WHAT THE WAITING MAID SAW
At this point, I crept down stealthily into the kitchen and proceeded to
disguise myself.
I put on first of all a big blue-and-red check apron. Then I pinned a
black shawl over my shoulders. I parted my hair in the middle and
twisted it into a little tight knot at the back, and I tied a
blue-and-white handkerchief under my chin.
Looking thoroughly hideous I slipped back into the restaurant where I
occupied myself with washing and drying glasses behind the counter.
It was a splendid point of observation, and no words can tell of the
excitement I felt as I stooped over my work and took in every detail of
what was going on in the restaurant.
But sometimes the glasses nearly fell from my fingers, so agonising were
the sights I saw in that restaurant at Antwerp, on the afternoon of
October 9th--the Fatal Friday.
I saw old men and young men crowding round the Germans. They sat at the
tables with them drinking, laughing, and showing their note-books, which
the Germans eagerly examined. The air resounded with their loud riotous
talk. All shame was thrown aside now. For months these spies must have
lived in terror as they carried on their nefarious espionage within the
walls of Antwerp. But now their terror was over. The Germans were in
possession. They had nothing to fear. So they drank deeply and more
deeply still, trying to banish from their eyes that furtive look that
marked them for the sneaks they were. Some of them were old greybeards,
some of them were chic young men. I recognised several of them as people
I had seen about in the streets of Antwerp during those past two months,
and again and again burning tears gathered in my eyes as I realised how
Antwerp had been betrayed.
As I am turning this terrible truth over in my mind I get another
violent shock. I see three Englishmen standing in the middle of the now
densely-crowded restaurant. At first I imagine they are prisoners, and a
wave of sorrow flows over me. For I know those three men; they are the
three English Marines who called in at this hotel yesterday; seeing that
they were Englishmen by their uniforms I called to them to keep back a
savage dog that was trying to get at the cockatoo that I had rescued
from Lierre. They told me they were with the rest of the English Flying
Corps at the forts. Their English had been perfect. Never for a minute
had I suspected them!
And now, here they are still, in their English uniforms, and little
black-peaked English caps, talking German with the Germans, and sitting
at a little table, drinking, drinking, and laughing boisterously as only
Germans can laugh when they hold their spying councils.
English Marines indeed!
They have stolen our uniforms somehow, and have probably betrayed many a
secret. Within the next few hours I am forced to the conclusion that
Antwerp is one great nest of German spies, and over and over again I
recognised the faces of old men and young men whom I have seen passing
as honest Antwerp citizens all these months.
Seated all by himself at a little table sits a Belgian General, who has
been brought in prisoner.
In his sadness and dignity he makes an unforgettable picture. His black
beard is sunk forward on his chest. His eyes are lowered. His whole
being seem to be wrapt in a profound melancholy that yet has something
magnificent and distinguished about it when compared with the riotous
elation of his conquerors.
Nobody speaks to him. He speaks to nobody. With his dark blue cloak
flung proudly across his shoulder he remains mute and motionless as a
statue, his dark eyes staring into space. I wonder what his thoughts are
as he sees before him, unashamed and unafraid now that German occupation
has begun, these spies who have bartered their country for gold. But
whatever he thinks, that lonely prisoner, he makes no sign. His dignity
is inviolable. His dark bearded face has all the poignancy and beauty
of Titian's "Ariosto" in the National Gallery in London.
He is a prisoner. Nobody looks at him. Nobody speaks to him. Nobody
gives him anything to eat. Exhaustion is written on his face. At last I
can bear it no longer. I pour out a cup of hot coffee, and take a
sandwich from the counter. Then I slip across the Restaurant, and put
the coffee and the sandwich on the little table in front of him. A look
of flashing gratitude and surprise is in his dark sad eyes as they lift
themselves for a moment. But I dare not linger. The Flemish maid, with
the handkerchief across her head, hurries back to her tumblers.
Two little priests have been brought in as prisoners also.
But they chat cheerily with their captors, who look down upon them
smilingly, showing their big white teeth in a way that I would not like
if I were a prisoner!
None of the prisoners are handcuffed or surrounded. They do not seem to
be watched. They are all left free. So free indeed, that it is difficult
to realise the truth--one movement towards the door and they would be
shot down like dogs!
In occupying a town without resistance the Germans make themselves as
charming as possible. Obviously those are their orders from
headquarters. And Germans always obey orders. Extraordinary indeed is
the discipline that can turn the brutes of Louvain and Aerschot into
the lamb-like beings that took possession of Antwerp. They asked for
everything with marked courtesy, even gentleness. They paid for
everything they got. I heard some of the poorer soldiers expressing
their surprise at the price of the Antwerp beer.
"It's too dear!" they said.
But they paid the price for it all the same.
They always waited patiently until they could be served. They never
grumbled. They never tried to rush the people who were serving them. In
fact, their system was to give no trouble, and to create as good an
impression as possible on the Belgians from the first moment of their
entrance--the first moment being by far the most important
psychologically, as the terrified brains of the populace are then most
receptive to their impressions of the hated army, and anything that
could be done to enhance and improve those impressions is more valuable
then than at any other time.
Almost the first thing the Germans did was to find out the pianos.
It was not half an hour after they entered Antwerp when strains of music
were heard, music that fell on the ear with a curious shock, for no one
had played the piano here since the Belgian Government moved into the
fortified town. They played beautifully, those Germans, and every now
and then they burst into song. From the sitting-rooms in the Hotel I
heard them singing to the "Blue Danube." And the "Wacht am Rhein"
seemed to come and go at intervals, like a leitmotif to all their
doings.
About four o'clock, Jeanette, the Flemish servant, whispered to me that
Henri wanted to speak to me in the kitchen.
"A great misfortune has happened, Madame!" said Henri, agitatedly. "The
Germans have seized my car. I shall not be able to take you out of
Antwerp this afternoon. But courage! to-morrow I will find a cart or a
fiacre. To-day it is impossible to do anything, there is not a vehicle
of any kind to be had. But to-morrow, Madame, trust Henri; He will get
you away, never fear!"
Half an hour after, the faithful fellow called to me again.
His pie-coloured face looked dark and miserable.
"The Germans have shut the gates all round the city and no one is
allowed to go in and out without a German passport!" he said.
This was serious.
Relying on my experience in Brussels, I had anticipated being able to
get away even more easily from Antwerp, because of Henri's motor car.
But obviously for the moment I was checked.
As dusk fell and the lights were lit, I retired into the kitchen and
busied myself cutting bread and butter, and still continuing my highly
interesting observations. On the table lay piles of sausage, and
presently in came two German officers, an old grey-bearded General, and
a dashing young Uhlan Lieutenant.
"We want three eggs each," said the Uhlan roughly, addressing himself to
me. "Three eggs, soft boiled, and some bread with butter, with much
butter!"
I nodded but dared not answer.
And the red-faced young Lieutenant, thinking I did not understand,
ground his heel angrily, and muttered "Gott!" when his eyes fell on the
sausage, and his expression changed as if by magic.
"Wurst?" he ejaculated to the General. "Here there sausage is!"
It was quite funny to see the way these two gallant soldiers bent over
the sausage, their eyes beaming with greedy joy, and in ten minutes
every German was crying out for sausage, and the town was being
ransacked in all directions in search of more.