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But I scarcely made a coherent explanation to him. Here was the great adventure. My first thought in the morning was to join the Honorable Artillery Company, a volunteer corps, but at their headquarters I was informed that for the time being they were only handling their own members. I secured a personal letter of introduction to Lord Denbigh, the Commanding Officer, and was on my way back to H.

Here I ran into Mousely, a New Zealander, an old Cambridge man, who was on his way to Australia House to join the Australian Volunteer Hospital, which was then in the process of formation. The Hospital was due to leave, he said, in a few days. Here, at least, was a sure way of getting out to France. By nightfall, we were members of the Australian Volunteer Hospital, under orders to leave for France as soon as the unit had been completed.

Quarters for the time being were the Ranelagh Club, where the polo field proved a splendid training ground for us, and the club rooms excellent quarters for our officers; we slept in the horse boxes, and were glad of them at the end of a day's drilling. The next morning, regular army uniforms were handed out to about eighty of us, who comprised the rank and file, and we found ourselves in the presence of our officers: Colonel Eames, the commanding officer, and a group of Australian doctors who had been recruited from the London hospitals.

I still remember with respect the regular Army drill sergeant major, who knocked us into soldiers in those few days. We broke his heart at times, but we were willing. Infantry drill and stretcher drill was the order of the day from reveille to dusk.

At the end of about ten days, we were ready to join the Expeditionary Forces. We were inspected by a R. All was excitement. We had been trained as a field unit, and we had visions of ourselves dashing under shell and rifle fire to the rescue of the wounded. We thought we should be at the front within forty-eight hours. We embarked at Southampton in a troop ship, and found ourselves in the midst of other units, mostly infantry battalions which had been rushed home from Gibraltar and Malta.

For a week, we never moved from the wharf. Wrapped in our blankets, we slept on the hard cobblestones and the filth of the dock; we missed the horse boxes of Ranelagh. Rumors were rife: Uhlans had been seen on the outskirts of Havre; spies had been caught in the high posts of the Allied forces.

Confusion was all we knew to be a fact. Troops, in- cluding the French Marine Corps, kept arriving and departing. Suddenly, at a moment's notice, we were piled into a trans- port, packed to capacity with units from a dozen regiments, and we were off to an unknown destination. We slept on the deck where we stood. There were rumors of Bordeaux, but eventually we heard that our destination was St.

There, some public building, probably a school, housed our unit. We had expected to see service as stretcher bearers; in- stead we found ourselves as orderlies carrying coverings, bandages, trays, bed-pans, attending to the pitiful unceasing demands of an overcrowded hospital. The wounded kept coming in until some had even to be left on their stretchers.

I cannot describe the horror of the next few weeks. Nothing I subsequently saw in the trenches equaled it. Most of the wounded had lain for days in fields and in cattle trucks, with only a rough field dressing; we got only the most desperate cases. Practically every case meant amputation; here was horror worse than any battlefield. I subsequently saw men shot down next to me, and men with limbs torn off by shells; but here I saw them slowly die in agony; I heard their cries for water and their groans.

There was no supply of anti-tetanus serum on hand, and the many who developed the dread disease all succumbed. With rubber gloves on, to protect ourselves, we stood helpless and watched them slowly die. I can still see the convulsive twitching of their haggard faces, the contorted look of horror of locked muscles, the frenzied, lost despair in their eyes. Many of the wounded were saved; but if so many died, it was certainly not the fault of the hospital or its staff; gangrene had set in and the tetanus germ was there long before these men, desperately wounded, ever reached St.

I think it was in November that we eventually left St. Entrained in cattle trucks, we had great hopes that at last we were going to the Front, for we still had all our field hospital equipment with us. But our hopes were again dashed; after several days of shunting and slow progress, we detrained at Wimereux, and realized that a base hospital was to be our lot.

The War had already resolved itself into trench warfare, and Lord Kitchener was appealing for volunteers on the basis of a three years' war. To serve in a base hospital was not what I had joined up for; at all costs, I wanted to get to the Front. I am afraid Mousely and I made nuisances of ourselves; we had repeated interviews with Colonel Eames, the commanding officer, and with Lady Dudley, the wife of a former governor of Australia, who was intimately connected with the hospital, until finally, probably in order to get rid of us, our applications for a commission were recommended.

In December , I was gazetted a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Field Artillery, and was appointed to the nd Brigade in the 23rd Division, which was then in the process of formation at Eushot. I thoroughly enjoyed the four months of training we went through. Most of the subalterns were overseas Englishmen, who had hurried home at the outbreak of the War. There were men from India, China, South America, and other parts of the globe — an interesting group who were excellent company. Most of the officers were good horsemen, but few of the drivers could ride; they were chiefly from the East End of London, chosen because of their small stature.

Horses they managed with difficulty, but the South American mules, of which we had many, played havoc with them until they learned to keep out of reach of vicious heels. However, per- severance, practice, and willingness of spirit, carried the day; eventually they were turned out a credit to their instructors, upsetting the theory that horsemanship must be learned from youth up.

Gradually, as the few months went by, we acquired discipline, training, and, above all, equipment. Old French guns, even wooden guns, were all we had, until about a month before leaving for France. The officers went off to Lark Hill for a course in gunnery; the brigades and their batteries went through target practice on Salisbury Plain; we were reviewed by the King and by Princess Mary. We were ready for the Front.

Life had been very pleasant for four months, at the Gov- ernment's expense. We had had everything a healthy man desires: good, clean exercise, good sport, fine companions, the best of food and accommodation, the joy and responsibility of authority, hard work, and London, with its amusements, within easy reach on week-ends.

This was all to change now; we had to get down to the grimness, the hardships, and, above all, what was the most terrible, the monotony of war. We entrained for the St. Omer area, where we re- mained in rest quarters for a few days. Then we slowly moved into the line in the Armentieres sector, probably the quietest at that time on the Western Front.

Everything was prepared for us: gun pits, telephone lines, observation posts and billets; it was simply a question of relieving and taking over from the outgoing division. Simple as it was, I probably experienced the greatest thrill I ever got in the firing line: it was my first contact with the enemy, my first entry into a zone where I imagined death was constantly lurking in the form of a bullet or a shell.

Later, I was to laugh at those first fears, for, in reality, it was the calmest of nights. Relieving was done at night. It was an eerie feeling, ap- proaching the front line for the first time: it was a pitch dark night, and the dazzling white Very lights, shot out rocketwise at regular intervals, clearly marked the position of the firing line. Bursts of machine gun fire, interspersed with an occa- sional rifle shot and the howl of a shell, drowned out at odd intervals the muffled sound of our gun wheels, horses' hoofs, and the champing of bits.

Once the gun pits were reached, the relief was quickly carried out, and we were soon wrapped in our blankets, trying to sleep. At first everything was new. Every operation, every scene was avidly taken in. It was great sport firing at objectives behind the enemy's trenches, and a stinging thrill to watch a direct hit through field glasses, after regulating by telephone the fire of a battery two or three thou- sand yards away from the observation post.

The routine of a week at the battery, a week as Forward Observing Officer in the trenches, and a week at the Wagon Lines some eight or ten miles behind the front, was eagerly gone through at first, but as the months dragged on, it became terribly monotonous. In we were suffering from shell-shortage.

The winter came on, and with it the rain, snow, and mud. The trenches became a quagmire. We were up to our thighs in water each day; and at night, we slept in dug- outs on wire bunks, sometimes only a few inches above the water. Add rats and fleas to make the picture complete. Rheumatism and trench foot were causing more casualties than the enemy's fire.

I had an observation station razed to the ground while I sat in its sand bag cellar for a couple of hours, wondering whether it would hold out against the "Heavies" that were being poured on it. In the front line, I spent a sleepless seventy-two hours as F. But all this was tame to what the Division had to go through on the Somme, and in many a subsequent battle later on, after I had left it.

Actually, I saw more of death in the three weeks in the hospital at St. Nazaire than I saw here during our whole nine months' stay in the sector. Armentieres remained to the end of the War the de luxe sector of the Western Front, a convenient terrain in which to give the new Kitchener Divi- sions their first baptism of fire.

If we could have relaxed, it would not have been so bad, but we were continually keyed up expecting something to happen which never did. Our only relief from this dull routine was our three days' leave in England every three months. We also had good food: the Army rations were excellent, and this was supplemented by hampers which we were permitted to order from Harrod's.

For water, we used Perrier, as the ordinary supply was bad, and the local beer was even worse. How the peasants of north- eastern France could drink it, I never could fathom. I could get little consolation out of letters. Most of my relatives were disappointed that I had abandoned a promising career for the 36 ALL'S FAIR service; they were too far away to realize that the best of Eng- land's youth had joined up.

My fiancee, cut off from me in Australia, wrote less and less, until finally we ceased to cor- respond. The end of the War seemed indefinitely postponed, and communication, because of censors and delays, became almost impossible.

I seemed effectively cut off from the world. Just when we began to think that we never would be transferred, we got orders to move. All immediately was ex- citement and bustle. The usual rumors flew around as to our destination. We were even going to the Dardanelles, and then it was to Mespot. Imagine our dismay when we found our- selves relieving the Guards at Laventie, a sector at that time almost as quiet as the one at Armentieres.

But we were really on the move: we only stayed there for a couple of weeks. At the commencement of March, , we started south again: the concentration for the Somme Offensive had begun. For the rest of my short stay on the Western Front, I was never again to complain of monotony. Events moved quickly.

Major Gotto, my battery commander, had been placed on the sick list and was subsequently retired on account of advanced age; Captain Wells, who had succeeded him, had been wounded at Laventie; I now found myself in command of the battery. We covered miles in intermittent snow over muddy roads. The displacement of guns, ammunition wagons, horses, and men over such a distance was an undertaking. We spent hours in the saddle each day, our hands and feet numb with the cold.

It was ceaseless work, which called for endurance. At dusk, billets had to be found, and, when all the men and horses had been looked after, maps and orders had to be studied for the next day's march. I enjoyed it; it was the only part of the War which recalled to me my boyhood memories and conception of war. At Souchez, we moved into the line again, taking over gun positions vacated by the French.

Here I was immediately faced with an ordeal: the French battery had already left, and I was left with no indication as to the position of our front line trenches or that of the enemy. There were no telephone lines, nor any information as regards observation posts; the only thing for me to do was to reconnoiter for myself over ground which had been taken and retaken a dozen times, where not an inch was left unpitted by shell craters.

I crawled through rotted fragments of French and German dead whose clothes had long since crumbled away, so that the only dis- tinguishing marks were the long top boots of the Germans and the shorter ones of the French. Covered with mud, show- ered with machine gun and shell fire, I reached our front line trenches, where I quickly established contact with Battalion Headquarters.

Telephone lines were laid. As soon as I could get back to the battery we got the range, and were ready for all eventualities. On the third day after taking up this position, my leave fell due. The enemy were to have one more crack at me, how- ever, before I entrained. At railhead, sparks from the locomo- tive betrayed us to a raiding German plane. In the darkness of the night, we heard the drone of its motor, the whistle of the bomb, then crash!

