"^ « « « TURES IN GANDA I CAPTAm HEBER BLAMl « » « Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/adventuresinpropOOblanrich Adventures in Propaganda , • • •• • .•• t E Lv 000- lie 'o** g "H hi S !§ -5 rf^i ^i ^-f^^ -' ■ K,-~i*i»*»!^:,,?*Si»B^- .— -^^ oootw ):«C c o S ZIS-9LZ >««£ Jg »■ ^ s ^ 1 I zimi -iM'a iS s ! USES ■«->?l» "S g r 8161 0V8-8t «»* £ 9I0EC «»». ^ 6SZ-8S HO ^ W SESZE K*** ^ EW8I »"» Q 896ZI •>l"e 192-21 '"BC Bin -I'MB Z.t6I .\^ m 15 I s s e s so •^i^'S £,Z '2 ft pi < <: u 5 <; a: H fa o H O Pi o w X p i < Q < < o Pi I ADVENTURES IN PROPAGANDA LETTERS FROM AN INTELLIGENCE OFFICER IN FRANCE By HEBER BLANKENHORN CAPTAIN, MILITARY INTELLIGENCE DIVISION, U.S.A. BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY (t()e iaitjecj^tde ^xtH CambciDse 1919 COPYRIOHT, I9T9, BY RBBXR BLANKENHORN AI.L RIGHTS RXSKRVBD •: ••• •. : :.•: •.••• • . •• , •»• • • •< CA PREFACE Truth has accumulated many attributes, but it remained for the greatest struggle of humanity to place it among high explosives and poison gas as munitions of war. For the first time in the his- tory of military operations the truth was used as an effective weapon. It was to organize its use by the Army of the United States that my husband sailed for France on Bastille Day, July 14, 191 8, with a group of six Intelligence officers. They were directed first to establish relations with the Propaganda Boards of France, England, and Italy, then to proceed to General Headquar- ters, A.E.F., and assemble the machinery for a propaganda drive over the enemy lines during the autumn of 191 8. The following winter, the closed season for military offensives, they originally planned to devote to intensive work among the peoples and armies of Austria-Hungary and to return to their attack on German morale with the Army's promised offensive in the spring of 191 9. It was an ambitious programme, — one that savored of impudence on the part of so small [V] Preface and inexperienced a band, — but they went like young crusaders, determined to slay dragons and overcome evil. Their plans were changed by Foch's sudden swing from defense to attack in the summer of 191 8, which called for imme- diate activity on the Western Front. Before they left America, the Administration, recognizing that the machinery for their work was wholly military, had directed that the Army should prepare and distribute propaganda over the enemy lines. The Committee on Public Informa- tion was expected to collaborate in the preparation of material, but during the onrush of events which made history in the final weeks of October 5th to November nth, it remained for President Wilson himself to become the unique propagandist, not alone for humanity, but in a very literal sense for the A.E.F. The Army's whole machinery for print- ing, translation, and distribution was set to the work of getting the President's messages into the pockets of the German soldier. The difficulties of keeping this intellectual offensive abreast of an advancing and victorious army were enormous. That they were overcome is shown by the evidence of well-thumbed propaganda pamphlets in the hands of every two out of three German prisoners [vi] Preface who came into our lines during the last days before the armistice. England, France, Italy, and Russia had spread the evidences of her crimes throughout Germany for nearly four years before the United States came into the fight. We had in this, as in every other field, the use of their experience and ma- chinery. It was our good fortune to bring new strength to the truth offensive, as we had brought fresh blood to the line, at the moment when both were most needed. Our contribution to the war of ideas was due to the enthusiasm and convic- tion of the right inspired in the men who han- dled these weapons by the man who provided their most effective material, Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States. MARY DEWHURST BLANKENHORN New York City February 1919 NOTE It is almost needless to say that the following letters were written with no thought of publication. They were, in fact, edited and submitted to the publish- ers before consultation with the writer. .i ILLUSTRATIONS American Propaganda showing the Growth OF THE American Army in France . Frontispiece The German reads: — "More than 1,900,000 American troops are now in France, and more than ten times as many stand ready in America." (Below, at left.) "The yearly increase of the Ameri- can Army in France: From 76,000 men to 1,800,000 men." (Below, at right.) "The picture above shows the monthly arrivals of American troops." Kind Warnings FROM THE Enemy! .... 14 German Propaganda Newspaper published in Frank- fort for Circulation among the A.E.F. Wall at General Headquarters, A.E.F., with Exhibit of British and German Propa- ganda . 52 Brotherly Frightfulness (British Propa- ganda) 54 The Murder of Russian Freedom by German So- cialists after the Brest-Litovsk Treaty. KuLTUR Cartoon sent by the Germans over AND INTO THE LiNES OF THE BrITISH FiFTH Army in March, 1918 54 Wall at General Headquarters, A.E.F., with Exhibit of French Propaganda and the Beginnings of an American Exhibit . . ^ [ xi 1 Illustrations The Hunger Drive: American Menus used OFFENSIVELY OVER THE EnEMY LiNES AND TO BE SENT HOME BY BoCHE PRISONERS . . 78 The correspondence side of this "Field Postcard for German soldiers captured by the American Army" reads: — "Take this card, write the address of your family on it, and if you are captured by the Americans, give it to the officer in command of your detachment. He will make it his business to send it off and so relieve your relatives as to your condition. "Write nothing on this side. " Strike out what is not the case. {Slightly wounded Seriously wounded Unhurt " Do not worry about me. The war is over for me. I have good food. The American Army gives its prisoners the same food as its own soldiers: Beef, white bread, potatoes, beans, prunes, coffee, milk, butter, tobacco, etc." The Meaning of St.-Mihiel (American Prop- aganda) 94 The legend above the map reads: — "The salient, where the Germans had defended themselves for four years, was taken in 27 hours by the Americans." Below: — " [The shaded line] Front on the morning of Septem- ber 12. " fPhe dotted line] Front on the morning of Septem- ber 13. "390 square kilometers were gained. "The number of prisoners amounts to 15,000." American Justice (German Propaganda) . .122 From Kladderadatsch, September 8, 19 18. [xii] Illustrations The four legends read as follows: — "In Kansas the Pro-German Jimmy Walker was lynched. The murderers were acquitted." " The nigger Sam Darky shot the widow Aunt Lizzy because she was reading the Bible in the Lutheran version. He was acquitted." "The Chippeway Indian Bloody Shirt lassoed the boy Tommy Pinkleton because he was carrying a few Frankfurters for his father. He was acquitted." "Professor Woodrow Wilson has written a book ac- cording to which Germany is the best governed state. He was acquitted." G. 2.'s Christmas Card 154 ADVENTURES IN PROPAGANDA I Somewhere at Sea, July 17, 191 8 Already my world is completely one of khaki; throngs, orders, movements, bigness — a great task. Surely it is good fortune that we go as we do. I 've been inexpressibly helped by the push- ing, seething throng about me — even the red tape was for once a diversion. Talking at sea or of the sea is a difficult mat- ter in war-time; I 'm corked. Friend Censor says I can write from "Somewhere at Sea," the same as "Somewhere in France" later on — but all the wonders of the deep are a closed chapter. And it will continue so in France — that's one of the nuisances of this interfering old war. If you could see me now you would laugh at me sitting here with a life preserver with an upstanding flare collar much like the ladies of [ I ] "'cJ^'K^r^Advebtur^s in Propaganda Elizabeth's Court. Everybody has a sort of Arctic look from the waist up, padded and bulgy, but I can assure you it's the correct dress for dining, strolling, sleeping, smoking, and singing. We tear along — great weather until to-day, and this is surely dirty weather. I cannot write about our leave-taking of American waters nor of the circumstances so far. All 's well — amaz- ingly well — for all except a porpoise or two and a whale which died suddenly en route. No scare, and the subjects of conversation are but two — orders and submarines. I have arrived at a working mental attitude on the latter; we won't see one nor be touched, but we're all entirely ready. I have seen stars overhead as I slept on deck and enjoyed magnificent sun- rises. A deal of routine eats up our time, and brain- less matters like sleep, meals, drills, consume the days. The ship at night rides like a great ghost, without a ray of light; stairs and com- panions are blind dark, with here and there an eerie purplish bulb to mark corners, but giving [2] Adventures in Propaganda no light. In a sense the ship is loaded with U- boats; especially at night they slide under tables and scuttle in the hold and swish and leer at the bulbs which are scared blue. Our attitude is one of alert indifference. It's no place for pallid hearts, but it's no nightmare for stout ones either. At unearthly hours gongs sound, feet rush along the ringing decks, doors are pounded on, and voices cry, "Abandon Ship drill," just like that — the first two words very loud and menacing, the last almost inaudible. It wakes one up — I will say — and we feel for our ac- coutrements and yawn and scamper to our quarters near the rafts. It's odd how childish and unbelievable cam- ouflage makes the war seem. It makes it all look like the insane jest of the feeble-minded or a kid's toy. Man's war playthings — childish, ridiculous! Finally, the convoying destroyers have come, tearing up out of a foggy, rainy, menacing deep — with terrific speed and bringing great comfort, but still looking like jokes — painted, restless insects. II Paris, July 2^, 1918 Of course I can't talk about sighting la belle France or of landing. One thing we had rubbed into us. The service is made to handle masses of men, and we Propagandists were classed as " casuals." There was no provision for us and we had the devil of a time because of that. It was in a mighty meeting-place of outland- ish shipping that we debarked. Interminable delays marked the process — at last we jumped ashore in France, Finally again we "casuals" were formed in column and found ourselves marching through streets, through open country over misty hilltops — marching into France! That was unexpected and thrilling. Here were French old stone houses — "boucherie," "epicerie," "buvette," "commerce de vins," and the like, lettered over the doors and little shops. There were children — yes, in smocks — sparkling-eyed, — the boys in tight short breeches, the girls running alongside to seize [4] Adventures in Propaganda our hands and call "monnee — thank you — good-bye — give monnee." There were widows, women in heavy mourning. There were soldiers, some French, many American. They cheered us — some merely looked at us with cool, apprais- ing eyes. The funniest of all were three little girls who stood hand in hand and sang in clear thin voices this American song: ** Hail, hail, the gang 's all here, What-the-hell do we care now "; which set the whole American column roaring with laughter. The children did n't know the meaning of the words, but let me tell you that their elders' attitude is a lot like the literal meaning of the song. I don't blame them much. It fogged, then rained as we marched. There were stragglers and my camp-trained men, Griscom and Ifft, shouted scornfully at the laggards, who were soft from ship lethargy. Merz carried the pack of one man and Ifft a gun. We slogged along in the mud and dis- comfort calling it a wonderful experience, but a bit boggled in mind over finding ourselves route-marching at command in France. In open [5] Adventures in Propaganda country we would pause, then forge ahead rather aimlessly. In dark night we reached a rest camp. So it was called. It's an old Napoleon-built barracks, parade-ground, and camp. We fought around and finally got three blankets each, some candles, and I for one