ANTWERP THE DAY AFTER ITS FALL
For manifold and obvious reasons I will refrain from any attempt to
describe the progress of the German army’s advance on Antwerp and of
the operations which culminated in the conquest of the city on the 9th
of October. Still less does it become me to pronounce judgment on the
manner in which the Belgians and the English defended this city which
the allies thought impregnable, especially since certain parts of the
country south of Antwerp had been placed under water. All this will, in
due course, be described in the minutest detail by the German General
Staff, and also in a more popular form by Germans who took part. For
me it is sufficient to say a few words by way of preface to what I saw
myself.
To a layman it would appear a hopeless proposition to capture an
“impregnable” fortress whose environs have been inundated and whose
forts and interior area are defended by considerably over one hundred
thousand men, but when that layman learns that the Germans not only
achieved the conquest but completed it in thirteen days with almost
insignificant losses, he is constrained to admit that the German army
evidently possesses qualities which make it greatly superior to the
allied armies and which mark it as the most consummate instrument of
war of our time. German generals of fortifications themselves admit
that Antwerp, if not _the_ strongest of the world’s fortresses, may
nevertheless be said to be one of the three strongest, the other two
being Metz and Paris. But before the new heavy artillery even this
bulwark of Belgium’s and Britain’s hope was doomed. Nevertheless, after
the officers of the German General Staff, Artillery and Engineers had
thoroughly examined the equipment and resources for defence, they were
emphatic in asserting that had it been _their_ task to defend Antwerp,
the city would not have capitulated in thirteen days.
On its two lines of defence, the outer and the inner, Antwerp possessed
forty-nine forts and redoubts, all equipped with the latest appliances
and devices of modern technological science. The outer line had a
circumference of ninety kilometres, and for complete investment
would have compelled the attacking army to operate on a front of 120
kilometres. But for a regular siege, carried out according to the
accepted rules and canons of warfare, the Germans had no time--they had
better use for their troops in other quarters. It is always endeavoured
to shorten the attack as much as possible. From the artillery positions
in a line with the village Heyst op den Berg the Germans proceeded to
bombard the great southern forts--with what effect I will show later.
Their resistance was entirely broken. But in order to reach the inner
girdle of defence as well as the city itself, it was necessary to force
the passage of the Nethe and silence the British artillery on the
northern bank of the river. The new line was marked by the towns of
Malines, Duffel and Lierre. The Nethe was crossed by soldiers swimming
through the ice-cold water with ropes between their teeth in order
subsequently to be able to haul the pontoons across. When once this was
achieved, Antwerp’s fate was sealed. At eleven in the evening of the
7th of October the bombardment of the city itself began. By an express
order of the Emperor all buildings of great historic and art value,
such as the cathedral, the other churches, the town hall, museums,
etc., were to be spared. The zoological gardens were also on the list
of items which were not to be bombarded.
The bombardment continued the whole of the 8th of October and fire
broke out at several points. In the evening and in the night these vast
conflagrations were visible from a great distance and threw their ruddy
light against the vapours rising from the sea and the whirling smoke
clouds. During the night preceding the 9th October the bombardment
increased in violence and continued until the forenoon. Then suddenly,
at eleven o’clock, the firing ceased. At three the victorious German
troops entered the city with bands playing and colours flying. There
was no fighting in the streets and no shooting from windows by
civilians. Antwerp suffered no damage beyond that sustained by the
bombardment.
This, as I have said, happened at three o’clock on the 9th of October.
It was now seven in the morning of the 10th, and I was on the way
to the _Palais_ of the Governor-General in the _Rue de la Loi_,
opposite the Park. At the entrance I was met by three cheerful young
officers, who greeted me as if we had been boys together. They had
been instructed by the Field-marshal to accompany me to Antwerp. “If
it pleases you, we will start at once, the car is ready.” “Excellent.”
