others who must die before long, eight or ten who were very severely
wounded in the thigh and quite unable to move, two at least who were
paralysed, many who had not set foot out of bed and were not fit to
travel--we had not forgotten the amputation case of a few days before,
who was taken out dead at Charleroi station. I was so absolutely
miserable about it that I persuaded the Belgian doctor to go to the
commandant, and beg that the worst cases might be left to us, which he
very pluckily did, but without the slightest effect--they must all go,
ill or well, fit or unfit. After all the German patients were returning
to their own country and people, but these poor French soldiers were
going ill and wounded as prisoners to suffer and perhaps die in an
enemy's country--an enemy who knew no mercy.
I could hardly bear to go into the wards at all that day, and busied
myself with seeing about their clothes. Here was a practical
illustration of the difference in equipment between the German and
French soldiers. The German soldiers came in well equipped, with money
in their pockets and all they needed with them. Their organization was
perfect, and they were prepared for the war; the French were not. When
they arrived at the hospital their clothes had been cut off them anyhow,
with jagged rips and splits by the untrained Red Cross girls. Trained
ambulance workers are always taught to cut by the seam when possible.
Many had come without a cap, some without a great-coat, some without
boots; all had to be got ready somehow. The hospital was desperately
short of supplies--we simply could not give them all clean shirts and
drawers as we longed to do. The trousers were our worst problem, hardly
any of them were fit to put on. We had a few pairs of grey and black
striped trousers, the kind a superior shopman might wear, but we were
afraid to give those to the men as we thought the Germans would think
they were going to try to escape if they appeared in civil trousers, and
might punish them severely. So we mended up these remnants of French red
pantaloons as best we could. One man we _had_ to give civil trousers as
he had only a few shreds of pantaloon left, and these he promised to
carry in his hand to show that he really could not put them on.
The men were laughing and joking and teasing one another about their
garments, but my heart was as heavy as lead. I simply could not _bear_
to let the worst cases go. One or two of the Committee came up and we
begged them to try what they could do with the commandant, but they said
it was not the least use, and from what I had seen myself, I had to
confess that I did not think it would be. The patient I was most unhappy
about was a certain French count we had in the hospital. He had been
shot through the back at the battle of Nalinnes, and was three days on
the battlefield before he was picked up. Now he lay dying in a little
side room off the ward. The least movement caused him acute agony, even
the pillow had to be moved an inch at a time before it could be turned,
and it took half an hour to change his shirt. The doctor had said in the
morning he could not last another forty-eight hours. But if he was alive
the next morning he would be put in those horrible springless carts, and
jolted, jolted down to the station, taken out and transferred to a
shaky, vibrating train, carrying him far away into Germany.
Mercifully he died very peacefully in his sleep that evening, and we
were all very thankful that the end should have come a little earlier
than was expected.
Late that night came a message that the men were not to start till
midday, so we got them all dressed somehow by eleven. All had had bad
nights, nearly all had temperatures, and they looked very poor things
when they were dressed; even fat, jolly Adolphe looked pale and subdued.
We had not attempted to do anything with the bad bed cases; if they
_must_ go they must just go wrapped up in their blankets. But we
unexpectedly got a reprieve. A great German chief came round that
morning, accompanied by the German doctor and German commandant, and
gave the order that the very bad cases were to remain for the present. I
cannot say how thankful we were for this respite and so were the men.
Poor Jules, who was very weak from pain and high temperature, turned to
the wall and cried from pure relief.
At 11.30 the patients had their dinner--we tried to give them a good one
for the last--and then every moment we expected the wagons to come. We
waited and waited till at length we began to long for them to come and
get the misery of it over. At last they arrived, and we packed our
patients into it as comfortably as we could on the straw. Each had a
parcel with a little money and a few delicacies our ever-generous Madame
D---- had provided. It was terrible to think of some of these poor men
in their shoddy uniforms, without an overcoat, going off to face a long
German winter.