We scattered as far as our legs could carry us while three more bombs fell in quick succession. We had visions of an enforced return to the trenches; but, to our relief, the train was untouched, and other damage we did not care about. Within the hour, we were on our way to Boulogne and "blighty. I had been no better or worse than the others. For all we knew, we might never return on another leave. To me all this had brought a reaction of strong distaste, and on this particular leave I was grateful and happy to have a letter of introduction from our Adjutant to his sister.

She was a charming, highly intelligent girl, doing war work in the Censor's Department. We saw a great deal of each other, dining together and seeing some of the better plays; starved for companionship, I told her a great deal about myself, especially about my travels. She listened with her eyes shin- ing, but I was not allowed for a moment to fancy that she was a modern Desdemona — her excitement was all for the service.

They have the greatest difficulties in finding an officer with military experience who speaks French, German and Dutch, and who is thoroughly acquainted with the countries. The difficulty, of course, is the Dutch," she added. Wasn't I returning to France that evening? On arrival at Folkestone, ready to embark for Boulogne, we wretches leaving blighty were told that since a German submarine had been sighted outside, we could return to Lon- don, and report back the next evening.

I woke next morning at the Waldorf Hotel with a fever and a body rash. Frantically I dashed to the nearest military hospital. My case was diagnosed as German measles, and to bed I was ordered. Entrance into a hospital in England automatically transferred one from the Overseas Command to that of the War Office. I realized that this meant I was now free to apply for the post my enthusiastic friend had mentioned.

As I convalesced, I turned the matter over in my mind, and over the phone, I discussed it with her. She promised to talk to her chief about it. A week later, I received orders to report immediately at the War Office. I hurried there, hoping to find out at once what my new duties would be. Instead, I was confronted by three examiners in succession; I was in for a language test. The examination, both oral and written, presented no diffi- culties. I had in fact the advantage of the Dutch examiner: I was speaking my native language, the first language I had learned as a child.

Next day a telephone call at the Waldorf instructed me to report to Colonel Browning at Whitehall Court. He informed me that I had been transferred to the Intelligence Corps, and that as I had been attached for special duty to the Secret Service, he would take me to the chief immediately.

Up several flights of stairs I went, until I reached the very top of the building. Here, in a room which resembled the stateroom of a ship, I was confronted with a kindly man who immediately put me at my ease. It was the chief, Captain C, a captain in the Navy. After a few preliminary remarks, he suddenly came to the point: "I know all about your past history.

You are just the man we want. You are to join T in Rotterdam, leaving tonight via Harwich and the Hook. Our train-watching service has broken down completely in Belgium and in Northeastern France — we are getting absolutely nothing through. It is up to you to reorganize the service. I can't tell you how it is to be done — that is your job. You have carte blanche. Within reasonable limits, he will supply you with all the money you need for the organization.

You will find others in T's office in charge of other branches of the Secret Service; co- operate with them. Consult with Colonel Oppenheim, our Military Attache at the Hague, as to the kind of information we require. A hand- book and other information about the German Army will be given you by Colonel Oppenheim.

We will also send you questionnaires from time to time through T. Hand T all written reports concerning less im- portant information; he will send it to us through the diplo- matic bag. Anything else you want to know, ask T. Here is his address," said he, as he handed me a slip of paper. It was in somewhat of a daze that I found myself out in the street — events had moved so rapidly.

I had only the afternoon in which to get together some civilian clothes, and in a scramble like that of a nightmare, where everything happens at once and nothing seems accomplished, I shopped for underclothing, hats and shoes, and routed out suits and coats long-forgotten in storage in Harrod's. The pleasant friend to whom I owed my new career dined with me at the Piccadilly to celebrate our common delight and excitement at my shift of service.

At eight-thirty that evening I was on my way to Harwich. Again, chance had changed my whole career; as a matter of fact, it had saved my life. Had I developed the measles six days earlier or later, I should have been in France with my battery. A few weeks later, as I subsequently learned, it was wiped out completely on the Somme; every officer in it was killed.

Normally I should have got to the Hook in the morning, but with a group of several ships convoyed by destroyers, the speed of the convoy is that of the slowest ship. A fog further delayed our arrival until the evening. A short journey by rail brought me to Rotterdam too late, as I thought, to get in touch with T. After a good night's rest at the Maas Hotel, where I had stayed in pre-war times, I called on T in his office, which occupied the whole of the first floor of a large building on the Boompjes.

A man on guard at the entrance took my name, and after a few minutes' delay I was ushered in to T. I found myself facing a short, though broad-shouldered man, somewhat over-dressed, ruddy of complexion, with small piercing eyes, who looked like the combination of sea captain and prizefighter. I spent the whole morning listening to his summing up of the situation. He was dreadfully worried.

Frankignoul, his agent in Maastricht, had been striving to establish — or "mount" — a new organization, but so far had been unsuccessful, and absolutely no information was coming through. T seemed somewhat dubious as to whether I would be able to do anything, but he told me that he would give me every assistance, as he had been instructed that I was to be at the head of the Military Section in Holland.

He placed a room at my disposal and introduced me to the men with whom I was to be associated: Power, the head of the Naval Section; de Mestre, the head of the Counter-Espionage ; de Peterson, the son of the Russian Consul General at the Hague, and, as far as I could gather, general factotum at the office; and, finally, Meulkens, the cashier and bookkeeper. T further in- formed me that he had been ordered to supply me with such sums of money as I required, but that I would have to justify the expenditure to him, and added that it was simply a ques- tion of results; there would always be ample funds available for the right kind of information.

From T's remarks, and from those of C, the Chief in England, I knew my stay in Holland was entirely dependent on my own activities. I had obvious qualifications in the way of my knowledge of languages, especially Dutch and Flemish, my intimate acquaintance with the topography and people of Germany and the occupied territories, and my military experi- ence at the Front; but, although there were Generals in the British Army at the end of the War no older than I was, my age was a handicap.

I realized that if I were unsuccessful, I would be recalled after a few months; and as far as the expenditure of money was concerned, C would pay only for dependable and effective reports. Youth carried with it an enthusiasm and an adapt- ability, which today, as an older man, I marvel at.

Pitkin may be right about life beginning at forty, but in the field activities of war youth has the advantage. During my stay in Holland, right up to the end of the War, T lived up to his promise. At times, he was somewhat jealous of my success, but I think he was always loyal to me.

The "cover" he provided was sufficient to protect me from the Dutch authorities; I never had the least trouble from them, although they obviously knew what I was doing. He certainly had great influence with them; Van Zandt, the head of the River Police, and other police authorities, were always ready to rush to his office at a moment's call. They accorded him every privilege he demanded. He had lived in Holland a great number of years, the owner of a successful shipping business, and had a great number of powerful friends; but above all, he had the prestige of the British Government behind him.

It was also the policy of the Dutch Government to be friendly to both the Allied and the German Secret Services; they realized that they could not prevent their country from being overrun with Secret Service agents, and so wisely chose to keep in close touch with the respective chiefs, who could thus be held responsible for the behavior of their agents.

T's outstanding quality was that he was a fighter; he was ever ready to fight with the Belgian authorities when we complained of interference with our agents, and even with the British War Office at times. Since he was living as a civilian in a neutral country, with ample private means, the Chief in England always had to handle him carefully.

T hardly spoke a word of Dutch, and knew no French or German; he had no military knowledge, and not the least conception of how an organiaztion could be mounted in occupied territory. He had known nothing about Franki- gnoul's train-watching organization. He was, however, a shrewd executive, and helped to keep the various branches of the Service under him in close co- operation.

His chief function, the handling of the Dutch authorities, he carried out admirably. He undoubtedly rendered splendid service, and fully merited the C. Commander of the British Empire , with which he was decorated at the end of the war. De Mestre, the head of the Counter-Espionage, with a twinkle in his eye, informed me that the Maas Hotel, where I was staying, was overrun with German agents.

It took me two or three weeks to orient myself, and in this I was helped considerably by Collins, a young Englishman who had spent several years in Brussels before the war in the service of the Lever Brothers, and who had been in Holland since the outbreak of hostilities. I was fortunate enough to get him transferred to me from the C. Department, and to the end of my stay in Holland, he remained my faithful assistant and companion.

Those who were living in Belgium and in Holland at the time will realize the difficulties we had to contend with. The Germans had created excellent barriers against the passage of information; along the Belgian-Dutch frontier there stretched a deadly high-voltage electric wire, with an unbroken cordon of sentinels at small intervals within sight of each other, and a swarm of German secret police patrolling the frontier on both sides.

Hundreds of Belgian refugees had settled there, and before the Germans had estab- lished their effective barriers, many of them had found it easy to get information out of Belgium, and had made a lucrative living by peddling it to the British, Belgian, and French Secret Services, sometimes selling the same information to all three.

Conditions had now changed ; they were producing no further information, but they were all rushing around interfering with every attempt we were making to establish communications with the interior of Belgium. The first essential was to obtain trustworthy Belgians in Holland whom we could rely on to keep their mouths shut, who would submit to discipline, and who would be governed by patriotism and not by money, providing their living ex- penses were paid.

I was delighted to come in contact with Moreau, a former high official of the Belgian Railways, who, after learning our problem in a long talk with me, offered to get his son to enlist the aid of picked Belgian railwaymen — there were a large number of them in Holland at the time who still looked upon him as their chief. The son presented himself in due course, and as he impressed me favorably, I outlined my plan to him. Accordingly, at odd intervals he brought me, one by one, some fifty or more men who could be distributed at strategic points on Dutch soil from Maastricht to the coast in Zeeland, in a manner so reasonable as to avoid suspicion.

Each of the Moreau agents was made responsible for a definite strip of the Dutch frontier, with instructions to find some means of regular communication across the frontier with the occupied territory. We explained that there were three possible channels to be used: "Passeurs," who could go back and forth across the electric wire on dark nights by means of india rubber gloves and socks; boatmen, who though under strict surveillance of the Germans, were allowed to ply their WAR-TIME SECRET SERVICE 51 barges all the way from Rotterdam to Antwerp; and farm laborers who had fields under cultivation bordering the frontier, and who could toss messages across the wire when the sentry was not looking.

To each agent a number was given, and the son assumed the name of "Oram. Each one was sworn to secrecy not to divulge whom he was working for, nor to try to discover the identity of any of Oram's other agents. Thus was started an organization in Holland which gradually increased in efficiency until eventually, during the last two years of the war, we had open continuously at least six "tuyaux," or means of communication, with the interior of Belgium.

When one broke down we had the other five in reserve, and others were continually being established. The next problem was to post agents throughout the in- terior of Belgium in such a manner that, as a group, they would cover the whole of the occupied territory; to instruct them as to the information required; to establish contact men in the interior with whom reports could be deposited; and finally to find trustworthy couriers who should collect the reports and relay them for passage at the frontier.

There were three ways of establishing agents in the occupied territories. One was to send Belgians or Frenchmen back into Belgium or France by passing them through the electric wire on a dark night. Another was to use a courier in the interior to carry a letter from one of our agents in Holland to friends in Belgium, soliciting their help. Here again Moreau furnished us with the names of many railroad men in Belgium who were glad to work for their old chief; they turned out to be some of our best agents.

