[Illustration: PHOTOGRAPH OF THE AUTHOR TAKEN IN THE YARD OF THE PRISON
IN BERLIN, JUNE, 1917]
MY THREE YEARS
_In a_
GERMAN PRISON
BY
HON. HENRI BELAND, M.D., M.P.
Illustrated with photographs specially secured
in Belgium and Germany
TORONTO
WILLIAM BRIGGS
1919
PRINTED IN
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO MY OLD MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I IT IS WAR 1
II THE GERMAN TAVERN-KEEPER AND THE BRABANÇONNE 9
III “THANK YOU” 13
IV DOING HOSPITAL WORK 14
V THE CAPTURE OF ANTWERP 25
VI THE EXODUS 33
VII A DAY OF ANGUISH 39
VIII THE GERMANS ARE HERE 46
IX A GERMAN HOST 53
X THE WORD OF A GERMAN 59
XI BRITISH CITIZENS 64
XII MATTERS BECOME COMPLICATED 69
XIII A DESOLATE MAJOR 77
XIV IN GERMANY 87
XV THE STADTVOGTEI 91
XVI LIFE IN PRISON 98
XVII MEALS À LA CARTE 105
XVIII ACTING JAIL PHYSICIAN 116
XIX INTERESTING PRISONERS 127
XX MACLINKS AND KIRKPATRICK 137
XXI A SWISS AND A BELGIAN 144
XXII SENSATIONAL ESCAPES 160
XXIII HOPE DEFERRED 170
XXIV A COLLOQUY 176
XXV INCIDENTS AND OBSERVATIONS 185
XXVI TALK OF EXCHANGE 195
XXVII TOWARDS LIBERTY 203
XXVIII SOME RECOLLECTIONS 213
XXIX OTHER REMINISCENCES 224
XXX AN ALSATIAN NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER 242
XXXI IN HOLLAND AND IN ENGLAND 252
XXXII THE MILITARISTS AND THE MILITARIZED 268
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Author _Frontispiece_
The Digue at Middelkerke 12
Madame Beland at Starrenhof 38
Feeding Poor Boys at Capellen 56
Group of German Officers 68
A Sample of German Perfidy (letter) 80
Dr. Beland and Fellow-prisoners 144
Ludendorf and Von Buelow 256
MY THREE YEARS IN A GERMAN PRISON
CHAPTER I
IT IS WAR
It was the 26th of July, 1914. My wife and I were walking leisurely
in the park of a village in the Pyrenees, the sun shedding its warm,
quickening rays in the Valley of the Gave when, suddenly, a newsboy
approached us carrying under his arms a bundle of newspapers, and
crying at the top of his voice, “War! War! It is War!”
I stopped him, asking at the same time, “What war?”
“Why, the war between Austria and Serbia. The paper will give you all
the details,” he answered.
As a matter of fact, the paper he was selling, “La Liberte du
Sud-Ouest,” contained the text of the now and forever famous ultimatum
of Austria-Hungary to the little Balkan power.
The following day, at each important railway station we passed through
on our way from Bordeaux to Paris, fresh editions of the French
newspapers were brought to us, each containing strong, passionate
comments on the diplomatic document which threatened the peace of
Europe.
In the compartment of the train where we sat the conversation was
animated. That Austria was at her perfidious tricks again was the
consensus of opinion generally, although the best informed ones
realized that it was ambitious and treacherous Germany which inspired
Austria.
We stayed a few days in Paris on our way to Antwerp. Our impression
of the French capital was that, even in that diplomatic torment, the
city maintained a remarkable calmness. Of course, the sole topic of
discussion in the cafés, on the boulevards, in the busses and the
trams was the war, but there appeared to be a complete absence of that
agitation which one who has visited Paris in normal times is well aware
of.
I wished to send a telegram to Belgium, but was told that all lines had
been taken over by the military authorities and that my message would
probably be delayed a full day or more.
