STILL IN ANTWERP
The 16th of October--an anniversary! Nine years ago I left Stockholm
for Tibet. How quiet and peaceful the world seemed then, how different
from the thunders now re-echoing from pole to pole. The Russo-Japanese
war had just ended. Now the Russians and Japanese are friends. Then
Count Benckendorff had frowned on Lord Curzon’s Tibetan policy. But
when the storm was preparing against Germany, and when it broke loose,
Russia and England suddenly became friends--like Pilate and Herod in
their day!
The 16th of October broke with a leaden sky, and the German flag hung
limp and motionless from the spire of the cathedral, 123 metres above
the ground--where it had now been fluttering for a whole week. At the
entrance facing the _Place Verte_ stood a middle-aged janitor, with an
unspeakably sour mien. He scarcely deigned to glance at me when, in my
most courteous accents, I asked him whether the cathedral was open.
“The cathedral _is_ open,” he replied, “but only to German soldiers.”
“All right, my boy,” I thought, and drew forth my _open sesame_,
General von Moltke’s pass. The janitor read the paper and his face grew
longer at every line. When he had finished he removed his cap and said:
“Is that really true? If so I may tell you, Doctor, that I am a Swede,
a native of Visby, resident in Antwerp for thirty years, and my name is
Dahlgren.”
Thereupon, the cathedral was open even to me, and honest Dahlgren took
me round and explained everything. “Baedeker” does not know one-tenth
of what he knew. But I will pass all this over, for this book deals
only with the war. All that I will mention is that only one shell, or
more likely perhaps a fragment of a shell, had struck the wall near the
lower part of the great window above the entrance in _Place Verte_.
The damage done is insignificant, and can be repaired in a day. If the
shell had been maliciously inclined, and if Rubens’s famous pictures,
“The Crucifixion” and the “Descent from the Cross,” had been in their
usual places in the transept facing towards _Place Verte_, where the
shell struck, they would have been in a perilous position. But they
were removed before the bombardment and stored in a place of safety,
like all other valuable pictures and art treasures in Antwerp. The
only trace which the shell has left in the interior of the church is a
scratch in one of the pillars.
From the chancel one has a splendid view over the seven aisles and
the majestic vaulted roof which was lost from view in the deep gloom
above. It is a forest of mighty pillars presenting an ever-varying
perspective--the nearest columns faintly illuminated from the windows,
the more distant ones gradually merging into the sombre tint of the
waning twilight. It is dark enough at the best of times in St. Joseph’s
Chapel and St. Anthony’s Chapel, where windows four hundred years
old represent the Father, Virgin, and Holy Child, side by side with
St. George and the Dragon. “_In hoc signo vinces_” is inscribed on a
reliquary, in which a splinter of the Holy Cross is kept.
In the centre of the northern side-aisle, on a portable framework,
stands an image of the Holy Virgin, richly arrayed in a long robe,
with a golden crown on her head. Each year on the Sunday following the
15th of August she is carried in procession round the town. But this
year, when her aid was so badly needed, she was not carried through the
streets of Antwerp. This year they contented themselves with lighting
tall votive candles before the Queen of Heaven. Yet she seemingly
remained deaf to all prayers! But a stained-glass picture in the third
window from the left on the northern side shows a portrait of Emperor
Charles V., who severed his Netherlands from their connection with the
Germanic Holy Roman Empire, leaving the keys of Antwerp in the charge
of this very image of the Virgin. The keys of Antwerp! It was “Black
Maria”--and not her white namesake--who had the handling of them!
The pulpit was carved by van der Voort in solid oak. It is exactly 200
years old, but perhaps the oaks were 500 years old already when their
wood was dedicated to the preaching of the Word of God. One likes to
pause before this handsome work of art. The pulpit steps, with their
carved crowns of trees and birds, leave us unmoved, but the four female
figures which support the pulpit itself are noteworthy. They represent
the four continents--Australia being then almost unknown. Three of the
figures are light enough, but the one with the thick lips and the flat
nose--Dark Africa, the negro continent--is wrapped in deep shadows.
