LETTERS FROM AUSTRIA AND GERMANY

The following extracts are from letters written by two recent Dartmouth graduates at widely different parts of the front. The selections are but fragments of long letters to friends at home, but they contain the atmosphere and the spirit with which these men are doing their work.

The first is from a letter of Captain Leslie W. Snow, Postal Express Service, U S A., of the class of 1912, written after he had arrived in Vienna. His brother, Conrad E. Snow '12, was serving at the same time as divisional personnel adjutant in the Moselle country.'

Leslie Snow writes at length of his experience in Austria:

Vienna, Austria

January 6, 1919

I find myself in a unique and responsible position in the heart of an enemy country, a country whose future as an Empire seems to be behind it, and in the midst of young little republics which are forming out of the remains of the old Empire. It is the most interesting time of modern history to be here, and officially connected with it.

My job is to establish headquarters in Vienna, and connections with such places with which regular or irregular communication is desired and to keep the connections open. There are so many languages and peoples, hostile to one another, that it is a real job! I shall doubtless see a great deal of this section of Europe before I come home. Right now I am already in touch with Trieste. Italy; Warsaw, Poland; Prague, Bohemia; and Berne, Switzerland, thence to Paris and allied capitals.

I have a diplomatic passport good for most all countries of Europe, and one also from the U. S. Food Commission, signed personally by Hoover, and respected by everybody!

On Dec. 27th, I got the Swiss vise on my passport and left Paris at 4:30 p. m. in an auto for Switzerland. We were in civilian clothes. It was cold and rained the entire way but we drove steadily, stopping only for hasty meals and 3 hours sleep at Troyes, France, until we arrived at the Swiss frontier at 2 p. m., Dec. 28th. The ground was snow covered here — the first I had seen in France. We drove into Switzerland, through wonderfully beautiful passes, through Neuchatel, to Berne, where we arrived at 8 p. m. The total trip was 360 miles. There were no autos in Switzerland, except government and diplomatic.

At Berne we met a Hoover commission and arranged to travel into Austria with them on this initial trip. We left an officer here to represent us and connect our Vienna couriers with the already established Berne to Paris daily courier service. Every nationality was there. We met several Austrians who had come to arrange for the Hoover mission; they accompanied us clear to Vienna. One was said to be the leading lawyer of Vienna, and another a prominent banker. They were very courteous and assisted us in every way possible.

Business done,-we left Berne at noon on a special car December 31st and passed the Austrian customs proceeding to Feldkirch, Austria on a regular train. Here the Hoover mission was met at the station by the Mayor and Food Commissioner of the town in tall silk hats. They took us all on a tour of inspection about the town, and a dilapitated old town it was. We then got into an Austrian sleeping car specially prepared for us and started on our memorable journey into the heart of Austria. We changed from civilian clothes into uniform as soon as we left Feldkirch and have remained in uniform since then.

At the station in Vienna a large number of Austrian diplomats and others met the Hoover party and we all went in autos to the Hotel Briolot, the best in Vienna. I have a room elegantly furnished with two telephones and all kinds of electric contrivances, a hallway, and a bathroom (hot water once a week) for 30 kronen, a day, which according to the present value of the kronen amounts to $2.00. There is not much heat, except in the dining room, but it is very warm here in Vienna (most fortunately for the poor people). So you see I am very comfortable — more so than in Paris. As for food, one can live well if he spends enough money, but except at one or two of the finest places the food is very poor. The breakfasts at the Briolot are miserable, consisting of extraordinarily poor black bread, thin apple sauce, and tea or coffee. The tea is excellent, but the coffee is anything but coffee, so I drink tea!

Ever since I came I have been getting in touch with the authorities in power to get my work running smoothly, and I have met many men who are destined to play important roles in these countries.

To do this job properly, one ought to have French, German, Hungarian, Servian, Czecho Slovak and Polish — English isn't necessary except to deal with Americans and English, who are almost nil here! I have met and been given every assistance by the leading men of the Polish Legation, Czecho Slovak Legation, Swiss Legation, Austrian Foreign office (in control of Socialists) and the General Directors of two of the railways.