On the day of my leaving Paris for Antwerp I paid a visit to the
Honorable Mr. Roy, Canadian High Commissioner, and asked him what he
thought of the diplomatic situation. The eminent representative of
Canada expressed grave anxiety, and said he feared a declaration of war
between Germany and France was imminent.
At noon the same day my wife and I started for Antwerp on the
Paris-Amsterdam fast express, passing through the territory of France
and Belgium which within two months was to be the scene of horrors of
war that have appalled the whole world. Far were we then from thinking
that those cities–actual beehives of industry–and those fine farm
lands, bearing fast-ripening crops and inviting the harvester’s scythe,
would be within a few weeks devastated, pillaged, plundered and burned.
The agitation was great in Antwerp; the city yeomanry had been called
to arms, and on this same evening, July 30, rumors were already in
circulation that Germany had sinister intentions and that she was
actually preparing to violate Belgium’s neutrality.
The mere mention of such an act, which meant trampling upon all
international laws, stirred the Belgian people to a high pitch of
indignation. The same evening we arrived at the village of Capellen,
situated six miles north of Antwerp, on the Antwerp-Rotterdam highway.
On the following day, Saturday, August 1, we started for Brussels, en
route to Ostend, and thence to Middelkerke, a charming seaside resort,
where we were to spend the rest of the summer season. Middelkerke is
situated half way between Ostend and Nieuport, recently evacuated by
the Germans, and which has been the division line between the German
and the Belgian armies for four years.
An incident of which I have a personal knowledge shows that Germany
intended to violate Belgium’s neutrality from the outset of the
imbroglio between Austria and Serbia. We were about to leave Brussels
for Ostend and had already boarded the train when a well-known citizen
of Ghent and his wife entered the already crowded compartment where we
sat. They apologized for their intrusion, but in such pressing times
one had to travel as best one could, and it was with sincerity that we
accepted the apologies of the couple for intruding in such a way in the
compartment allotted to us.
After exchanging cards, the gentleman related that the day before he
and his wife were returning in an automobile from a tour in Germany
when, near the frontier, they were stopped by German military. Their
papers were examined, but notwithstanding their credentials as Belgian
subjects, and proof that they were on their way home from a holiday
trip, their automobile was seized and they were compelled to stay the
night in a hotel. The room assigned to them was on the ground floor
where they were unable to sleep owing to the tramp, tramp, tramp of
German regiments marching to the German border. The troops were singing
“Deutschland über Alles,” and the rumble of the drums never ceased from
early evening until the following morning. This happened in a village
situated within two or three kilometers from the Belgian frontier, on
the night of July 31. Germany’s ultimatum to Belgium was not presented
until two days later.
On the journey from Brussels to Ostend, which was much delayed owing to
the throng which, moved to fear by all kinds of wild rumors, were eager
to reach home, another incident occurred:
In the section of the train where my wife and I were seated were four
other passengers in addition to the couple I have already referred to.
They were three Austrian ladies–a mother and her two daughters–and
a man–a well-known owner of racing horses from Charleroi. The three
ladies apparently belonged to the highest society. They were on their
way to Ostend where they intended taking a steamer for England, where
the mother said her son was a student.
The conversation between the sportsman and the three ladies turned
on the tenseness of the situation then existing between Austria and
Serbia. The man was very outspoken in his denunciation of Austria. The
elder lady, naturally, defended her country.
“The Serbians,” the man replied, “may not be above suspicion, but there
are other things equally suspicious, and this war which you are about
to declare on a small country may be the act of the Austrian Government
directed to extend its territory in the Balkans. It is dictated above
all by the Autocrat at Potsdam, who is holding the stakes and will
direct every move to satisfy his immoderate ambition.”
The lady, I must say, while moderate in her retorts, was nevertheless
obstinate in denying that Germany had anything to do with the Balkan
imbroglio, but the racing man was also obdurate, and with what turned
out to be extraordinary accuracy he predicted that within a few days
France, Russia and Great Britain would take up the cudgels on behalf of
Serbia and enter the fray.
The conversation was still going on when the trainman announced Ostend.