Four continents uphold the platform from which the gospel of God’s
eternal love to mankind is preached throughout the earth--a pretty
conception of van der Voort! “Go ye therefore and teach all nations.”
The artist, no doubt, believed that the world would make progress
during the centuries to come after his days. But now there are five
continents--supporting the gospel of war and hatred. The two Western
powers of the _entente_ bear the responsibility for having caused the
Dance of Death to involve the whole globe, for they are bringing into
the fight masses of men raked together from all parts of the world:
Canadians come in their ships from America, Turcos and Senegalese
negroes from Africa, and poor Hindus and Ghurkas, bronzed by the sun
of India, lie freezing in the trenches--these are the representatives
of Asia--and lastly, Australia and New Zealand are sending their
contingents, over land and sea, from the Antipodes. And what is the
purpose of which the attainment is thought worth such a world-wide levy
of warriors? Why, Germanic culture is to be uprooted from the earth.
And it is the bearers of this culture, the people of Luther, Goethe,
Beethoven, Helmholtz and Röntgen, that are called barbarians and
Huns--a danger to the future and civilisation of the white race! It is
therefore fit that Ghurkas and Senegalese should come and save us from
relapse into the dark ages. The artist who hereafter may be bold enough
to immortalise the “levy of all races” of 1914, should not forget that
he will find a promising idea for his leading motive in van der Voort’s
woman--with the thick lips and the flat nose.
On _Place Verte_ outside stands a bronze statue of Rubens, bareheaded,
with a cloak over his shoulders. Its background is formed by the
cathedral which he himself has adorned with some of his choicest
masterpieces. There he stands, with extended hands, freely offering to
the world the gifts his genius has created! The night before the town
fell he stood there illumined by the glare of burning buildings--the
_Hôtel d’Europe_ and _Taverne Royale_. The picturesque groups of
warriors which were seen there five days ago, have disappeared for
ever from the _Grand’ Place_. Now, only a long queue of civilians
stands outside the Townhall, desiring to obtain, from the German
military authorities, passports and permits for some purpose or other.
As I sauntered through the old town, I looked at the people returning
from their flight--in most cases merely a trip to the Dutch
frontier--and who were now opening their doors and rearranging their
shop windows. In a side street a group of marines had assembled round
a half-starved cat whom they were treating to milk and meat; “the cat
will be as fat as a porpoise in a week,” they assured me. Then my ears
caught the sound of cheerful strains of music floating through the
misty streets, and I followed the direction of the alluring sound. It
turned out to be the band of one of the marine battalions playing in
front of the Townhall--surrounded by a large crowd. At four o’clock
every afternoon a band played here, at the Central Railway Station
and outside _Hotel Weber_. Order was maintained by Belgian police
constables. I addressed one of them and he told me various things of
interest.
[Illustration: FUGITIVES RETURNING TO ANTWERP FROM HOLLAND]
He knew for certain, he said, that five British marines were taken
prisoners yesterday in the town. Then he suddenly passed on to other
topics. In the night of August 25th, a Zeppelin had flown over Antwerp,
and dropped some bombs, one of which had hit three policemen; two were
killed, one was still alive and likely to recover. The police force
of Antwerp numbered 800 before the war. Of these, 260 had been called
out for active service, 140 had fled when the bombardment commenced,
the others had remained and were still doing duty. On account of their
small number, even the higher police officers had to do street duty.
He computed the strength of the Anglo-Belgian army which had been in
Antwerp at 120,000 men, and he expressed himself in very drastic terms
as to its mode of defending the town. He did not know where the army
had gone to; at any rate it disappeared just when it was most needed.