borrowed a drink off a sentry. On the muggy ground we stretched out in our steamy clothes and soggy raincoats and tried to sleep. Next morning Walter and I finally got passes and forced our way out. Then in the town we fought red tape and at last rescued ourselves and our comrades for a sleep in a decent hotel and rose early for the long and perfectly de- lightful trip here. That was a delight. For the first time in months I knew there was no war. I was abso- lutely back in peace-times, had no earthly sense of any war anywhere. The reason for me was plain. It was a powerful hark-back to the old tourist days, idle sight-seeing and travel-cheer — and of course there was no war. We passed American soldiers and supplies, but they were [6]. Adventures in Propaganda scenic episodes. We passed Chartres Cathedral. That was a fitting episode. So was Versailles. Misgiving began at the Gare Montparnasse. Paris stretched out beneath looked all right, but there were no taxis crowding 'round and no hotel 'busses as in the old days. We got a fiacre at last; the cabby said the horse was American, blesse and reforme from the war. So we got to the Hotel Continental. When we went out it was dark. Then came the shock. The city of light was black and de- serted and whispery and menaced. It was ghastly. We strode the once gay boulevards appalled. Thin streams of passers-by, the great cafes caves of darkness, eerie bluish-green marker lights in the black streets — " Paris is taken by the Germans, the Hun has got us," we said. We passed a famous Place; in two places windows and cornices were shattered. A famous monument in the centre was being sandbagged and cemented over for protection. It was shock- ing, blasting, and astonishing. Coming clap on top of our day of peace it gave us a jolting con- ception of the reach of war. A horrible joke on [7l Adventures in Propaganda mankind by mankind — to build up so light- some a city and then blacken it. The war which was still out of sight and sound seemed close. A great surprise befell me yesterday, and a greater for the other man. I was hurrying through the court of the Continental at noon when among the American officers around I noticed one reading a newspaper. I could see only the upper part of his face, but I knew it or thought I did. He lowered his paper. It was he. I let out a shout and threw out a hand. He looked entirely doubtful, then realization spread on his face rather slowly and he said, "I did n't know you." It was Marion. [Captain Blanken- horn's brother, a captain in the Medical Corps who had been with a British Base Hospital for more than a year.] I stumbled over him just like that. I thought he was in Rouen and he thought I was in America. We gave over the afternoon to each other. He looks the same as when he went, very fit, more experienced, and he cer- tainly has had experiences! Shells are an old story to him. He is stationed here, transferred to the A.E.F. [8 ] Adventures in Propaganda I took him to luncheon and to-night he took me to dinner with Christy, his pal. We walked down to Notre Dame together, and it was al- most like another peace evening and almost I had some one to make sight-seeing endurable again. Ill Paris, July^i^ 1918 Some of my meetings to-day were queer. I met three ex-reporters of the Evening Sun within an hour. Walking along the Rue de Rivoli I saw a sergeant of a medical unit who, when I hailed him, looked at me goggle-eyed. It was George Wood, the little fellow, you recall, who used to get my strike stories for me. He looks better than ever before and is crazy to get to the front from his rear hospital, which he avers is full of young slackers. That 's the first case of slacking I've heard of in the A.E.F. Then sitting in the little old Cafe des Pyra- mides at dinner I spied Mountsier. He, too, never recognized me until I addressed him. The uniform must make a difference in my looks. He pointed out Paul Scott Mowrer, a friend of BuUard's, with whom I immediately fell into intimate talk. It's a small world. It's a large war. We had just returned from G.H.Q. in the [ 10] Adventures in Propaganda unnamable town which marks the end of our first stage [Chaumont]. There we put ourselves on the map most successfully. But such a lot of things I can't talk about. One thing was amus- ing. We walked up to the place from the hotel and at the door saw an imposing-looking car with four stars on a little plate behind. Like kids we said, "Oh, let's wait a minute." Then we edged over to the door and stepped inside the corridor. We pretended to read the G.O.'s posted up. There were military steps on the stair and we all drew up in line. It was just a smart young subaltern aide. We relaxed. Then more steps, and down the stairs strode The Man [General Pershing]. We whipped to salute and as he went by he saluted and said, "Good afternoon, gentlemen." He looked the very beau-ideal of a soldier. Very nice of him to receive us so! We made good friends at the officers' club, among them "F.P.A.," and between them and busy conferences spent jolly hours tramping the town which is French tout entier and quite picturesque. Below us we saw the Marne, and [II ] Adventures in Propaganda the streets are new-named — "Rue du De- fense Herolque de Verdun! " etc. We came back thrilled by the stories we had heard of what the Americans did in the last offensive. It is still quite unbelievable to me. "The Americans saved Paris. It was the American divisions who stood against Germany's best when the French best, worn out, fell back. The American divi- sions are the best on either side of the line, the best in the world." Such stuff said in Foch's headquarters is astounding. Soldiers who have seen say that there is no army like ours, no such fanatical fighting men anywhere. That an al- most religious passion is all through our armies, and that the Boche has had his morale badly shaken. Marion, who talked with wounded Aus- tralians, said that they complained that "the Yanks were too bloody — treated the Boche too rough. They, the Aussies, would n't go fight- ing with them again — they were too fierce." There can be no doubt that a surprising rise in French morale has resulted from the com- muniques of July 4 and July 14. "Now we can- not lose/' is their talk. IV Paris, August 2, 191 8 A BUSY day, then hungry to a really good din- ner, then out into the Tuileries Gardens. And like a stone thrown at me the lack of you struck home. It was all so fair — a rolling, tossing sky of rain-clouds, the evening sun making the heavens dramatic, the mighty Louvre shot with lights and shadows. Napoleon's Arch, the long, formal gardens quaint with yellow daisies, homey ge- raniums, dahlias, hollyhocks even, and all the old-fashioned posies inside the stiff rows of box. At one side a monument sandbagged up to re- mind of the war, and over all a growing, glo- rious, peaceful evening rainbow. Back in the other direction the obelisk of the Place de la Concorde and the huge elephant of the Arc de Triomphe and close by a joyous nude nymph silhouetted against the sunset. What the hell was the delight of any of it! I was so lonesome. [ 13 ] V Officers* Inn, St. Jameses Place, London, August 5, 191 8 In the biggest city, after a memorable cross- ing — memorable personally, for nothing hap- pened to put the crossing on the red books of the Navy. In two days we were in three capitals, French, Belgian, and British. At the second we had a magnificent talk with Brand Whitlock, and since here have talked with Graham Wallas and Alfred Zimmern and will see and confer with many interesting men. Have already run across some newspaper friends. We moved to-day from the Savoy and its ex- pensiveness and bad service to this Officers' Inn and its quaint comfort. In the centre of a little old London park they have built a sort of Adi- rondacks lodge-hotel with a big dining-room, big airy reception-room, big writing-room, and radiating wings full of tiny bedrooms, or cubi- cles, as they call them. A little garden court is left in the centre, in the bull's-eye of which is [ 14] KIND WARNINGS FROM THK ENEMY! German Propaganda Newspaper published in Frankfort for circulation among the A E. F. Adventures in Propaganda an old statue of William the Second on a horse. It looks like a paddock. To-day we invaded the War Office; met Lord Milner, the Secretary for War, who asked us to apply to him personally if we should find ob- structions in the way of getting everything we wanted ! Merz has been working out at Graham Wallas's home in Highgate where Walter took us for the mellow-ripe humanity of that really great young-old man. To-morrow we meet Northcliffe and the day after Lord Beaver- brook. Wickham Steed, Seton-Watson, and H. G. Wells are among the men we shall see, and probably Henderson. London is the place to work in. Paris is a show, but here the air is like New York and one digs in. The town is full of Australian and Cana- dian soldiers, on leave — very few Americans. Everywhere are men in the blue uniform with the red tie of the great British War Hospitals — patients getting over " a blighty one." But the most striking thing is the women. France is full of women wearing black. England has none, London instead is full of women in uni- [IS] Adventures in Propaganda forms — "W.A.A.CS," "Wrens," "V.A.D.'s," and scores of kinds of munition and war-service uniforms. Columns of "land women," girls in breeches, leggings, coats, and felt hats, stride through the streets, marching orderly to sta- tions for outbound trains. They look strong, efficient, dumpy, busy, and as if they had been at it for years. They will never go back to skirts and tatting, one is sure. They give the city a sense of war determination and organization. These girls mean business. . "America" is the great word here now. The past three weeks have worked the same aston- ishing revolution here as in France — the great news of our fighting qualities and strength. Suddenly America, from being almost a dis- appointing myth, has become the dominant thing in the war. France is hysterically happy over us just now, but more thoughtful England is looking at us with deep questioning. As we started for England we saw what gave us all a shock — a great batch of new German and Austrian prisoners. Pretty fit men, not very bright — just average, very human, well- [ i6] Adventures in Propaganda equipped, well-fed, good fighters. The Enemy — strong, numerous, alive — that's what we saw close up. The war seemed to lengthen out as we looked at them. Beside them passed a train, a long, long train of British wounded. There were more faces of intelligence in the train than among the prisoners. The wounded looked on the Germans without animosity, ex- cept for two or three bitter stares, and the prisoners looked back with apathy. It will take us at least two weeks more here. And suddenly it is very prideful to be an Amer- ican in London to-day. VI London^ August ii, 1918 Four weeks today since you waved me off to the war! It seems like four months, so crowded have the days been. Places, men, events, problems — they step on each other's toes, so that it's hard to keep the procession straightened out. A bigger week than all opens before us with the honor of America to main- tain, and so far in our job no great achieve- ments to maintain it on. So since last night we gave ourselves a holiday. We went to Highgate, to Graham Wallas again, just for a chat. Wallas is one of the truly great men of our time, and how you would enjoy his rich mind and the young wit that bubbles inside his old gray head. And Mrs. Wallas, telling of French and Belgian refugees in the early months of the war in her house; the difficulties of being ministering angels, and especially British angels, to such fleeing ones as a French girl of eleven, with a " soul " and a [ 18] Adventures in Propaganda critical tongue, and a Belgian poet who kept a cigarette in his face while he washed 'round it, and of Belgian girls housed together in an es- tablishment with their parish priest, and who complained that there was so little for them to do that there was n't even anything left for confessional: "The father saw all their little sins before they could confess