WITH THE FLEMINGS
BETWEEN my tours through the Liège district I made a trip in the
direction of Tongres, because I wanted to know what had become of all
those Germans who had crossed the Meuse near Lixhe. It was remarkable
to notice how friendly the Flemings of that district behaved with
regard to the Germans. Although they criticised the violation of the
country's neutrality sharply, and every family was proud of the sons
who had taken up arms in defence of their Fatherland, yet they judged
quite kindly the German soldiers who passed through their district. I
often heard expressions full of pity toward those men, who could not
help themselves, but were compelled to do whatever their superiors
commanded them.
The Germans did themselves great injury undoubtedly by their vulgar and
barbarous demeanour, for that lost them every claim on the sympathy of
the people.
They behaved tolerably well during the first few days after the
occupation of Tongres; but that did not last long, and soon they began
here also to commit atrocious acts of terrorism. One evening at about
the middle of August several civilians were killed, a dozen houses
along the road to Maastricht were fired, and in the town the windows of
several shops smashed, which was followed by general looting. That lost
them whatever sympathy they might have met with in the district.
On August 12th I came for the first time to Tongres. They had been
there only a few days, and only near the town-hall did I see a goodly
number of the garrison. Many wounded were brought there, and carried
in through the door under the outside stairway. They came from Haelen,
where a battle was being fought that afternoon and for which they
had left in the morning. For the attack on the entrenched Belgians
they had used cavalry exclusively, who were simply mowed down by the
murderous fire from the hidden mitrailleuses and the infantry fire from
the trenches. The Germans suffered a great reverse, and were deeply
embittered.
Just outside Tongres I met a fleet of Red Cross cars loaded with
wounded. Cavalry escorted them. I was stopped and ordered to go back,
as they expected the Belgians to attack Tongres.
I thought the result of the battle of Haelen rather important, and
should have liked to have wired it immediately to my paper. Until now
I had always gone on foot, that being the only conveyance which the
Germans could not seize. But this time I preferred a bicycle, as the
only way to get to The Netherlands on that same day. So I tried at a
couple of bicycle-shops to get a second-hand one for love and money. At
the first shop I asked:--
"I suppose, madame, that you have an old 'bike' to sell?"
She looked me up and down suspiciously, and then said:
"No, I've none to sell."
I did not fare better at the next. There the answer was:
"I refuse to sell 'bikes' to Germans."
"But, madame, I am not German; I am a Netherlander. I should...."
"I can hear quite well that you are German, and if you were a
Netherlander you would not venture on a bike at this moment. If you
come here to seize my bikes, I'll deliver them, for I cannot do
anything against that, but I refuse to sell them of my own free-will."
The dear lady rapped it out in such a decided tone of voice that I
desisted. I told my trouble to the proprietor of a café where I took a
glass of beer; he, examining my papers, placed confidence in me, and
got me a rickety thing, for which I paid twenty-two francs.
After all, this was better than walking, so I decided to make a small
detour, go once more to Liège, and see how the forts were. I lost my
way in a maze of by-roads, and got at last back to the main road near
Jupille, where I met a patrol of Uhlans, who came in my direction at a
trot.
Already from a distance with much fuss they signalled to me to stop,
and of course I obeyed at once. Two men dismounted, came to me in
a perfect rage, and, without asking who I was or what I was doing,
cut my tyres to pieces in several places; they abused me with wild
gesticulations and threats, jumped on their horses, and rode off. I
dragged my wretched vehicle with its stabbed tyres a little distance,
but then met a second patrol, who showed still greater indignation, and
destroyed it altogether.
For the rest of the journey I used my only remaining means of
transport, my legs, and after a walk of some hours got to the frontier
of The Netherlands near Oud-Vroenhoven. A Netherland custom-house
officer asked for my papers, and I showed him my huge passport. The man
looked at the sheet critically, and made out that I could not possibly
be a Netherlander, as I was the holder of a "foreign" passport.
My "foreign" passport was, of course, in French, of which language the
man evidently knew not a word. Although I explained that this passport
was the best one could get in The Netherlands, that I had paid six
guilders and seventy-five cents for it, that I was a war-correspondent
of _De Tijd_, it was all useless. I had to go with him to the
guard-house, and the man kept the queer passport--the damning piece of
evidence--firmly in his hand. All the inquisitive loafers, of which
the frontier was full during those days, followed me, and so we went
in procession to the guard-house, at some distance from the frontier.
I heard all sorts of discussions behind me, and constantly caught
words like: German, boche, deserter, franc-tireur, spy, and other
complimentary niceties.
As soon as I had entered the guard-house a soldier, rifle in hand,
mounted guard. The custom-house officer handed my French passport to a
lieutenant, who scrutinised it closely. Then followed the examination:
"You are a journalist?"
"Yes, sir."
"On which paper?"
"_De Tijd_, sir; here is my press-card."
"Where is _De Tijd_ printed?"
"In Amsterdam...."
"In which street?"
"Well ...! The Nieuwe Zijds Voorburgwal."