According to his computation, one-tenth, or at most one-eighth, of the
population had remained during the bombardment. They had taken refuge
in cellars, and stopped up the apertures with sandbags. Of course,
men of his service were obliged to stay out of doors. Thus he had
seen a cyclist struck by a shell and literally vanish on the spot. On
returning home he found that his wife, like all others, had fled and
taken their child with her. She had not yet returned, nor had he had
any news of her. Further, he had seen the ferries in Antwerp cast loose
and allowed to drift down-stream towards Flushing, to prevent their
falling into the hands of the Germans. He believed that, in a month’s
time, most of the inhabitants of the town would be back. The young men
only hesitated to return for fear of being compelled by the Germans to
serve in their army against Russia. And according to rumours which had
been spread, the Russians were standing near Berlin with immense armies.
Clearly, the defenders of Antwerp had feared that an attack would also
be made from the west, from the region of Termonde, for one day General
Bailer and his officers observed entrenchments, several kilometres
in length, thrown up at the cost of at least a couple of weeks’ hard
toil, and with much skill. The material was earth and timber, which
had been dragged there by the civilian population from the surrounding
districts. But even this labour was in vain, and they did not even make
an attempt to defend these entrenchments.
On October 17th we commenced with a visit to the Zoological Garden, one
of the foremost of its kind in the world. Dr. Hütten, in his capacity
as a German officer, was admitted free; I paid the usual admission. The
Indian elephants, hippopotami, rhinoceroses and giraffes were just as
unconcerned as the chimpanzees and the other simians, about the radical
change which had recently taken place in their immediate surroundings.
One of the elephants was gravely shaking his head, but otherwise the
bombardment did not seem to have made the least impression on the
animals; no doubt they mistook the roar of the guns for an approaching
thunderstorm.
But the most remarkable circumstance was that all beasts of prey had
vanished. This is the only way in which the Zoological Garden has
been affected by the war. The splendid large summer cages were empty,
and so were the indoor winter quarters of the animals. An old keeper,
who, grave and bent, was raking the paths in the park, explained the
cause--shaking his head all the while just like the Indian elephant.
“All beasts of prey were shot,” he said. “Four splendid lions, five
fine tigers, all the leopards and panthers, all land bears and
polar bears were killed. They were driven out into the summer cages
and shot--the muzzles of the rifles were thrust through the bars.” He
sighed, and no doubt he thought that this was the most grievous loss
the war had caused, for both he and the other keepers of the wild
beasts had become attached to their protégés.
“But why, in the name of common-sense, were the poor beasts shot?
Surely they were not suspected of espionage?” asked Lieut. Hütten.
“Indeed not,” the keeper replied, “it was simply done by order of a
general. They feared lest the cages might be struck by shells, when the
beasts might have escaped and created a panic in the streets. That’s
why they were shot. But now the bombardment is over, and the cages
stand empty. Not even a splinter has fallen in the Zoological Garden.”
It would be interesting to know what kind of shell it could be that
would break a lion’s cage without killing the lion!
Lastly I took a snapshot of the combined Asiatic and African landscape,
in which my old friends, the Bactrian camels and the Tibetan yaks, were
associated with dromedaries from Egypt. One might have imagined oneself
far away from the turmoil of the war of nations when standing on the
borders of their peaceful retreat!
But before reverting to the war, I will interpolate here a few details
gleaned in Antwerp as to what occurred in the town just before and
during the bombardment. Most of these I obtained from a gentleman who
on my return from the Zoological Garden was awaiting me at the entrance
to the _Hôtel Terminus_, and introduced himself as Harald Petri,
Swedish Consul in Antwerp. He was an uncommonly amiable, courteous and
hospitable man, and as he had stayed in the town during those critical
days, he could give me a great deal of perfectly reliable information.
On Wednesday, the 7th of October, the Commanding General had published
through the press a proclamation warning the inhabitants that the
town might be bombarded at any moment. In consequence of this warning
one-half of the population took flight. The warning had come none
too soon, for the very same night at 11 p.m. the shells began to
burst. During the night and on Thursday morning further crowds fled
in a continuous stream. They went on foot, as no cars and no horses
were to be had. They took with them their valuables and a good many
domestic animals--I dare say also provisions. There were weeping
women, screaming children and excited men. Many of them, perhaps, had
seen shells falling near them. The number of these fugitives might be
computed at over 150,000. They made for the Dutch frontier village of
Putten, and thence for Bergen-op-Zoom, but many got as far as Esschem
and Rosendaal by other roads.
