IN HOLLAND AND IN ENGLAND
I had enjoyed for two days the charming hospitality of Holland when I
was invited to visit the British General Consulate at Rotterdam. The
previous day I was at The Hague, where I registered at the British
Legation. Responding now to the invitation I left my hotel at ten
o’clock and called at the General Consulate at Rotterdam. Here I was
informed that it had been arranged that I should leave Holland on the
following day en route for England, the voyage across the Channel to be
made in a hospital ship. I remarked that it would be quite impossible
for me to leave Holland so soon.
“Why?” I was asked.
“Because,” I answered, “I received in Berlin the assurance that my
daughter–who had been in Belgium for three years, and to whom the
German authorities have up to the present time refused permission to
leave–will receive a passport for the frontier of Holland. I must,
therefore, wait until she arrives from Belgium.”
“But,” said the young officer in charge, “this will not do. The
Legation expects that you will leave for England to-morrow. I would
suggest, as we have only incomplete information on this subject, that
you go to The Hague and discuss the matter there.”
The same afternoon I proceeded to the British Legation at The Hague,
where I had the pleasure of meeting a charming officer of the British
Navy. He explained that it was quite true that I was expected to leave
for England the next day. I again urged my objection to this course.
“Am I not, after all, the one most concerned in this question of
repatriation?” I asked him. “It is of the utmost importance that I
should stay in Holland until the arrival of my daughter, who has been
detained for so long in Belgium. It will be almost impossible for me to
maintain correspondence with her from England.”
The gallant officer admitted that from this point of view my presence
in Holland was likely to be more useful and effective than if I were in
England.
“At the same time,” he said, “you seem to overlook the fact that your
case is a special one. You have been exchanged for a German prisoner in
England.”
“I know this,” I answered.
“Well, then,” the officer continued, “this German prisoner whose
liberty has been conceded in exchange for your release cannot leave
England until you arrive there.”
Whatever spirit moved me, I could not help feeling a certain amount of
satisfaction at hearing this explanation.
“Is what you have said quite true?” I asked.
“Assuredly,” was the answer.
“Then,” I said, “why should I not let him stew in his own juice for a
time? Two years ago I was informed when in jail that I was then to be
liberated. They kept me in a state of anxious expectation for more than
two weeks and then shattered my hopes for freedom. I quite approve your
efforts to persuade me to proceed immediately to England, but you may
take my word for it that I have not the slightest intention to leave
Holland to-morrow, nor the day after, nor before, as a matter of fact,
such time as the German authorities have released my daughter, who is
detained in Belgium. You may inform the British authorities that, in
this question of exchange, the most interested party declares himself
satisfied that I consider myself sufficiently ‘exchanged’ to allow, if
they think proper, the German prisoner to leave England. On the other
hand, if the British Government consider it proper to retain its German
prisoner until I arrive in England, I make no pretence to hide the
fact that I shall feel an extreme satisfaction at the manner in which
affairs have turned.”
The officer smiled and assured me that he would at once telegraph the
result of our conversation to the British authorities.
I learned, however, that two weeks later on Von Buelow, who had been
Krupp’s representative in England before war was declared, and who had
been detained in that country since the outbreak of hostilities, had
arrived in Holland on his way to Germany. Von Buelow was the prisoner
whom the British Government had consented to liberate in exchange for
me. Three weeks later my daughter was liberated from Belgium. We met,
after a separation of three years, at Rosendaal, and for the next
three weeks, happy in our regained liberty, we enjoyed in a delicious
atmosphere hospitality of this charming country, moving freely amongst
the worthy Dutch population and admiring their old customs and strange
garb. They were days of happiness never to be forgotten.
However, the hour when we would resume the journey towards our Canadian
home would soon be at hand. Breathing the pure air of liberty, soul
o’erflowing with a desire to see once more those landscapes of America
we had not seen for four years, we proceeded to make the necessary
preparations for crossing the North Sea to England.
[Illustration: LUDENDORF (cross) AND VON BUELOW]
For eighteen months these waters had been infested with pirates.
Hereabouts the German submarines had two principal bases–one in Kiel
Bay and the other at Zeebrugge. From these two points, and particularly
from Zeebrugge, the German pirates could, in a few hours, menace an
area as far as the English coast as well as the Rotterdam-Harwich sea
route. This was their zone of operations par excellence.
