AN EXPOSITION OF GERMAN METHODS
Three large and powerful automobiles stood at rest in the tiny square of
Argenteau. Nearly every little town in Belgium and France possesses its
_place_, the hub of social and business life, the centre where roads
converge and markets are held. In the roadway, near the cars, were
several officers, deep in conversation.
"Look," murmured Irene to Dalroy, "the high-shouldered, broadly-built
man, facing this way, is General von Emmich!"
By this time Dalroy was acquainted with the name of the German
commander-in-chief. He found a fleeting interest in watching him now,
while Joos and the others loitered irresolutely on the pavement outside
the improvised office of the _Kommandantur_.
Though the moon was high and clear, there was no other light, and the
diffused brilliance of the "orbed maiden, with white fire laden," is not
favourable to close observation. But Von Emmich's bearing and gestures
were significant. He put an abrupt end to the conclave by an emphatic
sweep of his right arm, and the larger number of his staff disposed
themselves in two of the cars, in which the chauffeurs and armed escorts
were already seated. They made off in the direction of Aix. It was easy
to guess their errand. More cannon, more cannon-fodder!
The generalissimo himself remained apart from the colonel and captain
who apparently formed his personal suite. He strode to and fro,
evidently in deep thought. Once he halted quite close to the little
company of peasants, and Dalroy believed he saw tears in his eyes, tears
instantly brushed away by an angry hand. Whatever the cause of this
emotion, the General quickly mastered a momentary weakness. Indeed, that
spasmodic yielding seemed to have braced his will to a fixed purpose,
because he walked to the waiting car, wrote something by the light of an
electric torch, and said to the younger of the staff officers, "Take
that to the field telegraph. It must have priority."
Somehow, Dalroy sensed the actual text of the message. Von Emmich was
making the humiliating admission that Liege, far from having fallen, as
he had announced during the first hours of the advance, was still an
immovable barrier against a living torrent of men. So the heart of this
middle-aged warrior, whose repute was good when measured by the Prussian
standard, had not melted because of the misery and desolation he and his
armed ruffians had brought into one of the most peaceful, industrious,
and law-abiding communities in the world. His tears flowed because of
failure, not of regret. His withers were wrung by mortification, not
pity. He would have waded knee-deep in the blood of Belgium if only he
could have gained his ends and substantiated by literal fact that first
vainglorious telegram to the War Lord of Potsdam. Now he had to ask for
time, reinforcements, siege guns, while the clock ticked inexorably, and
England, France, and Russia were mobilising. Perhaps it was in that hour
that his morbid thoughts first turned to a suicide's death as the only
reparation for what he conceived to be a personal blunder. Yet his
generalship was marked by no grave strategical fault. If aught erred, it
was the German State machine, which counted only on mankind having a
body and a brain, but denied it a soul.
Von Emmich's troubles were no concern of Dalroy's, save in their
reaction on his own difficulties. He was conscious of a certain surprise
that Irene Beresford should recognise one of the leaders of modern
Germany so promptly; but this feeling, in its turn, yielded to the vital
things of the moment. "Let us be moving," he said quietly, and led the
way with Joos.
"Why did you give Andenne as your destination?" he inquired.
"My wife's cousin lives there, monsieur. She is married to a man named
Alphonse Stauwaert. I _had_ to say something. I remembered Madame
Stauwaert in the nick of time."
"But Andenne lies beyond Liege. To get there we shall have to traverse
the whole German line, and pass some of the outlying forts, which is
impossible."
"We must go somewhere."
"True. But why not make for a place that is attainable? Heaven--or
Purgatory, at any rate--is far more easily reached to-night than
Andenne."
"I didn't say we were going there at once," snapped the miller. "It's
more than twenty-five kilometres from here, and is far enough away to be
safe when I'm asked where I am bound for. My wife couldn't walk it
to-morrow, let alone to-night."
"Andenne lies down the valley of the Meuse too, doesn't it?"
"Ay."
"Well, isn't that simply falling off a rock into a whirlpool? The
Germans must pass that way to France, and it is France they are aiming
at, not Belgium."
"They talk mostly about England," said Joos sapiently.
"Yes, because they fear her. But let us avoid politics, my friend. Our
present problem is how and where to bestow these women for the night.
