Of course, the whole party was
immediately removed to a private sanatorium, where its members were
cared for, and where, little by little, they recovered their calm and
gathered up their scattered wits.
Very far from calm is a Swiss who has just returned from captivity in
the interior of Morocco on account of being mistaken for a German. The
day of the declaration of war the French authorities ordered him out of
his beautiful Moroccan home, giving him forty-eight hours to pack up.
His wife was visiting her mother here in Berne, and one can fancy her
state of mind on receiving a telegram to the effect that her husband
and babies, twins of 7 and a little fellow of a year and a half, were
ordered off, with the nurse, to parts unknown, as political prisoners.
In vain the man protested he was Swiss. His name was German, and he was
in a German firm; therefore he was a "canaille d'allemand"; so off they
went. At first they were packed on a little steamer whose capacity was
thirty people--there were 150 of them, and they cruised along the
Mediterranean for a night and a day.
At last they lay before Casa Blanca, and, on asking why they were not
landed, received the reply that the authorities must first of all clear
the pier, as the boatload of refugees landed there the day before had
been received with showers of stones and vile epithets from the mob,
whose hate of the Germans knew no bounds.
Pages:
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272