And finally, 52 ALL'S FAIR we were often able to establish contacts with old organizations which had functioned in , and which had lost contact with the exterior when the frontier became practically sealed in Each agent in the interior could also be relied upon generally to recruit two or three others. The establishment of couriers in the occupied territories presented a special difficulty.

Owing to the identity card sys- tem, which was rigidly enforced, no one could travel more than thirty miles from the address written on his card without facing arrest. The German secret police, circulating in Belgium, paid special attention to people on the road, or in any means of conveyance. They realized as well as we did that no in- formation was of any value until it had crossed the frontier.

The system of communication from the spy in the occupied territories to me in Rotterdam can be summed up briefly as follows: The chief of each spy group in the interior concen- trated the reports sent in by his agents, and then deposited them at Antwerp, Liege or Brussels at an address "letter box" furnished by us.

A courier carried these reports from the letter box to the "tuyau," or passage at the frontier, where they passed into Holland. Here they were collected by Oram's frontier men and relayed to me through Oram. The frontier passages, the letter boxes, and the couriers between the letter boxes and the frontier passages were mounted from Holland under the direction of Oram and myself only.

Each spy chief, whose agents were collecting information in the interior, had his own independent letter box, frontier courier, and passage at the frontier, the whole personnel of which, with the ex- ception of the letter box, was unknown to him; the letter box in his turn did not know the identity of the couriers who deposited and picked up the reports. Once the reports contain- ing the information were deposited at the letter box, it was my responsibility to get them to Holland for transmission to G.

Our main care was to build up a number of small groups, each isolated from the other, so that if one worker was caught, he could only involve at the most four or five others. Even the bravest patriots could not be relied upon to keep silent in the face of the German third degree methods; and the prisoners were often cruelly beaten until they confessed.

Drugs were sometimes administered to break the resistance of the sternest will. We had learned our lesson from the Frankignoul disaster, for I found, after investigating his organization, that he had tied two hundred agents in the interior to one solitary channel of communication with the outside: the tram which ran daily across the Belgian frontier to Maastricht.

In this tram the re- ports had been hidden each day in Belgium, to be taken out by Frankignoul's agents on their arrival in Holland. His method of communication was ideal because it was so direct and simple as to forestall detection for a considerable time; but it had worked so smoothly for months that he had lulled himself into the belief that it would go on working forever. He had made the additional error of allowing the identity of all his agents in Belgium to be known to each other.

Hence when the link of communication fell into the hands of the Germans, they had time to seize all the reports and trace down all the agents, since Frankignoul had no means to warn his men of this danger. In the course of my activities I was continually in com- munication with Colonel Oppenheim at the Hague. He was the exact opposite of T: fairly tall, and somewhat frail, scholarly in appearance, highly strung, and retiring in disposi- tion.

His sole function was to analyze information and tele- graph reports, and having nothing to do with the procuring of information or with Secret Service organization, he did not 54 ALL'S FAIR quite realize the difficulties that we had to contend with.

He was, however, a brilliant staff officer, as I found out afterwards from his masterly analyses of the reports I sent him. He got every scrap of information there was to glean from them, and in the examination of train-watching reports, he was an expert in gauging the exact volume of each troop movement. From Colonel Oppenheim I learned exactly what informa- tion was required. It will probably astonish the layman to know that this was chiefly data on the movements of trains!

I myself in other times would never have pictured secret service as an organization devoted to, or even interested in, noting the arrivals and departures of railway units; yet this became a ruling interest of all our lives. The use of the trains by the Germans meant the movement of German troops, and the movement of troops often presaged a mass attack. On our information often depended the Allies' hope of preparing to defend a position, or to surprise an attacking force.

The Ger- mans never did have enough troops to initiate an offensive on both fronts at the same time, and so each offensive was always preceded by a large transfer of troops from one front to the other. Hence Colonel Oppenheim's emphasis on the importance of getting all possible information about every troop movement, and the identity of the units involved. To assist identification of the different German regiments and units, he furnished me with handbooks of the German Army, which made me thoroughly conversant with its organization and the various uniforms and distinguishing marks.

All of this it was necessary to know in order to follow tlie movements of German troops with definiteness and assurance. Urged on by him, we gradually built up a train-watching system which covered every strategic line in Belgium and Northeastern France. The time and composition of each troop train was noted; at each junction we followed the movement, and so were able to trace each division from its point of Secret O.

Flandsrs IVth Army llrth Div. Jn, injth Div. He states 4 id Div. Dec Khgion op Cambrai. Ilth Bav Inf Regt N. He states th Kes. Kegt b to S. Region of St. Regt S. Prisoner of Jioth Kes Inl Kegt.. Inf Regt th Res. Inf Regt. Prisoners ol iioth Kei. Kegt ,, captured Jan Ik th Res. Regt E- ot Seppois Jan. In November. The maximum movement in took place in November, when six divisions were transferred from the Eastern to the Western Front, and four from the Western to the Eastern Front.

In May, , 10 divisions were moved to the west and 10 eastwards. Seven divisions arrived on the Western from the Eastern Front. In November, , two divisions left the Western for the Eastern Front and one division went to Italy, Nine divisions were transferred to the Western from the Eastern Front.

In December, , no division was moved to the east, so far as in known. Of the 14 divisions from the east, seven arrived during the first hall of the month and seven during the second half. The above summary clearly demonstrates the importance attached to the identification of divisions, and confirms that every transfer of German divisions by rail between the fronts was caught. Troops coming from the Russian front on their way to the Western Front were reported as they passed Herbesthal; from our Liege posts we knew whether the fifty-two trains which composed the division had branched off to Namur or to Brussels; at Namur or Brussels we caught them again and followed them through the various junctions until they detrained.

By a system of duplicate train-watching posts we were able to check any errors, and special agents definitely settled in the detraining centers and rest areas identified the troops as they arrived. Divisions coming from a distance invariably went into a rest area before being put into the front line ; or, in the case of an offensive involving several divisions, they were first concentrated in the back areas. Movements in the Front Line could be checked by taking prisoners, or by seizing letters and documents, but back of the Front it was chiefly on careful watchers that the High Com- mand depended for its information.

It will be shown later how our train-watching posts caught all the East to West, and West to East movements. Even though there was often a delay of three to four days before we got the reports, this was of no importance, as it took weeks for the Germans to concentrate for an offensive. The transfer of a division through a given junction required at least two days, and as a rule four or five days, since, in addition to the fifty-two troop trains comprising the division, there were the trains carrying food and war material which had to be run through as well.

Many divisions were required for an offen- sive; so it can readily be seen that we could get our reports out in ample time for G. As I shall indicate later, we also obtained a variety of other information, such as enemy plans for the launching of offen- sives, the formation of new divisions and regiments, change in equipment, new inventions and new types of guns, new WAR-TIME SECRET SERVICE 57 methods of attack, the arrival of drafts to replace losses, and targets for aerial bombardment; but by far our most important achievement was the continual check on the movements of the enemy, and the identification of the units involved.

The interest and excitement of this service developed into a terrific tension toward the end of the war, for it became common knowledge that the German Command was working toward a climactic movement, the big offensive, designed to bring the war to a crashing and decisive end. It was a matter of chief importance to detect any traces of plans or first movements toward the big offensive, and we were on the alert constantly to note any mass- ing of troops which might indicate the location chosen for it and the types of service troops destined to serve in it.

This, then, is a resume of our objective, the difficulties we had to contend with, and a few of the technical details which I have had to explain in order to enable a better understanding of the tales of Secret Service which I am able to narrate.

In order to avoid repetition, I intend mentioning only a few typical organizations. During the last two years of the War we had over two thousand agents in our employ at different times; it would be impossible for me to relate the individual exploits of each one of them, or even to tell about all the organizations which we mounted. There were a few of them braving the electric wire from time to time on dark nights under the guid- ance of passeurs, who, knowing the frontier well, and having a supply of rubber gloves, got from to francs from each refugee they conducted.

My object was not only to get military information, how- ever meager it might be, but also to enroll agents for service in the occupied territory, or to get addresses of people in the interior who might be willing to work for us, if we could establish connection with them. It took a very courageous and patriotic man to return to Belgium or France after having successfully braved the dangers of the electric wire. Hundreds of photographs which I have seen, and which the Germans purposely circulated, bore elo- quent proof of the high mortality among those refugees who ventured to cross alone; corpses burned and scarred by the high voltage were exposed, horrible and terrifying to look at.

Besides, for those who were caught returning there was the great danger of arrest, which meant certain death by a firing squad; even for those who were seized in the act of merely escaping into Holland, a long term of imprisonment or dis- 58 VAN BERGEN 59 patch to a civilian concentration camp in Germany was meted out.

Added to this was the risk of gossip: once a man had fled to Holland, his neighbors knew it; if he returned, they were quick at surmising that he had come back as a spy, and even though sympathetic, their talk could undo him. Among the civil population, there were also a number of traitors in the pay of the Germans, who spied on their neighbors, and who were sharp to catch any secret service activities on the part of returned citizens.

These risks we could not avoid, but we did endeavor to get the agents back into occupied territory so soon after their original departure that they were in time to report at their local German Kommandantur, as each resident of the occupied territory had to do monthly. Failure to report immediately set a search in motion for the delinquent, and unless he had a good excuse, the only thing he could do was to go into hiding, which, of course, greatly curtailed his activities as an agent.

Henri van Bergen was our first recruit, a native of Lou- vain; he had crossed the Frontier north of Antwerp by means of a passeur. Within twenty-four hours, I was interrogating him in our office on the Boompjes. The first thing that struck me about him was his bowler hat and his clothes, which he had donned on the previous day, before setting out on his hazardous trip.

Immaculately dressed, he looked as if he had just stepped off the boat or train, instead of having come through the electric wire. I found myself talking to a man of about forty-five, with dark piercing eyes, a lawyer by pro- fession, keen and alert, who made an excellent impression. Having met with refusals to serve from several other refugees, I was surprised at the ready consent which he gave, as soon as I had convinced him that he could render better services to the Allies by returning to Belgium than by proceeding to France to enlist as a soldier.

Oram was immediately ordered to arrange for a passage at 6o ALL'S FAIR the frontier, while I quickly instructed van Bergen as to the information we required, laying special stress on the mounting of train-watching posts. I explained fully to him the working of the posts and the details of information required — such as the composition of each troop train, the time of its passing. Nothing had to be repeated; his brief sharp nod, his concen- trated gaze, showed me that his disciplined brain was already working with me.

To avoid incriminating notes, he committed to memory the name and address of a cafe owner in Antwerp to whom he was to hand or send his reports; he himself was to be simply M6o, a number which was at the same time identification and password. He understood at once the neces- sity of concealing his actual identity from the Antwerp letter box man.

It was with a feeling of satisfaction that I dismissed so intelligent an agent, and yet I felt strangely sad as I said good-by to him. As a soldier I had seen death in many forms, but in the guise of a civilian in Holland, the sanctity of human life was much more apparent to me. Right to the end, I could never shake off the terrible responsibility I felt in sending these men back into the occupied territory, many of whom I knew were going to their death.

The moon being favorable, within three days he was on his way to the frontier near Eindhoven, in the hands of Charles Willekens, who was to prove himself one of our best passeurs. Crawling on their stomachs to the electric wire, in the black- ness of night, Willekens took his man through successfully, thanks to the rubber gloves and socks.