After that, the sooner we three men leave them the better. I, at least,
must go. I may be detected any minute, and then--God help you others!"
"_Saperlotte!_ That isn't the way you English are treating us. No,
monsieur, we sink or swim together."
That ready disavowal of any clash of interests was cheering. The little
man's heart was sound, though his temper might be short. Good faith,
however, was not such a prime essential now as good judgment, and Dalroy
halted again at a corner of the square. To stay in Argenteau was
madness. But--there were three roads. One led to Vise, one to Liege, and
one to the German frontier! The first two were closed hopelessly. The
third, open in a sense, was fantastic when regarded as a possible avenue
of escape. Yet that third road offered the only path toward comparative
security and rest.
"I wish you wouldn't look so dejected," whispered Irene, peeping up into
Dalroy's downcast face with the winsome smile which had so taken his
fancy during the long journey from Berlin. "I've been counting our gains
and losses. Surely the balance is heavy on our side. We--you, that
is--have defeated the whole German army. We've lost some sleep and some
clothes, but have secured a safe-conduct from our enemies, after
knocking a good many of them on the head. Some men, I know, look
miserable when most successful; but I don't put you in that category."
She was careful to talk German, not that there was much chance of being
actually overheard, but to prevent the sibilant accents of English
speech reaching suspicious ears. Britons who have no language but their
own are often surprised when abroad at hearing children mimicking them
by hissing. Curiously enough, such is the effect of our island tongue on
foreign ears. Monosyllables like "yes," "this," "it's," and scores of
others in constant use, no less than the almost invariable plural form
of nouns, lead to the illusion, which Irene was aware of, and guarded
against.
Yet, despite the uncouth, harsh-sounding words on her lips, and the
coarse Flemish garments she wore, she was adorably English. Leontine
Joos was a pretty girl; but, in true feminine parlance, "lumpy." Some
three inches less in height than her "sister," she probably weighed a
stone more. Leontine trudged when she walked, Irene moved with a grace
which not even a pair of clumsy sabots could hide. Luckily they were
alike in one important particular. Their faces and hands were soiled,
their hair untidy, and the passage through the wood had scratched
foreheads and cheeks until the skin was broken, and little patches of
congealed blood disfigured them.
"I may look more dejected than I feel," Dalroy reassured her. "I'm
playing a part, remember. I've kept my head down and my knees bent until
my joints ache."
"Oh, is that it?" she cooed, with a relieved air. How could he know then
that the sabots were chafing her ankles until the pain had become
well-nigh unbearable. If she could have gratified her own wishes she
would have crept to the nearest hedge and flung herself down in utter
weariness.
Joos, having pondered the Englishman's views on Andenne as an
unattainable refuge, scratched his head perplexedly. "I think we had
better go toward Herve," he said at last. "This is the road," and he
pointed to the left. "On the way we can branch off to a farm I know of,
if it happens to be clear of soldiers."
Any goal was preferable to none. They entered the eastward-bound road,
but had not advanced twenty yards along it before the way was blocked by
a mass of commissariat wagons and scores of Uhlans standing by their
horses.
Two officers, heedless who heard, were wrangling loudly.
"There is nothing else for it, _Herr Hauptmann_," said one. "It doesn't
matter who is actually to blame. You have taken the wrong road, and must
turn back. Every yard farther in this direction puts you deeper in the
mire."
"But I was misdirected as far away as Bleyberg," protested the other.
"Some never-to-be-forgotten hound of hell told me that this was the
Verviers road. _Gott in himmel!_ and I _must_ be there by dawn!"
Dalroy was gazing at the wagons. They seemed oddly familiar. The painted
legend on the tarpaulins placed the matter beyond doubt. These were the
very vehicles he had seen in the station-yard at Aix-la-Chapelle!
At this crisis Jan Maertz's sluggish brain evolved a really clever
notion. The Germans wanted a guide, and who so well qualified for the
post as a carter to whom each turn and twist in every road in the
province was familiar? Without consulting any one, he pushed forward.
"Pardon, _Herr General_," he said in his offhand way. "Give me and my
friends a lift, and I'll have you and your wagons in Verviers in three
hours."