The chauffeur immediately started the engine and took his place at
the wheel. At his side sat a soldier and inside the open car were the
three officers and myself. All the Germans carried revolvers. We had
also three carbines conveniently at hand. It was plain that the road
was considered unsafe, and that the visit to the conquered city was not
altogether without danger. As yet we had received no information to
show the mood of the inhabitants of the captured city during the night
and early morning. “To me it is quite the same whether I am shot now
or later, one has to die in any case,” said Lieut. Classen, who was a
great philosopher and full of comical fancies and stories. My other two
travelling companions were Lieut. Dr. Hütten of Stettin and Lieut. Dr.
Walter Kes of Steglitz. The latter was on the active list even in peace
time, and yet a doctor of philosophy, a combination which I am told is
very rare.
The moment we were ready we started off. The pace from the first was
terrific. The journey was exciting and remarkable in every way. It must
not be wondered at that my notes were few and scanty--the blame must
be put on the speed at which we were travelling. We sat in a state of
tense excitement. To my travelling companions the northern portion,
at all events, of this road was unknown, as was the city itself, and
a road over which an army has just passed is obviously full of tracks
and ruts. Merely to take in what one sees under such circumstances
is no bad achievement, and demands, from a layman at least, a
certain quickness of perception. Before one had heard the end of the
explanation of one phenomenon, something fresh has to be noted, which
in a trice cuts off the previous train of thought. The whole becomes a
chaos of fragments which leave a confused and dazed general impression.
But to follow certain threads from their inception to their logical
conclusion is impossible. I will, therefore, give the fragments as they
were impressed on my mind, leaving it to the description of subsequent
visits to Antwerp to dwell more fully on the most interesting points.
Before we knew where we were, the great city of Brussels, whose
streets at this early hour were silent and empty, had been left behind
and we were out in the open country; here and there a house or a
village, a clump of trees or a haystack, would peep out of the fog
still struggling against the morning sunlight. Through a glorious old
gateway between two round turrets we tear at the same reckless pace
into Malines, or, in German, Mecheln, the seat of the Archbishop and
famous for its magnificent cathedral, which traces its history to the
latter part of the thirteenth century and whose mighty towers, dating
from 1452, had been intended originally to surpass in height all other
cathedral towers of Christendom. Yet the height of ninety-seven metres,
at which the builders stopped, suffices to impress the beholder. On
misty days such as this the cathedral is not visible until one is upon
it, but when the air is clear it becomes a landmark for miles around.
The tower clock, with its face measuring thirteen and a half metres in
diameter, has ceased to mark the fleeting hour. The Germans had found
that this point of vantage had been used for observing their artillery
positions and the effect of the defenders’ fire, hence the tower was
bombarded, an adventure which did not suit the sober habits of the
clock.
[Illustration: MALINES CATHEDRAL, SOUTH ASPECT]
Presently we come to the south portal beneath the giant windows,
through the lower part of which a shell has made its way into the
church. A couple of projectiles have struck between the window and the
pillars of the south aisle. From the north the cathedral has also been
fired upon, but this damage was done by the retreating Belgian troops,
who were anxious to prevent the Germans from reaping the desired
benefits of the capture of the city.
From the outside the damage does not seem to be extensive, as my
photograph shows. It can easily be repaired. But we have now no time to
give to the interior of the cathedral, we merely cast a hasty glance
at the destruction which the shells have wrought. Blocks and chips
of fallen stone lie everywhere. A layer of limestone dust covers the
archiepiscopal tombs. But the statues of the Apostles, which adorn the
columns between the aisles, are untouched, and the precious pictures
of van Dyck, Verhaghen and other masters had been saved before the
bombardment began. Wondrous silvery tones descend to us from above,
caressing the mighty arches. No doubt a bell-ringer or watchman is
testing the carillon--a welcome music--perhaps a thank-offering that
the cathedral has not been more severely visited by the havoc of war.
