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ON THE WAY TO THE FRONT 21
beyond the valleys of the great rivers. It is a dangerous
game to trifle with the eagle, for he may leave his nest and
spread his wings for flight. But Germany’s fateful hour has
now struck, and the moment has come for the Teutons to
assert themselves and to lay the foundation for an assured
future. Listen to the echo of their ringing stride in the streets
of Wittenberg—the same echo is heard in all German cities
where the volunteers rally round the flag ! It is a migration
the like of which the world has never seen, and the country
is filled with the spirit of resolution and enthusiasm which
does not know what fear is or doubt, an understanding which
asks no questions. They march off to unknown fates, glorious
and horrible alike. Very soon they will say their evening
prayers to the accompaniment of the thunder of guns and the
shrieking of shells. It is not for German liberty alone that
they are fighting, it is for the independent existence of the
other Germanic nations as well that they fearlessly face death
on the battlefield. So no wonder that my eye follows them
until they disappear round the next street corner—the sound
of their music still ringing in my soul.
Zum König von Preussen, Zum Goldenen Anker—they
show wonderful fertility of mind in hitting upon attrac-
tive names to lure the customers into their inns ! Many a
Bierkneipe in these parts has venerable associations, and inns
are still to be found where it is known that Luther sat and
quaffed his good old beer.
But Wittenberg also has Swedish memories. Many a
Swedish soldier has marched over the Elbe bridge since the
memorable 3rd September, 163 1, when Gustavus Adolphus
came over for the first time to rescue Protestantism and the
liberty of thought on earth—up to the October day, 1813,
when our old regiments for the last time trod the road to
Leipzig to take part in the struggle against Napoleon. How
different was the conduct of war on these two occasions, but
how alike were the will and spirit of the people !
It was with a mixture of pride and melancholy that I sat
thinking of those good old times, as we skimmed the surface
with lightning speed.
With the car as a pair of compasses we measure out the
distances on the full-scale map of Germany itself. The Elbe
valley has disappeared behind us, and we now pick up and
leave one village after the other. Sometimes the village
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