Short rations; an American woman in Germany, 1915 ...

Front matter

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Preface

This book is a journal of my experiences in warring Europe. I have tried to set down simply and honestly what I saw. It is the story of what happens at home when men go to war. It has been difficult to find a title that would cover such a range. But everywhere I traveled one fact obtruded itself. When the battle rages all forces are concentrated on destroying; man has no time to create. The doctrine of social welfare is temporarily extinguished. No thought can be given to the hungry, to the convict, to social evils, to education, to understanding the heart of a child.

These divine causes are pushed aside. The country goes spiritually, as well as materially, bankrupt. There is a shortage all along the line. It is in this sense that I use the title " Short Rations."

While the men at the front slaughter one another, at home the mothers and children, the sick, the aged, the prisoners, are starved spiritually, intellectually, and physically. Life be-

xi xii PREFACE

comes a fight for existence, a struggle for one's self and not for humanity.

Through infinite suffering man has broken away from the old ideal which was " Concentrate on self and be a great person." He has come to see that a truer and finer ideal is " Forget self and give to humanity." Nations must learn this truth also ; not my country first, what can it grab, but what can it give. When that idealism is accepted, wars will cease. " Love thy neighbor as thyself." It is an old doctrine, new only when applied by one nation to another.

And to that nation which has sinned most, as to the greatest criminal, must we most freely open our hearts. In each case the need is great ; in neither case will punishment avail. Punishment fills both man and nation with hate and vengeance. But love remakes the world. Regeneration comes from within. Let our new faith be : "I dedicate myself, my home, and my country to every other nation ; my life, my love, my liberty will I share."

Part I. Chapter Page

I. Crossing the ocean in war time . 3

II. At the Hague 14

III. Under the lid in war-cursed Berlin 26

IV. London and the Suffragettes . . 42 V. Nursing the wounded in Paris . . 53

VI. Little Brother 68

Part II

I. The Scandinavian Countries . . 83

II. Hamburg under the hand of death 100

III. Life in Berlin 118

IV. The food riots and the potato line 136 V. Signs of unrest and rebellion . . 152

VI. A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS PRISON

CAMPS AND HOSPITALS .... 169

VII. Women factory workers . ... 190

VIII. Peace meetings in Munich . . . 207

IX. The escape from Germany . . . 228 x. a flying trip through france and

England 245

XI. Die Mutter 265

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

A German mother who has given her seven sons to the war

— Frontispiece ~

The Badge of Hate 2*

The American Ambulance at Neuilly 21"'

In 1915 one piece of bread was served in the restaurants

in a paper envelope 28"

A facsimile of a bread card used in 1916 .... 29

Map of the author's two trips 36

Zeni Peshkoff, adopted son of Maxim Gorki, who lost bis

right arm 59

A wounded French soldier and his mother .... 59 A facsimile of the safe conduct given the author to the

battlefield of the Marne 66"

Facsimile of the author's passport with the German,

French and British stamps 84"

The Bismarck Denkmal 105^

German prisoners today plainly show signs of under feeding 125*' A facsimile of the handbill circulated in Berlin the evening

the Deutschland reached Bremen for the first time . 160 ; The prison camp at Heidelberg for French, English and

Russian officers 179'

The sitting room in the prison camp, Heidelberg . . . 179 ' A facsimile of the luncheon menu card at the Hotel Mar-

quardt, Stuttgart 193'

Women factory workers » r . . . 213 '

Die Mutter f. tM. '.. . . 269

SHORT RATIONS PART I

THE BADGE OF HATE A facsimile of a stamp used in the beginning of the war to stick on letters and packages. It was later prohibited.

F

Chapter I

OR eight months the war had raged. We in America found it hard to visualize. Only the people from Europe with their tales of bloodshed made it a reality. Women from all the belligerent countries came to us. They implored America to bring back peace on earth and save their men. It was this cry stirred American women. A little group headed by Jane Addams resolved to hold a woman's international conference. The meeting place was to be The Hague. The women knew they couldn't stop the war, but they decided to register a protest against the slaughter of man and lay plans for a future permanent peace.

To cross the ocean in war time is an undertaking. An ocean filled with battle-ships presents unknown dangers, but forty-three American women embarked on the adventure.

The "Evening Post" asked me to go as its correspondent. I at once accepted. In five days I packed my bags, adjusted my affairs, and was on board the steamship Noordam.

It was a warm spring day when our boat pulled from dock. A white flag bearing in letters of blue the word " Peace " floated from our masthead. This made our ship the center of all eyes. Soon we had passed the Battery and the city grew dim in the distance. At the harbor entrance were two American torpedo boats. It was the first intimation of war. We fell to talking of submarines and the dangers ahead.