The little town lies still and empty, and its streets are lifeless
except for the troops and transport trains marching through, and the
number of stray dogs, half wild, who are sniffing for their lost
masters among the ruins. The main street leading to the cathedral
recalls in a horrible manner the ravages of war, the relentless
destroyer of peaceful homes. On the left we pass a house the interior
of which has been laid completely bare by a shell, reminding one of
the geological section of a piece of rock blasted for railway work.
The ground floor is a pile of wreckage and lumber. From the first
floor a tangle of draperies, curtains or mats is dangling down towards
the street, like shreds of red flags, and the joists and girders
between the first and second floors have collapsed, creating a perfect
scrap-heap of wrecked furniture. On the second floor, however, a part
of a room has been left intact, revealing a cupboard, a child’s cot,
and, strange to say, a looking-glass which still hangs perfectly
uninjured on its hook.
[Illustration: A HOUSE OF MALINES “LAID OPEN” BY SHELL FIRE]
Leaving on our right the _Grand’ Place_ with the town hall and other
old-world buildings, and the pretty statue of Margaret of Austria,
we cross another canal and debouch on the main road to Antwerp. Here
we proceed between the important forts of Waelhem and St. Catherine,
surrounded by their evil-looking belts of barbed-wire entanglements and
_trous-de-loup_, and tack cautiously between the immense craters formed
in the middle of the road by shell explosions. Some of these shells had
dealt very roughly with the electric tramway lines running into Antwerp
from this point. One projectile, which had struck close to the track,
had merely succeeded in twisting the rails slightly upward, leaving
them suspended over the pit by their sleepers. There was room for Dr.
Hütten to stand upright under them, an experiment which we made later
on when we could better afford the time.
Onwards we fly through this country, levelled by the alluvial mud of
rivers almost to the flatness of the sea outside. It is fertile soil
and every inch almost is cultivated, and we were almost startled to see
a puny little clump of pines standing lost and forlorn by the roadside.
Otherwise there is nothing but parks and ploughed fields, kitchen
gardens and nurseries. But many of the farms, châteaux and villas
dotted about the country have been wrecked by German shells, whilst
others have been levelled to the ground by the defenders themselves in
order to clear the line of fire. On both sides of the road we observed
some excellent field fortifications, which the Belgians had thrown up
on retiring northward, and we noticed that bowl-shaped recesses have
been excavated at the sides of the ditches for protection against the
rain of shrapnel bullets. On the left, great tracts of country are
still under water. Rafts made of barrels, used by the Germans to cross
certain waterways, are still floating about.
The population seems to have vanished into space. It is but rarely
that one sees a forlorn-looking peasant or other mortal who had chosen
to face the hurricane of battle. Yet the life on this great highway
almost beggars description and the traffic increases the further
north we get. It is the same familiar transport trains in the same
endless columns, looking exactly as they did on the southern roads
and travelling in the same exemplary order. Again we see the same old
Landwehr troops, halting beside roads and trees, with rifles piled and
coats, life-belts and cartridge pouches slung over the bayonet. And
here we have entire regiments of Landsturm, with men well into the
forties in the ranks, plodding on their way towards Ghent. There is no
lack of cheery humour and everyone is in good spirits; the men march
along with the light-hearted step of young soldiers and sing as if
they were going to a harvest festival, with flowers tied to the rifle
barrel and more flowers in wreaths round their necks. After five days’
uninterrupted railway journey they are now marching the last forty-five
kilometres to reach their post, where they are to guard the German
lines of communication in western Belgium, an important and hazardous
task, for even here the Fatherland may claim the sacrifice of their
lives. That is why they sing so gaily. Yet wives and children have been
left behind. It is for _their_ liberty and happiness that they fight
and fall at their post. They _know_ what is at stake. The greater the
progeny they have given their country, the more they have to defend and
the more important it is for them that Germany’s liberty and future
greatness shall be assured.
