The German Fury in Belgium

Experiences of a Netherland Journalist

During Four Months with the German

Army in Belgium

by L. Mokveld

War-Correspondent of "De Tijd"

Translated by C. Thieme

London Correspondent of "De Nieuwe Courant'

...

Among the many books published on the behaviour of the German Army in Belgium, 
this account by a distinguished Dutch journalist must occupy a unique place. It is written 
by a neutral, who held, at the start, no brief for either side. It is written by an eye-
witness, who chronicles not what he heard, but what he saw. It is written also by one 
who mingled with the German troops and was present at the inception of the whole 
campaign of outrage. Mr. Mokveld took his life in his hands when, with great courage 
and devotion, he visited Vis and Lige and Louvain at the most critical moments. His 
character of neutral journalist was only a flimsy protection among the drunken and 
excited German troops. But his boldness was justified, for after many adventures he 
came safely through, and he was enabled in those early weeks to see the whole of 
Belgium from Lige to the Yser and from Antwerp to Dinant. The result is an admirable 
piece of war-correspondence, which bears on every page the proofs of shrewd 
observation and a sincere love of truth and honest dealing.

There is much in Mr. Mokveld's narrative to interest the historian. For example, he gives 
a fuller account than we have yet had of that obscure period when Lige had fallen, but 
its northern forts were still holding out. But it is less a history of the campaign than a 
chronicle of those lesser incidents of war which reveal the character of the combatants. 
No more crushing indictment of German methods has been issued, the more crushing 
since it is so fair and reasonable. The author has very readily set down on the credit side 
any act of German humanity or courtesy which he witnessed or heard of. But the credit 
side is meagre and the black list of crimes portentous. Episodes like the burning of Vis 
and the treatment of British prisoners in the train at Landen would be hard to match in 
history for squalid horror.

Two facts are made clear by Mr. Mokveld's book, if, indeed, the world has ever doubted 
them. The first is that the German authorities, believing their victory to be beyond 
question, deliberately sanctioned a campaign of frightfulness. They did not imagine that 
they would ever be held to account. They wished to terrorise their opponents by showing 
them what resistance involved. The atrocities were not the blunders of drink-sodden 
reservists, but the result of the theories of half-witted military pedants. The second is 
that the invading armies were as nervous as a hysterical woman. Those would-be 
conquerors of the world were frightened by their own shadows. A shot fired by accident 
from a German rifle led to tales of attacks by Belgian francs-tireurs and then to 
indiscriminate murder by way of revenge. Mr. Mokveld examined the legends of 
treacherous Belgian assaults and the mutilation of the German wounded, and found 
them in every case wholly baseless. No German had ever seen these things happen, 
but had only heard of them. When definite details were given, Mr. Mokveld tracked them 
down and found them false. The Belgian atrocities lacked even that slender justification 
which belongs to reprisals. They were the work of a drunken and "rattled" soldiery-for 
fear is apt to make men brutal- deliberately encouraged by the authorities, who for this 
purpose relaxed the bonds of military discipline. When the battle of the Marne changed 
the complexion of affairs, these authorities grew scared and repudiated the policy, but 
Belgium remains a witness of what Germany's triumph means for her victims.

JOHN BUCHAN.



Introduction

A few words by way of introduction.

I had wished to publish this book a long time ago, because I think it my duty to submit to 
the opinion of the public the things which I witnessed in the unfortunate land of the 
Belgians, and where I was present at such important events as an impartial spectator. I 
call myself an impartial spectator, for if this book be anti-German, it should not be 
forgotten that the facts give it that tendency.

That the book was not published sooner is because I could not foresee more than 
others how terribly long the war would last; and I should have preferred to wait till the 
end in order to insert several reports which I know are being kept in the occupied part, in 
order to acquaint the whole world with the full truth about the behaviour of the Germans. 
As long as the Germans keep the upper hand in Belgium, such a publication cannot 
take place without danger to several persons.

But because the German libels go on accusing the Belgian people of horrible francs-
tireurs acts, I have thought that I ought not to wait any longer before giving my evidence 
to the public.

This book does not attempt to give more than evidence of the truth. It does not claim to 
have literary distinction; I have not even tried to give it that stamp. By relating various 
events successively witnessed, which have no mutual connection, this would be very 
difficult.

My stories are not exaggerated or touched up, but are true to reality. That is the reason 
why the German authorities have driven me away from Belgium, and tried to get hold of 
me to punish me. On that side they are afraid that the truth be known.

A long time after I had left Belgium I got hold of the Black List, in which I am mentioned 
twice over among eighty-seven other persons; once as Hokveld-Journalist and again as 
Mokveld-Correspondent. The list was published by me in De Tijd of June 2nd, 1915.

That I was "wanted" is proved by the fact that two persons have had the greatest trouble 
because they were mistaken for the Mokveld-Correspondent of De Tijd. My colleague 
Kemper passed a fortnight in prison in Brussels, accused of having written various 
articles in De Tijd, which were written by me, and I relate, in the chapter "Round about 
Bilsen," what Mr. Van Wersch, another Netherlander, suffered for the same reason.

But although the Germans are afraid to let the truth be known, there is no reason why I 
should withhold my evidence. On the contrary, I will try to do everything I can to make 
public opinion do justice to the unfortunate Belgians, trodden down and insulted, falsely 
and vilely libelled by their oppressors, and accused of offences of which they never were 
guilty.

...

The German Fury in Belgium

Chapter I

On the Way to Lige

When De Tijd sent me to Belgium as its correspondent, I had not the faintest notion 
practically how to perform my duties, for the simple reason that I could not apprehend at 
all how a modern war might be conducted. But I was destined to receive my first 
impressions when still on Netherland territory and after my arrival at Maastricht. On the 
hot afternoon of August 7th, 1914, the much-delayed train rumbled into the station at 
Maastricht. A dense mass stood in front of the building. Men, women, and children were 
crowded there and pushed each other weeping, shouting, and questioning. Families and 
friends tried to find each other, and many of the folk of Maastricht assisted the poor 
creatures, who, nervously excited, wept and wailed for a father, for wife and children lost 
in the crowd. It was painful, pitiful, this sight of hundreds of fugitives, who, although now 
safe, constantly feared that death was near, and anxiously clutched small parcels, which 
for the most part contained worthless trifles hurriedly snatched up when they fled.

And over these nervous and terrified thousands at Maastricht rolled from afar the dull 
roar of the guns, thunder-like bursts from which had frightened them so terribly.

The streets leading to the bridge over the Meuse and into the town were also densely 
thronged with refugees. Here and there large groups listened to the stories told, with 
profusion of tears, of sufferings inflicted, depicted in far harsher colours than could have 
been possible. But the wretched creatures exaggerated unconsciously; in their affrighted 
state they had seen things that had never occurred.

Suddenly every one in the Vrijthof ran in the same direction. I waited calmly, and saw 
pass by a tragically long train of hooded carts and other peasants' conveyances. The 
drivers walked by the side of the horses, the Red Cross flag flew from the carriages, 
fresh clean straw covered their floor, on which wounded soldiers writhed in excruciating 
pain. The crowd did not press nearer, but, standing silently in long rows, let the sad 
procession pass by. Such were the first impressions of the war got in these days; 
nobody uttered a sound, but many; stealthily brushed a tear away.

Thus it went on all day long: motors and other conveyances travelled to and fro between 
the battle fields and hospitals at Maastricht; fugitives moved about in streets and 
squares, upsetting each other more and more by fantastic stories.

As dusk came on nearly the whole population of Maastricht, with all their temporary 
guests, formed an endless procession and went to invoke God's mercy by the Virgin 
Mary's intercession. They went to Our Lady's Church, in which stands the miraculous 
statue of Sancta Maria Stella Maris. The procession filled all the principal streets and 
squares of the town. I took my stand at the corner of the Vrijthof, where all marched 
past me, men, women, and children, all praying aloud, with loud voices beseeching: 
"Our Lady, Star of the Sea, pray for us ... pray for us ... pray for us... !" At the same time 
bells rang . . . and guns roared. Group after group went by, and I heard French and 
Netherland, the Maastricht vernacular and sweet Flemish spoken, all sorts of tongues 
and modes of utterance. The men were bare-headed, and each let his rosary slip 
through his fingers. Soon after the head of the procession reached Our Lady Square the 
huge church was packed, and those who could not find room inside stood in the square, 
which also very soon was full with these thousands of people in a dense mass, like so 
many blades of grass in a meadow.

However large the crowd, it was silent as death when the priest Jacobs addressed them. 
He spoke words of encouragement, hope, and confidence, and urged them to send up 
their prayers to God Almighty-prayers for peace. When he had ended, these 
thousands sang the "Hymn to Mary," in such perfect order as if only one superhuman 
body sent forth an immensely powerful sound from earth to Heaven.

As I was listening to that hymn the storms in my heart subsided-storms raised by so 
many scenes witnessed during the day; but as soon as the sonorous voices were still, I 
heard again the dull boom . . . boom . . . boom ... of the guns. That dire reality! . . .

 ...

The next morning I got up early, having been unable to sleep. I realised already that my 
task was difficult, dangerous, and full of responsibility, for I had to find out and 
communicate to the public the truth about events, which would be related as beautiful or 
horrid, according to the interests of my informants. It was dangerous, because I might 
meet with the same fate that seemed to have been inflicted on so many civilians 
already.

Dressed in my sporting attire, and carrying some necessaries in a knapsack, I started 
early, going towards Vis along the canal. As I came to the Netherland boundary-stone 
and noticed that of Belgium, I had a moment of doubt, but it lasted for a second only. In 
order to divert my thoughts I walked somewhat more briskly, but was stopped suddenly 
on Belgian ground by a custom-house officer. I was astonished to see that official there 
still, for the Germans must be quite near and-as I had been told-small patrols had 
advanced frequently to this point. My papers were found to be in order, and the man 
seemed very happy to meet a journalist.

"It is a pity, sir, that you did not arrive a day sooner, then you might have witnessed 
great barbarity of the Germans. If you walk on a little farther along the canal, you will 
see three persons hanging from a tree near Haccourt; one of these is a boy of fourteen. 
Nobody was allowed on the road, and as a patrol met these three persons, they 
concluded immediately that they were francs-tireurs, strung them up on the tree, without 
a trial of any sort, and in addition shot each a bullet through the head. To-day another 
patrol arrived and had the effrontery to tell the members of the Maastricht Red Cross 
that the boy had murdered a captain. And we are not allowed to remove the corpses. 
Horrible! . . . horrible!"

"Yes," I reply, "it is bad, very bad, but is it really all true? "

"True? True, sir? You go and look for yourself! And let me tell you one thing-there are 
no francs-tireurs here! We know quite well what we may do and what not, and only a 
moment ago I received a message from the Minister of the Interior, saying that non- 
combatants who shoot at the enemy expose themselves to danger and their fellow- 
citizens to retaliations."

I asked him how things were farther on along the Meuse, but he knew nothing. He was 
stationed here, he said, and was going to stay as long as possible. As soon as the 
Germans arrived, most people fled, and those who had stayed on were no longer 
allowed to leave. So he lacked all information, and only understood that fierce fighting 
was going on, as was confirmed by the incessant thunder of the guns. Fort Pontisse 
was, moreover, not so very far away, and frequently we could distinctly tell, by their 
whistling sound, in which direction the shells flew.

After a few encouraging words I walked on along the solitary, deserted road, leaving the 
canal on the right, until a by-way took me to the bank of the Meuse, opposite the 
Netherland frontier village Eysden. I entered a deserted inn. After shouting for a long 
time, the inn-keeper appeared, looked shyly at me, remaining constantly close by the 
door of his room. His attitude showed that he was prepared to fly at the slightest 
suspicious movement on my part; but as soon as I had convinced him that I was a 
Netherland journalist, he became more friendly, and called his wife and daughters, so 
that I might tell them all I knew. They were very desirous to know how the war went ... in 
the Netherlands, and whether we were fighting the Germans or the English? It was very 
difficult to make them understand that they were under a misapprehension, but when I 
had at last succeeded in this, I started in my turn to ask them what they thought of my 
intention to go farther.

"Go farther, sir? But . . . but . . . sir, don't do that! The Germans shoot every civilian 
whom they set eyes on."

"Oh, go on!" I answered. "I don't think that I need fear anything of the kind. I am in any 
case a Netherlander!"

"Netherlander or not, it does not matter. Whosoever one be, every civilian is shot down 
by them."

"Are they at a great distance from here?"

"Not at all! If you step outside, you can see them standing, ten minutes from here. Near 
Lixhe they threw a bridge across the Meuse. It is the third already which they put down, 
for each time they are smashed from the fort. Oh, it is horrible; there must surely fall a 
number of dead, and here we have seen corpses in the Meuse already. . . . But I do not 
understand how you ventured to come here! . . . "

Well, I did not quite fancy the prospect of being shot like a dog, and as I had not yet 
come into touch with the Germans, it was difficult to say whether these people 
exaggerated or hot. But just opposite was Eysden, and I made up my mind to go there 
for further information.

Netherland soldiers and inhabitants of the village bustled about along the opposite river- 
bank. I shouted as loudly as possible; and when at last I succeeded in drawing their 
attention, I made them understand that I wanted to be pulled across in the little boat, 
which in ordinary times served as a ferry. A short consultation took place now on the 
opposite side, after which a soldier, who clearly possessed a strong voice, came as near 
as possible to the waterside and, making a trumpet of his two hands, roared: 

"Not allowed!"

"Why not?"

"We are neutrals!"

"So am I; I am a Netherlander!"

"Possibly! Not allowed!"

And at the same moment he turned round and joined the others.

So I was left there. The Netherlander refused to pull me across in consequence of an 
exaggerated fear of violating their neutrality; the Germans in front of me intended, it was 
said, to shoot me down as soon as I ventured to get near. But to retrace my steps . . . 
that is a thing I had never done yet. For a few moments I stood there undecided, but 
then made up my mind to see what was going to happen, and went on, in spite of the 
warnings of the kind-hearted innkeeper and his family, who called out to me to return.

The terrible thunder of the guns, of both besiegers and besieged, vibrated through the 
air. In the distance I noticed a couple of men, probably German soldiers, but a pontoon- 
bridge was nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes, however, I reached a spot where 
the Meuse makes a short curve, and had scarcely walked round it, when I saw, only a 
couple of hundred yards away, the bridge in question, across which a long train of 
vehicles was passing, loaded with victuals, hay, straw, etc.

On this side hundreds of soldiers were standing; they had taken off their uniforms in the 
fierce heat, and were busy loading and unloading and changing horses. From time to 
time the entire scene was hidden by the smoke from numerous burning houses at Lixhe, 
quite near the river. I walked in the most casual way, in an unconcerned attitude, looked 
calmly at some of the houses I passed, and which were for the greater part destroyed. 
The walls were pierced by bullets, the rooms generally burnt out; in the front gardens lay 
all sorts of furniture, dragged out of the house and then smashed to pieces.

The road was all strewn with straw. I approached the bridge past burning farms and 
villas. There the pieces of broken furniture were even lying in the road, and I had to go 
warily so that I should not stumble. The soldiers looked at me as if they were amused, 
but I went up to them in the same unconcerned manner and asked them to take me to 
their commanding officer.

"What do you want with him?"

"I am a Netherland journalist, and want to ask the commander's permission to go to 
Lige."

"Oh, you are a Netherlander; then come along."

They took me to two officers who stood near the bridge, and told them that I "pretended" 
to be a Netherland journalist. Having proved this by my papers, the officers gave me an 
escort of three men, who conducted me to the bridge-commander, on the other side of 
the Meuse.

I had to walk along the very edge of the unstable bridge in order to avoid the wheels of 
the passing carriages, which shook the whole bridge and made the rather loose boards 
clatter. In the meantime, at no considerable distance, some shells fell in the Meuse, fired 
at the bridge from Fort Pontisse. Yet, I did not mind it at all, as all these new 
experiences stunned me, so to speak; the incessant hellish noises of the batteries, the 
burning houses, the smoke swooping down, the excited soldiers. . . .

As we crossed the bridge, I asked my escort why these houses were set on fire. I heard 
then, for the first. time, that "they had been shooting," and they told me of cowardly 
civilians, who shot from the windows at unsuspicious soldiers, or stabbed them 
treacherously. But of course they had experienced nothing of the kind; it had happened 
to troops who were now moving ahead. They had, however, taken part in the revenge, 
and told of it with glittering eyes: how they fired the houses of francs-tireurs and then 
shot the people who, nearly stifled, appeared at the windows; how in "holy" anger, in 
order to avenge their comrades, they subsequently entered the houses and destroyed 
everything. I did not answer, did not know what to think of it, but shuddered, because it 
was so gruesome.

They told this, while we were waiting on a couple of protruding boards of the pontoon- 
bridge, so as to allow some extremely wide carts to pass. Once again shells exploded, a 
couple of hundred yards behind us, and one made a hole in the bank quite near.

"Horrible!" I sighed. "Have they not yet hit the bridge?"

"Oh yes, it has been destroyed already a couple of times, but we shall teach them a 
lesson! Why did not the Belgians allow us to pass through their country? What can their 
little army do against us? As soon as a sufficient number have crossed we shall go for 
these forts, then on to Brussels, and within a fortnight we shall be in Paris. Lige we 
have taken already."

"It will cost a great many men!"

"We have plenty of them; but many of us fall by the treacherous shooting of the civilians; 
they are swine, swine! And these Belgian women ... they are the dirtiest bitches ... 
beastly swine ..."

The man got more and more excited, but then he was more than "half-seas over." The 
smoke made him cough and he stuck in the middle of his "swine." He made me 
shudder, and I hastened to pull out a packet of cigarettes, some of which I gave to him 
and his mates. In consequence the two others became more communicative, and in 
touching harmony assured me that:

"Oh yes, the Netherlander are our friends; they remain neutral. And that is the best, for 
otherwise the whole lot would be smashed up, exactly as here in Belgium."

They did not understand, of course, that poor Belgium would have liked nothing better 
than to remain neutral also.

Those wide carts had passed us now, and we could proceed slowly. The bridge led to a 
farmhouse with tall trees and underwood. They took me to the right, to a densely 
overgrown spot, where a clearing had been made amidst some smaller shrubs. In the 
centre stood a table covered with a shining white cloth, and a goodly number of wine- 
bottles and glasses. Half a dozen officers in fine uniforms, gilt collars and epaulettes, 
were seated around it.

The sight of that small group, hidden among the green foliage, was as brilliant as it was 
surprising. One of the officers, clearly the highest in rank, summoned us to come 
nearer, and asked the soldiers for an explanation. Standing smartly at attention, they 
gave it, as a school-child might haltingly recite a lesson learned by heart. The officer 
whom I thought it convenient to call "Captain" looked searchingly at me and then began: 

"Have you got papers?"

"Yes, captain."

I pulled them out: birth certificate, certificate of good conduct, foreign passport, and 
press-card, which were examined the one after the other.

"Are they genuine?"

"Of course, captain; everything is properly signed, stamped, and legalised."

"And what do you want to write about?"

"I don't know yet. The things I see ... and ... of course that cannot do harm to the 
German army."

"Hm! Hm! All right. So you intend to write friendly about us?"

"Certainly, certainly, sir! Exactly because we hear so many lies from foreign countries 
about the Germans, I want to try and find out the truth for myself."

"Is that so? Well, the Netherlanders are our friends, and have so much in common with 
our people."

"Certainly, captain; as a matter of fact we are of the same race."

But here he looked at me in a curious manner, scrutinising my face, as if he asked 
himself: "Is he pulling my leg, or not?" But not a muscle in my face moved, so that the 
"Captain" nodded approvingly . . . and wrote out a pass for me to go to Vis! I was not 
allowed to go to Lige, for, as he said, he did not yet know himself how matters stood 
there. The other officers overwhelmed me with questions: how matters stood in The 
Netherlands, and whether Great Britain had already declared war against us? I think 
that at that question I looked utterly perplexed, for in the same breath they told me all 
they knew about the danger of war for The Netherlands: Great Britain first sent an 
ultimatum to The Netherlands, to force her into joining the Allies against Germany, and 
as she had refused, the British Fleet was now on its way to Flushing. I explained to them 
in detail that they were utterly wrong, but they believed only a half of what I said.

There was a continuous coming and going at the bridge-command, for when I left the 
shrubberies a great many soldiers of high and low rank, with portfolios and documents, 
were waiting outside. The soldiers were to escort me back across the bridge, so that I 
might go on to Vis along the other bank.

Before I got to the bridge I saw something gruesome: a number of corpses of soldiers 
were lying about and others were brought in ... a little farther away, on the farm, there 
they were digging. ... I looked away quickly; I was not yet accustomed to that sort of 
thing. Most likely they were men killed a moment ago by shells aimed at the bridge, for 
wounded men were also brought in on stretchers.

At the other end of the bridge I was left by my escort, and went on alone; on my left the 
Meuse, on my right burning houses, above me hissing and whistling shells, that came 
down in front of me and behind me, with tremendous explosions, throwing the loose 
earth high into the air.

In Devant-le-Pont, a hamlet opposite Vis, the doors of all the houses stood open, as a 
sign that the inhabitants did not propose to offer any resistance to the Germans. After 
much shouting the landlady of a caf appeared, distressingly nervous, but doing her 
utmost to look unconcerned.

"A glass of beer, madame."

"If you please."

"The guns are horrid, madame; are you not afraid?"

"No, sir, we must hope for the best."

"Have the Germans done no harm here yet?"

"Oh no, sir, not at all!"

"Are they tolerably kind?"

"Oh, quite nice people, sir!"

Her reserve told me that I would not get much information here, and, finishing my beer, I 
asked: 

"How much is it, madame?"

"This? Nothing, sir, nothing."

"Nothing! But, madame, I want to pay for what I drink!"

"No, no, I won't take anything for it. It is hot, is it not, and a soldier ought to get 
something. ..."

I understood only then why the woman was so full of praise of the Germans, although 
she was shaking in her shoes: she thought I was a soldier! How heavily weighed the 
oppressor's hand on the wretched population, if now already the honest Belgian heart 
became hypocritical!

I had great trouble to make her understand that I was a Netherlander; and that changed 
at once her opinion for the Germans. She told me then that her husband and children 
had fled to The Netherlands, as had most of the inhabitants, and that she was left 
behind merely because she dawdled too long. And now she was constantly afraid that 
they might fire her house as they did the others, and murder her ... for such had been 
the fate of several of the villagers. Even whole families had been killed.

Many civilians had been put to death, accused of having shot from the houses, and 
others for refusing to give up requisitioned food. Probably they had none, as preceding 
military divisions had already taken away all there was. Then some civilians were killed 
for refusing to work for the enemy. The houses of all these "condemned" had been 
burnt, and everything the soldiers fancied was looted. As a matter of fact, nearly all the 
soldiers I met later on were drunk, and they worried me constantly. Only when I had 
proved to be a Netherlander, they behaved a little better, and started abusing "the 
cursed Belgians," who, according to them, were all francs-tireurs.

A short distance beyond this little caf lies the large bridge across the Meuse. Before 
the Germans arrived it was partly destroyed by the Belgians, but so inadequately that 
obviously the enemy could repair it easily. Bombs were therefore fired regularly from 
Fort Pontisse at the bridge, and only an hour ago it had been hit, with the result that a 
big hole was made in the undamaged part. In the road also big holes were made by the 
exploding projectiles. Having passed underneath the viaduct of the bridge, I found 
myself opposite Vis on the sloping bank of the Meuse. Two boys had been 
commanded by the Germans to work the ferry-boat for them, and after I had shown 
them my passport, they took me to the other side.

It was a fine summer afternoon, and the sun shone on the many bright, whitewashed 
walls of the old and neat little town, built close to the rapidly flowing river. There was 
quiet in the streets, although nearly all the inhabitants were sitting on their chairs in the 
streets. But nobody ventured to move about, and conversations were held only in 
whispers. As I walked through the village street in my quaint get-up, they pushed their 
chairs a little closer together as if frightened, and looked shyly at me as if they feared 
that I was not the harbinger of much good. And all these hundreds of people saluted me 
humbly, almost cringingly, which filled me with pity.

Vis had not been burnt yet, as had been reported in The Netherlands. Only here and 
there had the shells done some damage, and hundreds of window-panes had been 
burst by the vibration of the air. As a token of submission to the invader, small white 
flags hung from all the windows, and these, along the whole length of a street, made a 
decidedly lamentable impression.

The inhabitants had already had a variety of experiences. On Tuesday, August 4th, the 
first German troops arrived before the little town. The gendarmes stationed there offered 
resistance to the invading enemy, but, being hopelessly outnumbered, they were all shot 
down. As they were lying on the ground, badly wounded, Dr. Frits Goffin, head of St. 
Hadelin College, came in great haste as soon as he heard the shooting.

All the wounded were Roman Catholics, and as they saw the approaching priest, they 
implored him in a loud voice to give them absolution of sins, some making an act of 
contrition. The priest was unable to come near each of them, and therefore called out in 
a loud voice: "My Jesus, be merciful!" He then gave them all absolution of sins. But as 
he kneeled down to perform this sacred task, a hostile bullet whizzed past his ear, and 
several soldiers who ran by aimed at him, so that he had to seek safety behind a tree. I 
saw with my own eyes five bullet-holes in the tree that was pointed out to me.

In those first days many civilians were killed, and not only in Vis, but still more in the 
surrounding villages, Mouland and Berneaux, which were soon burnt down and where 
many a good man was brought low by the murderous bullets. The savage soldiers killed 
the cattle also, and a large number of carcases had been lying about for days.

At Vis many men had been commanded to do certain kinds of work, cutting down 
trees, making of roads, bridges, and so on. Many of them never returned, because they 
refused to do the humiliating work and were shot. Among these there were even aged 
people; and I myself stood by the death-bed of a man of ninety, who had been forced to 
assist in building a bridge, until the poor wretch broke down and was carried to St. 
Hadelin College, turned into a hospital by Dr. Goffin; there he died.

No wonder that the inhabitants were afraid and looked askance at me as they mistook 
me for a German.

On this day, August 8th, the reign of terror was still in full force. There were repeated 
threats to burn the town and to kill the inhabitants if they objected to do work or to 
deliver certain goods, especially wine and gin, of which thousands of bottles were 
requisitioned daily. Several times a day they were summoned by a bell and informed 
what the invader wanted, the necessary threats being added to the command. And the 
inhabitants, in mortal fear, no longer trusted each other, but searched each other's 
houses for things that might be delivered to satisfy the Germans.

The entire neighbourhood was still being bombarded from the forts to the north of Lige; 
several German divisions succeeded, however, in crossing the Meuse near Lixhe. In 
spite of the shell-fire they passed the pontoon-bridge there, turned into a by-way leading 
to the canal, near Haccourt, crossed one of the canal-bridges, of which not one had 
been destroyed, and along another by-way, came to the main road from Maastricht to 
Tongres, at a spot about three miles from the last-named town.

The shelling went on during the night, and all that time the inhabitants remained in their 
cellars.

Although I had got farther on my way than I had dared to expect, my journalist's heart 
longed for more. If I could get to Lige, which was said to have just been taken! But my 
passport stated that I was only allowed to go to Vis. I thought the matter out, and the 
longer I thought, the stronger became my desire to go on; and at last I decided to do it.

Near the outskirts of the town I found barricades which, however, seemed not to have 
been used, but stray shells had knocked large pieces out of the low, wide wall between 
the road and the Meuse's flowing water.

There was not much traffic. Only here and there stood some German soldiers, or 
seriously wounded men were lying on mattresses and chairs. Nearly every house by the 
roadside had been turned into an emergency hospital, for from all sides they brought in 
soldiers wounded by shells that had exploded amidst the advancing divisions.

The road along which I walked, the main road between Vis and Lige, was laid under 
fire from various forts, and every moment I saw on my left clouds rise up from the rocky 
heights that run along the whole of the Meuse. These clouds were partly formed by 
smoke from the guns mounted by the Germans against the forts, partly by volumes of 
earth thrown up by the projectiles from the broken-up soil.

I myself ran great risks too, but I did not mind, and walked on, moved by a consuming 
desire to get to Lige, and then back to Maastricht, to be able to wire to my paper that I 
had been to Lige only just after it was taken by the Germans, and that the news, wired 
from Germany to the Netherland papers, that the forts had been taken was untrue.

I had a short chat with the wounded men near the various houses, on demand showed 
my passport to those in authority, and was adVisd as a friendly Netherlander to return, 
as it was extremely dangerous on the road. But I did not dream of doing this, as long as 
I was not compelled, and went on towards Lige amidst this maddening thunder.

I had walked another three miles, when a big crowd of fugitives met me. They seemed 
to have come a long way, for the majority could hardly walk on, and had taken off their 
shoes and boots, on account of the scorching heat, going on barefooted in the shade of 
the tall trees. It was a procession, numbering hundreds of men, women, and children. 
The aged were supported, the babies carried. Most of them had a small parcel on their 
back or under their arm. They seemed tired to death, had dark red faces, and betrayed 
great fear and nervousness. I crossed the road to speak to them, and as soon as they 
noticed it the whole crowd, numbering hundreds of people, stood still, creeping closer 
together, women and girls trying hard to hide themselves behind the men, and these 
doffed their caps timidly.

I was really sorry that I had dressed myself in that grey Norfolk suit, long stockings, a 
knapsack strapped to the back, and a leather strap with a water-bottle. The unfortunate 
creatures thought that I was a German soldier. I was bewildered for a moment, but then 
guessed their thoughts and hastened to comfort them.

I could not get much information from them. Twenty spoke at the same time; in halting, 
incoherent words they tried to tell me of their experiences, but I could only catch: killed . 
. . murders . . . fire . . . guns. . . . After much trouble I gathered that they came from the 
villages to the north of Lige, where the Germans had told them that on that same day, 
within an hour, everything would be burned down. Everybody had left these places, a 
good many had gone to Lige, but these people did not think it safe there either, and 
wanted to go on to The Netherlands.

After giving them some advice how to get to The Netherlands, and offering some words 
of sympathy, I wanted to go on, but as they realised this, the poor, kind creatures 
surrounded me; many women began to weep, and from all sides they cried:

"To Lige? You want to go to Lige? But, sir!-but, sir! We fled to escape death, 
because the Germans are going to burn down everything and shoot everybody. Please 
don't, sir; they'll kill you . . . kill you . . . shoot you . . . kill you!"

"Come, come," I replied, touched by the kind anxiety of these people. "Come, come; it 
won't be as bad as all that, and, then, I am a Netherlander."

That "being a Netherlander" had become my stock-argument, and, as a matter of fact, it 
made me feel calmer. Quietly I made myself free of the surrounding crowd, in order to 
proceed on my way; but then they got hold of my arms and gently tried to induce me to 
go with them, so I had to speak more firmly to make them understand that they could 
not prevail on me. When at last I was able to resume my march, they looked back 
frequently, shaking their heads, and in their anxiety for me, their fellow-creature, they 
seemed to forget for a moment their own hardly bearable sorrows.

A moment later a gigantic motor-car came racing down at a great speed. Six soldiers 
stood up in it, their rifles pointed at me, I thought that they intended to shoot me and 
everybody they might meet, but a seventh soldier standing by the side of the chauffeur 
made a movement with his arms, from which I understood that he wanted me to put my 
hands up. I did so.

It is a simple affair, this putting up one's hands, but even at such a moment a free 
citizen has a strong objection against being compelled to this by others, who are no 
more than one's self, who ask it without any right, except the might derived from the 
weapon in their hands.

When they had passed,I looked round at the people I had left a moment ago. . . . There 
they lay in the road, kneeling, lifting their trembling hands, although the motor-car was 
already a couple of hundred yards away.

Argenteau was not damaged much, but the inhabitants remained quietly inside their 
houses, or probably stayed in their cellars, for fear of the shells that tore through the air 
constantly.

By and by I began to feel that I had already walked about twenty miles in this great heat, 
but I would not think of stopping before reaching my goal.

At Cherath railway-carriages were lying in the road at the level-crossing of Vis-Lige 
line, farther on barbed-wire cut into pieces, felled trees, and so on. German soldiers had 
moved these things out of the way, and motor-cars could pass by again. In the village 
itself I saw a man, with a white armlet, posting up a bill, and as I had seen similar damp 
bills sticking on the walls in the other villages, I drew nearer to read it.

The bill ran as follows: -

"Community of ... 

"To the inhabitants.

"The powerful German army, victorious in our district, has promised to respect our land 
and private possessions.

"In the circumstances in which we are placed it is necessary to retain the greatest 
possible tranquillity and calm.

"The burgomaster informs the population that any utterance contrary to the regulations 
will be severely punished.

"THE BURGOMASTER."

...

The bill-poster replied "yes" or "no" to my questions, whichever answer fitted, and as 
soon as he had finished his task he hurriedly trotted off. I did not see any other 
inhabitant.

Outside Cherath a motor-car stood between some partially removed trees. Two officers 
and three soldiers stood around a map which they had laid on the ground, and with them 
was a young girl, scarcely twenty years old. She was weeping, and pointed out 
something on the map, obviously compelled to give information. One of the officers 
stopped me, was clearly quite satisfied with my papers, but told me that I was not 
allowed to go on without a permit from the military command. Then I pulled out of my 
pocket, as if of great importance, the scrap of paper which the commanding officer at 
the bridge near Lixhe had given me. The other had scarcely seen the German letters 
and German stamp when he nodded his head approvingly, and quickly I put the thing 
back, so that he might not notice that I was allowed only to go to Vis.

At Jupile I saw a pontoon-bridge, not in use for the moment. Just before this place a 
slightly sloping road leads from the hills to the eastern bank of the Meuse and the main 
road Vis-Lige. Along this road descended at that moment an immense military force-
uhlans, cuirassiers, infantry, more cuirassiers, artillery, munition and forage-carts. The 
train seemed endless, and although I stood there looking at it for quite a long time, the 
end had not passed me.

It was an imposing sight to see all these various divisions in their brilliant uniforms 
coming down along the road, the soldiers' uniforms still without a stain, the horses in 
new, fine, strong leather harness, and the rumbling and jolting guns. The soldiers sang 
patriotic songs, and among them rode the officers, proud and imperious, many with a 
monocle, looking round superciliously.

I was the only civilian in that road, and the soldiers, with much curiosity, stared at me. 
Whenever I noticed an officer, I gave an elaborate military salute, and with such an air 
that the officers, although hesitating at first, did not fail to return the salute.

After reaching the main road they turned to the right towards Vis, probably in order to 
try to cross the Meuse near Lixhe and then proceed to Tongres along the above- 
mentioned road. It would not be an easy undertaking, for the forts refused to keep silent, 
and already many a wounded man was carried on a comrade's horse.

Lige now loomed up in the distance, and the nearer I got, the more civilians I met. They 
all wore a white armlet, and walked timidly and nervously by the side of the road or 
street, starting at each thunder-clap of the guns. Near the entrance to the town a small 
crowd stood on one of the hills, looking at a flying-machine moving from fort to fort and 
over the city, obviously investigating the effect of the German siege-guns.

At seven o'clock in the evening I entered Lige; and so far I had achieved my end.

...

Chapter II

In Lige and Back to Maastricht

A glorious summer evening, quite refreshing after the exhausting heat of the day. 
Nature invited to restfulness, and so much the more cruel sounded the incessant 
thunder of the guns, which also boomed from the citadel. As soon as the Germans had 
taken possession of this old, dilapidated fortress they proceeded to drag their guns on to 
it, and trained them on the surrounding forts.

