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THE GERMAN FURY IN BELGIUM
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"_
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXVII
_Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and
Aylesbury._
PREFACE
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 Visé and Liège 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 Liège 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 Liège 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 Visé 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.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 13
CHAPTER I
ON THE WAY TO LIÈGE 15
CHAPTER II
IN LIÈGE AND BACK TO MAASTRICHT 40
CHAPTER III
ROUND ABOUT LIÈGE 56
CHAPTER IV
VISÉ DESTROYED: A PREMEDITATED CRIME 72
CHAPTER V
FRANCS-TIREURS? 87
CHAPTER VI
WITH THE FLEMINGS 95
CHAPTER VII
LIÈGE AFTER THE OCCUPATION 108
CHAPTER VIII
LOUVAIN DESTROYED 113
CHAPTER IX
LOUVAIN UNDER THE MAILED FIST 132
CHAPTER X
ALONG THE MEUSE TO HUY, ANDENNE, AND NAMUR 147
CHAPTER XI
FROM MAASTRICHT TO THE FRENCH FRONTIER: THE DESTRUCTION OF DINANT 156
CHAPTER XII
ON THE BATTLE-FIELDS 169
CHAPTER XIII
ROUND ABOUT BILSEN 175
CHAPTER XIV
DURING THE SIEGE OF ANTWERP 195
CHAPTER XV
THE ILL-TREATMENT OF BRITISH WOUNDED 217
CHAPTER XVI
ON THE YSER 232
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 LIÈGE
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[1] 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 Visé 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 not. 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 Netherlanders 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 Liège."
"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. Liège 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 Netherlanders 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 Visé! I was not allowed to go to
Liège, 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 Visé 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 Visé, 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
café 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 café 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 Visé 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.
Visé 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 Visé,
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 Visé 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 Liège; 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 Liège, which
was said to have just been taken! But my passport stated that I was
only allowed to go to Visé. 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 Visé and Liège,
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 Liège, and then back to Maastricht, to
be able to wire to my paper that I had been to Liège 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 advised 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 Liège 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 Liège, 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 Liège, 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 Liège? You want to go to Liège? 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 Visé-Liège 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 Visé.
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 Visé-Liège. 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 Visé,
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.
Liège 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 Liège; and so far I had
achieved my end.