The whistle blew, the locomotive screeched, and the next moment we were gliding out of the station to the accompaniment of wild cheering, good wishes for a safe journey and speedy return, and the strains of music which presently swelled into a roar about “Wacht am Rhein.”  The melody was yelled out with such gusto and so repeatedly that I hoped I might ever be spared from hearing its strains again.  But at last Nature asserted herself.  The throats of the singers grew hoarse and tired, the song came to a welcome end, and music gave way to vigorous and keen discussion upon the trend of events, which was maintained, not only during the train journey, but throughout the cross-Channel passage to Flushing, which we reached at six o’clock the following morning.

At the Dutch port the wild excitement and hubbub broke out with increased virulence.  The report was circulated that the train now awaiting us would be the last through express to Berlin.  There was a frantic rush for seats.  Men, women, and children participated in the wild melee.  The brutal shouts of the men contrasted vividly with the high-pitched adjurations of the women and the wails and cries of the terrified children.  Within a few minutes the train was packed to suffocation, not an inch of standing-room being left, while the corridors were barricaded with the overflow of baggage from the guards’ vans.

For two hours we stood there scarcely able to breathe.  The heat of the waxing summer’s day began to assert itself, with the result that it was not long before the women commenced to show signs of distress.  Their spirits revived, however, as the train commenced to move.  There was one solace—­one and all were advancing towards home and the discomfort would not last for long.

So keen was the desire to get to Berlin that the great majority of the passengers had neglected to provide themselves with any food, lest they should lose their seats or miss the train.  But they confidently expected that the train would pull up at some station to enable refreshments to be obtained.  They were supported in this belief by the withdrawal of the usual dining car from the train.  Those who trusted in luck, however, were rudely disappointed.  The train refused to stop at any station.  Instead, it evinced a decided preference for intermediate signal posts.  It was described as an express, but a tortoise’s crawl would be a gallop in comparison.  It travelled at only a little more than a walking pace and the stops were maddeningly frequent.

The women and children speedily betrayed painful evidences of the suffering they were experiencing, which became accentuated as we advanced.  The close confinement rendered the atmosphere within the carriages extremely oppressive.  The weaker men and the women commenced to faint but no assistance could be extended to them.  One could move barely an arm or leg.  The afflicted passengers simply went off where they were, sitting or standing, as the case might be, and prevented from falling by the closely packed passengers around them, to come round as best they could when Nature felt so disposed.  The wails of the children were pitiful.  Many were crying from cramp and hunger, but nothing could be done to satisfy them, and indeed the men took little notice of them.