The streets offered the same aspect as those at Vis. From each house floated the 
pitiful little white flag; the people sat together on their "stoeps," for they did not venture 
out in the streets. Everywhere I was again saluted in the same cringingly polite manner, 
and eyed with suspicion.

Crowds of soldiers moved through the main streets, revelling, shouting, screaming in 
their mad frenzy of victors. They sat, or stood, or danced in the cafes, and the electrical 
pianos and organs had been started again "by order." Doors and windows were opened 
wide, and through the streets sounded forth the song "Deutschland ber Alles" 
(Germany before all other), which affected the inhabitants as a provocation and a 
challenge. Oh! one could see so clearly how thousands of citizens suffered from it, how 
they felt hurt in their tenderest sentiments. Dull and depressed they stared in front of 
them, and whenever their set features relaxed, it was a scornful grin.

From warehouses and from shops bales of corn, flour, sugar, and other goods were 
taken, thrown in heaps and then placed on all sorts of carts and motors. In the most 
frequented parts military bands had taken their stand, and played amidst the loud 
jubilation of the soldiers.

I walked about a little longer to examine the damage done. The fine Pont des Arches 
was for the greater part destroyed by the retreating Belgians, as well as the Pont 
Maghin. This is a pity, especially as regards the first-named bridge, so famous as a work 
of art, and the more so as other bridges had not been touched and could be used by the 
Germans. The bombardment did not damage the town to any great extent, but it was 
remarkable that the largest houses had suffered most.

Having walked some thirty miles that day, I began to feel a serious need for rest. But 
when I applied, there was no room anywhere in the hotels, and where there was room 
they told me the contrary after a critical glance at my outfit.

I then tried to find the nunnery of the Soeurs de la Misricorde, where one of my cousins 
had taken the veil. At last, in the Rue des Clarisses. I found the huge door of the 
monastery, and rang the bell. After a few moments a small trellised shutter in the stout 
door was opened ajar, and a tremulous voice asked in French what I wanted. I assumed 
that it was one of the nuns, but I could see nothing through that narrow jar.

"Sister," I said, "I am a cousin of Soeur Eulalie, and should like to see her, to know how 
she is and take her greetings to her family in The Netherlands." "Soeur Eulalie! . . . 
Soeur Eulalie! . . . You . . . you . . . are a ... cousin ... of ... Soeur Eulalie ?"

The terrified little sister was unable to stammer anything more, and in great fear 
suddenly closed the little shutter again.

There I was left! After waiting a while I rang the bell once more, and once more the little 
shutter was opened in the same timid manner.

"Now, look here, sister, I am a cousin of Soeur ..."

"No, no, sir, your cousin ... is not here." Bang! The shutter was closed again. But I did 
not give it up, for I needed the sisters' assistance to find a shelter somewhere. Once 
more I made the bell to clang, and although I was kept waiting a little longer, at last I 
heard voices whispering behind the gate and once more something appeared behind 
the trellis.

"Sister," I said then, "if you will only ask Soeur Eulalie to come to this gate she will 
recognise me, of course?"

"She is your cousin, you say?" "Certainly, sister. Tell her that Bart of Uncle Henry is 
here." Again I was switched off, but the communication was this time restored after a 
few moments, and then I heard a joyful and surprised exclamation:

"Oh! Bart, is it you?"

So at last the lock of the heavy door screeched, and I was admitted. I noticed that about 
a score of sisters had gathered behind the gate and were anxiously discussing the 
"strange occurrence." My meeting with Soeur Eulalie, however, was so cordial that the 
good nuns lost all anxiety, and I was taken inside accompanied by nearly all the inmates 
of the convent.

They first wanted me to explain what put it into my head to come to Lige, and how I 
had managed to get there; but as the sisters heard of my empty stomach and my thirty 
miles, they would not listen to another word before I had put myself round a good 
square meal.

In the meantime they themselves had a word or two to say about the fright I gave them; 
for when I stood at the door they mistook me in my sporting habit for a German officer, 
and the top of my water-bottle for the butt of a revolver!

The work of these sisters is the education of neglected children, and they spoke about 
their fears during the last momentous days. During the bombardment they stayed night 
and day with all those little ones in the heavily vaulted cellars of the nunnery, praying all 
the time before the Blessed Sacrament that had been removed from the chapel and 
taken into the cellar for safety.

They constantly heard the boom, boom of the shells exploding near by, and each time 
thought that their last hour had struck. The gloomy cellar depressed them still more, and 
nobody really believed that there was any chance of being saved. So the little sisters 
prayed on, preparing each other for death, and looking for the approaching end in quiet 
resignation.

For the moment all they knew was that the Germans were in the town, as none of them 
yet had ventured outside the building. At present their great fear was that Germans 
might be billeted on them. . . . Oh! they might take everything if only they did not come 
themselves.

When I left I got a lot of addresses of relations in The Netherlands, and undertook to 
send a postcard to each of these. They also gave me an introduction to the proprietor of 
an hotel whom they knew, in which they asked him to give me a bed; and thus armed I 
succeeded at last. It was high time too, for at nine o'clock everyone had to be at home. 
In the hotel everything was dark, for there was no gas in the town. At last I could lie 
down on my bed, and had a good rest, although I could not sleep a wink. I was too tired 
and had seen and experienced too much that day.

The next morning at six I was out and about again. I had not been able to get any 
breakfast, for the people themselves had nothing. The Germans had called at all the 
hotels and shops requisitioning everything in stock to feed the thousands who had 
invaded Lige like so many locusts. The inhabitants practically starved during those 
days, and carefully saved up bits of bread already as hard as bricks. It was a good thing 
that the night before I had eaten something at the nunnery, for although at a shop I 
offered first one, and later on two francs for a piece of bread, I could not get any.

All the forts thundered away again, and the guns of the Germans were also busy on the 
citadel and the various surrounding heights. Already early in the morning a terrible and 
suffocating smoke of fire and gunpowder hovered over Lige. The smoke came down 
also from the burning villages, like Bressoux, on the slopes of the hills near Lige. The 
flames flared up from the houses and offered a melancholy sight.

German officers told me, with full particulars, how the inhabitants of those burning 
villages had offered German soldiers poisoned cocoa, coffee, and cigarettes, for which 
crime three hundred civilians had been shot during the night in a Lige square.

As even high officers told me those things, not without some emotion, I began to believe 
them and wrote something about them to my paper. But what was made clear to me at a 
later visit! That there was not a word of truth in the whole story of that poisoning; that on 
that day and in that square no shooting had taken place; that a couple of days before 
the population had been ordered to leave their houses within two hours without any 
reason being given; and afterwards several houses had simply been burned down.

The Lige people were already up and about, and wandered through the streets full of 
fear, for all sorts of rumours were heard-that civilians were murdered, the town was to 
be burned down, and that a start would be made very soon. As they looked at those 
burning hamlets yonder they believed the rumours, and went nearly mad for fear; the 
men as well as the women could not help themselves, and wept. During the night 
various posters were stuck on the walls about military action. The following is the 
translation of one of these: -

"The municipal Government of Lige remind their fellow-citizens, and all staying within 
this city, that international law most strictly forbids civilians to commit hostilities against 
the German soldiers occupying the country.

"Every attack on German troops by others than the military in uniform not only exposes 
those who may be guilty to be shot summarily, but will also bring terrible consequences 
on leading citizens of Lige now detained in the citadel as hostages by the Commander 
of the German troops. These hostages are: -

"I. The Right Rev. Rutten, bishop of Lige.

"2. Kleyer, burgomaster of Lige.

"3. Grgoire, permanent deputy.

"4. Armand Flchet, senator.

"5. Van Zuylen, senator.

"6. Eduard Peltzer, senator.

"7. Colleaux, senator.

"8. de Ponthiere, member of the Town Council.

"9. Van Hoeyaerden, member of the Town Council.

"10. Falloise, alderman.

"Bishop Rutten and Mr. Kleyer are allowed to leave the citadel for the present, but 
remain at the disposition of the German commanders as hostages.

"We beseech all residents in the municipality to guard the highest interests of all the 
inhabitants and of those who are hostages of the German Army, and not to commit any 
assault on the soldiers of this army.

"We remind the citizens that by order of the general commanding the German troops, 
those who have arms in their possession must deliver them immediately to the autho- 
rities at the Provincial Palace under penalty of being shot.

"The Acting Burgomaster,

"V. HENAULT.

"LIGE,

"August 8th."

...

Fear reigned everywhere in the bustling streets; people shouted at each other that the 
villages burned already, that by and by they would start with the town, that all civilians 
would be killed, and other terrible things. The Germans looked at all this with cynical 
composure, and when I asked some of them what the truth was, they shrugged their 
shoulders, said that they knew nothing about it, but that it might be true, because all 
Belgians were swine who shot at the soldiers or poisoned them. All of them were furious 
because the Belgians did not allow them to march through their country.

Fugitives arrived from the surrounding villages, who also spoke of nothing but arson, 
destruction, and murder. They frightened the Lige population still more, hundreds of 
whom packed up some of their belongings and fled. They stumbled and fell across the 
barricades in the streets, blinded as they were by fear, and blinded also by the smoke 
which settled down on the city and polluted the air.

Matters stood so in Lige on the morning of August 9th, when the second day of the 
occupation by the Germans had not yet passed. The Belgian field army, which had 
bravely defended the ground under the protection of the forts, and inflicted heavy losses 
upon the Germans, had to retreat before their superior numbers, leaving the further 
defence of the Meuse to the forts. But a high price had been paid for Lige, for the 
German losses were immense, and on the ninth they were still busy burying their dead. 
The Germans lost many men, especially near Lixhe and the Forts Bachon and Fleron.

At that moment the possession of Lige was of little advantage to the Germans, as on 
this 9th of August the Belgians still held all the forts. This was the most important news 
that I was about to send to The Netherlands, for when I left the Netherland newspapers 
had published the news wired from Berlin that all the forts had fallen.

But the Germans were efficient, for during the night they had laid down the rails on 
which in the morning they transported parts of the heavy ordnance that would demolish 
all the Belgian defences.

A few minutes after I left the town a scene drew my attention. A lady stood there with a 
little girl; the lady seemed to urge the child to do something to which it objected. She 
refused to take a bag full of various small parcels pressed upon her, and clutched hold 
of the lady's skirts. I wanted to know what was the matter, got a little nearer, and was 
amazed to hear them both speak Netherland. I could not help asking what the trouble 
was and whether I might be of service.

"No, no, sir," the lady said. "Oh, oh, it is so terrible! By and by the Germans will burn 
Lige and kill us all. She is the little daughter of my brother at Maastricht, and came to 
visit us a few days before war broke out, but now she will be killed too, for she refuses to 
go away."

"But, madame, you do not mean to send that child to Maastricht by itself?"

"It must be done, surely, it must be done! That is her only chance of escape, and if she 
stops here she will be killed with the rest of us. Oh! . . . oh! ..."

"But really, madame, that is only senseless gossip of the people. You need not be 
afraid, the Germans will not be so cruel as all that!"

"Not? Oh! they are sure to do it. All the villages are burning already. The smoke 
suffocates us here. In Bressoux there is not a house left standing, and in other villages 
all civilians have been killed, men, women, and children. Not even the tiniest babies 
escaped. ... Oh! . . . and now it is Lige's turn!"

I knew about Bressoux. I had seen the flames burst out from many houses, and I had 
reliable information also from other villages about the slaughter that took place there, 
although this lady of course exaggerated when she said that "not even the tiniest babies 
escaped."

Need I say that I did all I could to make the woman a little more reasonable, and make 
her understand that it would not do to let a child of ten walk by itself from Lige to 
Maastricht, and least of all in these dire times. But I could not make her see this, and 
this instance proves all the more, perhaps, how upset the inhabitants of Lige were that 
morning; they were nearly out of their senses for fear.

Of course I did not allow the little girl to go by herself, but took her with me. It was a 
wearying expedition in the excessive heat of that day. Very soon the child was no longer 
able to carry her small belongings, and, though already sufficiently loaded myself, I had 
to take her bundle as well. She was scarcely able to walk more than a thousand yards at 
a stretch, and had then to sit down on the grass by the roadside and rest. She did not 
quite understand what was going on, but she had an undefined feeling of fear on that 
long, deserted road, where we did not meet anybody except some well-hidden or 
stealthily moving German patrols who suddenly pointed their rifles at us.

After the explanations required of us they allowed us to go on. The incessant roar of the 
guns made the girl tremble for fear, and the stinging smoke made her cough. After 
much trouble we got at last as far as Herstal, where I had promised her a short rest.

This fine large village, actually a suburb of Lige, was quite deserted, not a living being 
was to be seen. I entered shops and cafs, called at the top of my voice, but got no 
reply anywhere. I was inclined to believe that everybody had fled. And they would have 
been quite right too, for huge columns of smoke rose up from the heights around the 
place, four or five in a row, after a booming and rolling peal like thunder had seemed to 
rend the sky.

The German artillery had taken up their positions here, and bombarded the forts in their 
immediate neighbourhood. These did not fail to answer, and rained shells on the 
enemy's batteries. One heard their hissing, which came nearer and nearer, until they fell 
on the slopes or the tops of the hills and burst with a terrific explosion. Many a time we 
saw this happen only a few hundred yards away. Then the air trembled, and I felt as if 
my legs were blown from underneath me. Broken windows too fell clattering on the 
"stoeps."

We entered another cafe, and once more I shouted for the inhabitants at the top of my 
voice. At last I heard a feeble sound somewhere in the hall, which I entered, but as I 
saw no one there, I called out once more. Then I heard distinctly, and knew whence the 
answer came. I opened a door, behind which stairs led to the cellar, and from there I 
was at last able to speak to some of the Herstal people. I heard that all of them stayed 
in their cellars for fear of the bombardment.

My request to allow the child to stay at the caf for half an hour was granted, and I went 
through the village towards the place whence the German batteries sent their 
destructive fire. At last I got as far as the top of a hill, from which I could see two forts 
shrouded in a cloud of smoke, which was also the case with the German batteries.

I could not stop there long, for I was actually within range. I saw a number of shells 
explode and twice hit a farmhouse, which was destroyed for the greater part. So I 
returned as quickly as possible to my little protege, and went on with her, following the 
road as far as the canal, and then along this to Maastricht.

On one of the hills, slightly to the south of Haccourt, on the west bank of the Meuse and 
the canal, a German battery was firing at Fort Pontisse. The gunners there were quite 
kind, and they felt no fear at all, for although they shelled the fort continuously, it 
seemed that nothing was done by way of reply to their fire. The shells from the fort flew 
hissing over our heads, in the direction of Lixhe, which proved that Fort Pontisse was 
still chiefly busy with the pontoon-bridge at that place.

Until now we had walked along the right bank of the canal, until we crossed one of the 
many bridges. The little girl was well-nigh exhausted; from time to time I gave her a rest, 
and then again I carried her a part of the way.

A good many soldiers were lying round about the high cement factory of Haccourt. The 
factory itself seemed to be used as a station for observations, for suddenly a voice 
roared from a top window: "Stop those people!" And we were stopped and taken to a 
small table where three officers were sitting drinking wine. The colonel asked for my 
papers, which he did not consider sufficient, as I had no passport from some German 
military authority. So I drew out again the bridge-commander's scrap of paper which said 
that I was permitted to go from Lixhe to Vis.

"Is this then the road to Vis?"

"No, sir, I am returning from there."

"Where then is Vis?"

"That way, sir!"

"That way? But how did you get here then?"

"You see, sir, the bridge across the Meuse has been destroyed, and in order to get back 
I had to walk first towards . . . towards . . . Lige . . . and . . . and . . . and then they 
ferried me over somewhere down there, and told me that I had to go along the canal to 
get to Maastricht."

"Is that so? Well, it is not very clear! And that little girl?"

"That is a Netherland girl, sir, who was staying at her aunt's at Lige ... I mean to say at 
Vis, and whom I take now with me to Maastricht."

The officer went on shaking his head at my answers, and I felt as if this might be the 
end of my fine little adventure. But I could not tell him that I had gone to Lige with that 
permit for Vis!

At Fort Pontisse or Lierce they seemed to have noticed that the factory was a station for 
observation. As the officer was still thinking about my case, one of those infernal 
monster shells crashed down among a group of soldiers, only some yards away. Those 
who were not hit ran away, but they came back soon, and took up seven or eight 
comrades, whom they carried into the factory. I shuddered when I saw what had 
happened, and through the shock the sight gave me I involuntarily jerked my arms.

"Stand still!" the officer thundered.

He looked for a moment at the spot where the deaths happened, from which the victims 
were carried away, and then suddenly asked in a kinder tone of voice: 

"Is there any further news about the war in The Netherlands?"

I saw that I must take advantage of his changed mood and his curiosity, and I hastened 
to reply: 

"Yes, that the French are advancing towards Lige, and that the British have landed in 
Belgium."

"What?"

"It is as I tell you!"

"But are you sure? Where are the French now, and where did the British land?"

"Well, all the Netherland papers have extensive official reports about it. The French are 
now at Namur and the British landed troops at Ostend. ..."

"Wait! wait! wait!"

Quickly he summoned an orderly and gave some orders, and a few minutes later four 
more officers drew round the table, on which a large map of Belgium was displayed. 
Their tone became at once charmingly sweet and kind, and a soldier offered me some 
lemonade from small bottles kept cool in a basin filled with cold water.

I did not feel very comfortable after what had happened to those soldiers who lost their 
lives so cruelly sudden, or in any case had been seriously wounded, while the officers 
took little notice of them. But it was desirable to behave as discreetly as possible, and so 
to get a permit to Maastricht.

I had to repeat everything about the advance of the French and the landing of the 
British, whilst they followed my story on the map. But I was soon in a cold sweat, for of 
course I knew practically nothing, neither of the French nor of the British, and each time 
when one of the officers pressed for details I was in mortal fear that I might contradict 
myself. But I stuck to my guns until the end, and assured them that the French had 
crossed the Belgian frontier near Givet, and were now near Namur, whereas the British, 
disembarking at Ostend, had advanced as far as Ghent.

As soon as they had got all the information they required, the commanding officer 
ordered a patrol of cyclists of six men to leave their kit and rifles behind, but to take a 
Browning, and deliver a rapidly written letter at Lige.

They were now very friendly, and spoke even with great kindliness about the 
Netherlanders in general. They let me proceed also on my way to Maastricht, giving me 
their best wishes.

My little protege was, however, soon very tired and complained that her feet ached. I 
had to carry her for nearly a mile and a half before we arrived at the Netherland Custom 
House, where I left her behind, as she was now safe. I went on to Maastricht alone, 
wired to my paper, and then saw the worried, but soon extremely happy parents of the 
little girl. They went at once to the Netherland frontier to take their child home.

I had succeeded. I had been in Lige, the first foreign journalist who got there after her 
fall, and was able to contradict the numerous reports about the conquest of the forts 
which had made the round of the newspapers for several days.


Chapter III 

Round About Lige

During the fights round the forts I made a good many tours and was able to contradict 
several German reports about alleged successes. The atrocities in the villages around 
Lige did not cease, and constantly fresh crowds of refugees came to Maastricht.

In order to examine once more the state of affairs around Lige, I decided to pay 
another visit to that town.

Starting in the early morning of August 15th, I arrived at Vis without much trouble, after 
having been led across the Lixhe bridge once more. Since my first visit the bridge had 
been destroyed three times over, and this new one seemed very weak. As I stood there 
looking at it, a motor lorry had to cross it, and the bridge gave way near the bank. 
Another motor had then to pull the lorry up to the top of the bank, and this made the 
bridge give way still further.

For the rest the transports were not much troubled now, for obviously the bridge was no 
longer the objective of the Belgian guns. At Vis I was even told that Fort Pontisse had 
just been taken and only Lierce could harass the troops, who, after crossing the bridge, 
advanced towards Tongeren.

Many things had happened at Vis since my first visit. Under the pretext that the church 
spire could indicate to Fort Pontisse in which direction to shoot, paraffin had been 
poured over church and spire and fire set to them. It was a venerable ancient structure, 
built ten centuries ago, the fine stained windows of which were well known.

The inhabitants looked upon the church as a special sanctuary, as the bones of St. 
Hadelin were kept there. Before the fire these relics had been removed to the vicarage 
secretly, and then to St. Hadelin College, the only large building that escaped the 
general destruction next day.

Immediately after the church was set on fire, the dean was arrested, as well as the 
burgomaster and five reverend sisters. These last-mentioned had been in prison a 
fortnight, when at last the Germans discovered that the little sisters were of German 
nationality. The Very Reverend Dean had been treated very badly during his captivity.

There was dire want in the little town, for the Germans had been requisitioning 
everything until there was nothing left. And as during the first days of the war all traffic 
had been stopped, it was impossible to bring in fresh supplies. The pieces of bread the 
people still had were like bricks, and several days old; and yet I could not get any of it.

But the German troops had ample provisions for themselves, and as an officer noticed 
that I went all over the town to find some food in one of the restaurants, he offered me, 
the "friendly" Netherlander, something to eat at the Guard House. This I declined, 
however, for I could not have enjoyed bread taken from the starving population.

There was still a real reign of terror, and constantly the town-crier's bell was heard in the 
streets, informing the people that the victors required something or other. Only a few 
days ago it was announced that all bicycles had to be delivered at the bridge within 
twenty-four hours. Any person who after that time was found in possession of such a 
vehicle would be shot, and his house burned down. With similar threats all arms were 
requisitioned, but with the explicit addition that this referred also to old, and broken 
arms, or those which had been taken to pieces. Eatables and drinkables were also 
constantly claimed under threats of arson.

From Vis I went again across the Meuse to the road along the canal. Nearing 
Haccourt, I noticed that Fort Pontisse was actually silent, but Lierce still in full action. 
The Germans had mounted long-range guns on the hills between Lancey and Haccourt, 
whence they could place Fort Lierce under fire. A German officer, after some coaxing, 
allowed me to witness the operations for a short time. I found a place near some heavy 
guns, and sat down amid some underwood. The shooting from Lierce was very fierce, 
but only by the plumes of smoke could I tell whereabouts the fort might be. The shells 
came down near us, but during the half hour of my stop not one made a hit. They all fell 
short of us.

It was a cruel sight. At a tolerably quick pace hundreds of soldiers marched out in the 
direction of the fort, dragging light ordnance with them. One of the officers explained to 
me that the big guns could not yet operate here; and now a division of foot-artillery was 
commanded to occupy a small hill near the fort. The big guns had to support them on 
the way. The guns roared as if all the thunderbolts of heaven had been flung into space. 
The smoke of the powder poisoned the air and made me cough. Gradually my 
surroundings were enveloped in a thin haze, which became denser and more 
suffocating the longer the guns roared. And at last those hundreds of men, dragging 
their guns along the byways, looked merely like shades.

For quite a quarter of an hour they seemed to proceed successfully, as obviously not 
one shell exploded in their neighbourhood. But suddenly all along their line dark masses 
several yards high rose up. This was the effect of numerous exceedingly well-aimed 
shells on the dry, loose sand. Soon the men were surrounded by those thick clouds of 
dust, and only during the first few minutes I saw here and there one of those shades in 
human form tumble down, evidently hit by one of the projectiles. Then I saw nothing for 
a long while, excepting the thick wall of dust, which seemed to remain standing up, for 
constantly the shells threw up anew the earth that had only just fallen down.

The dust-wall extended gradually as the distance grew covered by the Germans in their 
flight to their former positions. But at last we saw the first men emerge in complete 
disorder from that driving cloud. Some on the right, others on the left, here and there 
also small groups which courageously dragged their guns with them, as they saved 
themselves from that infernal downpour.

Five minutes later the smoke had disappeared almost, and I was able to see what had 
happened on the field in front of me. Terrible! On all sides lay scattered the lads, who 
but a short time ago started with so much enthusiasm, and here and there a gun 
knocked over, five, six corpses lying around it.

In front of me, behind me, on all sides, the guns boomed, clouds of dust and smoke 
filled the air, making it impossible to see much, which made the awe and terror 
endurable; but after the air became clear again, and the sun shed glowing light on the 
beautiful fields, it was terrible to think that all those dots in the plain were the bodies of 
young men, cruelly crushed by the infernal products of human ingenuity. It was agony to 
see here and there a body rising up, merely to fall down again immediately, or an arm 
waving as if invoking help.

And by my side stood officers and soldiers raging and cursing. To them came the 
returning men, blood running along their faces from insignificant wounds, and they 
bawled and bellowed, and thundered with a thousand curses that they wanted to go 
back and try again. How ghastly they rolled their eyes in frenzied excitement! Some 
pointing at me asked the officer who I was, and he explained. Then I had to listen to 
endless imprecations against the civilian population of Belgium, who, according to them, 
consisted entirely of francs-tireurs, who all of them deserved to be shot, and to have 
their houses burned down. To repeat the coarse words which they sputtered out in their 
rage would only cause disgust.

The officer assured me that a new effort would be made soon, as they were 
commanded to take Pontisse and Lierce at any price, the seventh and ninth regiment of 
foot-artillery of Cologne being selected for the purpose.

I did not want to witness that second attack, and, after thanking the officer, resumed my 
journey along the canal-road to Lige.

Near Herstal the Germans were crossing by the large bridge, which the Belgians had 
preserved to their own disadvantage.

In Lige things were no longer so depressing as at the time of my first visit. There was 
some traffic in the streets, and by order of the German authorities the shops had been 
reopened.

In a meadow east of the city I saw three big guns mounted, the biggest I had seen as 
yet. They kept up a continuous and powerful cannonade at the forts near the town, that 
had not yet been taken. There were three of them left, of which Loncin was the most 
important.

A little farther away they were still busy with Lierce, but excepting these four, all the forts 
were now taken by the Germans. I stood there for a moment, gazing at these cannon, 
the presence of which was clearly unknown to the Belgians, for their artillery took no 
notice of them. Only the day before these guns had started shelling the forts, and on the 
evening of August 15th they had silenced two of them; but Loncin kept up the fight.

During the evening I was granted an audience by the Right Reverend Monseigneur 
Rutten, Bishop of Lige. The venerable, aged prelate received me very affably, but he 
was deeply impressed by the terrible fate that had overwhelmed his poor native country. 
He himself had suffered exceedingly bad treatment at the hands of the Germans. First 
he and the other hostages were imprisoned in the citadel, where he was locked up in a 
small shanty, with a leaking roof, so that the torrential rain entered it freely. Wet and 
cold, the Bishop passed that day without being offered any food, and, as stated above, 
was at last allowed to go home.

He told me a good many other instances of ill-treatment, but as I gave him my word of 
honour not to mention them, my mouth is sealed. He himself was visited a few days 
later by the German commanding general, who offered his apologies.

That same evening many more houses were burned down, more particularly in Outre- 
Meuse, although no valid reason was given for that.

The next day, Sunday, August 16th, I was already about at five o'clock in the morning, 
and soon witnessed some historical shots. In the park on one of the boulevards the 
Germans had been digging for two days, and prepared a firm foundation upon which big 
guns might be mounted. I saw one of these guns that morning, and at about half-past 
five three shots were fired from it at short intervals, by which Fort Loncin was completely 
destroyed, as was indicated by the terrific explosions which followed the third shot. After 
these shots I was quite benumbed for several minutes; in all the streets of Lige they 
caused the greatest commotion, which became all the greater because large numbers 
of cavalry happened to ride through the town, and all the horses started rearing.

Was the gun I had seen there one of the notorious forty-two centimetre monsters? I 
should not like to wager my head in affirming that. It was an inordinately unwieldy and 
heavy piece of ordnance, but during the first days of the war nothing or very little had yet 
been said or written about these forty-two's, and I did not pay sufficient attention to the 
one I saw. Only after the fall of Loncin did all those articles about the forty-two's appear 
in the papers, and the Germans certainly asserted that they destroyed Loncin by means 
of such a cannon.

But it is equally certain that at Lige as well as at Namur and Antwerp the Austrian 
thirty-point-five mortars were used, siege-guns chiefly, and these were taken by the 
German soldiers for forty-two's. These Austrian mortars were equally misnamed in 
German, French, and even Netherland illustrated papers.

However, the effect of these Austrian mortars was terrible enough. I could not form a 
correct opinion about them by the sound of the shot; and only those who were in the fort 
that was hit were able to realise the terrific results. Hence the interest of the report by an 
officer, who escaped after having been made a prisoner at Loncin. He told my colleague 
of De Tijd at Antwerp about it. After having related how, during nearly ten days, the fort 
had been defended heroically and resolutely, he gave the following description of the 
final struggle: -

"On August 14th, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, the expected storm burst; for 
twenty-five hours the invisible siege-guns poured their torrent of projectiles on the fort. 
Flares of fire and dense clouds of smoke belched through the crevices. As the enemy's 
batteries could not be located, their fire could not be answered. The artillerists of the 
garrison were then taken to the spacious chief gallery, which offered a safe refuge 
under its vault, about two and a half to three yards thick. Outside the sentries were 
watching. In the parts near the entrance it was unendurable; the heavy projectiles from 
the guns mounted in the town had nibbled away the outer wall, only a yard and a half 
thick. There were as yet no casualties among the garrison; calmly they waited for the 
infernal tempest to subside and the enemy to storm the fort, for they had sworn to 
repulse the assault.

"General Leman, Commander Naessens, and all the officers were splendid in their 
imperturbable courage. They found the words that went straight to the hearts of their 
men. These fellows looked more like bronze statues than human beings. The projectiles 
hammered at the walls and smashed huge pieces, penetrating into the parts near the 
entrance. The rest of the fort withstood splendidly the hurricane of hostile steel and fire. 
During the night the bombardment stopped, and then the commanding officer went to 
inspect the cupolas.

"The larger ones had suffered little; but the majority were jammed by fragments of 
concrete and steel, which struck between the armour and the front-armour. The small 
quick-fire cupolas had not been touched by any projectile. ' It is all right,' he said,' we 
shall be able to repulse the enemy's attack.'

"At dawn the bombardment started again, but only the front was seriously damaged. 
The garrison stood as firm as a rock. Here and there the beginnings of a fire were soon 
extinguished.

"Then a frightful thing happened. The men had finished breakfast, some were sleeping 
quietly in spite of the thundering noise. The assault was expected to commence during 
the next night.

"And then the disaster followed suddenly. At about five o'clock a tremendous explosion 
shook the fort to the foundations; the powder-magazine had caught fire. It is impossible 
to describe the appalling results of that explosion; the entire middle-part of the fort 
collapsed in a stupendous cloud of flames, smoke and dust; it was an awful destruction, 
an immense avalanche of masses of concrete, fragments of armour, which in their fall 
crushed to death nearly the whole of the garrison. From this fantastical, confused mass, 
overwhelming clouds of suffocating smoke escaped through some crevices and holes.

"After this infernal rumble, deadly silence followed, interrupted only by the groans of the 
wounded. The German artillery ceased to fire, and from all sides their infantry came 
rushing on, their faces expressing the terror caused by such great calamities. They were 
no longer soldiers longing to destroy, but human beings hurrying to go to the assistance 
of other human beings.

"German sappers and other military men cleared away the dead and the wounded. They 
also discovered General Leman, whose orderlies, who had a miraculous escape from 
death, were already busy in rescuing him from underneath the ruins.

"They were all unrecognisable, their faces were black from smoke, their uniforms in 
rags, their hands covered with blood. The general was put on a stretcher, and carried 
outside the fort across the heaps of obstacles; there he was attended to by a surgeon. 
He had lost consciousness. As soon as he recovered it, he pressed the hands of two 
Belgian officers. 'It is all over; there is nothing left to defend. But we did our utmost 
courageously.'

"A German officer came nearer, and, uncovering his head, said in a voice trembling with 
emotion: 'General, what you performed is admirable!' Evidently these words slightly 
comforted the defender of Lige, who before long was removed by motor-car to an 
ambulance in the town."

Such was the end of Fort Loncin, and by its fall the last obstacle was removed by which 
the undisturbed progress of the German armies might have been prevented. The brave 
defenders of Loncin did not surrender, but stood their ground until they were buried 
under the ruins of their own defences. According to information from another source, 
Lierce had succumbed the night before.

Early next morning I walked through the streets of Lige, dull and depressed, deploring 
the fact that such clumsy, heavy iron monsters had been able to crush this stout 
defence and such men. As I reached the Place du March, there arrived three hundred 
disarmed Belgian warriors, escorted by a strong German force. They stopped in the 
square, and soon hundreds of the people of Lige crowded around them. They were the 
defenders of Fort Pontisse.

Men and women tried to break through the German cordon, but were repulsed roughly. 
So they threw fruit, cigars, and cigarettes at them. The lads looked gratefully at their 
compatriots, but for the rest stared in front of them in dismal depression. Once and 
again a name was called, as a relative or friend was recognised. Some shed tears.

Whether neutral or foreigner, no one could help being deeply moved. Men and women, 
boys and girls, pressed once more through the German fence, just to shake hands with 
someone they had recognised. No wailing followed, but when hands were gripped, with 
a suppressed sob, they said: 

"Bear up, lad! Keep courage; it will soon be different."

And the answer was: 

"We did our utmost to the last, but it was impossible to go on."

I could not help myself, but also pressed through the Germans, as I wanted to exchange 
a few words with the Belgians. This was possible for a very few moments only, in which 
they told me that they had been firing night and day in order to harass the Germans who 
crossed the river, but they had to yield at the end, when the Germans put Belgian 
civilians in front of themselves when attacking the fort.

I was roughly pushed back by the German soldiers twice over. I broke through only to 
be repulsed again. They got into difficulties with the huge crowd, who pushed through 
on all sides, bought up the stock of surrounding shops, and threw chocolates and other 
sweets, cigars and cigarettes, at their boys. Then a bugle sounded, and the Belgians 
once more were arrayed in files. They calmly lighted their cigarettes, and as the order 
"march" was given, they took off their caps, waved them through the air, and, turning to 
the Lige crowd, exclaimed: "Vive la Belgique." Then hundreds of caps, hats, and arms 
were waved in response, the air resounding the cry: "Vive la Belgique. Au revoir! Au 
revoir!"

As I felt myself one with the population, I uncovered my head and enthusiastically joined 
in the cry: "Au revoir! Au revoir!"

When I was half way between Lige and the Netherland frontier, I noticed that the 
village of Vivignes was burning in various places. It is a beautiful spot, quite concealed 
between the green trees on the slope of the hills, west of the canal. And the finest and 
largest farms were exactly those ablaze. The fire crackled fiercely, roofs came down 
with a crash and a thud. Not a living being could be seen. From the windows of the 
burning houses small white flags hung, and they too were one by one destroyed by the 
fire. I counted forty-five farms that were burning, destroyed by the raging flames.

In a caf, lower down, near the canal I saw a number of German soldiers, and was 
successful in having a chat with the inn-keeper, at the farthest corner of the bar. I asked 
him, of course, what they meant by burning the village, and he told me that the Germans 
had made a number of unsuccessful attacks on Fort Pontisse, until at last they reduced 
it to silence. They were now so near that they could open the final assault. They were 
afraid, however, of some ambush, or underground mine, and the Friday before they had 
collected the population, whom they forced to march in front of them. When they had 
got quite near they dared not enter it yet, and drove the priest and twelve of the principal 
villagers before them. That is how Pontisse was conquered.

Later on I heard the same story from several other inhabitants.

