FLIGHT FROM GERMANY

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXV, Issue 16665, 25 September 1914, Page 8

FLIGHT FROM GERMANY

ON OUTBREAK OF WAR. HOME FROM LEIP3IG. A correspondent of one of the Lo®» don newspapers gives a vivid account of his flight from Germany on the outbreak of war. Leipsig, he writes, has been pursuing its ordinary routine for the last two or three days. The good ladies of the pension have been a little anxious, it is true, and once there was a distant sound of men singing in the street; but, on the whole, Leipsig has been enjoying its exhibition and caring for its visitors as usual, until yesterday (Friday) afternoon. Then, like a thunderclap, a few lines of tape news, published outside the "Tageblatt" pavilion in the exhibition, brought us all face to face with a very dreadful reality. We saw the crowd pressing round to read, and then going silently away. "His Majesty the King and Emperor has declared a state of war for his Royal domains (Reichsgebiet)." That was all, but no one could doubt now that we stood before a great and immediate danger which, in the middle of all these tokens of civilisation and culture, had seemed impossibly remote. The exhibition was already emptying, and we betook ourselves by tram to our lodging. On the way a man with newspaper fly-leaves boarded us. He distributed them to all, but would take no money: "The German Ambassador at St Petersburg reports the general mobilisation of the Russian •fleet and army. Whereupon Lis Majesty the Emperor has commanded recognition of a state of urgent danger of w-ar. Detailed measures of mobilisation have already this evening been prepared. It is believed that to-night an ultimatum will be presented to Russia." Still unwilling to realise the presence of the terrible epeotre, we ask the Consul for advice. " Go at once, to-night," he replies, he is: in no doubt at all. " To-morrow you may not be. able to get through." So we determine on flight. ■ . • ' THE LAST TRAIN. At the pension the grim truth has been before us. The poor Russian girl has been warned by the police to go. Alone and broken with grief, she has to leave her kind friends at once, and is clinging to them all in turn. But everyone is leaving. Thank God, at least that, if it must come, it should be how, when nearly all the girls have already gone home. We try to console the ladies, while with sinvole German hospitality they press us, at least to eat and drink before we start. Eggs there are none to be got; the shops are queues deep already in anticipation 'of the coming scarcity." Goodbye, good-bye, and an revoir when these bitter days, shall, have passed. The station is crowded, and the Flushing train is late. Somehow or other we scramble into places—anywhere, in the corridor, on the luggage —as long as we get into the train. The night is an uneasy nightmare. The broken sleep of a night journey has intervals of half-heard shouting voices on and off the train. Everyone is in a state of unwonted excitement. All kinds of rumours fly about. " The Emperor has declared war already, tonight," "The Dutch refuse to'allow the boats to go." They say this is to bo the last tram to get through. Lights flash in our eyes, and we hear a roar of voices singing. Surely, Hanover! Yes; and they sing, "Die Wacht am Rhein" louder and louder. The tune, begun on the platform, rings through, the streets as we skirt the town. On, on, while at every stop more travellers crowd into the overloaded train. MILITARY ENERGY. At last the German frontier is reach* eel, and an officer steps info the carriage. " Are you all Englishmen here?" he asks. "No; I'm a German," sayi the man in the corner, and he begins a voluble explanation. "Step out, then," he is told; "we must speak to you." Presently he returns; he has established his own freedom from service, but his motor-bicycle has been detained; for use, if need be, for army purposes. With the frontier Dutch stations begins a never-ceasing evidence'of military energj*. Every place we pass is full of soldiers. We can see the cavalry collecting masses of country horses, and on arriving at Flushing we find a boat discharging masses of soldiers on the pier, and there is a warship on the look-out outside the harbour. Acain we are asked whether we. are Englishmen, before we go aboard the peaceful packet, and after three hours' delay the crowded boat leaves the uneasy shores of Europe for the calmer atmosphere of England, still, to. judge from her tourist lists, half incredulous of the dire reality of what is afoot among the unhappy nations of Europe. Even now as we near Queensborough we can see destroyers prowling up and down, watching the ships that come in and go out. and the port authority has just shouted through his megaphone that ours is the last boat to come in to-night.