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I missed my train and was kept in Bentheim overnight. In the morning I again tried persuasion, but without success. As it was now a question of myself or the helmet, I decided to get myself home. I went back once more, and as a final chance put up this proposition to my officer. I showed my credentials and explained that I was going to The Hague.
Experience had by this time taught me, when thrown with people on the road, to show them my papers and make my identity known as soon as possible. I therefore clung pretty closely to my argumentative German acquaintance of Bentheim and Aix.
The cattle and figures upon a flooded road are by Berchem. In power, warmth, and treatment, this is also nearly allied to the preceding work. Of his waterfalls, the most remarkable are A picture at the Hague, which is particularly striking for its warm lighting, and careful execution. Another with Bentheim Castle, so often repeated by Ruisdael, is at Amsterdam.
Count Bentheim, I am not sure of its tenor, but I believe the Count also says that he is prepared at any time to make an affidavit on the matter in Court, and I am myself ready to swear before the Court that Prince Kinsky said to me in Prague, "he thought it only fair to me that my salary should be paid in Einlösung Schein." These were his own words.
The travellers fared badly in Holland, and they were rejoiced to "set foot again in honest Germany, where they know how to use strangers with an honest heart." They returned through Bentheim and Osnabrück, and arrived at Pyrmont on the 19th. Here they spent ten days in resting, and in preparing to pursue their journey through South Germany.
At the last moment my rescuer came in the shape of the German friend of Bentheim, who broke through the mob and whispered in my ear, "Speak German. Always speak in German, you fool!" I admitted the soft impeachment.
Edward Eyre Hunt, who picked it up on the morning of the German entry. There were also some Belgian bullet clips and a bit of shrapnel picked up near the spot where I was knocked down by the concussion of a bursting shell on that same morning. When I reached Bentheim we were put through the usual search by the border patrol and military officials of the Zollamt.
Simply because the fiery customs officer had given his word, the German Legation at The Hague had telegraphed to Bentheim and also, I take it, to Excellency von Mumm at Berlin; and the customs officials had shipped the helmet to the Dutch capital, where the German Legation, obedient to promise, had turned it over to the American Legation for delivery to me.
R. W. Drechsler, head of the American Institute in Berlin, and I had also a letter to the head of the University of Berlin. It was a five-hours' run from The Hague to Bentheim, a small country village on the German frontier. The train stopped a quarter of a mile north of the border. Dutch officials came aboard to examine passports and baggage of every passenger.
He wrote my name in a notebook, looked through my eye as if he would read my very soul, and then, without a remark, passed me on. I filed through a narrow gate and so into the Realms of the Kaiser. It was now eleven o'clock at night and the Berlin express came through Bentheim at 7.45 the next morning. We stayed at a little inn, somewhat resembling the Wayside Inn, at Sudbury, Massachusetts.
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