rman military machine is its weak spot,
and on this, my second visit to the German Great Headquarters, I was
able to give the astonished authorities a personal demonstration as to
how any smooth-tongued stranger could turn up at even this "holy of
holies." The nocturnal trail led in a military train from Luxemburg over
Longwy to Longuyon, where at 3 o'clock in the morning I met an old
reader of THE NEW YORK TIMES, Herman Herzberger, a wealthy glove leather
manufacturer of Berlin, well known to the trade in New York and
Gloversville.

"What a coincidence," Mr. Herzberger remarked in good American. "I am
going to the front with my wife to see my 18-year-old son, who is in a
hospital at Vonziers. My son, who was in the high school, enlisted as a
volunteer, with practically the whole school, at the outbreak of the
war."

With "constant reader," I boarded a troop transport at Longuyon and
crawled on through the night to the front. It was a reserve battalion of
a Prussian infantry regiment of the line, and a little research work
produced the interesting discovery that it was composed of men who had
been wounded, were recovered, and going back for the second time. They
were delighted to have an American in their midst, and promptly made me
an honorary member. They had no idea where they were going, but eagerly
hoped "they would be back in the trenches by evening."

"Many of us," said a Sergeant, "did not need to come back because owing
to having received serious wounds the first time we were excused from
further military service--but they all came back none the less. Here's
one man who had nine wounds, from bullets and shell splinters, and this
one was shot through the lungs, but you're all right again, aren't you?
and this one is going back, although he has a wife and six children at
home."

It was an interesting revelation as to the morale of the German
reinforcements.

At 9 o'clock in the morning the troop transport stopped for refreshments
at the French village of X, and here a funny phenomenon was witnessed.
From all sides the shrewd inhabitants of the village came running,
scores of them, with bottles of wine. The laughing German soldiers got
out and, negotiating over a picket fence, returned with the refreshments
while the inhabitants made off with German coin. I saw bottles of
champagne change hands here for the sum of 25 cents. In spite of the
cheapness of wine, however, the German soldier is well disciplined an