A passing ship bound for New York from Rotterdam saluted. Our little white flag fluttered gaily, in answer. Our hearts thrilled at the sight. We realized we had set forth on a mission. Of the sixty-two first cabin passengers forty-four were women delegates to The Hague. It was a goodly company assembled from many States — Oregon, California, Wisconsin, Iowa, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Washington, D. C, and New York. Though many had n't previously met, we were soon bound together by a common cause. Outside there was a gray sky and calm sea. Inside there was equal peace and calm.

Each morning we assembled to discuss history and diplomacy, while the evenings were devoted to personal reminiscences. Like the Canterbury Pilgrims of old, each told his tale. Bit by bit through the Pilgrims' tales personalities grew distinct. The two most striking were Jane Addams and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence. They were totally unlike, but by very contrast vivified each other. One evening they had a debate, — " Is war ever justifiable? " was the subject. Miss Addams took the negative. Gentle, modest, clad in a dark silk dress, the light of her spirit shining in her tragic eyes, she seemed hardly of the earth. She pleaded for the sacredness of life and the policy of non-resistance. To turn from her to Mrs. Lawrence was to turn to a burning flame. The Englishwoman in her Oriental dress of red and green was all passion and fire. Every gesture had meaning. Spirit and body were one. She wanted to fight for peace ; would go singing to death to rid the world of war. Both women were inspired by the same ideal. But one looked at life as a saint; the other faced reality. One preached non-resistance; the other active resistance to war, believing that peace and liberty were dearer than life.

Other members of the company were also distinctive. The little telephone operator until the night of her story remained undiscovered. Then her fresh, vital personality burst upon us. Three years ago w T ith a handful of girls she had organized a union, which now numbers ten thousand. In the early days the union won a fight for better conditions by arbitration. Out of that success sprang the powerful organization of to-day. If they could arbitrate, the telephone girls reasoned, Europe ought also to be able to arbitrate, so they sent forth their cherished leader. She, they felt, might bring peace to earth. Each member taxed herself with sixty cents monthly to pay for the trip, and the little telephone operator set gaily forth. She had never traveled before. Each moment on the ocean was a revelation. She was always discovering new wonders. Then there was a poetess who had written a poem called " Motherhood " which had been published and widely circulated by the Carnegie Peace Foundation. There was a woman doctor, who told us of the diseases that follow in the wake of war.

There were three women lawyers, a Quaker preacher, numerous social workers, and several writers.

Besides our little company, there were seventeen other passengers, among them a small German girl of nineteen. She was a problem. Pretty, frivolous, high-heeled and flirtatious, she was on her way to her lover, a young German officer. We held lengthy consultations over her case. We had all seen " War Brides." This child must be made to realize that woman must not propagate unless man promises there shall be no more war.

Unfortunately most of us were spinsters. Our passionate plea for motherhood didn't have a proper setting. W r e did n't make a dent in this young female of the species. We searched for a copy of " War Brides," in vain. But had we found it she would not have read it. She flirted with every man on board and steered her course among us all.

The days glided swiftly by, calm and uneventful. Life on shipboard became a habit. We seemed to have been always journeying forth.

But on the eighth day we reached the danger zone. At night our ship was brightly lighted.

On each side of the boat in large letters of electricity was the ship's name. The eighth night was one of suspense and excitement. Some huddled together and talked far into the night, but Miss Addams went serenely to bed. My roommate got down the life preservers — she wished she could foresee events, for if we were to be blown up, she wanted to dress for the part. In the end she wore her best underclothing and silk stockings to bed. Morning came and we slowly crept toward the coast. It was a gray day and we saw the land indistinctly. Small sailing vessels were about us and seagulls hovered overhead. Once we slowed down and steered out of our course. Two small boats ahead of us with a net between them were dragging the sea for mines. On the top deck, the life-boats had been stripped of canvas and put in readiness and the deck rails removed.

That night at dinner Miss Addams suggested an evening of entertainment to divert us. Toward the close of the program the boat suddenly stopped. The audience grew restless. There was a shrill whistle and sound of running feet. We rushed for the deck. The red and white light of a small boat appeared at the ship's side.

She made fast to our steamer. Three English officers climbed the rope ladder and rushed to the captain's room.