The people had been in deadly terror, and women and old men, fearing that they would 
be killed, had fallen on their knees beseeching the soldiers to spare them. At present 
many women and old men, and even strong men, were laid up with violent feverish 
attacks of nerves.

Only because these wretched people had not promptly obeyed the order of the military 
to march against the fort in front of the soldiers, Vivignes had been punished, and that 
morning over forty of the best houses had been set on fire.

I shuddered at the thought that in these days such barbarities were possible. I asked the 
soldiers whether I was allowed to enter the burning village, but the commanding 
sergeant refused his consent.

I also asked the inn-keeper whether he felt no fear in those surroundings. But, 
shrugging his shoulders, he answered: "All we can do is to wait quietly. I do all in my 
power to keep them in a good temper, give them beer and cigars, and yesterday killed 
one of my two cows for them. I may have lost everything at the end of the war, . . . but 
even so, let it be, if I can only save the life of my family and keep a roof over my head. 
But my anxiety is great enough, for, you understand, I have two daughters . . . and . . . 
and . . ."

We had got near the door of the room that stood ajar, and from there came the sound of 
a couple of girls' voices: "Hail, Mary. . . . Hail, Mary. . . ."

The frightened maidens were saying their rosary.

The news, that all the forts had now been taken was quickly communicated to the 
surrounding military posts, and in consequence the soldiers were in a wanton mood. 
Most of the houses which I passed had their doors and windows smashed and broken, 
but the most provoking was that soldiers had compelled the people in the cafs along 
the canal to open their pianos and make their musical automatons play. To the tunes of 
these instruments they danced, yelling and shouting. No greater contrast was 
imaginable than that between such scenes and the burning village with the frightened 
inhabitants around it.

Near Haccourt, by the bank of the Meuse, I noticed a terrible glare of fire and dense 
smoke. It was an alarming sight, and made me fear the direst things. I considered for a 
moment whether I should go there or not, fearing that I had already taxed my nerves too 
much. Yet, I made up my mind to go, and by a side-way got to the Meuse, near Vis. 
German engineers were busy here laying telephone wires, and an officer stopped me, 
threatening me with his revolver. It was obvious that they were no longer accustomed to 
see civilians on that road. After having examined my passport and seeing that I was a 
Netherland journalist, he became very friendly, and politely urged me not to go farther.

"Why not, sir?" I asked,

"Well, there is a huge fire yonder; everything is burning!"

"How did that come about?"

"Well, it seems that the civilians cannot understand that only soldiers may fight soldiers, 
and for that reason the whole place has been set on fire."

"Devant-le-Pont?"

"No, Vis."

"Vis? Do you mean to say, sir, that the whole of Vis has been set on fire?"

"Certainly!"

"But . . . but . . .! May I go there?

"I must advise you not to, for it is extremely dangerous, but if you like . . ."

"Very well, sir, then I shall go there!

...

Chapter IV

Vis Destroyed: A Premeditated Crime

One of the first things I have to deal with is also one of the most fearful I ever saw, and 
I only hope that I may never again witness the like of it.

I have mentioned already the reign of terror with which the Germans ruled the wretched 
townlet ever since they entered it. Something fateful might happen any moment, and 
actually occurred during the night of August 15th and 16th.

On that evening the soldiers, rough fellows from East Prussia, had been revelling in the 
cafs, shouting filthy ditties in the streets, and most of them in a very advanced state of 
intoxication. At ten o'clock suddenly a shot was heard. The fellows took their rifles, 
which they had placed against the walls, or on the tables of the cafs, and ran into the 
street shouting in a mad rage: "They have been shooting!" The most tipsy began to 
shoot at doors and windows simultaneously in various parts of the town, which made the 
people in the houses scream, and this excited the mad drunken soldiers all the more.

They forced their way into several houses, knocking down the frightened inhabitants 
when these tried to stop them.

It is stated that some of the wretched people were even pinioned and beaten. Their 
assailants then stumbled up the stairs and began to shoot wildly from the upper stories 
into the dark streets, where their own raving comrades were rushing about like madmen. 
Some civilians who in great fear had come to their front door to see what was happening 
were shot down.

After this game had been going on for some time, the order was given: "Everybody must 
come outside." Doors and windows were forced open and broken, and men, women, 
and children driven out of the houses. They were at once ruthlessly separated. Men who 
assisted their aged mothers, or carried their little babies, were taken away from their 
families, and driven away, leaving their wailing and weeping wives and children behind, 
while the flames from burning houses threw a lurid light on the sad scenes of that 
terrible evening.

The poor wretches, who expected to be killed at any moment, were driven into squares 
or the meadows, where they were exposed to the chilly night air, so that several babies 
perished. Only the next morning were the women and children allowed to leave-that is 
to say, they were told to take the shortest way to Maastricht.

A number of the men were taken to Germany, the others were kept as prisoners in the 
neighbourhood, and by and by had to suffer the shame of being compelled to work for 
the enemy. Amongst them were men who had never done any manual work, such as an 
aged notary public.

Even a doctor of the Red Cross established at St. Hadelin College had been removed in 
his white overall and wearing his Red Cross armlet. This was Dr. Labye, who already 
had rendered signal services to the wounded Germans. In consequence of his detention 
twenty of them were left in the hospital without medical attendance. . . .

During the night only a few houses were burnt down; the general destruction followed 
the next morning, Sunday, August 16th, and just as I reached the little town the flames 
were raging all over the place in a fierce blaze.

I shall never forget that sight. The Meuse separated me from the raging blaze on the 
opposite bank. The flames roared violently, roofs and rafters and walls crashed down, 
and the wood of living trees was burning and screeching loudly. I saw but a sea of fire, 
one glaring glow, and the air was scorchingly hot. A light breeze blew through the place, 
and made clouds of smoke to whirl through the streets like avalanches of snow. The 
view down the longer streets leading straight from the hill-tops to the Meuse was very 
fantastic.

The wind seemed to play with the smoke, rolling dense volumes down the slopes which 
dispersed only when they reached the bank along the river. Whilst the flames soared 
high up from the roofs, the walls of the houses stood still erect, and everywhere in the 
windows one saw those miserable little white flags, symbols of submission, mute 
prayers that submission should be rewarded by sparing the life and possession of the 
inhabitants. . . .

I stood near the spot where the ferry-boat used to take people across; but to cross was 
now out of the question, for any one alighting on the opposite side would be landed in 
the scorching glare. Therefore, I returned to Lixhe, where I might try to cross the river by 
the pontoon-bridge, and get to Vis along the other bank of the Meuse.

On the way I was stopped by two soldiers, one of whom examined my papers, and, 
finding that I was a journalist, revealed himself as a colleague, in ordinary times editor of 
the Kolnische Zeitung. He shook both my hands quite excitedly, glad to meet a 
colleague, and, better still, one from the "friendly" Netherlands.

I had to listen to a prolonged hymn of praise of the Netherlanders, who were such 
sensible people, and the best friends of the Germans; protestations which did not 
interest me in the least at that moment. On the contrary, it struck me as deplorable that 
this man did not say a single word of his own accord about the horrible thing happening 
close by: the destruction of an entire community! He did not seem to attach any 
importance to it. ... As soon as the "friendly" Netherlander thought that he had 
swallowed sufficient praise, I began to ask questions about the meaning of that wanton 
devastation, and why it was inflicted on the population! Before answering, he looked 
round in a casual manner, as if thinking: "Oh, it's that bit of fire you refer to!" And then 
exploded in a string of imprecations against the population.

It is a lamentable sign that this German, probably well educated, had not taken the 
slightest trouble to find out the reason for this wholesale wrecking of a town, that the 
whole affair impressed him so little. "Somebody" had said that those cursed civilians had 
been shooting, that explained it to his satisfaction, and gave him ample cause for coarse 
abuse of the wretched people.

How many soldiers had fallen in consequence of this attack by francs-tireurs he knew 
not; which troops had witnessed the occurrence he could not say. All he did know was 
that these troops had left in the morning, leaving a small force behind to impose the 
punishment.

The bridge-command at the pontoon-bridge near Lixhe allowed me to cross, after 
requesting me very pressingly to make very clear what swine these Belgians were, who 
fired so treacherously at unsuspecting soldiers, put out the eyes of the wounded, cut off 
their hands and genitals. When I asked where all these things had happened, the 
answer was: "Everywhere!" Of course, I promised them to do everything they wanted.

Very large divisions marched from Vis to the pontoon bridge in the direction of 
Tongres. After the Lige forts had been taken the bridge might be passed in perfect 
safety. All day long troops came along that road without interruption. I could quite see 
that the soldiers who were at Vis the previous day, and brought about the 
conflagration, were gone, for they had left their traces behind. All along the road lay 
parts of bicycles, shoes, instruments, toys, and so on, everything new and evidently 
looted from the shops. Very valuable things were among them, everything crashed, and 
smashed by the cavalry horses, the clumsy munition and forage waggons, or the heavy 
wheels of the guns.

A little farther on a few houses were left undamaged, because they stood outside the 
town proper. A woman who had remained in her house stood outside with cigar-boxes 
under her arm. She offered cigars from an open box to the soldiers of the passing 
divisions. To me she seemed to be out of her mind, as she stood there trembling, her 
face distorted from hypernervousness. Her cringing kindness was of no avail, for I 
noticed a couple of days afterwards that her house too had been totally destroyed.

On the first houses of the town large bills had been stuck, intimating that they were a 
Netherlander's property, but obviously that had not impressed the tipsy soldiers to any 
extent, for they had been wrecked all the same for the greater part.

The whole town was like a sea of fire. The Germans, who are nothing if not thorough 
even in the matter of arson, had worked out their scheme in great detail. In most houses 
they had poured some benzine or paraffin on the floor, put a lighted match to it, and 
thrown a small black disc, the size of a farthing, on the burning spot, and then immedi- 
ately the flames flared up with incredible fury, l do not know the constituents of this 
particular product of "Kultur."

Nor did I see any inhabitants in the burning town. It was practically impossible to stay in 
the streets; burning walls and roofs and gutters crashed down with a great noise, so that 
the streets were as much on fire as the houses themselves. Only at the crossings were 
any soldiers to be seen, who, in various stages of intoxication, constantly aimed at the 
burning houses, and shot everything that tried to escape from the burning stables and 
barns: pigs, horses, cows, dogs, and so on.

Suddenly I saw a boy about twelve years old in one of the burning streets. He waved his 
arms, rushed madly to and fro, calling for his father and mother, and his little brother 
and sisters. He was in danger of perishing in the fire, or being killed by the murderous 
bullet from a rifle. I ran after him, laid hold of him, and in spite of his resistance pulled 
him back. Fortunately I met a couple of kind, sober soldiers to whom I told the story, and 
who promised to send the boy away from the burning town.

Shortly afterwards I met a Netherland Red Cross motor-car. The male nurses, who had 
met me already on former occasions during the war, recognised me, rushed up to me, 
and forced me to come with them to the car. Here they tried to explain with a torrential 
flow of words that I exposed myself to the greatest danger by coming here, as nearly all 
the soldiers were drunk, shot at every civilian, and so on.

They insisted upon my staying near the car, and be a little safer under the protection of 
the Red Cross. They told me how they had to drag an old woman out of her house, who 
refused to come with them, and in her despair shouted nothing but: "Let me die!-let me 
die!"

I could not say or do anything, for I felt as if stunned, and let them lead me where they 
liked; so they gave me a glass of claret, and that revived me.

A few moments after they went away I went also, and entered the burning town once 
more. A Netherland family lived in Villa Rustica, and I had promised to make inquiries 
about them.

As I stood there looking at the ruins of what was once so fine a house, a small group of 
refugees approached, carrying as usual their miserable parcels in which they had 
hurriedly collected the things that had the least value. As they saw me they shuddered 
and shivered and crept closer together. Most of them wept and sobbed, and their faces 
were twisting nervously.

I went up to them and explained that there was no need at all to be afraid of me. They 
were able to give me news of the inhabitants of Villa Rustica. The owner had died a few 
days since, from a paralytic stroke, brought on by the emotions caused by the German 
horrors, whereas madame, who had heroically intervened on behalf of some victims, 
was probably at St. Hadelin College.

My poor informants had not yet made up their mind where to go, fearing that they might 
not be permitted to enter The Netherlands as they were without means of subsistence. I 
assured them, however, that our conception of neighbourly love and charity was 
different, and that they would be hospitably received.

I showed them the way to Eysden, and they had scarcely started when a cavalry patrol 
came racing on, the men tipsy and their seat rather unstable. Seeing the refugees, they 
aimed their rifles at them and roared "Hands up!" The poor creatures not only put up 
their hands, but fell on their knees, and muttered incoherent words. The women folded 
their hands, and stretched them out to the cavalry, as if praying for mercy. The soldiers 
looked at the scene for a moment, burst out in a harsh laughter, spurred on their horses, 
and raced on without a word. Two of them stopped near me. I gave them, however, no 
time for threats, but quickly showed them the old pass to Vis. As soon as they saw the 
German writing they said: "All right!" and went off.

I came now to the eastern boundary of the town, whence the streets slope gently 
towards the bank of the Meuse. Here I had an atrociously fantastic view of the burning 
mass of houses. I fell in with a crowd of dead-drunk soldiers, who first handed my 
papers on from the one to the other, but as soon as they understood that I was a 
Netherlander they showed no hostility.

They sang and shouted and waved their arms. Most of them carried bottles full of liquor, 
which they put to their mouths frequently, smashed them on the ground, or handed 
them to their comrades, when unable to drink any more themselves. Each of a troop of 
cavalry had a bottle of pickles, and enjoyed them immensely.

Other soldiers kept on running into the burning houses, carrying out vases, pictures, 
plate, or small pieces of furniture. They smashed everything on the cobbles and then 
returned to wreck more things that would have been destroyed by the fire all the same. 
It was a revelry of drunken vandalism. They seemed mad, and even risked being burned 
alive at this work of destruction. Most of the officers were also tipsy; not one of them 
was saluted by the soldiers.

The beastly scenes which I witnessed in the glaring, scorching heat benumbed me, and 
I looked on vacantly for a long time. At last I went back and called at St. Hadelin 
College, the Head of which I had visited already once or twice. The building was still 
undamaged.

As soon as the Reverend Head, Dr. Frits Goffin, saw me he burst out sobbing, and, 
taking me by the hand, speechless, he pressed it a long time. I myself also was quite 
dumb. At length he muttered: 

"Could you ever have thought . . . that . . . that . . . such ... a cruel . . . fate would 
overwhelm us? What crime did these poor people commit ? Have we not given all we 
had? Have we not strictly obeyed their commands? Have we not done more than they 
asked for? Have we not charitably nursed their wounded in this House? Oh! they 
profess deep gratitude to me. But . . . why then? There is nothing left in the House for 
the aged refugees whom we admitted, for the soldiers we nurse; our doctor has been 
made a prisoner and taken away, and we are without medical help. This is nothing for 
the Sisters and myself, but all these unfortunate creatures . . . they must have food. . . ."

The excellent man went on weeping, and I was not able to console him and did not 
know what to say. He took my arm, and led me to the large common hall, where twenty 
wounded Germans lay, who had been hit in the fight for the forts. He went to one bed 
after the other, and, with tears in his eyes, asked each man how he felt, and inquired, 
"Are you . . . properly . . . cared for ... here? Are you?" The sick men turned round, their 
eyes beamed, and they stammered words full of gratitude. Others said nothing, but took 
the Head's hand and pressed it long and warmly.

The wounded civilians had been put up in the small schoolrooms. Some of them must 
soon die. Some had burns, but most of them were hit the previous night during the mad 
outbreak, the mad shooting of the drunken and riotous Germans. In another room a 
number of old women were crowded together, who had to fly but could not walk all the 
way to the Netherland frontier.

Near each staircase stood a blackboard on which the Germans had written that to go 
upstairs was prohibited under penalty of death. The Head explained that the Germans 
alleged that light signals had been given from the top storey.

Two South-American boys, about twelve years old, had stayed on and heroically 
assisted the Head at his charitable work. Dr. Goffin was not allowed to take anybody 
with him except these two children in his search for the wounded, and to bury the dead. 
It is scarcely credible how courageously these boys of such tender age behaved. Later 
the Chilean ambassador made inquiries about them and asked for their portraits.

I also met there a compatriot, who had got permission to go to The Netherlands, but 
declined to leave. She was Mrs. de Villers, ne Borret. On August 27th I wrote about her 
to De Tijd: -

"Four days ago her husband was buried. As he was addressing the League of Old- 
Retraitants at Cherath he was seized by a paralytic stroke, which proved fatal. She has 
no longer a home, beautiful Villa Rustica being completely burnt out, and now in ruins. 
But she refuses to return to The Netherlands, as she is still able to be of service to the 
people here.

"In Cherath she saved the life of a good many. As it was alleged that there had been 
shooting, the priest, the chaplain, a retired priest, eighty years old, the mayor, and 
several leading citizens were condemned to be shot. None, not even the priest, was 
able to defend himself, as they knew not a word of German, and could not make 
themselves understood. Mrs. de Villers, who speaks German fluently, explained that the 
spot where the shooting was alleged to have taken place was not part of Cherath at all.

"So this brave lady succeeded in getting the sentence of death withdrawn. But the 
Germans wanted to torture their wretched prisoners on any or no plea. They were 
placed near the church wall, kept standing there all night, were told that they would be 
shot by and by, and threatened by the soldiers with their bayonets.

"In the morning sixty soldiers escorted them out of the village to the hamlet Wandre, 
where the populace was told they would be shot. Should one shot be fired by one of the 
inhabitants-thus Mrs. de Villers was told-the prisoners would be shot out of hand; if 
not, they would be released at Wandre. Mrs. de Villers had, of course, secretly warned 
the inhabitants in time.

"She hopes to be able to render further services to the populace, thanks to her 
knowledge of German, and stays on, occupying her time with charitable work. A 
respectful salute is due to this courageous compatriot."

On the same day I wrote as follows about Dr. Goffin: -

"His face, unshaven since ever so long, is quite emaciated, and presents all the 
symptoms of nervous exhaustion. Once more twenty German soldiers are being nursed 
in his college, where only once a German doctor came to see them. He (Dr. Goffin) and 
a couple of Sisters have to manage everything by themselves, and the Germans do not 
even dream of providing food for their own wounded, although the college is so 
inadequately provisioned that the Head and the Sisters have to deny themselves the 
necessary nourishment that they may feed the wounded.

"And how are they thanked for it?

"The Reverend Head has been notified already ten times that he would be shot, and he 
is frequently being arrested for alleged shooting from the building. This shooting is 
actually done by German soldiers alone, who are loafing and looting, as I myself noticed 
a short time ago. The Head took me to a room where an old man of ninety, who had just 
received the extreme unction, lay dying. By his side sat a broken-hearted little old 
woman, his wife. This old man had been taken prisoner with other men of Vis, and 
forced to work at a new bridge. The poor fellow broke down under the strain; it cost him 
his life."

I left burning Vis deeply impressed by the savage scenes I had witnessed: men turned 
into beasts by drink, passion, and anger, doing all manner of wrong to the wretched 
inhabitants; but the impression became deeper by the great contrast: the perfect, 
charitable devotion of a virtuous priest, a courageous lady, and ever kind and 
commiserate Sisters. Never have I experienced so many emotions in one day as at 
Vis.

After taking warm leave of the Head of St. Hadelin College, I continued my walk to the 
Netherland frontier.

I was scarcely outside the townlet when I met another little group of refugees, probably 
all members of one family. The mother was being supported by her daughters, all wept, 
and nervous exhaustion made them totter as they walked. Every moment the mother 
looked back pitifully at the conflagration which devoured all around, including her 
slender property, for which she had worked so many years.

From the other side came two soldiers, one of whom she recognised, as he had been 
billeted on her. Constantly weeping, her face distorted, she sent another glance towards 
that fiery blaze, looked at the soldier as if reprovingly, hesitated a moment, but then 
pressed the enemy's hand, sobbing: "Adieu! -adieu!"

Sometimes I felt as if I were dreaming and wanted to call myself back from this 
nightmare to another, better, and real world. And I thought constantly of the man who, 
by one word, had given the order for these murders, this arson; the man who severed 
husbands and fathers, wives and mothers, and children, who caused so many innocent 
people to be shot, who destroyed the results of many, many years of strict economy and 
strenuous industry.

The first acquaintance whom I met on Netherland territory was a Netherland lady 
married to a Walloon, who kept a large caf at Vis. Before the destruction she had 
asked me, full of anxiety, whether the Germans would indeed carry out their threat and 
wreck everything. I had comforted her, and answered that I did not think them capable 
of doing such a thing. Weeping, she came to me, and reminded me of my words. The 
whole business, in which these young people had invested their slender capital, had 
been wrecked.

...

Chapter V

Francs-Tireurs?

I think that there is no better occasion to deal with the question whether there was a 
franc-tireur-guerilla in Belgium than after the chapter on the destruction of Vis.

My opinion on the matter is still the same as when I first wrote about it to De Tijd, and in 
Vrij Belgi; and from my own personal knowledge and after mixing with the people I 
consider the allegation that the Belgians acted as francs-tireurs an absolute lie.

Some uphold the accusation on the ground of expressions in Belgian newspapers, 
collected in a German pamphlet. In my opinion these quotations have not the slightest 
value. Everyone will understand this who thinks of the excitement of journalists, whose 
country was suddenly and quite unexpectedly involved in a terrible war, and who felt 
now that as journalists they had to perform a great, patriotic duty. In their nervous, 
overexcited condition they sat at their desk and listened to the gossip of refugees about 
civilians taking part in the struggle. In their imagination they saw hordes of barbarians 
overrun their native soil, saw man and man, woman and woman, shoulder to shoulder, 
resisting the invader without regard for their own life. The thoughts of such journalists, 
whose very own country had been at war now for a few days, were not on severe logical 
lines; they found a certain beauty in that picture, and I can quite understand how some 
came to believe in it as a reality, and gloried in it.

That is not evidence however, for how did they get the information? From my own 
experience I make bold to say with the greatest confidence that these reports came 
from German sources only, whereas there was not any ground for them.

I have witnessed all the people during the very earliest days of the war. I came to Lige, 
passing between the forts, as described already. I was in Lixhe when the pontoon bridge 
was wrecked repeatedly by Fort Pontisse; I stayed at Vis three times before the 
destruction began, and I was there when the charming townlet was wrecked by fire; and 
in Louvain I have been dragged from my bed by six soldiers and arrested, when the 
whole town was still ablaze.

Very well, I have: 

1. Never seen anything of a franc-tireur-guerilla.

2. Never seen anyone who was arrested as a franc-tireur.

3. Never heard any German soldier, of whatever rank, assert that he himself had 
witnessed any action by a franc-tireur, although I questioned such soldiers times without 
number. They always mentioned others, who had left days ago, and were said to have 
gone through the miserable experience!

4. Never heard the name of any franc-tireur in answer to my questions.

But they were always German officers and no others who talked about francs-tireurs, 
and at Vis, Lige, Dinant, Bilsen, and particularly at Louvain, they constantly pressed 
me and tried to make me promise that I should write to De Tijd about francs-tireurs and 
justify the devastations. These stories emanated from the officers and permeated the 
rank and file; and the men grew fearfully angry with the Belgians, whom they cursed and 
abused. It also made the soldiers terribly afraid of francs-tireurs, and I noticed many a 
time that some loud sound from a falling wall, for example, made a whole troop of 
soldiers jump up, lay hold of their rifles, and hide themselves in an absolute "blue funk." 
The mere noise made them curse and rage and talk of nothing but burning houses.

In the end these stories of the soldiers convinced even the inhabitants that there had 
been francs-tireurs, but never in the place where they lived, always somewhere else. 
They could not believe that the Germans could be so cruel and wreck so much property 
if nothing at all had happened; and when at length the time came that they themselves 
were obliged to fly, many of them believed that their compatriots who elsewhere acted 
as francs-tireurs were to blame for all the dire calamities. But if they had had my 
opportunity to go "elsewhere" and gather information there, they would have been 
convinced of the untruth, and probably would have heard the name of their own village 
as the scene of the occurrence. That was how rumours and reports got about.

Many soldiers, probably most of them, were undoubtedly of good faith, and believed 
what they related; but the damnable notion had been put into their heads by their 
superiors. That is why I do not consider it impossible that some places were wrecked on 
account of alleged acts by francs-tireurs.

I have explained already in the chapter "Round about Lige" that I myself was duped 
occasionally, for example, by the story of the three hundred civilians who had been shot. 
To my mind these violent acts at the beginning of the war were part and parcel of the 
system of frightfulness, by which the Germans tried to scare the population and 
indirectly the hostile armies, at the same time rousing their own soldiers to anger and 
fury.

That mad fury was also intensified considerably by the accusations about gruesome 
mutilations committed on German soldiers by Belgians, who were said to have cut off 
the noses, ears, genitals, and so on of their enemies. These rumours were so persistent 
that in the end it was generally believed in neutral countries that these things had 
happened frequently.

No little astonishment was therefore created by an interview which I published with Dr. 
van der Goot of The Hague, who did so much excellent work in the Red Cross Hospital 
at Maastricht. He also had come to believe all these stories, and as everybody always 
mentioned a large hospital in Aix-la-Chapelle, which was said to be full of similarly 
mutilated soldiers, Dr. van der Goot went to that town to see for himself. The chief 
medical officer of that hospital in a conversation stated that not one single case of that 
sort had been treated in his institution nor in any of the other local hospitals where he 
was a visiting physician. At a meeting of the medical circle just lately held he had not 
heard one word, nor had any one colleague, about the treatment of similar cases.

In Louvain I was myself arrested, because a more than half-drunk soldier had accused 
me of spying and arson! There too I had to listen to all sorts of abuse because I was a 
franc-tireur. And in spite of all this they tried to extract a promise from me to write 
against the francs-tireurs!

The history of the destruction of Vis affords also interesting support to my opinion, as 
previously expressed, that the violent actions of the Germans took place according to a 
fully thought-out design.

During the early days of the war the papers published a report, of German origin, that 
Vis had been destroyed because francs-tireurs had appeared. I was therefore not a 
little amazed when, arriving there on August 8th, I found the townlet entirely 
undamaged, and even the German military admitted that they had not heard a word 
about francs-tireurs.

But the inhabitants were treated even then in a most vexatious manner, and on August 
14th (the destruction came about on the 16th) I wrote to De Tijd (No. 20457): -

"Vis is under a real reign of terror. The day before yesterday the town-crier walked the 
streets with his bell, and announced that within twenty-four hours everyone had to 
deliver his bicycle at the bridge. Anyone in whose house a bicycle should be found 
would be shot and his house set on fire. Yesterday morning the Germans announced 
once more that all arms, including those that were old or damaged or taken to pieces, 
should be handed in at the town-hall within an hour. If any arms should be found 
anywhere after that, they would shoot the inhabitants and burn down the town. Eatables 
and drinkables were requisitioned continuously under threats of firing the town, and the 
inhabitants are afraid of nothing so much as of the possibility that something may be 
required some day or other that cannot be produced."

Even before that, on August 11th I sent a communication, by post or cable (De Tijd, No. 
20353), in which the following is found: -

"In and round about Vis people sleep in their cellars, as they are threatened frequently 
that the town will be set on fire."

Anyone who, like myself, has been able to see in what frame of mind the people were 
during the first days of the German occupation, cannot believe it possible that they 
would even think of taking up arms. They lived in an unending terror, tried to forestall 
the invader's demands, and, if anything was requisitioned, they searched each other's 
houses to see whether anything was kept back and all the demanded bottles of gin or 
claret were forthcoming. There was not one who did not keep his door open as widely as 
possible to prove his complete sub-missiveness, and to let the Germans enter his house 
at any time to check what was to be found there. Every moment I saw men or women 
run into the street offering cigars to the soldiers from open boxes, smiling nervously and 
desperately, trying to behave as unconcernedly as possible. During those early days 
payment for refreshments was accepted hardly anywhere, and people often refused to 
accept money from me, because they mistook me for a German.

Men and young women in the prime of life sat whole days in a chair, or lay abed, 
because in the most literal sense of the word they were unable to stand on their feet for 
fear and terror, caused by the incessant menaces.

And during these first days of the war I had not met a single person who was able to 
settle down quietly in the existing circumstances, not a single person in whom anger and 
fury subdued fear and terror.

Is it thinkable that persons in that frame of mind would take up arms and invite the 
enemy's revenge upon themselves and those near and dear to them, a revenge of 
which they were so mortally afraid?

And supposing for a moment that the allegations made by the Germans were true, that 
there had been shooting at Vis for example, then one might perhaps consider the 
revenge justifiable, but should also expect that they would punish with a heavy heart, 
conscious that they were inflicting a necessary evil.

Of a heavy heart, however, there was not a trace. In the previous chapter I described 
how beastly they behaved during the destruction of Vis; how the soldiers drank 
immoderate quantities of alcohol, and then jeered at the wretched refugees; how they 
indulged in unmitigated vandalism, and wrecked by hand things of which they knew that 
by and by would be destroyed by fire.

Children and old people perished in consequence of the cruel heartlessness of the 
Germans, and in St. Hadelin College they robbed their own wounded of medical help 
and surgical appliances.

This happened not only at Vis, but also at other places which I visited, more especially 
at Louvain. And those who read the following chapters carefully will find sufficient 
support for my opinion, that Belgium is innocent of the base charges and allegations 
uttered by Germany, which country soiled its conscience still worse, first by plunging the 
little kingdom into the direst misery, and then by accusing it falsely of crimes which it 
never committed.

...

Chapter VI

With The Flemings

Between my tours through the Lige district I made a trip in the direction of Tongres, 
because I wanted to know what had become of all those Germans who had crossed the 
Meuse near Lixhe. It was remarkable to notice how friendly the Flemings of that district 
behaved with regard to the Germans. Although they criticised the violation of the 
country's neutrality sharply, and every family was proud of the sons who had taken up 
arms in defence of their Fatherland, yet they judged quite kindly the German soldiers 
who passed through their district. I often heard expressions full of pity toward those 
men, who could not help themselves, but were compelled to do whatever their superiors 
commanded them.

The Germans did themselves great injury undoubtedly by their vulgar and barbarous 
demeanour, for that lost them every claim on the sympathy of the people.

They behaved tolerably well during the first few days after the occupation of Tongres; 
but that did not last long, and soon they began here also to commit atrocious acts of 
terrorism. One evening at about the middle of August several civilians were killed, a 
dozen houses along the road to Maastricht were fired, and in the town the windows of 
several shops smashed, which was followed by general looting. That lost them whatever 
sympathy they might have met with in the district.

On August 12th I came for the first time to Tongres. They had been there only a few 
days, and only near the town-hall did I see a goodly number of the garrison. Many 
wounded were brought there, and carried in through the door under the outside 
stairway. They came from Haelen, where a battle was being fought that afternoon and 
for which they had left in the morning. For the attack on the entrenched Belgians they 
had used cavalry exclusively, who were simply mowed down by the murderous fire from 
the hidden mitrailleuses and the infantry fire from the trenches. The Germans suffered a 
great reverse, and were deeply embittered.

Just outside Tongres I met a fleet of Red Cross cars loaded with wounded. Cavalry 
escorted them. I was stopped and ordered to go back, as they expected the Belgians to 
attack Tongres.

I thought the result of the battle of Haelen rather important, and should have liked to 
have wired it immediately to my paper. Until now I had always gone on foot, that being 
the only conveyance which the Germans could not seize. But this time I preferred a 
bicycle, as the only way to get to The Netherlands on that same day. So I tried at a 
couple of bicycle-shops to get a second-hand one for love and money. At the first shop I 
asked:-

"I suppose, madame, that you have an old 'bike' to sell?"

She looked me up and down suspiciously, and then said: 

"No, I've none to sell."

I did not fare better at the next. There the answer was: 

"I refuse to sell 'bikes' to Germans."

"But, madame, I am not German; I am a Netherlander. I should . . ."

"I can hear quite well that you are German, and if you were a Netherlander you would 
not venture on a bike at this moment. If you come here to seize my bikes, I'll deliver 
them, for I cannot do anything against that, but I refuse to sell them of my own free-will."

The dear lady rapped it out in such a decided tone of voice that I desisted. I told my 
trouble to the proprietor of a caf where I took a glass of beer; he, examining my 
papers, placed confidence in me, and got me a rickety thing, for which I paid twenty-two 
francs.

After all, this was better than walking, so I decided to make a small detour, go once 
more to Lige, and see how the forts were. I lost my way in a maze of by-roads, and got 
at last back to the main road near Jupille, where I met a patrol of Uhlans, who came in 
my direction at a trot.

Already from a distance with much fuss they signalled to me to stop, and of course I 
obeyed at once. Two men dismounted, came to me in a perfect rage, and, without 
asking who I was or what I was doing, cut my tyres to pieces in several places; they 
abused me with wild gesticulations and threats, jumped on their horses, and rode off. I 
dragged my wretched vehicle with its stabbed tyres a little distance, but then met a 
second patrol, who showed still greater indignation, and destroyed it altogether.

For the rest of the journey I used my only remaining means of transport, my legs, and 
after a walk of some hours got to the frontier of The Netherlands near Oud-Vroenhoven. 
A Netherland customhouse officer asked for my papers, and I showed him my huge 
passport. The man looked at the sheet critically, and made out that I could not possibly 
be a Netherlander, as I was the holder of a "foreign" passport.

My "foreign" passport was, of course, in French, of which language the man evidently 
knew not a word. Although I explained that this passport was the best one could get in 
The Netherlands, that I had paid six guilders and seventy-five cents for it, that I was a 
war-correspondent of De Tijd, it was all useless. I had to go with him to the guard- 
house, and the man kept the queer passport -the damning piece of evidence-firmly in 
his hand. All the inquisitive loafers, of which the frontier was full during those days, 
followed me, and so we went in procession to the guard-house, at some distance from 
the frontier. I heard all sorts of discussions behind me, and constantly caught words like: 
German, boche, deserter, franc-tireur, spy, and other complimentary niceties.

As soon as I had entered the guard-house a soldier, rifle in hand, mounted guard. The 
custom-house officer handed my French passport to a lieutenant, who scrutinised it 
closely. Then followed the examination: 

"You are a journalist?"

"Yes, sir."

"On which paper?"

"De Tijd, sir; here is my press-card."

"Where is De Tijd printed?"

"In Amsterdam. . . ."

"In which street?"

"Well . . .! The Nieuwe Zijds Voorburgwal."

"All right; you may go!"

Having pushed my way through the loafers, who stood waiting before the house, I was 
able to continue my journey to Maastricht.

A few days later I had to go to Canne, a Belgian hamlet near the frontier, south of 
Maastricht. In the evening of August 18th an atrociously barbarous crime had been 
committed there, a cool-blooded murder. At Canne live some good, kind Flemings, who 
would not hurt a fly. The kind-hearted burgomaster had, moreover, tried for days to 
comfort his fellow-citizens, and was for ever saying: 

"Leave everything to me; I'll invite them to have a glass of wine with me, and you will 
see then that they are kind people."

This he had done. Already for many days he had treated several officers to his best 
claret.