[Illustration: BELGIAN PRISONERS AT MALINES]
At some of the aristocratic villas and châteaux lining the road we
take the liberty of paying a visit. A few of them are guarded by some
faithful old retainer, others are empty and deserted. In none of them
the owner seems to have remained behind, which perhaps is not to be
wondered at. The houses which we visited were quite untouched and bore
no trace of burglary or despoilment. We were among the very first to
proceed along this road after the occupation, and may therefore be
accepted as trustworthy witnesses. As I have already had occasion to
mention, the soldiers are punished very severely for theft or wanton
destruction. But as such crimes are exceedingly rare, there are but few
occasions for such punishment. No doubt an army of a million men must
comprise a few undesirable characters. However strict the discipline,
a commander cannot be held answerable for all that his men may do when
he is not personally present, especially so when both he and his troops
are worn out from violent exertions. It must also be remembered that a
seaport town like Antwerp, one of the centres of international trade,
must contain a certain proportion of cosmopolitan riff-raff who at such
times are let loose upon society and steal and pilfer where they can.
It is therefore not to be wondered at if private property is found to
have been pillaged at the end of the war. But up to now, as far as I
could see, no such excesses had been committed. The wealthy homes which
we visited were, as I have said, in the state in which their owners had
left them. One house had, judging from a military cap which had been
left behind, been occupied by a Belgian colonel. Outside the library
on the first floor was a balcony looking on to a well-kept park, where
the trees were now turning yellow. In another house we found a bedroom
which had not long since been occupied by its master and mistress, but
now they had abandoned their house and home and fled. Over the beds
hung pictures of Christ, the Virgin Mary and Pope Pius X. I was touched
on catching sight of the portrait of a beautiful boy in his coffin,
with a wreath on his brow. Evidently many tears had been shed and much
sorrow had dwelt in this still, deserted home.
As we drive on we pass more ruins and naked, jagged walls. We cross the
Nethe by a temporary wooden bridge guarded by an ordinary Landsturm
patrol, the permanent bridge having been blown up by the Belgians. In
a village, I don’t remember which, the church had been badly battered
by the bombardment, and in the square fronting it stood a statue of St.
Kilian--headless. Along the edge of a tomato field a venerable couple
toiled along with their pitiful odds and ends on a wheelbarrow and
two goats on a lead. They had clearly, to escape the fighting armies,
retired to some quiet spot in the neighbourhood and were now returning
to see whether there was anything left of their cottage. The population
here is Flemish, as are most of the inhabitants of Antwerp.
The trenches now become more numerous and have been constructed with
admirable care. The underground passages have in many cases been
enlarged into rooms, with walls of match-boarding. At one point in the
town we found traces of barricades across the road. They had been built
in the form of stone walls, but seemed harmless enough and easy both
to destroy and to outflank. Here and there we come across dead horses
lying on the road and in the ditches.
Presently we pass a troop of Uhlans, fine men of superb bearing on big
horses and looking splendid in their complete and yet handy and smart
field kit, with their long slender lances surmounted by streamers.
Near the inner girdle of forts with their belts of wire entanglements
we meet a couple of heavy mortar batteries, now no longer needed here.
They are evidently on their way to Ghent and to western Flanders. On
the other hand a bridging detachment with upturned pontoons resting on
long, narrow carriages is travelling in our direction, evidently for
use on the Scheldt.
[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO GHENT AND THE CHANNEL]
The town itself is encircled by a wall broken by several gates and by a
moat crossed by bridges. German flags are now flying over the gateways.
Through the _Porte de Malines_ we enter the Berchem quarter and then
follow the _Chaussée de Malines_ north-westward. The whole street is
crowded with transport trains and resting troops. They are evidently on
the point of starting off for fresh adventures. Now and again we pass
a house which has been struck by shells, and in some places the stone
paving has been torn up by the same agency. The broad and aristocratic
_Avenue des Arts_ here and there has had a tree trunk severed by
fragments of shell. The _Place de Meir_, a large and handsome street
in the very centre of the town, is likewise crowded with ammunition
columns and troops, looking bright and cheerful in the sunlight, but
with a bearing and an air as if it were the simplest thing in the world
to contribute to the conquest of Antwerp.