We afterwards learned, on his return, that he had conducted van Bergen to a small village called Moll, and then had sent him on his way alone. Anxiously we waited for news. Each week contact was established with the cafe owner or "letter box" in Antwerp, which was connected to our tuyau at the frontier by means of a courier. It was written in India ink on the typical service papier pelure, fine tissue paper, so that the courier could hide the report in his hat band, lining of his clothes, shoes, or elsewhere, in case he was stopped and searched on his way from the letter box to the frontier.

In addition to this report, there was word from van Bergen that he was trying to mount other posts, but that it was difficult, as he had not only to find the right men, but also persons who had houses overlooking the railway line. Shortly afterwards, he established another train-watching post at Louvain on the Liege line. We were now getting all the traffic passing through Louvain, since by subtraction we could get the traffic along the relatively unimportant Louvain-Malines line.

The reports came through regularly for four months. Van Bergen wrote hopefully of friends at Ghent, who had promised to mount posts there. I was much pleased, for some of our other organizations had just started sending out their first re- ports, and gradually the network was spreading.

Suddenly we heard that our courier from Antwerp to the frontier had been arrested. Later, from another Antwerp agent, whom we had asked to investigate the affair, we found that the owner of the cafe who had acted as letter box or contact man, had also been caught.

We never heard from van Bergen again. After the. Armistice, on my arrival in Brussels, I discovered that he had been shot, together with our two Antwerp men and the men who had been working for him in Louvain. What led to his arrest, I was never able to find out for certain. Monaco di Baviera.

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WINDOWS DIFF TOOL BINARY OPTIONS

At sixteen, I was ready for entrance to a University, but my father judged me too young to proceed over-seas. Accord- ingly, I was entered as a student in the Government Agricul- tural College, at Potchefstroom, in the Transvaal. Here I was in my element. I loved farming; it was in my blood. No course could have been more interesting to any one who had been raised on the land. For an institution of its kind, we prob- ably had the finest equipment and the most valuable stock in the world, for it was to serve not only as an agricultural college, but as a farm from which thoroughbred cattle, horses, pigs, sheep, poultry, and seeds were to be supplied to the whole of South Africa.

I liked everything about the College, and even though I was in competition with boys and men much older than myself, many of them University graduates, my enthu- siasm and application enable me to pass out top of the whole college at the end of the first year.

In the light of my success at Potchefstroom, one of these scholarships was mine for the asking, but my father, feeling that he could afford to pay the cost, decided to send me to Cambridge University at his own expense. It was a decision which changed my whole career. Wrongly or rightly, I believed these twelve Government stu- dents would be given preference over me on their return to South Africa, and so, upon proceeding to Cambridge, I aban- doned agriculture for a mining career.

Why I changed from agriculture to mining, instead of to some other profession, I do not know. I was probably influ- enced by my father's older brother, who had made and lost several fortunes in mining: he was one of the first to develop the mines on the Rand, and at one time had owned Auckland Park, the finest residential section of Johannesburg. Later the Witbank Collieries were named after him; he eventually died in Spain developing a cinnabar mine.

Or, perhaps, it was that other mining uncle of mine who was on a continual treasure hunt, searching for a fabulous sum in gold bars, which the Boers had instructed him and four other men to bury, one night, on the eve of the British entry into Johannesburg.

When they were able to reach the spot in safety, two years later, they were unable to locate the exact site; if he is alive, he is probably still digging. No doubt, it was the love of adventure which played the leading part in my decision. My three years in Cambridge were the happiest days of my life. The friends I formed there are the only ones I have kept close to my heart.

Some were killed in the war; some at odd intervals I still hear from. The will to succeed was driving me on, and scholastically I was a brilliant success: at the end of my first year at Caius College I was elected an Exhibitioner; in my final examinations, in , taking four sciences instead of the usual three, I passed the Natural Sci- ences Tripos with first class honors.

To Cambridge I owe a debt which I shall never be able to repay. Its traditions, its customs, its old colleges with their priceless architecture, their quadrangles, libraries, lawns and backs, and, above all, the companionship and the association with the products of England's finest public schools, all left their imprint on me; they contributed to the molding of my character, and inspired in me a love of learning and an appre- ciation of the finer arts.

It is the genius of the English schools that they turn out persons who are above all equable and affable, but controlled, reserved, and self-contained — the type that can get along with any one anywhere without losing its own dignity and self-sufficiency. If I lack anything of these attributes the fault is mine; I was certainly shown the way. At Cambridge, almost half the year is taken up with vaca- tions, and all of them I spent traveling on the Continent.

My bicycle accompanied me always through Germany, Holland, Belgium, and France, and as I spoke the three languages of these four countries fluently, I was continually on the move. I covered hundreds of miles. I rode the pave from Brussels to Ghent; I climbed the hills in the Ardennes.

Walking tours carried me through the Black Forest and the Hartz; I explored the Rhineland from Heidelberg to Diisseldorf, sometimes pedaling my wheel, sometimes gliding lazily on river steamers. It was the people that interested me above all: their customs, their way of living, their philosophy of life. I was Bohemian in my tastes: sometimes I frequented the homes, cafes and places of entertainment in the poorer sections; but other times, in the great cities such as Berlin, I afforded myself the luxury of the big international hotels, the Adlon and the Bristol, and restaurants such as those of Hiller, Borchart, and Horcher.

To see a country, to study its language and the ways of 24 ALL'S FAIR its people, to look under the facade which is dressed up for the tourist, and finally to learn its topography, there is no better way than a walking or bicycle tour. The energy expended is well repaid in rich dividends of experience and information gained.

If I never visit Holland again, I shall ever remember that the road from Rotterdam to Amsterdam, via the Hague and Haarlem, is as flat as a pancake, and that, on the con- trary, there are appreciable hills around Arnhem. Even if memory failed, the muscles of the legs would jog it. Here, then, for almost four years, six months in the year, I was learning the "feel" of Europe — absorbing a knowledge of the actual land and furthering a familiarity with its intimate life.

It was a continuation of the days at Dresden, but with the field vastly greater, and the enjoyment enhanced by mature observation and judgment. All unwittingly, I was preparing myself for the role which I was to play during the War. To this end, three mining schools presented themselves: the one in London, Freiburg in Germany, and the Colorado School of Mines. Ever ready for an excuse to travel, I decided on a personal tour of inspection, beginning with the college most remote.

In July I sailed for Quebec as a steerage passenger in the company of two other Cambridge men. After a day's experience, two of us decided to transfer to regular accommodations, however expensive it might prove. We were willing to suffer hardships, but we were afraid of disease: cleanliness was not an inherent characteristic of the steerage passengers from Galicia and Southern Russia. Our chief occupation during the rest of the voyage was sneaking food out of the First Class Saloon to pass on to our companion left in the steerage.

I was duly impressed by the usual round of sights offered to the tourist in the United States, but my one urge was to get out West. In Denver, I ran short of money. I was thoroughly unprepared for the difference in the cost of living in Europe and the United States, and I dared not apply to my father, who had not been consulted about my American trip.

I spent a happy six weeks oblivious of mining and studies, earning two dollars a day, plus the best of food and lodging. The work, pitching hay, or tramping it down on the top of a haystack, was hard, but I was young and healthy, and the work did me a world of good. I thoroughly enjoyed the company of the cowboys, listening to their tales of early times in the West, and putting up with the many tricks they played on me; they broke me into the intricacies of the Western saddle, and on privileged occasions I was allowed to ride the ranges.

To a graduate accustomed to Cambridge with its serene reserve, its lecture and tutorial system, its traditions, its culture, its beautiful old colleges with their lawns and walks, the Colorado School of Mines was a direct contrast. Set amongst mines, where students could get practical experience, it was then, and probably is today, the finest mining school in the world; but my sole memory of it is the general instruction of the classroom system, which was too much for me, and the hazing of the freshmen, which as a post-graduate I was permitted to escape, but which as a privileged spectator I was allowed to witness.

I wonder if the freshmen are still forced to roll eggs with their tongues across the stage of the local movie theater, or whether paddling, raw egg shampoos, and coats of green paint are still the order of the day? If I had stayed in Colorado, the following years might have been very different for me; but on an impulse which was perhaps homesickness and perhaps fate, I returned to England, and entered the London School of Mines as a post-graduate.

But though work was my chief interest and almost my whole occupation, the most memorable event of the time was my first innocent flyer in diplomacy — the diplomacy of romance. Once again, it was chance that played the leading role.

One evening, dropping into the Empire in Leicester Square, I saw a young and beautiful girl among the demi- mondaines of the theater's notorious promenade; she was so obviously out of place that my curiosity was piqued and I spoke to her.

She told me her sad little tale: a stepfather in Lincolnshire, family trouble, the leaving of home to find work in London, no success, hunger, a chance acquaintance who had showed her the easy way and had loaned her a dress. This was her second week as a daughter of joy. Had I been older, I would have passed her story up with a shrug, but I was young and romantic, and I believed her.

I found that her flat was being paid for by an Australian, a young Cambridge student to whom she introduced me. By agreeing to put up ten pounds a month for six months, I got him to agree to do likewise to enable her to go straight. With an appropriate story about her being one of his relatives, he introduced her to a charming London family.

Only an irresponsible youth could have done such a thing, but it all ended very happily: cultured and coming from a respectable family, she was able to pass it off with success. In later years, I often met Elsie; she married a colonel in the British Army and was for a time divinely happy. He was killed in the War, leaving her quite well off.

I often saw her riding in the Row; and her happy smile amply repaid me for anything I had done. There were only two of us who knew her secret, and she knew we would keep it well. I met the sister of my young Australian friend, who was stopping with her mother in London.

I had known very few girls, and this was my first love. In March, , she and her mother sailed for Melbourne. They were to return in six months for our marriage. War was furthest from my mind at the time; I was happily in love, and filled with ambition.

I had my life mapped out: one year more at the School of Mines to qualify as a mining engineer; then the mines on the Rand and in Rhodesia for practical experience; and after that Lon- don as a consulting engineer. But this was not for me. Restless- ness seized me, and in short order my mind was made up.

It was a surprised mine manager who saw me dash into my lodgings one morning to pack my bag in time for the London train leaving within the hour. But I scarcely made a coherent explanation to him. Here was the great adventure. My first thought in the morning was to join the Honorable Artillery Company, a volunteer corps, but at their headquarters I was informed that for the time being they were only handling their own members.

I secured a personal letter of introduction to Lord Denbigh, the Commanding Officer, and was on my way back to H. Here I ran into Mousely, a New Zealander, an old Cambridge man, who was on his way to Australia House to join the Australian Volunteer Hospital, which was then in the process of formation. The Hospital was due to leave, he said, in a few days. Here, at least, was a sure way of getting out to France. By nightfall, we were members of the Australian Volunteer Hospital, under orders to leave for France as soon as the unit had been completed.

Quarters for the time being were the Ranelagh Club, where the polo field proved a splendid training ground for us, and the club rooms excellent quarters for our officers; we slept in the horse boxes, and were glad of them at the end of a day's drilling. The next morning, regular army uniforms were handed out to about eighty of us, who comprised the rank and file, and we found ourselves in the presence of our officers: Colonel Eames, the commanding officer, and a group of Australian doctors who had been recruited from the London hospitals.

