really is, because their private acts as well as their public ones have
been so unworthy of a great nation. Some Belgian acquaintances of mine
who had a large chateau in the country told me that such stealing among
officers as took place was unheard of in any war before between
civilized countries. The men had little opportunity of doing so, but the
officers sent whole wagon-loads of things back to Germany with their
name on. My friends said naturally they expected them to take food and
wine and even a change of clothing, but in their own home the German
officers quartered there had taken the very carpets off the floor and
the chandeliers from the ceiling, and old carved cupboards that had been
in the family for generations, and sent them back to Germany. They all
begged me to make these facts public when I got back to England. Writing
letters was useless as they never got through. Other Belgian friends
told me of the theft of silver, jewellery, and even women's
undergarments.
It was not etiquette in Brussels to watch the Germans, and particularly
the officers. One could not speak about them in public, spies were
everywhere, and one would be arrested at once at the first indiscreet
word--but no one could be forced to look at them--and the habit was to
ignore them altogether, to avert one's head, or shut one's eyes, or in
extreme cases to turn one's back on them, and this hurt their feelings
more than anything else could do. They _could_ not believe apparently
that Belgian women did not enjoy the sight of a beautiful officer in
full dress--as much as German women would do.
All English papers were very strictly forbidden, but a few got in
nevertheless by runners from Ostend. At the beginning of the German
occupation the _Times_ could be obtained for a franc. Later it rose to 3
francs then 5, then 9, then 15 francs. Then with a sudden leap it
reached 23 francs on one day. That was the high-water mark, for it came
down after that. The _Times_ was too expensive for the likes of me. I
used to content myself with the _Flandres Libérale_, a half-penny paper
published then in Ghent and sold in Brussels for a franc or more
according to the difficulty in getting it in. These papers used to be
wrapped up very tight and small and smuggled into Brussels in a basket
of fruit or a cart full of dirty washing. They could not of course be
bought in the shops, and the Germans kept a very keen look-out for them.
We used to get them nevertheless almost every day in spite of them.
The mode of procedure was this: When it was getting dusk you sauntered
out to take a turn in the fresh air. You strolled through a certain
square where there were men selling picture post-cards, etc. You
selected a likely looking man and went up and looked over his cards,
saying under your breath "_Journal Anglais?_" or "_Flandres Libérale?_"
which ever it happened to be. Generally you were right, but occasionally
the man looked at you with a blank stare and you knew you had made a bad
shot, and if perchance he had happened to be a spy, your lot would not
have been a happy one. But usually you received a whispered "Oui,
madame," in reply, and then you loudly asked the way to somewhere, and
the man would conduct you up a side street, pointing the way with his
finger. When no one was looking he slipped a tiny folded parcel into
your hand, you slipped a coin into his, and the ceremony was over. But
it was not safe to read your treasure at a front window or anywhere
where you might be overlooked.
Sometimes these newspaper-sellers grew bold and transacted this business
too openly and then there was trouble. One evening some of the nurses
were at Benediction at the Carmelite Church, when a wretched newspaper
lad rushed into the church and hid himself in a Confessional. He was
followed by four or five German soldiers. They stopped the service and
forbade any of the congregation to leave, and searched the church till
they found the white and trembling boy, and dragged him off to his fate.
We heard afterwards that a German spy had come up and asked him in
French if he had a paper, and the boy was probably new at the game and
fell into the trap.
About this time the Germans were particularly busy in Brussels. A great
many new troops were brought in, amongst them several Austrian regiments
and a great many naval officers and men. It was quite plain that some
big undertaking was planned. Then one day we saw the famous heavy guns
going out of the city along the Antwerp road. I had heard them last at
Maubeuge, now I was to hear them again. Night and day reinforcements of
soldiers poured into Brussels at the Gare du Nord, and poured out at the
Antwerp Gate. No one whatever was permitted to pass to leave the city,
the trams were all stopped at the barriers, and aeroplanes were
constantly hovering above the city like huge birds of prey.
