The Sack of Louvain
Passing along several gloomy passages and ascending two flights of
stairs, Kenneth was ushered into a large, well-lighted room overlooking
the city square. From without came the noise and bustle of hundreds of
troops. Several regiments, having recently arrived, were partaking of
a meal in the open, the food being cooked in large portable kitchens,
the smoke from which drifted in through the open windows of the room.
Seated at a massive oak desk was an officer in the uniform of the
German General Staff. Behind him stood a major and two captains. At a
writing desk against the wall, facing the windows, sat a military
clerk. The soldiers of Kenneth's escort lined up behind him, the
sergeant standing rigidly at attention on his right. Of Rollo there
were no signs.
For some moments Colonel von Koenik, the president of the court,
regarded the lad before him with a fixed glare. Kenneth met the
president's gaze unflinchingly, yet he realized that there was a menace
in the German's manner. It was a hatred of England and of all men and
things English.
Finding that he could not browbeat the prisoner, von Koenik rasped out
a few words to the major who stood behind him. With a stiff salute the
latter advanced to the side of the president's desk.
"What is your name, prisoner?" he asked in fairly good English,
although there was a tendency to substitute the letter "b" for "p" in
most of his words.
Kenneth told him. The major referred to a paper that he held in his
hand.
"You are English? What are you doing in Brussels?"
"I am a soldier in the Belgian service."
"In the Belgian service perhaps; but a soldier--no, never."
"Pardon me, sir," protested Kenneth; "I am a corporal of the 9th
Regiment of the Line."
The Major waved his hand contemptuously.
"You are not--what you call it?--ah!--bluffing an English magistrate
this time. You have a Prussian officer to deal with. If what you say
is true, why are you not in uniform? Where are your identity papers?
Say rather that you are in the employ of that arch-plotter Grey; tell
us exactly the truth, then perhaps we will be merciful."
"Of what offence am I accused, sir?"
"Espionage--surely you know that without asking an unnecessary
question."
"It is not true. I have never attempted to spy. Who, sir, is my
accuser?"
"It is undesirable to mention names. Our informant states that you
have been several days in Brussels, always in civilian clothes. You
frequented public buildings; you were seen watching the arrival of our
troops."
"That I admit," said Kenneth. "There was no secrecy about the
ceremonial parade of the German army through the streets."
"Then perhaps you would tell your friends in England how the victorious
Germans will march through London, hein?" asked the Major mockingly.
"I'm afraid they won't," retorted Kenneth, throwing discretion to the
winds. "Your troops have to reckon first with our army and then with
our fleet."
"Your army? Faint-hearted mercenaries. Englishman, in less than a
fortnight our troops will march right through the English and their
friends the French, and be in Paris. After that, London."
"No fear!" ejaculated Kenneth.
The German major shrugged his shoulders.
"It is wasting the time of the court," he remarked. "To return to the
business in hand. You, an Englishman, have been caught red-handed.
You admit you are interested in military matters, although your claim
to be a corporal in the Belgian army does not hold. Again, you admit
that you took up arms against us?"
"Certainly--as a soldier, and strictly in accordance with the code of
war."
"Your code is not our code," sneered the Major. He then turned and
addressed the president. Colonel von Koenik inclined his head, and
gave an order to the sergeant of the guard.
Three men filed out, returning after a brief interval with Rollo.
Limping badly, young Barrington was marched across the room and placed
by the side of his chum.
The president stood up and removed his helmet. The other officers also
uncovered.
"Accused," he said, speaking in English, "you are found guilty on a
charge of espionage. The sentence is death."
Von Koenik sat down and resumed his head-dress. He scanned the faces
of the two lads, as if to detect signs of fear. But there were none.
Beyond an almost imperceptible tightening of the lips, the young
Britons received the grim intelligence unflinchingly.
"But on account of your youth I am going to make what you English call
a sporting offer. You"--addressing Rollo--"expressed an opinion that
our armies would never reach Paris."
"I did," replied Rollo, whose examination had been concluded before
Kenneth had been brought before the court.
"And you also"--to Kenneth--"made a similar rash statement."
"Not rash, sir; but a candid statement."
