the lost road-第2部分

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steamed　past　the　flagship　Wyoming；　upon　which　I　was　quartered；
and　started　for　New　York。　　The　Battenberg　cup　race　had　just　been
rowed；　and　the　Utah　and　Florida　crews　had　tied。　　As　the　Utah　was
sailing　immediately　after　the　race；　there　was　no　time　in　which　to
row　off　the　tie。　　So　it　was　decided　that　the　names　of　both　ships
should　be　engraved　on　the　cup；　and　that　the　Florida　crew　should
defend　the　title　against　a　challenging　crew　from　the　British
Admiral　Craddock's　flagship。

By　the　end　of　June；　the　public　interest　in　Vera　Cruz　had　waned；
and　the　corps　of　correspondents　dwindled　until　there　were　only　a
few　left。

Frederick　Palmer　and　I　went　up　to　join　Carranza　and　Villa；　and　on
the　26th　of　July　we　were　in　Monterey　waiting　to　start　with　the
triumphal　march　of　Carranza's　army　toward　Mexico　City。　　There　was
no　sign　of　serious　trouble　abroad。　　That　night　ominous　telegrams
came；　and　at　ten　o'clock　on　the　following　morning　we　were　on　a
train　headed　for　the　States。

Palmer　and　Davis　caught　the　Lusitania；　sailing　August　4　from　New
York；　and　I　followed　on　the　Saint　Paul；　leaving　three　days　later。
On　the　17th　of　August　I　reached　Brussels；　and　it　seemed　the　most
natural　thing　in　the　world　to　find　Davis　already　there。　　He　was　at
the　Palace　Hotel；　where　a　number　of　American　and　English　
correspondents　were　quartered。

Things　moved　quickly。　　On　the　19th　Irvin　Cobb；　Will　Irwin；　Arno
Dosch；　and　I　were　caught　between　the　Belgian　and　German　lines　in
Louvain；　our　retreat　to　Brussels　was　cut；　and　for　three　days；
while　the　vast　German　army　moved　through　the　city；　we　were
detained。　　Then；　the　army　having　passed；　we　were　allowed　to　go
back　to　the　capital。

In　the　meantime　Davis　was　in　Brussels。　　The　Germans　reached　the
outskirts　of　the　city　on　the　morning　of　the　20th；　and　the
correspondents　who　had　remained　in　Brussels　were　feverishly
writing　despatches　describing　the　imminent　fall　of　the　city。　　One
of　them；　Harry　Hansen；　of　the　Chicago　Daily　News；　tells　the
following　story；　which　I　give　in　his　words：

〃While　we　were　writing；〃　says　Hansen；　〃Richard　Harding　Davis
walked　into　the　writing…room　of　the　Palace　Hotel　with　a　bunch　of
manuscript　in　his　hand。　　With　an　amused　expression　he　surveyed
the　three　correspondents　filling　white　paper。

〃'I　say；　men；'　said　Davis；　'do　you　know　when　the　next　train
leaves？'

〃'There　is　one　at　three　o'clock；'　said　a　correspondent；　looking
up。

〃'That　looks　like　our　only　chance　to　get　a　story　out；'　said
Davis。　　'Well；　we'll　trust　to　that。'

〃The　story　was　the　German　invasion　of　Brussels；　and　the　train
mentioned　was　considered　the　forlorn　hope　of　the　correspondents
to　connect　with　the　outside　worldthat　is；　every　correspondent
thought　it　to　be　the　other　man's　hope。　　Secretly　each　had　prepared
to　outwit　the　other；　and　secretly　Davis　had　already　sent　his
story　to　Ostend。　　He　meant　to　emulate　Archibald　Forbes；　who
despatched　a　courier　with　his　real　manuscript；　and　next　day
publicly　dropped　a　bulky　package　in　the　mail…bag。

〃Davis　had　sensed　the　news　in　the　occupation　of　Brussels　long
before　it　happened。　　With　dawn　he　went　out　to　the　Louvain　road；
where　the　German　army　stood；　prepared　to　smash　the　capital　if
negotiations　failed。　　His　observant　eye　took　in　all　the　details。
Before　noon　he　had　written　a　comprehensive　sketch　of　the
occupation；　and　when　word　was　received　that　it　was　under　way；　he
trusted　his　copy　to　an　old　Flemish　woman；　who　spoke　not　a　word　of
English；　and　saw　her　safely　on　board　the　train　that　pulled　out
under　Belgian　auspices　for　Ostend。〃

With　passes　which　the　German　commandant　in　Brussels　gave　us　the
correspondents　immediately　started　out　to　see　how　far　those
passes　would　carry　us。　　A　number　of　us　left　on　the　afternoon　of
August　23　for　Waterloo；　where　it　was　expected　that　the　great
clash　between　the　German　and　the　Anglo…French　forces　would　occur。
We　had　planned　to　be　back　the　same　evening；　and　went　prepared
only　for　an　afternoon's　drive　in　a　couple　of　hired　street
carriages。　　It　was　seven　weeks　before　we　again　saw　Brussels。

On　the　following　day　（August　24）　Davis　started　for　Mons。　　He　wore
the　khaki　uniform　which　he　had　worn　in　many　campaigns。　　Across　his
breast　was　a　narrow　bar　of　silk　ribbon　indicating　the　campaigns
in　which　he　had　served　as　a　correspondent。　　He　so　much　resembled　a
British　officer　that　he　was　arrested　as　a　British　derelict　and　was　informed
that　he　would　be　shot　at　once。