Tuesday night, August 18th, at about 11 o'clock, a train of luggage carts passed through 
Canne, and in the village the Browning of one of the soldiers in the last van went off 
suddenly. This was the signal for all Germans to start shooting indiscriminately, 
anywhere, at anything, happily without hitting anybody. A few tipsy soldiers went to the 
burgomaster's house, and no sooner had his wife opened the door for the barbarians, 
when a shot was fired, the bullet passing through the unfortunate lady's head into the 
wall opposite the door. I was there early the next morning and saw the hole. It is evident 
that the soldiers ill-treated the dead lady with their rifles in a horrible manner, for a large 
part of the wall was spattered over with blood.

After having murdered the burgomaster's wife, the villains attacked a guest, Mr. 
Derricks, a lawyer, and member of the Provincial States, whom they killed with a 
bayonet. His wife broke a leg when she tried to fly to the cellar.

Mr. Derricks lived at Roelanche, but with his wife and seven children had fled for 
security to Canne, where he was hospitably received in Mr. Poswick's, the 
burgomaster's, house.

When I got to the house everything was in a frightful state. A pair of curtains showed 
traces of fire; cupboards had been emptied, and nearly all the china and glass broken; 
statuary lay broken on the floor; windows were smashed; bits of bricks and plaster from 
the ceilings, through which many shots had been fired, completed the scene of des- 
truction. On the doorstep I picked up a cartridge-case, which I have always kept, 
because it is highly probable that it had contained the bullet which killed Mrs. Poswick.

This terrible tragedy took place at scarcely six yards from the Netherland frontier, for the 
burgomaster's house stands by a road half Belgian and half Netherland. The Netherland 
soldiers who were doing frontier-duty on the latter part had to fly from the mad shooting 
of the Germans. They hid behind a wall that was quickly full of bullet-holes. The German 
soldiers spent a considerable time guzzling the burgomaster's wine, which they looted, 
and afterwards went off in the direction of Tongres. It was stated later on that the 
German authorities punished the culprits and had them executed at Aix-la-Chapelle; De 
Tijd of August 31st, 1914, also reported it. But the action of these soldiers was not 
worse than that of generals who had entire cities destroyed and civilians killed by the 
hundred, but were always screened by the German Government.

 ...

On Thursday, August 20th, I decided to go once more in the direction of Tongres. As the 
Germans had picketed the main road along the Netherland frontier, I made a detour and 
dragged my bicycle across the mountain near Petit Laney, a very trying job in the stifling 
heat. From the mountain top I had a beautiful vista, which enabled me to see that near 
Riemst a large German force was encamped at which I desired to have a look. So I 
walked down the hill to Canne, where some crofters were trying to get their cattle into 
The Netherlands. These poor creatures, who usually own two or three head of cattle, 
had been compelled already to give up half of their stock. From Canne I cut through 
corn and beetroot fields to the road to Riemst. The first German sentinels were tolerably 
friendly.

"Ah, so you are a Netherlander, aren't you? Then we are friends. The Netherlands 
remains neutral, does she not? What news have you from there; are you already at war 
with Britain?"

These and similar questions were asked after a superficial examination of my papers, 
and, having answered them, I was allowed to go on. But at a certain moment an officer 
appeared, who summoned me to dismount, and asked for my papers. After a short 
examination he ordered a soldier to take me to the commanding officer at Riemst.

The attitude of all the soldiers changed immediately; they looked at me with angry eyes, 
and from time to time I heard hostile remarks. Whenever I did not walk quickly enough 
or turned a little to the right or the left, my escort pulled me roughly by the arm. All the 
same I took the case as coolly as possible, fully convinced that the commanding officer 
would release me after a superficial examination.

At Riemst, the soldier took, or rather pummelled me into a large farm-house, and soon I 
faced the bigwigs, who had made themselves as comfortable as possible in a large 
room. Several pictures and engravings lay on the ground in pieces, whilst numerous full 
and empty wine-bottles indicated that they had abundantly worshipped at the shrine of 
Bacchus, and intended to go on with the cult. The higher officers and the subalterns 
seemed to be frantically busy; at least they had violent discussions with many 
gesticulations over a map. The soldier reported that he had brought me here by order of 
Lieutenant Such-I did not catch the name-and then it began:

"Who are you?"

"I am ..."

"What do you want here-what are you here for?"

"I am a Netherland jour ..."

"What! A Netherlander? I suppose you come to see how many troops are here, don't 
you? And then ..."

"Please be good enough to have a look at my papers, and then ..."

Papers? Papers? Yes, of course you all have papers; all those villains who shot at our 
men at Vis come back from The Netherlands with papers, in order to start afresh. Later 
on I'll have a look at that stuff. Here, lock him up for the present."

He pointed to a couple of soldiers, and they laid hold of me. They took me to a small 
room, where I was astonished to find two soldiers with revolvers guarding a priest and a 
peasant. As soon as the door was closed behind me I wished to chat with my fellow-
prisoners, for even in prison I was not oblivious of my journalistic duties. But they 
seemed not at all anxious to have anything to do with me, and I soon understood the 
reason why. At each question they threw timid glances at the two watch-dogs, and I saw 
that fear of these made them withhold all information. However, after a good deal of 
trouble I got to know that the priest was the parish priest, and his companion in misery 
the burgomaster. They had been taken as hostages, and would suffer punishment for 
acts the villagers might eventually commit against the German usurpers. I contented 
myself with this, as I felt that in the circumstances further questions might make things 
awkward for these two men.

What might happen next? Sitting on a chair in a corner of the room I began to consider 
my position. For the moment it was not agreeable, but by and by those officers might 
find time to look at my papers. The only thing I bothered about was a map marked with 
the places where, according to the latest news, the German and French armies were. I 
kept it in an inside coat-pocket, and it might be found if they should search me.

I spent three hours in the small room with my silent companions. At last I was called, 
and appeared once more before the casual court-martial. "Very well, now give me those 
papers." Having got them, several officers examined my credentials, and their faces 
showed that the horizon was a little clearer for me.

"Oh, you are a journalist? And what came you here for?"

"Well, sir, I wanted to follow, as far as the German Authorities desire to allow it, the 
movements of the German armies, in order to give reliable information to the Netherland 
public, who take a great interest in your progress."

"Indeed! And did you take notes already? Just let me have a look."

The turn things took now was not quite to my liking, and I did not feel very safe when I 
handed him my scribbling-pad.

"I cannot read a word of it! Can you read it at all yourself? Yes? Oh, but I cannot 
understand it. Translate some of it."

That was a relief! I began to translate, taking the liberties to which every translator is 
entitled. And I succeeded in making a favourable impression by censoring my own 
manuscript.

"Well, that is right enough. But, mind, don't say in your paper that you found troops here, 
and especially avoid telling which troops."

"Very well, sir."

"Nor must you tell them that we detained you here. That was really not our intention at 
all, but just now we had no time to examine your papers."

"All right, sir."

"And what is the news in The Netherlands about the war?"

"Well, sir, not much beyond what you are sure to know already: that Japan declared war 
against Germany; that the Russians invaded Germany; that the French gained some 
important victories in Alsace; that the German fleet lost some ships ..."

"Oh, bosh! Stop it! These are, of course, all lies from Reuter; they did not come from 
Wolff. Japan is not going to declare war against us; much rather against Russia!"

"Oh, but, sir, Wolff confirmed these reports."

"Oh no! That is impossible, and, after all, we are not afraid of Japan either. You had 
better write in your paper that we are not afraid of anything excepting Montenegro. And 
you may also inform your readers that it is better for Netherlanders not to cross the 
frontier, as we are going to apply much stricter measures. For we have evidence that 
those people from Vis and other villages who fled to The Netherlands are returning 
with forged papers, in order to shoot at us. And now you may go, but back to Maastricht 
at once."

"But will you then please give me a pass, otherwise I may be detained again on my way 
back."

"Oh yes! You may have that!"

And the commanding officer gave me a pass, on which this very same colonel who had 
prohibited me to write in my paper what troops were at Riemst, put a stamp on that 
pass, which contained the German eagle, and besides this the words: "Royal Prussian 
8, Reserve Infantry Regiment, II Battalion." This confirmed what the rumours said, that 
the troops who had passed through Vis and other places during the last days and 
committed those atrocities there, were the reserves which had been called up, among 
whom discipline is less strict than among the younger men, who arrived in these districts 
during the earlier days.

Although I had been commanded to return "at once" to Maastricht, I succeeded in 
having a chat here and there with the inhabitants of Riemst. I had visited the village 
about eight days ago, but what a change! Then the people assured me that "die 
Duutschen" were not so bad after all, that they were compelled to do their duty, and 
were kind to the inhabitants if these were kind to them.

And at present? Every word expressed hate, profound hate, hardly controlled. They 
trembled all over when they spoke in deep, inspiring voices about "die Duutschen."

Everything of value had been stolen from them: horses, cows, sheep, carts, bicycles, 
everything, everything!-only in some cases payment was made with tickets, which 
might be cashed after the war. During the night the German soldiers slept in the rooms, 
but the inhabitants-men, women, children, babies and sick persons-they locked in 
barns and cellars, which they boarded up.

I was not allowed to return by bicycle, and left it at a caf at the crossing of the roads to 
Tongres and Riemst. A couple of days later the Germans had already abstracted the 
tyres.

The road to The Netherlands was strewn over with empty wine-bottles.

...

Chapter VII

Lige After The Occupation

Next day I was already back in Lige, where much was changed after my last visit. The 
Germans went on terrorising the inhabitants, and these, being extremely frightened, 
looked with suspicion at every stranger. In the streets was the smoke of burning houses, 
especially from Outre-Meuse.

In every quarter I met Belgian refugees from the south, and Netherlanders who wanted 
to escape to their safe native country. The Lige people themselves were not allowed to 
leave.

Nearly every hour another proclamation was posted; and this made the people still more 
nervous. One of them brought the information that the province of Lige had to pay a 
war-tax of fifty million francs. Another forbade the people to be out in the streets after six 
o'clock p.m.; the doors must remain open, the windows show the lights. Burning and 
shooting were threatened if any more arms should be found, and all houses were to be 
searched.

Many shops were closed on account of lack of stock, as everything had been 
requisitioned, and as yet no traffic was allowed to bring in fresh provisions. All this 
bother made the inhabitants discontented, but frightened them at the same time; they 
grumbled and whispered, and looked about with malicious, flaming eyes, but in mortal 
fear.

Labourers were called up to assist in reinforcing the conquered forts on the left bank of 
the Meuse, the forts which by and by might be used to shell their fellow-countrymen, in 
case the Germans should be forced to retire. Nobody will have offered himself for this 
work voluntarily, the less so as the proclamation wound up as follows: -

"Des ouvriers volontaires seront embauchs a partir du 21 Aout sur la rive gauche de la 
Meuse, ou on fera connaitre les conditions detaillees": 

("Voluntary workmen will be enrolled from August 21st on the left bank of the Meuse, 
where details of the conditions will be made known.")

The streets and squares where the high military officers had established themselves 
were closed by cordons of soldiers, and nobody was allowed to pass them.

The town was entirely shut off from war- and other news.

I informed a few priests of the Pope's death, which had been known in The Netherlands 
for several days. They knew nothing about it, and asked whether I had any proof by me. 
I gave them De Tijd printed with a black border, and armed with this document they 
went to communicate the sad news to the Right Reverend Rutten, bishop of Lige.

I also brought consternation to the nunnery at which my cousin lives by this same report 
of the Holy Father's demise; and the good dear Sisters roamed through the passages, 
wringing their hands and repeating: "Le Pape est mort!-le Pape est mort!" ("The Pope 
is dead!")

I met a doctor at this nunnery, who told me highly important news, but in whispers, 
because in these days "even walls have ears": the Allies had gained great victories over 
the Germans. As he saw by the expression of my face that I did not believe off- hand all 
he told, he became still more impressive in manner, and produced a paper, from which 
he recited: -

"Great German defeat at Libramont-nine thousand prisoners taken."

"In Alsace the French are near the Rhine."

"The Russians advanced fifty miles into East Prussia."

In the same way the list went on for a goodly length, and he became actually angry 
when even then I refused to believe everything. He was especially pleased with the 
account of the victory near Libramont. He had a friend, also a physician, who had been 
compelled by the Germans to go with them in the medical service, and this friend had 
told him this himself. It was remarkable that educated, superior persons could become 
so narrow- minded in times like these, and believed anything simply because they 
hoped that it might be true.

The town was full of soldiers, and I had great trouble to find lodgings. "Tout est pris par 
les Allemands" ("Everything is taken by the Germans") was the answer I got 
everywhere, with the result that I was still hunting for a bedroom after six o'clock, 
although nobody was then allowed in the streets. I was stopped at every turn, and after 
explaining my case got a hint to hurry up.

At last I found an hotel, where I could have a small garret, against which arrangement I 
had not the slightest objection in the circumstances. The caf downstairs looked rather 
peculiar, with a great number of looking-glasses, and ladies with powdered faces. These 
seemed not averse to closer relations with me, but when I pretended not to understand 
a single word of French, they soon gave it up, and showed no further desire for my 
friendship. But I could see quite well that they discussed the question whether I was a 
German officer or a spy?

I went to bed early, for that day I had again walked from Maastricht to Lige. My little 
bedroom was quite in the roof of the house, and had evidently been used by a servant.

About midnight I was roused by an infernal noise in the street. People yelled and 
screamed most fearfully, and I heard rifle-shots also.

I felt not the slightest inclination to go and see what was the matter, but I stretched 
myself and yawned, feeling much more tired after a couple of hours' rest than when I 
went to bed. The uproar went on, and suddenly I thought that I also heard a hubbub in 
the caf downstairs. And, really, it came ever nearer. People rushed up and down the 
stairs, screamed and yelled, doors were banged, in short it was as if they were pulling 
down the house. Very sleepy, I went on listening . . . listening . . .probably until I fell 
asleep again, for I cannot remember what happened after.

I woke up in the morning, and when going downstairs saw that the doors of all the 
rooms stood open, and everything inside was in great disorder. In the caf tables and 
chairs were overturned, and broken looking-glasses lay on the floor. The front door was 
also open, and I walked away.

And now the explanation? During the night the Germans had started house-to-house 
searches, and wherever the doors were not opened quickly enough, the soldiers began 
to shoot. The inhabitants were then driven into the street amid loud screams and cries. It 
was also said that some persons had been shot.

By what accident had I not been disturbed? The height, perhaps, at which my miserable 
little garret-room was situated.

The hotel where I stayed that night was called Hotel de la Paix; an hotel of peace, 
indeed!

 
Chapter VIII

Louvain Destroyed

As soon as I heard about the horrors that took place at Louvain, I hastened to try and 
get there to find out, if possible, by personal observation the truth of the numberless 
conflicting stories that would undoubtedly grow up from the facts. I expected that the 
situation round about the town would be rather critical, and decided to proceed 
cautiously. It is rather a long stretch of nearly forty-five miles, but I succeeded in getting 
to Louvain in the afternoon. The road itself had prepared me already in some degree for 
the horrors I should find there. All the villages through which I passed, excepting 
Tongres and the townlets of St. Trond, Borgloon, and Tirlemont, were for the greater 
part burned down or shelled into ruins. The German troops, who had been stoutly 
resisted during their march through St. Trond and Tirlemont, had attacked in a great 
rage the civilian population. They set the houses on fire and aimed their rifles at the 
terror-stricken civilians who fled from them. The men were nearly all killed, but women 
and children were shot as well.

On the road from Borgloon to Thienen I had a chat with an old crone, who stood 
weeping by the ruins of her miserable little cottage, which she refused to leave. This 
little house, which strenuous zeal had enabled her to buy, was all she possessed on 
earth besides her two sons, both fallen through the murderous lead of those barbarians, 
and buried in the little garden at the back of their ruined home. Of another family, living 
close by, the father and two sons were murdered in the same way.

Between Thienen and Louvain I met endless trains of refugees, exactly like those I had 
seen already near Vis, Lige, and other places. These also carried their wretched 
bundles, and children and young people did their utmost to encourage and support their 
elders on their arduous path. All these people saluted me in a cringing, timid manner, 
nodding smilingly and taking off their caps already from afar.

I saw some extremely poor people, very old and stiff, to whom walking was nearly 
impossible. A Bavarian soldier escorted them. He had his rifle slung across his back and 
in both hands carried the luggage of the unfortunate creatures. He seemed to have 
come a long way already, for he looked tired, and the perspiration ran down his face. 
Although it is only natural to assist one's fellow-creatures, this scene touched me, for 
hitherto I had seen the Germans commit rough, inhuman deeds only.

I noticed the smell of fire already several miles from Louvain. On both sides of the road 
small mounds indicated the graves of soldiers who fell during the brave resistance of the 
Belgians before Louvain. A small wooden cross and some pieces of accoutrement were 
the only decorations. Carcases of horses were lying in the fields, from which came a 
disagreeable smell.

The town was on fire, and ruddy smoke hovered over it. Deserted like a wilderness, not 
a soul moved in the streets. The first street I entered was the Rue de la Station. Large, 
imposing mansions used to stand here, but the devouring fire consumed even the last 
traces of former greatness.

All houses were on fire, and every now and then walls fell down with a roar of thunder, 
shrouding the greater part of the street in a thick cloud of suffocating smoke and dust. 
Sometimes I had to run to escape from the filthy mass. On several walls an order was 
written in chalk directing the men to come to the market-place to assist in extinguishing 
the fire, and the women to stay indoors. As soon as the order had been obeyed the 
Germans drove the men from the market to the station, where they were packed in 
trucks like cattle.

Farther on in the Rue de la Station lay nine rotting carcases of horses, the intestines 
oozing from the bodies, and a greasy substance was poured over their skin. The stench 
was unbearable and made breathing nearly impossible, which compelled me to jump on 
my bicycle and escape as quickly as possible from the pestilential surroundings.

The sun was already setting, and became still redder, making still more abominable and 
more infernal the glare of the burning town. Nobody moved about in this abode of death.

I roamed about aimlessly in a scorching heat. Whither? I did not know myself. I did not 
know Louvain and met nobody whom I might ask something. I came near a couple of 
streets that were only ruins; the walls collapsed against each other and filled the 
roadway with rubbish, so that sometimes I could not see whether I walked on or beside 
the place where the houses used to stand.

Bicycling was of course out of the question; I shouldered my bicycle and stepped across 
the glowing cinders, which singed my soles. One spot could still be recognised as a 
street corner. Three soldiers emerged there suddenly and aimed at me with their rifles.

I explained who I was, and was then allowed to come nearer. They were drunk, and with 
glassy eyes talked about francs-tireurs, the friendship Germans felt for Netherlanders, 
and so on. One of them entered the still burning corner house and returned with three 
bottles of wine, one a bottle of Champagne; corks were drawn and one of the bottles 
handed to me. First I said that I never took wine, then that the doctor had forbidden it; it 
was of no use. The fellow who held the bottle in front of me got nasty, and shouted: 

"If you don't drink with us you are not our friend." At the same time he beat the ground 
with his rifle-butt and, willy-nilly, I had to drink.

Suddenly several shots sounded in the neighbourhood. The three took their rifles and 
looked round, somewhat scared. They assured me that they would protect me. If there 
had been occasion for it, it would have been against their own comrades, for a troop of 
soldiers came sailing along, swinging about their rifles and shooting at the burning 
houses as they walked on, without rhyme or reason, anyhow and anywhere. These were 
drunk also. At last I was able to shake off my "friends," and got through another street 
into the market-place, at the town-hall and St. Peter's Church. The beautiful town-hall 
happily was not destroyed, as the first reports intimated, but St. Peter's had been 
damaged most cruelly. The spire had disappeared, the roof collapsed, windows broken, 
the altar burned, the pulpit badly damaged, and so forth. The two last- named parts 
were fine works of art.

For the rest most houses in the market-place were on fire. Soldiers were billeted on one 
of the corner houses, and I was of course detained there, but released again, after 
having been requested to show up the francs-tireurs. I had to consider also where I 
might pass the night in this burning city? I asked an officer's consent to stay the night 
with the soldiers. He gave his permission if I could get the consent of the commanding 
officer, whom I might find at the station; he told me that he was sure to grant it.

Before I got there I passed the Halls of Louvain, the building that contained the world- 
famous library, with its numerous art-treasures. Only the outer walls were left standing, 
inside it was all ruins. All was reduced to dust, to miserable rubbish, and never will one 
single page be recovered of all those thousands of burned manuscripts.

I was greatly astonished to see a little old man sitting by his house, while all those in the 
neighbourhood were burning. His own dwelling had escaped without much damage, and 
was only hit by rifle bullets. He told me that his family had fled, his son with wife and all 
children but one, a small boy. At length he left also, but had lost his way outside the 
town, and returned to his house, where the Germans "allowed" him to remain. I 
considered that I might after all sleep better in that house than yonder among the 
soldiers, and asked the little man whether he would put me up for the night. He did not 
object at all; but in spite of my pressing, he refused absolutely to accept any payment.

"But," he said, "but perhaps you brought some bread with you to eat on the road, and I 
should like to have a piece of that . . . not for myself . . . but for my grandchild; we had 
nothing to eat all day long, and the little boy is so . . .is so hungry."

The poor man wept, and, although I had taken with me no more than two pieces of 
bread-and-butter, which I had not touched yet, I could not bear the sight of these poor, 
hungry things, and handed over to them my food.

As I passed a Red Cross Hospital, partly spared, I noticed a Flemish doctor, who first 
looked at me from the door held ajar, and then came nearer; a strapping young fellow 
with a black beard. After I had made myself known as a Netherlander, he was clearly 
surprised, and it seemed as though he had a lot to ask or to tell. I expected to hear a 
torrent of abuse against the Huns, who had destroyed everything, and murdered so 
many innocent people, or a lament about the valuable treasures of the library, which 
also had not been spared; but no, other thoughts occupied his mind. With a slightly 
trembling voice he asked: 

"Ah well, you come from The Netherlands; tell me whether it is true that you have let the 
Germans through, allowing them to ravish us? Tell me whether this is true?"

The man became quite excited, and took hold of my sleeve. He looked me straight in 
the face, as if he wanted to find out by the expression of my eyes whether I spoke the 
truth. I could easily stand the scrutinising look, for I knew too well how utterly false those 
suspicions were. So I replied with great emphasis: 

"I know that those rumours have been spread about, but also that they were 
contradicted by Belgian officials. I know also, and can affirm it from my own personal 
observation, that there is not a single word of truth in those accusations, for I passed the 
early days of the war in the district where the fight was going on."

The good man's face became quite cheerful, he grasped my hand, deeply moved, and, 
pressing it warmly, said: 

"Ah, well, I am sincerely glad to hear that. You cannot believe what awful sorrow it gave 
us, Flemings, when we heard that the Netherlanders were conspiring with the 
Germans."

The doctor now became more communicative on other matters. According to him the 
Germans contended that the inhabitants had been shooting from windows and cellars, 
in order to prevent the garrison from assisting their comrades, who were fighting a battle 
against the Belgians at a distance of about four miles and a half from the town. Such an 
organised action of the inhabitants, under the tyrannical rule of the Germans during the 
eight days before the destruction, he called impossible, and therefore the whole 
accusation absurd. At any rate they had felt that the destruction was coming, and had 
been planned systematically, for during those eight days the Germans had plundered 
the population, and taken from them all bread, even what they required to feed 
themselves.

To avenge this alleged shooting by civilians the fires had been kindled in the houses, 
maxims placed in the streets, women and children beaten, men imprisoned or 
murdered.

The discovery by the Germans of so-called depots of Belgian rifles, each rifle labelled 
with the name of a citizen, was a gigantic "misunderstanding." Already before the 
Germans occupied the town the burgomaster had issued an order that all arms should 
be delivered. The inhabitants had obeyed, and the rifles were provided with a card, so 
that each might be returned to the lawful owner after the war. This collection of arms 
has been used by the Germans as evidence of an organised revolt of the citizens.

When I told the doctor that I had to go to the station, he explained to me how I could get 
there without walking across red hot cinders, and I followed his advice. I walked through 
quarters which used to be the pride of the city, but were now turned into heaps of 
rubbish.

They made also sad havoc of the Boulevard de Namur. Many mansions of the 
aristocracy had been destroyed and many people killed. There were corpses still lying 
on the Boulevard as I passed, all in a state of decay. The smell was unbearable and the 
sight loathsome, especially when I saw several drunken soldiers insulting the bodies of 
these unfortunate people.

In the flowerbeds in front of the station many corpses had been buried, especially those 
of soldiers who had been killed in the fight near Louvain. The station itself was well 
guarded, but, thanks to my passport and resolute manner, I gained admission and was 
finally ushered into the presence of the man who is responsible for the destruction of 
Louvain, Von Manteuffel.

I had expected to meet a terrible creature, but must admit that he was as kind as 
possible. As soon as he had learned from my papers that I was a Netherland journalist, 
he jumped up and stood in the attitude as though he saw in me the personification of the 
Kaiser. He already probably felt the pangs of remorse, and now wanted to try and justify 
himself as far as possible in the eyes of the public.

He stated that the cause of the destruction was the necessity of punishment, because 
Belgian soldiers in civilian dress had stayed behind in Louvain, waiting to attack the 
German army from behind at the first favourable opportunity. They thought that their 
chance had come when for a short time the German troops had to be withdrawn from 
the fortified camp of Antwerp to take their share in a fight near Louvain. Von Manteuffel 
thought that by attacking the troops in the town the Belgians hoped to prevent the 
Louvain garrison from assisting their comrades.

He did not seem to mind much the destruction of the Halls with their world-famous 
wealth of books; anyway he spoke about it in an unconcerned tone. But he seemed to 
attach great importance to the safety of the town-hall. He said that when the buildings 
adjoining the town-hall began to burn, he had them blown up in order to keep the fire 
away from the beautiful monument.

As darkness was coming on I asked him whether it was not dangerous to pass the night 
in the house of that little old man, whom I mentioned above. He saw nothing dangerous 
in it, as by far the greater part of the town was deserted, and no attack need be feared.

So I thought that I might chance it. The house was some distance from the station, near 
the railway line; opposite stood a sort of goods station guarded by six soldiers. Before 
entering the house I had a chat with them, for I thought that if I explained my position 
and told them that the commanding officer gave me permission to pass the night in that 
house, I should be much safer if anything should happen during the night, because they 
knew then that they had to deal with a neutral journalist. They might moreover warn me 
should the fire that was raging all around reach that house. So I told the whole story to 
these fellows, who were also more than half drunk, showed them my passports, gave 
them some cigars, and after a friendly chat went to the old man who was to put me up 
for the night.

There was of course no gas lit, and there was no paraffin lamp in the house. I was 
shown to my room by the dim light of a candle. The old man could hardly get up the 
stairs, as he was trembling all over in consequence of the days passed in fear and 
dread. The ceiling of my bedroom had been pierced by bullets, and the fragments 
covered nearly the whole of the bed, which had not been made after it was last used. 
The unaccustomed work of stripping and making the bed was soon finished, and I was 
hardly ready when a soldier entered at the door, which had to be left open by order, and 
shouted from the bottom of the staircase that I was not allowed to have a light, and must 
blow out my candle.

I was soon fast asleep, tired out by my bicycle ride of that day of about forty-five miles, 
and my wanderings through Lige. But my rest was not to be a long one. At about ten 
o'clock I was awakened by a great noise on the stairs, and was surprised to see six 
armed soldiers in my room. That is not exactly a pleasant manner of waking up after so 
short a sleep. They informed me in a gruff voice that I had to get up, to dress and follow 
them. As I obeyed the order, I asked what gave me this unexpected honour; but they 
refused to enlighten me on that point.

After I had dressed in their presence, they searched all my pockets, and felt all over my 
body to find out whether I had any arms concealed about me. Then three soldiers went 
downstairs, I had to follow these, and the other three came in the rear. I did not 
understand at all of what capital crime I was suspected which made it necessary to have 
me arrested by six soldiers armed to the teeth.

We waited in the street for two of the soldiers who went to fetch the old man. After 
waiting a good while the poor wretch appeared between them. He wept profusely, and 
between his loud sobs affirmed repeatedly that he was innocent, that he did not know 
me, that I told him I was a Netherland journalist, and so on, and so on: "Oh, 
gentlemen!- oh, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, "I must not leave my little boy . . . my 
laddie; ... he is quite alone. . . . Oh, let me go!" . . .

I pitied him from the bottom of my heart, and tried to console him by remarking that it 
was all a misunderstanding, and that I would see to it that he would soon be released.

"Come now quietly," I said; "so much the sooner you will be back with your laddie."

But he did not take any notice of all my exhortations and was entirely impervious to them 
in his grief. So I went to the station side by side with the weeping man, and surrounded 
by the six soldiers. The crackle of the flames, the sound of collapsing houses seemed 
more terrifying in the night than in day-time, and now and again I got a shock when 
suddenly, by the uncertain light of the flames, I saw the corpse of a civilian lying in the 
dark shade of the tall trees on the Boulevard.

Whenever our escort fancied that they saw something, they stopped and called out to 
the supposed approaching persons: "Who goes there?" Sometimes it was only some 
shrubs that they saw; at other times patrolling German soldiers. "Parole?" was asked: 
"Duisburg!" and after that answer they came nearer. At the station I was taken to an 
officer who sat at a table on the platform and had lit up his nearest surroundings by 
means of a paraffin-lamp. My little old man wept now so badly that he was quite 
unmanageable, and the officer made up his mind to get rid of him as quickly as 
possible.

"Tell me, father," he began, "did you allow this man by your side to stay the night at your 
house?"

"Oh ... oh ... let me ... go to my laddie ... let me go ... oh ... oh ..."

"Yes, all right, you may go, but we only want you to tell us what you know of this man."

"Oh-oh ... I don't understand you ... let me go ... my little boy ... we have nothing to eat 
... we are innocent ... I do not know the gentleman ... oh ... oh!"

I took the liberty to explain to the officer that the man did not understand him, and stated 
that he did not know me.

"Then, why did you want to stay at the man's house? -what brought you here?"

Thus my examination opened. I told him everything from beginning to end, also that the 
commanding officer had given me permission to stay at that house, that I had shown my 
papers to the soldiers at the goods station opposite the house, and that I did not 
understand why I should be put to all this inconvenience.

He explained to me that one of those soldiers accused me of ... spying and arson. He 
had thought to recognise in me a person who had asked him that afternoon whether he 
was ... a Belgian or a German soldier, and whom he had also seen escaping from a 
factory which was in full blaze a moment later.

Highly indignant, I claimed of course that that soldier should also be called; but I was 
told that I had better assume a more modest tone. I then asked to be taken to the 
commanding officer, whom I had seen that afternoon; but he was away on inspection or 
something, and would not return before the next morning.

After this the officer examined my papers carefully one by one, and had to admit that 
they were in perfect order. Still, he had no authority to take a decision before I had been 
seen by the commanding officer.

The old man was allowed to go home, escorted by the same soldiers. At the very 
moment that he was about to leave, I happened to notice on the platform a gigantic 
heap of loaves, brought in by train for the soldiers.

"Do you know," I asked the officer, "that this old man and his grandchild are starving? 
He put me up because I gave him a couple of pieces of bread-and-butter for the child." 
He looked at me somewhat crossly, but inquired all the same whether my information 
was correct, and then gave the old man two loaves, which dried his tears immediately, 
and for which he thanked the donor in a quivering voice.

Two soldiers now took everything I had in my pockets, even my watch and my purse. 
This brought also to light a German map of Belgium, with a stamp "For military use 
only." I was told in a gruff voice that this was a highly suspicious thing, and that they 
could not understand how it got into my possession. I replied quite coolly that I had 
bought the thing in Aix-la-Chapelle for one mark, where it could be had in many shops, 
and that the words "For the military only" merely revealed the shrewd German 
commercial instinct, which knows that people always like to possess things which are 
not meant for them.

I believe that this made him angry; at least he ordered me to take off my shoes also, 
and their inside was carefully examined.

I was now escorted to a spot where on some straw several soldiers were sleeping, who 
had to do sentry-go at two o'clock that night. It was a part of the platform which was not 
even roofed, and entirely under the open sky. But they anyway had straw to lie on, and 
sufficient cover, but I had to lie down between them on the flags, without any blanket. A 
separate sentry was commanded to watch me; every two hours another was charged 
with the task. I was allowed to try and sleep, with the warning that I should be shot at the 
slightest attempt to escape.

It was a chilly night, and a dense heavy fog made it impossible to see anything. . . . My 
"bedfellows" raged and fumed at me, saying that I was one of those villains who had 
treacherously shot at them. I shivered from the cold, and felt, as it were, the dampness 
of the wet stone floor entering my system.

While all the others were denouncing me, one soldier was ready to believe that I was a 
peaceful foreign journalist, and that all the misunderstanding would disappear the next 
morning as soon as I should be taken to the commanding officer. He took pity on me, 
and got a thick soldier's coat for me as cover. I still feel grateful to the man for it! But 
sleep was out of the question on that wet floor, in the dense fog. When the guard was 
changed and soldiers came back, or others went, they could not see in the dark where 
they went, and treated me to a kick against my head or some other part of my body.

It was a fantastic night. Trains arrived out of the foggy darkness, their screeching whistle 
resounding from the far distance, and when they steamed into the station a storm of 
noise arose. All these trains brought British prisoners of war, captured by the Germans 
at St. Quentin, and hundreds of German soldiers escorted the trains, which were all 
covered over with green branches, and looked like copse-wood sliding along the 
railroad. As soon as they rumbled into the station the escorts sang loudly their patriotic 
songs, and "Germany before all other!" ("Deutschland ber Alles!") vibrated through the 
fog.

The soldiers lying round about me, and those in other parts of the station, got up, 
shouting, "There are the British," and ran towards the arriving trains. They jeered at the 
beaten enemies in all sorts of vulgar and filthy words, which made the German 
enthusiasm absolutely lacking in chivalry. Eight trains with captured British arrived 
during that night.

At seven o'clock in the morning I was taken to the commanding officer, and was glad to 
see him again. He jumped up immediately and came to me with a charming smile, when 
I pointed to my escort and explained that I was a prisoner.

He flushed red with anger, and asked the sergeant what it all meant. The latter told the 
story and I filled in some details.

He showed the most profound indignation, and offered his apologies with lively 
gestures. He said that my papers proved quite clearly that I was a Netherland journalist. 
He declined to allow any further examination, and gave the peremptory order that 
everything that had been taken away from me should be returned at once. When I had 
put everything in my pockets, he asked: 

"Have they given you back everything?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, "excepting my pocket-knife."

"Where is that knife?" Von Manteuffel asked the sergeant who had fetched my 
belongings.

"But that is a weapon, general!"

"Return that knife at once!"

The general expatiated once more on the francs-tireurs of Louvain, and asked me to 
explain in my papers without fail that the citizens had to thank themselves for what had 
happened. The sergeant who had taken me to him was ordered to escort me, that I 
might not have any further trouble with the soldiers in the city.

I started on my return journey to The Netherlands sick to death. The consequences of 
lying on that wet floor made themselves badly felt, and besides being quite stiff and 
chilly, my interior was badly out of order.

Many refugees returned to Louvain that morning simply driven by hunger. I myself lived 
still on the breakfast I had at Maastricht on the previous day, and badly wanted 
something to eat, but still more a cup of hot coffee, to warm my chilled body. I was able 
to get the coffee-without milk or sugar --from a peasant along the road, but food was 
out of the question. Most of the people had nothing left, others saved a piece of bread 
as hard as a brick for the moment when hunger might drive them to extreme distress. 
Whatever sums I offered, nothing could be had before I came to Tirlemont, where I was 
able to buy three eggs.