By 10 a.m. on Thursday the town was almost deserted, 10,000 having
perhaps remained out of nearly 400,000 inhabitants. Nearly all of
these sought refuge in the cellars under the houses which, with very
few exceptions, stood empty. Among those remaining were nearly all the
Swedes, Norwegians and Danes residing in Antwerp; in fact, many of the
Scandinavians who had already taken out their passports, nevertheless
remained behind.
The bombardment continued all Thursday, and the town was set on fire by
shells in several places. It was a terrific din, what with the roar of
the guns and the crash of falling walls. The bombardment increased in
intensity during Thursday night, and the fire spread. But at 11 a.m. on
Friday, the 9th of October--the day before my visit--all became quiet.
Consul Petri had disdained to seek shelter. In common with other
officials, he had been invited to take refuge in the Townhall, but
he preferred to stay at home. From time to time he went out into
the streets to see the effect of the bombardment. As soon as it had
ceased, he went to the Townhall, and then for a long stroll. The
streets were deserted and silent; there was scarcely a soul to be seen.
But suddenly, he saw a host of people. This was the German vanguard
marching in from Berchem, to be followed later in the day by the main
body of the besieging army. The public buildings were taken possession
of, the artillery drove up to the quay, and the St. Anne’s quarter of
the town was bombarded for two hours. Then all was quiet.
Another informant in Antwerp told me that certain prominent persons
would have left the town on October 3rd, if the Belgian Government had
not ordered them to remain. This was done at the request of the British
Government, who had promised to send troops to relieve the town. On
the same day, at 2 p.m., Mr. W. Churchill arrived in a motor-car
and had a consultation with the civic and military authorities of
the city, in the course of which he promised to send 30,000 men to
relieve the town, a force which, in conjunction with the Belgian
army, should be sufficient for the defence of the city. As a matter
of fact, only 15,000 men arrived, of whom 2500 were bluejackets. They
had heavy artillery with them and are said to have fought bravely. On
October 6th, late at night, Churchill left the town and drove off in a
motor-car to the west, no doubt to Ostend.
As the inhabitants during the nights heard, and in day-time saw,
troops marching through the streets, they could not but believe that
a vigorous resistance would be offered. They were therefore greatly
surprised when the town surrendered without a fight and the defenders,
at 6 a.m. on October 9th, withdrew over the pontoon bridge, built six
weeks before, across the Scheldt, and then blew the bridge up. The
British are said to have been the last to cross it.
On October 17th, eight days after the fall of Antwerp, the number of
inhabitants was estimated at fifty to sixty thousand. Probably even
the young men fit for military service would soon return when they
learnt that the Germans were paying well for work done and did not
compel them to join their own ranks. Besides, the Governor had issued
an order to the effect that all private property should be respected
and that no private house should be entered by the soldiers. The three
neutral Consuls--of Sweden, Holland and America--had also conferred
with the Governor on the measures to be taken to restore normal life.
In consequence, the Dutch Consul had advised his countrymen resident
in Antwerp, numbering up to 20,000, to return. The German colony was
estimated at 18,000, including many wealthy merchants. These also had
commenced to return. The neutral Consuls most positively denied that
any atrocities had been committed against Germans at the outbreak of
the war.
The material damage caused to the town itself by the bombardment is
very small. Consul Petri calculates that there are 40,000 houses in
Antwerp. Out of these, about 300 have been damaged by shells, and 100
burnt down--hence no more than 1 per cent. He valued the buildings that
had been burnt down at something like £500,000, and those damaged by
shells at about £150,000.
Consul Petri’s chauffeur had fled, and when we made a tour through the
town the Consul drove the car himself. He was familiar with all the
spots in the southern parts of Antwerp where shells had struck. The
northern part had escaped damage altogether. We saw several yawning
rents at the street level, where shells had laid open the cellars,
leaving large gaping chasms. The Argentine Consul, who, like most other
people, had taken refuge in a cellar, had been killed by one of these
shells.