"All right; you may go!"
Having pushed my way through the loafers, who stood waiting before the
house, I was able to continue my journey to Maastricht.
A few days later I had to go to Canne, a Belgian hamlet near the
frontier, south of Maastricht. In the evening of August 18th an
atrociously barbarous crime had been committed there, a cool-blooded
murder. At Canne live some good, kind Flemings, who would not hurt a
fly. The kind-hearted burgomaster had, moreover, tried for days to
comfort his fellow-citizens, and was for ever saying:
"Leave everything to me; I'll invite them to have a glass of wine with
me, and you will see then that they are kind people."
This he had done. Already for many days he had treated several officers
to his best claret.
Tuesday night, August 18th, at about 11 o'clock, a train of luggage
carts passed through Canne, and in the village the Browning of one of
the soldiers in the last van went off suddenly. This was the signal
for all Germans to start shooting indiscriminately, anywhere, at
anything, happily without hitting anybody. A few tipsy soldiers went
to the burgomaster's house, and no sooner had his wife opened the door
for the barbarians, when a shot was fired, the bullet passing through
the unfortunate lady's head into the wall opposite the door. I was
there early the next morning and saw the hole. It is evident that the
soldiers ill-treated the dead lady with their rifles in a horrible
manner, for a large part of the wall was spattered over with blood.
After having murdered the burgomaster's wife, the villains attacked a
guest, Mr. Derricks, a lawyer, and member of the Provincial States,
whom they killed with a bayonet. His wife broke a leg when she tried to
fly to the cellar.
Mr. Derricks lived at Roelanche, but with his wife and seven children
had fled for security to Canne, where he was hospitably received in Mr.
Poswick's, the burgomaster's, house.
When I got to the house everything was in a frightful state. A pair of
curtains showed traces of fire; cupboards had been emptied, and nearly
all the china and glass broken; statuary lay broken on the floor;
windows were smashed; bits of bricks and plaster from the ceilings,
through which many shots had been fired, completed the scene of
destruction. On the doorstep I picked up a cartridge-case, which I have
always kept, because it is highly probable that it had contained the
bullet which killed Mrs. Poswick.
This terrible tragedy took place at scarcely six yards from the
Netherland frontier, for the burgomaster's house stands by a road
half Belgian and half Netherland. The Netherland soldiers who were
doing frontier-duty on the latter part had to fly from the mad shooting
of the Germans. They hid behind a wall that was quickly full of
bullet-holes. The German soldiers spent a considerable time guzzling
the burgomaster's wine, which they looted, and afterwards went off in
the direction of Tongres.
It was stated later on that the German authorities punished the
culprits and had them executed at Aix-la-Chapelle; _De Tijd_ of August
31st, 1914, also reported it. But the action of these soldiers was
not worse than that of generals who had entire cities destroyed and
civilians killed by the hundred, but were always screened by the German
Government.
* * * * *
On Thursday, August 20th, I decided to go once more in the direction of
Tongres. As the Germans had picketed the main road along the Netherland
frontier, I made a detour and dragged my bicycle across the mountain
near Petit Laney, a very trying job in the stifling heat. From the
mountain top I had a beautiful vista, which enabled me to see that near
Riemst a large German force was encamped at which I desired to have
a look. So I walked down the hill to Canne, where some crofters were
trying to get their cattle into The Netherlands. These poor creatures,
who usually own two or three head of cattle, had been compelled already
to give up half of their stock. From Canne I cut through corn and
beetroot fields to the road to Riemst. The first German sentinels were
tolerably friendly.
"Ah, so you are a Netherlander, aren't you? Then we are friends. The
Netherlands remains neutral, does she not? What news have you from
there; are you already at war with Britain?"
These and similar questions were asked after a superficial examination
of my papers, and, having answered them, I was allowed to go on. But at
a certain moment an officer appeared, who summoned me to dismount, and
asked for my papers. After a short examination he ordered a soldier to
take me to the commanding officer at Riemst.
The attitude of all the soldiers changed immediately; they looked at
me with angry eyes, and from time to time I heard hostile remarks.
Whenever I did not walk quickly enough or turned a little to the
right or the left, my escort pulled me roughly by the arm. All the
same I took the case as coolly as possible, fully convinced that the
commanding officer would release me after a superficial examination.
At Riemst, the soldier took, or rather pummelled me into a large
farm-house, and soon I faced the bigwigs, who had made themselves
as comfortable as possible in a large room. Several pictures and
engravings lay on the ground in pieces, whilst numerous full and empty
wine-bottles indicated that they had abundantly worshipped at the
shrine of Bacchus, and intended to go on with the cult. The higher
officers and the subalterns seemed to be frantically busy; at least
they had violent discussions with many gesticulations over a map. The
soldier reported that he had brought me here by order of Lieutenant
Such--I did not catch the name--and then it began:
"Who are you?"
"I am...."
"What do you want here--what are you here for?"
"I am a Netherland jour...."
"What! A Netherlander? I suppose you come to see how many troops are
here, don't you? And then...."