There are no women and children about, and the men out looking at
the troops might be counted on the fingers of both hands. Most
of the population has fled to Holland, the wealthy to England or
the Riviera. All shops are closed. The banks are guarded by German
soldiers. Yet the town, conquered but a few hours ago by the iron force
of arms, is decorated as for a triumphal march. The whole of Antwerp
is beflagged--and the flags are Belgian! How is it possible that they
can have been allowed to remain? The reason is evident, the town fell
yesterday and it was for the Belgian army and the British auxiliaries
that the bunting had been hung out. But during the next few days the
black, yellow and red emblems gradually disappeared.
Over the houses at the western end of the _Place de Meir_ we notice
brownish-black pillars of smoke whirling upward towards the sky. On
arrival at the _Marché aux Souliers_ we find that a whole block is
burning brightly, but now the fire spreads no weird glare around it,
for the city is bathed in sunlight. The tongues of fire issue from
the windows like as many yellow flags agitated by the breeze, and we
can see from the street the furnace within. Several houses have been
levelled to the ground. From the timber and the lumber of the ruins
the smoke rises in dense, dark clouds. There are no curious crowds
thronging to watch the terrible spectacle. One fire more or less means
little in a time so filled with fearful happenings. German soldiers are
on guard at the entrances to the street in the _Place Verte_ and _Place
de Meir_, but there are few people to keep in order in a city all but
emptied of its entire population. “Why is nothing done to quench the
fire?” we ask. “The waterworks at Waelhem have been destroyed,” we are
told, “and all that can be done is to watch the fire and to see that it
does not spread. If necessary the adjoining houses must be pulled down,
but it looks as if the fire had worn itself out.”
[Illustration: MARCHÉ AUX SOULIERS A FEW DAYS AFTER ANTWERP’S FALL.]
No part of the interior of Antwerp has been so gutted as the _Marché
aux Souliers_--and yet only the houses on the north side of the street
have been touched. Without a doubt the damage was originally done by
only a shell or two. The shells usually ignite on bursting, and the
flames had then no doubt spread to the adjoining houses. But the block
in question is surrounded by open spaces and trees, and thus it has
been possible to limit the spread of the fire. Yet the streets are very
narrow. In the _Marché aux Souliers_ a protracted squabble had been
going on between the private individuals who owned the houses, the
commune which owned the pavement and the city which owned the street,
and the fight had been about the widening of the latter, for it was too
narrow for this busy neighbourhood. But nobody would give way. In the
end no doubt the house-owners would have lost the fight. But then came
the German heavy artillery and solved the difficulty, as King Solomon
might have done, at one mighty stroke. Now the street is broad enough
for anybody.
We fly through the _Avenue du Sud_, yellowed by the falling leaves,
but here we hardly see any trace of the bombardment, barring possibly
a very occasional shell hole. At the south harbour we pass the
interminable rows of sheds, warehouses and offices, whose brass plates
bear the familiar inscriptions: Hamburg-Amerika-Linie, Norddeutscher
Lloyd, Compagnie Maritime Belge du Congo, Nippon Yusen Kaisha, Red Star
Line, Peninsular and Oriental and others. But now the harbour, usually
so teeming with life and filled with a roar and bustle unequalled by
almost any other seaport town, lies still and silent. Huge sheds were
filled with railway wagons, with or without valuable loads. A whole
trainful of petrol in tanks was a find which particularly gratified
the German officers. Another train had brought in colossal piles of
compressed hay, covered over with tarpaulins. A warehouse had been
found to contain considerable stocks of colonial produce, oats, flour,
coffee and other supplies, which in due course would be examined
and made use of. Some sheds were filled with about a thousand motor
vehicles of all kinds, mostly lorries and taxicabs. We made a tour
of inspection and soon found that they had all without exception
been destroyed with axes, hammers and other implements, and were now
perfectly useless. They must have represented a value of about £450,000.
