other loungers who prowled around.

The utter chaos was aggravated by the rain which pelted down with
torrential fury. Mothers with their little children drew closely into
corners or sat upon doorsteps seeking the slightest shelter. As I turned
out of the station my attention was attracted by a woman--she had come
up on our train--who was sitting on the kerb, her feet in the gutter,
the rushing water coursing over her ankles, feeding her child at the
breast, and vainly striving to shelter the little mite from the
elements. The woman was crying bitterly. I went up to her. She spoke
English perfectly. She was Russian and had set out from England to meet
her husband at Kalish. But she could not get through, she had very
little money, could not speak German, and knew not what to do, or what
would become of her. I soothed her as well as I could. There were
hundreds of similar cases around. Notwithstanding their terrible plight
not a hand was moved by the authorities on their behalf. They were even
spurned and roughly moved out of the way by the swaggering officials. It
was not until the British colony got busy the next day that they
received the slightest alleviation, and the majority, being strangers
in a strange land, were sent back to England, the Germans mutely
concurring in the task. The wild rush from the Continent may have
precipitated congestion at our ports and railway stations, but there
never could have been that absolute chaos which reigned at Berlin on the
fateful night of the 2nd of August. Humanity was thrown to the four
winds. The much-vaunted Teuton organisation, system, and scientific
control had broken down completely under the first test to which it was
subjected.

The terrific downpour caused me to decide to spend a few hours in the
comfort of an hotel. I hailed a taxi and jumped in. The car was just