All was commotion and excitement. We ran from one side of the steamer to the other. No one knew what was happening. We gazed at the little boat. The men on board her hurried madly about. They pulled out a box. In it was ammunition. Then a small cannon was uncovered, and directed toward us. It was quickly loaded and the men stood ready, ammunition in hand. Now two other small boats appeared. They also came close to the steamer and remained alongside. We were being surrounded. Just as suspense grew intolerable, the officers who boarded us came from the bridge. They were leading two captives. Around each was tied a rope. Then we knew what had happened. Two German stowaways had been caught and taken prisoners. As the captives descended the rope ladder, one of them raised his cap high above his head and shouted, " Hoch der Kaiser ! Vaterland fiber alles ! " We leaned over the ship's rail in the flickering light. We saw the prisoners on the deck of the small boat below. Their hands were held high above their heads, while the English soldiers searched them. The captors evidently admired the bravery of their captives. They treated them considerately.

Next morning we were steaming up the English Channel, and at eight were opposite Dover. Here we anchored and were boarded for inspection. Only the men's passports were examined. All day our boat was at a standstill and we sat or walked idly about the decks. Torpedo boats moved to and fro. A few steamers were seen at anchor. One, a South American steamer, was only a few rods away. We exchanged greeting with the passengers. Late in the afternoon we crowded on deck to see a round black speck in the air. It moved toward the French coast. As it came nearer we saw it was an airship. It looked like a wicked submarine which had taken to flight. Presently it retook its course to the English coast.

Next morning we were still at anchor. We grew restless. It dawned on us we might be here for days. We gradually realized we must protest, if we would move. We sought out the captain. He was noncommittal. We asked for permission to send messages ashore. He doubted if it could be managed. We were veritable prisoners. But in the afternoon the English boat again came to us. We lay siege to the British officer. We wrote out a telegram to our American ambassador at London, imploring his aid. The English officer agreed to send it. Now came hours of weary waiting. Our unity and enthusiasm vanished. The ship was the same, the people the same, but we were thwarted in our purpose. Making us prisoners made us ugly. Dissensions grew in our midst. The conservatives did not wish to be hasty, they would fold hands and patiently trust to the authorities, but the rebel spirits were not to be quelled. Nothing was ever gained save through struggle. They brought pressure to bear on the captain and sent surreptitious messages ashore by friendly sailboats. The days dragged on, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. All sorts of rumors were afloat. One was that a battle was raging in the North Sea; another that the trouble lay with our cargo — that we were women sitting on a load of ammunition! A third that England was holding us up because we were a band of women with peaceful intentions.

We secured a newspaper from a passing sailboat. We found that England had stopped all channel steamers. The delegation of women from England was not to be allowed to cross to The Hague. The papers ridiculed the women; they call them " peacettes " bound for a tea party at The Hague. But, as usual, opposition only strengthened the cause. We grew fearless and united. With Miss Addams's cooperation, we besieged the captain and sent innumerable telegrams. At length our distress calls were answered. A British boat dashed up. It bore a message from the American ambassador. We gathered in an expectant circle, but our faces grew tragic as Miss Addams read : " The British authorities have completely suspended traffic with Holland for the present. No ships are leaving for Dutch ports. I greatly regret it is beyond my power to aid you in the matter. Even American diplomatic officers may not pass."

We were foiled. It was Monday, and Tuesday the conference was to begin. But just as the rebel spirits were on the eve of a revolution we heard a shrill whistle. Another little tug dashed to our ship's side. An officer boarded our boat. A few seconds later a steward rushed from the bridge. " We are off ! " he cried ; " the clearance papers have come." A little cheer goes up from our midst. We dance about the deck. We played tag and ran three-legged races to let off steam. Of course we attributed our good fortune to the American ambassador, in spite of his telegram. But again there was delay. Our steamer whistled vainly for a pilot. There was none to be had. Our captain was given a map of the mine-strewn North Sea. He was told he might proceed, but at his own risk. He decided to wait until morning. Many of us were up early. The mines loomed large. Our eyes swept the horizon for warships and submarines, but our ship moved quietly forward without adventure. Toward noon we sighted the Hook of Holland. Soon we were steaming up the long waterway. It was a warm spring day. The land was gay with tulips. The flat green meadows stretched out peacefully in the golden sunlight. Here there was no sign of war. Our dangers were passed. Our first battle had been won.

CHAPTEK II

IT was six p.m. when we left our boat. For several hours she had been steaming up the narrow waterway to Botterdam, while the peace and quiet of Holland descended upon us. On passing barges Dutch families gazed at us wonderingly. The man of the family, pipe in mouth, sprawled on deck, and the kiddies dangled their feet in the water. The song of birds filled the air and buds were bursting on every tree. The sky was the softest blue. New York, with its bustle and roar, seemed nearer war than this lazy land of fresh spring sweetness.

