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CHAPTER XXV
HOME TO TRÄLLEBORG
IN
the morning of the memorable 6th of November I left
Metz by the train for Saarbrucken, the town where the
first shots were fired in the last Franco-German war.
I had some time to spare, and settled down at a table in the
restam"ant of the Terminus Hotel to read some really recent
newspapers. Life seemed to go on here just as usual, and one
noticed nothing of the war. The regular customers came in
for their Friihschoppen (early mug of beer) as they always do,
and here and there an officer or a civilian was breakfasting.
At Ludwigshafen a conductor came along and shouted into
every compartment of the train that the windows were to be
kept shut, and that nobody must lean out whilst passing over
the Rhine bridge. It was pleasant to see the alacrity with
which his order was obeyed—after all one had plenty of time
to contemplate the great and mighty river between that town
and Mannheim. Just as the train was starting, this same
conductor jumped into my compartment. Aha, I thought,
he thinks my shabby field clothes look suspicious in a first-
class compartment, and he sees that I am busy with map,
notebook and pencil. However, I met him half-way in my
frankest manner, and asked whether the window-closing order
was a precaution against bomb attacks on the bridge. He
smiled and answered that the orders were that the windows
were to be shut. Then I asked what the consequence would
be if one disobeyed the order, opened the window and looked
out. " In that case," he said, " there are sentries outside who
would note the compartment and the window, and the end
would be that the guilty party would land in a place where
he would find no windows at all."
At Mannheim nothing happened. But at Heidelberg I had
hardly stepped on to the platform before two officers came
378
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