them, and as for the mortal sins, there was no opportunity," etc. Then we took a 'bus for two hours all across North London, through Kentish Town and Paddington and Chiswick and past Kew Gar- dens and Richmond to Twickenham, where we walked by Pope's Villa, or what 's left of it, and on to Hampton Court and spent the after- noon in the palace and gardens. Only the very greatest Italian palace gardens rival Hampton Court. Cardinal Wolsey started it and Henry the Eighth added to it for Anne Boleyn's sake, and Mary and WiUiam built more, until the place is magnificent. It is brick, old red brick and stone, and it has color! Lord, but the color of it! How you would have enjoyed it, and how I [19] Adventures in Propaganda would have if you had been along! Charles is no substitute for you, My Girl; he wants to buy "Guides" and "do" every stick and stone. You and I want to loaf through and read it up afterwards. It has such color! The sun does wonderful things to the brick and terra-cotta, and the fountains play in the stately courts and the great avenues of trees radiate away, and the posy beds ! Along the east front of the palace there is a flower-bed a half-mile long and it's filled with all the old simple posies, phlox, and daisies, and roses. Great lawns stretch away, and in their borders I saw the funniest thing I've seen in warring Britain. Scattered about in that spacious wastefulness are flower-beds which have been planted for food. Green beds of potatoes, red beds of beets, all nicely bordered and tended. They don't look half bad, but think of Anne Boleyn gardening for food when Merrie England hap- pened to be at war! Had you been there, we would not have wasted much time on the miles of royal portraits and the allegorical tapestries, though some of f 20 1 Adventures in Propaganda the latter are stunning. You and I would have loafed through the arcades and stretched out on the grass where we could watch the sun gild the brick redder still, and joshed the green old marble fawns and argued over whether you could steal the posies. The Thames flows by the palace — not much of a river, but to-day it was as busy as Broadway at Forty-second Street, with boatings. Big river launches, long, slim four-oared shells, punts, houseboats, tiny row- boats, like half a bathtub, and every sort of Britisher and Britishess aboard — dowagers with parasols, and young officers in flannel trousers and khaki uniform blouses. Beside the river I found a hotel with a veranda command- ing the palace where I ate alone, as Charles wanted to rush back and dine in town. So it's been a real rest day. It began last night when we went off suddenly to see Barrie's new "Dear Brutus," which is the charmingest of fantasies and abolishes the war absolutely for two hours. We 'd had a long and busy day of most important and successful conferences. America is fast becoming the greatest factor of [21 ] Adventures in Propaganda power in the war, and the world — and espe- cially Englishmen — are doing a deal of talk- ing these days about the League of Nations, meaning thereby a union of Anglo-Saxon peoples chiefly. This city might be a world away from the war — if there were not so many soldiers about and war hospitals and throngs of uniformed women and observation balloons and planes and searchlights. There's no danger here and the war still stays far from me, disappointingly hid away in the trenches. We are in no danger and shall be in none. VII London, August i6, 191 8 We have had the most splendiferous times this week. We are quite blase from meeting bigwigs. The information we wanted we've gotten freely from the founts on the top of Parnassus. Much business here is transacted at dinners and luncheons. We're going to it like those to the manor born. State secrets between glasses of Graves, that's the method. But this manner of working makes a day of from 9 a.m. to 1 1 P.M. By the time you get this we shall be back in France. Then we shall go on. Northcliffe gave a luncheon to-day to the overseas journalists visiting England. It was a unique aifair under a marquee in ancient Print- ing House Square. If you'll consult the card herewith you'll see what notabilities were present besides those you sent. Three sheriffs and ex-sheriffs in marvellous robes were in the receiving line. Our names were yodled out by [23 ] Adventures in Propaganda announcers in a way to make us straighten up very stiff and feel damn foolish. It was a heady affair. My Lord Northcliffe was very glad to see us and knew us by name, — eh, what! Mar- vellous! Just a simple war-time repast with five kinds of wine-glasses and sixteen eating- instruments (I counted 'em) beside each plate. Then, too, it was our first experience with the British toastmaster. The toastmaster here is a most miraculously fool institution. He stood behind Lord Northcliffe and in a clear tenor voice he would sing out: "My Lord Sheriff and gentlemen, My Lord begs you to be seated." So we sat down. Later he yodled something like this: "My Lord Sheriff and gentlemen. My Lord prays silence for My Lord's welcome to his guests." And after N.'s speech the marvel calls: • "My Lord, My Lord Sheriff and gentlemen, the toast is to the King. Pray have your glasses changed." And after the toast the nuisance sang again: [24l Adventures in Propaganda "My Lord Sheriff and gentlemen, My Lord says you may smoke." The "Institushun," you see, was just a kind of his-master's-voice gramophone. He directed all our ways. I expected him to chant which forks to use at each course. By the way, some of us ignoramuses had begun smoking before the announcer's gracious permission, which was an awful faux pas as no one in England ever, ever smokes before the King's toast is toasted. Now I did n't know that. My education was neglected, and alas, all England now knows how ignorant I am. To continue my snobbery vein, Balfour, Lord Cecil, and others were at lunch the other day, and Northcliffe and Reading are coming to din- ner with us. All for the "Entente Cordiale." Walter dined in one comer of the Reform Club the other night with H. G. Wells, while Charles and I dined across the room with Seton-Watson and Borgesi. The latter is extremely interesting. Charles's little task is taking him into confer- ences with the highest personages in Bob Bruere's line of work over here. Meanwhile our [25 ] Adventures in Propaganda work goes on with speed — ask our tired ste- nographers — and our main troubles are with communications. Not merely no letter from you yet, but no word from G.H.Q. If you were here now you could have the most interesting study in the world — British women in the war. Astounding transformations are at work. Everywhere are sturdy women in uniforms, strong girls in breeches and leggings, always with the neat but somewhat foolish- looking English workman's "linen duster" coat; young girls in short skirts driving motor- cycles, delivery carts, etc. And they act the same as the men, go where they please alone, go on strike when they please, alone. They smoke freely in restaurants, tea-rooms, the- atres, and parks. Nobody stares at a respect- able, hard-working girl puffing on benches in a square or at a middle-aged woman smoking in a theatre box. And they will never go back to the gilded cages or the cellar kitchens. Three hun- dred and fifty W.A.A.C.'s will shortly visit in the United States. You will envy them. And you could do so much studying them here — [26] i Adventures in Propaganda but don't you try coming through any subma- rine zones. If it were n't for missing you and the eternal shadow of war I could count myself most happy. I 'm meeting great ones, have a part in a great work, which is going splendidly, and am ab- solutely well. But for any kind of solid enjoy- ment what a mockery it all is. But you will be wanting to "see" me at my daily doings. I'm up at eight. I jump into the slippers you made me take, God bless you, and patter off to the big room where I find a dozen naked officers splashing under the shower baths. My! how good the showers are, after Paris with its cold-water tubs and not a drop of hot water there except Saturday and Sunday. Here the showers are everything a shower should be. Shave and dress, reclaiming my boots and belt from the hall where they've been shined overnight, and then to breakfast in the cheery tile-floored dining-room where My Lady This and Countess That, in neat cheap blue uniforms serve a most scrumptious break- fast of cereal, coffee, buns, and an egg — all for [27 1 Adventures in Propaganda one and six, which means thirty-six cents. Food is plentiful, though you must ask for more than one piece of the little chunks of brown bread if you want it, and to ask for three would be re- garded with sorrow. There's no sugar for the porridge, but there's a pitcher of brown syrup instead which I Ve grown to prefer. This being a Red Cross hotel all the help are gentlewomen and gentle — and damn-pretty — girls. It's "Lady Jones, you've been short- changed"; or, "Lady Gwendolyn, your table is not cleared yet"; or, "Your Grace, I think that officer wants you." As service, it's bum. As a novelty, it's fine. And on Saturday nights my young officers dance with the waitresses, who put ropes of pearls on over their blue ging- ham uniforms and diamond pins in their cheese- cloth head-dresses. Among the English officers here are a surpris- ing number of game-legged men, still in active service, mostly Royal Air Force. A young chap in a United States uniform handed me a pack- age of extra buttons, saying, " I won't use 'em." He was just changing into English uniform. He [28 ] Adventures in Propaganda was joining the flyers. I asked him why he did not join the American air service. He said, "They wouldn't take me. You see, I've got an artificial leg." That tells a story, let me add. We have to fly 'round a good bit in taxis or in army or British official cars, but as much as I can I walk between confabs. We're in the very heart of London clubdom. St. James's Square is between Pall Mall and Piccadilly and be- tween Regent Street and St. James's Palace. So that at least thirty famous clubs are all about, beginning with the Reform, the Carlton, the Thatched House, and on to the Military and Naval, the Sevile, Arts, etc., etc. The Duke of Devonshire's town house looks down on the Square, and No. lo opposite is the modest brick dwelling where Pitt, Derby, and Glad- stone lived. Britain's famously ugly war monu- ments of Crimean and Napoleonic wars are scattered near by and in two steps I can reach the Mall with the Admiralty Arch at one end and Buckingham Palace at the other. I walk there in the evenings while the searchlights tear holes in the clouds overhead. VIII Officers' Inn, London, August i8, 1918 The park today was full of soldiers on leave, many sitting on the grass with their arms locked about girls. One automatically puts these rather free exhibitions alongside the common stories in the papers headed "Soldier's Wife Hearing Husband is Coming Home Commits Suicide." A good many W.A.A.C.'s and land-women have soldiers' heads in their laps. But for all that the record of the W.A.A.C.'s in France has recently been proved to be unbelievably "moral." One feels that these leggy, shoulderly land-women are using their new freedom to work and not to go on a war-loose. They are not called "landladies" in all the placards for nothing. They cross their legs so publicly and smoke where they please and have such a free look under their khaki felt hats; they are al- together such a revelation of strong animalism in womanhood, that I wondered whether a [30] Adventures in Propaganda correspondingly untrammelled sex life was n't characteristic of their new existence. Appar- ently the contrary is the really true and sur- prising fact. They are still British girls. The loosening effects of war are secondary. Three thousand bus and tram conductorettes pulled off a lightning strike last night and to- day for five shillings war bonus to bring their pay up to the men's scale. They will probably get it. The workers get about what they want. With the United States man power in the war Britain is nervous only about one thing — coal — and if the miners demand the Stockholm conference they will probably get it. How you and I would enjoy studying all this here to- gether. The thing is only going to get bigger after the war and the really great study is coming then. 4 IX August 21, 1918 Major Griscom, my lieutenant's uncle over here, offered us his house for a dinner to the Britishers who have been so nice to us. Un- fortunately we asked a varied group, causing much trouble to the hosts. Major Griscom and his nephew spent one whole day running 'round trying to find out the order of precedence for seating their guests. Here were the vital prob- lems: I. Does a duke who is only a naval com- mander rank a commoner who is a general? 