I still remember with respect the regular Army drill sergeant major, who knocked us into soldiers in those few days. We broke his heart at times, but we were willing. Infantry drill and stretcher drill was the order of the day from reveille to dusk. At the end of about ten days, we were ready to join the Expeditionary Forces.

We were inspected by a R. All was excitement. We had been trained as a field unit, and we had visions of ourselves dashing under shell and rifle fire to the rescue of the wounded. We thought we should be at the front within forty-eight hours. We embarked at Southampton in a troop ship, and found ourselves in the midst of other units, mostly infantry battalions which had been rushed home from Gibraltar and Malta.

For a week, we never moved from the wharf. Wrapped in our blankets, we slept on the hard cobblestones and the filth of the dock; we missed the horse boxes of Ranelagh. Rumors were rife: Uhlans had been seen on the outskirts of Havre; spies had been caught in the high posts of the Allied forces. Confusion was all we knew to be a fact. Troops, in- cluding the French Marine Corps, kept arriving and departing.

Suddenly, at a moment's notice, we were piled into a trans- port, packed to capacity with units from a dozen regiments, and we were off to an unknown destination. We slept on the deck where we stood. There were rumors of Bordeaux, but eventually we heard that our destination was St.

There, some public building, probably a school, housed our unit. We had expected to see service as stretcher bearers; in- stead we found ourselves as orderlies carrying coverings, bandages, trays, bed-pans, attending to the pitiful unceasing demands of an overcrowded hospital. The wounded kept coming in until some had even to be left on their stretchers.

I cannot describe the horror of the next few weeks. Nothing I subsequently saw in the trenches equaled it. Most of the wounded had lain for days in fields and in cattle trucks, with only a rough field dressing; we got only the most desperate cases. Practically every case meant amputation; here was horror worse than any battlefield. I subsequently saw men shot down next to me, and men with limbs torn off by shells; but here I saw them slowly die in agony; I heard their cries for water and their groans.

There was no supply of anti-tetanus serum on hand, and the many who developed the dread disease all succumbed. With rubber gloves on, to protect ourselves, we stood helpless and watched them slowly die. I can still see the convulsive twitching of their haggard faces, the contorted look of horror of locked muscles, the frenzied, lost despair in their eyes.

Many of the wounded were saved; but if so many died, it was certainly not the fault of the hospital or its staff; gangrene had set in and the tetanus germ was there long before these men, desperately wounded, ever reached St. I think it was in November that we eventually left St. Entrained in cattle trucks, we had great hopes that at last we were going to the Front, for we still had all our field hospital equipment with us.

But our hopes were again dashed; after several days of shunting and slow progress, we detrained at Wimereux, and realized that a base hospital was to be our lot. The War had already resolved itself into trench warfare, and Lord Kitchener was appealing for volunteers on the basis of a three years' war. To serve in a base hospital was not what I had joined up for; at all costs, I wanted to get to the Front.

I am afraid Mousely and I made nuisances of ourselves; we had repeated interviews with Colonel Eames, the commanding officer, and with Lady Dudley, the wife of a former governor of Australia, who was intimately connected with the hospital, until finally, probably in order to get rid of us, our applications for a commission were recommended. In December , I was gazetted a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Field Artillery, and was appointed to the nd Brigade in the 23rd Division, which was then in the process of formation at Eushot.

I thoroughly enjoyed the four months of training we went through. Most of the subalterns were overseas Englishmen, who had hurried home at the outbreak of the War. There were men from India, China, South America, and other parts of the globe — an interesting group who were excellent company.

Most of the officers were good horsemen, but few of the drivers could ride; they were chiefly from the East End of London, chosen because of their small stature. Horses they managed with difficulty, but the South American mules, of which we had many, played havoc with them until they learned to keep out of reach of vicious heels. However, per- severance, practice, and willingness of spirit, carried the day; eventually they were turned out a credit to their instructors, upsetting the theory that horsemanship must be learned from youth up.

Gradually, as the few months went by, we acquired discipline, training, and, above all, equipment. Old French guns, even wooden guns, were all we had, until about a month before leaving for France. The officers went off to Lark Hill for a course in gunnery; the brigades and their batteries went through target practice on Salisbury Plain; we were reviewed by the King and by Princess Mary.

We were ready for the Front. Life had been very pleasant for four months, at the Gov- ernment's expense. We had had everything a healthy man desires: good, clean exercise, good sport, fine companions, the best of food and accommodation, the joy and responsibility of authority, hard work, and London, with its amusements, within easy reach on week-ends. This was all to change now; we had to get down to the grimness, the hardships, and, above all, what was the most terrible, the monotony of war.

We entrained for the St. Omer area, where we re- mained in rest quarters for a few days. Then we slowly moved into the line in the Armentieres sector, probably the quietest at that time on the Western Front. Everything was prepared for us: gun pits, telephone lines, observation posts and billets; it was simply a question of relieving and taking over from the outgoing division.

Simple as it was, I probably experienced the greatest thrill I ever got in the firing line: it was my first contact with the enemy, my first entry into a zone where I imagined death was constantly lurking in the form of a bullet or a shell. Later, I was to laugh at those first fears, for, in reality, it was the calmest of nights.

Relieving was done at night. It was an eerie feeling, ap- proaching the front line for the first time: it was a pitch dark night, and the dazzling white Very lights, shot out rocketwise at regular intervals, clearly marked the position of the firing line. Bursts of machine gun fire, interspersed with an occa- sional rifle shot and the howl of a shell, drowned out at odd intervals the muffled sound of our gun wheels, horses' hoofs, and the champing of bits.

Once the gun pits were reached, the relief was quickly carried out, and we were soon wrapped in our blankets, trying to sleep. At first everything was new. Every operation, every scene was avidly taken in. It was great sport firing at objectives behind the enemy's trenches, and a stinging thrill to watch a direct hit through field glasses, after regulating by telephone the fire of a battery two or three thou- sand yards away from the observation post.

The routine of a week at the battery, a week as Forward Observing Officer in the trenches, and a week at the Wagon Lines some eight or ten miles behind the front, was eagerly gone through at first, but as the months dragged on, it became terribly monotonous. In we were suffering from shell-shortage.

The winter came on, and with it the rain, snow, and mud. The trenches became a quagmire. We were up to our thighs in water each day; and at night, we slept in dug- outs on wire bunks, sometimes only a few inches above the water.

Add rats and fleas to make the picture complete. Rheumatism and trench foot were causing more casualties than the enemy's fire. I had an observation station razed to the ground while I sat in its sand bag cellar for a couple of hours, wondering whether it would hold out against the "Heavies" that were being poured on it. In the front line, I spent a sleepless seventy-two hours as F. But all this was tame to what the Division had to go through on the Somme, and in many a subsequent battle later on, after I had left it.

Actually, I saw more of death in the three weeks in the hospital at St. Nazaire than I saw here during our whole nine months' stay in the sector. Armentieres remained to the end of the War the de luxe sector of the Western Front, a convenient terrain in which to give the new Kitchener Divi- sions their first baptism of fire. If we could have relaxed, it would not have been so bad, but we were continually keyed up expecting something to happen which never did.

Our only relief from this dull routine was our three days' leave in England every three months. We also had good food: the Army rations were excellent, and this was supplemented by hampers which we were permitted to order from Harrod's. For water, we used Perrier, as the ordinary supply was bad, and the local beer was even worse. How the peasants of north- eastern France could drink it, I never could fathom. I could get little consolation out of letters.

Most of my relatives were disappointed that I had abandoned a promising career for the 36 ALL'S FAIR service; they were too far away to realize that the best of Eng- land's youth had joined up. My fiancee, cut off from me in Australia, wrote less and less, until finally we ceased to cor- respond. The end of the War seemed indefinitely postponed, and communication, because of censors and delays, became almost impossible.

I seemed effectively cut off from the world. Just when we began to think that we never would be transferred, we got orders to move. All immediately was ex- citement and bustle. The usual rumors flew around as to our destination. We were even going to the Dardanelles, and then it was to Mespot.

Imagine our dismay when we found our- selves relieving the Guards at Laventie, a sector at that time almost as quiet as the one at Armentieres. But we were really on the move: we only stayed there for a couple of weeks. At the commencement of March, , we started south again: the concentration for the Somme Offensive had begun. For the rest of my short stay on the Western Front, I was never again to complain of monotony.

Events moved quickly. Major Gotto, my battery commander, had been placed on the sick list and was subsequently retired on account of advanced age; Captain Wells, who had succeeded him, had been wounded at Laventie; I now found myself in command of the battery. We covered miles in intermittent snow over muddy roads. The displacement of guns, ammunition wagons, horses, and men over such a distance was an undertaking. We spent hours in the saddle each day, our hands and feet numb with the cold.

It was ceaseless work, which called for endurance. At dusk, billets had to be found, and, when all the men and horses had been looked after, maps and orders had to be studied for the next day's march. I enjoyed it; it was the only part of the War which recalled to me my boyhood memories and conception of war. At Souchez, we moved into the line again, taking over gun positions vacated by the French. Here I was immediately faced with an ordeal: the French battery had already left, and I was left with no indication as to the position of our front line trenches or that of the enemy.

There were no telephone lines, nor any information as regards observation posts; the only thing for me to do was to reconnoiter for myself over ground which had been taken and retaken a dozen times, where not an inch was left unpitted by shell craters. I crawled through rotted fragments of French and German dead whose clothes had long since crumbled away, so that the only dis- tinguishing marks were the long top boots of the Germans and the shorter ones of the French.

Covered with mud, show- ered with machine gun and shell fire, I reached our front line trenches, where I quickly established contact with Battalion Headquarters. Telephone lines were laid. As soon as I could get back to the battery we got the range, and were ready for all eventualities. On the third day after taking up this position, my leave fell due. The enemy were to have one more crack at me, how- ever, before I entrained. At railhead, sparks from the locomo- tive betrayed us to a raiding German plane.

In the darkness of the night, we heard the drone of its motor, the whistle of the bomb, then crash! We scattered as far as our legs could carry us while three more bombs fell in quick succession. We had visions of an enforced return to the trenches; but, to our relief, the train was untouched, and other damage we did not care about.

Within the hour, we were on our way to Boulogne and "blighty. I had been no better or worse than the others. For all we knew, we might never return on another leave. To me all this had brought a reaction of strong distaste, and on this particular leave I was grateful and happy to have a letter of introduction from our Adjutant to his sister. She was a charming, highly intelligent girl, doing war work in the Censor's Department. We saw a great deal of each other, dining together and seeing some of the better plays; starved for companionship, I told her a great deal about myself, especially about my travels.

She listened with her eyes shin- ing, but I was not allowed for a moment to fancy that she was a modern Desdemona — her excitement was all for the service. They have the greatest difficulties in finding an officer with military experience who speaks French, German and Dutch, and who is thoroughly acquainted with the countries. The difficulty, of course, is the Dutch," she added. Wasn't I returning to France that evening? On arrival at Folkestone, ready to embark for Boulogne, we wretches leaving blighty were told that since a German submarine had been sighted outside, we could return to Lon- don, and report back the next evening.