In other places the shells had struck the roof, carrying away the whole
garret floor, and leaving here and there nothing but the tattered
shreds of girders rattling in the breeze. Frequently a shell had struck
in the middle of a house-front without causing any damage visible from
the street, beyond tearing a huge hole in the wall and shattering all
the panes and window frames. Black streaks on the walls showed that
fire had broken out. On closer examination we found, as a rule, that
the principal havoc had been wrought on the side away from the street.
We also saw how the shells had struck the roadway and burst, ripping
up the stone pavement and throwing large mounds and fragments against
adjacent houses, where cavities biting into the brickwork gaped red
out of the white plastering. In one place we could see how a shell had
carried away a roof and some ten yards of coping, and had then crashed
into the opposite house on the other side of the street.
All rubbish and brickwork which had tumbled into the streets and on
the pavements had already been piled up in heaps, but had not yet been
carted away for want of horses and vehicles. Among the heaps of ruins
at the _Marché aux Souliers_ the gas was escaping from burst pipes and
burning with blue wavering flames, presenting a weird spectacle at
night.
Our run also brought us to _St. Jacques_, a magnificent church, rich
in works of art representing subjects from sacred history. The candles
burning in front of some images of saints were inadequate to dispel
the gloom. The features of the Saviour on a Crucifix revealed abysmal
depths of pain and sorrow; it seemed as if darkness had descended for
ever on the earth and overpowered him. The worshippers were easily
counted. Among them I noticed a few young women confessing their sins
in the confessional chairs, giving the listening priests an insight
into some of the most secret recesses of human life.
St. Paul’s can boast if anything a still greater ecclesiastical
splendour. The interior was brightly illumined with electric light,
but the church itself is jealously hidden in the midst of a dense
cluster of houses.
As it was still daylight, we decided to cross over to St. Anne’s on the
western bank of the Scheldt. The ferries were still plodding steadily
to and fro, but were now only bringing refugees back to Antwerp. One
of the ferries was just lying to, and a broad gangway was thrown out
to bridge the interval of one yard between the ferry and the quay. A
restive grey horse shied at the gangway, reared, backed and fell into
the river. “He is lost,” cried the marines, “he will find no place
where he can get ashore.” The horse swam out into the Scheldt, but
soon turned back. Meanwhile it was caught in the swirling current
and disappeared. A boat went out to its aid, and towed it to a steep
stairway. The horse was now spent and no longer attempted to swim.
Ropes and lines were passed round its body and with united strength
they pulled it up to the pavement. Here the horse lay as if dead. They
rubbed it with straw. Presumably it revived, for when we returned from
the other bank it was gone. It was only a horse! And yet it had caused
men’s hearts to beat faster for a good half-hour!
Yet, strangely enough, all the dead cavalry and transport horses whose
swollen bodies lie on the road between Brussels and Antwerp, failed to
move us deeply--not to speak of the graves with the small white crosses
which we pass so heedlessly on our road.
A last gleam of daylight was still lingering when we drove up to the
imposing _Hôpital Militaire_, where I wished to call on Sister Martha
for the last time. She was the only German among a number of Belgian
Sisters. The medical staff consists partly of German naval surgeons,
partly of Belgians. The surgeon-in-chief, whom I had met in Kobe, had
been in Stockholm in July, just before the war broke out. The hospital
had 700 beds, most of which were now occupied by Belgian soldiers, a
few Germans and seventeen Englishmen. I talked to six of the latter
in one of the pavilions. When I asked what they thought of the war
they all replied: “Sir, we had got our orders, all we had to do was to
obey and do our duty!” One of them admitted: “I suppose we could not
well look on idly when the Germans were capturing the world’s trade.”