I had a rather amusing meeting at Tongres, with a Netherland colleague, who was on 
his way to Louvain.

"Where do you come from?" was his first question.

"From Louvain!"

"Have you been there already? I am going there too. How are things there?"

"Have you got anything for me to eat?" I asked, not heeding his words.

I said it quite innocently, without any other desire beyond that of taking off the edge of 
my really trying hunger. But the effect of my question was surprising indeed. He looked 
at me dumbfounded, and asked: 

"But where did you stay then during the night?"

"I have been arrested."

"And did you not get anything to eat?"

"No!"

He was back in The Netherlands before me.

...

Chapter IX

Louvain Under the Mailed Fist

The next day at Maastricht I tried to cure the evil results of that night on the damp floor 
in Lo-vain by eating great quantities of rice and drinking much cocoa with liberal doses 
of cinnamon, but as it was of no avail, I started again the next morning.

The majority of the refugees returning to Louvain belonged to the lower classes, and 
they began to loot and plunder the town, encouraged thereto by the German soldiers, 
who threw the things into the streets, and said: "Take it, if you like!" In extenuation of the 
looting and plundering I might say that the poor wretches tried before all to get hold of 
half-burned eatables.

During my first visit I estimated the number of civilian victims at about eighty. This 
number turned out to be larger, as many during the second fire fled to their cellars, exits 
of which were however choked up by the collapsing walls. The corpses of numerous 
suffocated citizens were found in these cellars.

At many monasteries I heard painful details of the treatment suffered by priests. The 
majority were made prisoners, and many were tied to trees during a whole night and 
afterwards released. Several were killed. I heard, for example, at the convent of the 
Jesuits that a student of theology, Eugne Dupiereux, had been murdered, simply 
because he was found to have kept a diary of the war in which he had expressed a 
rather unfavourable opinion about the Germans. In the same manner two Josephite 
brothers were murdered, who later on were found to be Germans; of other priests who 
had been killed, the names were not yet known.

Many clerical gentlemen connected with the University had been ill-treated in the most 
atrocious manner. The architect Lenertz, a native of Luxemburg, also connected with 
the University, had been shot, for no reason at all, before the eyes of his wife at the 
moment that he left the house. And Louvain was so effectively cut off from the outer 
world that in most convents I was asked whether the rumour was true that the Pope was 
dead! And at that time his successor had already been appointed.

I succeeded in laying my hands on an original copy of a proclamation that ought not to 
have been posted before the following day. I took the document with me to The 
Netherlands, and it is of special interest, because in it the Germans admit to have 
tyrannised the people, and to have not only burned Louvain, but also ransacked the 
town. The proclamation had been drawn up in concert with the German authorities and 
was approved by them. It was in French and in Flemish, and read as follows: 

"PROCLAMATION"

To the inhabitants of the City of Louvain

"We have in vain visited our municipal representatives. The last of them, Alderman 
Schmidt, who was prevented from fulfilling his office, surrendered to us the municipal 
power on August 30th.

"I believe that it is my duty to take that task upon me, assisted by some well-known 
burgesses, who have undertaken to stand by me.

"In agreement with the German Military authority I invite the inhabitants of Louvain to 
return to the city, and to take up again their usual occupations.

"The orders issued by Monsieur Collins remain valid.

"I mention more especially: -

"1. That it is prohibited to be out of doors after seven o'clock (Belgian time) in the 
evening.

"2. That all who are in possession of any arms, of whatever description, or any munition 
must at once deliver everything at the town-hall.

"3. That everything that may appear hostile to the German army must be avoided with 
the utmost care.

"The German military authority have promised us that on these conditions no further 
burning and looting shall take place and that the population shall no longer be 
threatened or embarrassed.

"We are engaged now most actively upon the re-establishment of the municipal 
services: Police, Municipal Register, and the Services of the Canals, which services will 
all be reopened as soon as possible.

"The police service will be performed in the daytime by some volunteers, who will wear 
an armlet in the municipal colours, and an identity card, both officially stamped. Well- 
minded persons, who are willing to perform these duties, are urgently requested to 
present themselves at the town-hall to-day at four o'clock in the afternoon.

"The acting burgomaster, A. NERINCX.
" The town-clerk, EUG. MARGUERY.
"The committee of burgesses! DR. BOINE, Pastor CLAES, DR. P. DEBAISIEUX, DR. 
DECONINCK, CH. DE LA VALLEE-POUSSIN, MONSEIGNEUR DEPLOIGNE, P. 
HELLEPUTTE, A. THIERY, DR. TITS, L. VERHELST, V. VINGEROEDT.
"LOUVAIN,

"September 1st, 1914."

Pastor Claes, mentioned in the above proclamation, has done very much for the 
miserable Louvain population; they owe him especially much gratitude for an act of 
devotion with regard to the murdered victims.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the railway station a house was being built, of which 
only the foundations were laid. The place showed nothing beyond a huge cavity. I had 
noticed already several times that there was an atrocious stench near the station, which 
at last became unendurable. Pastor Claes, who courageously entered all destroyed 
houses to look for the dead, had discovered the victims also in this place. In the cave 
just mentioned he found sixteen corpses of burghers, two priests among them. In order 
to remove them from the street the Germans had simply thrown them into that cave, 
without covering the corpses in any way. They had been lying there for days, and were 
decaying rapidly.

I witnessed Pastor Claes's labours for a moment only, for the smell was unbearable 
even at a somewhat considerable distance. The good pastor persevered in the work 
after having started it, with the assistance of some faithful helpers, who all of them had 
sealed their mouths with a sponge soaked in some disinfectant. The corpses were taken 
from the cave, money and documents put away in separate bags, and the unfortunate 
owners coffined and blessed.

During the next days I found a hospitable domicile at the convent of the Sacred Heart on 
the Namur Canal ("Naamsche Vest"). It is a seminary for missionaries, and when I went 
to them for the first time I had a letter from their head, the "provincial" in The 
Netherlands, who sent the order that all the theological students should be transferred to 
The Netherlands as quickly as possible. They received me with the greatest kindness, 
and ever since I enjoyed their hospitality.

A short time after the destruction I was even obliged to accept it for a whole week, as on 
the same day on which I arrived in Louvain for another visit there was renewed fighting 
round the town. The Belgians had advanced as far as Rotselair, where the next day they 
held their ground against overwhelmingly superior numbers; but at last they had to 
retire, leaving a great many dead behind. The Belgians had even got on to the road 
Tirlemont- Louvain,and blown up the railway line in two places. On that occasion the 
Germans arrested me at about two miles from Tirlemont. Firstly, because I travelled by 
bicycle, and secondly, because I was accused of having "cooked" one of my passports. 
This was so far true that I had altered the dates of a passport, which allowed me to stay 
in Louvain from September 6th till the 14th, into the 8th and the 16th. When taken to the 
commanding officer in Tirlemont, I convinced him so thoroughly of my complete 
innocence, that the next day I was allowed to go on to Louvain.

There the German authorities detained me for a full week, by prohibiting me to return: 
"for the sake of your own safety," they told me courteously. During the day I was busy 
enough, and in the evenings I enjoyed the pleasant company of the three fathers of the 
Sacred Heart who had remained in the mission house, and with whose photographic 
instrument I took many a snapshot of the Louvain ruins.

The mission house had become a sanctuary for a good many people. As bread was 
lacking, two brothers fried pancakes all day long and distributed them among the 
numberless persons who asked for food. Among these were people who a few days 
earlier belonged to the well-to-do, but who saw their business, in which often more than 
their own capital was invested, wrecked by fire, and were now obliged to appeal to the 
charity of these monks. Indeed during the first weeks after that terrible event many 
starved, and I assisted often at the distribution of the pancakes, because they were 
short-handed.

In this grand old monastery, both inside and out a jewel of architecture, about five 
hundred people had found shelter. They were lodged in halls, rooms, and kitchens. The 
fathers gave them everything in the way of food they might require, but they had to do 
their own cooking. As not one of these people had a home left, which they could call 
their own, no wonder that they greatly admired the fathers. Often when I strolled about 
with one of these, one or other of the refugees came to him to press his hand and 
express gratitude for the hospitality offered.

In this way I got into conversation with a middle-aged lady. Her husband had been shot, 
and she got a bullet in her arm, which had to be amputated in consequence. The poor 
creature had lost all courage, and lived on her nerves only. It was remarkable to hear 
this father find the right words, and succeed in making her calm and resigned. Before 
she left us, she had promised that for her children's sake she would do all in her power 
to control herself.

During the week of my compulsory stay in Louvain I had also the privilege of making the 
acquaintance of two brave compatriots; I mean Professor Noyons and his wife.

They never left Louvain. On August 25th information was sent to the Leo XIII Institution 
for Philosophy, a building turned into a hospital, that a hundred wounded men might be 
expected towards evening. That evening began the wild shooting and burning of houses 
by the Germans, and soon a large number of wounded was taken to the Institution. 
Suddenly Professor Noyons recognised one of his servants among the wounded who 
were brought to him for treatment. She had three bullets in her side. After having 
bandaged her wounds, he hurried away to his house, in order to see what had 
happened.

He thought that it was sufficiently protected by the immense Red Cross flag, and the 
words written on the door by the Germans themselves: "Professor Noyons, Netherland 
physician, to be spared." But he had been mistaken. The soldiers did not respect 
anything, and had forced an entry into the house, wounded that servant, and then 
wrecked everything in the most scandalous manner. Beautiful large Japanese jars had 
been smashed to pieces, valuable furniture damaged by knocking and breaking large 
pieces out of it with rifles and bayonets. A fine carpet was burned, as well as many 
pieces of furniture. A hole was burned even in the floor.

Professor Noyons took me over the house and showed me the destruction. Bullets had 
been lodged in the inner walls after piercing the windows and on a level with the 
windows. By lengthening the line of trajection one found that the bullets must have been 
fired at a distance of nearly six hundred yards, which proves that the Germans simply 
fired at random.

As Professor Noyons heard that other hospitals, churches, and ancient buildings were 
not spared either, he went to the commanding officer through the rain of bullets, clad in 
his white overalls, to claim protection for everything that lawfully displayed the Red 
Cross flag, and to request that churches, convents, ancient buildings, and especially the 
town-hall should be spared. It is only owing to his intervention that not much more was 
destroyed in Louvain.

On the Thursday of the week of destruction the inhabitants were notified that they had to 
leave the town, but Professor Noyons and his wife decided to stay on, as they could not 
leave the one hundred and fifty wounded men who were laid up at the Institution.

They carried all those patients into the cellars on stretchers, and there waited with the 
nursing staff for the bombardment that had been announced, but never came off.

Professor Noyons took me all over the hospital, and if I should describe all I saw and 
heard there, that story alone would fill volumes. He took me, for example, to a boy of 
eight years old, whose shoulder was shattered by rifle-shots. His father and mother, four 
little brothers and a sister, had been murdered. The boy himself was saved because 
they thought that he was dead, whereas he was only unconscious. When I asked for his 
parents, brothers and sister, he put up his one hand and, counting by his little fingers, 
he mentioned their names.

There lay also a woman, with one leg amputated. Her husband had been murdered, 
another bullet had entered the leg of the baby in her arms. Another woman had her child 
murdered in her arms.

Women and children had frequently been ill-treated in a most atrocious manner, aged 
and sick people were dragged out of the houses, and flung down in the street. This 
happened, for example, to an old man, who lay dying in his cellar. In spite of the 
supplications of his wife and two sons, he was flung on the cobbles, where he died 
soon. The sons were taken prisoners and sent away. His widow assists at present 
nursing other unfortunates at Professor Noyons' hospital.

A paralysed woman who had also been flung into the street was nursed at the hospital, 
and lay with many others in the chapel of the Institution, which had been turned into a 
ward.

Belgian and German soldiers found excellent nursing here. Many convalescents were 
allowed to walk in the large garden, which was happily divided by a large wall, so that 
the one-time combatants could be separated.

Professor and Mrs. Noyons were busy day and night on behalf of their fellow-men, and 
one could quite well tell by their looks that they were overworked. They took their rest in 
the kitchen, which was built in the basement. All male and female voluntary nurses took 
their meals there.

Once I enjoyed the pleasure of partaking of such a "dinner," as the guest of Professor 
and Mrs. Noyons. The company was very mixed, and men who never in their lives had 
ever done anything else but spoiling their eyes for the sake of science, by reading all 
manner of ancient manuscripts, were now busy, dressed in a blue apron, stirring the 
soup and mashing potatoes or vegetables. The menu comprised nothing but potatoes, a 
little vegetables, and a finely calculated piece of meat.

At that dinner I also made the acquaintance of Professor Nerincx, the acting 
burgomaster. It was a courageous act to assume the government of the town destroyed 
by the Germans; he did it for the sake of his fellow-citizens, who will never be able to 
requite their indebtedness to the temporary burgomaster for what he did for them; and 
most of them do not even know it.

The war is pot over yet, and much is still hidden under a veil, but after the war it will 
undoubtedly be the duty of the Louvain people to twine a magnificent wreath round the 
three names Noyons-Nerincx-Claes.

The names of many priests will be found in the register of Belgian martyrs. I have 
mentioned already some who, although innocent, gave their life for their country. During 
my week's stay at Louvain I heard of other cases. The priest of Corbeek-Loo, for 
example, was simply tortured to death on account of one of his sermons in which he 
said that the fight of the Belgian army was beautiful "because it lawfully resists an 
unlawful invasion," and further for announcing a Holy Requiem Mass for the souls of the 
"murdered" citizens.

At Blauwput, near Louvain, where, according to the Germans, there had been also 
shooting, many houses were set on fire and the men placed in a row. It was then 
announced that by way of punishment every fifth man would be shot. When the 
Germans counted as tenth the father of a large family, that man fainted, and they simply 
killed number eleven, a Capuchin.

Very many other cases of martyrdom among priests remained unknown to me, but the 
various Belgian bishops examined all these events with praiseworthy zeal and 
scrupulousness, and by taking extensive evidence established the fact that in no case 
the victims could be reproached with any act that justified the sentence against them. 
After the war the world will surely be made acquainted with the horrible truth.

.   

The foregoing record of my experiences in Louvain will make it sufficiently clear to the 
unprejudiced reader that the destruction and wholesale murders were nothing but 
wanton crimes committed by the German troops stationed there, crimes which it is 
impossible to justify on any ground.

The duration of the war has more or less surprised me, and I postponed writing this 
book for a long time as I wished to quote the evidence of persons in high places, 
clergymen, and educated foreigners. As the war is not over yet, I must omit these in the 
interest of their safety.

But from my personal knowledge and the evidence referred to, I am able to establish the 
following facts in connection with the events that preceded and followed the destruction 
of Louvain.

On August 25th the Antwerp garrison made a sortie, in the direction of Louvain. At the 
beginning the Belgians were successful, and came within four and a half miles of this 
town. For a moment the situation became critical, and at about seven o'clock a small 
troop of cavalry came at a furious gallop from the scene of battle to Louvain, probably to 
summon the assistance of the garrison.

At that hour the NamurCanal("Naamsche Vest") was already dark in consequence of the 
thick foliage of tall trees, and suddenly the wild horsemen were shot at. Several neutral 
witnesses established the fact that this was done by a small troop of German infantry 
who came from the station, probably on their way to the battlefield, and thought that 
Belgian cavalry came racing into the town.

The men shopped their horses, dismounted, and returned the fire from behind their 
animals. This went on for about a quarter of an hour. Every one was alarmed by this 
shooting; other soldiers came racing in from the station, and others ran to and fro near 
that building crying, "A surprise attack!" Some, thinking that the attack came from the 
advancing Belgians, rushed to the place where the fighting took place, others 
misunderstood the cry, believed that the citizens assaulted them, and began to shoot at 
these, and at the houses.

Before those on the Naamsche Vest found out their mistake, the shooting was going on 
in the greater part of the town, and the excited men, who at first had been shooting at 
each other, soon joined the rest. Some wounded troopers were taken to one of the 
convents on the Vest, but a couple of hours later they were suddenly fetched away 
again. The whole evening and the next day the Germans went on shooting people and 
firing houses. It is worth recording that the library was already set on fire that same 
evening of the fray on the Naamsche Vest; it was burning at eight o'clock.

On Thursday everyone, even the persons staying in the Institution and hospitals, were 
ordered to leave the town, as it was to be shelled. They seemed to have no pity even on 
the wretched wounded men. Only the male and female nurses remained with these, of 
their own free will, determined to die with them if necessary.

The inhabitants were driven to the station, where the husbands were cruelly separated 
from their wives and several persons were shot. Other men were escorted to a place 
behind the station, and their wives and children were told that those men were going to 
be shot. The pooi things heard indeed the click-clack of the rifles and thought that their 
dear ones were dead. However, many returned later, and their "shooting " seems to 
have been a mere sham.

Great crowds walked the long way to Tirlemont. They were constantly threatened by 
German soldiers, who aimed their rifles at them; passing officers commanded from time 
to time that some should stay behind, and others were shot. Especially did the clerics 
amongst the refugees suffer a great deal; many were not only scandalously scoffed at, 
but also maliciously injured. The greater part of the Germans showed a strong anti-
Catholic bias, in particular against the clergy, whom they accused of having incited the 
people against them.

This is only a short record of the destruction of Louvain, the truthfulness of which will be 
firmly and fully established after the war by extensive, accurately drawn up declarations.

Louvain had been destroyed because a crowd of wanton soldiers, who were garrisoned 
there, who hated the Belgians, and who had been kept within bounds with difficulty, 
seized on their own stupid mistake to give rein to their passions.

Their commanding officer was the worthy head of such a mob, a heartless creature, who 
did not show the slightest remorse for the destruction of those magnificent libraries, set 
on fire by bis order. It has been alleged that civilians had been shooting from the Halls, 
but when a committee examined the remains' in the building with the consent of the 
military, they found there the carcase of a German horse. They were ordered to stop 
their investigations immediately, for that horse was evidence . . . that German military 
men had been billeted on the building, and thus no civilians could have been there. This 
will also be published later in the reports.

The German authority left indeed no effort untried to cover up their atrocious action. 
Already in a communication from Wolff, dated August 29th, they attempted to violate the 
truth by asserting that:-

"The houses caught fire from burning benzine, and the flames burst out in other 
quarters also. On Wednesday afternoon part of the town and the northern suburb were 
in flames."

They have not been able to maintain that story for very long; the truth overtook the lie.

May all the nations of the world after the war collaborate to compensate Louvain for her 
martyrdom, see that this city shall be restored to her former, happy prosperity, and get a 
library which approaches as much as possible the one she lost. The Germans can 
probably do their part by investigating where the motor-cars went which left the Halls on 
that wretched Tuesday night, heavily laden with books.

...

Chapter X

Along the Meuse to Huy, Andenne, and Namur

Between two of my several trips to Louvain I made one to Namur in the beginning of 
September, after having secured at Lige, by a trick, a splendid permit which enabled 
me to travel even by motor-car.

There was a little more order in the whole district round Lige, since the Germans 
behaved more decently, and provisions had arrived. The shock, which the burning and 
butchering of so many places and persons gave to the whole world, had also influenced 
the conduct of the Germans, and from the beginning of September they made a practice 
of asking each time when they thought that they had behaved decently: "Well, are we 
such barbarians as the world calls us?"

In this relative calm the population felt somewhat relieved, and ventured again into the 
streets. Outdoors on the "stoeps" of the houses men sat on their haunches smoking 
their pipe and playing a game of piquet. Most of them were vigorous fellows, miners, 
who did not mind any amount of work, but now came slowly under the demoralising 
influence of idleness.

My motor whirled along the gloriously fine road to Huy. It is a delicious tour through the 
beautiful valley of the Meuse, along sloping light-green roads. Had the circumstances 
not been so sad, I should have enjoyed it better.

I had already been near Huy, at a time when several burning houses shrouded the 
whole town in clouds of smoke. On August 24th, at ten o'clock at night, some shots had 
been fired in the neighbourhood of the viaduct. This was a sign for hundreds of soldiers 
to begin shooting at random and arrest several persons. Several houses were 
perforated like sieves by bullets, and an entire street of twenty-eight houses, the Rue du 
Jardin, was reduced to ashes. No civilians were killed.

It is evident from the "Report on the Violations of International Law in Belgium" that the 
Germans themselves admit that they were in the wrong with regard to the atrocities 
which were committed here. The following order of the day proves it:

"Last night a shooting affray took place. There is no evidence that the inhabitants of the 
towns had any arms in their houses, nor is there evidence that the people took part in 
the shooting; on the contrary, it seems that the soldiers were under the influence of 
alcohol, and began to shoot in a senseless fear of a hostile attack.

"The behaviour of the soldiers during the night, with very few exceptions, makes a 
scandalous impression.

"It is highly deplorable when officers or non-commissioned officers set houses on fire 
without the permission or order of the commanding, or, as the case may be, the senior 
officer, or when by their attitude they encourage the rank and file to burn and plunder.

"I require that everywhere a strict investigation shall take place into the conduct of the 
soldiers with regard to the life and property of the civilian population.

"I prohibit all shooting in the towns without the order of an officer.

"The miserable behaviour of the men has been the cause that a non-commissioned 
officer and a private were seriously wounded by German ammunition.

"The Commanding Officer,

"MAJOR VON BASSIWITZ."

I was informed further that there had been no fighting for the possession of Huy. The 
citadel on which the German flag flew had not been put in a state of defence on account 
of its great age. The old bridge over the Meuse at Huy had been wrecked by the 
Belgians, but the Germans had simply driven stout piles into the river, to support a floor 
which they put over the wrecked part, and so restored the traffic.

During my visit I happened to make the acquaintance of Mr. Derricks, a brother of the 
lawyer who had been murdered so cruelly at Canne, and also a member of the 
Provincial States. The poor man was deeply moved when he heard the details about his 
brothers death. I made him very happy by taking a letter with me for his sister-in-law, 
who was now at Maastricht.

At Andenne things seemed much worse than at Huy. I stopped there on my way to 
Namur, and had been prepared in Lige for the sad things I should hear. A proclamation 
posted in the last-named town ran as follows: -

"August 22nd, 1914.

"After having protested their peaceful sentiments the inhabitants of Andenne made a 
treacherous attack on our troops.

"The Commanding General burned down the whole city with my consent, shooting also 
about one hundred persons.

"I acquaint the inhabitants of Lige of this, that they may understand what fate threatens 
them if they should assume a similar attitude.

"The Commanding General-in-chief,

"VON BUELOW."

General von Buelow says here that he gave his consent to the shooting of about one 
hundred persons, but I can state with absolute certainty that there were about 400 
victims. We must therefore assume that the other 300 were killed without his consent.

Andenne, on the right bank of the Meuse, was a town of 8,000 inhabitants. When the 
Germans arrived there on the morning of August 19th they found the bridge connecting 
Andenne and Seilles wrecked. In the afternoon they began building a pontoon bridge, 
which was ready the next day. They were very much put out about the wrecking of the 
other bridge, by the Belgian soldiers, a couple of hours before their arrival. Their 
exasperation became still greater when they discovered after having finished the 
pontoon bridge, that the big tunnel on the left bank of the Meuse had also been made 
useless by barricades and entanglements.

By refusing to pay at cafs and shops the military already expressed their 
dissatisfaction. Then on Thursday, August 20th, about six in the evening, after a great 
many troops had crossed the river by the pontoon bridge, a shot was heard which 
seemed the sign for a terrible fusillade. Guns seemed to have been mounted at 
convenient places outside the town, for shells exploded right at its centre. The troops did 
no longer cross the bridge, but spread themselves in a disorderly manner all over the 
town, constantly shooting at the windows. Even mitrailleuses were brought into action. 
Those of the inhabitants who could fly did so, but many were killed in the streets and 
others perished by bullets entering the houses through the windows. Many others were 
shot in the cellars, for the soldiers forced their way in, in order to loot the bottles of wine 
and to swallow their fill of liquor, with the result that very soon the whole garrison was a 
tipsy mob. It struck me always that as soon as something took place anywhere which 
might lead to disorder, the method adopted was as follows: first a fusillade in order to 
scare the inhabitants, secondly looting of numberless bottles of wine, and finally cruel, 
inhuman murders, the ransacking and the wrecking. The game of shooting and looting 
went on all through the night of the 20th. Not a window or door remained whole even if 
the house was not burned down altogether.

At four o'clock in the morning all the men, women, and children who had not yet been 
put to death were driven to the Place des Tilleuls, but on the way many men had their 
brains blown out. Amongst others, Dr. Camus, the septuagenarian burgomaster, was 
then wounded and afterwards received the finishing stroke by a hatchet.

At the Place des Tilleuls fifty men were taken from the crowd at random, escorted to the 
Meuse, and shot. In the meantime other soldiers went on wrecking, firing, and looting.

Andenne offered a dismal spectacle. The doors and windows of the houses that were 
not completely burned down had been kicked and beaten to pieces, and boards had 
been nailed before the holes. The inhabitants hung about disconsolately, and I could tell 
by their faces how they suffered, for every family in the town mourned the death of one 
dear to them.

They all became excited whenever I mentioned the accusations brought against them. 
They asserted with the greatest emphasis that it was an absolute lie that the civilians 
had shot. "Even if they torture me to death," said most of them, "I'll still contend that this 
accusation is untrue."

The German officers, of course, held a different opinion; they alleged that the shooting 
by the civilians was even very general and purported to be a decided attack on the 
army. I asked them whether they had found any rifles or other arms at the "searches" of 
the houses-I expressed myself somewhat cautiously on purpose-for that ought to 
have been the case if such a great number of citizens had joined in the shooting. "No," 
they answered, "they were sly enough to see to it that we did not find these. They had 
been buried in time, of course."

The answer is, surely, not very convincing! The Germans had flung some more bridges 
across the river beyond Andenne, which had been used for the occupation of Namur 
chiefly, and lay idle now guarded by only one sentry. I left by the town-gate without any 
difficulties; the German soldiers jumped out of the way and stood to attention, as soon 
as they noticed the Netherland flag flying at the front of the motor. To the right and the 
left of the gateway they had written in gigantic letters: "Newspapers, please!"

Namur was shelled on August 21st and the 23rd. Many houses were then already 
wrecked, many civilians killed. On the 23rd the Belgian army withdrew and only some of 
the forts were defended. This withdrawal of the Belgian army may have been a 
strategical necessity, but it is certain that the forts had not been defended unto the last. 
Five forts fell into the hands of the Germans without having suffered any damage.

On the afternoon of the 23rd the hostile troops entered the town, and on that day the 
inhabitants had not to suffer, excepting from requisitions made. But the following 
evening it was suddenly on fire at various spots, and the soldiers began to shoot in all 
directions, making many victims. Before setting the houses on fire, with a liberal use of 
the lozenges mentioned already, the usurpers ransacked them and removed numerous 
pieces of valuable furniture. The Place d'Armes, the Place Lopold, the Rue St. Nicolas, 
Rue Rogier, and the Avenue de la Plante were almost entirely reduced to ashes. With 
the town-hall many valuable pictures were destroyed. The day following the 
conflagration they left off shooting at last, but the looting went on for days more.

When I drove into Namur, I found the town comparatively quiet; there was some traffic 
in the streets, and Belgian army surgeons and British nurses in their uniforms walked 
about freely.

There were many wounded: the German wounded were all placed in the military 
hospital; the Belgians and the French had been taken to the Sisters of Mercy, the 
Institution Saint Louis, the High School for Girls, and the Sisters of Our Lady.

When I was eating a little at one of the hotels near the railway station, I was offered the 
newspaper l' Ami de l' Ordre, which had appeared again for the first time on that day, 
September 7th, under the Censorship of the German authorities. For curiosity's sake I 
translate here the first leaderette, published under the rule of the new masters: -

"ENOUGH DESTROYED, ENOUGH DISTRESSED!

"More than one hundred houses have been burned or wrecked at Namur, among them 
the town-hall, the house at the Namur Citadel, and the Institution for ophthalmology in 
the Place Lopold. In the Grand March and its neighbourhood about sixty have been 
destroyed by fire. If we add to this the damage done by the bombardment from Friday 
the 21st until Sunday the 23rd August, and the wrecking of the bridges after the retreat 
of the army, we may estimate the losses at 10,000,000 francs.

"Industry, trade, and agriculture exist no longer, labour is unemployed, and food is 
getting scarce, and over this dismal scene hovers the memory of numerous victims, of 
hundreds of prisoners of war or missing soldiers. During the bombardment of August 
23rd one hundred persons were killed outright, or succumbed to their wounds. There 
are innumerable other wounded. This it is plain must have plunged the town into deep 
distress.

"It mourns the lost liberty, the happiness, the peace, the brightness of her past 
prosperity which has vanished for a long season to come, it laments on account of the 
prisoners of war, the wounded, the dead. . . . And every morning the brilliant sun rises 
on the scene, the warm rays bathe town and country, both alike cruelly lashed by the 
frightful scourge.

Yesterday crowds of believers prayed for peace, for that blessing which is only valued 
when it is lost. Let us repeat our supplications twofold, let us increase our zeal. Lord. O 
Lord! listen to the voice of Thy people who pray to Thee . Be merciful! Give us back our 
peace!"

 
Chapter XI

From Maastricht to the French Frontier

The Destruction of Dinant

Adventures incite to ever more risky undertakings, and we long constantly for more 
sensation. Such an experience prompted me to an arrangement with Mr. Tervooren, 
editor of Het Leven, to try to motor to the French frontier.

We left Maastricht, in the early morning of September 9th, with a smart fellow as 
chauffeur. Louvain we found tolerably quiet, although fearful scenes were witnessed in 
the search for corpses, which were found in the cellars of many houses.

On that day I saw for the first time in Belgium German sailors and marines, and even an 
admiral and some officers. At that time the appearance of the naval men gave the 
newspapers much room for conjectures; it was found later that they were to be used in 
the attack on Antwerp, and afterwards had the task allotted to them of occupying the 
sea-board.

I found sailors also in Brussels, but for the rest there was only a little military display 
there. In this town reigned a certain oppressive silence and the cafs were not much 
frequented. The Brussels people did not hide their patriotic sentiments, and nearly every 
house displayed the Belgian flag, thanks chiefly to the strong attitude of Burgomaster 
Max. Outwardly Brussels had not suffered by the war; not a house was damaged and 
nobody had been killed yet. Nor was there lack of provisions, as was proved by the fact 
that at the "Metropole," one of the largest restaurants, I paid only seventy-five centimes 
(sevenpence-halfpenny) for bread, cold beef, and pickles.

We met only a few Germans on the road from Brussels to Charleroi, and found no 
garrison except in the townlet Hal. Very little burning had taken place on this road, but 
so much the more plundering and looting. A woman took us all over her house in the 
neighbourhood of Brussels, to show us the total wrecking. Small pieces of furniture were 
generally taken away, but stoves, kitcheners, and cupboards were smashed. She 
herself had had her face badly wounded, because she had hidden herself in the cellar 
when the Germans came near, and they had beaten her out of that with their rifle-butts. 
Many other women were treated in the same manner.

When we came to Jumet, a suburb of Charleroi, and a prosperous place with flourishing 
factories, we found the whole town wrecked. . . . Nearly all the houses were burned 
immediately after the occupation by the Germans, and many inhabitants were killed, of 
course under the pretext that they had been snooting.

After driving through this scene of misery we entered Charleroi, and exactly at that 
moment one of the springs of my motor broke in two, which made the car useless. 
Charleroi seemed worse damaged than Namur. According to an official statement 
issued at the time, one hundred and sixty-five houses had been burned, among them 
many on the fine Boulevard Audent, the Saint Joseph Institute, the convent of the 
Soeurs de Namur, and the adjacent ancient, miraculous little chapel of "Sainte Marie 
des Remparts."

Probably more than one hundred civilians had been shot, whereas many perished in the 
cellars. The heads of the municipality and several priests had at first been taken as 
hostages. Bail of ten million francs was asked for their release, but after much haggling 
they consented to accept one and a half millions, which sum was forthcoming from the 
various local banks.

Just as at Louvain and other towns, the Germans indulged in looting and plundering 
also at Charleroi; and probably this explains why here too the finest houses were 
destroyed. Moreover, many atrocious cases of rape occurred here as at Dinant, about 
which town more anon. At a caf, where the proprietor unburdened his mind to me, with 
tears in his eyes, I read a statement in which they were impudent enough to write that 
they had passed a pleasant night in circumstances described in detail, whilst the father 
had been locked up.

Charleroi was taken on August 22nd. On the evening of the 21st a small patrol had 
entered the town, and of these not a man escaped. But in the morning of the 22nd at 
seven o'clock a large force of Germans arrived and immediately began to burn and to 
shoot.

On the day of my stay at Charleroi, at about seven o'clock in the evening, there was a 
good deal of bustle round about the station, many trains from Maubeuge arriving. One 
of these trains was entirely filled by officers of the garrison who had been taken 
prisoner. Another carried only wounded Germans, lying on light stretchers, on which 
they were transported through the streets to the hospitals at Charleroi. Many had fearful 
wounds, and convulsively held their hands on the injured parts, while others lay still, the 
pallor of death on their face. Maubeuge must have cost the Germans enormous 
sacrifices, as for many of the wretched wounded no room could be found at Charleroi, 
and they had to be taken farther by train, to Namur or Brussels.

German officials told that immediately after the surrender Maubeuge had been set on 
fire in various places, because civilians, etc. . . . The reader is by now able to complete 
the sentence.

After I had collected some information in the town and my colleague of Het Leven had 
taken several snapshots, we thought that it was time to look for lodgings and to get our 
motor-car repaired,

We found rooms, but were guarded during the night by soldiers, who walked up and 
down the landing, because there were officers also staying at the hotel. Their regular 
footfall prevented us from sleeping a wink, but with the help of some fibs and Netherland 
cigars we induced them to let us go out, and we went to a sort of smith in a kind of 
garage to repair the motor-car. We turned up our sleeves and, assisted by the smith's 
technical directions, succeeded in putting the broken spring together, using stout steel 
clamps and screws.

Before leaving we went back to the hotel for breakfast. Thereit was a first-class 
hotelthey gave us an apology for coffee, without milk or sugar, and two flimsy pieces 
of bread, as hard as wood and as black as shoe-polish. I was intensely hungry, and as 
nowhere at Charleroi anything else could be had, I did my best with the wooden bread 
and succeeded in washing it down with much chewing and jawing. But the sweet, hard 
stuff did not suit my digestion, and I felt ill already when at six o'clock we got into the 
motor-car and left for Dinant.

We could not keep to the main road all the time, for it was forbidden by proclamation to 
go farther than nine miles and a half from the town, and we should have been stopped 
without fail.

We first drove through the suburb Montigny-sur-Sambre, which shared the fate of 
Jumet, and was entirely destroyed by fire. After leaving the town we went in the direction 
of Chtelet, where we found an immense battle-field. Terrific fighting must have taken 
place here, for the number of buried was enormous. On a wide stretch of land we saw a 
great number of mounds, with crosses, and covered with quicklime. On the crosses the 
numbers are given of the brave who fell there. So I read, for example: 

"Here rest 10 soldiers, French, I. Reg. 36. fell 22.8. R.I.P."

"Here rest 23 soldiers, German, I.R. 78. and 91. fell 22.8.14. R.I.P."

"Here rest 7 officers, German, I.R. fell 22.8.14. R.I.P."

"Here rest 140 soldiers, French, I.R. 36. fell 22.8. R.I.P."

