It was kindness that had sent him down to ease my pain, if possible, not anti-Germanism; it was part of German policy to pose as the friend of all missionaries, and if anything he was prejudiced against us--particularly against Brown, whom he had visited in jail, and who assured him the only hymn he ever sang was "Beer, glorious beer!" "That depends," he answered.
"We are quite sure any letters we write will be opened," I said.
He answered that he could hardly believe that.
"If we could send a letter unopened to British East it would solve our worst problem," I told him.

"If you know of a dependable messenger who would carry our letter, I would contribute fifty pounds out of my own pocket to the funds of your mission." I made a mistake there, and realized it the next moment.
"What kind of letter is worth fifty pounds ?" he asked me.

"Isn't it something illegal that you fear might get you into worse trouble if opened and read ?" I argued in vain, and only made my case worse by citing as an instance of German official turpitude the staff surgeon's neglect of me.
"But he tells me you refuse to be treated by him!" he answered.

"He says you enter his hospital and are insolent if he happens to be too busy to attend to you at once.

He says you refuse to let a native orderly dress your wound!" He had been entertained to one meal at the commandant's house on the hill, and regaled by awful accounts of our ferocity.