Paths of Glory: Impressions of War Written at and Near the FrontCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
History
Paths of Glory: Impressions of War Written at and Near the Front
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Western Front; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
"Do these things count in the sum total? I say they do. Our army will
win because it deserves to win through being ready and being complete
and being efficient. Don't discount the efficiency of our navy either.
Remember, we Germans have the name of being thorough. When our fleet
meets the British fleet I think you will find that we have a few Krupp
surprises for them."
I may meet these confident gentlemen tonight. If not, it is highly
probable I shall meet others who are equally confident, and who will
express the same views, which they hold because they are the views of
the German people.
At eleven o'clock, when I start back to the hotel, the streets will be
almost empty. Aix will have gone to bed, and in bed it will peacefully
stay unless a military Zeppelin sails over its rooftrees, making a noise
like ten million locusts all buzzing at once. There were two Zeppelins
aloft last night, and from my window I saw one of them quite plainly.
It was hanging almost stationary in the northern sky, like a huge yellow
gourd. After a while it made off toward the weSt. One day last week
three of them passed, all bound presumably for Paris or Antwerp, or even
London. That time the people grew a bit excited; but now they take a
Zeppelin much as a matter of course, and only wonder mildly where it
came from and whither it is going.
As for to-morrow, I imagine to-morrow will be another to-day; but
yesterday was different. I had a streak of luck. It is forbidden to
civilians, and more particularly to correspondents, to go prowling about
eastern Belgium just now; but I found a friend in a naturalized German-
American, formerly of Chicago, but living now in Germany, though he
still retains his citizenship in the United States.
Like every one else in Aachen, he is doing something for the government,
though I can only guess at the precise nature of his services. At any
rate he had an automobile, a scarce thing to find in private hands in
these times; and, what was more, he had a military pass authorizing him
to go to Liege and to take two passengers along. He invited me to go
with him for a day's ride through the country where the very first blows
were swapped in the western theater of hostilities.
We started off in the middle of a fickle-minded shower, which first blew
puffs of wetness in our faces, like spray on a flawy day at sea, and
then broke off to let the sun shine through for a minute or two. For
two or three kilometers after clearing the town we ran through a
district that smiled with peace and groaned with plenty. On the
verandas of funny little gray roadhouses with dripping red roofs
officers sat over their breakfast coffee. A string of wagons passed us,
bound inward, full of big, white, clean-looking German pigs. A road
builder, repairing the ruts made by the guns and baggage trains, stood
aside for us to pass and pulled off his hat to us. This was Europe as
it used to be--Europe as most American tourists knew it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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