nce
against a man by one who has power over him. The personal
equation was inevitable to the observer. Struck in that way, could one
fail to strike back? Would not he strike in red anger, without stopping
to think of consequences? There is something bred into the Anglo-
Saxon which resents a physical blow. We court-martial an officer for
laying hands on a private, though that private may get ten years in
prison on his trial. Yet the Russian thought nothing of it, or the guard,
either. An officer in the German or the Russian army may strike a
man.

"Would the guard hit a Frenchman in that way?" I asked. Our guide
said not; the French were good boys. Or an Englishman? He had
not seen it done. The Englishman would swear and curse, he was
sure, and might fight, they were such undisciplined boys. But the
Russians--"they are like kids. It was only a slap. Didn't hurt him any."

New barracks for the prisoners were being built which would be
comfortable, if crowded, even in winter. The worst thing, I repeat, was
the deadly monotony of the confinement for a period which would end
only when the war ended. Any labour should be welcome to a
healthy-minded man. It was a mercy that the Germans set prisoners
to grading roads, to hoeing and harvesting, retrieving thus a little of
the wastage of war. Or was it only the bland insistence that conditions
were luxurious that one objected to?--not that they were really bad.
The Germans had a horde of prisoners to care for; vast armies to
maintain; and a new volunteer force of a million or more--two millions
was the official report--to train.

While we were at the prison camp we heard at intervals the rap-rap of
a machine-gun at the practice range near by, drilling to take more
prisoners, and on the way back to Berlin we passed companies of
volunteers returning from drill with that sturdy march characteristic of
German infantry.

In Berlin I was told again that everything was perfectly normal. Trains
were running as usual to Hamburg, if one cared to go there. "As
usual" in war time was the ratio of one to five in peace time.

At Hamburg, in sight of steamers with cold boilers and the forests of
masts of idle ships, one saw what sea power meant. That city of
eager shippers and traders, that doorstep of Germany, was as dead
as Ypres, without a building being wrecked by shells. Hamburgers
tried to make the best of it; they assumed an air of optimism; they still
had faith that richer cargo