As yet there had been no time to post sentries. The entire harbour lay
absolutely at the mercy of robbers, yet there were none to be seen.
The silence among the deserted warehouses was almost uncanny. A couple
of steamship offices and the offices at the South Railway Station had
been left in excellent condition. Everything of value had been removed,
nothing but receipts and accounts were left. The coats of clerks and
officials were still hanging on their hooks as if the owners had just
gone out to lunch.
What attracted more than anything the attention of the visitor to the
harbour was the colossal petroleum tanks, which now formed a perfect
sea of fire and smoke. The Anglo-Belgian army had not forgotten to
set fire to these supplies before retiring. If the enemy cannot be
prevented from entering, then the next best thing to do is to deprive
him as far as possible of the fruits of his conquest. That was why the
motor vehicles had been destroyed and the petroleum supplies had been
given over to the flames. They were a wonderful sight, these jet-black,
weltering, rolling clouds with their rims of grey and brown, writhing
and whirling up into the sky. We could hear the hissing and seething
inside, and now and again the blood-red flames succeeded in forcing
their way through the smoke. Occasionally there was an explosion. It
was clearly not advisable to go too near this inferno. At one or two
points, wreathed in smoke, we caught sight of the American flag still
flying on its pole, soon to be reached and devoured by the flames. The
only signs of life seemed to be ownerless cows and dogs roaming about
in a dazed, bewildered way.
On the river, opposite the _Fort de la Tête de Flandre_, a couple of
large lighters were burning briskly. They were clearly anchored and had
served as pontoons for an emergency bridge used by the allied armies
when retiring across the Scheldt and continuing their retreat to Ghent.
Certain defensive preparations at the harbour on the way to this bridge
showed that the Anglo-Belgian army had intended to defend itself to
the utmost. In some places barricades of thick iron-plate had been
constructed beneath the gigantic sheds, and by the side of one of these
stood three guns with shields, the fire from which was intended to
cover the more open portion of the harbour. Here and there barbed wire
had been put up. Judging from their arrangement, it seemed that it had
been intended to electrify the wires, but this scheme had never matured.
In the course of a walk round the town we came upon the _Rue Karel
Ooms_. Within an iron railing lay a large villa, and in the grounds
we found an old lady walking about, supported on the arm of a younger
woman. As it was unusual to see any of the wealthier inhabitants who
had decided to remain in the town during the past fateful weeks, we
walked in and greeted the old lady, who told us in simple and dignified
words that she could not bring herself to leave Antwerp in its hour of
trial, and that at her age--she was now seventy--she had not cared to
venture upon the vicissitudes of a journey. Her garden had been struck
by five shells, but the house had been left untouched. Yet, as may be
imagined, she had lived in mortal terror. Now she was out for the first
time to take the air after the anxiety and strain of the last few days.
Her nearest neighbours had been less fortunate, for of their houses
nothing but the naked walls was left. No doubt they were away, but she
believed that they had left servants behind, for she thought that she
had heard cries of anguish from that direction when the shells were
falling. Before parting, we learnt that the venerable lady was no less
a person than the widow of the celebrated Belgian historical painter,
Karel Ooms, and that she had lived in the villa since her husband’s
death in 1900. The street had, in fact, been named after him.
After a plain luncheon we paid a visit to the northern parts of the
harbour, and had a hasty look at the steamers still lying in basins
and docks. We went on board one of them. It was a German steamer, the
_Celadon_, and the fore-part of the deck showed signs of an explosion
having taken place. We learnt later that the boilers of all the vessels
in the harbour had been destroyed, so as to make the ships useless to
the Germans.
In the afternoon we came across the long bridging train which we had
passed on the way to the city; it was now marching past the cathedral
on its way to the nearest part of the harbour quay used for crossing
over to _Tête de Flandre_. No doubt a bridge was to be thrown across in
place of the one which had been blown up.
