THE LAND OF DEEPENING SHADOW

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I GETTING IN
II WHEN SKIES WERE BLUE
III THE CRIME AGAINST THE CHILDREN
IV PULPITS OF HATE
V PUPPET PROFESSORS
VI THE LIE ON THE FILM
VII THE IDEA FACTORY
VIII CORRESPONDENTS IN SHACKLES
IX ANTON LANG OF OBERAMMERGAU
X SUBMARINE MOTIVES
XI THE EAGLE AND THE VULTURE
XII IN THE GRIP OF THE FLEET
XIII A LAND OF SUBSTITUTES
XIV THE GAGGING OF LIEBKNECHT
XV PREVENTIVE ARREST
XVI POLICE RULE IN BOHEMIA
XVII SPIES AND SEMI-SPIES
XVIII THE IRON HAND IN ALSACE-LORRAINE
XIX THE WOMAN IN THE SHADOW
XX THE WAR SLAVES OF ESSEN
XXI TOMMY IN GERMANY
XXII HOW THE PRUSSIAN GUARD CAME HOME FROM THE SOMME
XXIII HOW GERMANY DENIES
XXIV GERMANY'S HUMAN RESOURCES
XXV BERLIN'S EAST-END
XXVI IN THE DEEPENING SHADOW
XXVII ACROSS THE NORTH SEA
XXVIII THE LITTLE SHIPS




THE LAND OF DEEPENING SHADOW

CHAPTER I

GETTING IN

Early in November, 1915, I sailed from New York to Rotterdam.

I spent nearly a month in Holland completing my preparations, and
at length one grey winter morning I took the step that I dreaded.
I had left Germany six months before with a feeling that to enter
it again and get safely out was hopeless, foolish, dangerous,
impossible. But at any rate I was going to try.

At Zevenaar, while the Dutch customs officials were examining my
baggage, I patronised the youth selling apple cakes and coffee, for
after several months' absence from Germany my imagination had been
kindled to contemplate living uncomfortably on short rations for
some time as the least of my troubles. Furthermore, the editorial
opinion vouchsafed in the Dutch newspaper which I had bought at
Arnhem was that Austria's reply to the "Ancona" Note made a break
with America almost a certainty. Consequently as the train rolled
over the few remaining miles to the frontier I crammed down my
apple cakes, resolved to face the unknown on a full stomach.

The wheels ground under the brakes, I pulled down the window with a
bang and looked out no longer upon the soft rolled military cap of
Holland but upon the business-like spiked helmet of Germany. I
steeled myself. There was no backing out now. I had crossed the
German frontier.

The few passengers filed into the customs room, where a corps of
skilled mechanics prised open the contents of bags and trunks.
Each man was an expert in his profession. A hand plunged into one
of my bags and emerged with several bars of chocolate, the wrappers
of which were shorn off before the chocolate was well out of the
bag. A bottle of liniment, the brand that made us forget our
sprains and bruises in college days, was brought to light, and with
commendable dexterity the innocent label was removed in a twinkling
with a specially constructed piece of steel. The label had a
picture of a man with a very extensive moustache--the man who had
made the liniment famous, or _vice versa_--but the trade name and
proprietor must go unsung in the Fatherland, for the Government has
decreed that travellers entering Germany may bring only three
things containing printed matter, viz.: railroad tickets, money and
passports.

When the baggage squad had finished its task and replaced all
unsuspected articles, the bags were sealed and sent on to await the
owner, whose real troubles now began.