Brutality is so engrained in the Prussian that an offer which a man of
another race would have accepted civilly was treated almost as an insult
by the angry leader of the convoy.
"You'll guide me with the point of a lance close to your liver, you
Belgian swine-dog," was the ungracious answer.
"Not me!" retorted Maertz. "Here, papa!" he cried to Joos, "show this
gentleman your paper. He can't go about sticking people as he likes,
even in war-time."
Joos went forward. Moved by contemptuous curiosity, the two officers
examined the miller's _laisser passer_ by the light of an electric
torch.
The commissariat officer changed his tone when he saw the signature. The
virtue of military obedience becomes a grovelling servitude in the
German army, and a man who was ready to act with the utmost unfairness
if left to his own instincts grew almost courteous at sight of the
communications officer's name. "Your case is different," he admitted
grudgingly. "Is this your party? The old man is Herr Schultz, I
suppose. Which are you?"
"I'm Georges Lambert, _Herr General_."
"And what do you want?"
"We're all going to Andenne. It's on the paper. This infernal fighting
has smashed up our place at Aubel, and the women are footsore and
frightened. So is papa. Put them in a wagon. Dampier and I can leg it."
The Prussian was becoming more civil each moment. He realised, too, that
this gruff fellow who moved about the country under such powerful
protection was a veritable godsend to him and his tired men.
"No, no," he cried, grown suddenly complaisant, "we can do better than
that. I'll dump a few trusses of hay, and put you all in the same wagon,
which can then take the lead."
Thus, by a mere turn of fortune's wheel, the enemy was changed into a
friend, and a dangerous road made safe and comfort-giving. Jan sat in
front with the driver, and cracked jokes with him, while the others
nestled into a load of sweet-smelling hay.
"For the first time in my life," whispered Dalroy to Irene, "I
understand the precise significance of Samson's riddle about the honey
extracted from the lion's mouth. Our heavy-witted Jan has saved the
situation. We enter Verviers in triumph, and reach the left of the
German lines. Just another slice of luck, and we cross the Meuse at
Andenne or elsewhere--it doesn't matter where."
Irene had kicked off those cruel sabots. She bit her lip in the darkness
to stifle a sob before answering coolly, "Shall we be clear of the
Germans then?"
"I--hope so. Their armies dare not advance so long as we hear those
guns."
The girl could not reason in the soldier's way. She thought she would
"hear those guns" during the rest of her life. Never had she dreamed of
anything so horrific as that drumming of cannon. She believed, as women
do, that every shell tore hundreds of human beings limb from limb. In
silent revolt against the frenzy which seemed to possess the world, she
closed her eyes and buried her head in the hay; and once again exhausted
nature was its own best healer. When the convoy rumbled into Verviers in
the early morning, having followed a by-road through Julemont and Herve,
Irene had to be awaked out of deep sleep. Yet the boom of the guns
continued! Liege was still holding out, a paranoiac despot was frantic
with wrath, and civilised Europe had yet another day to prepare for the
caging of the beast which threatened its very existence.
The leader of the convoy was greeted by a furious staff officer in such
terms that Dalroy judged it expedient he and the others should slip away
quietly. This they contrived to do. Maertz recommended an inn in a side
street, where they would be welcomed if accommodation were available.
And it was. There were no troops billeted in Verviers. Every available
man was being hurried to the front. Dalroy watched two infantry
regiments passing while Maertz and Joos were securing rooms. Though the
soldiers were sturdy fellows, and they could not have made an
excessively long march, many of them limped badly, and only maintained
their places in the ranks by force of an iron discipline. He was puzzled
to account for their jaded aspect. An hour later, while lying awake in a
fairly comfortable bed, and trying to frame some definite programme for
the day which had already dawned, he solved the mystery. The soldiers
were wearing new boots! Germany had _everything_ ready for her millions.
He learnt subsequently that when the German armies entered the field
they were followed by ammunition trains carrying four thousand million
rounds of small-arm cartridges alone!
He met Joos and Maertz at _dejeuner_, a rough but satisfying meal, and
was faced by the disquieting fact that neither Madame Joos nor Irene
could leave the bedroom which they shared with Leontine. Madame was done
up; _cette course l'a excede_, her husband put it; while mademoiselle's
ankles were swollen and painful.