There were very many similar ones, but I copied only these, because they lay just near 
the road; farther on there were numerous other white mounds with crosses.

The villages Gougnies and Biesmes had been destroyed also; of the former not one 
house was left undamaged; but nothing happened to the townlet Mettet. Here we were 
forbidden to go on, as we were already more than nine miles and a half from Charleroi. 
This compelled us to leave the main road, and to proceed along byways which soon 
took us to the Ardennes, where our motor-car rushed along in zigzags.

From time to time the tour became a break-neck affair, as the mountain roads were wet 
and muddy after much rain, and at corners we were often in great fear of being hurled 
down into the depth. It was a wonderfully fine district of green rock, although somewhat 
monotonous after a time, as it seemed that we were simply moving in a circle, which 
impression was strengthened by the fact that frequently we passed through tunnels and 
viaducts which were very alike to one another.

I felt very sick, for the sweet rye-bread which I had forced down my throat in the morning 
did not agree with me at all. At last I felt so ill that I was obliged to lie down on the floor 
of the car, and it took my colleague all his time to convince me that he did not think that 
my last hour had struck.

In the end and in despair I accepted an aspirin tablet which he had pressed on me a 
hundred times, and although I do not know whether it was owing to that, or in spite of it, 
it was a fact that I felt somewhat better.

After touring quite a long while through this labyrinth, we got at last back to the main 
road from Namur to Dinant, near Anhec. Here immediately we saw proofs of war, drawn 
from widespread destruction. The railway bridge across the Meuse near Houx, so 
picturesquely situated at the foot of a high rock, had been blown up.

Bouvigne, a hamlet near Dinant, had suffered fearfully from the bombardment of that 
town. Trees were splintered by the shells, the church was nearly a total wreck from the 
same cause, and two houses by the road had been riddled by bullets into a sieve, and 
also damaged by shells. On the whole scene of war I have not seen one house carrying 
so many bullets in it; their holes made the doors look like wire-netting. In these houses 
the French had barricaded themselves,brought mitrailleuses to them, and defended 
them until the last. None of those heroes left them alive. My colleague took many 
snapshots of this remarkable spot, while I collected bullets, fragments of shell, and 
similar mementos of this warfield.

In order to give the reader some idea of the fearful things that happened at Dinant, I 
insert here some quotations from the reports drawn up by the Belgian Inquiry Committee 
about the Violations of International Law, of which I can affirm the truth word for word, 
because they are identical with the information that I got myself at Dinant.

"The destruction took place from August 21st to the 25th.

"On August 15th a fierce fight took place between the French troops on the left bank of 
the Meuse and the Germans who approached from the east. The Germans were 
defeated, put to flight, and chased by the French, who crossed the river. On that day the 
town was not damaged much. Some houses were destroyed by German howitzers, 
which were undoubtedly aimed at the French regiments on the left bank. One Red 
Cross helper who lived at Dinant was killed by a German bullet when he was taking up 
one of the wounded.

"The next day all remained quiet, the French keeping the surrounding places occupied; 
not one fight took place between the two armies and nothing happened which might be 
looked upon as a hostile action by the populations, and there were no German troops 
near Dinant.

"At about nine o'clock of Friday evening, August 21st, German soldiers arriving by rail 
from Ciney marched into the town by the Rue Saint Jacques. They began to shoot into 
the windows without the slightest provocation, killed a workman who was on his way 
home, wounded another inhabitant and compelled him to call out: 'Long live the Kaiser.' 
A third they wounded in the abdomen with thrusts of their bayonets. They burst into the 
cafes, requisitioned all spirits, got tipsy on them, and left after setting several houses on 
fire and knocking to pieces the doors and windows of others.

"The inhabitants, frightened and perplexed, hid themselves in the houses.

"On Sunday, August 23rd, at half-past six in the morning, the soldiers of the 108th 
regiment of the line drove the worshippers out of the Premonstratensian Church, 
separated the men from the women, and shot about fifty of the former through the head. 
Between seven and nine o'clock there were house-to-house looting and burning by the 
soldiers, who chased the inhabitants into the street. Those who tried to escape were 
shot off-hand.

"At about nine o'clock the soldiers drove all who had been found in the houses in front of 
them by means of blows from their rifle-butts. They crowded them together in the Place 
d'Armes, where they kept them until six o'clock in the evening. Their guards amused 
themselves by telling the men repeatedly that they would soon be shot.

"At six o'clock a captain separated the men from the women and children. The women 
were placed behind a line of infantry. The men had to stand alongside a wall; those in 
the first row were ordered to sit on their haunches, the others to remain standing behind 
them. A platoon took a stand straight opposite the group. The women prayed in vain for 
mercy for their husbands, their sons, and their brothers; the officer gave the order to 
fire. He had not made the slightest investigation, pronounced no sentence of any sort.

"A score of these men were merely wounded and fell among the dead. For greater 
certainty the soldiers fired once more into the mass. A few got off scot-free in spite of 
the double fusillade. For over two hours they pretended to be dead, remained among 
the corpses without budging, and when it was dark were able to fly to the mountains. 
Eighty-four victims remained behind and were buried in a garden in the neighbourhood.

"There were other murders on that same 23rd of August.

"Soldiers discovered inhabitants of the suburb Saint Pierre in the cellars of a brewery, 
and killed them on the spot.

"On the previous day many workmen of the silk factory Kimmer and their wives and 
children had found a shelter in the cellars of the building, with some neighbours and 
relatives; of their employer. At six o'clock in the evening the unfortunate people made up 
their mind to leave their hiding-place and went into the street, headed by a white flag. 
They were immediately seized by the soldiers and roughly ill-treated. All the men were 
shot, among them Mr. Kimmer, Consul of Argentina.

"Nearly all the men of the suburb Leffe were massacred en masse. In another quarter 
twelve citizens were murdered in a cellar. In the Rue en Ile a paralytic was shot in his 
bath-chair, and in the Rue d'Enfer a boy, fourteen years old, was struck down by a 
soldier.

"The railway viaduct of the suburb Neffe became the scene of a bloody massacre. An 
old woman and all her children were shot in a cellar. A man sixty-five years old, his wife, 
a son and a daughter were placed against a wall and shot through the head. Other 
inhabitants of Neffe were placed in a boat, taken to the Rocher Bayard, and shot there; 
among them were a woman eighty-three years old and her husband.

"A number of men and women had been locked in the yard of the prison. ... At six 
o'clock in the evening a mitrailleuse was placed on the mountain and fired at them, an 
old woman and three others being killed.

"Whilst some soldiers committed these murders, others looted and wrecked the houses, 
smashed the safes or blew them up with dynamite. They forced their way into the 
Banque Centrale de la Meuse, seized the manager, Mr. Xavier Wasseige, and called 
upon him to open the safe. As he refused to do so, they tried to force it open, but in 
vain. Thereupon they took Mr. Wasseige and his two eldest sons to the Place d'Armes, 
where they and 120 of their fellow-citizens were shot by means of a mitrailleuse. The 
youngest three children of Mr. Wasseige were held by soldiers and forced to attend the 
slaughter of their father and brothers. We were also informed that one of the young 
Wasseiges lay dying for an hour and nobody dared to come to his assistance.

"After the soldiers had performed their duty as vandals and bandits they set the houses 
on fire. Soon the whole town was one immense pool of fire.

"All the women and children had been taken to a convent, where they were kept 
imprisoned for four days, without hearing of the fate of their beloved ones. They 
themselves expected to be shot in their turn. Round about them the burning of the town 
went on.

"The first day the religious were allowed to give them some food, although not sufficient. 
Soon they had nothing to eat but carrots and unripe fruit.

"The inquiry also brought to light that the German soldiers on the right bank, who were 
exposed to the fire of the French, hid themselves here and there behind civilians, 
women and children.

"In short the town of Dinant is destroyed. Of 1,400 houses, 200 only remained standing. 
The factories, where the labouring population got their bread and butter, were wrecked 
systematically. Many inhabitants were sent to Germany, where they are still kept as 
prisoners. The majority of the others are scattered all over Belgium. Those who stayed 
in the towns were starved.

"The committee has a list of the victims. It contains 700 names, and is not complete. 
Among those killed are seventy-three women and thirty-nine children between six 
months and fifteen years old.

"Dinant had 7,600 inhabitants, of whom ten per cent, were put to death; not a family 
exists which has not to mourn the death of some victims; many families have been 
exterminated completely."

When we entered the town in our motor-car, those of the unfortunate population who 
had escaped from the murderous massacre had already left the town. Between the ruins 
and the deserted French Red Cross cars we drove to the pontoon bridge which the 
Germans had flung across the river by the side of the Meuse bridge, which had been 
blown up. Here we were stopped by German soldiers who guarded the pontoon bridge. 
In a caf we came across a few of the citizens who had remained. These unfortunate 
people had no home, no money, and no food, lacked the wherewithal to go farther 
away, and now depended on the charity of the murderers of their relatives. Twice a day 
they were allowed to call at one of the German stores for a piece of bread, in exchange 
for a ticket which they might get at the commander's office. The Germans, upholders of 
morality and "Kultur," saw to it that their victims did not overeat themselves.

Our passport had to be stamped by this same commander, and my colleague had to ask 
him for a permit to take photographs. The commander would not hear of this, but finally 
agreed, after my colleague had snapshotted him and his staff in front of the office. Our 
passport was marked: "1. Landsturm Infantry Battalion, Dresden."

Dinant offered a terrible sight; it no longer existed. On foot, of course, we walked along 
the place where a large shop once stood, but one could not even distinguish where the 
road had been. Not one street was left, and the few houses that were saved are not in 
the centre of the town. On a slope on the left bank of the Meuse there had been two 
large monasteries, which had been turned into hospitals. They had been wrecked 
completely by gun-fire, and as if in bitter mockery at the cruel fate, the Red Cross flags 
flew there still undamaged.

In the centre of the town everything, including the large buildings, had been levelled with 
the ground. This was the case with the principal church "de Notre Dame," the college of 
the same name, the "Belle Vue," the monasteries, etc., of the "Frres et Soeurs de 
Notre Dame," the "Saint Nicolas" and "Saint Pierre" churches, and three large factories, 
"Oudin," "Le Mrinos," and "La Dinant," the "Banque Centrale de la Meuse," the town-
hall, the ancient "Palace of the Prince-Bishops," and all its archives, the magnificent 
post-and-telegraph office, the large hotels "de la Tete d'Or," "des Postes," "des 
Ardennes," "Moderne," "Terminus," the hotels "de la Citadelle," "la Paix," "la Gare," etc., 
etc., the "Institut Hydro-therapique," all houses of the "Bon Secours" Congregation, etc.

The finest view of Dinant was from the beautiful bridge affording a passage across the 
Meuse with the "Notre Dame" in the background. This church was built just in front of a 
steep rock, on top of which stood the citadel of Dinant.

Now the bridge is blown up, the greater part of the church destroyed by the Germans, 
and, had nature not been more powerful than their brutal, clumsy violence, they would 
have pulled down that rock too. But it is still there, the solitary remnant of the famous 
beauty of Dinant.

My companion wanted to take a snapshot of this point, but in order to enliven the scene 
somewhat, he requested a few soldiers to stand in the square in front of the church. 
Each had a couple of champagne bottles hanging on his stomach, and refused 
absolutely to accede to my colleague's request to remove them. They insisted upon 
being snapshotted with those bottles hanging on their bodies! So my companion took 
this snapshot of "Kultur" in that condition, houses burned down, a church destroyed, and 
in front of these the grinning and coarse villains, puffing out their bodies, proud of their 
empty bottles.



Chapter XII

On the Battle-Fields

As often as I went on tour to collect news on the scene of war, I got dozens of 
messages and letters, which alarmed people sent to the editor of De Tijd, with the 
request that they should be handed to me for further transmission to relatives. I took 
hundreds of them to and from Louvain.

On Monday, September 14th, I took with me a larger number than ever to Louvain.

I observed then already that much poverty prevailed, for in many places I noticed people 
whose appearance did not suggest that they were accustomed to that sort of work, 
creeping quietly in and out of hedges, carrying bags in which they put the potatoes 
picked up in the fields. Naturally they started and looked alarmed, when, suddenly, I 
passed on my bicycle.

Round about Louvain everything was prepared for defensive purposes, artillery being 
hidden under straw-roofs, only a few yards away from the farmhouses, and the sentries 
were very alert. I never saw them before I was quite near; then they jumped suddenly 
from behind a tree, summoning me to stop by lowering their rifle. In the meadows were 
a good many newly cut trenches.

Some soldiers were rather friendly when I revealed myself as a Netherland reporter; 
they informed me with serious faces that in Germany two million volunteers were drilling; 
that in each garrison-town the majority of the men were left behind as reserves; that by 
and by they were going to level Antwerp to the ground, if these Belgians would not keep 
quiet; that after all Belgium proved a bigger-job than they had bargained for; that 
Amsterdam and Rotterdam had been shelled and Flushing taken by the British; that 
Germany had now sent a great number of troops into The Netherlands to protect her 
against Britain, because The Netherlands herself had no army at all; and so on and so 
on.

One of the soldiers took me to the spot where two days before the Belgians had blown 
up the railway which had just now been repaired by the German engineers. According to 
his story eighty troopers had succeeded in surprising a guard of twelve and in pushing 
on to the railway.

Near Corbeek-Loo a strong Belgian force had been able even to reach the main road to 
Louvain, and there also destroyed the railway, after which they retreated before the 
advancing Germans.

These minor actions formed part of the sortie by the Belgians from Antwerp. One 
division marched towards Louvain and occupied Aerschot on Thursday evening, 
September l0th. On Friday they advanced farther in the direction of Wijgmaal- Rotselair- 
Corbeek-Loo, with continuous hard fighting. On Saturday the fights were fiercest round 
about these places, and ended in the evening in a retreat of the Belgians, who made the 
enemy pay as heavily as possible for their victory, although they themselves had to 
leave behind a good many victims.

Considerations of space forbid me to relate many of the heroic deeds performed on this 
occasion, but an exception may be made of the following: 

When I arrived in Louvain I heard of a young Fleming who was then being nursed in a 
hospital established by the Norbertine Fathers, and had been serving at two pieces of 
ordnance near Corbeek-Loo. As the army was forced to retreat in the evening his 
comrades were compelled to abandon the two guns, but he had to stay, being wounded 
in the leg by a grape shot. The Germans made him prisoner, and tied him to a tree. By 
an immense effort he succeeded in tearing himself loose, and dragged himself towards 
a farm-house. At a short distance from this goal he was stopped, however, by a German 
soldier. The Fleming, putting forth all his remaining strength, gave the other such a 
tremendous blow in the face with his rifle-butt that he fell down dead. Subsequently this 
boy reached the farm-house, where he was charitably received. Later on he was fetched 
away by the Sisters from Boven-Loo, and finally from that institution by the Norbertine 
Fathers.

The Belgians left also a considerable number of dead and wounded at Wijgmaal and 
Rotselair. On Tuesday, September 15th, I visited the battle-fields in that neighbourhood 
with father Coppens, a Netherland Norbertine, born at Lieshout. The wounds of the 
soldiers lying there were in a most terrible condition, because the Germans forbade the 
removal of the Belgian wounded before all the German dead had been buried. In my 
opinion not only a proof of barbarity, but also an admission that the Germans 
themselves must have suffered great losses.

The Wijgmaal battle-field was after all the least horrible. About ten houses seemed to 
have been set on fire on purpose; the rest had suffered badly from the bombardment. 
All the inhabitants had fled as soon as the fighting began. The wounded Belgians had 
been placed in the large dancing-room of a caf, where father Coppens brought them a 
large hamper full of eatables and drinkables, and whence also he had them transported 
to Louvain. The food was gratefully accepted, but they were still more eager to get hold 
of the mugs, as they were very thirsty in consequence of the high temperature caused 
by the inflamed wounds; often we had to prevent them forcibly from drinking too much.

We passed a dead field-officer who still laid hold of a piece of a flag. When I read that 
sort of thing in a book, I thought: "how pretty and romantic," but never believed that this 
would actually happen in war-time. I saw the reality now, and, deeply touched, bared my 
head, saluting that dead hero. From papers we found on him we saw that his name was 
Van Gesthel; like most Belgians, he had been killed by shell.

I went on with Father Coppens and found about one hundred wounded, of whom only a 
few had been taken to the houses. Most of them crept away frightened, but when we 
told them that we were Netherlander from Louvain, who came to bring them food and 
drink, and to take them away to be nursed, they got hold of our coats and refused to let 
us go.

They drank deep, in long draughts, with trembling lips, and beseeched us not to leave 
them again: "Oh, gentlemen, then we shall die!" We swore that we should come back, 
and that later on carriages would arrive from Louvain to take them to some convent or 
hospital; and, trusting us, they resigned themselves in the end.

Goats, pigs, cows, and other cattle roamed freely through the village-street, looking for 
food and licking the faces of the dead.

We entered a stable whence we thought that a sound came. We saw, however, nothing 
but a heap of straw, and a pig which ran up against us near the door. Father Coppens 
chased it away with a: 

"Get you gone, you brute!"

And all at once the straw began to move, a head popped out, and a weak voice 
exclaimed: 

"Ah well, be you a Fleming?"

The poor fellow had hidden himself, being afraid that we were Germans; but when he 
heard the "Get you gone, you brute!" he ventured to show himself.

"Certainly, my lad," said Father Coppens "certainly we are Flemings. What is the 
matter with you?"

We removed the rest of the straw, undressed him partially, and on both his legs the 
most hideous wounds became visible. Septic process had worsened his condition to 
such an extent, that the unfortunate boy had only a short time to live. I moved away ... 
he confessed to Father Coppens, who gave him the viaticum, which he carried with him.

Later on people from Louvain came with carts, which we had ordered before leaving. 
Thirteen of these carried the wounded away, whilst a German patrol went all over the 
village, setting everything on fire.

Father Coppens and I beseeched the German commanding officer to spare the houses 
of some people, large families, who came for shelter to the father's convent. And at 
length, after long supplications, we secured exemption for a few houses, inhabited by 
people who could not have done anything in a village which had been completely 
evacuated by the population, at the beginning of the fight.

In the Hospital Leo XIII, that eager Netherlander, Professor Noyons, did all he could to 
save as many as could be saved of the wretched Belgian wounded; but as rain and cold 
had done so much harm to the wounds, amputation of the injured limbs was as a rule 
the only remedy left.

Never thinking of rest he went on day and night, taking away the poor fellows' arms and 
legs, and all this by the miserable light of some candles. Gas and electricity were not to 
be had, the works being idle after the destruction of the town. . . .



Chapter XIII

Round About Bilsen

Although at first I had a different plan, I decided on Saturday, September 26th, to go first 
to Riempst a little walk of three hours each wayas I had read a report in certain 
papers quoted from the Handelsblad van Antwerpen that the church of Riempst had 
been burned and the vicars of that parish and of Sichem had been made prisoners.

Arrived at Riempst I found the pretty village church in its full glory and the vicar engaged 
in performing his religious functions; the vicar of Sichem was also still at home. The only 
part of the report that was true was that various burgomasters from the environs had 
been sent to Tongres and had not returned since. The burgomaster of Riempst, with 
whom I had been imprisoned already once, was being searched for by the Germans 
everywhere, but could not be found. In several places I heard also that the Belgians 
were lying in the woods round about, and that something was being prepared at 
Riempst; but no one knew what. So I decided to go and inquire.

The road was quite deserted, for the people, who live in great fear, do not venture out.

As far as Bilsen everything seemed equally deserted, but quite near the town a couple 
of German soldiers suddenly came to me from behind a house, and ordered me to stop. 
They took me with them to the guard, which was established in the aforementioned 
house.

There it appeared that my papers were in good order, but at the same time I was 
informed that I was to be taken to the commanding officer at the station and could not 
be allowed to leave Bilsen for the present. I was escorted through the townlet, which 
appeared to be entirely deserted; but now and then somebody came to his front-door to 
watch the latest victim of the Germans being led past. At the station I was pushed 
without much courtesy into a keep where six other civilians sat, who had been picked up 
as being at large, and whose faces were now covered with a cold perspiration from fear, 
because they were firmly convinced that by and by they would be shot.

Three soldiers stood before the open door and amused themselves by provoking these 
people in the most inhuman manner, by abusing them and telling them that later on they 
would be hanged or shot. The poor fellows shivered and their teeth clattered. I, the 
newly arrived "swine," was treated in much the same way, but I reduced the insolent 
blusterers into the quietest people of the world by warning them that by and by I would 
ask the commanding officer whether his soldiers had the right to call a Netherlander a 
"swine." That put some heart into my fellow-victims, and I urged them that they would do 
best by replying calmly to any questions which the commanding officer might put to 
them. They actually became more composed, and told me the following: 

The Germans had evacuated Bilsen some days ago, probably after being informed that 
a strong force of Belgians was coming on. As a matter of fact, only eleven Belgian 
soldiers had entered the townlet. These had pulled down the German flag from the 
town-hall and replaced it by the Belgian. The station and the railway were then closed to 
the public for a couple of hours, and in that time they pulled up the rails in two places. 
On Friday evening the Germans returned in great numbers by train from Tongres, and 
the train derailed on one of those places; but no lives were lost, as it went very slowly.

The Germans had then taken it into their heads that the Belgians occupied Bilsen and 
the station, and began a terrific fire at the station and the surrounding houses, although 
there was not a single Belgian soldier in the whole town. When they had satisfied 
themselves that this was the case, they stopped firing, and were furious on account of 
the derailing and the mistake they had made. They then started a wild hunt for the men, 
and set about ten houses on fire, as also the signalman's cottage, because he had not 
warned them of the danger by waving his red flag.

They made no allowance for the fact that they themselves had relieved all railway 
officials of their functions until later notification. The signalman was made a prisoner, but 
released subsequently.

As soon as they began to chase the men, the greater part of the inhabitants fled in dire 
fear, most of them towards the Campine. In the fields and the shrubberies the Germans 
must have killed a good many of the male fugitives, and made the others prisoners. 
Among the latter were my six fellow-victims.

That same Friday evening the women and children living in the Rue de la Station were 
told to leave their houses as the whole street was to be burned down. Everybody fled, 
but the design was not executed. The burgomaster and his son were taken prisoners, 
and brought to Tongres; later on the son was released; the Very Reverend the Dean 
was also arrested.

The latter himself told me that he was released in order to instruct the vicars in the 
eighteen parishers of his deanery that they should inform their parishioners that the 
whole village would be burned and the inhabitants killed if the railway-line should be 
broken up, no matter whether it were done by Belgian soldiers or others.

After I had been incarcerated for about two hours I was taken to the commanding 
officer, Major Krittel, or rather to one of his subordinates, Captain Spuer, who was 
having a violent altercation with his chief. The captain appeared to insist with great force 
that the whole place should be burned down and all the prisoners shot. But the major 
seemed to be a tolerably reasonable man, tried to soothe the captain, and at last put 
down his foot, saying that he had had enough. The captain, a rude, fat fellow, sat down 
at a desk and bellowed at me: 

"Here, swine!"

I did not budge.

"Here, swine!"

"I am a Netherlander."

"Netherlander? Doesn't matter. Have you got papers? All right. You shan't have those 
back."

"Then I'll lodge a complaint with the Imperial Governor of Lige, who gave me the 
papers."

"Swine!"

Now the major jumped up and shouted at his subordinate that he had to treat a 
Netherlander as he ought to be treated.

The major, sitting at another desk, took my further examination upon himself, 
apologising for the "noisy" conduct of his subordinate, who had got somewhat 
overexcited in consequence of the circumstances. He found my papers in perfect order, 
and told me in civil tones that I should get back my liberty which I had lost in 
consequence of a misunderstanding, but that for the present I was not allowed to leave 
Bilsen, as I should run the greatest risk of being shot by German or Belgian patrols, who 
were hidden along the road. He asked me to call again the next morning.

I availed myself of his benevolent mood and told him that my fellow-prisoners were 
treated very unkindly by his soldiers, and these people had lost their composure entirely 
in consequence. A calm examination, I told him, undoubtedly would give him also the 
conviction that these people had only fled into the fields because they were afraid, but 
not with any criminal intent. He promised me to conduct the examination himself, and to 
be as kind as possible. The next morning I heard that they had all been released.

I now tried to get something to eat in the town at an hotel.

"Well, what have you got for me to eat?"

"To eat, sirto eat? A bit of bacon . . . that's all."

"Well, that's all right; and what am I going to have with it, bread, potatoes, or ..."

"Bread, potatoes? Nothing. We have nothing."

I went to various other places, but there I could not even get a bit of bacon. So I made 
up my mind to starve for the present, and to make inquiries here and there about 
families whose acquaintances or friends had asked me to do so through the editor of De 
Tijd.

Afterwards I sauntered through the very quiet little town, until I suddenly saw something 
quite uncommon, namely two civilians who, like myself, were walking about. When I 
came near, one of them recited a rhyme: 

"Ah, there comes Mister Tijd, and he
Lost like ourselves his liberty!"

I had not the faintest idea who they were, but then they introducted themselves as van 
Wersch and Dasoul, both living at the time at Hasselt. The first had been at Maastricht a 
couple of days ago and had seen me there. He told me that that morning he had been 
"hooked" and his companion only the evening before. He had come to Bilsen on a 
bicycle, and got such a blow on his back from the butt of a German rifle that the butt 
was cracked in two although his back was not injured.

He had been uneasy because he experienced no disagreeable consequences of that 
blow, and had therefore consulted the doctor at Bilsen, who thought that only his excited 
nerves had enabled him to withstand such a blow. Both had been locked up a couple of 
hours and their bicycles had been taken away, as also their papers. Mr. van Wersch, 
however, had an acquaintance at Bilsen with whom he and his companion found 
lodgings, and whither he was good enough to take me as well.

After a bed had been promised me, my first request was for something to eat, for I had 
not enjoyed anything as yet. But there was nothing left, absolutely nothing. I scratched 
my head, and rubbed my empty stomach, when suddenly I heard a fowl cackling 
outside. Negotiations about it were soon finished; my companion was to kill the fowl, 
whereas I was to call on Major Krittel and tell him that I liked my enforced stay in Bilsen 
very much, but that he ought to see now that I got something to eat.

I returned with two large round "brown Georges"soldiers' loaves.

Never did I enjoy a meal so much; but not so the kind people who had received us so 
friendly; they could not eat. The terror which reigned among the population in those 
days was indescribable. One must have seen it and gone through it with them, to realise 
it. They really feared that at any moment the Germans would drive the population out of 
the houses and set the town on fire.

Men and women in the prime of life sat on their chairs, gazing vacantly at nothing, 
lacking in the most literal sense of the word the strength to stand or to walk. When at 
about six o'clock in the evening the click-clack of rifle-fire was heardfor a Belgian 
patrol seemed to have come near the town, my hostess and her daughter pressed a 
couple of papers against their breast, full of fear, ready to fly, but unable to walk.

That same afternoon also I made the acquaintance of the editor of a local weekly, De 
Bilsenaar, which was not allowed to appear during the occupation of the place by the 
Germans. He and others had a great many things to tell me.

Not half of the requisitioned meat was used by the Germans, and the rest was simply 
left to rot, whilst the starving people were not allowed to touch it. Two pigs and a cow 
were shot in a meadow, but no part of these animals had been used, the order to bury 
them being given when the smell became unendurable. In some places the Germans 
indulged in such unspeakably filthy acts, that it is impossible to mention details.

When the Germans entered Bilsen for the first time, four persons were shot in front of 
the town-hall; fifteen holes were still to be seen in the wall. Amongst these four was also 
the brother-in-law of the editor of the Bilsenaar. He was dragged out of his house, 
accused of having shot, although he and his wife and children were at that moment 
saying the rosary. His wife had got up that day for the first time after her confinement.

The unhappy man asserted in a loud voice that he was innocent, but got the answer that 
he would have to prove that later on. But he never had a chance of doing that. Arriving 
at the marketplace, he and three others were simply placed against the wall and shot. 
He could not even have spiritual assistance.

Frequently Protestant services were held in the market-place, conducted by a parson, 
and the invariable beginning and end of that parson's allocution was: "There is one God; 
there must also be one Kaiser."

A good many lads had been able to escape from Bilsen and the environs to Antwerp; in 
the aggregate, 500 from this district, and more went every day. They were driven to the 
Belgian army by all they had seen and experienced. Often one heard women and girls 
say: "Oh, if I were a man, if I were a boy, I should be in the army to-morrow!"

I was sitting comfortably in the home circle of the editor of De Bilsenaar, with father, 
mother, and daughter. They had one son of eighteen, who was at the Junior Seminary 
at Hasselt, and only the first Sunday in August he had left for Heerenth in order to offer 
himself as a missionary aspirant. The next Wednesday the would-be missionary, an only 
son, enlisted as a volunteer in the Belgian army. . . . He was already the sixteenth of his 
form of twenty-three boys at the college at Hasselt.

The father got up and went to a small cupboard from which he took some papers, and 
his eyes, and those of his wife and daughter, became moist at once; letters from their 
only boy, written on the battle-field! He read them out with a broken voice, frequently 
interrupted by sobs. I said nothing, could not utter a word.

The boy also had been obliged to retire into France, had been transported from Rheims 
to Havre, and from there, across the sea,back to Belgium. "Five times already, my dear 
parents, I have been in the fight; I have asked them not to let me wait long for the sixth. 
Oh, you cannot imagine how glorious it is to be allowed to fight for my country! Have 
confidence in the future, dear parents, and say a paternoster for me and my comrades 
and also one for our Fatherland."

Well, I could not keep calm when I heard such things read by a father from a letter of his 
only son on the battle-field; that is impossible.

The next morning was Sunday, and the bells summoned the people to church. But 
nobody went, nobody dared to appear in the street, although prayer-book and rosary are 
always in everybody's hands during these days. I had decided to go to the second Mass, 
but as nobody had come to the first, there was no second. The Dean himself said that 
the people were quite right not to come to church. The previous Sunday the Germans, 
who had entered Lanaeken suddenly, had posted themselves in front of the church, 
where the believers attended Holy Mass, and ordered the women and children to leave 
the church, but the men to stay. When all the women and children had left, the Germans 
entered the building and . . . found not a single man, for all had left quickly by the back 
door. A veritable battue was held in the whole district for lads and young men, who were 
all taken away as prisoners by the Germans, because during the last few days great 
numbers had escaped to the north and enlisted as volunteers in the army.

I went to the commander's office, and on the way copied the following Proclamation: 

"PROCLAMATION

"Private motor-cars, motor-bicycles, and bicycles are only allowed to move about in the 
districts occupied by the German army if driven by German soldiers, or the chauffeur 
possesses a licence. These licences are only issued by the local commanders, and only 
in urgent cases. The motor-cars, motor-bicycles, and bicycles will be seized if this rule is 
infringed. Anyone who tries to push through the German outposts shall be shot at, as 
also anyone who approaches them in such a manner that he seems to be a spy.

"Should telegraph- or telephone-wires be cut in the neighbourhood of towns and 
villages, these places will be sentenced to pay a war-contribution, whether the 
inhabitants are guilty or not.

"The Governor-General of Belgium.

"BARON VON DER GOLTZ,

"Field-Marshal."

At the station Major examining a civilian and Krittel was engaged in his wife. The man 
had been found in a field; both shook from nervous excitement and wept profusely. The 
major spoke calmly and encouragingly, and after a short examination both got their 
liberty. Major Krittel was also very kind to me again, but asked emphatically whether I 
knew that writing false news exposed me to the danger of capital punishment. I 
answered that I was firmly convinced of that. He then gave me another proclamation to 
read in which this was mentioned, and I asked and got permission to put the document 
in my pocket. It runs as follows: 

"TONGRES.

"24.9.1914,

"PROCLAMATION

"Several cases which occurred in the Province of Limburg oblige me to acquaint the 
inhabitants of a number of regulations: 

"According to Clause 58, Section 1, of the Military Penal Code, sentence of capital 
punishment for treason will be pronounced against those who, intending to assist an 
enemy army, or to injure the German army: 

"1. Commit a punishable offence mentioned in Clause 90 of the German Penal Code.

"2. Injure or make useless roads or telegraphic instruments.

"3. Serve the enemy as guides in a military undertaking against the German allied 
forces, or mislead the latter when serving them as guides.

"4. Who in whatever way in order to harass or mislead the German forces make military 
or other signals, urge to flee, or prevent the reunion of straggling soldiers.

"5. Who undertake to enter into verbal or written communication with persons in the 
army or the fleet, of the enemy country at war with Germany, about matters relating to 
the war itself.

"6. Who distribute in the German army hostile incitements or communications.

"7. Who neglect necessary precautions which ought to be taken on behalf of the army.

"8. Liberate prisoners of war.

"According to Clause 90 of the German Penal Code, sentence of penal servitude for life 
will be pronounced against those: 

"I. Who surrender to the enemy, either German troops or fortified bulwarks, trenches or 
fortified places, or defences, as also parts or belongings of the German army.

"2. Who surrender to the enemy of the German forces defensive works, ships or 
transports of the fleet, public funds, stocks of arms, munitions, or other war material, as 
also bridges, railways, telegraphs, or other means of communication; or who destroy 
them or make them useless on behalf of the enemy.

"3. Supply men to the enemy or entice away others who belong to the German army.

"4. Who serve the enemy as a spy, lodge hostile spies, hide them or aid them.

"And it is also to be noticed that it is forbidden to distribute newspapers and other 
printed matter published in the part of Belgium not occupied by German forces. It is 
forbidden to take communications of whatever kind from these parts of Belgium and 
those that are occupied by the German army. These offences will be punished with 
imprisonment. Serious cases, as, for example, any attempt to assist the hostile forces, 
will be followed by sentence of death.

"STERZEL,

" Major and Commanding Officer."

I had also to promise the major that on my return I should bring with me a copy of De 
Tijd in which all I had experienced and seen in Bilsen was described, and also a box of 
Netherland cigars, which he promised to pay for; then I was allowed to go.

As I went a patrol marched outreinforcements had again come from Tongreswhose 
task was to clear the district of the enemy. The patrol consisted of six Death-head 
hussars,about forty bicyclists, and the rest infantry, altogether about four hundred men, 
who were able to keep together, because the hussars and the cyclists proceeded very 
slowly and cautiously in the direction of Lanaeken. I went with them, chatting with one of 
the officers. As soon as they had got to the road, the greatest caution was observed. 
The hussars went in front, followed by some of the infantry, all in loose formation, 
continually looking about in all directions, with the finger at the cock of the rifle.

Not a single person was seen on the road, and everything went well until we got to the 
village of Veldwezelt. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, a violent rifle fire and a continued 
whistling of bullets was heard from the neighbourhood of a house close by. Although the 
soldiers later on asserted to the contrary, I was sure that the firing did not come from the 
house, but from some underwood near by.

After some firing one of the hussars was hit and fell from his horse, which ran away. A 
few seconds later another hussar was hit in his arm and his horse in its hind-part. Rider 
and horse flew away from the fire. The Germans had, of course, immediately answered 
the firing, and pulled me with them behind the bend of the road, where I lay down with 
them flat on the ground. A Belgian soldier who came out of the shrubbery with three 
others was shot, but as the firing went on for some time and the hussars and cyclists 
began to take to their heels, some order was given, and the Germans jumped up and 
ran away in the direction of Bilsen. I was told to come with them, so I also ran, and we 
all arrived at Bilsen out of breath. As soon as they had recovered their breath they gave 
vent to their rage.