"Very good. You will both find that you are in error. Now, this is my
offer. You will not be shot straight away. You will be kept in close
confinement. As soon as Paris is taken--as it will be in about a
fortnight--your sentence will be put into execution. If within thirty
days from now our armies should by some unprecedented accident fail to
reach Paris, your lives will be spared and your sentences commuted to
ten years' imprisonment in a fortress. You comprehend?"
Von Koenik broke off to exchange a few words in German with the major.
Then he resumed:
"Major Hoffmann here will be answerable for your custody. So long as
you give no trouble, and make no attempt to escape--such attempt will
be bound to be a failure, let me add--you will be treated with as much
consideration as it is possible to accord to convicted spies."
Again the president conferred with the major. Then, stiffly saluting,
Major Hoffmann gave an order. The soldiers closed around the two
prisoners.
With their heads held erect, Kenneth and Rollo were about to be marched
from the presence of the grim Colonel von Koenik, when the latter
rapped the desk with an ivory mallet.
"Of course," he added, "when our armies enter Paris--about the 1st of
September--you will accept the decree of fate? Perhaps. But it is not
pleasant to be confronted by the muzzles of a dozen rifles of a
firing-party. There is one more chance. If you give us true and full
information concerning certain points which will be raised later, the
full penalty will be mitigated. You understand?"
Both Kenneth and Rollo began to protest, but von Koenik silenced them.
"You English are too fond of acting and thinking rashly on the spur of
the moment," he exclaimed. "Think it over--carefully. It is worth
your calm deliberation."
On being removed from the court, Kenneth and Rollo were placed in the
same cell--the room in which the former had been kept pending his
appearance at the farcical trial.
Colonel von Koenik had no intention of carrying his threat into
execution. He was one of those men who are firm believers in the
application of methods of tyranny to gain their ends. Kenneth Everest
had been denounced as a spy by the tobacconist of the Rue de la
Tribune--himself a German secret agent. The information had to be
acted upon, and Rollo, living in the same house as the accused, had
also been arrested.
Von Koenik would not condemn a prisoner without conclusive evidence.
He was convinced, mainly on the testimony of Madame Hirondelle, that
neither Kenneth nor Rollo was a spy; at the same time they were
Englishmen, and that was sufficient to merit their detention. Again,
by intimidation or cajoling they might be able to furnish valuable
information to the German authorities. Since the informal sentence of
death did not move the accused to beg for mercy, a slower and
constantly terrifying method must be applied.
The firm expressions on the forthcoming failure on the part of the
Germans to enter Paris--an expression that both lads made independently
of each other--gave von Koenik an idea. On his part he was absolutely
certain that no mortal power could arrest the victorious march of the
Kaiser's legions; and such was his obsession that he imagined both
Kenneth and Rollo could have no inmost doubts on the matter. By
proposing a "sporting offer", von Koenik knew that his methods to
terrorize would have time to work and undermine the resolution of the
English lads. In a very few days, he decided, they would be willing to
save themselves from a haunting dread by offering the information he
desired.
It was by no means a new experiment on the part of Colonel von Koenik.
During his tenure of office in command of a line regiment in an
Alsatian town, he had frequently terrorized civilians who had fallen
under his displeasure, by the application of methods based upon the
legendary sword of Damocles. Hitherto this form of the tyranny of the
Mailed Fist had been most successful; but it was different in the case
of Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington.
"What was that swashbuckler driving at, I wonder?" asked Rollo, when
the two chums found themselves alone in their cell. "Do you think that
he really intends to have us shot?"
"I should say yes; only I don't understand why the sentence was not
carried out at once. It is a low-down trick keeping us on tenterhooks;
but from what we have already seen and heard, these Germans--the
Prussians especially--do not draw the line at anything."
"Anyhow, the fellow thinks he's on a dead cert. on the Paris trip. I
don't; so if he's as good as his word on the month's grace we'll escape
the firing-party. As for the ten years, that's nothing. We'll be
liberated at the end of the war."
"Unless we 'break bounds' at the first opportunity," added Kenneth.
"We both seem to have been born under a lucky star, and having given
those fellows the slip once, there is no reason why we shouldn't be
equally successful the next time."