So we said good-bye with smiles and tears and thanks and salutations.
And the springless wagons jolted away over the rough road, and
fortunately we had our bad cases to occupy our thoughts. An order came
to prepare at once for some more wounded who might be coming in at any
time, so we started at once to get ready for any emergency. The beds
were disinfected and made up with our last clean sheets and
pillow-cases, and the wards scrubbed, when there was a shout from some
one that they were bringing in wounded at the hospital gate. We looked
out and true enough there were stretchers being brought in. I went along
to the operating theatre to see that all was ready there in case of
necessity, when I heard shrieks and howls of joy, and turned round and
there were all our dear men back again, and they, as well as the entire
staff, were half mad with delight. They were all so excited, talking at
once, one could hardly make out what had happened; but at last I made
one of them tell me quietly. It appeared that when the wagons got down
to Charleroi station, the men were unloaded and put on stretchers, and
were about to be carried into the station when an officer came and
pointed a pistol at them (why, no one knew, for they were only obeying
orders), and said they were to wait. So they waited there outside the
station for a long time, guarded by a squad of German soldiers, and at
last were told that the train to Germany was already full and that they
must return to the hospital. They all had to be got back into bed (into
our disinfected beds, with the last of the clean sheets!) and fed and
their dressings done, and so on, and they were so excited that it took a
long time before they could settle down for the night. But it was a very
short reprieve, for the next day they had to go off again and there was
no coming back this time.
I often think of those poor lads in Germany and wonder what has become
of them, and if those far-off mothers all think their sons are dead. If
so, what a joyful surprise some of them will have some day--after the
war.
IV
THE RETURN TO BRUSSELS
This seemed a favourable moment for me to go to Brussels for a day or
two to visit my flock. The Committee gave me leave to go, but begged me
to be back in two days, which I promised to do. A _laissez-passer_ had
been obtained from the German commandant for a Red Cross automobile to
go into Brussels to fetch some supplies of dressings and bandages of
which all the hospitals in the neighbourhood were woefully short. And I
was also graciously accorded a ticket of leave by the same august
authority to go for two days, which might be extended to three according
to the length of stay of the automobile.
The night before I left, an aeroplane which had been flying very high
above the town dropped some papers. The doctor with whom I was lodging
secured one and brought it back triumphantly. It contained a message
from the Burgomaster of Antwerp to his fellow-citizens, and ended thus:
"Courage, fellow-citizens, in a fortnight our country will be delivered
from the enemy."
We were all absurdly cheered by this message, and felt that it was only
a matter of a short time now before the Germans were driven out of
Belgium. We had had no news for so long that we thought probably the
Antwerp Burgomaster had information of which we knew nothing, and I was
looking forward to hearing some good news when I got to Brussels.
I found Brussels very much changed since I had left it some weeks
before. Then it was in a fever of excitement, now it was in the chill of
dark despair. German rule was firmly established, and was growing daily
more harsh and humiliating for its citizens. Everything was done to
Germanize the city, military automobiles were always dashing through,
their hooters playing the notes of the Emperor's salute, Belgian
automobiles that had been requisitioned whirred up and down the streets
filled with German officers' wives and children, German time was kept,
German money was current coin, and every café and confectioner's shop
was always crowded with German soldiers. Every day something new was
forbidden. Now it was taking photographs--the next day no cyclist was
allowed to ride, and any cyclist in civil dress might be shot at sight,
and so on. The people were only _just_ kept in hand by their splendid
Burgomaster, M. Max, but more than once it was just touch and go whether
he would be able to restrain them any longer.
What made the people almost more angry than anything else was the loss
of their pigeons, as many of the Belgians are great pigeon fanciers and
have very valuable birds. Another critical moment was when they were
ordered to take down all the Belgian flags. Up to that time the Belgian
flag, unlike every other town that the Germans had occupied, had floated
bravely from nearly every house in Brussels. M. Max had issued a
proclamation encouraging the use of it early in the war. Now this was
forbidden as it was considered an insult to the Germans. Even the Red
Cross flag was forbidden except on the German military hospitals, and I
thought Brussels looked indeed a melancholy city as we came in from
Charleroi that morning in torrents of rain in the Red Cross car.