2. Does a viscount who was a commoner rank a duke and the brother of an earl.f* God knows who settled these things, but this is how it ended up (see diagram opposite). Looks simple, does n't it.f^ There's a day's sweat in it! I tell you if they had not correctly seated me as number five at that table I'd never have come back to the house again! Really it was a serious matter. I did n't know anything about the trouble and had a damn [ 32] Adventures in Propaganda Captain Blanken- horn Lord Eustace Percy of the F.O. J. A. Guest of Crewe House Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Campbell Stuart Lieutenant Griscom Duke of Sutherland O (L) O I s 2 9 6 13 10 12 H 8 II 4 7 3 _ Viscount NorthclifFe Captain Lippmann H. Wickham Steed Dr. Seton-Watson Colonel Granville Baker Lieutenant Merz a 8 o I o .o . [ 33 Adventures in Propaganda good time. Reading is lean, keen, entirely a diplomat; Northcliife, forceful and powerful; the Duke of Sutherland, a most handsome young chap, with no necessity for proving whether he has brains or not; General Cock- erel!, an old man, but the handsomest soldier I ever saw, complete gentleman. Christian officer, and boyishly human; Sir Campbell Stuart, a Scotch squirrel from Canada; Lord Eustace you know — he has a bad trick of knitting his brow so that he spoils his Thackerayan profile, but he is extremely interesting — a Tory of Tories in the most Tory of offices who never- theless has an intellectual grasp of Liberalism, almost of Radicalism; Wickham Steed, the accomplished, unofficial diplomat; Watson, a doctrinaire. What do you think was more talked of than the war by that group? The British Labor Party! High politics, fearfully secret stuff of the Foreign Office, was buzzed around, but the really interesting thing was the cool estimate of two things, both well known and yet unknown — or rather the attempt to estimate coolly two [34] Adventures in Propaganda things — America in the war and what she was going to do; and the British Labor Party. Merz just tells me that the first alarm for an air raid has been sounded. They 've been sighted crossing the Channel and we'll have to wait an hour or so to see what happens. It's now eleven o'clock. This is the first of the kind we've met. Really, the war is just as far away from us here as in Washington. There's only this dif- ference; America has gone so hell-bent to war that it's quit thinking; over here they've been through that stage and are thinking. The best thinking in the world is English thinking just now. "Reconstruction" is no taboo word here. I hope America will run the fever course with speed corresponding to its violence and by winter will be thinking again. That will be the President's job. How you would relish the strike of the women transport workers now suddenly threatening to become nation-wide. I '11 enclose some clippings. Lord! I wish you were here to study it. It is wondrous ! [35 1 Adventures in Propaganda Well, that raid does n't seem to be material- izing. I suppose there are lots of machines up, but I could n't hear the faintest buzz outside just now. X General Headquarters, A.E.F., August 28, 1918 Saturday at British Headquarters after a quick crossing from England. Not so long and strenuous as the one over the other way, and the kindly British officers took us up to the front to see how they handled propaganda. It was a glorious day and that afternoon and even- ing we motored about one hundred and twenty- five miles. We went In search of war. How does war look as you approach it? It's very simple. It's very peaceful. As we drove farther east the roads became more populous. We passed dumps, stores, camps, trenches of last defense. The lorries on the road became more frequent. We made a detour In one town to see where bombs and long-distance shells had smashed a number of houses. Farther on we passed Red Cross ambu- lances. There were wounded Inside. Then we came on troops. Then more troops of all kinds [37] Adventures in Propaganda — going forward. Guns were going up, too, and our car was crowded to the ditch. "By Jove," said our guide, "there's a bit of something on." We began to scan the horizon. "That tower over there is all that 's left of St. , " Cap- tain H. remarked finally. "That ridge there is in Boche land," he added. It all looked inexpress- ibly peaceful. " Smoke over there," said I. " Is that a shell } " He thought it might be. We stopped and raked the hori2^on with glasses. We picked up a pale low moon of an object — a Boche observation balloon. Plenty of British sausages were visible to the naked eye. We drove on. It was all just as peaceful as ever. Occasion- ally a smoke or two became plainly defined as a shell. I can't remember when we definitely heard the first gun. But a consciousness of "Krump — krumping" a few miles away be- gan to grow on us. We turned oif the crowded, pushing, jangling highroad and soon looked down on white Arras. Then a great lone, contented, peaceful gun a half-mile off said "Blamp" with a flash and a [38] Adventures in Propaganda great flare of coppery smoke. It kept saying "Blamp" down there at intervals all afternoon. It felt neighborly to have it out there in the valley while peaceful airplanes sailed overhead and sausages soberly floated three miles off. Farther off a few batteries rumbled occasion- ally. In the pleasantest sunlight we peacefully studied the sky and earth and idly speculated on the thin white scratches which were Boche trenches. It was all peaceful. So that was war. We were told that hot fight- ing was going on just over there — about ten kilometres off — and, yes, this spot where we stood had been shelled a bit recently — for no reason at all. We started back to take a peep at Arras. "Pshaw! it may get stinky down there," re- marked our guide irritably, for just then a "woolly bear" burst over white Arras a few kilos down the road. It was shrapnel and the black little smoke-cloud peacefully floated off. After a while another — "They're after the square, I suppose," said Captain H., but we piled into the car. In five minutes we entered [39] Adventures in Propaganda the streets of that great shocked, ripped-up, utterly deserted city that Is now white Arras. Not a soul lives in it — except an evanescent remnant. The houses are there, but they are uninhabitable. The city is white — white, torn, plastery walls show everywhere. Arras is white with terror, and with having been bled. At the town entrance a billboard in excellent English said: "Steel helmets must be worn beyond this point. By order of . " Our guide remarked that we'd be sure to meet somebody and there'd be a beastly row. Our driver would race through the streets, and we had to look sharp and specu- lated fleetingly whether one square or another that we passed were the square those woolly bears were feeling for, and rather awed we glanced at the splinteration everywhere and the occasional complete demolition of some building, and soon we were leaving Arras. We had just passed the gate when the sky quite near by said "Crack," clearly and interrupt- ingly, and there, up a bit and over our shoul- ders, floated the black woolly bear of that methodical shrapnel gunner — about four hun- l4o] Adventures in Propaganda dred yards off. It had no relation to us. It was just as peaceful as the rest of the war. It meant nothing. It could n't help itself — just like the rest of the war. Our souls were numbed by Arras — we were too struck by Arras to give more than a mo- ment to that "crack" overhead. White Arras is an appalled city. It's not peaceful like the war. As we messed some kilos away in a jolly French billet, where the cook had stuck an American flag in the posy centre-piece in our honor, chatting with our officer allies I kept vaguely thinking, " So this is the war," and the only word to describe it was "peaceful." In the dark we began motoring home and just a few kilometres away from search- lights sprang up from the hills and raked the sky. Then distant crashings began. "Pull up," said our companion. "Raid on St. , I'm afraid. It may get stinky down there." More searchlights shot from the hills and on our hill we stood and tried like the devil to figure out what were the meanings of the noises [41 ] Adventures in Propaganda that cracked and rattled out of the night. "Crack, crash, blap, krump, crash," all in varying powers and keys and at varying dis- tances. They were Archies and bombs we knew, but it was the devil's own job to tell which was which and what noises fitted what flashes. "There he is!" suddenly cried Captain H. In the crossing of four searchlight beams was the Boche raider, or one of them. The handsomest silver dragon-fly you ever beheld, ducking a bit as if dazzled and turning, but caught. Just then, down in the valley about five miles off, a red roar, literally that — a red roar! A hideous roar and a burst of red that lit up ten or twelve miles of the valley and the cloud and smoke flashes overhead. A Boche raider had got a dump — a big one. Explosion on ex- plosion, belch of noise on belch, tore up out of the valley. Then the raider overhead twisted and came on toward us, still caught in the four beams, quite large, and quite rapidly getting right overhead. Every blamed Archie in the world, [42] Adventures in Propaganda it seemed, concentrated on him. Some of our party shrank around the corner of the only pro- tection in reach — a ruined house, for the hail of Archie bullets is no joke. When he was about three degrees from being squarely overhead, about six feet from the zenith, I suppose would be the technical term, he turned again, I 'm re- lieved to relate, and swam away, pestered by the bright-red fireflies of scores of Archie shells. And almost half a mile off he slipped all the beams and got away. The exploding dump kept roaring and red- dening the valley, and down towards St. and off to the right of us and farther off some- where else bombs kept crashing away. It was most baffling to tell what the racket told. Far off some silent Archies took to shooting some beautiful, sinuous, green contraptions called "flaming onions" at some invisible raider. They were heavenly, tiny apparitions, and are hated by aviators, whom they burn to death. So, that was war! That was n't the least bit peaceful. When we set off and scooted through St. the dump was still going up. There [43 ] Adventures in Propaganda was menace in the night. Miles and miles of parked lorries lined the roads — great beasts, holding their breaths, rather than resting. One tears along the roads with lights out. We came upon two wrecked autos and picked up a French officer, whom, because he had a bloody face, we gave a lift into an hour farther on. About an hour after we left the place the raiders plumped three bombs into it. I'm getting my forces mobilized, getting plans adopted, turning out memos and orders like a mill. Things are looking up. I had half a room in the big Headquarters assigned to me to-day and will get it all shortly. My windows claim a gorgeous view. The red-tile roofs pitch down below me Into the valley and the wide green and yellow land slopes up beyond away to the blue horizon. The weather is gorgeous, the town rather quaint, and I must say I am profoundly content to quit the recent life of everlasting interviews to go into active service atG.H.Q. I am billeted now in a funny little cave. Madame Margot is my landlady, shaving-water- [44] Adventures in Propaganda f etcher, boot-polisher, and cleaner-up; she's far too old and unhandsome to deserve the name of