On Sunday, September 27, we woke to hear cannon booming and the house
shaking with each concussion. The Germans had begun bombarding the forts
which lay between Brussels and Antwerp. Looking from the heights of
Brussels with a good glass, one could see shells bursting near Waelheim
and Wavre St. Catherine. The Belgians were absolutely convinced that
Antwerp was impregnable, and as we had heard that large masses of
English troops had been landed there, we hoped very much that this would
be the turning-point of the war, and that the Germans might be driven
back out of the country.
On Wednesday, September 30, the sounds of cannon grew more distant, and
we heard that Wavre St. Catherine had been taken. The Belgians were
still confident, but it seems certain that the Germans were convinced
that nothing could withstand their big guns, for they made every
preparation to settle down in Brussels for the winter. They announced
that from October 1 Brussels would be considered as part of German
territory, and that they intended to re-establish the local postal
service from that date. They reckoned without their host there, for the
Brussels postmen refused to a man to take service under them, so the
arrangement collapsed. They did re-establish postal communication
between Brussels and Germany, and issued a special set of four stamps.
They were the ordinary German stamps of 3, 5, 10 and 20 pfennig, and
were surcharged in black "Belgien 3, 5, 10 and 20 centimes."
About this time, too, they took M. Max, the Burgomaster, off to Liège as
prisoner, on the pretext that Brussels had not yet paid the enormous
indemnity demanded of it. He held the people in the hollow of his hand,
and the Brussels authorities very much feared a rising when he was taken
off. But the Echevins, or College of Sheriffs, rose to the occasion,
divided his work between them, and formed a local police composed of
some of the most notable citizens of the town. They were on duty all day
and night and divided the work into four-hour shifts, and did splendid
work in warning the people against disorderly acts and preventing
disturbances. It is not difficult to guess what would have happened if
these patriotic citizens had not acted in this way--there would most
certainly have been a rising among the people, and the German reprisals
would have been terrible. As it was a German soldier who was swaggering
alone down the Rue Basse was torn in pieces by the angry crowd, but for
some reason this outbreak was hushed up by the German authorities.
V
A MEMORABLE JOURNEY
The authorities seemed to be far too busy to trouble themselves about
our affairs, and we could get no news as to what was going to happen to
us. There was a good deal of typhoid fever in Brussels, and I thought I
would employ this waiting time in getting inoculated against it, as I
had not had time to do so before leaving England.
This operation was performed every Saturday by a doctor at the Hôpital
St. Pierre, so on Saturday, October 3, I repaired there to take my turn
with the others. The prick was nothing, and it never occurred to me that
I should take badly, having had, I believe, typhoid when a child. But I
soon began to feel waves of hot and cold, then a violent headache came
on, and I was forced to go to bed with a very painful arm and a high
temperature. I tossed about all night, and the next morning I was worse
rather than better. At midday I received a message that every English
Sister and doctor in Brussels was to leave for England the next day, via
Holland, in a special train that had been chartered by some Americans
and accompanied by the American Consul. How I rejoiced at my fever, for
now I had a legitimate excuse for staying behind, for except at the
point of the sword I did not mean to leave Belgium while I still had
nurses there who might be in danger. The heads of all the various
parties were requested to let their nurses know that they must be at the
station the next day at 2 P. M. Several of my nurses were
lodging in the house I was in, and I sent a message to them and to all
the others that they must be ready at the appointed place and time. I
also let a trusted few know that I did not mean to go myself, and gave
them letters and messages for England.
The next morning I was still not able to get up, but several of my
people came in to say good-bye to me in bed, and I wished them good luck
and a safe passage back to England. By 1 P. M. they were all
gone, and a great peace fell over the house. I struggled out of bed,
put all traces of uniform away, and got out my civilian dress. I was no
longer an official, but a private person out in Belgium on my own
account, and intended to walk to Charleroi by short stages as soon as I
was able. I returned to bed, and at five o'clock I was half asleep, half
picturing my flock on their way to England, when there was a great
clamour and clatter, and half a dozen of them burst into my room. They
were all back once more!
They told me they had gone down to the station as they were told, and
found the special train for Americans going off to the Dutch frontier.