"Please be good enough to have a look at my papers, and then...."
"Papers? Papers? Yes, of course you all have papers; all those villains
who shot at our men at Visé come back from The Netherlands with papers,
in order to start afresh. Later on I'll have a look at that stuff.
Here, lock him up for the present."
He pointed to a couple of soldiers, and they laid hold of me. They
took me to a small room, where I was astonished to find two soldiers
with revolvers guarding a priest and a peasant. As soon as the door
was closed behind me I wished to chat with my fellow-prisoners, for
even in prison I was not oblivious of my journalistic duties. But they
seemed not at all anxious to have anything to do with me, and I soon
understood the reason why. At each question they threw timid glances
at the two watch-dogs, and I saw that fear of these made them withhold
all information. However, after a good deal of trouble I got to know
that the priest was the parish priest, and his companion in misery
the burgomaster. They had been taken as hostages, and would suffer
punishment for acts the villagers might eventually commit against the
German usurpers. I contented myself with this, as I felt that in the
circumstances further questions might make things awkward for these two
men.
What might happen next? Sitting on a chair in a corner of the room I
began to consider my position. For the moment it was not agreeable,
but by and by those officers might find time to look at my papers. The
only thing I bothered about was a map marked with the places where,
according to the latest news, the German and French armies were. I
kept it in an inside coat-pocket, and it might be found if they should
search me.
I spent three hours in the small room with my silent companions.
At last I was called, and appeared once more before the casual
court-martial.
"Very well, now give me those papers."
Having got them, several officers examined my credentials, and their
faces showed that the horizon was a little clearer for me.
"Oh, you are a journalist? And what came you here for?"
"Well, sir, I wanted to follow, as far as the German Authorities
desire to allow it, the movements of the German armies, in order to
give reliable information to the Netherland public, who take a great
interest in your progress."
"Indeed! And did you take notes already? Just let me have a look."
The turn things took now was not quite to my liking, and I did not feel
very safe when I handed him my scribbling-pad.
"I cannot read a word of it! Can you read it at all yourself? Yes? Oh,
but I cannot understand it. Translate some of it."
That was a relief! I began to translate, taking the liberties to which
every translator is entitled. And I succeeded in making a favourable
impression by censoring my own manuscript.
"Well, that is right enough. But, mind, don't say in your paper that
you found troops here, and especially avoid telling which troops."
"Very well, sir."
"Nor must you tell them that we detained you here. That was really
not our intention at all, but just now we had no time to examine your
papers."
"All right, sir."
"And what is the news in The Netherlands about the war?"
"Well, sir, not much beyond what you are sure to know already: that
Japan declared war against Germany; that the Russians invaded Germany;
that the French gained some important victories in Alsace; that the
German fleet lost some ships...."
"Oh, bosh! Stop it! These are, of course, all lies from Reuter; they
did not come from Wolff. Japan is not going to declare war against us;
much rather against Russia!"
"Oh, but, sir, Wolff confirmed these reports."
"Oh no! That is impossible, and, after all, we are not afraid of Japan
either. You had better write in your paper that we are not afraid of
anything excepting Montenegro. And you may also inform your readers
that it is better for Netherlanders not to cross the frontier, as we
are going to apply much stricter measures. For we have evidence that
those people from Visé and other villages who fled to The Netherlands
are returning with forged papers, in order to shoot at us. And now you
may go, but back to Maastricht at once."
"But will you then please give me a pass, otherwise I may be detained
again on my way back."
"Oh yes! You may have that!"
And the commanding officer gave me a pass, on which this very same
colonel who had prohibited me to write in my paper what troops were at
Riemst, put a stamp on that pass, which contained the German eagle, and
besides this the words: "Royal Prussian 8, Reserve Infantry Regiment,
II Battalion." This confirmed what the rumours said, that the troops
who had passed through Visé and other places during the last days and
committed those atrocities there, were the reserves which had been
called up, among whom discipline is less strict than among the younger
men, who arrived in these districts during the earlier days.
Although I had been commanded to return "at once" to Maastricht, I
succeeded in having a chat here and there with the inhabitants of
Riemst. I had visited the village about eight days ago, but what a
change! Then the people assured me that "die Duutschen"[2] were not so
bad after all, that they were compelled to do their duty, and were kind
to the inhabitants if these were kind to them.
And at present? Every word expressed hate, profound hate, hardly
controlled. They trembled all over when they spoke in deep, inspiring
voices about "die Duutschen."[2]
Everything of value had been stolen from them: horses, cows, sheep,
carts, bicycles, everything, everything!--only in some cases payment
was made with tickets, which might be cashed after the war. During the
night the German soldiers slept in the rooms, but the inhabitants--men,
women, children, babies and sick persons--they locked in barns and
cellars, which they boarded up.
I was not allowed to return by bicycle, and left it at a café at the
crossing of the roads to Tongres and Riemst. A couple of days later the
Germans had already abstracted the tyres.
The road to The Netherlands was strewn over with empty wine-bottles.