These misfortunes were, perhaps, a blessing in disguise. An enforced
rest was better than no rest at all, and the constant vigil by night
and day was telling even on the apple-cheeked Leontine.
Joos wanted to wander about the town and pick up news, but Dalroy
dissuaded him. The woman who kept the little _auberge_ was thoroughly
trustworthy, and hardly another soul in Verviers knew of their presence
in the town. News they could do without, whereas recognition might be
fatal.
Irene put in an appearance late in the day. She had borrowed a pair of
slippers, and the landlady had promised to buy her a pair of strong
boots. Sabots she would never wear again, she vowed. They might be
comfortable and watertight when one was accustomed to them, but life was
too strenuous in Belgium just then to permit of experiments in footgear.
When night fell Joos could not be kept in. It was understood that the
_Kommandantur_ had ordered all inhabitants to remain indoors after nine
o'clock, so the old man had hardly an hour at his disposal for what he
called a _petit tour_. But he was not long absent. He had encountered a
friend, a cure whose church near Aubel had been blown to atoms by German
artillery during a frontier fight on the Monday afternoon.
This gentleman, a venerable ecclesiastic, discovered Dalroy's
nationality after five minutes' chat. He had in his possession a copy of
a proclamation issued by Von Emmich. It began: "I regret very much to
find that German troops are compelled to cross the frontier of Belgium.
They are constrained to do so by sheer necessity, the neutrality of
Belgium having already been violated by French officers, who, in
disguise, have passed through Belgian territory in an automobile in
order to penetrate Germany."
The cure, whose name was Garnier, laughed sarcastically at the
childishness of the pretext put forward by the commander-in-chief of the
Army of the Meuse. "Was war waged for such a flimsy reason ever before
in the history of the world?" he said. "What fire-eaters these
'disguised' French officers must have been! Imagine the hardihood of the
braves who would 'penetrate' mighty Germany in one automobile! This
silly lie bears the date of 4th August, yet my beloved church was then
in ruins, and a large part of the village in flames!"
"Verviers seems to have escaped punishment. How do you account for it?"
inquired Dalroy.
"It seems to be a deliberate policy on the part of the Germans to spare
one town and destroy another. Both serve as examples, the one as typical
of the excellent treatment meted out to those communities which welcome
the invaders, the other as a warning of the fate attending resistance.
Both instances are absolutely untrue. Every burgomaster in Belgium has
issued notices calling on non-combatants to avoid hostile acts, and
Verviers is exactly on a par with the other unfortified towns in this
part of the country. The truth is, monsieur, that the Germans are
furious because of the delay our gallant soldiers have imposed on them.
It is bearing fruit too. I hear that England has already landed an army
at Ostend."
Dalroy shook his head. "I wish I might credit that," he said sadly. "I
am a soldier, monsieur, and you may take it from me that such a feat is
quite impossible in the time. We might send twenty or thirty thousand
men by the end of this week, and another similar contingent by the end
of next week. But months must elapse before we can put in the field an
army big enough to make headway against the swarms of Germans I have
seen with my own eyes."
"Months!" gasped the cure. "Then what will become of my unhappy country?
Even to-day we are living on hope. Liege still holds out, and the people
are saying, 'The English are coming, all will be well!' A man was shot
to-day in this very town for making that statement."
"He must have been a fool to voice his views in the presence of German
troops."
The priest spread wide his hands in sorrowful gesture. "You don't
understand," he said. "Belgium is overrun with spies. It is positively
dangerous to utter an opinion in any mixed company. One or two of the
bystanders will certainly be in the pay of the enemy."
Though the cure was now on surer ground than when he spoke of a British
army on Belgian soil, Dalroy egged him on to talk. "My chief difficulty
is to know how the money was raised to support all these agencies," he
said. "Consider, monsieur. Germany maintains an enormous army. She has a
fleet second only to that of Britain. She finances her traders and
subsidises her merchant ships as no other nation does. How is it
credible that she should also find means to keep up a secret service
which must have cost millions sterling a year?"
"Yes, you are certainly English," said the priest, with a sad smile.
"You don't begin to estimate the peculiarities of the German character.