The two following days the lads passed in uneventful captivity in the
cell. Straw had been provided for bedding, while their meals consisted
of rye bread and water, and, once a day, a bowl of soup. For half an
hour they were allowed to take exercise in an enclosed courtyard, four
soldiers, carrying loaded rifles, having been told off to prevent any
attempt at escape.
On the morning of Tuesday, the 25th of August, the prisoners were
ordered to leave their cell. Guided by the same four soldiers, they
were marched into the courtyard, where a dozen Belgian civilians were
formed up under an armed guard. In a doorway opening into the
quadrangle stood Major Hoffmann, watching the proceedings with a
supercilious air.
"Are they going to shoot the crowd of us?" whispered Kenneth; but
before Rollo could reply, a sergeant gave the speaker a violent blow
and sternly ordered him in French to be silent.
The names of the prisoners were then called out, each man having to
answer to his name. This done, the sergeant in charge took the list to
Major Hoffmann, who initialled the document and returned it.
Then the large gates at one end of the courtyard were thrown open, and
the prisoners, surrounded by their armed guards, were ordered to march.
Along the Chaussee de Louvain--one of the principal thoroughfares of
Brussels--the melancholy procession passed. There were crowds of
people about in addition to the numerous German troops. The citizens
regarded their compatriots under arrest with suppressed feelings. They
were afraid to make any demonstration of sympathy. The iron heel of
Germany had crushed the spirit out of the Belgians who still remained
in the fallen capital.
"Do you know where they are taking us to?" asked Kenneth of the
prisoner marching next to him, evidently a well-to-do business man
before the great calamity that had overtaken him.
"They say to Germany, there to work in the fields and help to feed our
enemies," replied the man. "At all events, we have to march to Louvain
and be entrained there."
Kenneth's great fear was that Rollo would be unable to stand the strain
of the long march. His ankle had improved, but he still limped
slightly.
"I'm all right," replied Rollo cheerily, in response to his chum's
anxious enquiry. "It's better than being cooped up in that rotten
hole. Besides," he added in a whisper, "we may get a chance of giving
them the slip."
So far the information given by the Belgian seemed to be correct. The
prisoners were trudging along the highway leading to Louvain. Beyond
that point, railway communication was now possible; for with their
advance upon Brussels the German engineers had lost no time in
repairing the lines and erecting temporary bridges in place of those
sacrificed by the Belgians in their efforts to impede the enemy's
advance.
At twelve o'clock the prisoners reached the village of Cortenburg,
about half-way between the capital and Louvain. Here they were halted,
and driven into a church. For food and drink they had to depend upon
the charity of the villagers, who, notwithstanding the fact that they
had been despoiled by the invaders, gave the famished and travel-worn
men bread and milk.
For three hours Kenneth and his companions in adversity were kept under
lock and key, while their escort, having obtained copious quantities of
wine, were becoming boisterously merry. When, at length, the order was
given to resume the march, some of the soldiers were so drunk that they
could not stand. The sergeant thereupon ordered the villagers to
provide two carts, and in these, lying on bundles of straw, the
besotted men followed their comrades.
Before the prisoners had covered a mile beyond Cortenburg an open
motor-car dashed past. In spite of its great speed both Kenneth and
Rollo recognized its occupants. They were Colonel von Koenik and Major
Hoffmann.
"They don't mean to get out of touch with us, old man," remarked
Kenneth, after the car had disappeared in a cloud of dust. "I suppose
they'll go on by train to whatever distance we are bound for. I'll
warrant they'll be waiting at Louvain."
"I wish I had the chance of bagging that motor-car," said Rollo. "It's
a beauty. We'd be in Antwerp in less than an hour."
"Instead of which we're tramping along, with a dozen of more or less
intoxicated soldiers to keep an eye on us," added Kenneth. "I believe
if we made a bolt for it they would be too tipsy to aim properly."
"It's too risky," declared Rollo. "There are hundreds of German troops
scattered all over this part of the country. Besides, if we did get
away, the other prisoners would get a rough time. What's that?"
"Rifle-firing," replied Kenneth, as the rattle of musketry could be
faintly heard, the sounds coming from the north.