I woke next morning at the Waldorf Hotel with a fever and a body rash. Frantically I dashed to the nearest military hospital. My case was diagnosed as German measles, and to bed I was ordered. Entrance into a hospital in England automatically transferred one from the Overseas Command to that of the War Office. I realized that this meant I was now free to apply for the post my enthusiastic friend had mentioned.

As I convalesced, I turned the matter over in my mind, and over the phone, I discussed it with her. She promised to talk to her chief about it. A week later, I received orders to report immediately at the War Office. I hurried there, hoping to find out at once what my new duties would be.

Instead, I was confronted by three examiners in succession; I was in for a language test. The examination, both oral and written, presented no diffi- culties. I had in fact the advantage of the Dutch examiner: I was speaking my native language, the first language I had learned as a child.

Next day a telephone call at the Waldorf instructed me to report to Colonel Browning at Whitehall Court. He informed me that I had been transferred to the Intelligence Corps, and that as I had been attached for special duty to the Secret Service, he would take me to the chief immediately. Up several flights of stairs I went, until I reached the very top of the building. Here, in a room which resembled the stateroom of a ship, I was confronted with a kindly man who immediately put me at my ease.

It was the chief, Captain C, a captain in the Navy. After a few preliminary remarks, he suddenly came to the point: "I know all about your past history. You are just the man we want. You are to join T in Rotterdam, leaving tonight via Harwich and the Hook. Our train-watching service has broken down completely in Belgium and in Northeastern France — we are getting absolutely nothing through.

It is up to you to reorganize the service. I can't tell you how it is to be done — that is your job. You have carte blanche. Within reasonable limits, he will supply you with all the money you need for the organization. You will find others in T's office in charge of other branches of the Secret Service; co- operate with them.

Consult with Colonel Oppenheim, our Military Attache at the Hague, as to the kind of information we require. A hand- book and other information about the German Army will be given you by Colonel Oppenheim. We will also send you questionnaires from time to time through T. Hand T all written reports concerning less im- portant information; he will send it to us through the diplo- matic bag. Anything else you want to know, ask T. Here is his address," said he, as he handed me a slip of paper.

It was in somewhat of a daze that I found myself out in the street — events had moved so rapidly. I had only the afternoon in which to get together some civilian clothes, and in a scramble like that of a nightmare, where everything happens at once and nothing seems accomplished, I shopped for underclothing, hats and shoes, and routed out suits and coats long-forgotten in storage in Harrod's.

The pleasant friend to whom I owed my new career dined with me at the Piccadilly to celebrate our common delight and excitement at my shift of service. At eight-thirty that evening I was on my way to Harwich. Again, chance had changed my whole career; as a matter of fact, it had saved my life. Had I developed the measles six days earlier or later, I should have been in France with my battery. A few weeks later, as I subsequently learned, it was wiped out completely on the Somme; every officer in it was killed.

Normally I should have got to the Hook in the morning, but with a group of several ships convoyed by destroyers, the speed of the convoy is that of the slowest ship. A fog further delayed our arrival until the evening. A short journey by rail brought me to Rotterdam too late, as I thought, to get in touch with T. After a good night's rest at the Maas Hotel, where I had stayed in pre-war times, I called on T in his office, which occupied the whole of the first floor of a large building on the Boompjes.

A man on guard at the entrance took my name, and after a few minutes' delay I was ushered in to T. I found myself facing a short, though broad-shouldered man, somewhat over-dressed, ruddy of complexion, with small piercing eyes, who looked like the combination of sea captain and prizefighter. I spent the whole morning listening to his summing up of the situation. He was dreadfully worried. Frankignoul, his agent in Maastricht, had been striving to establish — or "mount" — a new organization, but so far had been unsuccessful, and absolutely no information was coming through.

T seemed somewhat dubious as to whether I would be able to do anything, but he told me that he would give me every assistance, as he had been instructed that I was to be at the head of the Military Section in Holland. He placed a room at my disposal and introduced me to the men with whom I was to be associated: Power, the head of the Naval Section; de Mestre, the head of the Counter-Espionage ; de Peterson, the son of the Russian Consul General at the Hague, and, as far as I could gather, general factotum at the office; and, finally, Meulkens, the cashier and bookkeeper.

T further in- formed me that he had been ordered to supply me with such sums of money as I required, but that I would have to justify the expenditure to him, and added that it was simply a ques- tion of results; there would always be ample funds available for the right kind of information. From T's remarks, and from those of C, the Chief in England, I knew my stay in Holland was entirely dependent on my own activities.

I had obvious qualifications in the way of my knowledge of languages, especially Dutch and Flemish, my intimate acquaintance with the topography and people of Germany and the occupied territories, and my military experi- ence at the Front; but, although there were Generals in the British Army at the end of the War no older than I was, my age was a handicap.

I realized that if I were unsuccessful, I would be recalled after a few months; and as far as the expenditure of money was concerned, C would pay only for dependable and effective reports. Youth carried with it an enthusiasm and an adapt- ability, which today, as an older man, I marvel at. Pitkin may be right about life beginning at forty, but in the field activities of war youth has the advantage.

During my stay in Holland, right up to the end of the War, T lived up to his promise. At times, he was somewhat jealous of my success, but I think he was always loyal to me. The "cover" he provided was sufficient to protect me from the Dutch authorities; I never had the least trouble from them, although they obviously knew what I was doing.

He certainly had great influence with them; Van Zandt, the head of the River Police, and other police authorities, were always ready to rush to his office at a moment's call. They accorded him every privilege he demanded. He had lived in Holland a great number of years, the owner of a successful shipping business, and had a great number of powerful friends; but above all, he had the prestige of the British Government behind him. It was also the policy of the Dutch Government to be friendly to both the Allied and the German Secret Services; they realized that they could not prevent their country from being overrun with Secret Service agents, and so wisely chose to keep in close touch with the respective chiefs, who could thus be held responsible for the behavior of their agents.

T's outstanding quality was that he was a fighter; he was ever ready to fight with the Belgian authorities when we complained of interference with our agents, and even with the British War Office at times. Since he was living as a civilian in a neutral country, with ample private means, the Chief in England always had to handle him carefully.

T hardly spoke a word of Dutch, and knew no French or German; he had no military knowledge, and not the least conception of how an organiaztion could be mounted in occupied territory. He had known nothing about Franki- gnoul's train-watching organization.

He was, however, a shrewd executive, and helped to keep the various branches of the Service under him in close co- operation. His chief function, the handling of the Dutch authorities, he carried out admirably. He undoubtedly rendered splendid service, and fully merited the C. Commander of the British Empire , with which he was decorated at the end of the war.

De Mestre, the head of the Counter-Espionage, with a twinkle in his eye, informed me that the Maas Hotel, where I was staying, was overrun with German agents. It took me two or three weeks to orient myself, and in this I was helped considerably by Collins, a young Englishman who had spent several years in Brussels before the war in the service of the Lever Brothers, and who had been in Holland since the outbreak of hostilities.

I was fortunate enough to get him transferred to me from the C. Department, and to the end of my stay in Holland, he remained my faithful assistant and companion. Those who were living in Belgium and in Holland at the time will realize the difficulties we had to contend with.

The Germans had created excellent barriers against the passage of information; along the Belgian-Dutch frontier there stretched a deadly high-voltage electric wire, with an unbroken cordon of sentinels at small intervals within sight of each other, and a swarm of German secret police patrolling the frontier on both sides. Hundreds of Belgian refugees had settled there, and before the Germans had estab- lished their effective barriers, many of them had found it easy to get information out of Belgium, and had made a lucrative living by peddling it to the British, Belgian, and French Secret Services, sometimes selling the same information to all three.

Conditions had now changed ; they were producing no further information, but they were all rushing around interfering with every attempt we were making to establish communications with the interior of Belgium. The first essential was to obtain trustworthy Belgians in Holland whom we could rely on to keep their mouths shut, who would submit to discipline, and who would be governed by patriotism and not by money, providing their living ex- penses were paid.

I was delighted to come in contact with Moreau, a former high official of the Belgian Railways, who, after learning our problem in a long talk with me, offered to get his son to enlist the aid of picked Belgian railwaymen — there were a large number of them in Holland at the time who still looked upon him as their chief. The son presented himself in due course, and as he impressed me favorably, I outlined my plan to him. Accordingly, at odd intervals he brought me, one by one, some fifty or more men who could be distributed at strategic points on Dutch soil from Maastricht to the coast in Zeeland, in a manner so reasonable as to avoid suspicion.

Each of the Moreau agents was made responsible for a definite strip of the Dutch frontier, with instructions to find some means of regular communication across the frontier with the occupied territory. We explained that there were three possible channels to be used: "Passeurs," who could go back and forth across the electric wire on dark nights by means of india rubber gloves and socks; boatmen, who though under strict surveillance of the Germans, were allowed to ply their WAR-TIME SECRET SERVICE 51 barges all the way from Rotterdam to Antwerp; and farm laborers who had fields under cultivation bordering the frontier, and who could toss messages across the wire when the sentry was not looking.

To each agent a number was given, and the son assumed the name of "Oram. Each one was sworn to secrecy not to divulge whom he was working for, nor to try to discover the identity of any of Oram's other agents. Thus was started an organization in Holland which gradually increased in efficiency until eventually, during the last two years of the war, we had open continuously at least six "tuyaux," or means of communication, with the interior of Belgium.

When one broke down we had the other five in reserve, and others were continually being established. The next problem was to post agents throughout the in- terior of Belgium in such a manner that, as a group, they would cover the whole of the occupied territory; to instruct them as to the information required; to establish contact men in the interior with whom reports could be deposited; and finally to find trustworthy couriers who should collect the reports and relay them for passage at the frontier.

There were three ways of establishing agents in the occupied territories. One was to send Belgians or Frenchmen back into Belgium or France by passing them through the electric wire on a dark night. Another was to use a courier in the interior to carry a letter from one of our agents in Holland to friends in Belgium, soliciting their help.

Here again Moreau furnished us with the names of many railroad men in Belgium who were glad to work for their old chief; they turned out to be some of our best agents. And finally, 52 ALL'S FAIR we were often able to establish contacts with old organizations which had functioned in , and which had lost contact with the exterior when the frontier became practically sealed in Each agent in the interior could also be relied upon generally to recruit two or three others.

The establishment of couriers in the occupied territories presented a special difficulty. Owing to the identity card sys- tem, which was rigidly enforced, no one could travel more than thirty miles from the address written on his card without facing arrest. The German secret police, circulating in Belgium, paid special attention to people on the road, or in any means of conveyance.

They realized as well as we did that no in- formation was of any value until it had crossed the frontier. The system of communication from the spy in the occupied territories to me in Rotterdam can be summed up briefly as follows: The chief of each spy group in the interior concen- trated the reports sent in by his agents, and then deposited them at Antwerp, Liege or Brussels at an address "letter box" furnished by us.

A courier carried these reports from the letter box to the "tuyau," or passage at the frontier, where they passed into Holland. Here they were collected by Oram's frontier men and relayed to me through Oram. The frontier passages, the letter boxes, and the couriers between the letter boxes and the frontier passages were mounted from Holland under the direction of Oram and myself only.

