I counted thirteen of these death notices in one issue of
a Cologne paper. Now they have almost disappeared. I imagine that,
because of the depressing effect of such a mass of these publications on
the public mind, the families of killed officers have been asked to
refrain from reciting their losses in print. Yet there are not wanting
signs that the grim total piles up by the hour and the day.
Late this afternoon, when I walk around to the American consulate, I
shall pass the office of the chief local paper; and there I am sure to
find anywhere from seventy-five to a hundred men and women waiting for
the appearance on a bulletin board of the latest list of dead, wounded
and missing men who are credited to Aix-la-Chapelle and its vicinity. A
new list goes up each afternoon, replacing the list of the day before.
Sometimes it contains but a few names; sometimes a good many. Then
there will be piteous scenes for a little while; but presently the
mourners will go away, struggling to compose themselves as they go; for
their Kaiser has asked them to make no show of their loss among their
neighbors.
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