Margot. My bed is most clean and comfort- able, and the big window opens right at my head, and I have a washstand with ten pieces of crockery on it! Now I must study the map for my route to the front to-morrow. Lots of funny things have happened, but after all war is peacefully busi- nesslike, about like a newspaper ofhce — but not much worse. Don't worry when I talk about going toward the front. I'll not get near enough to business to need a gas-mask or a tin hat. It'll mean long auto rides in and out of little villages, and after two days I '11 be back here at peace at G.H.Q. There goes taps, taps at G.H.Q., but there are scores of officers hard at work here in the great central building, which is all black out- side and all light within. In the next room an officer is 'phoning to the press General Persh- ing's statement on the occasion of the launching of the Fourth Liberty Loan. Do you think maybe we can afford another little bond.? Re- [45 ] Adventures in Propaganda member I don't need an earthly thing. I've lived sometimes shamefully well when English- men with whom I had business insisted on win- ing and dining over affairs. In France there is no appreciable shortage and the meals are ex- traordinarily well balanced, nourishing, and plentiful — also fairly high priced. There's no water at all; one has to drink Chablis or Barsac or Graves or Burgundy — the coffee is so poor. Is n't it sad 1 Another thing. Here I 'm as safe as in Wash- ington, worse luck. The only thing I am in danger of losing is my symmetry. I have to use my right arm so steadily that I 'm getting lop- sided with all the saluting. There are so many generals around and so many privates who are just as particular. Punctilio is the place's name. \ XI General Headquarters, A.E.F., August 28, 1918 This afternoon, August 28th, there strode in to G.H.Q. about 3.45 p.m. a certain officer from a certain front-line division in a certain well- known sector. He was in a hurry. He said : " I'm told you run propaganda. I want some propa- ganda — quick. We Ve got opposite us the *umpth' and 'umpty-umpth' divisions and we've had Some deserters from 'em and I want some more. I don't know much about prop- aganda. I believe in it, — I don't think it will win the war and all that, — but if anything 's going to get those deserters over, it's propa- ganda, and I want those deserters for informa- tion. Also there's the *umpth' division which is going to pull out in the next few days I'm morally sure, and I want at least one deserter from that. They're mostly afraid to come over because they all believe that Americans kill all prisoners." [47 I Adventures in Propaganda Well, getting deserters over is a side issue on our job, but what did we do ? We jumped at him. "How will you get it over?" "Patrols." "How long is your front?" "It's 'umpth' kilometres." "Show me on the map." He did. "Draw a dia- gram of this sector line." He scratched that out. He said he had translators and a mimeograph. We produced copy for a leaflet to fit the case — a concoction one third Walter's, one third mine, and one third Ifft's. But we had to get approval and the General was busy and the of- ficer had to go. "Give me the copy and 'phone the authorization," he said. "Call 'Bingville 28' at 6.30 to-night." I sent the copy in with a memo. Finally it came back with a big blue scrawl across it: "Excellent. 'Phone S to go ahead. Ap- proved, ." I 'phoned and to-morrow night the first American-made propaganda goes over the line. Did you ever hear anything so amusing? The shop was n't open yet, but we sold propaganda over the counter like so much meat. I laughed until the plaster fell down on General Pershing's [48] Adventures in Propaganda head in the room under my feet. At least it almost fell. To-night I rammed ahead, arranging to print our leaflets by the thousands, writing a new leaflet to puncture the first Austrian divi- sion to turn up on the Western Front — ar- ranging to buy balloons and to find out about gas dumps, etc., etc.; trying to build overnight a great machine. It's highly amusing, and we shall fight our way through the red tape yet, and do. XII General Headquarters, A.E.F,, September ^, 191 8 I Ve put in another long day and cleared my desk this evening, as I go up toward the front to-morrow early to pick out the places for our actual field work. For an oflScer "not to be placed in command of troops," as my com- mission reads, I'll have quite a little squad of troops working for me. I suppose I can't claim to be their Field Marshal as they'll be tech- nically under the General Staff Officer whom I'm under, but they'll be actually my men. To-night Corporal Ralph Hayes, — he will be a lieutenant next week, — Walter Lippmann, and I, celebrated by dining at the Hotel de France. It was mighty good to see R. H. It has been pouring these days, and I took a car down to meet the train, which as always was some hours late. Pushing through the soldier throng came the Corporal and Walter, both very good to look upon. Now we sit here in my room [50] Adventures in Propaganda at G.H.Q., having swapped all the gossip of home. Ralph is great fun, most punctilious to stand in our presence until ordered to be seated, and refusing absolutely to eat in the officers' "Y," which is why we carted him off to the hotel for dinner. Dinner was a great problem on the ship coming over with Mr. Baker. It was unpre- cedented to have a corporal accompany the Secretary of War and the meticulous Navy stewed over the complications. Ralph could n't dine with the officers, that was plain; neither could he eat with the men; that would be an insult to the Secretary. It was finally decreed that he could dine with Mr. Baker if he sat at the foot of the table! Fiat. XIII General Headquarters, A.E.F., September ii, 191 8 How does life go these days ? At eight the Httle alarm clock you got me wakes me up and I find a pitcher of warmish water for shaving beside my new polished boots at the door, and by 8.30 I 'm at breakfast, very plentiful and costing two francs at the "Y." By nine I'm in this room which is my kingdom. On one wall of it I 've Just put up an exhibition of what Germany, Britain, France, and the United States have done in the way of propaganda. Three of the four quarters of the wall are covered with ex- hibits. One — ours, of course — is quite blank. It's a big sunny room with a tiny stove and great four-foot thick walls. All the walls are crowded with maps, etc., at which I work. No desks — just half a dozen tables. Here I strug- gle with the long-distance 'phones and mobilize my forces. Griscom, Ifft, and Miltenberger are here. The first two I am sending to the field [52] WALL AT GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, A.E.F., WITH EXHIBIT OF BRITISH AND GERMAN PROPAGANDA Adventures in Propaganda soon. One o'clock is lunch; at two I'm back here and about six I knock off; at eight-thirty I'm back and "through" at eleven or twelve, or one a.m. Perhaps Hugh Gibson goes back to Washington, and if so will look you up. You could probably get word of his arrival there from Bullitt, of the State Department, to which he reports. We've been working very closely with Gibson of late, a young man of great sense with whom, you remember, I discussed some of our plans when we were in Washington. XIV Midnight at G.H.Q., on Friday, the ijth, a day of great victory I AM as tired as I can be and I wish I were a field intelligence officer instead of a struggler with material things, like balloons and type, and translations. It's been hard to keep one's mind on the work here these days. Yesterday morning the tense expectancy broke. The word flew 'round, — "The offensive began at dawn." Then how we waited. Curiously like old news- paper days. The first bulletins of progress were from returning flyers whose word was 'phoned in here. Last night we knew we had done some- thing; "10,000 prisoners — Thiaucourt — the only roads out of the pocket endangered for the foe." But it was noon to-day before we got word that in the night our two onrushing lines had joined. St. Mihiel had fallen — booty and prisoners were being counted — the offensive was widening. And to-night comes the startling [54] BY BALLOON. Sarrft gnflbitlldn. ?'<..! BROTHERLY FRIGHTFULNESS (BRITISH PROPAGANDA) The Murder of Russian Freedom by German Socialists after the Brest-Litovsk Treaty. IN THE LAND OF THE "FREE" HOW Morganism has driven Wilson and-America to the Betrayal of Humanity KULTUR CARTOON Sent by the Germans over and into the lines of the British Fifth Army in March, igid- Adventures in Propaganda word that shells are falling in Metz — barely thirty hours after the start. Long before you get this you '11 know whether great things were done or whether the counter- attack stopped us. It has been too exciting — I am too tired with the struggle to mobilize my men, getting orders and supplies, trying to pursue our victorious army — to talk of it now with any accuracy. Here on my desk are little things I've been wanting to send you for weeks. One is a bit grisly — the leaflet Bible some Boche wisher- after-revolution carried till the shell struck him. Another is a cartoon the British have sent over by the millions. They think it excellent balloon propaganda. The label, "By Balloon," is because they do not wish reprisals on their aviators if the planes carry propaganda. So they put this label on all their balloon propa- ganda that their captured airmen won't be falsely accused. (It's a curious side-light on Boche psychology that aviators may drop bombs which may fall on women and children and yet be treated by the Germans with all the [55 1 Adventures in Propaganda honors of war, but if caught dropping words, they will be promptly shot.) Our aviators have been carrying our propaganda very busily these days — twenty thousand leaflets in the past three days. XV A town in France, September 14, 1918 Remember those candles you got me at the Commissary? I am writing by the light of one. I was wise enough to throw a couple into the flap of my clothes-roll this noon, but not wise enough to put in your lantern which I thought I could get along without. I'm lucky to find this billet lit for a radius of about six inches by this candle. My paper is backed by the map I've trekked by all day. The clock has struck ten but no taps sound here and the presence of a great staff is kept as quiet as can be — kept dark, too, for my window is heavily shuttered against even this beam of light. Two iron beds are in the room with mattresses, covers, and coverlets to a depth of three feet atop. You would have laughed to see me walk in here. I found the front door shut and shuttered and carefully shoved back the wooden side door or cart gate which Madame had pointed [57 1 Adventures in Propaganda out to me two hours before and was greeted by savage eclat from a dog. I decide he 's chained somewhere in the darkness, — it's easier than to decide he's loose, — and I carefully feel around for the two stone steps and the little wooden door into the house. The must of the stone walls comes off on my hands, — I can feel it coming off, — finally to the increasing clamor of the dog I gain the iron latch and stumble in. I decide the door with the crack of light around it is the stair entrance and try hard to force it. "Qui est la.