Their names were all read out, but they were not allowed to get into the
train, and were told they were not going that day after all. The German
officials present would give no reason for the change, and were
extremely rude to the nurses. They told me my name had been read out
amongst the others. They had been asked why I was not there, and had
replied that I was ill in bed.
Just then a letter arrived marked "Urgent," and in it was an order that
I should be at the station at 12 P. M. the next day _without
fail_, accompanied by my nurses. I was very sad that they had discovered
I did not want to go, because I knew now that they would leave no stone
unturned to make me, but I determined to resist to the last moment and
not go if I could help it. So I sent back a message to the Head Doctor
of the Red Cross unit, asking him to convey to the German authorities
the fact that I was ill in bed and could not travel the next day. Back
came a message to say that they regretted to hear I was ill, and that I
should be transferred at once to a German hospital and be attended by a
German doctor. That, of course, was no good at all--I should then
probably have been a German prisoner till the end of the war, and not
have been the slightest use to anyone.
I very reluctantly gave in and said I would go. We were told that we
should be safely conducted as far as the Dutch frontier, and so I
determined to get across to Antwerp if I could from there and work my
way back to Brussels in private clothes.
I scrambled up somehow the next day, and found a very large party
assembled outside the Gare du Nord, as every single English nurse and
doctor in Brussels was to be expelled. There must have been fifteen or
twenty doctors and dressers altogether, and more than a hundred Sisters
and nurses.
A squad of German soldiers were lined up outside the station, and two
officers guarded the entrance. They had a list of our names, and as each
name was read out, we were passed into the station, where a long, black
troop-train composed of third-class carriages was waiting for us. The
front wagons were, I believe, full of either wounded or prisoners, as
only a few carriages were reserved for us. However, we crowded in, eight
of us in a carriage meant for six, and found, greatly to our surprise,
that there were two soldiers with loaded rifles sitting at the window in
each compartment. There was nothing to be said, we were entirely in
their hands, and after all the Dutch frontier was not so very far off.
The soldiers had had orders to sit at the two windows and prevent us
seeing out, but our two guards were exceedingly nice men, not Prussians
but Danish Germans from Schleswig-Holstein, who did not at all enjoy the
job they had been put to, so our windows were not shut nor our blinds
down as those in some of the other carriages were.
A whistle sounded, and we were off. We went very very slowly, and waited
an interminable time at each station. When evening came on we had only
arrived as far as Louvain, and were interested to see two Zeppelins
looming clear and black against the sunset sky, in the Mâlines direction
flying towards Antwerp. It was not too dark to see the fearful
destruction that had been dealt out to this famous Catholic University,
only built and endowed during the last eighty years by great and heroic
sacrifices on the part of both clergy and people. The two German
soldiers in our carriage were themselves ashamed when they saw from the
window the crumbling ruins and burnt-out buildings which are all that
remain of Louvain now. One of them muttered: "If only the people had not
fired at the soldiers, this would never have happened." Since he felt
inclined to discuss the matter, one of us quoted the clause from The
Hague Convention of 1907 which was signed by Germany:
The territory of neutral states is inviolable.
The fact of a neutral Power resisting even by force, attempts to
violate its neutrality cannot be regarded as a hostile act.
This was beyond him, but he reiterated: "No civilians have any right to
fire at soldiers." And all the time they were killing civilians by bombs
thrown on open cities. So deep has the sanctity of the army sunk into
the German heart.
Night drew on, and one after another dropped into an uneasy sleep. But
we were squeezed so tight, and the wooden third-class carriages were so
hard, that it was almost more uncomfortable to be asleep than to be
awake. We persuaded the two German soldiers to sit together as that made
a little more room, and they soon went to sleep on each other's
shoulders, their rifles between their knees. I was still feverish and
seedy and could not sleep, but watched the beautiful starry sky, and
meditated upon many things. We passed through Tirlemont, and I thought
of my poor nurse and wished I could get out and see what she was doing.