"A battle before Antwerp, probably," suggested Rollo. "The Germans
will have a stiff task if----"
A vicious box on the ear from the nearest soldier brought the
conversation to a sudden close. The fellow who dealt the blow grinned
with intense satisfaction at his deed. The next instant Rollo's fist
shot out straight from the shoulder, and the German dropped like a log.
He was too drunk to feel the blow, so he sat on the road, his rifle on
the ground, holding his jaw with both hands and bawling in pot-valiant
style.
Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, two of the Belgian
prisoners made a dash for liberty. One was the man to whom Kenneth had
spoken--a short, stout, apoplectic individual; the other a tall, lean
fellow who had the appearance of a trained athlete.
Before the astonished Germans could level their rifles both men had got
across a wide ditch, and had placed a hundred yards of marshy ground
between them and their late captors. Then half a dozen rifles rang
out, but the fugitives held on, the taller one having established a
lead of twenty yards. They were making for a wood, not more than a
quarter of a mile off.
Again and again the Germans fired. The lads could see some of the
bullets kicking up spurts of dirt a long way wide of their mark; others
must have sung harmlessly overhead.
Suddenly the short man stopped. He could run no farther. He called to
his companion; but the latter, taking no heed, did not slacken his
swift pace. The corpulent fugitive looked over his shoulder, and
seeing that some of the Germans had attempted pursuit, began to walk
after his compatriot. The fact that the soldiers had missed him at
short range had given him confidence. Presently the tall Belgian
gained the outskirts of the wood. Here he stopped, and waved his arms
with a contemptuous gesture at the German soldiers. It was his
undoing, for by sheer chance a bullet struck him in the head. He
pitched on his face and lay motionless.
The other man, alternately walking and running, got clear away.
The English lads now had their turn. They were kicked, prodded with
rifle-butts, and repeatedly struck by the fists of the infuriated,
half-drunken soldiers, till the sergeant, fearing that he might get
into serious trouble if Colonel von Koenik's special prisoners were
much injured, ordered his men to desist. Two of them were sent to
bring the body of the foolhardy Belgian. Dead or alive the whole of
the prisoners had to be accounted for, and the fact that one was
missing caused the sergeant considerable misgivings.
Meanwhile the sound of distant firing still continued. If anything it
seemed nearer. The German escort began to hurry their prisoners along.
A mile or so farther on they reached a small village. Here most of the
inhabitants had left, but a few gazed timorously upon the grey-coated
soldiers from the upper windows of their houses.
The sergeant gave the order to halt, then spoke hurriedly to two of his
men who were not so intoxicated as the rest. These two walked up to a
door and knocked. Receiving no reply, they shattered the woodwork with
their rifles and entered the house. In less than a minute they
reappeared, dragging between them a peasant so old and feeble that he
could hardly walk. Him they bundled into the cart beside the body of
the dead Belgian, and the convoy resumed its way.
"The brutes!" ejaculated Kenneth. "I see their game. They're going to
palm off that poor peasant as the man that escaped."
"It seems like it," agreed Rollo; "but what will happen when they read
the roll-call? It will give the show away."
"Trust those fellows for carrying out a dirty piece of work. Hist!"
The lads relapsed into silence. They did not want a repetition of the
scene when their last conversation was interrupted. Already they were
bruised from head to foot.
Shortly before six in the evening the prisoners reached the outskirts
of Louvain. The town, the principal seat of learning of Belgium, was,
of course, in the hands of the Germans; but hitherto they had refrained
from any vandalism. According to their usual procedure they had
terrorized the inhabitants, who still remained in fear and trembling.
Everywhere were placards in French and Flemish, warning the townsfolk
that any act of hostility towards the German troops would result in
severe penalties. With the examples of the fate of other towns and
villages--where the luckless inhabitants, in defence of their lives and
homes, had ventured to resist the invaders and had been ruthlessly
massacred--the people of Louvain had rigidly abstained from any action
that could be regarded as aggressive to German authority. On their
part the invaders behaved fairly well, and confidence was beginning to
be restored amongst the Belgians who still remained in Louvain.