^" demands a scared woman inside. It is Madame's bedroom, apparently. "Pardon, Madame, c'est I'officier Americain. Je cherche — qu'est que c'est le nom for stair? — Oh! I'escalier." More stum- bling, and then with a bang I fall through the right door. Madame in undress appears with a bougie and lights me up. She assures me I shall find "I'eau potable" in my room, but with an inflection which makes me repeat my near- French question. Again she says "yes," but unreassuringly. So I speak further of drinking- water and she says, "Oui, c'est la, pour vous [ 58 1 Adventures in Propaganda laver!" Just as I had feared! "Non, Madame, j'ai grand soif." Then, just as if she'd under- stood for the first time, she asks if I want a drink and if I want it now — "water to drink ? " Which I emphatically do and finally acquire — the hardest thing to get in France. There is a terrific crashing clatter on the cobbles below; I peek through the shutters, for I suspect what it is — yes — the black crusher is spitting blue flamelets in the night below me, a tractor, and behind it what might be a sizable log on wheels — but is n't. The cumbersome- looking gun is carefully swathed in canvas, which the thousand eyes of the night can't pick out as camouflage. By the way, it's getting moonlight — fine for raids, these nights. I haven't seen a raid since that night on the British front. Now there is tramping below and a halt and women's and children's voices cry shrill direc- tions to the inquirer. "A gauche!" — "Non, non, petite, a droite!" — "Le premier a droite, alors a gauche!" — and American voices are heard translating the words and the trampers [59] Adventures in Propaganda are off to gay "Bonsoirs." For the townspeople are in high spirits. I leaned over their shoulders to-day as we read the communique together, — "Ah, les Americains," they point and cry; "Treize mille prisonniers — des grands canons — ah!" And seeing me looking very grim and warlike, they laugh gladly and their words are like an embrace — "Bonnes nouvelles." Have just relit the candle after leaning out over the black street for a good ten or twelve minutes watching a noise. It was a long, heavy, multitudinous grating on stones — an unproduc- ible sound; it was not marching, — it sounded more like horses, — but it was too guttural for cavalry. The candle had blinded me, but at last I could make them out, — interminable windrows of shadows scraping by, with, yes, every little while a horse or two. Think of a river made of pebbles, flowing over a stone bed, and yet flowing in waves; that is the sound of a mile of infantry toiling through a French town at night. Their heavy nailed shoes make the queerest thousand-footed scraping trample. It works along without voice — the undulatory [60] Adventures in Propaganda iron-scaled snake on the narrow stone street. There are no faces — just shadow rows, voice- less as herds. "Who the hell says the Americans aren't here — hey, Yanks?" laughs a shadow under my window, but not a word answers the clashing, laboring column. They are going "up. " Along all these roads they are pushing up. Mostly by night, of course, but in many places by day. This afternoon I was in a region of smashed hamlets, peopled with Americans, — • sprawled tired in the streets, — sticking out of camouflaged doors of roofless stone houses, — the streets jammed with their vehicles' gear. They do not know who were in that town a few hours before; they cannot tell even the number of the units before them; they stop to "chow'* or sleep and "go up" leaving the town deserted — and in an hour the town is again populous — and quickly deserted again. Each of these vil- lages is filled with inhabitants who prospect around, seek out what poor comfort the wreck- age aflFords, and then push on as if they had found the place accursed. Hotels are these ham- lets — whose guests shove 'round the furniture [6i ] Adventures in Propaganda of stones and boards and tiles and straw and leave all to be shoved 'round and used by hordes of new guests. Splintered trees, smashed churches, homes in debris, — they have been crashed and re-smashed for four years, — and now in a day the Menace has been hurled out and these wrecks are free, jree ! They don't look as if they knew it or appreciated it. Yet now their owners will come back as soon as these freeing, invading guests have pushed through and will reclaim the stones which the German guns can never reach again. I stood to-day on a ridge, a low ridge edge, — where two days ago it would have been certain death to have stood up straight in the open as I stood. Before me was the riot of wire; behind me trenches and mailed dugouts — earth over their mail — and gun emplacements with the tattered junk called camouflage still over the emplacements. The guns were gone — the shells were even then "going up." Beside me was a small muddy pothole — blown there. The shard I enclose in this letter was picked out of the mud in it — overlooking the fields where [62I Adventures in Propaganda Americans fought their first battle on this front six months ago and where they started sixty- hours before to-day for their first "American push." Over the rivulet with a famous name was the pleasant lone hill whence the German eye devastated the district by commanding it — so few hours before. And now the Amer- ican observation balloons sailed high ahead — a dozen soared overhead. Not a shot was to be heard. The thicker the camouflage, the thicker the shells once flew. Farther back the high wicker partitions on the foeward side of our road had been flimsy. Here they were tightly woven, with canvas reinforcement and clever wing protection, beyond the necessary breaks, and even so — signs stood by the roads — "Danger — I'ennemie vous voit." Military initials and arrows were painted or chalked up on bits of unshattered wall — everywhere were the signs of hell, but none were to be heard. Now and then far off would go a rumble and a crump ! And in two places smoke on the ridges ahead showed where villages burned. Overhead [63 1 Adventures in Propaganda hummed the blackbirds that make villages bum. Once we could see shrapnel burst in dirty wool puffs around some invisible airplane — 'way, 'way ahead. But the farthest thing to be seen was the pale eye of a German observation balloon — like an onion hanging over the hor- izon woods. One thing has stuck in my mind. In Beau- mont is a shot-to-hell church tower, one corner intact, and in that corner, set to show two faces as are many village clocks in these parts, was the clock. The time it showed was correct by my wrist watch. Who in that shattered place — up in that very bull's-eye of Boche gunners — took the trouble to repair and wind and keep repaired and wound that clock .^ Some rooted old inhabitant .f* Some bored, restless American soldier-transient? XVI General Headquarters, A.E.F., September 21, 1918 It will do no harm to tell you where I was the other day except naming the starting and finish- ing points. Through Rupt, west of St. Mihiel, we went through Fresnes, and from this point on as far as Vigneulles the world is mostly wire. At the river we turned north through La Paroches and Barmoncourt to Woimby, then across to Fort de Troyon, south to La Croix- sur-Meuse, east to Seuzey, up to Dommartin la Montague, with the line some three or four miles off, then to Deuxmonds on the back track, Spada, St. Mihiel, and Sampigny. The "line" is a vague term in such sections. The line means a belt three or four miles wide through which patrols of both sides sneak or career hunting information, prisoners, posts of vantage, etc. It was afternoon when we headed through the remains of Fresnes for St. Mihiel. Wire, [6sl Adventures in Propaganda wire, wire, trenches, wire, but a clear road ahead, until suddenly French soldiers headed us north, through the village of La Paroches, over the trenches, around repaired shell-holes, along the railroad to Verdun, already being repaired by Yank engineers. Still wire and wire, and we headed for Dom- pierre-aux-Bois via Seuzey. Greater shell-holes full of water appeared, interminable wire. The whole world here for a good fifteen miles across, up hill and down dale, is of wire, belt after belt, until you cannot tell what is Allied, what is Boche, and where is No Man's Land. The smashed villages are all wired up and the wire is in all the woods as thick as underbrush. I kept looking for a change in the wire to indi- cate the late dividing line of control, but I found another sign that was surer. Just west of Seuzey, down in the bemired belt of wire, was a grave, a short round mound with gay red, white, and blue cockades on it. A few hundred feet farther on in the next belt of wire was a grave with a birchwood marker like a cross, with a coping over it, and the label [66] WALL AT GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, A.E.F., WITH EXHIBIT OF FRENCH PROPAGANDA AND THE BEGINNINGS OF AN AMERICAN EXHIBIT Adventures in Propaganda in the centre was German. The narrow stretch between had been No Man's Land. The wire, too, changed in character — it was worse-look- ing wire, more strongly and viciously built, more rusted and more machine made, the re- sult of quantity production, though there was not so much of it everywhere as on the French side. It had more scientific-looking barbs and had stronger L-shaped iron supports, and the iron vertical pegs had spiral handles. In Seuzey, under the blue French signboard of iron, smashed in half by a shell, was a board lettered, "Feindl, Bericht," etc., "Enemy Gas Area." We were where the Boche had just left. The road led straight on. Where the wire, friendly and enemy, edges the way the chevaux- des-frises lay mean and handy as if ready to be rolled into place rather than just heaved out of the way by the Yanks. The dugouts seemed the same, except better built with a greater determination after comfort. The camouflage began to be different. Factory-made instead of hand-wattled as was universal on the French side. [67] Adventures in Propaganda The chief difference was in the signboards. They were everywhere — twelve or twenty to a crossroads, all kinds of directions and instructions, printed out, written, or mili- tary sign manual. Braggadocio labels were among them — "Kronprinz Stern," and other "Prinz," castles, etc. — sometimes a humor- ous one. A completely wrecked house was care- fully labelled with a painted board, "Soldaten Heim" ("Soldiers' Home"), and one of its smashed entrances was marked, "Bath Es- tablishment," in name recaUing the Kursaal of Bad Homburg. We saw German trucks and green-gray wagons with the double eagle stencilled on, now doing valiant service for the Amexes. Be- side the road was an American truck burned to iron by a shell. Near by were scores of Boche shells in their neat wicker casings. Trenches lined with masonry and hutments surrounded with rustic benches, piped "trinkwasser," high- power electric cables, and even sentry-boxes, with the identic slanting black-and-white zebra markings that you see in front of the Pots- [68] Adventures in Propaganda dam palaces on sentry-boxes, were in those woods. All the ground was far worse torn up than on the French side. I never saw before so many giant holes and such an acreage of "ploughed'* ground. Some of the neatly numbered Boche war gardens were torn to smithereens. The vil- lages were completely smashed and utterly deserted. On the way out, in the dark we halted in a village utterly demolished, but already neatly cleaned so far as the streets were concerned — but dead, all dead. There was one living thing which made the whole place simply seem deader — a cat which raced out of nowhere and hid under the auto. There were a good many German graves in the woods, respected little mounds, each with its edging of stone and its birchwood cross with the eaves on it. In one French cemetery were some Boche graves shortly to be moved there- from. In a ditch our driver spied a dead man. Now these woods are crammed with Yanks. [69] Adventures in Propaganda Their few neat signs are tacked up over the Boche. Fewer signs, greater intelHgence! In an utterly vacant village — just one mass of smashed dwellings converted into machine- gun nests, all looped round with wire and belted with masonry trenches, no signs, no footprints, but the road cleared by fast United States en- gineers — we picked up Boche machine-gun belts fully loaded lying in the grass. The marvel is how any army could ever break through such a mass of fortifications. It is a greater marvel that our doughboys did it in one day ! They tell some great stories of the doings there. One German major was found with his kit all packed up, his arms folded, waiting to go to prison camp. He was furious with his high command whom he had told the attack was coming, but who did n't believe him. So, in high dudgeon and righteous indignation, he made no effort to escape. Achilles in his tent was no nobler picture! I keep telling the funniest story of all. On the British front they advanced so fast not long ago that they caught a train and sent the