Each spy chief, whose agents were collecting information in the interior, had his own independent letter box, frontier courier, and passage at the frontier, the whole personnel of which, with the ex- ception of the letter box, was unknown to him; the letter box in his turn did not know the identity of the couriers who deposited and picked up the reports. Once the reports contain- ing the information were deposited at the letter box, it was my responsibility to get them to Holland for transmission to G.

Our main care was to build up a number of small groups, each isolated from the other, so that if one worker was caught, he could only involve at the most four or five others. Even the bravest patriots could not be relied upon to keep silent in the face of the German third degree methods; and the prisoners were often cruelly beaten until they confessed.

Drugs were sometimes administered to break the resistance of the sternest will. We had learned our lesson from the Frankignoul disaster, for I found, after investigating his organization, that he had tied two hundred agents in the interior to one solitary channel of communication with the outside: the tram which ran daily across the Belgian frontier to Maastricht. In this tram the re- ports had been hidden each day in Belgium, to be taken out by Frankignoul's agents on their arrival in Holland.

His method of communication was ideal because it was so direct and simple as to forestall detection for a considerable time; but it had worked so smoothly for months that he had lulled himself into the belief that it would go on working forever. He had made the additional error of allowing the identity of all his agents in Belgium to be known to each other. Hence when the link of communication fell into the hands of the Germans, they had time to seize all the reports and trace down all the agents, since Frankignoul had no means to warn his men of this danger.

In the course of my activities I was continually in com- munication with Colonel Oppenheim at the Hague. He was the exact opposite of T: fairly tall, and somewhat frail, scholarly in appearance, highly strung, and retiring in disposi- tion. His sole function was to analyze information and tele- graph reports, and having nothing to do with the procuring of information or with Secret Service organization, he did not 54 ALL'S FAIR quite realize the difficulties that we had to contend with.

He was, however, a brilliant staff officer, as I found out afterwards from his masterly analyses of the reports I sent him. He got every scrap of information there was to glean from them, and in the examination of train-watching reports, he was an expert in gauging the exact volume of each troop movement. From Colonel Oppenheim I learned exactly what informa- tion was required. It will probably astonish the layman to know that this was chiefly data on the movements of trains! I myself in other times would never have pictured secret service as an organization devoted to, or even interested in, noting the arrivals and departures of railway units; yet this became a ruling interest of all our lives.

The use of the trains by the Germans meant the movement of German troops, and the movement of troops often presaged a mass attack. On our information often depended the Allies' hope of preparing to defend a position, or to surprise an attacking force. The Ger- mans never did have enough troops to initiate an offensive on both fronts at the same time, and so each offensive was always preceded by a large transfer of troops from one front to the other.

Hence Colonel Oppenheim's emphasis on the importance of getting all possible information about every troop movement, and the identity of the units involved. To assist identification of the different German regiments and units, he furnished me with handbooks of the German Army, which made me thoroughly conversant with its organization and the various uniforms and distinguishing marks.

All of this it was necessary to know in order to follow tlie movements of German troops with definiteness and assurance. Urged on by him, we gradually built up a train-watching system which covered every strategic line in Belgium and Northeastern France. The time and composition of each troop train was noted; at each junction we followed the movement, and so were able to trace each division from its point of Secret O. Flandsrs IVth Army llrth Div.

Jn, injth Div. He states 4 id Div. The Shire. Aberdeen, Washington, USA. Petersburg, Missouri, USA. Tasmanien, Australien. Missouri, Verenigde Staten. Florida, Verenigde Staten. Locarno, Ticino, Switzerland. Ciutat del Llac. Yokosuka, Japan. Den Haag, Zuid-Holland, Nederland. Amsterdam, Noord-Holland, Nederland. Syracuse, New York, Verenigde Staten. Montagne Nebbiose. Bag End, Hobbiton, Shire. Gran Burrone. Bosco Atro. Airenchester, England, UK. Calcutta, Inde. Auschwitz, Klein-Polen, Polen.

Dachau, Beieren, Duitsland. Assisi, Umbria, Italy. Edo, Japan. Ered Mithrin sin. Muntanyes Grises. Llac Llarg. Puig del Corb. Silsford, England, UK. Anjou, France. Brittany, France. Desolation of Smaug, Rhovanion, Middle-earth. Esgaroth am langen See. Aquitaine, France. Mojave Desert, USA.

Spilling, England, UK. Mroczna Puszcza. Mount Gundabad, Misty Mountains, Middle-earth. Verdun, Grand-Est, France. Reykjavik, Island. South Tyrol, Italy. Monterey, California, USA. Bertolt Brecht. Southmarch Castle. Chiapas, Mexico.

Sabadell, Catalunya, Espanya. Bolzano, Italy. Costa Rica. March Kingdoms. Hollywood, California, USA. Equatorial Africa. Zacatecas, Zacatecas, Mexico. Saltillo, Coahuila, Mexico. Wiltshire, England, UK. Bokstaven "A" i "Oceanen". Stonehenge, Wiltshire, England, UK. Bratislava, Slowakije. Coahuila, Mexico. Noord Carolina, USA. Baltic Sea. Streaming Kingdom. Ystad, Sverige. Lund, Sverige. Mailand, Lombardei, Italien.

Edinburgh, Schotland, Verenigd Koninkrijk. The Wood Between the Worlds. Gotland, Sweden. Falls of Rauros. Hohen-Vietz, Prussia. Zulu Kingdom. KwaZulu Natal, South Africa. South Downs, England, UK. Fonthill Abbey. Silicon Valley, Californie, Etats-Unis. Crete, Greece. Kingston, Jamaica. The Threshold. Justice League Headquarters. Boeotia, Greece. Caribbean Region.

Aegean Islands. Oslo, Norwegen. Monaco di Baviera. Denver, Colorado, USA. Indiana, USA. Een onbewoond eiland. Mobile, Alabama, USA. House of Secrets. East Sussex, Engeland, Verenigd Koninkrijk. Bulawayo, Zulu Kingdom. South Africa. Omaha Beach, Normandy, France. Elsass, Grand-Est, Frankreich. North Africa. House of Mystery.

Sant'Anna di Stazzema, Italy. Waterloo, Belgium. Posada-le-Bas, Dol Blathann. Posada-le-Haut, Dol Blathann. Zuidelijk Afrika. Saint-Luc, Normandie, Frankreich. Kent, England, UK. Dulwich, Surrey, England, UK. Cherbourg, Normandie, Frankreich. County of Maine. Birka, Sverige. Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Baviera, Germania. Duchy of Burgundy.

Bordeaux, Nouvelle-Aquitaine, Frankreich. Taubertal, Baviera, Germania. Gribskov, Denmark. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, Verenigde Staten. Braunschweig, Niedersachsen, Deutschland. Braunschweig, Herzogtum Braunschweig. Pennsylvania, Verenigde Staten. Via Rasella. Kensington, London, England, UK. Fosse Ardeatine. Noord-Brabant, Nederland. San Marino. Tremonsian, Cairhien.

Stedding Tsofu. White Tower, Tar Valon. The Nut, District 2. Medo, Sheinar. District 2. River Queen. Amador, Amadicia. Falme, Toman Head. Fal Dara, Shienar. Shayol Ghul. Hampshire, England, UK. Portsmouth, Hampshire, England, UK. Cairhien, Cairhien. District 8. Pays de la Loire, France. Rouen, Normandy, France. Abdera, Thrace. Nasaret, Israel. Betlehem, Juudea. Distrikt 2. Victor's Village, Distrikt The Nut, Distrikt 2. Distrikt 8. Tar Valon. Falme, Capo Toman. Oxfordshire, England, UK.

The Institute. Lawrence, Massachusetts, USA. Der Hob, Distrikt Der Saum, Distrikt Alicante, Idris. Dorf der Sieger, Distrikt Alter Rhein. Turnhalle, Das Kapitol. Westchester Country Day. Baltic States. Sitges, Catalunya, Espanya. Boedapest, Hongarije. Isle of Wight, England, UK. Kaliningrad, Russia. Klaipeda, Lithuania. Kaunas, Lithuania. L' aeronautica italiana nelle guerre coloniali : Libia by Ferdinando Pedriali — not in English Common Knowledge.

A philosophic view of American history and of our present status, to be seen in the Columbian exhibition by Willis Fletcher Johnson. Farrington Company. The s America's Decades by John F. The 's America's Decades by Louise I. The s: A Brief History by Vook.

The A. De aaibaarheidsfactor by Rudy Kousbroek. Aaron Burr and the Young Nation by W. Scott Ingram. Die Abrafaxe. Mosaik Sammelband Aufruhr in Ragusa. Abraham Lincoln by Sam Wellman. Absolute Certainty by Rose Connors. The Ace of Knaves by Leslie Charteris. Achterhoedegevecht by J. Bernlef — not in English Common Knowledge. Across Frozen Seas by John Wilson.

Act of Will by A. Admiral Byrd of Antarctica by Michael Gladych. Ado [short story] by Connie Willis. Adventure Guide to Anguilla, Antigua, St. Barts, St. Kitts, St. Afternoon of the Elves by Janet Taylor Lisle. The Agatha Christie companion by Russell H.

Age of faith by Anne Fremantle. Agony Hill by Roger Saltsman. Airport [ film] by George Seaton. Alexander the Great by W. The Alhambra by Robert Irwin. Alice in Wonderland. Aljechin-Euwe by Alexander Aljechin. All American Ads of the 80's Midi S. All That Glows by Ryan Graudin. All-American Ads of the 70s by Jim Heimann. Alles kits : acht dierenverhalen by A. Koolhaas — not in English Common Knowledge.

Alluring Secrets by Lynne Connolly. Stompf Blackwell. Alt-Americaund seine Kunst by Ferdinand Anton. Amateur Naturalist by Nick Baker. The Amazing Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman. AmericA, Inc. America: Religions and Religion by Catherine L. American Lit Relit: A short history of American literature for long-suffering students, for teachers who manage to keep one chapter ahead of the class, and for all those who, no longer being in school, can happily sink back into illiteracy by Richard Armour.

Bush by David C. Amorelle by Grace Livingston Hill. Amphigorey Also by Edward Gorey. Amsterdam's high-rise : considerations, problems, and realizations by Maarten Kloos — not in English Common Knowledge. Amy Carmichael by Fern Neal Stocker. The ancient and present state of the county of Kerry. Ancients by David L. Ange'el by Jamie Le Fay. Angelcraft by Linda Barker. Animal Man, Vol. Anna Amalia.

Anne Frank's Tales from the Secret Annex. Another Day in Paradise by Eddie Little. Anthology of living theater by Edwin Wilson. Apart : alienated and engaged Muslims in the West by Justin Gest. Apollo 13 [ film] by Ron Howard. Apostle from space by Gordon L. Appaloosa by Robert B. Apple to the Core by Marc Lovell. Appleby and Honeybath by Michael Innes. Appointment With a Stranger by Jean Thesman. Aquaman: Sword of Atlantis 40 by Kurt Busiek.