We Belgians, living, so to speak, within arm's-length of Germany, have
long seen the danger, and feared it. Every German is taught that the
world is his for the taking. Every German is encouraged in the belief
that the national virtue of organised effort is the one and only means
of commanding success. Thus, the State is everything, the individual
nothing. But the State rewards the individual for services rendered. The
German dotes on titles and decorations, and what easier way of earning
both than to supply information deemed valuable by the various State
departments? Plenty of wealthy Germans in Belgium paid their own spies,
and used the knowledge so gained for their private ends as well as for
the benefit of the State. During the past twenty years the whole German
race has become a most efficient secret society, its members being
banded together for their common good, and leagued against the rest of
the world. The German never loses his nationality, no matter how long he
may dwell in a foreign country. My own church claims to be Catholic and
universal, yet I would not trust a German colleague in any matter where
the interests of his country were at stake. The Germans are a race
apart, and believe themselves superior to all others. There was a time,
in my youth, when Prussia was distinct from Saxony, or Wuertemberg,
or Bavaria. That feeling is dead. The present Emperor has welded his
people into one tremendous machine, partly by playing upon their vanity,
partly by banging the German drum during his travels, but mainly by
dangling before their eyes the reward that men have always found
irresistible--the spoliation of other lands, the prospect of sudden
enrichment. Every soldier marching past this house at the present
moment hopes to rob Belgium and France. And now England is added to the
enticing list of well-stocked properties that may be lawfully burgled.
I am no prophet, monsieur. I am only an old man who has watched the
upspringing of a new and terrible force in European politics. I may live
an hour or ten years; but if God spares me for the latter period I shall
see Germany either laid in the dust by an enraged world or dominating
the earth by brutal conquest."
But for the outbreak of the war Dalroy would have passed the
"interpreter" test in German some few weeks later. He had spent his
"language leave" in Berlin, and was necessarily familiar with German
thought and literature. Often had he smiled at Teutonic boastfulness.
Now the simple words of an aged village cure had given a far-reaching
and sinister meaning to much that had seemed the mere froth of a
vigorous race fermenting in successful trade.
"Do you believe that the German colony in England pursues the same
methods?" he asked, and his heart sank as he recalled the wealth and
social standing of the horde of Germans in the British Isles.
"Can the leopard change his spots?" quoted the other. "A year ago one of
my friends, a maker of automobiles, thought I needed a holiday. He took
me to England. God has been good to Britain, monsieur! He has given you
riches and power. But you are grown careless. I stayed in five big
hotels, two in London and three in the provinces. They were all run by
Germans. I made inquiries, thinking I might benefit some of my village
lads; but the German managers would employ none save German waiters,
German cooks, German reception clerks. Your hall porters were Germans.
You never cared to reflect, I suppose, that hotels are the main arteries
of a country's life. But the canker did not end there. Your mills and
collieries were installing German plant under German supervisors. Your
banks----"
The speaker paused dramatically.
"But our God is not a German God!" he cried, and his sunken eyes seemed
to shoot fire. "Last night, listening to the guns that were murdering
Belgium, I asked myself, why does Heaven permit this crime? And the
answer came swiftly: German influences were poisoning the world. They
had to be eradicated, or mankind would sink into the bottomless pit. So
God has sent this war. Be of good heart. Remember the words of Saint
Paul: 'So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in
corruption; it is raised in incorruption. It is sown in dishonour; it is
raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.'"
The cure's voice had unconsciously attained the pulpit pitch. The clear,
incisive accents reached other ears.
The landlady crept in, with a face of scare. "Monsieur!" she whispered,
"the doors are wide open. It is an order!"
Dalroy went rapidly into the street. No loiterer was visible. Not even a
crowd of five persons might gather to watch the military pageant; it was
_verboten_. And ever the dim shapes flitted by in the night--horse,
foot, and artillery, automobiles, ambulance and transport wagons. There
seemed no end to this flux of gray-green gnomes. The air was tremulous
with the unceasing hammer-strokes of heavy guns on the anvil of Liege.
Staid old Europe might be dissolving even then in a cloud of
high-explosive gas.
The scheme of things was all awry. One Englishman gave up the riddle. He
turned on his heel, and lit one of the cheap cigars purchased in
Aix-la-Chapelle less than forty-eight hours ago!