It was interesting to notice that the inhabitants were already showing
signs of returning to their city. There were not many of them, but here
and there we saw men and women with bundles on their backs opening the
doors from the street. One man was pulling two old women along on a
barrow which, besides, was crowded with packages and odds and ends. A
couple of cafés and hotels were likewise on the point of opening, and a
few shops, especially provision shops, soon followed their example.
It was now time to break up and we turned back towards Brussels. We
had not got very far before we met three reserve battalions with
colours flying and headed by a band playing cheerful military music.
In accordance with their pleasant custom, the soldiers had adorned
their rifles with little sprays of flowers, and their faces shone as
usual with cheerful determination and high spirits.
Once more we looked in at a château by the roadside. I shall never
forget the impressions which thronged into my mind as I wandered
through its dim, desolate rooms. In the bedrooms and guest-rooms on
the first floor the beds were still in the state in which the masters
of the house and their guests had left them. Quilts and sheets had
been pulled aside, towels carelessly slung across the backs of chairs
and basins were still half-full of dirty water with the pieces of
soap beside them, stuck to their dishes. On the ground floor was the
large, lordly-looking dining-room. The table was laid. A large dish
still contained the remnants of the course last served, an omelette.
Some ten persons evidently had partaken of the meal. Some plates were
empty, others still contained scraps of omelette. Knives and forks
lay pell-mell among the bits of bread by the side of the covers.
A couple of empty champagne bottles stood on the table, whilst a
third still contained a few drops of the joyous wine, which had now
lost its sparkling freshness. A few serviettes lay crumpled on the
table, others on the chairs and a couple had dropped on to the floor.
Everything testified to a hasty and panic-stricken departure. Perhaps
the thunderous music of the guns had come unpleasantly near, or maybe
a shell had dropped close by? Or perhaps a messenger had dashed in
to report that the Germans had punctured the outer girdle of forts
and were now rushing in through the opening? Who were the guests, I
wondered, whose meal had been so unceremoniously disturbed? Was it the
people of the house themselves, who had waited until the last moment,
or was it officers spending the night there on their retreat?
The château was dead and deserted. One heard no sounds but the hollow
echo of one’s steps and now and then the creaking of the furniture.
Yet in the hall, on the ground floor, we found a living being--a
white dove--it sat alone and frozen on a table. The white dove is the
symbol of innocence and purity, of divine sanctity, but here it seemed
curiously out of place. Yet the open window did not tempt it to seek
the liberty of the château grounds.
At another villa the grounds had been occupied by a column of open
ammunition carts containing Belgian shells with the fuse screwed off.
The projectiles had not been used, and had been allowed to fall into
German hands in this mutilated state. It now became impossible to drive
quickly. The road was filled to overflowing with transport columns and
Uhlans. They were on their way to Antwerp and were later bound for
Ghent. In the west we heard the roar of cannon in the distance. The
Germans were giving themselves no peace. Impregnable Antwerp had fallen
in the course of a few days, yet the conquerors were swiftly hurrying
westward, ever onward towards the sea. England had wanted war, and
England was to have her fill and was to get more than she had bargained
for since the days of Wellington. Entire companies of marines came
marching on, magnificent specimens, all of the true Germanic type. Here
and there they halted in villages, where they dragged out chairs and
placed them along the house walls to get a good and convenient view of
the ever-changing, never-ceasing life on the open road. At a corner in
the badly ravaged village of Waelhem stood a clownish figure, beating a
cracked drum. He wore a crazy-looking top-hat on his head and had drawn
sooty lines on his face to represent moustache, imperial and eyebrows.
He sang a Flemish song, twisted his body into extraordinary shapes
and looked indescribably comical and jovial. The soldiers were beside
themselves with laughter, and we could not help sharing their merriment
as the performer broke off his song for a moment to greet us with a
whimsical salute.