Then I began to be rather puzzled by the way we were going. I knew this
line pretty well, but could not make out where we were. About three
o'clock in the morning I saw great forts on a hill sending out powerful
search-lights. I knew I could not be mistaken, this must be Liège. And
then we drew up in the great busy station, and I saw that it was indeed
Liège. So we were on our way to Germany after all, and not to the Dutch
frontier as we had been promised.
Next morning this was quite apparent, for we passed through Verviers and
then Herbesthal the frontier town. At the latter place the doors of all
our carriages were thrown violently open, and a Prussian officer shouted
in a raucous voice "Heraus." Few of our party understood German, and
they did not get out quickly enough to please his lordship, for he
bellowed to the soldiers: "Push those women out of the train if they
don't go quicker." Our things were thrown out after us as we scrambled
out on to the platform, while two officers walked up and down having
every bag and portmanteau turned out for their inspection. All
scissors, surgical instruments and other useful articles were taken away
from the Sisters, who protested in vain against this unfair treatment.
The soldiers belonging to our carriage, seeing this, tumbled all our
possessions back into the carriage, pretending that they had been
examined--for we had become fast friends since we had shared our scanty
stock of food and chocolate together. I was personally very thankful not
to have my belongings looked at too closely, for I had several things I
did not at all want to part with; one was my camera, which was sewn up
inside my travelling cushion, a little diary that I had kept in Belgium,
and a sealed letter that had been given me as we stood outside the
station at Brussels by a lady who implored me to take it to England and
post it for her there, as it was to her husband in Petrograd, who had
had no news of her since the war began. I had this in an inside secret
pocket, and very much hoped I should get it through successfully.
We were ordered into the train again in the same polite manner that we
had been ordered out. Our two soldiers were much upset by the treatment
we had received. One had tears in his eyes when he told us how sorry he
was, for he had the funny old-fashioned idea that Red Cross Sisters on
active service should be treated with respect--even if they were
English. He then told us that their orders were to accompany us to
Cologne; he did not know what was going to happen to us after that. So
Germany was to be our destination after all.
At the next station we stopped for a long time, and then the doors of
the carriages were opened and we were each given a bowl of soup. It was
very good and thick, and we christened it "hoosh" with remembrance of
Scott's rib-sticking compound in the Antarctic; and there was plenty of
it, so we providently filled up a travelling kettle with it for the
evening meal. Then we went on again and crawled through that
interminable day over the piece of line between Herbesthal and Cologne.
Evening came, and we thought of the "hoosh," but when it came to the
point no one could look at it, and we threw it out of the window. A
horrible yellow scum had settled on the top of it and clung to the
sides, so that it spoilt the kettle for making tea--and we _were_ so
thirsty.
At last, late at night, we saw the lights of Cologne. We had been
thirty-two hours doing a journey that ordinarily takes six or seven. We
were ordered out of the train when we reached the station, and were
marched along between two rows of soldiers to a waiting-room. No porters
were allowed to help us, so we trailed all along those underground
corridors at Cologne station with our own luggage. Fortunately it was so
late that there were not many people about. We were allowed to have a
meal here, and could order anything we liked. Some coffee was a great
comfort, and we were able to buy rolls and fruit for the journey.
An incident happened here that made my blood boil, but nothing could be
done, so we had to set our teeth and bear it. A waiter came in smiling
familiarly, with a bundle of papers under his arm, and put one of these
illustrated weeklies beside each plate. On the front page was a horrible
caricature of England--so grossly indecent that it makes me hot now
even to think of it. As soon as I saw what they were, I went round to
each place, gathered them up and put them aside.
As we waited I wondered what was to be the next step, and could not help
thinking of my last visit to Cologne two years before. Then I went as a
delegate to a very large Congress and Health Exhibition, when we were
the honoured guests of the German National Council of Nurses. Then we
were fêted by the Municipality of Cologne--given a reception at the
Botanical Gardens, a free pass to all the sights of Cologne, a concert,
tableaux, a banquet, I don't know what more. Now I was a prisoner
heavily guarded, weary, dirty, humiliated in the very city that had done
us so much honour.
