumphantly brought out a pile of dirty soup plates to add to the collection. Nothing was left in the hospital but two dead men we had not time to bury.

The wounded were all going to Warsaw and the other Russian Sisters went on in the train with them. But our destination was Zyradow, only the next station but one down the line.

IV--ADVENTURES OF A PRINCESS IN POLAND

When we arrived at Zyradow about three o'clock we were looking forward to a bath and tea and bed, as we had been up all night and were very tired; but the train most unkindly dropped us about a quarter of a mile from the station, and we had to get out all our equipment and heavy cases of dressings, and put them at the side of the line, while Julian, the Prince's soldier servant, went off to try and find a man and a cart for the things. There was a steady downpour of rain, and we were soaked by the time he came back saying that there was nothing to be had at all. The station was all in crumbling ruins, so we could not leave the things there, and our precious dressings were beginning to get wet. Finally we got permission to put them in a closed cinema theater near the station, but it was dark by that time, and we were wet and cold and began once more to center our thoughts on baths and tea. We were a small party--only six of us--Princess, we two Sisters, Colonel S., a Russian dresser, and Julian. We caught a local Red Crosser. "Where is the hotel?" "There is no hotel here." "Where can we lodge for to-night?" "I don't know where you could lodge." "Where is the Red Cross Bureau?" asked Princess, in desperation. "About a quarter of an hour's walk. I will show you the way."

We got to the Red Cross Bureau to find that Monsieur Goochkoff had not yet arrived, though he was expected, and they could offer no solution of our difficulties, except to advise us to go to the Factory Hospital and see if they could make any arrangement for us. The Matron there was _very_ kind, and telephoned to every one she could think of, and finally got a message that we were expected, and were to sleep at the Reserve. So we trudged once more through the mud and rain. The "Reserve" was two small, empty rooms, where thirty Sisters were going to pass the night. They had no beds, and not even straw, but were just going to lie on the floor in their clothes. There was obviously no room for six more of us, and finally we went back once more to the Red Cross Bureau. Princess seized an empty room, and announced that we were going to sleep in it. We were told we couldn't, as it had been reserved for somebody else; but we didn't care, and got some patients' stretchers from the depot and lay down on them in our wet clothes just as we were. In the middle of the night the "somebody" for whom the room had been kept arrived, strode into the room, and turned up the electric light. The others were really asleep, and I pretended to be. He had a good look at us, and then strode out again grunting. We woke up every five minutes, it was so dreadfully cold, and though we were so tired, I was not sorry when it was time to get up.

We had breakfast at a dirty little restaurant in the town, and then got a message from the Red Cross that there would be nothing for us to do that day, but that we were probably going to be sent to Radzowill the following morning. So we decided to go off to the Factory Hospital and see if we could persuade the Matron to let us have a bath there.

Zyradow is one very large cotton and woollen factory, employing about 5,000 hands. In Russia it is the good law that for every hundred workmen employed there shall be one hospital bed provided. In the small factories a few beds in the local hospital are generally subsidized, in larger ones they usually find it more convenient to have their own. So here there was a very nice little hospital with fifty beds, which had been stretched now to hold twice as many more, as a great many wounded had to be sent in here. The Matron is a Pole of Scottish extraction, and spoke fluent but quite foreign English with a strong Scotch accent. There are a good many Scotch families here, who came over and settled in Poland about a hundred years ago, and who are all engaged in different departments in the factory. She was kindness itself, and gave us tea first and then prepared a hot bath for us all in turn. We got rid of most of our tormentors and were at peace once more.

As we left the hospital we met three footsore soldiers whose boots were absolutely worn right through. They were coming up to the hospital to see if the Matron had any dead men's boots that would fit them. It sounded rather gruesome--but she told us that that was quite a common errand. The Russian military boots are excellent, but, of course, all boots wear out very quickly under such trying circumstances of roads and weather. They are top boots, strong and waterproof, and very often made by the men themselves. The uniform, too, is very practical and so strong that the men have told me that carpets are made from the material. The color is browner than our own khaki--and quite different both from the German, which is much grayer, and the Austrian, which is almost blue. I heard in Belgium that at the beginning of the war German soldiers were constantly mistaken for our men.

FOOTNOTES:

[15] All numerals relate to stories herein told--not to chapters from original sources.

AN UNCENSORED DIARY--FROM THE CENTRAL EMPIRES

_By Ernesta Drinker Bullitt, An American Woman in the Diplomatic Circles in Germany and Austria_

This is one of the most delightfully interesting narratives in the entire War. It is the diary of an American woman with a charming sense of humor. Mrs. Bullitt accompanied her husband on his interviews with the diplomatists as special correspondent with the _Philadelphia Public Ledger_. Her conversations with historical personages give one an intimate acquaintanceship with the great characters in the world's tragedy. This American woman tells how she dined with von Bissing, Governor of Belgium; Zimmerman, "the busiest man in the German Empire," discussed the War with her; Countess von Bernstorff and Baroness von Bissing asked her to tea; ambassadors and statesmen parleyed with her. She recorded her daily experiences without any thought of their future publication. It stands unique as a record written entirely within the lines of the Central Empires. Brilliant sketches from this diary are here reprinted by the authority of the publishers: _Doubleday, Page and Company_: Copyright 1917.