As we again swung round the cathedral at Malines, where we stayed in
the morning, Kes dropped the remark that it seemed to him as if several
days had since elapsed. And he was right, for we had indeed seen and
experienced much on this remarkable journey. We had come armed as if
for battle, but everything had passed off peacefully, and a rumour
that what was left of the Belgian army intended to attack the western
bank of the Scheldt, had not yet been borne out by events. We had seen
none but German soldiers amid the quaint old-fashioned and lavish
architecture of the streets and market-places surrounding Antwerp’s
venerable cathedral. The few people remaining out of Antwerp’s civil
population were very peaceable citizens and seemed resolved to accept
their fate. But in Brussels, whither we returned in the gloaming, we
found nobody who would believe in Antwerp’s fall, for had not the
allied leaders nourished the belief that this city could _never_
be taken? So when the Germans posted up proclamations in French and
Flemish announcing the fall of the city and how it had come to pass,
people gathered in little knots in front of them and read them, but all
were fully convinced that the whole story was an invention.[23]
[23] In his recent book, _War and Culture_--a work which I warmly
recommend to all and sundry who wish to sound the depths of the
socio-psychological labyrinths of the world war--Professor Gustaf
F. Steffen gives the following quotation from the Swedish newspaper
_Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfartstidning_ of the 9th October, the day on
which Antwerp fell:--
“In its first leading article in the number published the 1st inst.,
_The Times_ states that it seems as if the noise made by the German
batteries outside Antwerp were not commensurate with the importance of
the operations. _The Times_ goes on to say that they appear, in fact,
not to be doing very much damage and it is very unlikely that the
German Landwehr troops still in Belgium can achieve anything against
the outer fortifications, seeing that the Belgian field army is so
strong. Even if all the forts were destroyed, it was still doubtful
whether the Germans would be able to take Antwerp, for the important
factor in the defence of the city was not so much the forts as the
field entrenchments.
“The Belgians were said to hold one of the strongest fortresses in
Europe, they had at least 120,000 troops at their disposal and an open
harbour, whilst opposed to them were only second line troops; their
outer works were the newest and most formidable of all, and they knew
that the French and British armies in the north of France were on the
verge of victory and must come to their rescue.
“‘We do not therefore think that there is any need to worry about
Antwerp,’ writes the paper in question (_The Times_). ‘Doubtless the
graceful spires of the Antwerp churches will make the mouths of the
Huns water; the city presents incomparable opportunities for the
destructive side of German “Culture.” We can imagine the pretexts which
will be gleefully invented for pumping petrol into the “Plantain”
Museum. Every German regiment in Belgium seems to possess a special
machine for squirting petrol into buildings and to include a squad of
methodical incendiaries trained in the specific arts of the higher
civilisation, as taught at the University of Berlin. Apparently,
too, every German column has attached to it a number of mobilised
cinematograph actors, who upon suitable occasions impersonate civilians
firing on the soldiers.’”
This is a sample of _British_ culture and of the “specific arts of the
higher civilisation.” This is the sort of fare put before the neutral
countries, especially America, by the English newspapers.
In the evening, at nine o’clock, some thirty officers were assembled
round the Field-marshal’s table. Here I met once more Prince Waldemar
and Captain Dreger, and made the acquaintance of the Governor-General’s
Chief of Staff, Lieutenant-Colonel Scheerenberg, and Surgeon-General
Doctor Stecho, who spoke Swedish and who has many friends in Sweden.
Afterwards we had a _Bierabend_[24] in the upper apartments, which was
honoured with the presence of the Minister of War, Lieutenant-General
von Falkenhayn. The talkative old Field-marshal von der Goltz saw
to it that there was no lack of animation and favoured us with many
interesting items about the fall of Antwerp and its past history,
besides being inexhaustible in anecdotes and tales of the incidents of
the last few days.
[24] “Beer evening,” that is to say, a social evening enlivened by the
consumption of beer (Trslr.).