They yelled and shouted and said that Bilsen and the whole district must be burned 
down, that the major was far too kind, that they were cowardly soldiers who hid 
themselves in houses and dared not fight an honest fight in the open, that civilians had 
also been shooting, and so on. I pointed out that the firing did not come from the house, 
but from the shrubbery near the house; that nobody could have seen a civilian shooting. 
As they insisted, I said with a laugh that they had seen ghosts. That excited them so; 
that they came on to me in a rage, and asked whether this was a laughing matter? And 
they would surely have used violence had not the sergeant intervened.

I went immediately to the major to give him a detailed report of the occurrence, and I 
believe that I may say without boasting that owing to my intervention Veldwezelt was not 
burned down, although other frightful things happened there.

The hussar who was first hit, died later on. The other appeared to be only slightly 
wounded in the arm.

Of course I had to remain at Bilsen after this adventure. The major appeased his men 
somewhat, mounted a ridiculously small horse, and marched out at the head of his men. 
Two hundred men who had just arrived from Tongres were added as reinforcements to 
the major's troops, who had now about six hundred men with him. Thus they went again 
to Veldwezelt, but the few Belgians, who were no fools, had left of course.

Towards evening the major returned with his men, who in loud voices sounded forth all 
sorts of patriotic songs, elated because they had driven away the enemy. As he entered 
I addressed the major, who with a grand sweep of his arm called out to me: "You may 
go now; I have cleared the whole district."

I was very curious to know what had happened in Veldwezelt. When I came near the 
village, I noticed great activity; men, women, and children were busy with saws and 
hatchets cutting down all the trees and shrubs along the rosd.

Beautiful hedges, which had been grown artificially in fine forms for years, fell under the 
blows of the hatchets. The reason? Before the day was over all hedges, all shrubs, and 
all trees had to be cut down, or the village would be set on fire. Still shaking and 
trembling in consequence of the terrors they had experienced during the day, old men, 
women, and children with red flushed cheeks joined in the work; they had not even 
taken time to change their Sunday- for their working-day clothes.

And if that had been all! But dozens of boys and young men had been taken to Bilsen as 
prisoners. There had been a real hunt for all able-bodied lads who might be of any use 
in the Belgian army. Women and old men were compelled by threats to betray the 
hiding-places of their sons or husbands, and if one of them was found hidden away 
under straw or in barns, he was ill-treated or beaten with rifle-butts. Some fled to 
Maastricht, others to the Campine, the northern part of Belgium. I presume that both 
groups have at length arrived in Antwerp.

Dr. Beckers, Government veterinary surgeon at Veldwezelt, had also been taken to 
Bilsen as a hostage. The Germans asserted that the Belgians in Lanaeken had taken 
prisoner a German military veterinary surgeon who looked after the horses, and now 
intended to keep Dr. Beckers until the Belgians should have released the German 
military veterinary surgeon.

During the occupation a war contribution of 150,000 francs in silver had been imposed 
on Bilsen, although there was hardly any silver left in the place. This punishment was 
inflicted because Belgian soldiers had destroyed the railway in two places.

Near Lanaeken I met suddenly a Belgian soldier, who did not trouble me after I had 
shown him my papers. I was quite astonished to find that man there all by himself, whilst 
so many Germans were only a few miles away. When I asked whether he knew this, he 
answered: 

"Yes."

"Are you not afraid?"

"No."

"But when the Germans come!"

"Then I shall shoot."

"But that will mean death for yourself."

"What does that matter? What do I care for life? I come from Dinant; they have 
murdered my dear parents, burned our house. What good is it to me to be alive? I 
requested them to give me this dangerous outpost. When the Germans come, I'll shoot, 
and then my comrades at Lanaeken will be warned. Then I'll kill three or four of them, 
but after that I shall be ready to die myself."

The man looked at me with glittering eyes full of the passion of revenge. I pressed his 
hand and went on.

Lanaeken seemed to have been reoccupied by the Belgians, after the occurrences of 
the previous Sunday. When I entered the place, I found the greater number of the men 
round about the station.

The Belgians who had fired at the Germans near Veldwezelt had also come back there. 
They were eleven motor-cyclists who had been reconnoitring; when near Veldwezelt 
they saw the Germans approach and hid themselves in the shrubberies, intending to 
attack them. The only wounded person they had was only slightly hurt, and within a few 
days he would be able to rejoin his comrades.

Mr. van Wersch, whom I mentioned above, and who shared imprisonment with me at 
Bilsen, had a rather disagreeable adventure a few days afterwards, when he had the 
misfortune of being mistaken for the war-correspondent of De Tijd.

My letter to that paper about what had happened in Bilsen seemed to have reached the 
German authorities at that place, and these gentlemen were not at all pleased with it. 
When Mr. van Wersch came back to the place a few days afterwards he was mistaken 
for myself, and arrested at once.

After having been searched all over,he was escorted by a sergeant and two soldiers to 
Tongres, where they took him to Captain Spuer, the same fat officer who, so kindly, had 
called me a "swine."

When they arrived at Tongres, the captain happened to have returned to Bilsen, whither 
the prisoner was brought back by the same escort. But Captain Spuer seemed not to be 
found there either, in consequence of which the major allowed Mr. van Wersch at last to 
go on.

When he passed the village of Veldwezelt he met a motor-car ... in which was Captain 
Spuer. He recognised his victim at once, and also mistook him for the war 
correspondent of De Tijd. Mr. van Wersch was immediately detained again, and taken 
to a farm-house in the neighbourhood, where he was threatened with a revolver, and 
roared at: "You are the correspondent of De Tijd.''

Mr. van Wersch denied this of course, but nevertheless they took him to Bilsen in the 
motor-car. There he was searched once more, the Netherland letters he had with him 
were taken away, as also 1,800 francs. But when he was released they gave him back 
the money.

Mr. van Wersch was told that they intended to send him to Tongres, but after a 
deliberation between Captain Spuer and Major Krittel, a very kind man as I have already 
remarked, he was allowed to stay at Bilsen until the examination should be over. He was 
allowed to walk through the townlet under military escort at first, but later entirely free, 
and to sleep at the station under military guard. After another search, he was at last 
allowed to leave for Maastricht on Monday morning.



Chapter XIV

During the Siege of Antwerp

Many days before the Germans marched upon Antwerp I announced the siege in my 
paper. In Louvain I had seen all the preparations and also the arrival of the Austrian 
30.5 cm which were intended to batter to ruins the bulwark of the national defence.

As soon as the siege had begun, I tried to join the Germans, via Louvain, and left 
Maastricht again by motor-car. Only a few miles from the Netherland frontier I met the 
first soldiers, Belgians. When they saw the Orange flag with the word "Nederland," they 
let us pass without any trouble. A little farther on the road walked a civilian, who, by 
putting up his hands, requested or commanded us to stop. We took the most prudent 
part, and did stop. The man asked in bad Dutch to be allowed to drive on with us to 
Brussels, but the motor was not going beyond Tirlemont; outside that place motor-traffic 
was forbidden. The stranger got in all the same, in order to have a convenient journey at 
least so far.

My new companion tried desperately to speak as good Dutch as possible, but failed in 
the most deplorable manner; every time pure German words came in between. He told a 
story that he stayed at Maastricht as a refugee, and now wanted to fetch his children 
from a girls' boarding-school at Brussels. I pretended to believe every word, and after he 
had forgotten the first story he made up another, saying that he came from Lige, where 
some officers who were billeted on him were kind enough to give him a chance of going 
to Brussels, to purchase stock for his business.

When we were stopped by German outposts he put out of the window a paper at which 
they just glanced, stood to attention, and said that all was well. They did not even want 
to see my papers. In a casual way I asked what a miraculous sort of paper he had, and 
then he pretended that, by the help of those officers who were quartered on him, he had 
got a certificate from the Governor of Lige with the order to treat him with great respect 
and also to allow him to travel by military trains if the opportunity happened to offer itself.

In Tongres it was necessary to get a passport signed, and pay three marks each, and 
ten marks for the motor. But the office of the commander was not open before three 
o'clock in the afternoon, according to the soldiers who were doing sentry-go in front of 
the town-hall. Wait till three o'clock? No fear! My companion showed his miraculous 
paper again, and was allowed to go in, but only by himself. I gave him my papers and 
those of the chauffeur, and also wanted to give him sixteen marks, three each for the 
chauffeur and myself and ten for the motor, but he said that that was unnecessary. 
Within twenty minutes the fellow came back with our verified passports on which the 
words "Paid: Free" were written.

A lot of artillery and a great number of soldiers were in the market-place ready to start. 
The commander sent one of his officers to us, who addressed me, examined my 
papers, and then said that I had surely met Belgian soldiers on the way. Of course I 
denied this emphatically.

"Don't you know then whether there are Belgian military in Vroenhoven?"

"No."

"And in Lanaeken?"

"I know nothing about that."

"Didn't hear either about it?"

"No."

Evidently he seemed to confide in me, and told me that they had been ordered to clear 
the northeast corner of Belgium of enemies, and that by and by they were going to 
march upon Lanaeken first of all.

When he was gone I gazed for some moments in silence at all these men and guns, 
destined to go and destroy by and by the heroes, who have done so much harm to the 
Germans, under command of the brave lieutenant Count de Caritat, burgomaster of 
Lanaeken. I thought of that brave Belgian from Dinant whom I met on his solitary 
outpost outside Lanaeken, and if I had acted according to my heart's desire, I should 
have sneaked away to the threatened point in order to warn those courageous men of 
the approaching disaster.

My mysterious companion touched my shoulder and asked whether we should not go 
on. "All right," I said, and we got in again.

At Tirlemont they were very busy rebuilding the burnt houses, although all day long the 
air shook from the heavy roar of the cannon near Antwerp.

I sent the motor back to The Netherlands, and went with my companion to the 
commander's office, where we got a permit to go on by military train.

From the side of Brussels many soldiers arrived at the station, who had all been 
wounded near Antwerp.

After a long time we were able to enter a train taking numerous new troops to Antwerp. 
We occupied a first-class compartment, which looked like a cattle-truck: pieces of 
bread, paper, cigar-ends, and tobacco were lying on the floor and the seats; the ledges 
of the windows were full of candle-grease.

We jogged on to Louvain at a rate of not quite three miles an hour. Here and there we 
had to wait a half or a whole hour to let trains from Brussels pass. The reason why the 
train went so slowly was because a week before a Belgian patrol had daringly broken 
through the outposts and destroyed the railway near Lovenjool. That village was then 
burned down completely and the vicar made a prisoner.

Near Louvain the train had to stop for another two hours, before it was allowed to enter 
the station, which was quite close by. I thanked my stars that at last I got rid of my 
companion, who travelled on to Brussels, whereas I got out at Louvain. It was too late to 
be allowed to walk in the streets, but the commander gave me an escort of two soldiers, 
who were to take me to the mission house of the Fathers of the Sacred Heart.

It was very cold that evening, and the outposts at Heverlee had all wrapped themselves 
up in blankets. Once or twice we were stopped, but the password of my escort removed 
all difficulties.

"Is it much farther ?" one of my armed guides asked.

"No, only a couple of minutes." "I am thirsty. I should like very much to have a glass of 
beer."

"Yes," I replied, "but everything is closed." "Yes, yes, but we shall like it also to-morrow, 
hi, hi, hi!"

It is as if the curse of drink always pursued the garrison in Louvain, for when and 
wherever I met German soldiers in that town, or came into touch with them, they were 
always drunk. That evening, also, I was glad when I arrived at the mission house, tipped 
the men, and got rid of them until the next day.

The Fathers were already in bed, but I soon got them out again. Within ten minutes I 
was enjoying what, in the circumstances, was a splendid meal, and the Fathers were 
absorbed in the daily and illustrated papers which I had brought for them.

The conditions at Louvain were the same as some weeks ago: hunger and misery. 
Some male prisoners had come back, and also over 150 female prisoners, who for more 
than a month had been in captivity in the Munster Camp. During the last days a real 
reign of terror ruled, Hostages were continually claimed, and nearly always they took 
clerics. The week before the people had feared a new destruction. It was said that there 
had been shooting again, but happily the inquiry showed that a German soldier did it, 
and he was punished. The shot had been fired in front of the Josephite convent.

.   

A remarkable strike had taken place in the Leo XIII Hospital. The head of this institution, 
Dr. Tits, also had been taken as a hostage. It was the most blackguardly act one can 
think of, to take away the man who had spent night and day mostly nursing wounded 
Germans. Dr. Noyons found it so harsh that he took counsel with the other doctors, and 
they decided not to resume work before Dr. Tits came back. This of course happened 
immediately.

The man who bears the full responsibility for the destruction of Louvain, General von 
Manteuffel, had left already when I visited the town this time, and nobody has ever been 
able to find out what became of him. The latest proclamations were all signed: "By order 
of the General Government of Brusselsthe Etappe-Commander."

Louvain was of course on tenterhooks about the course of the siege of Antwerp, but 
everybody was quite confident that this fortress would withstand a long, long time, 
although they saw quite well that the German attack was very fierce, for the tremendous 
roar of the cannon never ceased for a moment. A walking excursion of one day took me 
to Brussels. I might have done it in a few hours less, but I lost my way in the wood-paths 
near Brussels, for at a certain moment I read on a finger-post, "Brussels four miles"; and 
after walking for a long time, and wondering whether I should ever finish those four 
miles, I read suddenly: "Brussels eight miles!" That gave me such a shock that once 
more I had nearly taken the wrong way.

I put all my hope on a car that loomed up in the distance. It was assisting in the 
reprovisioning of Brussels, and only for that reason had the carman got permission to 
use it. I signalled to him, and he stoppeda big lout of a man who evidently had had a 
drop too much; he would not allow me to ride on with him, because he preferred to 
remain alone on his car than to help a spy. "I am a Belgian, a Belgian, and not a traitor, 
not a traitor of my country," he assured me, with a lot of beery tears. In any case the 
man meant well, and probably he had tried to drown his troubles in drink.

In other circumstances I should not have taken so much trouble, but I was so tired that I 
gave the man all my papers to make him see that I was a Netherland journalist. But 
according to him that didn't matter at all, because the Netherlander were quite as dirty 
as the Germans, for they had allowed the enemies of Belgium to pass through their 
country, and so on. In a torrent of words I told him that there was not a word of truth in it, 
and that the Belgian Government would surely lose no time in declaring the same as 
soon as the country was free again. At last I appealed to his heart by relating all the 
Netherlanders had done for the Belgians. This had the desired effect, and I was allowed 
to drive home with him.

At every inn he felt thirsty, and made me feel quite clearly that I had every reason to 
treat him. And every time that we went back to our seats he said again: 

"Yes, but now you see if after all you are a spy, you see, then, you see, I'll knock you 
down, you see?"

"Yes, yes, but now listen; I have told you already that ..."

"But don't you see if you should, don't you see, you see I am a patriot."

"Oh, but listen: my papers ..."

"Yes, but you see they may be forged, you see. They may shoot me, you see, but a 
traitor, you see, no, then I would knock you down, you see ... "

That happened each time that he started again, and I was more tired by trying to 
convince this man than if I had walked all the rest of the way to Brussels. But after all I 
got there.

There was much more liveliness in the Belgian capital than during my first visit; it was as 
if the bombardment of Antwerp had wakened the people out of their slumber, an 
apparent slumber only, for no citizens were ever more faithful to the Belgian cause than 
those of Brussels.

There was shouting enough in the streets and on the boulevards; here hawkers tried to 
sell maps of the Fortress of Antwerp; there women and girls offered scarf-pins with the 
portrait of Burgomaster Max. Everybody had such a pin, and I soon sported one too, for 
only then did these lady-sellers leave me alone.

The German proclamations in Brussels were nearly as numerous as the Max pins. They 
showered them during the last days on the town, the one more insolent than the other. 
After reading those things, a proclamation by Burgomaster Max affected me beneficially, 
whenever I could find one amongst the mass of other bills posted on the walls. Such a 
document testified to a grand soul and a firm character, which vindicated courageously 
the rights of the oppressed people.

In the streets and in the cafs I saw a great many marines who had taken part in the 
fights near Antwerp and were sent to Brussels for a few days' rest. It was remarkable 
that so many of them who had only lately looked death in the face, thought that they 
could not amuse themselves better than by mixing with girls of the worst description. 
Although I cannot, of course, always believe what soldiers, fresh back from a fight, 
assert in their over-excited condition, I assumed that I might conclude that things went 
badly with the defence of Antwerp.

A trip from Brussels to the scene of the fight convinced me still more. I passed some 
time with the artillery which had already silenced Waelhem, and was now used against 
the other defences. The sight of such an action was less interesting than one might 
think, as I could not get to the places where the infantry were storming. Only the thunder 
of all these guns overwhelmed and gave me an idea of the terror that was created.

From Antwerp, which I could see clearly from the positions of the artillery near 
Waelhem, high columns of smoke rose up from the Belgian artillery, which was 
harassing the German positions.

Here I also saw in action one of the 30'5 cm. Austrian howitzers mentioned before. The 
clumsy monster was constantly being shunted on a rail forward and backward, and at 
long intervals sent a gigantic projectile to the threatened quarters. The sound was 
terrific, and the pressure of the air made people at a great distance tremble on the 
ground. The Austrian artillerists were still equipped as if they had to fight in a rough, 
mountainous country; the soles of their shoes were all over covered with hobnails.

The Red Cross Service was well arranged, the wounded were transported regularly, a 
large number of motor-cars being used.

All soldiers and officers took the siege of the great fortress calmly, convinced that at the 
most it would be able to hold out for very few days. Reliable information soon gave me 
the same impression, although I had wished it might have been quite different. When I 
left the scene of the fight all the forts from Waelhem to St. Catherine-Waver had been 
silenced and in the hands of the Germans, who would soon attack the inner circle of 
forts.

In Brussels the people seemed to be of a different opinion. German reports about 
successes obtained were simply not believed, and people persisted in their opinion that 
Antwerp would be invincible. The more reports of victories the Germans posted on the 
walls, the more excited people became, and palmed off upon each other all sorts of 
victories of the Allies.

At the Caf Quatre Bras, near Tervueren, the innkeeper told me that the Germans had 
asked the Netherland Government for permission to place a 42 cm. on Netherland 
territory in order to be able to shell Antwerp also from that side, but that the Netherland 
Government had refused. I tried as hard as possible to explain to the man that all stories 
of such requests were mere gossip. When more and more people entered the caf I 
withdrew into a corner. They were all very excited, and some of them had drunk more 
than was good for them. They related with violent gesticulations that the Allies had 
surrounded Brussels and might be expected to enter the town at any moment, that all 
was over with the Germans, and so on. Shouts of "Vive la Belgique!" and "Vive notre 
roi!" sounded until suddenly I drew their attention. They looked me up and down 
critically, and one of them asked:

"Who are you?"

"A Netherland journalist, who is trying to get news for his paper."

"What, a Netherlander!a Netherlander! All traitors! You are helping the Germans, but 
we are not afraid of either German or Netherlander."

They crowded threateningly round me, getting more and more excited.

I saw that I must act, and jumped on a chair.

"What," I exclaimed, "you dare to say that the Netherlanders act with the Germans? No, 
shall I tell you something? The Germans have asked the Netherland Government for 
permission to place a 42 cm. gun on their territory to shell Antwerp from that side, but 
the Netherland Government have refused." "Lies, gossip."

"Lies, gossip? Ask the proprietor." "Yes, men, what the gentleman says is true." The 
rest was lost to me, for the men crowded round the innkeeper, who now aired his 
knowledge about the occurrence and evidently spoke with true conviction. At the end of 
the conversation they took their tankards from the bar, and shouted and cried: "Ah, well, 
if that is so, vive la Hollande! vive la Belgique! vive notre roi!" Suddenly we were the best 
of friends.

In Louvain people would not believe that Antwerp was on the point of surrendering, and 
persisted in the opinion that the fortress would hold out much longer, and was in a better 
position than ever before.

The German officers at the commander's office were elated in consequence of the 
reports received, and also told me that Antwerp would not be able to hold out for more 
than two days. They also tried to explain this to the people in the hall who were waiting 
for their passports. I followed the conversation, but not very closely, and one of the 
officers explained on a map what he asserted. Willy-nilly, because they had to get their 
passports, the waiting people listened to him. Suddenly I heard him say: "And after all 
we might have surrounded Antwerp also on the north by crossing Netherland territory, 
as we did when we invaded Belgium."

Those words gave me a shock, for I had heard that German officers always tried to 
encourage the Belgians in their wrong opinion about the alleged violation of Netherland 
neutrality, but I had not been able to believe it. With an innocent face I asked the officer: 

"Where did the Germans cross Netherland territory?

Near Maastricht. You know where Maastricht is?"

And he summoned me to look at the map, where he pointed out to me where Maastricht 
was.

"Hullo!" I said, "but in those days I was in and about Maastricht, but I never noticed 
anything of it."

"And yet it is so. Are you perhaps a Netherlander?"

"Oh yes, I am a Netherland journalist."

"Is that so? I beg your pardon, but won't you come with me? I suppose that you want a 
passport. I will take you to the commander."

He was quite upset, and evidently thought that the best plan was to muzzle me by taking 
me away from the others as quickly as possible.

I asked and got the commander's permission to travel to Lige by military train, and from 
there to The Netherlands, not only for myself, but also for a Netherland girl of nine 
years, whose parents in Amsterdam had repeatedly and persistently asked me to see 
whether there would be any possibility of letting their little girl come back from a Louvain 
boarding-school. The Sisters with whom she was let her go with me when I showed 
them a letter from her father. That child had already seen a good deal! The Sisters had 
fled with all the children at the time of the conflagration, and hidden themselves for days 
in a farm in the neighbourhood.

During the last days hundreds of lads had left Louvain for The Netherlands, and the 
migration went on throughout the whole occupied part of Belgium. It was the exodus of 
the levies of 1914 and 1915, who had been called up, and many of whom had been sent 
to Germany as prisoners. The Germans themselves had not a little furthered the flight of 
these crowds; by proclamations they had warned the lads not to try to escape, for 
otherwise all of the levies of '14 and '15 would be taken prisoners, and the parents of the 
fugitives would be punished. At Heverlee and Louvain the lads of both levies had to 
present themselves every Friday at this station. The consequence was that the following 
Friday not one single boy of those levies was to be found in either place.

No more wounded were taken to the hospitals of Louvain, as it had been decided to 
send them straight on to Germany for the present; yet there were many wounded men 
who were being nursed there already, and the doctors had their hands full attending to 
the wounded who passed the town. Dr. Noyons told me that the previous Sunday a train 
with 600 wounded had arrived from Northern France, and he and his assistants had 
been requested "just" to dress the wounds again of some of them. The condition of 
these unfortunate men must have been awful; not one had a dressing less than eight 
days old. Most of them had had it on much longer, and then these were merely 
emergency dressings. They were laid on straw in cattle trucks, many of them even in 
filth, and infection had worsened their condition to a great extent. Dr. Noyons and his 
colleagues tried to give the poor fellows as much relief as possible, but as a matter of 
course they could not do very much during a short stay at a station.

The general condition of the town was not calmer during these last days. New hostages 
were taken continually, and generally, as before, they were clerics, in consequence of 
which the religious services were in a continual muddle, and sometimes on Sundays no 
Holy Mass could be said. Burgomaster Nerinx had now posted proclamations in which 
he called for volunteers to serve as temporary hostages, instead of the priests, during 
the hours of religious service. As if it were office work they mentioned: "The service 
begins in the afternoon at ... o'clock and will end after . , . days at ... o'clock."

It was self-evident that very few were keen to offer themselves as temporary substitutes 
for the clerics.

I have, happily, not seen much of the distressing flight of the Antwerp population, as I 
happened to be at Lige when the fortress fell into German hands. I went to Zundert via 
Maastricht and Breda, in order to go to the conquered fortress from that Netherland 
frontier-town, north-east of Antwerp.

A good many refugees were on their way to The Netherlands, but the bulk of the crowd 
had passed before my visit along the long road which I walked now in the opposite 
direction. I did not arrive in Antwerp before nightfall and was then very tired. The town 
was dark, dismal, and deserted, and only German soldiers went about in the streets, 
apparently looking in vain for a shop or caf where they might find some diversion. I 
myself, exhausted by a walk of twenty-five miles, sauntered along, constantly looking for 
some place or other to pass the night. Not a shop or hotel was open, and yet my 
stomach was craving for food, my body for rest. At last I met a policeman and told him 
of my difficulty.

"Yes, sir," he answered, "that will be difficult enough. Everybody has fled, even my own 
wife and children. I remained because I thought it was my duty, and now I have been 
tramping through the streets already for over twenty-four hours, without being relieved. It 
seems that by far the greater number of my colleagues fled also." "Don't you think you 
could find me some hotel, or private people who might put me up?"

"I am very much afraid I shan't be able, but come along, and we'll try together."

So we went from street to street, without any result. He rang the bell at many houses 
where he knew that acquaintances lived, but always in vain, and at last the kind man 
had to give it up.

I went on by myself, and arrived at last in a street where I noticed a light in a house. 
When I came near, I stood opposite a small cafe, with "Lodgings" over the door. I was 
hardly able to go on, and did not care whether it was "lodgings" or "hotel," if I could only 
get in somewhere.

But I did not stop long, for after a good look round it seemed the best to try and get 
away as quickly as possible, and in that I succeeded. One understands, however, that it 
was a terrific disappointment for a man so tired to leave again after thinking that he had 
at last found a place for rest. At length I found an hotel near the Central Station.

Antwerp had suffered from the horror of war. The bombardment had destroyed many 
beautiful quarters almost entirely, and even damaged badly a number of hospitals. Of 
course the loss of many lives had to be deplored.

The next day I had the pleasure of an interview with Cardinal Mercier, whose residence 
in Antwerp I had been able to find out at last. A wealthy lady had offered his Eminence 
her grand house. In one of the rooms I waited for the arrival of the cardinal, the 
Metropolitan of the Belgian Church Provinces, who, both as a prelate and a patriot, had 
been tried so sorely in this war, which ravaged both his university town and his episcopal 
town. Although he was exceedingly busy, his Eminence had the kindness to grant me an 
audience.

As I was still musing about the tragedy of this venerable personality in these hard days 
of war, the door was opened suddenly and his spare figure stood before me. It was a 
moment full of emotion, and perhaps I might not have recovered myself so quickly if the 
kind prelate had not met me with so much kindness.

After his Eminence had allowed me to kiss his ring, he asked me to sit down. I had now 
a good opportunity to notice how grief dwelt on his entirely spiritualised face, in its frame 
of white hair. But his extraordinary kindness in intercourse did not leave him for one 
moment.

In connection with the summons, which had been sent in the name of the archdiocese to 
De Tijd, and had been proclaimed in all the churches of Antwerp in the morning, his 
Eminence insisted that it should be printed in its entirety, as very many priests had taken 
refuge in The Netherlands, whose help was pressingly wanted in the arch-diocese in 
many of the parishes.

And he went on to say that he desired especially, most fervently the return of the fled 
population.

"Really, in all sincerity," he said, "no danger need be feared. I should be very grateful if 
the newspapers in The Netherlands would draw attention to the following promises 
which the German authorities gave me, and authorised me to make in their name: 

"I. The young men need not fear that they will be taken to Germany in order to serve in 
the German army, or be compelled to do any work.

"2. Should the police regulations be infringed anywhere by some individuals, the 
authorities will find the guilty parties and punish them, without attributing the guilt to the 
entire population.

"3. The German and Belgian authorities will do everything in their power to prevent 
scarcity of food."

"Your Eminence may permit me to remark that the second clause especially is very 
important and much more comforting than a previous declaration of the Imperial 
Governor, that owing to occasional mistakes he cannot prevent the innocent population 
from having to suffer with those who are guilty. May I ask, has this favourable result 
been obtained by your personal intervention?"

"That is to say ... yes. I have suggested these measures and they have been consented 
to. I hope that they may induce all the refugees in The Netherlands to return at once. A 
press bureau in your country has circulated the report that I too had planned to fly. 
There was no truth in it at all. It was my duty not to leave my people, is not that so? The 
shepherd must stay with his sheep, the vicars must do the same, and those who went 
away must therefore come back."

"Your Eminence visited Malines last Tuesday, I have been told. I may perhaps ask how 
you found the condition of the cathedral and the town?"

The cardinal's face was overclouded suddenly, and quietly he answered: 

"Pardon me, it is perhaps better not to say a word about that for the moment. We are 
living through difficult times."

I understood and respected the restraint of the Belgian primate, who went on then: 

"Tuesday of next week I hope to be at Malines again, and on the 20th of this month the 
administrative service of the archdiocese will be reinstalled."

"Then you will stay again at the episcopal palace, your Eminence?"

"Yes, certainly. It will take time of course, but the damage done to the St. Rombout 
church and the palace is not irreparable; the church has suffered very much, the spire is 
less damaged."

"Much will be needed to repair what has been damaged in this unfortunate country."

"Yes, yes. An immense amount will be necessary. We are about to form committees; 
but so much is needed. In England they are also forming committees, and I have 
received money already from England, Scotland, and Ireland, and The Netherlands. ..."

For a moment he gave way to emotion. He hesitated for a few seconds, and I saw tears 
in his eyes. He then went on with a trembling voice: 

"The Netherlands is a generous country. How grateful, how immensely grateful am I to 
the Netherland people for what they have done for poor refugees. I cannot sufficiently 
express my gratitude. I have received reports from priests who came back, and I am 
deeply moved by them. They told me how at Roosendaal the Netherland soldiers gave 
all their bread to the refugees, knowing well that for some time they themselves would 
not get any other. No! I can never be sufficiently grateful for such sacrifices. And 
Catholics and non-Catholics all joined in it. That is beautiful, very, very beautiful."

"Your Eminence, what The Netherlands did for the poor Belgians came from the heart of 
the people, and I know for certain that the Catholics will be eager to contribute to the 
rebuilding of thesde-stroyed churches and houses."

"The Netherlands has done already so much, but if it would come to the assistance of 
our unfortunate people also in this way it would greatly gladden the archiepiscopal 
government, who will be only too happy to accept gifts in these difficult times; and 
perhaps the Right Reverend Netherland bishops may be willing to send the gifts for this 
purpose to us. We might then distribute those gifts among the parishes in the country 
which have suffered most."

"Well, in any case, your Eminence, I promise to bring it to the knowledge of the 
Catholics in The Netherlands, and you may rely upon their readiness. But now I will not 
take more of your valuable time, which you give so zealously to the poor and the 
unfortunate. I thank you very much for having granted me this audience."

"It was in the interests of our suffering country, and we are those who ought to be 
grateful. May I insist once more that you ask our refugees to come back to Antwerp and 
don't omit to state the three favourable regulations. ..."

His Eminence then got up, kindly offered me his hand, the ring on which I kissed, and 
escorted me to the door in the amiable, simple way of which I shall retain the memory 
for ever.

I can see now once more how little Germans care about the given word. They asked 
and obtained from Cardinal Mercier his co-operation to incite the population to return, 
but the cardinal, always anxious to safeguard his compatriots, made conditions to which 
they consented.

The first of them was that no young man should be taken to Germany, or compelled to 
work. Now how many lads are not already in Germany, how many have not been 
compelled, especially in both the Flanders, to do work for the Germans? And were not 
loyal people who refused to do it imprisoned? Yes! Did not these violators of law and 
right proclaim that all appeal to international agreements would be useless? "We shall 
no longer punish a whole population for the deeds of individuals," they also promised 
Cardinal Mercier. But many communities have had fines and taxes imposed upon them 
in consequence of the offence of one individual.

And although they also promised to do everything in their power to prevent lack of food 
in Belgium, they have bled to death the unfortunate country by continuous impositions 
and taxes, and thrown many into poverty and misery.

Yes, in the most scandalous manner they have violated the promises which the 
Germans gave Cardinal Mercier. But what signifies a word if treaties are only "scraps of 
paper?"



Chapter XV

The Ill-Treatment of British Wounded

I returned from Louvain by military train. This one had had a most adventurous journey 
before it reached Louvain. It had left Cambrai in North France three days before, always 
going slowly and making long stops, to spare the seriously wounded at least a little. I 
estimated that in my train over 2,000 wounded had been loaded in a long, dismal 
procession of wagons. Most of them had not had their bandages renewed for a fortnight, 
and were still wearing the first emergency dressing; all came from the neighbourhood of 
Arras.

A little to the north of this town many had been lying wounded in the trenches for over 
eight days, without being able to get their wounds bandaged. They had to admit the 
success of the French field artillery, which produced a most serious effect.

The Germans all agreed that their right wing lacked artillery. The German soldiers who 
fell there were all killed in their trenches by the falling bombs, there was not sufficient 
field artillery to answer this murderous fire efficiently, and they could not do anything 
with their rifles against the invisible enemy. The artillery fire of the French was most 
serious from the ist to the 4th of October, and during those days the German trenches 
must have been a real heil. On October 4th a general "sauve qui peut" began from the 
trenches.

But the shell-fire of the French overtook them then, as they were retreating, while many 
others were killed by bombs from French aeroplanes, which were in action in great 
numbers. The retreat had not stopped before the Germans arrived in Cambray, where 
the thousands of wounded could at last be put in long trains and sent to Aix-la-Chapelle. 
A great many bombs from aeroplanes also hit these trains and killed a great many; my 
own train was everywhere pierced by fragments of those bombs. Within the carriages it 
was unendurable; the wounded men and their malodorous bandages had occupied 
them such a long time that the atmosphere was simply insupportable. Happily there was 
a corridor, where I stood all the time, with the little girl, in the company of some German 
military men who were sent home, not on account of wounds, but because of internal 
complaints.

Very slowly the huge monster sauntered along, stopping and waiting everywhere to 
allow long trains with fresh troops to pass. These came straight from Germany, with the 
youngest levies and volunteers who had just finished their drill. These had decorated 
their trains all over with green boughs and outside painted all sorts of caricatures, from 
which especially King George had to suffer much. Then one read "To Paris, to England," 
and similar hopeful devices.

When their train approached ours they looked out of the windows, or opened the doors, 
and waved and greeted and shouted at the top of their voices.

But as soon as these "tender-foots" came alongside our train and were not met with the 
same impetuous enthusiasm as they displayed themselves, but, on the contrary, saw 
sick, discouraged, exhausted faces gazing at them distressedly, their boisterousness 
suddenly extinguished, and a nervous, terrified expression pursed up their mouths. And 
the trains were already at some distance from each other before the young soldiers 
remembered that they ought to shout and to wave to those who had already done so 
much for the Fatherland.

We arrived at Landen, a place between Tirlemont and Waremme, where we had a stop 
of forty minutes, in order to feed the wounded. Soup was served from large washing- 
tubs, and I and my small companion were also offered some of this soldiers' food. When 
I had finished my meal, and walked up and down the platform in order to stretch my 
legs, my attention was drawn to an uproar in front of one of the last wagons. I went 
there, and shall not forget what I saw as long as I live; I wish that I had never seen it.