He　escaped　only　by　offering　to　walk　to　Brand　Whitlock；　in　Brussels；
reporting　to　each　officer　he　met　on　the　way。　　His　plan　was　approved；
and　as　a　hostage　on　parole　he　appeared　before　the　American　minister；
who　quickly　established　his　identity　as　an　American　of　good　standing；
to　the　satisfaction　of　the　Germans。

In　the　following　few　months　our　trails　were　widely　separated。　　I　read
of　his　arrest　by　German　officers　on　the　road　to　Mons；　later　I
read　the　story　of　his　departure　from　Brussels　by　train　to
Hollanda　trip　which　carried　him　through　Louvain　while　the　town
still　was　burning；　and　still　later　I　read　that　he　was　with　the
few　lucky　men　who　were　in　Rheims　during　one　of　the　early
bombardments　that　damaged　the　cathedral。　　By　amazing　luck；
combined　with　a　natural　news　sense　which　drew　him　instinctively
to　critical　places　at　the　psychological　moment；　he　had　been　a
witness　of　the　two　most　widely　featured　stories　of　the　early
weeks　of　the　war。

Arrested　by　the　Germans　in　Belgium；　and　later　by　the　French　in
France；　he　was　convinced　that　the　restrictions　on　correspondents
were　too　great　to　permit　of　good　work。

So　he　left　the　European　war　zone　with　the　widely　quoted　remark：
〃The　day　of　the　war　correspondent　is　over。〃

And　yet　I　was　not　surprised　when；　one　evening；　late　in　November
of　last　year；　he　suddenly　walked　into　the　room　in　Salonika　where
William　G。　Shepherd；　of　the　United　Press；　〃Jimmy　Hare；〃　the
veteran　war　photographer；　and　I　had　established　ourselves　several
weeks　before。

The　hotel　was　jammed；　and　the　city；　with　a　normal　capacity　of
about　one　hundred　and　seventy…five　thousand；　was　struggling　to
accommodate　at　least　a　hundred　thousand　more。　　There　was　not　a
room　to　be　had　in　any　of　the　better　hotels；　and　for　several　days
we　lodged　Davis　in　our　room；　a　vast　chamber　which　formerly　had
been　the　main　dining…room　of　the　establishment；　and　which　now　was
converted　into　a　bedroom。　　There　was　room　for　a　dozen　men；　if
necessary；　and　whenever　stranded　Americans　arrived　and　could　find
no　hotel　accommodations　we　simply　rigged　up　emergency　cots　for
their　temporary　use。

The　weather　in　Salonika　at　this　time；　late　November；　was
penetratingly　cold。　　In　the　mornings　the　steam　coils　struggled
feebly　to　dispel　the　chill　in　the　room。

Early　in　the　morning　after　Davis　had　arrived；　we　were　aroused　by
the　sound　of　violent　splashing；　accompanied　by　shuddering　gasps；
and　we　looked　out　from　the　snug　warmth　of　our　beds　to　see　Davis
standing　in　his　portable　bath…tub　and　drenching　himself　with
ice…cold　water。　　As　an　exhibition　of　courageous　devotion　to　an
established　custom　of　life　it　was　admirable；　but　I'm　not　sure
that　it　was　prudent。

For　some　reason；　perhaps　a　defective　circulation　or　a　weakened
heart；　his　system　failed　to　react　from　these　cold…water　baths。
All　through　the　days　he　complained　of　feeling　chilled。　　He　never
seemed　to　get　thoroughly　warmed；　and　of　us　all　he　was　the　one　who
suffered　most　keenly　from　the　cold。　　It　was　all　the　more
surprising；　for　his　appearance　was　always　that　of　a　man　in　the
pink　of　athletic　fitnessruddy…faced；　clear…eyed；　and　full　of
tireless　energy。

On　one　occasion　we　returned　from　the　French　front　in　Serbia　to
Salonika　in　a　box　car　lighted　only　by　candles；　bitterly　cold；　and
frightfully　exhausting。　　We　were　seven　hours　in　travelling
fifty…five　miles；　and　we　arrived　at　our　destination　at　three
o'clock　in　the　morning。　　Several　of　the　men　contracted　desperate
colds；　which　clung　to　them　for　weeks。　　Davis　was　chilled　through；
and　said　that　of　all　the　cold　he　had　ever　experienced　that　which
swept　across　the　Macedonian　plain　from　the　Balkan　highlands　was
the　most　penetrating。　　Even　his　heavy　clothing　could　not　afford　him
adequate　protection。

When　he　was　settled　in　his　own　room　in　our　hotel　he　installed　an
oil…stove　which　burned　beside　him　as　he　sat　at　his　desk　and　wrote
his　stories。　　The　room　was　like　an　oven；　but　even　then　he　still
complained　of　the　cold。

When　he　left　he　gave　us　the　stove；　and　when　we　left；　some　time
later；　it　was　presented　to　one　of　our　doctor　friends　out　in　a
British　hospital；　where　I'm　sure　it　is　doing　its　best　to　thaw　the
Balkan　chill　out　of　sick　and　wounded　soldiers。

Davis　was　always　up　early；　and　his　energy　and　interest　were　as
keen　as　a　boy's。　　We　had　our　meals　together；　sometimes　in　the
crowded　and　rather　smart　Bastasini's；　but　more　often　in　the
maelstrom　of　humanity　that　nightly　packed　the　Olympos　Palace
restaurant。　　Davis；　Shepherd；　Hare；　and　I；　with　sometimes　Mr。　and
Mrs。　John　Bass；　made　up　these　parties；　which；　for　a　period　of
about　two　weeks　or　so；　were　the　most　enjoyable　daily　events　of
our　lives。

Under　the　glaring　lights　of　the　restaurant；　and　surrounded　by
British；　French；　Greek；　and　Serbian　officers；　German；　Austrian；
and