Suddenly a shot rang out, quickly followed by others. Bullets
screeched over the heads of the prisoners and their German guards. In
a few moments all was confusion. The prisoners flung themselves on the
ground to escape the deadly missiles. Some of the escort followed
their example. Others, kneeling behind the two wagons that brought up
the rear of the procession, returned the fire.
"Good!" ejaculated Kenneth. "Louvain has been recaptured. That
accounts for the firing we heard this afternoon."
"I trust so," replied Rollo. "There's one fellow down--another rascal
the less."
It was the German who had received a taste of a British fist. Rendered
incautious in his maudlin state, he had recklessly exposed himself. A
bullet passing through his chest laid him dead on the spot. Another
German was leaning against the wheel of a wagon, with his hand clapped
to his right shoulder.
Just then the sergeant caught sight of the troops who were blazing away
at his party. With a succession of oaths he bade his men cease fire.
Here was another blunder. The Germans were firing at each other.
At length the exchange of shots ceased. A Prussian officer,
accompanied by half a dozen of his men, advanced to meet the prisoners
and their escort. His face was purple with fury. For ten minutes he
bullied and browbeat the luckless sergeant, whose men had not been
responsible for opening fire. Then other officers--members of the
staff--hurried up, and a hasty consultation followed.
Presently Colonel von Koenik tore up in his motorcar. He was
accompanied by another staff-officer, Major von Manteuffel, whose name
was presently to be execrated throughout the civilized world.
Von Manteuffel was in a high pitch of nervous excitement. Evidently he
was trying to fix the blame upon the men escorting the Belgian
prisoners, while von Koenik, cool and calculating, championed their
cause.
Kenneth and Rollo watched the scene with well-concealed satisfaction.
The mere fact that some small portion of the mechanism of the Mailed
Fist had gone wrong elated them. It was an insight into the blustering
methods of German military organization; but they had yet to learn that
the Bullies of Europe had a drastic remedy for their errors, whereby
the penalty fell upon the weak and helpless.
Von Koenik gave an order, the sergeant bundled Rollo and Kenneth into
an isolated house situated about half a kilometre from the town. What
befell the Belgian prisoners the lads never knew, but from the window
in the upper room in which they were confined, the British youths could
command a fairly-extensive view of Louvain and the road which
approached it.
Two German soldiers were locked in the room, but they offered no
objection when Kenneth and Rollo went to the window.
Above the tiled roofs of the houses, the ancient and venerable church
of St. Pierre shot up like an island in the centre of a lake. Other
buildings--churches, the Hotel de Ville, and the university--were
slightly less conspicuous, yet clearly discernible above the expanse of
houses. Along the road were hundreds of grey-coated troops, while a
small black patch in that long-drawn-out riband of silver-grey
indicated the position of the way-worn band of Belgian prisoners, who
were now almost within the limits of the town.
While the British lads were at the window, then German guards produced
from their knapsacks some pieces of roll, sausages, and a bottle of
wine. Soon the room was filled with the disagreeable sounds of
Teutonic mastication, which, unless one has had the misfortune to hear
it, cannot satisfactorily be described. Kenneth and Rollo, thanking
their lucky stars that they were not compelled to witness the
performance, remained at the window.
Suddenly, just as the town clocks were chiming the hour of six, a
succession of shots rang out.
"Good!" ejaculated Kenneth. "The Belgians are driving home an attack."
The two Germans gave not the slightest hint of alarm, but stolidly
continued their meal. Their indifference caused the lads to wonder.
It was not a conflict between two armed forces, but a massacre! It was
the commencement of what was, in the words of the Prime Minister of
Great Britain, "the greatest crime against civilization and culture
since the Thirty Years' War".
Fortunately Kenneth and his companion were spared the horrors of having
to witness the indiscriminate shooting of luckless civilians, but, from
their coign of vantage, they were spectators of the scene of
destruction that followed.
Tall, lurid flames burst forth from the centre of the town of Louvain.
Gradually the ever-widening circle of fire spread till the bulk of the
houses was one vast holocaust.
Throughout that terrible night the lads remained at the window,
watching the progress of the conflagration and listening to the shrieks
of panic and terror from the brutally-maltreated inhabitants.
That was von Manteuffel's method of covering up the blunder made by his
half-drunken troops.