The Washington herald., 1918-04-21

Paris. March 2O.-After an absence
Of some months have returned to
find Paris in the war zone. Under
the menace. of aerial bombardment.
thousands of workers are preparing
by day and night dugouts, cellars
and caves to hold the three millions
of people who live in the capital;
defenses against the Gothas are
being strengthened In ways that must
not be specified. It seems, in walk
ing about the city. as II Paris ex-
pected a German besieging army
again to arrive as in 1870 and open
a bombardment.
Ten days ago. on leaving London.
I thought it would be long before
wrote another air raid story. After
a tedious trip OF thirty hours, dur
ing which our channel steamer made
a long detour to avoid an unhealthy
tract of water,the train reached the
outskirts Of Paris and the thoughts
of several hundred weary travellers
turned towards hotels. baths, and
beds. But as We sped along strange
noises began to make themselves
heard. and on peeping from the win
dows no lights at all were visible, not
even the ordinary signals along the
tracks.
Train Arrives During Raid.
The train ran into the Care st.
Lazare in the middle OF the first raid
of the season. There were no lights
in the station. There were no port
ers, and. Of course, no cabs or taxis
outside. 1t was not q pleasant situa-
tIon. Continuous explosions sounded
from outside blasts of both bombs and
shells. One especially loud detonation
shook the huge trainshed. We all
knew very well that the great station
where we were huddled was bound TO
be q prime object of the enemy avia-
tors overhead; we were not surprised
to learn a few days later that on the
body of a German captain, shot down
in the forest Of Compiegne as he was
plotting his Gotha back from Paris.
were found orders instructing him to
bomb the railway terminus.
Most Of the passengers were women.
Their behavior was admirable. The
excitability and proneness to hysteria
which English and Americans used to
associate with the Latin Temperament
were not in evidence At length a few
porters appeared. sinking about like
shadows in the darkness, and nailed
one Of them and offered him ten
francs to carry my heavy campaigning
kit to my hotel. He grumbled a little,
but fastened It TO his strap and slung
it over his shoulder.
Guided by Flashes.
It was only by the light of the
flashes that we could find our way
in the streets outside. There were
no lights, and no moon. AS 1 half
expected, my guide. when a bomb
fell in the next block and some
broken glass pattered about us. stop
ped and set down his burden in the
street
Bomb" he said. Cannon, Mo-
tors! You hear them"
The droning of the huge double
engines OF the enemy machines filed
the sky; the sound was what a swarm
OF bees would make il each bee were
as big as q camel.
mo further" announced the por-
ter. He was bluffing. and / knew
he was bluffing, and told him so. 1t
takes more than bombs and motors
to make a Frenchman take to his
heels and abandon ten francs. But
told him he should have FIVE
francs more. for thought the trip
worth it. and he picked up my grips
and stumbled onward. The night
clerk at the hotel came out Of the
cellar, let US in, and a chamber
maid. proud of carrying on" as
usual. showed me TO my room.
1 was so tired. after the long trip
from London, that 1 went to sleep
before the bombardment was over;
in the morning, when they said that
a bomb had knocked of the two top
floors of a house around the cor
ner, remembered vaguely a dis
agreeable noise that had fitfulIy dis
turbed my slumbers.
Next time the Gothas came there
were sixty OF them, and the raid
was more prolonged and more seri-
Gus than any previous attack either
on Paris or on London. / was for
tunate enough to see nearly the whole
snow, and after some lapse of time
1 am now permitted to describe the
extraordinary, fascinating and hor-
rible spectacle which unfortunately
seems certain to be repeated many
times before the end of the war.
Secretary Baker In Cellar.
- This was the raid of March II,
an evening spent by Secretary
Baker and Gen. Bliss in the cellar
OF the Hotel Crillon in the Place de
la Concorde.
In a little restaurant near the
Palais Royale. we were just finish
ing dinner. was dining with an
American writer and his wife. The
mournful and lugubrious wall of
the warning sirens rose on the air,
imagine cat fight conducted on
the back fence by two felines as
big as elephants and you have the
sound Of the larger and permanent
sirens. Smaller ones are perpetrat-
ed by autos that promenade the
streets. and as we hurried for the
cellars OF the Palais RoyaIe we
were unlucky enough to have our
ear drums assaulted by one of these
machines, that almost ran us down
besides.
I do not know why Cardinal Rich
elieu, when he built the great pal
ace that lies opposite the Louvre
500 years ago, constructed cellars
covered with thirty feet of solid
masonry. The Hun of that period
certainly did not throw around ex-
plosives which required such shell
ter. But there they are. and we
climbed down the winding stairway
into the old vaults. There were
two Poilus on leave, four women
with six children. and three good
bourgeois and their wives, who
with ourselves, comfortably filled
one of the many caves that run
along beneath the palace. A tiny
candle shed a wierd light over the
company. The first explosion
sounded dulIu ahova &c opd q vn-