Amongst some Frenchmen, three British soldiers, seriously wounded, were lying on 
some straw. They looked distressed, and I thought that their condition was critical. I was 
told that these men had not had any food for five days, and now there stood in front of 
the open wagon doors two to three hundred German soldiers, partly slightly wounded, 
who were well able to walk, partly German soldiers of the Landen garrison, who had 
been told off for distributing the soup. These two to three hundred men raged and jeered 
at those three unfortunate, heavily wounded British soldiers, who had not eaten for five 
days, and lay groaning helplessly on some dirty straw in a cattle-truck. The steaming 
tubs with hot soup were shown them, and these Germans shouted at them: "You want 
to eat, swine, swine; you ought to be killed! Beat them to death!beat them to death! 
Here, that's what you ought to get!"

As they spoke these last words they aimed their rifles at the unfortunate, bleeding, 
helpless, and hungry creatures. Others spat on their clothes and in their faces, and the 
enraged Germans foamed at the mouth.

With weak eyes, eyes telling of approaching death, one of them gazed at these cruel 
torturers, or looked hungrily at the steaming soup; the two others had turned their heads 
on one side and closed their eyes. But at last also the third turned off his head and 
closed his eyes, sighing and groaning In the meantime the Germans went on 
threatening them, blurting out all sorts of filthy abuse, spitting or threatening them with 
their rifles, while others were laughing and enjoying the helplessness of those three.

I stood still, dumb, aghast, unable to utter a word. Then I went to a sergeant who was 
also looking on and laughing; and, trembling all over, I said: 

"What is happening here is frightful; those men are also human beings, who had to do 
their duty as much as you!"

I couldn't say more, my voice stuck in my throat.

And what was his answer?

"What? Do their duty? No, they are swine paid swine; they get money for their dirty 
work, the swine!"

I did not answer. I could not. Silently I looked a little longer at the beastly scene, only 
sorry that I was not a giant who, with one strong hand, might restrain the roughs, and 
refresh with the other the burning, feverish lips of the wretched men.

What distressed me most was that among those two to three hundred soldiers in front of 
that open cattle-truck was not one man who wanted to take the part of these unfortunate 
British; no, not one!

When I reported the occurrence in De Tijd, I was fully conscious of the frightful 
accusation implied by my information; but I am prepared to confirm with the most sacred 
oaths that nothing in this accusation is untrue or exaggerated.

I was not afraid of an inquiry, but asked for it as a matter of fact, by writing in my 
report:

"And if the German authorities intend to institute a serious and impartial inquiry, then I 
give them the following particulars:

"It happened at Landen on Friday, October 9th, in the train with wounded which arrived 
there from Brussels at about noon, when food was being distributed."

The German authorities have indeed made inquiries about the matter; I shall deal with 
that in the next chapter.

What happened at Landen made a very deep impression upon me; it shocked me more 
than all the terrible things which I had seen during the war and all the dangers which I 
went through. When the train went on again, and the soldiers began to speak to me 
once more, I was unable to utter a word and sat there musing.

Before I witnessed this terrible event at Landen some Germans in the train had already 
told me that they simply killed the British whom they made prisoners. Others assured 
me that such a thing did not happen in their division, but one asserted that by his 
company alone already twenty-six had been killed. I did not believe them then, and 
thought that they were better than they made themselves out, but after having witnessed 
that scene at Landen . . .!

One hour before the arrival at Lige the engine of our train dashed into another, and got 
so badly damaged that all the water from our engine ran away. This caused a delay of 
another two hours, so that we did not arrive at Lige before dusk, and could not think of 
reaching The Netherlands that day. I took the little Amsterdam girl to my niece in the 
convent of the Sisters of Mercy, and went to an hotel myself. A German newspaper, 
bought at a bookstall, gave in gigantic type the information that Antwerp might fall at any 
moment, and a recently posted bulletin brought the feared-for news. But the people of 
Lige could not, and would not believe it.

I had expected it and believed the reports, but it hurt all the same. I had had intercourse 
with German soldiers almost exclusively; but that gave me a much better opportunity for 
observing their conduct, which roused in me a deep sympathy for the poor, oppressed 
Belgian people. That was why I was so sorry to hear of the fall of Antwerp, although I 
was not discouraged. Right would triumph, and the day come when the Belgian nation 
would shake off the foreign yoke of tyranny, and repair in peace and prosperity, under 
the sagacious rule of their king, what barbarians destroyed and pulled down.

The next day I got to The Netherlands with my small protegee, after a tiring walk from 
Herstal to Eysden, where we could take the train to Maastricht. Here the father of the 
little girl came to meet his daughter, and took her to Amsterdam, to her "Mummy," of 
whom she had been speaking during the whole journey with so much longing.

Only now did I hear what had happened to the village of Lanaeken after I had seen the 
German preparations in Tongres for action against the little Belgian army that was still 
about in the northeastern part of the country. The greater part of Lanaeken had been 
destroyed by shelling, and of course a great many innocent victims had fallen in 
consequence.

By destroying the life and possessions of peaceful civilians the Germanswho always 
boast so much about their military honourgave unconscious expression to their awe of 
the fearless heroes who still stood their ground to the north of Lige, whilst the Germans 
were still besieging Antwerp.

I have mentioned already that the German authorities had ordered a so-called inquiry 
about what happened at Landen. As the result of this inquiry the press of all neutral 
countries had the following two official communications wired to them: 

"Berlin, November l0th. (E. B.).A correspondent of De Tijd in Amsterdam has told a 
number of details about the so-called bad treatment of British wounded at the station of 
Landen, according to which the British had been left without food or drink, had been spit 
in their faces, and our soldiers were alleged to have aimed their rifles at them. The 
German Government had instituted a thorough inquiry into this matter and publish the 
result: 'The entire allegation of the correspondent is untrue. None of the details is 
covered by the facts. The British have not been beaten nor pushed nor spit at, but on 
the contrary warm food was offered them, which was accepted by all except two. Store-
inspector Huebner and the landwehr-soldier Krueger have testified to this."

"Berlin November l0th. (W. B.) Official.The Nord-deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung writes: 
'The daily newspaper, De Tijd, issued at Amsterdam, published on October 16th a report 
from a war correspondent at Maastricht, in which he asserted that on October 9th a train 
in which more than two thousand wounded were transported, arrived at the station at 
Landen in Belgium between Tirlemont and Waremme. Here it was said that a stop had 
taken place of forty minutes in which to provide the wounded with food. Walking up and 
down the platform the reporter pretends to have seen two to three hundred German 
soldiers, slightly wounded men and men of the garrison of Landen, furiously abuse three 
seriously wounded British, who were lying in one of the last carriages of the train. They 
showed mugs full of steaming soup to the hungry British, whom they left lying there 
miserable from starvation. They were also said to have aimed their rifles at them, 
laughing roughly, and to have spit on them.

" 'These allegations of the reporter of De Tijd caused the authorities to institute inquiries, 
and the following is now stated with regard to the alleged events:

" 'On October 9th no train with two thousand wounded arrived at the station of Landen, 
but only small transports whose number can be checked accurately by the lists of 
wounded. Rioting by two to three hundred soldiers near a carriage could not take place, 
as the station guard was instructed to keep free a path along the train. There is, more- 
over, always an officer of the station-guard present, when a train with wounded leaves. 
It is impossible that the soldiers could have aimed their rifles at the British, as the men 
who get their food in the dining-hall, as also the serving military personnel, are always 
unarmed. Other soldiers are not admitted to the station. The British have neither been 
beaten, nor stabbed, nor spit at; on the contrary plates full of hot soup have been 
offered them which were refused by two of them. This has been confirmed by the 
declarations of people who were present.' "

Of course I did not withhold my answer, pilloried the hardly serious inquiry of the 
Germans, and published immediately an extensive contradiction in De Tijd. I quote the 
following from it:

"Only about a month after the publication of my story about what happened at Landen, 
the German Government and military authorities considered that the time had come to 
contradict it, after ordering an inquiry which in reality cannot be called an inquiry at all. 
From their communiques it is clear that some soldiers were heard who probably were 
privy to the act, and in any case benefited by a denial of the villainy committed at 
Landen. That is to say, men who were counsel in their own cause, and who were 
believed the sooner because their declarations were desirable for the support of 
German credit. But it does not appear from these communiques that the German 
authorities also examined the wounded who were present, nor the two Netherlanders 
who travelled by that train: the young Miss de Bruin, from Amsterdam, and the present 
writer, as also the civilian witnesses at Landen. In opposition to the evidence of Stores-
inspector Huebner and the landwehr-soldier Krueger, of which evidence it has not been 
stated that they gave it on oath I declare myself prepared and willing, if a complete and 
impartial inquiry be instituted, to declare upon oath either to a properly qualified 
committee in The Netherlands or in Germany, or to a thereto-appointed arbiter, the 
following: 

" ' 1. On Friday, the ninth of October, at noon, I stopped at Landen about forty minutes 
after arriving from Louvain in a terribly long train of passenger carriages and goods 
vans, with approximately two thousand wounded. (This estimate may be wrong to the 
extent of a couple of hundred, but that does not matter.) During this time the wounded 
were fed.

" ' I saw how two to three hundred German soldiers, part of them slightly wounded, who 
were well able to walk, partly soldiers of the Landen garrison, who crowded about the 
open doors of one of the last wagons, raging and jeering against three seriously 
wounded British soldiers, about whom their French fellow-passengers told me that they 
had had nothing to eat for five days. The wounded were called "swine," were spit at, and 
some rifles were aimed at them. When I told a sergeant that it was a disgusting scene, 
he answered: "These British swine, they get paid for their filthy work." He alluded to the 
pay which the British volunteers receive because they enlist as mercenaries, Britain 
having no compulsory general military service. Before I witnessed this awful thing at 
Landen, Germans in the train had already told me that they simply killed any British 
whom they made prisoners. Others said that such a thing did not happen in their 
division, but one man contended that by his company already twenty-six had been killed. 
I did not believe them, and thought that they were better than they pretended to be.

" '2. The soup had been offered to the British, but two refused to take it, says the 
German Government. Yes, it was offered these wretched people, but, as I have said 
already, the German soldiers kept the steaming soup before them, shouting at them: 
"You want to eat, you swine!you swine! you ought to be killed! This is what you may 
have!" And as they said the latter they aimed their rifles at the unfortunate men, whilst 
others who were not armed lifted up their fists and threatened them, or spat at them.

" 'In my report about the occurrence I had not even exposed in all its harshness the 
treatment dealt out to the French soldiers. For they too were not offered plates of soup, 
but only the mugs were filled, forming part of their equipment. And there were many who 
put out these mugs as if supplicating to have them filled once more; as that was not 
done they constantly put the empty mug to their mouth to try and lick off any remaining 
drops that might have stuck to its side. Some Germans said: "Yes, the French may have 
something, for they are soldiers, but those three there, well, they are paid swine.

3. I published the facts and insisted upon an impartial inquiry, in order to prevent, if 
possible, that only guilty soldiers should be heard should a complaint about the 
occurrence be lodged with the highest military authority.

" 'Instead of facing such an impartial inquiry with an examination of all available 
witnesses and punishment of the guilty, the German government finds the courage only 
to call me, a month after the event, "a liar," and the whole story a fairy-tale!

" 'If the German government had come somewhat earlier with their contradiction, it might 
have been possible to cite another witness, forI have not reported that at firstamong 
those who were present there was a civilian, an inhabitant of Landen, who also looked 
with anger at the cruel scene, and expressed his indignation when he could no longer 
restrain himself. But then there was a general outcry of: 

" ' "What is this civilian doing here " The young man could not explain his presence 
satisfactorily, and a couple of soldiers got hold of him, and, in the literal sense of the 
word, threw him away. When he waited at a short distance a little longer, with an angry 
face, one of the soldiers ran at him, threatening him with his bayonet. I might have been 
able to find that young man at the time, but now, a month later, this will be much more 
difficult. There was also another group of civilians packed as densely as herrings in a 
cattle-truck on another line; they must have seen the beastly occurrence as well.

" 'I might quote another small detail. Before the train arrived at Landen I had had a very 
pleasant chat in the corridor with a German soldier, who seemed tolerably humane and 
civilised, even in his talk. After the departure from Landen I again got into conversation 
with him, and did not fail to express my indignation; and then he gave me the following 
reply: "Oh well, one must think of the position of our soldiers, who have been for days in 
the trenches under the murderous fire of the enemy. Later on they will themselves 
repent for what has happened." Perhaps the German government may be able to 
discover who that soldier is, if I add that he went home for good because he was 
suffering from heart-disease.

" 'And then there is something else. The brakesman of the wagon in which I travelled 
was a man who had enlisted only a couple of weeks ago as a volunteer for the service 
on the railways, and, if I remember correctly, hailed from Hamburg. He belonged to a 
Trades Union which had already once made a trip to Amsterdam and Rotterdam, and 
was for instance able to tell me that Krasnapolsky at Amsterdam was a large hotel. I 
also spoke to that man about what had happened, because I thought I had noticed that 
he was more human, but he too gave me the cynical answer: "Oh well, the French may 
have something to eat, they fight also for their country, but not those British, they only 
fight because that is their profession."

" '4. With regard to the arms of the German soldiers, it is true that the wounded men had 
none with them, but I have distinctly stated that the crowd consisted of soldiers who 
belonged to the lightly wounded and of soldiers belonging to the Landen garrison. These 
latter had been told off to guard the station and the platforms and maintain order. It is 
possible that they had also to prevent the wounded from moving about on the platforms, 
but in that case they did not stick to their task, because everybody was free to go where 
he liked, and I myself did the same. That these guards did not guard anything at all at 
the moment is proved by the fact that the above-mentioned civilian was able to come 
near the riot, although he had to pass a number of platforms. That the soldiers belonged 
to the Landen garrison and had to do sentry-go is proved by the fact that they had their 
bayonets on their rifles.

" 'Finally, the contention that no riot could have taken place because the soldiers were 
fed in the dining-hall is entirely incorrect. That dining-hall was nothing but a shed entirely 
open at the front, in which there were a few seats. There the slightly wounded soldiers 
were fed first, and when they had supplied those, food was taken to the seriously 
wounded, who had to stop in the train, as also to myself and my little companion. The 
slightly wounded and the soldiers of the guard walked off with the distributors of the 
soup along the train in order to have a chat with their comrades in it. In that way they 
also came to the British when the wagon-door had been opened. It will be evident that I 
observed closely and retained in my memory all that had happened there and in the 
neighbourhood.

" 5. My pertinent declarations are now opposed by the German official contradiction; but 
how weak is the argument! I have already pointed out that only comrades of the 
accused men have been heard, but not the accuser, nor, as is evident, the victims, nor 
other witnesses. There is more: "Crowding of two to three hundred soldiers near a 
wagon cannot occur" thus says the communique"because the station-guard's duty 
is to keep free the path along the train." Does anyone understand the weakness of this 
contradiction? It is as if one should say: "It is impossible that anything has been stolen in 
a town because it is the duty of the police to guard it." "Moreover there is also always an 
officer of the station-guard present at the departure of a train of wounded," the 
communique proceeds. But again I ask: What does this prove? It is a fact that this 
officer, if he was present, did not prevent what happened." It is impossible that the 
soldiers aimed their rifles at the British, because the men who get their food in the 
dining-hall, and those of the military who distribute it, are always unarmed; no other 
soldiers are admitted to the station." I see that the German government simply quote the 
military regulations, and from them determine the facts. They cannot realise that it might 
be possible for their regulations not to be obeyed always.

" '6. I am convinced that on the whole the treatment of the wounded was generous and 
exemplary. But it is also a fact that the terrible hatred of.the Germans against the British, 
encouraged by their military authorities (one has to think of the proclamation of Prince 
Rupert of Bavaria) and their scandalous comic papers, which disgust even decent 
Germans, induce to extravagances such as I witnessed at Landen. Did not a German 
officer explain to an editor of the Algemeen Handelsblad (evening issue of October 
18th): "The unwritten order is to make everywhere as many French and as few English 
prisoners as possible; we don't try to wound, but to kill the British." ' "

I think that my answer left nothing to be desired for plainness, and Germany cannot 
have derived much pleasure from its official contradiction. Moreover, the editor of De 
Tijd had also made inquiries from the little girl whom I escorted from Louvain on the day 
of the occurrence at Landen, and although I admit at once that not too great a value can 
be attached to the evidence of a girl of nine, I insert here what the editor wrote about 
that interview: 

"Our editor has moreover interviewed young Miss Antoinette de Bruijn here, whom our 
correspondent brought from Louvain to Maastricht. In the presence of her mother she 
told how she had been in a train full of wounded, that there were armed soldiers on the 
platform, and that some wounded soldiers had been teased by offering them steaming 
soup which was not given to them. The father of this girl, Mr. de Bruijn, also assured us 
that when he met his daughter at Maastricht, our correspondent, Mr. Mokveld, was still 
very much under the impression of what he had witnessed."

My contradiction became known in Germany, and it was an eye-opener to a great many 
people here. The editor of De Tijd received many letters from that country, and printed 
some of them with the name of the writer added. From these it seems that even there it 
was acknowledged in some circles that the German inquiry had been extremely 
onesided, and that it would have been wiser to admit what had happened at Landen, 
and punish the culprits.

The only purpose of my publication was to convince everybody of this, and thereby 
prevent the repetition of such a scandalous scene.



Chapter XVI

On the Yser

From the pretty town of Sluys in the Netherland part of Flanders I made a good many 
trips to the Belgian coastal regions and the Yser, the little river that will always be named 
in history, because there came the end of the German advance, and there the Belgian 
army displayed all its power, fighting with the courage of lions in defence of the last bit 
of their native soil.

Yes, Sluys will always live in my memory. How well have been received the thousands 
of Belgians who went there for shelter and how much misery have I seen relieved by the 
effectual mutual help of the Belgians and that of the civil and military Netherland 
authorities. The burgomaster in particular seemed to be the right man in the right place, 
and it was chiefly due to his sagacity that everything went so regularly in that small town, 
which had to maintain the proportionately greatest number of refugees.

In Sluys I also got to know by friendly intercourse the character of the Belgians, so open, 
so straightforward, and so bright.

From this town I got the best connections with the West of Belgium, and as a rule I 
always made my first visit to ancient and pretty Bruges, which was constantly strongly 
occupied by the Germans. In front of the well known Halls two small guns had been 
mounted, threatening the market-square. The same was the case in front of the Palace 
of Justice, where the commander's office was established. The Government buildings in 
the market were entirely occupied by the naval staff of Admiral von Schroeder, and 
dozens of sailors were sitting in the offices, working at their typewriting machines. 
Soldiers came from and went back to the Yser, which river I saw three times during the 
fierce fighting.

The first time when the Germans had only been there for about ten days, and huge 
masses were sent to the scene of battle, because they had decided to break through at 
any cost.

Along the coast the German line did not reach far beyond Mariakerke, where a big 
German flag on a high dune indicated their most advanced front. Thanks to the consent 
of a couple of officers I was allowed to push on to the front lines, and did this in spite of 
the danger from bursting shrapnel. The wounded had to walk back from there to 
Ostend, very often suffering the most trying pains, because, according to what they told 
me, the Red Cross Service was not able to help them all. They were very dissatisfied on 
account of the waste of human life by which the attacks were accompanied, and some 
made bitter remarks about the staff which seemed to be mad, constantly sending new 
troops into the murderous fire with such evident callousness.

I have been able to assist a good many of these unfortunate people by bandaging the 
wounds with the dressing they gave me, or getting some water for them from some 
house in the neighbourhood; and one, who had fallen down exhausted by pain, I carried 
into a house.

I had more trouble with a wretch who, being heavily wounded in both legs, lay on the top 
of a dune beyond Mariakerke. He was quite alone, and when he discovered me his eyes 
glistened, full of hope. He told me of his agonies, and beseeched me to take him to a 
house or an ambulance. However much I should have liked to do that, it was impossible 
in the circumstances in which I found myself. Nowhere, even in the farthest distance, 
was a house to be seen, and I tried to explain the position to him. But he turned a deaf 
ear to all my exhortations, and insisted that I should help him. It was a painful business, 
for I could not do the impossible. So I promised him, and took my oath that I should 
warn the first ambulance I met, and see to it that they came and fetched him.

I went away urging him to maintain his courage for the time being, but he had scarcely 
noticed that I was about to go, when his eyes began to gleam and to roll in his head; 
then he took his rifle, which was lying by his side, and I, seeing his intention, ran down 
the dune as quickly as possible, whilst I heard the well-known click-clack behind me; the 
man had fired two bullets at me. . . .

I must not take that sort of thing amiss. Who knew with how much pain and how long he 
had been lying there, facing death, but fearing it too.

At last someone came near, and he put all his hope in that man, but a hope that 
vanished. Yes, I can quite understand that a man in those conditions goes mad.

I was not able to stay long at Mariakerke, but succeeded, by going in an easterly 
direction, to get near Leke, where the fight was also in full swing, and where evidently 
the same command had been issued: "Advance at any cost." The German artillery stood 
south of Leke, but I succeeded in pushing on to a hill near the road, where I could see 
the columns of smoke of the Belgian artillery and the clouds of dust which the German 
shrapnel threw up.

The Germans advanced in a formation which I had never seen yet. The men went at the 
double-quick in closed ranks three abreast, each of the threefold files marching at a 
small distance from the other.

They stormed the Belgian lines with lowered bayonets. The Belgians quietly allowed 
them to come near, but as soon as they were at a certain distance from the trenches 
they wished to take, I heard the rattle of the mitrailleuses, and the thunder of the guns. 
The storming soldiers then disappeared in a fog of smoke and dust, in which I saw their 
shadows fall and stagger. This went on for about ten minutes, and then they came back 
in complete disorder, still followed by the hostile bullets and shrapnel.

A period of calm followed, but not for long, for again and again new attacks were made.

I myself was not very safe either, for frequently bursting shells fell near me. I therefore 
thought it safer to cross to a farm-house a hundred yards farther on, where I might find 
shelter. Before I got there an officer of a passing division took me violently by the arm 
and asked who I was and what I was doing there? His eyes glittered savagely, and he 
as well as his men seemed to be fearfully excited.

I said in a few words who I was, and showed one of my German permits. He had 
scarcely seen the many German stamps on it when he let me go and went on with his 
men. I then pinned on my coat two permits which had the greatest number of stamps, 
and in consequence had no further trouble.

From the garret-window of the farm-house I followed the fierce battle for another half- 
hour, and saw that the Germans suffered enormous losses, but achieved no gains. At 
last I had to leave this place too, because shells fell again quite near to the house. I 
stayed another ten minutes near an ambulance, where they were quite unable to attend 
to the numerous wounded men. Most of them got an emergency dressing, and were 
advised to go higher up and try to get better attention there.

The battle I saw that day on the Yser was the beginning of the trench-war in that district. 
Many Belgian troops had dug themselves in, and later on this system was extended, in 
consequence of which the Belgian line there became impregnable.

In those days German Headquarters gave continuously the thoughtless order: "To 
Calais, to Calais," and the Staff considered no difficulties, calculated no sacrifices, in 
order to achieve success. What these frenzied orders have cost in human lives History 
will tell later on.

.   

As soon as the Germans were near the coast they began to fortify it most formidably, in 
order to prevent eventual attempts at landing by hostile troops. Guns were soon 
mounted in the dunes, as I noticed during a trip which I made along the coast on 
Sunday, October 25th.

Heyst was occupied by a small division of marines, although a few days before the 
garrison had been larger, but on Saturday evening all soldiers along the coast had been 
alarmed, and most of them were ordered to proceed to the battle-field near Nieuwpoort, 
where matters were at the time less favourable for the Germans. Near the dyke I found 
five pieces of ordnance mounted, their mouths turned towards the sea, and that they 
were quite right in taking precautions was proved by the men-of-war riding on the distant 
horizon, without motion.

In the centre of the town I was detained by three sailors, who called out an angry "Halt!" 
seized my bicycle, and made me a prisoner, "because I was an Englishman." Happily I 
could prove the contrary by my papers; and the permit of the Bruges commander to go 
about on a bicycle made them return it.

There was a general complaint in that district about the very arbitrary requisitions: for 
example, beds and blankets were extensively taken away from the convents, a thing 
against which the burgomaster of Bruges had already protested. Horses, cows, and 
other cattle were simply taken from the stables and the meadows, and paid for with 
paper promises. At Zeebrugge the conditions were not alarming. The houses of those 
who had gone away, however, had been damaged most terribly, and looted. Round the 
harbour guns were mounted, guarded by many sentries. I was at first forbidden to cross 
the canal bridge, but my excellent credentials at length made the sentries give in. 
Everything indicated that already during the first days of the occupation the Germans 
had begun to execute their plan to turn Zeebrugge into a station for submarines.

The commander ruled with a strong hand. They issued not only the usual proclamations 
about introducing German time, but the commander went even so far as to dictate at 
what hour the Holy Masses had to be said. In one of the proclamations I read, for 
example, that in future the Mass of six o'clock, Belgian time, had to be said at the same 
hour German time. Another proclamation said that skippers were forbidden to sail, and 
that all boats, including fisher-boats, hd been seized.

In the dunes near Ostend I came across a level field fenced off by the military, and in 
the centre I saw a large company of superior officers, and a marine band. They were 
arranged round three big caves, into which just then had been lowered nine military 
officers and ordinary soldiers, who died in the nearly completed new Military Hospital of 
Ostend in the neighbourhood.

With a powerful voice, in order to drown the roar of the guns, a German parson 
delivered the funeral oration, in which he spoke of the heroic conduct of the fallen men, 
who had sacrificed their lives for God, Kaiser, and Fatherland, and who, by God's 
inscrutable decree, were not destined to witness the final victory of the powerful German 
armies. The marines put their instruments to their mouths and played a slow funeral 
march. It was really very touching, and all the spectators came under the impression.

Whilst yet the sweet strains of the music sounded over the dunes, the dull booming of 
the heavy field-artillery was heard constantly, and each boom meant the end of so many 
more human lives. The music went on, and the officers approached one after the other 
to throw a handful of sand on the corpses of their fallen comrades. I saw their nostrils 
tremble, saw them bite their lips nervously, saw tears in their eyes.

The ceremony wound up with a short silent prayer offered at the request of the parson.

The funeral had deeply moved me, and full of emotion I approached the edge of the 
graves. I saw three corpses in each of them, simply wrapped in a clean, white sheet. 
The only decorations were some green palm branches . . . the branches telling of 
peace.

A little farther on I discovered a good many other mounds. A cross made of two little 
pieces of wood stood on each, amongst pots with flowers and small posies. On one of 
the crosses I saw written in pencil

"Captain Count Von Schwerin, 19,10.'14."

It was very interesting, because a humble private had been buried by his side.

Of course I did not know this Count von Schwerin, but because I had just witnessed that 
funeral, and because it was so striking that men of every class were buried in the same 
manner, I reported what I saw to my paper. And, tragic fate, in consequence of this, the 
wife of the late Count heard for the first time of the death of her husband to whom she, a 
Netherland baroness, had been married at the beginning of the war. At the request of 
the family I made arrangements so that the grave might be recognised after the war.

In Ostend every place was full of wounded men, who all came walking from the battle- 
field in groups. Even in those days the fierce fights continued in consequence of the 
mad attempts to conquer Dunkirk and Calais. Great losses were suffered also by the 
enormous effect of the British naval guns, against which the German marines had 
mounted big guns in Ostend and farther along the coast, in order to keep the fleet at a 
distance.

On the day of my visit to Ostend all sorts of conveyances had taken more than 3,000 
wounded into the town. Peasants from the neighbourhood were compelled to harness 
their horses and transport the unfortunate men. Such a procession was distressing to 
look at, as most men lay on open carts, only supported by a handful of newly cut straw, 
and long processions entered the town continuously. As reinforcements had arrived, the 
divisions of the German army which had suffered most came sometimes from the front 
to the town, in order to have a rest, and then I saw a great deal of misery.

Some of the soldiers were furious and others distressed on account of the great number 
of comrades left on the battle-field, while they hardly made any progress against the 
tenacity of the Allies. Those who were not seriously wounded were not even put up in 
hospitals or similar buildings, as there was only room for a few, although many private 
houses had been turned into supplementary hospitals. In the streets and the cafs I saw 
therefore hundreds of men in bandages.

The condition of the civilian population was not too roseate. Most of them were away, 
and from those who had stayed everything was requisitioned. Staying in the town was 
not without danger, for two days before my visit it had been bombarded from noon to 
one o'clock by the British fleet, by which an hotel on the boulevard and some houses in 
the Rue des Flamands had been damaged.

From Ostend I went a few days later to Thourout, a townlet to the north of the centre of 
the Yser-line. I was accompanied by two Netherland colleagues whom I had met at 
Bruges. Everything was quiet there; the commander of the naval region, Admiral von 
Schroeder, had made himself slightly ridiculous, by informing the population in a 
proclamation that he had ordered the British citizens in the coastal region to leave the 
country, in order to protect them from their fellow-countrymen of the British fleet, who, 
by bombarding Ostend, had endangered their lives.

As we left through the Gate-of-Bruges towards Thourout we were approached by a 
small military group, a few German soldiers who escorted about a dozen French and 
Belgian prisoners of war. Until that moment the street had been relatively quiet, but the 
inhabitants had scarcely heard that the "boys" came, when each ran into the street, 
forgetting all fear of the "Duuts," and, breaking through the escort, they gave their 
"boys" an apple, or a pear, or a packet of cigarettes; so we saw a huge round of white 
bread fly through the air and land in the hands of one of the "boys." Such a thing 
touches one always, and even the escorting Germans, who at first were very indignant 
on account of the sudden and unexpected intrusion, left the citizens alone with a 
generous gesture, as to say: "Well, have your way."

The other eleven miles of the road to Thourout were quite deserted, and only in one 
place did I see a man working in the field. We only saw now and again a small escort 
which overtook us. From afar a trooper approached us; after having heard who we were, 
he told us that he had been on the way already three days and three nights from the 
trench lines, and how fierce the fighting was there. The German losses had been 
immense; he pointed to the unoccupied horse by his side, and said: "My chum, whose 
horse this was, fell also." He took a couple of strong pulls at his pipe, and, spurring his 
mount, rode off with a: "Keep well."

At Thourout all convents and large buildings had been turned into hospitals, and the 
streets on both sides were full of big wagons. Hundreds of soldiers went off, and large 
convoys of carts were standing in the meadows and on the roads, where officers and 
men were also practising riding. We were here in the rear, where there was a 
continuous going and coming from the front. Most soldiers were in a more or less 
excited mood; some did not hide their discontent, or sat musing dejectedly, asking 
themselves how these terrible days would end for them? Others again seemed to have 
got into a sort of frenzy in consequence of the continuous fighting and were not able to 
think logically at all. They told excited stories about the British whom they had killed, and 
chased away from the 42 cm. guns, who, according to them, were also at work in the 
swampy soil near Nieuwpoort, and also told about the shooting civilians, and those 
cursed Belgians, who cut open the bellies of their poor wounded, or sliced off their 
noses, hands, and ears. Of course pure fairy tales, but recited with much power of 
conviction. The question of lodgings brought also many difficulties, for nobody wanted 
to, or could put us up. At last we succeeded at the Hotel l'Union, where we first ate two 
roasted pigeons which were intended for a couple of officers, who would return in the 
evening from the front line. The three of us subsequently occupied one room, after 
having written on the door with chalk that Lieutenants So and So were staying there. For 
the landlady had told us that she was willing to put us up, but that the officers who 
returned every night from the front line were sure to turn us out. Indeed in the evening 
we heard heavy steps before our door, but after a voice had read out that Lieutenants 
So and So were passing the night there, they all went away again.

The next morning the roar of the cannon woke us up, and soon we heard how the 
fighting stood, for when we went to the commander for a permit to go to Dixmuiden, the 
sympathetic major absolutely refused it, and haltingly added that he himself did not yet 
know how things stood there. Well, that was enough for us. At last he gave us a permit 
for Ostend, and we noticed very soon that now we were in the rear of the front. Whilst 
the guns were thundering on continuously and the shrapnel exploded in the air, we 
passed continuously large contingents, who actually formed one long line. The fight was 
going on only a few miles away, and incessantly the unhappy wounded came out of the 
small bypaths, stumbling on in their heavily muddied clothes.

At the "Oud Slot van Vlaanderen," a large, ancient castle, there was a lot of hustle and 
bustle of carriages and motor-cars. We had not gone another two hundred yards, when 
someone came after us and stopped us as suspects. We were escorted back to the 
castle, where a general command was established, and an aviators-division, with the 
motor-section attached to it. Happily our detention did not last long, and after 
examination we were released. On the road was an infernal noise, as the violent roar of 
the cannon was mixing with the roar of the wheels of the heavily-loaded convoys and 
the whirr and hooting of the army motors. Long processions of field-kitchens passed us 
also, most of them brand-new; but it was remarkable that all carts arranged for a team 
of two were drawn with great difficulty by only one horse, and also that so many civilians 
have been compelled to act as drivers, or to gather the wounded.

Constantly new and large transports of wounded came along the road, and here and 
there they were busy killing and burying wounded horses. The inhabitants locked 
themselves in their houses, and expected with great fear that any moment the military 
might arrive to claim their last horse or cow. The requisitions went on continuously, and 
the cattle were driven to the front in a long, desolate procession.

As we went on towards Eerneghem French aviators were heroically reconnoitring above 
the German lines. One came from Dixmuiden and one from Nieuwpoort; both went to 
about half-way between these two towns, where the centre of the battle was. The 
Germans kept up an unbroken artillery fire at those birds in the air. I saw quite near to 
them shells exploding right and left and discharging dense, black clouds of smoke that 
disappeared slowly. There were moments when these black stretches of cloud seemed 
to form a frame round the aeroplanes, but the brave aviators knew how to escape from 
their assailants by all sorts of tricks. They came down to go up again unexpectedly, 
entirely changed their direction a moment later, and at last both disappeared 
undamaged.

At Eerneghem we were not only stopped, but also sent back outright. It was considered 
extremely impudent on our side that we had dared to push on so far, because we were 
in the fighting-line. Even the permit given by the commander of Thourout was of no 
avail.

Back at Bruges we attended in the market the concert given by a German military band 
near the statues of Breydel and de Koninck. At the commander's office I witnessed a 
remarkable incident. A German post-official and a soldier had just brought in a decently 
dressed gentleman. The postman began to relate that he was taking away the 
telephone instrument at that gentleman's house in order to fix it up at the commander's 
office, and that the gentleman had said: "Why do you steal that instrument?" as the 
postman said this the commander jumped up in a fury, and called out: 

"What? What? Do you dare to call it stealing, what we Germans take here in Bruges?" 
"Sir, I do not understand German, but------"

"Not a word, not a word; you have insulted a German official, and according to the 
proclamation you know that that is severely punished. You are my prisoner."

As he said this the commander put his hand oughly on the shoulder of the trembling 
man, who again said in French: 

"I have not used the word 'steal' at all, but let me explain the matter."

There is nothing to explain. Officer, you can ake your oath on it?" "Certainly, captain."

"Well"this to a private"you call the patrol; 'this man must be arrested."

The unhappy man bowed his head trembling, and with dull resignation he left the office, 
strongly escorted.

The man who had this experience was Mr. Coppieters, the District Commissioner, a 
man who had given all his life to the service of society and the good of the community.

Happily the burgomaster intervened, and, as I heard later, got him released.

These are some of the things I could tell about my trips in the West of Belgium. By the 
end of November I was no longer allowed to move freely behind the front, although from 
time to time I visited small Belgian frontier-places.

Yet I am glad to have witnessed the terrible fights near the Yser a couple of times where 
the German invasion was stopped, and where we may hope that soon victory may dawn 
on the brave Belgian army.