My first business was to go round and visit all my nurses. I found most
of them very unhappy because they had no work. All the patients had been
removed from the fire-station hospital and nearly all the private
hospitals and ambulances were empty too. It was said that Germans would
rather have all their wounded die than be looked after by Englishwomen,
and there were dreadful stories afloat which I cannot think any German
believed, of English nurses putting out the eyes of the German wounded.
Altogether there were a good many English Sisters and doctors in
Brussels--three contingents sent out by the Order of St. John of
Jerusalem, to which we belonged, a large unit sent by the British Red
Cross Society, and a good many sent out privately. It certainly was not
worth while for more than a hundred English nurses to remain idle in
Brussels, and the only thing to do now was to get them back to England
as soon as possible. In the meantime a few of them took the law into
their own hands, and slipped away without a passport, and got back to
England safely by unofficial means.
The second afternoon I was in Brussels I received a note from one of my
nurses who had been sent to Tirlemont in my absence by the Belgian Red
Cross Society. The contents of the note made me very anxious about her,
and I determined to go and see her if possible. I had some Belgian
acquaintances who had come from that direction a few days before, and I
went to ask their advice as to how I should set about it. They told me
the best way, though rather the longest, was to go first to Mâlines and
then on to Tirlemont from there, and the only possible way of getting
there was to walk, as they had done a few days previously, and trust to
getting lifts in carts. There had been no fighting going on when they
had passed, and they thought I should get through all right.
So I set out very early in the morning accompanied by another Sister,
carrying a little basket with things for one or two nights. I did not
ask for any _laissez-passer_, knowing well enough that it would not be
granted. We were lucky enough to get a tram the first part of the way,
laden with peasants who had been in to Brussels to sell country produce
to the German army, and then we set out on our long walk. It was a
lovely late September morning, and the country looked so peaceful one
could hardly believe that a devastating war was going on. Our way led
first through a park, then through a high-banked lane all blue with
scabious, and then at last we got on to a main road, when the owner of a
potato cart crawling slowly along, most kindly gave us a long lift on
our way.
We then walked straight along the Mâlines road, and I was just remarking
to my companion that it was odd we should not have met a single German
soldier, when we came into a village that was certainly full of them. It
was about 11 o'clock and apparently their dinner hour, for they were all
hurrying out of a door with cans full of appetizing stew in their hands.
They took no notice of us and we walked on, but very soon came to a
sandy piece of ground where a good many soldiers were entrenched and
where others were busily putting up barbed-wire entanglements. They
looked at us rather curiously but did not stop us, and we went on.
Suddenly we came to a village where a hot skirmish was going on, two
Belgian and German outposts had met. Some mitrailleuses were there in
the field beside us, and the sound of rifle fire was crackling in the
still autumn air. There was nothing to do but to go forward, so we went
on through the village, and presently saw four German soldiers running
up the street. It is not a pretty sight to see men running away. These
men were livid with terror and gasping with deep breaths as they ran.
One almost brushed against me as he passed, and then stopped for a
moment, and I thought he was going to shoot us. But in a minute they
went on towards the barbed-wire barricades and we made our way up the
village street. Bullets were whistling past now, and every one was
closing their shops and putting up their shutters. Several people were
taking refuge behind a manure heap, and we went to join them, but the
proprietor came out and said we must not stay there as it was dangerous
for him. He advised us to go to the hotel, so we went along the street
until we reached it, but it was not a very pleasant walk, as bullets
were flying freely and the mitrailleuse never stopped going pom-pom-pom.