Another thought it was absurd that men should go out and kill each
other, and he declaimed about “this horrible, this terrible war.” All
were longing for home, and asking whether we thought they would get
there by Christmas. I was unable to reassure them on this point. “If at
least our relatives knew that we are alive!” they said. They were all
serene and dignified, and greatly appreciated the kind and solicitous
care they received. What a pity that they should be lying there,
counting the lingering hours! Nevertheless one feels greater pity
still for the Belgians who have been left in the lurch by their great
tempters and “protectors,” and who have lost their country and their
independence. After all it is best to stand on one’s own legs and to
follow the watchword of the boy scout: “Be prepared.”
We had no time to visit Rubens’s house, standing in the street bearing
his name. It has been on fire repeatedly since his time, and is
entirely changed. But we entered Mrs. Osterith’s house. The Governor
had taken up his quarters there. He is a refined and humane man, who
is doing all he can to infuse new life into the dead town, and wishes
to see its industry and prosperity flourishing afresh under the new
forms which the inexorable necessities of war have brought forth. Mrs.
Osterith herself was an old acquaintance of mine. In 1903 I had been
to a great reception at this magnificent house, which might almost be
called a palace. The noble lady is seventy-four, and full of humour.
She had remained in Antwerp during the bombardment, and together with
fifty-eight persons, members of the household and acquaintances,
taken refuge in the vast cellars under the house. Her bed had stood
between bins of old wine, and she slept there while shells crashed
over the burning town. Once the Spanish Minister paid her a visit,
and she received him in her “bombardment dress,” a peignoir. At last
came the hour of release, and she returned with her household from her
subterranean captivity to the realms of daylight.
Finally, we made for the _Hôtel Terminus_, where we supped in the
company of General Bailer, Colonel Müller, Major Elert, Captain
Lamprecht, and a couple of other officers. Our company was also joined
by Lieutenant-Colonel Schaubode, who had commanded the siege artillery
and had been rewarded for his merits with the Iron Cross of the first
class. He was so used to fire that he slept soundly while shells were
whizzing around him. He told us various instances of the strange
freaks of fate which occur in this connection. During an engagement,
a General and a Major stood talking on the high road. A shell fell
near them. The Major was sent away on some errand, and had scarcely
moved away when there came another shell, which struck the General so
effectually that he literally vanished from sight.
On another occasion two officers were living in the same quarters in
a town which was being shelled. When the house was struck by a shell,
which, however, did no damage to speak of, one of the officers thought
that they might consider themselves safe, as surely the same house
was not likely to be hit more than once. The other, however, sought
new quarters and induced his friend to follow him. As soon as they
had left, the house was totally destroyed. It turned out that it was
a public office, where the enemy took it for granted that the German
commanders would take up their quarters.
Thus, chance often seems to play a great part. To live in a bombarded
town is like a game of chance, as no one can tell where the shells will
strike. The wisest course is to discard all calculations and to trust
one’s life to God’s hands. We have already seen how the Swedish Consul
in Antwerp, who exposed himself to danger, came off scot-free, while
his Argentine colleague, who took refuge in an apparently safe cellar,
was killed.
During my stay in Antwerp I had an opportunity--though only once--of
meeting the Rev. Börjeson, Seamen’s Missionary, a son of the great
sculptor. Börjeson told me various things about the refugees, and the
hardships they suffered. They had camped out in woods and pasture
lands, but in Holland they had been well received, and the Dutch had
helped them all they could. In this connection I expressed a wish to
see one of the high roads leading north, and Consul Petri, with his
usual hospitality, placed his car at my disposal; accordingly, on the
18th of October, we started on the road leading to Bergen-op-Zoom.
On our drive through the town we observed, to our pleasant surprise,
that some of the railways were already working--a new sign of
reawakening life, even if of no great significance. At the bridge
across the town moat our papers were carefully examined, whereupon we
proceeded through the suburb of Merxem. West of this is the fort of the
same name. This had been surrendered without a fight, though surrounded
on all sides by barbed-wire entanglements; a number of trees had been
felled to clear the range, and houses had been pulled down, all--so it
seemed now--needlessly!