I--WITH LETTERS FROM COUNT BERNSTORFF

_Copenhagen, May 14, 1916._

Once upon a time ... before the war, one went abroad with no more preparation than a steamer ticket and an American Express check or two. Two days ago, we undertook to go from Holland to Denmark, via Germany. Before daring to approach Bentheim, the German frontier, we were equipped with passports, thrice viséd; a special letter of identification from the Department of State, birth certificates, letters to the frontier authorities from Count Bernstorff and the German Minister at The Hague, eighty-seven other letters of introduction, two letters of credit, and a Philadelphia police card....

II--AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY IN COPENHAGEN

_May 23d._

Denmark is hospitable, inexpensive, and friendly. We have seen the Egans frequently. They have been more than kind. Mr. Egan has been in Denmark eleven years--a longer period than any other diplomat in our service to-day has held a post. By common consent, he is the most popular diplomat in Denmark. The other Ministers keep dashing in and out, getting advice from Mr. Egan....

Among the other qualities of a perfect diplomat which Mr. and Mrs. Egan possess, they have that of never making a "break." Therefore, they gave us (principally me) what we needed--advice as to caution in speech, behavior, facial expression, and etiquette, also warning us against writing anything down on paper. It's going to be hard on me. I never was born to be indefinite. I am practising conversing diplomatically.

"Mrs. Bullitt, Verdun has been taken and Paris is about to surrender."

"Really? How curious. Battles are so interesting, aren't they?"

"Mrs. Bullitt, if it were not for American ammunition, the war would have ended in six months."

"Yes, battles _are_ dangerous, aren't they?" Whereas, I _might_ mention our Spanish war and certain famous German munition factories. So, the crest of idiotic amiability being reached, we move on to the weather.

Count Szechenyi, the Austro-Hungarian Minister, thinks it would be a good plan for us to go to Vienna and Pest, as so little has been seen of them during the war. He has very kindly written to people there that we are coming. I played tennis with him this afternoon at the club, he in his suspenders and monocle, and I in street clothes, with a pair of borrowed tennis shoes two inches too long on my feet, and a racket like a spoon, as a means of defence, in my hand....

III--WITH AMBASSADOR GERARD IN BERLIN

_Hotel Esplanade, Berlin, May 29th._

We got to Berlin. I must say I should have liked to wrap up in the American flag and sleep on Mr. Gerard's doorstep myself. The inspection this time was really too disgusting to repeat. I decided that, if I ever again heard any one say: "It's our orders," I should kill him. Orders apparently mean: Be as nasty to the man who can't hit you back as your imagination will allow....

We lunched at the Embassy the day after we got here. Mrs. Gerard is charming and Mr. Gerard one of the most amusing men I ever met. Brusque, frank, quick-witted, a typically judicial mind, and a typically undiplomatic manner, he is the last person in the world a German would understand. His dry, slangy, American humor, his sudden lapses into the comic in moments of solemnity, his irreverence for the great, shock the worthy German. That he treats the Emperor in any other way than as a business acquaintance is most unlikely....

The Embassy is filled with Harvard secretaries, whose lips, as Mr. Egan says, are still wet with the milk of Groton. The ballroom is bulging with stenographers. Never did the world see its few remaining diplomats so overworked. Instead of coming down and reading the papers for two hours a day, they now all work mornings, afternoons, and sometimes evenings.

IV--AT TEA WITH BARON ROEDER

_June 3d._

To-day, the flags are all out for the naval victory, even the trams and buses are decorated. The Germans didn't wish to celebrate until they were quite sure. They've made one or two mistakes, so they were cautious this time. The school-children take a real interest in German victories. They get a holiday on the strength of one, and they measure the victory only by the length of their holiday. The joy is slightly adulterated by having to go to school first and listen to a careful explanation of what they are about to celebrate. Their fondness for Hindenburg is quite immoderate. In the eyes of German children, a campaign against the Russians is a most praiseworthy undertaking.

The great wooden statue of Hindenburg, encased in geranium plants and scaffolding, had many nails driven into it to-day. The statue is an unsightly thing, but it seems to appeal to the Berliners to buy a nail for the benefit of the Red Cross, climb the scaffolding, and hammer it in....

Lunched with the Jacksons. Mr. Jackson was Secretary of the Embassy here for years. The Germans trust him, Baron von Mumm told me. Baron and Baroness Roeder were there and Countess Götzen. I asked Baron Roeder what he did and he said he was Master of Ceremonies at Court, and official introducer, and a lot of other things. He is about seventy-five, but he says he is going to the front if the war keeps up much longer. Already he has offered himself three times. His chief irritation against England is being cut off from his London tailor. Every German I meet out of uniform tells the same sad tale. The old gentleman said he thought the naval victory was due principally to Zeppelins. The Blüchers joined us for coffee. Count Blücher looks like the pictures of his famous grandparent. Princess ---- said that his father is a dreadful old gentleman, fights with everyone, his son included, all the time. As the old Prince is eighty-five, the relations had better run around and turn the other cheek before it's too late.

V--COUNTESS ---- AND HER DAUGHTER

_June 4th._

We staggered in to Countess ----'s tea late in the afternoon. She told me how she brought up Hilda, her daughter. Hilda is a little matter of six feet high. Her mother was afraid to ever let her daughter go up in the hotel lift alone for fear something will happen to her. As her last offence was to refuse to let the Kaiser kiss her--he being her godfather and claiming parental privileges--it would seem she could take care of herself.

VI--DINNER WITH COUNTESS GOTZEN

_June 8th._