All the other Legations have more than put themselves out to help me, the secret of it is, of course, that America means bread for them. The Secretary of the Czecho Slovak Legation has perhaps been the kindest. He speaks French, so we get along finely, he doing most of the talking. Today he took me to a musical concert in a large wonderfully decorated music hall like Symphony in Boston, only much more georgeous, where I heard Russian music played by an orchestra of about 150 Viennese musicians. Then the Secretary took me to two cafes, where the life of the town could be seen. Imagine my surprise when the pianist at one of the cafes started to play American popular music and even played "Over there"! In fact he pounded out the first few chords of the Star Spangled Banner in one medley!

I know you are anxious to know something of the people and conditions here, so just a word about that. Stores close daily at 4:30 (when it gets dark). Theatres and opera run only once or twice weekly, from 4:30 to 8 p. m. Streets are lighted, but poorly. Street cars running, but may stop any day due to coal shortage. Poor people eat at "soup kitchens" where they can get a wretched stew (with meat once a week - horse and dog meat being eaten) but unless aid is received Vienna will run out of food supplies in January. The country round about, is better supplied. I do not look for any complete food failure. Kronen have been issued in enormous quantities and are supported by gold reserve of a fraction of 1%, so may become worthless, most any time. A real cold spell would cause many deaths. So many men are out of work that streets are crowded with restless people all day and evening. Few uniforms are seen compared with Paris. Returning soldiers received no welcome or ovation, but were looked upon with suspicion, as it was apparently feared they would loot. Apparently, as far as Austria is concerned, the war was won by the allies a long time ago. They are sick of it. They look somewhat dejected; crowds gather easily but the people are quiet. The American uniform is such a novelty that it attracts a great deal of attention. I can gather a crowd daily by stopping on any street corner to talk with anyone. The people are not hostile, however, and many have spoken to me, some in English. Many have asked me if I am English or American. If I want to get through a crowd waiting before a Legation door, they always make room. In hotels and cafes people stare and whisper to each other, but really I think they are glad to see us — mighty glad for they are sick of war. All the Austrian soldiers and officers wear red and white ribbons over the old Austrian coat of arms to indicate that they support the Revolution. All coats of arms have been torn down from public places. The Emperor is no more in Austrian life and is not wanted. The new forming Republics are jealous, however and seem to be refusing to assist each other by exchanging supplies which they separately have in abundance. It is somewhat chaotic now, but will be straightened out — without trouble, let us hope. Germany certainly made a dupe out of Austria and I believe the Austrian people resent it, but blame everything on the Imperial Rulers. The people do not seem to realize that they are responsible for any suffering in France or Belgium. It is most curious.

The following is quoted from a letter by John L. Ames '16, First Lieutenant Infantry U. S. A., to Professor F. L. Childs. The letter, begun in Luxemburg and finished in Herschback, Germany, gives a vivid description of the march from the front lines into undevastated Germany!

I got back to the first division near Grandpré as they were coming out from Sedan shortly after the armistice had gone into effect. Cheered up by that, although tired and hungry, and also by the thought that probably they were bound back to billets and a rest, the hikes back through recent battle fields and areas shelled continuously since 1914 did not seem so bad, and it was consoling to think that soon there would be regular meals and sleeping hours instead of the opposite. It did seem a bit puzzling that we kept swinging over towards Verdun instead of going straight back and out. However, the weather was fine, and there was a sort of undercurrent of expectation that we were going somewhere to entrain. We should have known better, for to my knowledge, the first has entrained hardly more than once in France! (We rarely have trucks either.) Slowly we moved back day by day through ruined towns like Montfaucon and Sept Sarges, some so obliterated that only a sign board or M. P. identified them, or along barren landscapes, hidden by ragged camouflage or hill crest, past shell holes, mine craters, decayed remains of. No Man's Land spiked with gaunt wrecks of trees or lumped with crumbling pill-boxes, along a road which daily became better, crossing lines of defense abandoned by the Germans although protected by some of the most ingenious examples of wiring I have ever seen — so good that they ought to be preserved together with the rest of the tract of territory, which would be particularly valuable as a park into which one could turn all the future hordes of sight seers, quite safe with a Cook's guide—until finally we wound about the circle of hills which protect Verdun both by their natural bulk and the string of forts scattered along them. We did not go into Verdun, which appeared just as a solitary cathedral, rising above clumps of trees; instead we crossed the Meuse, skirted near enough to see the rents in the cathedral roof, magnificent nevertheless with the French flag blowing out from one of its towers, large and glorious so that it drew you up from the fringe of shattered houses.