After about three hours' wait we were ordered into another train,
mercifully for our poor bones rather a more comfortable one this time,
with plenty of room, and we went on our way, over the Rhine, looking
back at Cologne Cathedral, on past Essen and Dusseldorf, into the very
heart of Germany. It was rather an original idea--this trip through the
enemy's country in the middle of the war!
In the morning we had a nice surprise. We arrived at Münster, and found
breakfast awaiting us. The Red Cross ladies of that town kindly provide
meals for all prisoners and wounded soldiers passing through. They
seemed very surprised when all we English people turned up, but they
were very kind in waiting on us, and after breakfast we got what was
better than anything in the shape of a good wash. We had a long wait at
Münster so there was no hurry, and we all got our turn under the
stand-pipe and tap that stood in the station. Then on and on and on, and
it seemed that we had always been in the train, till at last, late one
evening, we arrived at Hamburg.
We were ordered out of the train here for a meal, and this was by far
the most unpleasant time we had. Evidently the news of our arrival had
preceded us, and a whole crowd of Hamburgers were at the station waiting
to see us emerge from the train.
They were not allowed on to the platform, but lined the outside of the
railing all the way down, laughing at us, spitting, hissing, jeering,
and making insulting remarks. And though we were English we had to take
it lying down. At the first indiscreet word from any of us they would
have certainly taken off the men of our party to prison, though they
would have probably done nothing more to us women than to delay our
journey. There were about fifteen doctors and dressers with us, and we
were naturally much more afraid for their safety than for our own. I
think I shall never forget walking down that platform at Hamburg. We
were hurried into a waiting-room, the door of which was guarded by two
soldiers, and a meal of bread and cold meat ordered for us. The German
waiters evidently much resented being asked to serve us, for they nearly
threw the food at us.
Then something happened that made up for everything. A young German
officer came up and asked in very good English if there was anything he
could do for us in any way.
"I beg your pardon for speaking to you," he said, "but I received so
much kindness from every one when I was in England, that it would be the
greatest pleasure I could have if I could help you at all." And he
started by giving the waiter the biggest blowing-up he had ever had in
his life, for which I could have hugged him. He then went off and came
back in a few minutes with fruit and chocolate and everything he could
find for us to take with us. He was a very bright and shining star in a
dark place. Then along the platform past that horrible, jeering crowd
and into the train once more.
It was night, and most of us were asleep when the train stopped with a
jerk, the doors of the train were thrown open, and the fresh, salty
smell of the sea met our nostrils. Some of the party, hardly awake,
thought they had to get out, and began to descend, but such volumes of
wrath met their attempt that they hastily got in again. Every window in
the train was shut, every blind pulled down and curtains closed, and a
soldier with loaded rifle stood at each window. We were crossing the
Kiel Canal. There were a great many people in England who would have
given anything to have been in our shoes just then. But we saw
absolutely nothing.
They forgot to give us any breakfast that day, but we did not mind.
Every mile now, along this flat, marshy country, was a mile nearer
Denmark and freedom, and our spirits rose higher every moment. Though
why the Germans should take us all through Germany and Denmark, when
they could just as easily have dropped us on the Dutch frontier, I
cannot even now imagine.
Early that afternoon we arrived at Vendrup, the Danish frontier, and the
soldiers and the train that had brought us all the way from Cologne went
back to Germany. It was difficult to realize that we were free once
more, after two months of being prisoners with no news of home, tied
down to a thousand tiresome regulations, and having witnessed terrible
sights that none of us will ever forget. Strange and delightful it was
to be able to send a telegram to England once more and to buy a paper;
wonderful to see the friendly, smiling faces all round us. It felt
almost like getting home again.
VI
A PEACEFUL INTERLUDE
Late that night we arrived in Copenhagen. The kindness we received there
surpasses all imagination. The Danish people opened their arms in
welcome and gave us of their best with both hands. Every one went out of
their way to be good to us, from the manager of the delightful Hotel
Cosmopolite, where we were staying, to the utter strangers who sent us
flowers, fruit, sweets, illustrated papers and invitations to every
possible meal in such profusion.