We found the hotel closed when we got to it, and the people absolutely
refused to let us come in, so we stood in the road for a few minutes,
not knowing which way to go. Then a Red Cross doctor saw us, and came
and told us to get under cover at once. We explained that we desired
nothing better, but that the hotel was shut, so he very kindly took us
to a convent near by. It was a convent of French nuns who had been
expelled from France and come to settle in this little village, and when
they heard who we were they were perfectly charming to us, bringing
beautiful pears from their garden and offering to keep us for the night.
We could not do that, however, it might have brought trouble on them;
but we rested half an hour and then made up our minds to return to
Brussels. We could not go forward as the Mâlines road was blocked with
soldiers, and we were afraid we could not get back the way we had come,
past the barbed-wire barricades, but the nuns told us of a little lane
at the back of their convent which led to the high road to Brussels,
about fifteen miles distant. We went down this lane for about an hour,
and then came to a road where four roads met, just as the nuns had said.
I did not know which road to take, so asked a woman working outside the
farm. She spoke Flemish, of which I only know a few words, and either I
misunderstood her, or she thought we were German Sisters, for she
pointed to another lane at the left which we had not noticed, and we
thought it was another short cut to Brussels.
We had only gone a few yards down this lane when we met a German sentry
who said "Halt!" We were so accustomed to them that we did not take much
notice, and I just showed my Red Cross brassard as I had been accustomed
to do in Charleroi when stopped. This had the German eagle stamped on it
as well as the Belgian Red Cross stamp. The man saluted and let us pass.
_Now_ I realize that he too thought we were German Sisters.
We went on calmly down the lane and in two minutes we fell into a whole
German camp. There were tents and wagons and cannon and camp fires, and
thousands of soldiers. I saw some carts there which they must have
captured from the English bearing the familiar names of "Lyons' Tea" and
"Pickford" vans! An officer came up and asked in German what we wanted.
I replied in French that we were two Sisters on our way to Brussels.
Fortunately I could produce my Belgian Carte d'Identité, which had also
been stamped with the German stamp. The only hope was to let him think
we were Belgians. Had they known we were English I don't think anything
would have saved us from being shot as spies. The officer had us
searched, but found nothing contraband on us and let us go, though he
did not seem quite satisfied. He really thought he had found something
suspicious when he spied in my basket a small metal case. It contained
nothing more compromising, however, than a piece of Vinolia soap. We had
not the least idea which way to go when we were released, and went wrong
first, and had to come back through that horrible camp again. Seven
times we were stopped and searched, and each time I pointed to my German
brassard and produced my Belgian Carte d'Identité. Sister did not speak
French or German, but she was very good and did not lose her head, or
give us away by speaking English to me. And at last--it seemed hours to
us--we got safely past the last sentry. Footsore and weary, but very
thankful, we trudged back to Brussels.
But that was not quite the end of our adventure, for just as we were
getting into Brussels an officer galloped after us, and dismounted as
soon as he got near us. He began asking in broken French the most
searching questions as to our movements. I could not keep it up and had
to tell him that we were English. He really nearly fell down with
surprise, and wanted to know, naturally enough, what we were doing
there. I told him the exact truth--how we had started out for Mâlines,
were unable to get there and so were returning to Brussels. "But," he
said at once, "you are not on the Mâlines road." He had us there, but I
explained that we had rested at a convent and that the nuns had shown us
a short cut, and that we had got on to the wrong road quite by mistake.
He asked a thousand questions, and wanted the whole history of our lives
from babyhood up. Eventually I satisfied him apparently, for he saluted,
and said in English as good as mine, "Truly the English are a wonderful
nation," mounted his horse and rode away.
I did not try any more excursions to Tirlemont after that, but heard
later on that my nurse was safe and in good hands.
* * * * *
My business in Brussels was now finished, and I wanted to return to my
hospital at M. The German authorities met my request with a blank
refusal. I was not at all prepared for this. I had only come in for two
days and had left all my luggage behind me. Also one cannot leave one's
hospital in this kind of way without a word of explanation to anyone. I
could not go without permission, and it was more than sixty kilometres,
too far to walk. I kept on asking, and waited and waited, hoping from
day to day to get permission to return.