But we had no time for loitering. We dashed from the ship to the railroad station. There was just two hours before the conference at eight.

When we reached The Hague we found wild confusion. That city was full of Belgian refugees. There were few vacancies at hotels. At every street corner one encountered cabs filled with women delegates madly driving from one hotel to another. Eventually we all found shelter, but there was no time for dinner. We set off immediately for the great meeting hall. When we arrived an important looking official waved us sternly back. We had n't stopped for tickets. But we stood our ground and shouted to a Dutch woman beyond the entrance, " We are the Americans."

Instantly she was upon us. " Oh," she cried, as she grasped our hands, " I 'm so glad you 're alive and not blown up, or at the bottom of the sea. We didn't know what had happened." Then she led us triumphantly inside.

It was a gay, if hungry, American delegation that burst upon the meeting. As Jane Addams mounted the platform and the audience realized we had come, they broke into tumultuous applause. The place was crowded. People stood everywhere. Seventeen women sat on the platform, representing many different nations. The opening address was made by a Hollander, and the first speech delivered by a German.

From the beginning the object of the congress was made plain. It was not to stop war, but to protest against war and to lay plans for future peace. For the first time in history, a band of women from belligerent and neutral nations had organized. They had risen above war's hatred and grasped hands, as women and mothers.

We went back that night to our scattered dwellings full of fine courage. The moon shone down upon us. The canals shimmered in the moonlight. The Hague seemed a haven of rest and strength. But next morning we saw a sight that made war a reality. On the green plain in front of the assembly hall thousands of young men were being drilled. All Holland was mobilizing. While a thousand women in a big hall were discussing ways to save life, across the street thousands of men were learning how to take life.

It was a mixed company who attended the conference. The diversity was not in ideas, but in careers and temperaments. There were rich and poor, the cold reserved people of the North, and the fiery passionate people of the South. There were women lawyers and women dressmakers, artists and stenographers, reformers and journalists, and many just plain mothers. These women had come together in spite of difficulties over mine-strewn seas and past frontier searches.

Perhaps the Belgian delegates made the most 16 dramatic group. Their path had bristled with difficulties. They had had to get passports from the enemy. The first German appealed to was obdurate, but an official higher up was sought. The sturdy, determined, and energetic Mademoiselle Hammer would not be denied. "We wish to attend a women's congress. It is important ; you must let us pass," is what she said. Her courage won the day. But the difficulties were not over. The Belgian train service was inadequate. The first of the journey had to be made in a borrowed automobile. After a while this was stopped, then the women descended and marched for two hours with heavy suitcases. Finally the frontier was reached. Then came a search. At last after weary hours of waiting and travel the Belgians arrived triumphant. The word that they were in the hall spread like wild fire. They were invited to the platform. Up they went to fill the vacant chairs next to the German delegation. The house rose in excitement. Then it broke into frantic applause. Handkerchiefs and hats were waved madly and the air was filled with cries of " Bravo." For in spite of our diversity, one bond held all together — the belief in the sacredness of life.

Under the inspiration of a great ideal, under Miss Addams's gentle and wise guidance, under the soft beauty of Holland, our differing personalities and nationalities intermingled. Each morning we worked together ; each afternoon we talked and walked and played together and each evening we heard one another speak.

And every day incidents occurred which were pregnant with meaning. On one occasion Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence of England invited Dr. Augsburg and Friiulein Heyman of Germany to dine. A gasp went 'round the dining-room as this little group entered. I w T as one of the party and heard what was said. " We ought, of course, to get out of Belgium," said the Germans, "but then when you judge us, remember that England is in many places she ought not to be."

"Yes," said the Englishman and woman, "there is, for instance, the Rock of Gibraltar. We have no right there. Some day that rock must go back to its rightful owners." For hours those amazing people talked in great friendliness. They readjusted the world. They did it on the basis of justice, instead of diplomacy. At the close of the evening the Englishman escorted the German ladies to their car and gaily waved his liat in farewell. Such examples had their effect. Soon each was trying to outdo the other in tolerance.

This did not mean a lack of sympathy for the Allies — on the contrary. For instance, Holland's position was thus stated by a little Dutch woman : " When the war broke out, our hearts were with Germany. We have German blood in our veins. The Queen's husband is a German, and the mouth of the Ehine lies in our land. But after a while a change came. Belgian refugees poured into our land. My town of six thousand inhabitants had four hundred to care for. I had five of them in my house. They told tales. We came to dread German autocracy and militarism. We are a free people. We believe in democracy. Before the war three hundred thousand men and women signed a petition for woman suffrage. That 's a big number for this little land. Gradually the Queen's attitude has changed in spite of her German husband. Her ministers have made her fear Germany. If Holland went to war to-day it would be with the Allies. We would rather risk English domination than endure German militarism." So spoke this gray-haired, middle-aged

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Dutchwoman. Then she added, gazing dreamily at her peaceful land : " Of course, if trouble came, we could open our dikes. But we don't w T ant war. Recently there was a call for a hundred thousand additional volunteers. Only ninety men from the big city of Amsterdam responded. No — Holland does n't want war."