The Arctic Coast by Douglas Wilkinson. Argelagues by Gemma Ruiz. Armed Forces by Elvis Costello and the Attractions. Art Deco by Iain Zaczek. Art Museums of New England by S. Lane Faison. The Art of the Hobbit by J. Tolkien by Wayne G. Hammond — not in English Common Knowledge. Asian Vegetables: from long beans to lemongrass, a simple guide to asian produce plus over 50 delicious, easy recipes by Sara Deseran.

Assassins by Stephen Sondheim. Astronaut Ellen Ochoa by Heather E. At Road's End by Zoe Saadia. At the Mountain's Base by Traci Sorell. The Atlantic Coast by Franklin Russell. Audio cassette: a Biblical story in Chinese Shui meng xiang by Biblical story. Australian federal constitutional law : commentary and materials by George Winterton. Avis Dolphin by Frieda Wishinsky. Away With All Gods!

The Baby Bond by Sharon Kendrick. Babylon And On by Squeeze. The Bachelor by Stella Gibbons. Back to Frank Black. The Bad Seed by William March. Barbarian Europe by Gerald Simons. The Battle of the Bulge by John Toland. Il bauhaus. Weimar, Dessau, Berlino by Hans M. Wingler — not in English Common Knowledge. Bayfield and the Pine River Valley: by johnladdiee. Be Prepared by Vera Brosgol. Bearly Departed by Meg Macy. Beast of Stratton by Renee Blare.

Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James. A beautiful resistance : Everything we already are by Rhyd Wildermuth. Beauty's Release by A. Becoming Conversant with the Emerging Church by D. Before Midnight by Rex Stout.

Being Like Water by Charlie Fox. Nella storia, nell'arte. The Berkshire Kennet by Richard Aldington. Berlitz Pocket Guide Stockholm by Berlitz. Bertolt Brecht: Leben des Galilei. The best of Ukrainian cuisine by Bohdan Zahny. Betrayed by Love by Diana Palmer. Beverly Gray in the Orient. Beweegredenen by K.

Schippers — not in English Common Knowledge. Beyond Guns and God by Robert P. Beyond the Edge by Elizabeth Lister. Beyond the Grave by C. Bible : God's inspired, inerrant Word by Brian R. Bible Absurdities by Robert G. Ingersoll — not in English Common Knowledge. The Bible Handbook by G. A Biography of James A. Bird of Another Heaven by James D. Birka Vikingastaden. The Bite by CNG. The Bite by Chloe Nicole Green. The Black Gryphon by Mercedes Lackey. Black Moon by Saul Dunn. Black pioneers of science and invention by Louis Haber.

Blank Book VI Botanical. Bleekers zomer by Mensje van Keulen. Blind Courage by Bill Irwin. Blitz by David Horowitz. Blood Crime by Kim Harrison. Blood on the Happy Highway by Sheila Radley. Blood Trail by Tanya Huff.

Bloodring by Faith Hunter. Bloomsday: A Tragicomedy by David B. Blue poppy essays, : translations and ruminations on Chinese medicine by Bob Flaws. The Boarding House by William Trevor. The body between autobiography and autobiographycal novel by Menotti Lerro. Bogey Nights by Marja McGraw. The book of buildings by Richard Reid. The Book of Daniel by E. Doctorow — not in English Common Knowledge. The Book of Genesis Illustrated by R. Booker T. Boomerang by Theda Skocpol.

Borderline Insanity by Jeff Miller. Bounty of the Heart by J. The Boys from Brazil by Ira Levin. Bradamant's Quest by Ruth Berman. Bradt Guide Iraq by Felicity Arbuthnot. Winkler Prins — not in English Common Knowledge. Brahms : Symphony no. Brandenburg Concerto No. Bach — not in English Common Knowledge. Brave meiden by Karen M. Lutz — not in English Common Knowledge. Brazil [ film] by Terry Gilliam. Bridges by Richard Hayman. The Bridges at Toko-ri by James A.

Michener — not in English Common Knowledge. Brightly Woven by Alexandra Bracken. Britain's Post Office; a history of development from the beginnings to the present day by Howard Robinson. Broken Fate by Jennifer Derrick. O Brother, Where Art Thou? Bruce's Story by Francine Pascal. Bruckner : Symphony no. Buddhist painting in Cambodia by Vittorio Roveda. Buffalo Bill by Ingri D'Aulaire. Burning Inheritance by Anne Mather.

Lewis by C. But What If We're Wrong? The Caddo Nation : archaeological and ethnohistoric perspectives by Timothy K. Calming the Riot by Karen Renee. Camp, Court and Siege; a narrative of personal adventure and observation during two wars: ; by Wickham Hoffman. Campus Chills by Mark Leslie. Canada my Canada : what happened? The Cantos by Ezra Pound. Captain Chemo: Out Cancer, Out! Captain for Elizabeth by Jan Westcott.

Carmen by Vicente Aranda. A Case of Infatuation by W. Cast a Golden Shadow by Jackie Weger. The cathedral church of Canterbury : a description of its fabric and a brief history of the archiepiscopal see by Hartley Withers. The Catholics and Mrs. Caught by Jami Alden. Cello Bride by Angel S.

Ceredigion, cyfrol : volume VIII, Challenging the Boundaries of Slavery Nathan I. Huggins Lectures by David Brion Davis. Charmed, Zauberhafte Schwestern, Bd. The Child of the Cavern by Jules Verne. The Chimes by Charles Dickens. Chrissy's endeavor by Isabella Alden. Chronicles of Wormwood, Vol.

The Chrysalis by A. Churchill and Orwell by Thomas E. Churchill revised; a critical assessment by A. Citadel: The Story of the U. Senate by William Smith White. The Citizen's Handbook by T. History by Rogers M. Civil Rights Since by Jonathan Birnbaum. Claudine en menage by Willy — not in English Common Knowledge. Clementine by Cherie Priest.

The Cloisters by James J. Cluny de brioude dentelles au fuseau — not in English Common Knowledge. Coal Mine Peaches by Michelle Dionetti. Cold Comfort by M. Cold Kiss by dorianwallace. The collected drawings of Aubrey Beardsley by Aubrey Beardsley. Collide Blackcreek, 1 by Riley Hart.

Colossal - Volume 1 by Keegan Kennedy. Coming Apart by Charles Murray. CommWealth by Michael D. Lucia, St. Concerto, no. The Concorde Story by Christopher Orlebar. The Confederation and the Constitution by Gordon S. Confessions of the Czarina. The Constant Gardener [ film] by Fernando Meirelles. Contact by Carl Sagan. Contact 16 Illustrators by Nicholas Gould. Continental Divide by -. The Cooking of Italy by Waverley Root. Cork of the Colonies Library of crime classics by S.

A Corner of the Universe by Ann M. Corpses in Corsica by Shirley Deane. The Cosmic Connection by Carl Sagan. The Cosmic Perspective by Jeffrey O. Costume in Greek classic drama by Iris Brooke. Courting Susannah by Linda Lael Miller. Crazy Horse by Mari Sandoz. The Crippled Lamb by Max Lucado. Crito by Plato. Cruel Enchantment by Anya Bast. Cruise of the Conrad by Alan Villiers. The Crusades by Hans Eberhard Mayer. Crusading Warfare, — by R. Cuba by Mark Cramer. Cuba: Intrahistoria.

The Cuckoo's Boys by Robert Reed. Curse Not the King by Evelyn Anthony. Cybernetics - Kybernetik 1. De dag dat John F. Kennedy werd doodgeschoten de 22ste november van-minuut-tot-minuut by Bishop Jim. Dagger-Star by Elizabeth Vaughan.

Damaged Goods by Lainey Reese. Dancing with God through the storm : mysticism and mental illness by Jennifer Elam. The Dark Divine by Bree Despain. Dark Eden by Chris Beckett. Dark Side of Life in Vict. Halifax by Judith Fingard. Daughter of Anna by Eleanor Burford. Hugh Edwards.

Days of Grace by Arthur Ashe. Wise — not in English Common Knowledge. Deadly Secrets by Leeann Burke. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Dear Utah by Alex Wrekk. Dearest Debbie by Dale Evans Rogers. The Death Merchant by Lee Goldberg. Deathskull Bombshell by Bethany Ebert. Deathstone by Ken Eulo. The Deathworms of Kratos by Richard Avery.

Decoding the New Taliban by Antonio Giustozzi. Deep'n as it come : the Mississippi River flood by Pete Daniel. Delight by Jillian Hunter. Demon Inside by Stacia Kane. Demon Possessed by Stacia Kane. The Departure by K. Desert Hawk by Barbara Hehner. Desperate Pursuit in Venice by Karynne Summars.

Destined to survive : a Dieppe veteran's story by Jack A. Poolton — not in English Common Knowledge. The Destruction of Slavery by Ira Berlin. The Devil's Delilah by Loretta Chase. The Devil's Workshop by Stephen J. Dewey decimal classification and relative index : [catch-all] by Melvil Dewey. Dharavi : documenting informalities by Jonatan Habib Engqvist.

A Diamond in the Desert by Kathryn Fitzmaurice. Diaries and Letters, Vol. Diaries: Robert Musil complete by Robert Musil. Diary of a Ryde by Joanna Ryde. The Dictionary Wars by Peter Martin. Diggers by Terry Pratchett. Diplomacy by Zahra Owens. Disraeli by Robert Blake. Le Guin — not in English Common Knowledge.

Roth — not in English Common Knowledge. Does God Exist? Dog Days by Elsa Watson. The dogs of 30a : a book of photography depicting dogs on the emerald coast of Florida by Tonia Shatzel. Domme Quixote by Lissa Trevor. Don Fernando by W. Somerset Maugham. Don't Believe It! Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! Donald J. Double Cross by James Patterson. Down a Lost Road by J.

Leigh Bralick. Dragon's Bait by Vivian Vande Velde. The Duke in Disguise by Gayle Callen. Dundee celebrities of the nineteenth century: being a series of biographies of distinguished or noted persons connected by birth, residence, official appointment, or otherwise, with the town of Dundee; and who have died during the present century by William Norrie. Dylan Dog - Albo gigante n. The Eagle and the Sword by A.

Earl of Dryden by Tammy Andresen. Ebenezer's Blessing by Linda Stolz. Echo in the Wilderness by Hesba Brinsmead. Eerste indrukken by K. Eisenhower de opperbevelhebber by Jan Bauwens. El asombroso viaje de Pomponio Flato by Eduardo Mendoza. Election : how Bush won and what you can expect in the future by Evan Thomas. Electric Girl: Volume 1 by Michael Brennan. Elegant Barbarian by Catherine Spencer. Elsie's New Life by Martha Finley.

Emily's fortune by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. Empire by Gore Vidal. Empire of the Atom by A. The encyclopedia of witches, witchcraft and wicca by Rosemary Ellen Guiley. English costume of the later middle ages: the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries by Iris Brooke. English Episcopal Acta Chichester Chichester, v. English Food by Jane Grigson. English medieval embroidery, a brief survey of English embroidery dating from the beginning of the tenth century until the end of the fourteenth by A.

Environmentalist Rachel Carson by Douglas Hustad. Erewhon by Samuel Butler. Escape from Cabriz by Linda Lael Miller. The Esperanto movement by Peter G. Essays on philosophy and the classics by John Stuart Mill. The Essential Feature by Vicky Hay. Ethics and Nuclear Strategy?

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