the lost road-第56章

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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　Bulgarian　civilians；　with　a　sprinkling　of　American；　English；
and　Scotch　nurses　and　doctors；　packed　so　solidly　in　the　huge；
high…ceilinged　room　that　the　waiters　could　barely　pick　their　way
among　the　tables；　we　hung　for　hours　over　our　dinners；　and　left
only　when　the　landlord　and　his　Austrian　wife　counted　the　day's
receipts　and　paid　the　waiters　at　the　end　of　the　evening。

One　could　not　imagine　a　more　charming　and　delightful　companion
than　Davis　during　these　days。　　While　he　always　asserted　that　he
could　not　make　a　speech；　and　was　terrified　at　the　thought　of
standing　up　at　a　banquet…table；　yet；　sitting　at　a　dinner…table
with　a　few　friends　who　were　only　too　eager　to　listen　rather　than
to　talk；　his　stories；　covering　personal　experiences　in　all　parts
of　the　world；　were　intensely　vivid；　with　that　remarkable
〃holding〃　quality　of　description　which　characterizes　his
writings。

He　brought　his　own　breada　coarse；　brown　sort；　which　he　preferred
to　the　better　white　breadand　with　it　he　ate　great　quantities　of
butter。　　As　we　sat　down　at　the　table　his　first　demand　was　for
〃Mastika；〃　a　peculiar　Greek　drink　distilled　from　mastic　gum；　and
his　second　demand　invariably　was　〃Du　beurre！〃　with　the　〃r's〃　as
silent　as　the　stars；　and　if　it　failed　to　come　at　once　the　waiter
was　made　to　feel　the　enormity　of　his　tardiness。

The　reminiscences　ranged　from　his　early　newspaper　days　in
Philadelphia；　and　skipping　from　Manchuria　to　Cuba　and　Central
America；　to　his　early　Sun　days　under　Arthur　Brisbane；　they　ranged
through　an　endless　variety　of　personal　experiences　which　very
nearly　covered　the　whole　course　of　American　history　in　the　past
twenty　years。

Perhaps　to　him　it　was　pleasant　to　go　over　his　remarkable　adventures；
but　it　could　not　have　been　half　as　pleasant　as　it　was　to　hear　them；　told
as　they　were　with　a　keenness　of　description　and　brilliancy　of　humorous
comment　that　made　them　gems　of　narrative。

At　times；　in　our　work；　we　all　tried　our　hands　at　describing　the
Salonika　of　those　early　days　of　the　Allied　occupation；　for　it　was
really　what　one　widely　travelled　British　officer　called　it〃the
most　amazingly　interesting　situation　I've　ever　seen〃…but　Davis's
description　was　far　and　away　the　best；　just　as　his　description　of
Vera　Cruz　was　the　best；　and　his　wonderful　story　of　the　entry　of
the　German　army　into　Brussels　was　matchless　as　one　of　the　great
pieces　of　reporting　in　the　present　war。

In　thinking　of　Davis；　I　shall　always　remember　him　for　the
delightful　qualities　which　he　showed　in　Salonika。　　He　was
unfailingly　considerate　and　thoughtful。　　Through　his　narratives
one　could　see　the　pride　which　he　took　in　the　width　and　breadth　of
his　personal　relation　to　the　great　events　of　the　past　twenty
years。　　His　vast　scope　of　experiences　and　equally　wide
acquaintanceship　with　the　big　figures　of　our　time；　were　amazing；
and　it　was　equally　amazing　that　one　of　such　a　rich　and
interesting　history　could　tell　his　stories　in　such　a　simple　way
that　the　personal　element　was　never　obtrusive。

When　he　left　Salonika　he　endeavored　to　obtain　permission　from
the　British　staff　to　visit　Moudros；　but；　failing　in　this；　he　booked
his　passage　on　a　crowded　little　G