And well we knew it! We had discussed the danger with Canadian
officers, whose guests we were at Sheveningen where they had
established for themselves the next best residence to a home. Here I
was introduced by the gallant Major Ewart Osborne, of Toronto, and I
have a very happy recollection of the few hours I spent there with him
and his comrades.
We discussed submarines; we talked of Canada, and ventured to speculate
as to the possible epoch of their return.
The British Admiralty had entire charge of the postal and passenger
service between England and Holland. Convoys went and convoys came;
that is all we could tell. As to the hour of departure, the point of
embarkation, the names of the steamers, the route to be followed, the
port of arrival, passengers were kept in the most complete ignorance.
When a permit to cross to England was obtained, the traveler had
to present himself every day between eleven o’clock and noon for
instructions. Thus we paid daily visits at this hour to the British
Consulate at Rotterdam. This went on for one week and then we were told
verbally, and secretly, to board a train at a certain station, at a
given hour.
We were, of course, delighted. We had left the Consulate barely five
minutes, and were waiting on the platform of a tramway station, when
an individual approached and addressing me in perfect English, with an
accent peculiar to a London citizen, said:
“At what hour do we leave?”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“Yes, at what hour do the steamers leave? I forget if it is this
afternoon or to-night,” he replied.
“I do not know to what steamers you refer,” I said.
“I refer to the steamers on which ‘we’ are to cross to England,” he
answered.
Holland during the war was literally overrun with German spies.
We knew this, because at the hotel in Rotterdam, where I stayed for a
few weeks, “congenial” persons took advantage of any and every pretext
to engage in conversation with me. I had been warned on my first visit
to the Consulate against these “friends.”
When my interlocutor asked the first question I nearly fell into
the trap. I was about to give him the information he sought when a
suspicion flashed through my mind and put me on my guard.
To his last question, therefore, I answered, in a confidential manner:
“Exactly one week from to-day, at six o’clock a.m.”
“That was what I thought I understood,” said the man masquerading as
an Englishman. His remark removed all doubts from my mind. I had been
speaking to a spy.
On this day, June 30, travelers who had permits to cross to England
proceeded towards Hoch Van Holland, where we arrived at seven o’clock
in the evening. Five passenger ships awaited us at the wharf. We went
on board, but no one knew the hour of departure–not even the ship’s
officers, we were told.
Saturday night, Sunday, and Sunday night passed and the boats remained
there. Not until a radiograph message was received could we leave
Holland. Finally the expected message came, and at eleven o’clock
on Monday morning we sailed from the mouth of the Meuse River. The
convoy of five ships bearing thousands of passengers of all ages and
conditions slowly advanced northwards, nursing the side coast of
Holland until we reached Sheveningen. At this point we turned to the
west and our boats headed towards England. We were barely out of the
Dutch waters when, suddenly, a cloud of smoke appeared at the horizon
in front of us.
What was it? We did not know. This black spot, hardly perceptible, grew
bigger and advanced towards us. It was the convoy which left England
that morning and was now entering the waters of Holland.
What a grand spectacle it was! Twenty-four ships in three lines cut
through the waves, each ship vomiting thick black smoke. In the centre,
preceded by a daring cruiser, were the seven ships bearing passengers.
On either side were eight leviathans of the sea, boats of a particular
model. They ploughed the waters in all directions, seeking an enemy
whom they would devour!
After some seemingly fine disorder there were exchanges of signals, a
run to right here, a run to left there–the whole business taking but
three minutes–the outlook was clear again. Seven passenger ships were
sailing in security along the Dutch coasts, the protecting warships,
seventeen in number, had turned back. The majestic convoy proceeding
west, and modeled on the one which had just come east, was negotiating
the passage of the most dangerous zone in the North Sea.
All went well until two o’clock in the afternoon. Then a mine field was
signaled. Some of the mines, not completely submerged, could be seen
on the surface of the water. They looked like so many soft felt hats.
Cruisers and torpedo boats at once came into action. Their marvelous
artillery men pointed their guns and fired. A second afterwards a
terrific explosion from a mine, accompanied by a column of water
shooting up towards the sky, told us that the aim had been accurate.
After an hour’s running fire we had crossed the mine field, and were
proceeding at good speed towards England, whose lights we saw at about
nine o’clock. We were due to arrive at the mouth of the Thames at dusk.
