German language is forced upon all in Austria, and in Hungary the Magyars do not even pretend to make any concessions to Slavs and Roumanians who have no political rights. Bohemian deputies, deprived of most of their old time leaders, cast aside all their former differences, and all parties, liberals and conservatives, agrarians and national socialists, Catholics and social democrats, present a united opposition to the Vienna government and make the calling of parliament impossible. They do not trust the new policy which with the exception of a few Slav names is absolutely German.
America should study more closely that anachronism known as Austria-Hungary. It should receive no sympathy from the people of a republican country. It is not a nation, it is the empire of the Hapsburg family. Today it is entirely under the control of Germany and is just as much an enemy of the United States as its dominating partner. Sixty-seven years ago, when this republic was not yet one of the great powers of the world, Daniel Webster dared to speak boldly to Austria. In a diplomatic note he told the representative of Francis Joseph that “all the possessions of the house of Hapsburg were but as patch on the earth’s surface compared to the United States.”
The democratic countries of Europe—England, France, Italy and Russia—are agreed in this: that the empire of the Hapsburgs forfeited all rights to existence. Let the great American republic make it unanimous.
Stories of War Prisoners.
Gut’ Morhen, meinen Herren . . .
We were returning from patrol work in no man’s land. The morning mist was thinning out, a warning to us to get back into the trenches. We walk quietly, each man tired and melancholy.
Ahead of us the sun rises and its rosy light penetrates the white, heavy mists through which we can now perceive indistinctly the gray outlines of Old Sambor.
About a hundred more feet to the trenches; suddenly a dull, heavy noise is heard from our left side. We fall down immediately ready to defend our lives. I strain my eyes trying to make out anything moving, but the mist rolls over the ground and nothing can he distinguished twenty feet away.
“Boys,” I whisper to the rear, “we have to wait, until the mist gets thinner.” “The devil take them,” somebody answers.
We lie flat for fifteen minutes and then we hear another sound, this time nearer.
“Halt, wer da?” I yell and rattle the rifle. “Guter Freund”, says a feeble, scared voice from the mist. “What friend?”, I ask the unseen person. No answer for a while, and then the sound becomes more distinct, as the unknown approaches.
“Look out, boys,” I command, and the next moment we make out a crawling figure. A Russian soldier, unarmed, pressed to the ground, making progress like a snake. We jump up and order him to rise and come nearer.
He gets up slowly and fawns at us. “Gut’ Morhen, meinen Herren”, he greets us humbly with a foreign accent. It was plain that he was not of the Russian race.
I look at my comrades and they could read my feelings; what I wanted most to do was to send a bullet right between those two Judas eyes. But two among us were Germans and we had to be careful.
We “captured” the deserter and hurried back to the trenches. *** Up to that time the general opinion on our side was that the Russians opposite us were intrenched in force. We were greatly surprised to receive the order “umhengen”, while our artillery was thundering its very loudest. We attacked and captured easily the enemy intrenchments which were only weakly held and defended.
We knew well who furnished the necessary information to our commander—a Judas for thirty pieces of silver.
Mind Your Own Business
When we were departing for the front, our wives and our sweethearts marched with us to the depot with roses in their arms and hot tears in their eyes.
Our hearts were stirred to their depths at the thought of leaving those who were dearest to us. Soon they will be stretching out their arms after us in vain. It was a tragedy for every one.