That night and the one following we encamped in a shell-torn battle field near one of the forts; we were still expecting to entrain for the south of France and a rest!

Next, imagine me early one Sunday morning climbing up from a dug-out. We make all our moves on Sunday, — or at least, that is the way it has seemed; we have moved up towards the line, gone into battle, and been relieved on Sundays. This time the move was very important; the fact that we were getting up at two o'clock in the morning was quite enough evidence. And our mental attitude had changed, for we had all learned that we were not going back for. a rest, but would face about and, having France behind us, hike for a month or so into Germany as part of the American Army of Occupation. The fact that there might be some honor in being chosen to go, even with that which would naturally be added because we were to be in the lead, did not elate us much.

A chilly wind intensified the cold, sweeping up between the high, fortcrested hills from Verdun and the Meuse. A few individual bon-fires leaping in the brush or curling up smoke from the zig-zagging trenches and the steaming, rolling kitchens, each with its queue of shivering men there, only made all this real and produced the effect of something actual through the sharpness of contrast; it explained the absence of the almost constant artillery rumble which is necessarily associated with such destruction.

But a good hot breakfast changed all of that, and by the time I had finished it, received some mail from America, and overseen the scattering of any fires in the company area, I was quite ready to hike anywhere. The battalion had already moved out to join the column when I started after it. I hurried along the hard, narrow road leading to the main highway, winding through a maze of escort wagons, mule teams, water carts, rolling kitchens just getting under way, ammunition wagons, and machine gun carts all jumbled together but nevertheless in a certain order so that they could easily swing out and follow as a train behind the troops which I had to pass before regaining my outfit.

A bend in the road produced a vista of fires in a distant encampment, but the effect was that of a city which was American rather than European; it was so noticeable that many of the men commented on it. Everyone's thoughts seemed to be in that trend; a smaller group of fires- directly underneath us, apparently, glowed with a yellow light like stars near the horizon on a warm night or seemed to change subtly and quiver like reflections of riding lanterns on boats at anchor in smooth water.

The column moved along, halting at intervals; staff cars passed us, coming and going as if busy at something; bugles began to blow reveille and men call down in the valley in a most irritating manner. There was no sunrise, only the world suddenly grayed and became light, showing clusters of camps along the road with troops lining up for breakfast. As the road became more rough, the groups of pup-tents grew more scarce; we had to make a detour where the road had been mined and blown up. When we rested the Verdun hills were behind us and sinking towards the horizon; along the plain at various intervals, groups of negro engineers were busy tearing up rails, systematically made useless, and regrading the road bed which was to serve as our future means of supply and over which we had already hoped to return. The fields were fairly free from shell holes, but rusted with lines of barbed wire stretching out at intervals at first like stray feelers, but leading back to mazes increasingly more ingenious; bits, of camouflage commenced to hide us; signs in German began to appear; but the ground was remarkably neat and well policed. We must have crossed the lines and there was no signboard to tell us! We hiked for a long time that day, but every town was deserted; in no place was there life of any kind. Eventually we billeted in a group of farm houses and buildings which had been occupied by the Germans and evidently quite recently evacuated.

Of the earlier part of the trip one of the most interesting things will always be the welcome we received from the newly liberated French villages. In some cases the Germans had been gone hardly more than twenty-four hours, but there were sure to be many French and American flags, most of them crudely hand -made, waving everywhere and "beaucoup" lanterns of all sorts bright spots against the soft grey peculiar to French villages. Usually there were garlands of ivy or pine hung across the street or a triumphal arch of firs with bunches of flowers stuck in them. Because we were the first Americans, there was, maybe, as much curiosity to draw the inhabitants out as patriotism, but there was no mistaking the reception with "Vive 1'Amerique". "Vive la France," and the "Marseillaise" shouted forth as we marched, unopposed, down "Kaiser Wilhelm strasse", trampling a thick carpet of fresh green ivy ! Everyone was received as though specially invited; hens, butter, milk, and eggs might be lacking, but that could not possibly keep them from presenting you with a plump rabbit or cooking for your men ; everything was yours and nothing was to be paid for. We had fed their France, the other side of the line we had just crossed; now it was their turn.

