So! We were Americans, he said when we finally were presented. That was good. We--that is--I had come to write of the war as seen from the German side. Good, _sehr gut_! He had heard the Allies, especially the English,--_Verfluchte Englanderschwein!_--were telling many lies in the American newspapers. How could any intelligent man believe them? In his zeal for the German cause his Iron Cross, his one shattered leg, the consciousness that he was a hero, all were forgotten. Of course I wanted to hear his story--the story of that little piece of metal hanging from the black and white ribbon on his coat--but tenaciously he refused. That surprised me until I knew Prussian officers. So we left the man with the Iron Cross, marveling not at his modesty but that it embodied the spirit of the German army; whereas I thought I knew that spirit. But not until the next night, when I left Hamburg behind, where every one was pretending to be busy and the nursemaids and visitors were still tossing tiny fish to the wintering gulls in the upper lake; not until the train was bringing me to Berlin did I understand what it meant. At the stations I went out and walked with the passengers and watched the crowds; I talked with a big business man of Hamburg--bound for Berlin because he had nothing to do in Hamburg; then it was I faintly began to grasp the tremendous emotional upheaval rumbling in every Germanic soul. V--STORY OF THE SOLDIERS IN BERLIN My first impression of Berlin was the long cement platform gliding by, a dazzling brilliance of great arc lamps and a rumbling chorus of song. Pulling down the compartment window I caught the words "_Wir kämpfen_ _Mann für Mann, für Kaiser and Reich!_" And leaning out I could see down at the other end of the Friederichstrasse Station a regiment going to the front. Flowers bloomed from the long black tubes from which lead was soon to pour; wreaths and garlands hung from cloth-covered helmets; cartridge belts and knapsacks were festooned with ferns. The soldiers were all smoking; cigars and cigarettes had been showered upon them with prodigal hand. Most of them held their guns in one hand and packages of delicacies in the other; and they were climbing into the compartments or hanging out of the windows singing, always singing, in the terrific German way. Later I was to learn that they went into battle with the "_Wacht am Rhein_" on their lips and a wonderful trust in God in their hearts.