Such personal talks were as illuminating as the congress, and as the days glided by we grew ever closer together. The beauty of Holland made us mellow. Overhead the sky was always blue ; gay tulips filled the land with color ; the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers. Outer dissimilarities merged in the universal. The ties of love, motherhood, and future welfare held.

Only once was the note of nationalism struck as against internationalism. The program from the beginning had centered on plans for future peace. All had agreed that small nations must be insured their integrity, that there must be freedom of the seas, that trade must be free to all, that future disputes must be settled by some kind of international cooperation and agreement. On these matters there was perfect accord — accord in spite of difference in language, for

THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT NEUILLY The Author Is the Nurse in the Rear every speech had to be put into three tongues — French, English, and German. It was not until the war itself was discussed that there came a rift. That the war should be discussed was inevitable. Day by day, as we sat side by side, we had learned of the suffering in war-ridden lands. Black-clad wives had made speeches. Sorrowing mothers had shown their agony. The battle-field became a reality, covered with dead and dying sons and husbands. These glimpses of tragedy wrung our hearts. We ceased to be enemies or friends. We were just women. All preconceived plans vanished. There grew an urgent need to do something. It was then the following motion was presented : " Be it resolved that this congress urge the governments of the world to put an end to bloodshed and begin negotiations for peace.." On the instant came that note of nationalism. The Belgian delegation rose to its feet. W T hat did peace mean? Surely not that the Belgians would be a subject race. Out from their tortured hearts came the cry, " Je suis Beige avant tout" Sympathy throbbed in our hearts. Eagerly we explained. A peace founded on justice was our dream. " Would we," they asked, " insert the word just before ' peace '? " Gladly the suggestion was accepted. Both England and Germany voted for the amendment.

Such were the women who made up the congress. Such were the things they said. But as the days came for departure, a restlessness grew visible. The suffering of war had laid its hold on the delegates. They wanted something more than mere resolutions — they wanted immediate action. To go quietly home had become impossible. Then a member rose to her feet. " We can't stop here," she begged. " We have demonstrated our solidarity, but there is something greater. We must demonstrate that moral courage is greater than physical. We must have courage to call for the end of war now. Courage to think of no one but the dying men on the battle-field, who turn their glazed eyes to us seeking help. Courage to say not one more shall be killed. Courage to say we can't wait — we must have peace now. Courage to carry this demand personally from nation to nation." This was her plea. Sobs broke from grief-stricken mothers. Tears streamed down faces. Women were stirred past utterance. No vote was needed to carry this motion. The audience rose as one.

So ended the congress, but these meetings were 24 but the preliminary steps. In a few days Jane Addams with two other women started on her pilgrimage. She was to bear the women's message from nation to nation.

What effect this meeting of women will have, who can tell? Idealistic, impractical, it may have been, but little it was not. While war rages, force reigns on earth and we forget it is ideas that made that force possible. But ideas can also create good-will. No thought sent out into the world dies. The future lies in our hands. It is for us to mold it.

Chapter III Under The Lid In War-cursed Berlin

June, 1915. ^ON'T go," said the American embassy at The Hague. " Americans are not wanted. You may get into trouble."

I packed my bag with beating heart. Go I would — for why live unless adventure? But I spoke no German. How could it be managed? My head was full of tales of hardship and imprisonment. The Lusitania had just been sunk. I had never been to Germany. Berlin was a strange city.

I pinned my little American flag and my Hague Peace Congress badge on the lapel of my coat. My passport I tucked in my pocket. With a small hand-bag and no printed or written word I started forth.

Fortunately a Hungarian newspaperwoman whom I had met, traveled by the same train. We were an ill-assorted pair — she, petite and feminine and full of gay, light humor ; I, serious, clad in business clothes with many capacious pockets. " Mon maH" she called me. "Ma femme " proved a very useful person. She spoke five languages. Born in Russia with French ancestors, living in Paris, and married to a Hungarian, her heart was with the Allies. Life in Budapest was difficult. She dreaded return. But her glib German tongue and Hungarian marriage made her persona grata in Germany.