Although we didn't know it, Luxembourg was the transition ; in France we had been welcomed with joyous shouting and the utmost hospitality; through Luxembourg our reception was more quiet. There were many flags which most of us thought at first were intended to be French but with a mistake made in the direction of the stripes and the shades of the blue (it turned out to be the flag of the duchy, however) ; but the People were now quiet and rarely demonstrative. We saw our American flag hanging out of a house Window, just before we crossed over the Moselle into Germany. We naturally wondered what our reception would be there : how hostile and antagonistic we were likely to find the people. Naturally there was an absence of flags; in many towns we saw bits of German colors fluttering from frees, but torn, or noticed pine trees lybeside the road at the edges of towns c early indicating that the retreating army had probably passed through arches similar to those which had been erected for us in the French towns. Usually as we passed through the French settlements, which are found at every turn of the Moselle River, we marched through streets dotted or lined with groups of silent people, evidently drawn out to see us, merely through curiosity - hardly more, for we encountered no hostile demonstrations.

Now that it is over, there seems nothing extraordinary about it. We hiked every day steadily, getting up regularly at five, breakfasting in the dark, and then marching. Sometimes we were in our new town and billeted by noon; other days we had further to go and wound along the road until five in the evening. We encountered no difficulties in advancing though sometimes it was hard to get a billet because the people appeared to be afraid of us, rather than holding' any particular grude. Never was there any active antagonism as we passed from village to village along streets where the inhabitants looked at us curiously and silently. It was like neither France nor Luxemburg. We were always courteously received in the houses and often offered food. Whether this favorable reception was the result of their own propaganda or came from their natural feelings is something I haven't decided yet; it is hard to say which and I often wonder whether the French and the British are getting the same treatment. Everywhere they seem to have enough to eat; plenty of butter, sugar, excellent potatoes, and much more bread than in France. The bread, although "black", is really dark brown and is quite pleasing; we always try to get some for our mess. Coffee, pepper, and kerosene only are lacking. One distinct impression is that of neatness; exceedingly tidy interiors and shining window panes with glistening white lace curtains are things we did not find in France. There is not a sign of wardestitute Germany; the people we have seen are all well fed, well dressed, and evidently quite prosperous. That together with the unexplained friendly reception, have been surprising. It is hard to believe that a bit over a month ago we were fighting them, but it is something to be remembered until well after the peace is signed and we see how they are going to conduct themselves as a nation.

The advance along the Moselle to the Rhine is something I am glad not to have missed. The scenery is of the same type, but varied by the winding of the river which almost doubles back on itself in places — more so than our Vale of Tempe.

The Moselle, placid and bottle green, or impetuous and slate-colored, flows toward the Rhine bending back and forth between bold hills, often mountainous in height, which drop fairly abruptly to the river. Fom the time I first saw it bordering Luxemburg until I left it joining the Rhine near Coblenz, there was hardly a stretch of any size where its hills were not terraced with vineyards. At first they were monotonous until the colors began to make themselves effective. Villages nestling between the hill folds or hidden by curves created the necessary picture; sometimes, as we neared the Rhine, ancient ruins or a castle, perched high above us, varied the design.

That is the impression of the Moselle; that part of the Rhine which is near Coblenz is different; somehow we had become so used to it that it seemed as if all the German rivers must be the same. One morning, instead of making the final stretch along the river to Coblenz, we cut up over the hills across country. For a while we skirted a wood of pines; then we struck a good road and marched along through rows of spruce trees, young and stiff, at first, bristling and bushy clear to the ground; after a while they became tall and dignified with well trimmed trunks — exceedingly well cared, for. Eventually we turned off and taking a trail well hidden under a soft carpet of leaves, struck through a stretch of wood towards the Rhine. Suddenly we turned sharply about a spur of trees; dipped a bit along a road, and came out on a plateau; below us, far below, was a broad band of olive green, fairly regular in width with steamers and barges making dots on it and towns strung along tied together by the black line of a railroad. We were so high up that we seemed directly over it; the only thing visible on our side were the turrents of Stolzenfels, a yellow ochre castle. We all knew it was the Rhine; we couldn't help it for we had walked there on foot.