en- [70] Adventures in Propaganda gineer trailing back a prisoner. The engineer was explosive with indignation and flourished a paper which nobody would read. Busy fight- ers just waved Fritz rearward and he waved his paper as he went. Finally, late in the day somebody looked at his paper. It was a guar- antee from the Imperial German Government that he would not be sent for service into the war zone. According to his interpretation he therefore could not be taken prisoner! There- fore he demanded to be sent back to Germany at once! It is astounding how Russia does not exist here. Nobody gives a damn about Russia in France. The German at our gates bulks too big for anybody to think at all about Russia. The more you see of the German, of his army, his fighting power, the more you see how near he came to wiping France off the map the same as Serbia — the more you see that licking the German is not the entirely secondary matter that some good souls deem it to be. Ask these good souls what they would do if they found themselves in a roomful of persons whom they 1 71 ] Adventures in Propaganda knew pretty well and suddenly one half the room begins to fight them with every resource. Would they expect their half of the room to sit back and talk about the devastating effects of combat on some new-born infant next door? They do know the Boche pretty well over here. I 'm not saying we know the whole truth about the Boche or that you are n't as near his civil- ian population as we are, but we can't get away from his very efficient and aggressive army all over the place. XVII General Headquarters^ A.E.F,, September 24, 19 18 Such funny days I have. There were never such complicated ones. One hour I struggle with ideas — trying to make acute judgments on the Boche psychology in relation to world pol- itics; the next I struggle with things — print paper, maps, transport, gas, manufacture, sci- entific tests; again I turn to what is neither — papers relating chiefly to how to get at the gas, tests, transport, etc. That is the most baffling of all. And another day I may do nothing but ride. Yesterday I motored two hundred miles. But I called the whole ride a bally bore and am getting fed up on these miles of beautiful coun- try that I now know so well. I departed cussing, and then laughed at my- self. There I was in a high-power luxurious Cadillac, mine own equipage, with the General Staff mark fore and aft, with the best driver in G. 2. D. awaiting my orders, and all the north- t73 ] Adventures in Propaganda east roads of France open ahead. It was a mag- nificent car, seven-seater, limousine, with fine leather fittings, blue drawn curtains all around, set-in electric lights, on one side a rack for a mirror, smelling salts, and vanity-box (only the vanity-box missing), the mirror framed in fawn leather, and on the other side a rack for cigarette ashes and matches. Hell! there was even a cushion for my muddy boots! War! My aunt! Only the paint on the outside was warlike! It was just like the remark of the unknown oflBcer opposite me at the dinner table to-night at the " Y." He was a silent guy who, after our warrior's hard repast of soup (most delicious), white bread, perfectly cooked meat with carrots and chestnuts, milky mashed potatoes, salad and cheese, and sugary confitures with cookies and coffee, exploded sourly, "It's a hard life." I asked how long since he'd been put on Staff, and he said nine weeks and two days. I knew he was savagely comparing his fare with his field mess and longing for the latter. Yesterday I bowled along so lordly that I got into a wild temper in the city of Toul where [74] Adventures in Propaganda I stopped for lunch, telling the driver to be back at 12.45. It was then 12 o'clock. At the "Comedie" there was a waiting line of United States officers, twenty-five long, hoping for a place in the large dining-room, also filled with Americans. At the Metz across the street I got the last seat and waited until 12.30 without one flicker of attention from the one girl and one man for the whole dining-room. Quitting in rage I sought the "Bronoquet," where a painted lady gladly told me the place was complet. The "Centrale" was full of soldiers, but I'd have taken a seat if there 'd been one. I tackled some "lower-class" places labelled "restaurant," but there were no dining-rooms in them. "Restaurant" often means just beer and bread. Back at the "Comedie" the waiting line was still longer. One place of very low de- gree was full. I could see through the window — food was there — only there was no door. I still wonder how the devil folks got into that place — I nearly tried the window. Again I invaded the "Centrale" where the proprietor fiercely greeted me. "Finie! Finie!!!" French [75 ] Adventures in Propaganda for It's one o'clock, and therefore illegal to serve new diners. I told him firmly as I planked I myself down, "Vous avez quelques choses a manger et j'ai faim, voila tout." He imme- diately smiled, and as he weakened I ordered "du vin," which always melts recalcitrant French hearts, and, moreover, exhibited bread tickets which enable French hoteliers to get bread from the baker. Amid the soldiers I got a meal — and very decent, too. War's brutalizing me fearfully in France. With my busted French I unblushingly call Madame the hostess, and say: "The first word you addressed to me when I sat down was 'bread tickets.' I gave them. Now I don't want in return that piece which the cat has licked. Fetch the good bread and plenty of it." Now, having blasted the slackers who mar the landscape, I admit I feel better — or ashamed of myself. It seems churlish to swear in a land where the streets are black if there are many women in them. Such starved women, too. Everywhere the fire and life and joy of womanhood here are hung round with a pall of Adventures in Propaganda sooty mourning. The girls are moving clouds of death. Eyes that sparkle — and in a mirror catch themselves sparkling — also see them- selves framed in a color that denies eyes the right to sparkle. Their young vigor is con- demned. The open road in France is one thing by day and another by night. By day the roads are pretty vacant and my car roared along un- hampered. But by night there begins a tre- mendous flow of iron along the arteries of this front. Guns and shell trucks, tractors, horses dragging metal things, and the men bearing iron arms fill the roads and "proceed up." By day the road is clear again, the only evidence of its night travail being wheels, broken gear, and every little while entire smashed trucks shoved into the ditch — casualties of the night. The iron armies are gone, — hid in the woods, — - the next night to sally forth and "proceed" again. If you are abroad at night and slowly work your way by one of these truck trains you make out the tired, laborious figures afoot, ahorse, t77l Adventures in Propaganda atruck, lurching with discomfort and drooping with sleep, and amongst them always a big proportion of alert, amused, able Americans^ quietly whistling, or smoking, — joking at trouble, — and cheerful about the " top " whose going over they are approaching. You work by miles after miles of men whose silhouetted jaws all point one way under their foolish flat hel- mets. The thrill of war is vibrant for miles — "Suwanee River," "Baby's Prayer at Dawn," "Mist over theah like on the old Bayou" (Southern accent), "Well, you'd think this train was bound for the next war" (Yankee twang), "These damn narrow roads ain't no mark to the pikes in Santa Clara County, Cal." (Western voice, rather loud) — such are the human punctuations in the basically iron rum- ble of the column. It's a mighty human war. Wild optimism — *'D' je hear? We're going to take Metz in the next ten days"; serious gossip — "The regi- mental sergeant major told the Top that they know now from a Boche prisoner that there are thirteen lines of defense with over eleven hun- 1 78 ] ^3 cl s? toj" ^ c ttt-S m^ S Ijl-^! 15 trJ 1 1 ! 1 i ^^^s 1 i 1 ^» felbpoftkartc fur beuffd)* Solbaten, Me oon Der atnerihanifctiBn nrrace gefangen genommen (DerOen. ffle^Bunj (Sircfc unt 'jtulntintmtr} 161 Adventures in Propaganda dred concrete machine-gun nests in the Hinden- burg line on our front"; simple wonder — "It's plain the Germans can't do anything against us — ^look at St. Mihiel"; wisdom — "You poor fish, the Boche pulled out. Everybody knows that." So it goes. There is so much wait- ing in war that an army talks more than two whole nations in a generation of peace-time. The job goes so-so. Poorly just now, but due to material difficulties and those we can and shall overcome. It's a terrible job to start a big enterprise like this in an atmosphere of offen- sives. I enclose my latest effort — a bill of fare. Is it a puzzle .f^ It's for air work. The solution is. What can you make a good Boche soldier, under orders to destroy all luftblatter, keep and carry around.^ Good or rotten, the idea's mine. Also my International Bulletin in two languages is progressing. XVIII Somewhere in France^ September zg, 191 8 This is headquarters of an army during a great drive and it has all the air of any office, the usual offices in usual times. Even business does n't seem to be especially rushing; when business in steel is rushing, the offices do not go frantic — it's out in the shop one hears clangor. When business in iron and blood is brisk, the offices do not explode — it's out in the woods and on the ridges and in front of "wire" that men rush and sweat and chill to death and swear and cringe and yell their tri- umph. Out in this business's "industrial dis- tricts," some miles from here, the fireflies and the war-workers struggle for poor comfort in their literally earthen hovels, but in these oflSces we sit like business magnates, interested mainly in "results," "output," "expenses," "gains." , In the next rooms are the true office force, [80] Adventures in Propaganda with maps and 'phones. We are interlopers, occupying the desks and chairs of Major Wil- lard Straight's room. We have been reading the President's splendid speech/ and having fully discussed and approved it, one is typing a report, another is absorbing the papers and a stray copy of the New Republic, and^ I am chatting with you. Yesterday we inducted Lieutenant Ralph Hayes into his estate. We saw him oathed, bought his ornaments, and as we motored north, pinned his insignia on him and bedev- illed him into office. He lacks only the brown braid on his blouse sleeve and the Sam Browne belt. Both sins are covered by his raincoat, which he overworks now to maintain an appear- ance of living up to regulations. People who were bothered by our association on terms of equality with a corporal are equally bothered by said corporal's sudden elevation to the state of officer and gentleman. For the past three days we have been associ- ating with German prisoners, studying Boche 1 See Appendix. [8i ] Adventures in Propaganda psychology at first-hand. We have examined scores, officers and privates, Prussian, Saxon, Hanoverian, Hungarian, and Roumanian, old- ish and very young. What is the Boche like ? I have three major impressions: First, the great herd, the dirty common cattle, simple, stinking, helpless, dangerous. They want to eat and be warm. They are speechless. They are all glad to be prisoners. Second, the ordinary run of officers — intel- ligent, trimmed, and controlled in mind and body, stubborn, able, but unattractive, who can be voluble. They are utterly unoriginal. Third, certain youths. A few days ago they were trying to kill Americans, and if I met them I should dutifully try to stick a bayonet in them, if able to. They are the enemy. They have delicate faces, clear skin and eyes. I used to see many of the like of them before me in schoolrooms. Take Herr Junkherr H. von B., aged twenty, of the Prussian Guards. "Papa," to whom he constantly refers, was Military Attache at Washington once. The boy speaks perfect Eng- [82] Adventures in Propaganda lish. He is slim, almost feminine in his manner, handsome. When brought before me he ad- dresses me at once to prefer a request; "May I ask that my rank and name be not ignored? The French officer who interrogated me did not acknowledge the salute and left the room without speaking. In the German army officers always speak on leaving the room." All this most gently, like a child who was bewildered and must know at once whether he was to re- ceive the treatment that he expected. A true stripling of his class, who stated his "social position" as if it were the same sort of fact as his name, place of residence, etc. He mentioned these things first because they seemed to him to be in peril, just as the herd asked first for food and blankets. I cut short his protests with a request to sit, an apology for the box that stood for a chair, and offered a cigarette. His questions were thus answered and then forgotten. We talked about the war and about America, which he had planned to visit, "but he was afraid now he never could see," and he asked if I knew [ 83 ] Adventures in Propaganda Anne Morgan and Anita Stewart and Mrs. Vanderbilt, whom "Papa had talked of so much"! The morning before he was directing a ma- chine gun until the soldiers at his side were shot, one in the chest, and one killed outright. Then he heard the firing of the Americans behind him as well as in front — on all sides. "I talked with the 'unteroffizier' who had been at the front since 19 14. I told him that when it was useless I would not waste blood, either German or American. — I wish so much to send word %u hause that I am not dead. You see a few hours earlier I had sent back word that we would hold the position at all costs — that was the last word so they will think I am killed." Another, just nineteen, wore a cumbersome iron helmet two sizes too large, like a cavern around his girl's features. I would not have had the heart to be stern with him even in the schoolroom. In war — kill him.