From all sides were heard tributes of high admiration for this
marvelous service of protection, extending over the world’s seas and
maintained unceasingly, without rest or respite, by the intrepid
sailors of the British navy!
We were about to cross the line of the two powerful lights, which
marked the limit of the waters frequented by the submarine pirates,
when the seventeen warships approached quite near, as though to embrace
us. Then, after exchanging a few signals, quickly, silently, they half
turned round and were lost sight of in the offing. On the high sea, in
the dark of the night, they went to fulfill another mission of humanity
and protection. And each and every one of these brave sailors carried
with him the homage of our unbounded gratitude and admiration.
On July 2, 1918, we arrived in England, and the inspection which I had
dreaded so much on account of the numerous written works I had brought
with me from Germany was of the most simple kind. At the inspection
office at Gravesend, where I had the advantage of meeting some of the
chief officials, they showed themselves exceedingly conciliating and
accommodating towards me. They did not delay my journey to London,
and promised that all my papers, documents, letters, etc., should
be returned to me at the capital through the office of the High
Commissioner of Canada. There was a big trunk full of these documents,
and I wish here to acknowledge the courtesy of the officials and to
thank them for having kept their word so punctually and considerately.
Of my sojourn of four weeks in London I must mention three events which
will always remain impressed on my memory. The first, of course, is
the gracious invitation I received from his Majesty the King to visit
him at Buckingham Palace. On the day arranged, at noon, I had the very
great honor to be received by the King with a courtesy and a kindness
which deeply moved me. It was impossible not to notice on his Majesty’s
features marks of the anxiety and disquietude he had borne during the
past four years. It was at the time of the new and terrible offensive
of the Germans in Champagne, and it was also–though hoping for it we
did not then know it–the signal for the counter-offensive which was to
lead the allied armies from one success to another and so on to the
definite breakdown of the German military machine.
I took leave of his Majesty, but not without asking leave to express
to him, on behalf of his French-Canadian subjects particularly, our
congratulations and best wishes on the occasion of the twenty-fifth
anniversary of his wedding, which had been celebrated the day previous
at St. Paul’s Cathedral.
It was at about this time that I had the pleasure of meeting, after
about four years’ separation, my stepson, an officer in the Belgian
army, who had obtained leave of absence to come from the battlefields
of Flanders to meet me in England. I had been accompanied from Holland
by the second son of my wife. He had, at great risk to his life,
crossed the electrical barrier which separated Belgium from Holland.
His purpose was now to enter the Belgian army. The two brothers met
for the first time in four years in the hall of a London hotel, and a
few days afterwards both left England together and resumed duty on the
fields of battle.
A few days before the date fixed for my passage to Canada I received
from General Turner an invitation to visit the Canadian camps at
Frencham Pond and Bramshott. At Frencham Pond we saw the troops who had
recently arrived from Canada. Here they received their first military
training in England. They were afterward transferred to Bramshott,
where their military education was completed.
At both places it was my privilege to address a few words to the
Canadian troops, and to congratulate them on their fine deportment,
which, I may add, excited general admiration alike in England and
France. The day I spent with our Canadian officers and soldiers will
remain one of the happiest remembrances of my life. More especially, I
shall never forget the impression created by the march-past of the 10th
Canadian Reserve Regiment (French-Canadian), Col. Desrosiers taking
the salute. One could not witness such a demonstration without feeling
throughout his whole being a thrill of enthusiasm and admiration.
I sought to express to the men the pride and gratitude we felt towards
them, and I promised to bring back to the Canadian people the message
I could plainly read on their faces, which may be thus expressed:
Courage, Patience, and Confidence in Victory.
As I write these lines the exploits of these brave Canadians, without
distinction of race, have been crowned with success–have been enveloped
in immortal glory. Victory, so long doubted, is reflected in all its
radiance in the folds of their flag. All honor to them! History will
record their deeds and heroism in letters of gold.
And the memory of those who have made the supreme sacrifice will be
enshrined throughout this land with perpetual flowers, whilst the
incense of our gratitude will continue to ascend until the last drop
of the majestic rivers of Canada has rolled by their mournful homes on
its way to the sea. Let us bow our heads to those who return from the
mighty struggle and honor the memory of the still more glorious who,
enveloped in the love of Britain, France and Canada, repose in the
soil, witness of their exploits.