Instead of that came an order that every private ambulance and hospital
in Brussels was to be closed at once, and that no wounded at all were to
be nursed by the English Sisters. The doctor and several of the Sisters
belonging to the Red Cross unit were imprisoned for twenty-four hours
under suspicion of being spies. Things could not go on like this much
longer. What I wanted to do was to send all my nurses back to England if
it could be arranged, and return myself to my work at M. till it was
finished. We were certainly not wanted in Brussels. The morning that the
edict to close the hospitals had been issued, I saw about 200 German Red
Cross Sisters arriving at the Gare du Nord.
I am a member of the International Council of Nurses, and our last big
congress was held in Germany. I thus became acquainted with a good many
of the German Sisters, and wondered what the etiquette would be if I
should meet some of them now in Brussels. But I never saw any I knew.
After the Red Cross doctor with his Sisters had been released, he went
to the German authorities and asked in the name of us all what they
proposed doing with us. As they would no longer allow us to follow our
profession, we could not remain in Brussels. The answer was rather
surprising as they said they intended sending the whole lot of us to
Liège. That was not pleasant news. Liège was rather uncomfortably near
Germany, and as we were not being sent to work there it sounded
remarkably like being imprisoned. Every one who could exerted themselves
on our behalf; the American Consul in particular went over and over
again to vainly try to get the commandant to change his mind. We were to
start on Monday morning, and on Sunday at midday the order still stood.
But at four o'clock that afternoon we got a message to say that our
gracious masters had changed our sentence, and that we were to go to
England when it suited their pleasure to send us. But this did not suit
_my_ pleasure at all. Twenty-six nurses had been entrusted to my care by
the St. John's Committee, four were still at M., and one at Tirlemont,
and I did not mean to quit Belgian soil if I could help it, leaving five
of them behind. So I took everything very quietly, meaning to stay
behind at the last minute, and change into civilian dress, which I took
care to provide myself with.
Then began a long period of waiting. Not one of my nurses was working,
though there were a great many wounded in Brussels, and we knew that
they were short-handed. There was nothing to do but to walk about the
streets and read the new _affiches_, or proclamations, which were put up
almost every day, one side in French, the other side in German, so that
all who listed might read. They were of two kinds. One purported to give
the news, which was invariably of important German successes and
victories. The other kind were orders and instructions for the behaviour
of the inhabitants of Brussels. It was possible at that time to buy
small penny reprints of all the proclamations issued since the German
occupation. They were not sold openly as the Germans were said to forbid
their sale, but after all they could hardly punish people for reissuing
what they themselves had published. Unfortunately I afterwards lost my
little books of proclamations, but can reproduce a translation of a
characteristic one that appeared on October 5. The italics are mine.
BRUSSELS: October 5, 1914.
During the evening of September 25 the railway line and the
telegraph wires were destroyed on the line Lovenjoul-Vertryck. In
consequence of this, these two places have had to render an account
of this, and had to give hostages on the morning of September 30.
In future, the localities nearest to the place where similar acts
take place _will be punished without pity--it matters little
whether the inhabitants are guilty or not_. For this purpose
hostages have been taken from all localities near the railway line
thus menaced, and at the first attempt to destroy either the
railway line or telephone or telegraph, _the hostages will be
immediately shot_. Further, all the troops charged with the duty of
guarding the railway have been ordered _to shoot any person with a
suspicious manner_ who approaches the line or telegraph or
telephone wires.
VON DER GOLST.
And Von der Golst was recalled from Brussels later on because he was too
lenient!
There is no reparation the Germans can ever make for iniquities of this
kind--and they cannot deny these things as they have others, for they
stand condemned out of their own mouths. Their own proclamations are
quite enough evidence to judge them on.