^ Good Lord! With others it was n't so. The officers were such capable dunderheads. They talked their newspaper nonsense so seriously and held such [84] Adventures in Propaganda fervent shallow beliefs that one thought of them in command of the thousands of animals in the next cage and understood how very dangerous the combination could be. One of them, a Hamburg shipowner's son, who solemnly lumped Roumania and America together as about on equal terms, said equally solemnly: "One of our ships, the 'Hohefelde,' is now the 'Long Beach.' She is carrying Amer- ican troops. That is a good thing. My father says it is very bad for a ship to lie idle in the water. It is much better for the ship to have it doing something." You have to use a hammer made in a shell works to get sense into a noodle like that. I talked with him very reasonably for some time, but it was with profound satisfac- tion that I finally turned on him and said very warlike: "We will smash your line all right. Of course, every one knows that now. And then we will smash you out of France and then over the Rhine, and the longer you stand up for smashing the worse your country will be off." I left him with his jaw polishing his shoes. The animals — those shapeless, grinning pri- [ 85 ] Adventures in Propaganda vate soldiers — were amusing. They took a lot of the seriousness out of the war. They are so damn glad to be caught, so content to be alive and in the hands of Americans, so sure "the war has lasted too long, much too long," and so hilarious over the fact that for them the war is auSy that it was cheering to see them — es- pecially so many of them ! Every officer asks: "Why is America in the war?" Some, a good many, really are puzzled, they want to learn. Others are curious to see if you will repeat idealisms as sober war explana- tions. When you do — they smile sarcastically. But their smile fades if you take the trouble to insist, and if you ask them what it will mean to Germany if what you say is really correct. When you tell them that they are prisoners, that thousands more are prisoners, that Amer- icans are savage killers because they want noth- ing out of the war, some of these sarcastic Prus- sian Guard officers almost quail. It is very curious. XIX ^ General Headquarters, A.E.F.^ October i, 1918 These last six days I have put in talking to the enemy, questioning him. Like all the rest of it over here, it's already something stale for me. Or ■ would be if I regarded it solely from the standpoint of experience. In the great wire cages south of , a long way south, we mixed with the " catch." Picture a muddy hillside, some acres contained in barbed wire patrolled by a few Yanks with long bay- onets, and with cattlelike inhabitants, dun- gray, shapeless animals, standing around or lying around most of the time, muddy lumps in the muddy prospect. They look so much alike and so drab. If the sun comes out the more energetic peel off some of their wrappings and wash a bit or rub themselves. They all cling closely to their poor possessions, a blanket, a 1 This letter is reprinted from the New Republic of De- cember 14, 191 8. 1 87] Adventures in Propaganda mess kit, an extra cap or coat. You can have no idea what "kannonenf utter" means until you 've seen a mass of several thousand German privates. The German army system takes all — yokels and fine boys, fathers and free journey- men — and mashes them into mass formation, abolishes their souls. Suppose you question these miserable men, with nothing left but their dirty wrappings, sleeping on the ground in the rain. Ask them about their treatment. Every one will instantly respond that his treatment is fine, that he is content, that he is glad to be in that cage. He is free in that cage. Free from the war and the German machine! It is hard, indeed, to imagine these men as they were a few hours ago, "good soldiers" try- ing to kill Americans. I passed a group which was waiting blindly for the return of some American officer who had told them to stand there, perhaps an hour before. They looked so wretched, without a spark of life. "Achtung!" one of them cried to the right of me; one at the left also called sharply, "Achtung!" (Atten- [88] Adventures in Propaganda tion!) The nine or ten sparkless forms hurled themselves upright, hands to trouser seams rigidly, ramrods from ears to heels. Because I stopped and looked at them, because I was an officer, "Achtung" sprang warningly from lips and "Achtung" smote their weary limbs into line. I wanted to laugh or swear at the poor fools. Instead I walked hastily away. But they're nowhere near so good soldiers as they were three months ago and far below what they were a year ago. German morale is crum- bling — it's not wrecked yet, but it's going. "The war is too long, much too long." That's what the prisoner says, that's what all the German soldiers are feeling strongly. One or two astonishing stories we have ob- tained. One young officer is anxious to go back into Germany to tell his people, "hochgeboren" diplomatic folk, what the Americans are like, and what they really are fighting for. But the most amazing is the story of Gefreite F. W., with the ribbon of the first and second class Iron Cross, a "Sozial Demokrat geboren." This stark, creased, desperate-looking soldier, to all [89] Adventures in Propaganda outward appearance nothing but a "good sol- dier" told us his story in bitten-off sentences and in a postcard. In August, 19 14, he had been mobilized. In four years of war he had had sixteen days of leave. He spent those four years in front of the first-line trenches^ gunner of a fifteen-millimetre piece. His job was to lie out in a shell-hole with his gun, ahead of his own infantry. He was put there because he was a Social Democrat. That was his explanation. Not even when his wife died did he get leave to go to the funeral. He was forty-two years old, a butcher once, employing men, with a good business, and a house which he owned, and he had a postcard picture of it if we wanted to see it. The business had been sold for war taxes. The baby died three months after the mother. His own mother was paralyzed, seventy-nine years old. He must have killed hundreds of men. At Cambrai, where he was out in front of his own infantry, the British sent eighteen waves against him and none broke through. "Did he know Americans were before him in this last fight?" [ 90 1 Adventures in Propaganda Yes, he had heard so. And in the fog on that morning two days before, he saw the Americans, some passing to left, others walking to right, and he said then and there, "I will shoot no American." He swore he fired not a shot. When some American soldiers called out in German to him, he rose up from his lone shell-hole fort and surrendered. "But if there had been Negroes before me I 'd have shot to the last shell," he added. It was this postscript that convinced me he was telling the truth. We asked him who caused the war. "Die Weltspitzbiiben," he said; "the rascals, the Prussian landlords." — "Scheidemann?" — "He spoke pretty well." — "Haase.f* Lede- bour?" — " Ach, they told the truth." — "Lieb- knecht?" — "He talked too much." On one of his rare leaves in a cafe in Stettin a captain of the Vaterlandspartei had said that the war must go on. W. had said to him, "You fool, if you had lain out there in that devilish Schwein- erei for four years in the mud, you'd have reason to know better — you office slacker." [91 ] Adventures in Propaganda W. said that the captain said he'd shoot the soldier, and the soldier says he answered, "You , you reach back, and I '11 slit your throat." His echt Deutsch cuss-words were venomous. I questioned him closely, but he stuck to it. "Do many common soldiers speak like that to officers?" "Many think it, the greatest part think it, and more dare to say it now than ever did before." Finally we looked at the postcard of his house shown by this haggard, wolfish soldier with the broken teeth, the scars, the cropped, mangy-looking head, the ploughed forehead, and the almost glazed, glassy eyes. We got a shock. In front of the common dwelling with its fenced-in yard stood a man, a round, prosper- ous person, obviously in the pose of owner, al- most a self-important person, with a high choker collar, a noticeable tie, and large waistcoat, with jowls and a well-tended mustache, with his blond hair slicked down on either side of a neat "part" — ridiculously the type of the fattened bourgeois. He was so prosperous, with his arm akimbo and his newspaper crumpled in hand. [92 ] Adventures in Propaganda He explained that that was he — that was Herr W. in peace. We simply did not believe him. He explained that he'd lost forty-eight pounds in four years of war. I looked sharply at the card and the face and could make out the nose and brows the same — not a thing else. That man, body and life, was as smashed as these French villages by the war. He had stayed out in the trenches, outside even of the trenches, hating the "Spitzbiiben" who put him there. Ralph remarked, "He has only his anger left." I rejoined, "But he can't do anything even with his anger." For, as with all Germans, despite the hatred that could make him swear, there seemed in him no spark of revolution, no hint of organizing resistance. He had killed hundreds of men at the behest of " Spitzbiiben " whom he railed at and who smashed him and his, but it never seemed to occur to him that he could do anything whatever about it. XX General Headquarters, A.E.F., October 4., 1918 We're all in the grip of things, big things. My mind often turns to Mills and Crawford and Barrett — three Evening Sun men killed here. I am ridiculously safe way back here and my work will never put me in danger; I do not like that. I wish I were a fighter up front; the thing — is it dishonorable to confess it.^^ — the only thing that makes me feel some content here is that I can so get back to you. That 's not very noble, I 'm afraid. I could be a damn good fighter, and then I would have an entirely dif- ferent view of things — that my life was not mine and so I could not think of my life in re- lation to anybody, even you. Now it is only secondarily I say, "Of course, some fool chance shell or bomb may not let me see My Girl again" but the chance is so remote that I can write of it to you. At this desk, damn it, and in the car, north [94] ^cr il3orten, wo ficf) bie ^cntfrf)cn 4 3af)rc lang bcljauvtet ftattcu, rourbe in 27