The road was stone-paved and shaded by fine oaks and beeches; it passed
through the villages of Donck, Eckeren, and Cappellen. Quite close to
the frontier we passed between a couple of the extreme fortifications
on the northern front. These, too, were surrounded by barbed-wire
entanglements and an area of demolition, which had not been caused by
the attackers but by the defenders. In one place a barricade had been
erected right across the road--all to no purpose.
Dryhoek is the name of one of the northernmost works, where we made
a brief inspection, accompanied by a young German lieutenant and a
Belgian merchant, a friend of Consul Petri. Dryhoek has been totally
demolished, but the destruction was not wrought by German artillery.
When the Commander recognised that the fortifications would fall into
the hands of the Germans, he decided at least not to leave them to the
enemy in undamaged condition, and ordered the garrison of about two
hundred men to march off, whereupon he set fire to the powder magazine
and blew himself up together with his fort. The great concrete blocks
now lying scattered on the site form a monument over his grave. Even if
nothing is won by such an act one cannot but recognise that it requires
rare fortitude and resolution.
[Illustration: OUTWORKS AT DRYHOEK, BLOWN UP BY THEIR COMMANDANT]
The German lieutenant told me that several minor after-explosions had
taken place on the site. Yesterday he had found among the ruins the arm
of a man, evidently the Commander’s, unless one of the men had remained
to die with his chief.
The fort was crescent-shaped, with four turrets for 12- and 15-cm.
guns, having a range of 8-10 kilometres, and one turret for 7.5-cm.
guns, intended for short-range fighting. This turret faced north,
and was the only one which remained intact besides the breastwork of
sandbags for the defending infantry.
All along the road we passed returning fugitives. At the village
of Putten the frontier post is in the middle of the street, where
the Dutch and the German flags float side by side, and where Dutch
soldiers guard the frontier. All passports are scrutinised here. As
for ourselves, we had no difficulty in being passed through, and we
proceeded some distance to the north through a rather sparsely
cultivated tract, where young pines were growing on both sides of the
road. Scattered paper, rags, empty bottles and other vestiges marked
the spots where the fugitives had camped. They had fared very ill in
the chilly autumn nights. Some had got separated from their dear ones
and were searching for them. They had sped on by night as well as by
day on this _via dolorosa_, and it was not surprising that they lost
each other in the darkness. The Dutch mounted police patrols could not
help them, they could only maintain order. Many a woman gave birth to a
child prematurely by the roadside. Indescribable scenes were enacted in
this fleeing caravan, distracted with fear and anxiety. But even they,
perhaps, could not forbear a smile when for instance they saw a big
stout matron laboriously dragging an easy chair on which she sat down
to rest at every fiftieth step! And grateful, indeed, they must have
felt, when the Dutch regaled them with bread, soup, and other food!
[Illustration: THE DUTCH FRONTIER STATION AT PUTTEN ON THE WAY TO
BERGEN-OP-ZOOM]
But now they were returning in endless procession, which however, was
far more sparse than it had been a few days ago. They came on foot,
on bicycles or guiding dog-drawn carts and pushing wheelbarrows. Many
were riding in solid vehicles with or without springs. I had scarcely
expected to see that so many Belgian horses had got over whole-skinned
to Holland. Now they were returning to their old stables.
As one tarries by the roadside awhile to watch this procession of
poor half-starved and frozen people deprived of livelihood, home and
country, one cannot but ask: “_Whose is the fault?_”
I have on various occasions witnessed scenes of Belgian misery and
distress, which nearly broke my heart. I felt glad that there are
charitable souls in the world who are collecting means to alleviate
this distress.
* * * * *
Jesus said to his disciples: “Take heed that no man deceive you.... Ye
shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled;
for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For
nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and
there shall be famine and earthquakes in divers places. But all these
are only the beginning of sorrows. Then shall they deliver you up to be
afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations
for My name’s sake. And then shall many be offended and shall betray
one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall
rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the
love of many shall wax cold. But he that shall endure unto the end, the
same shall be saved.... When ye therefore shall see the abomination of
desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place
(whoso readeth, let him understand): then let them which be in Judæa
flee into the mountains: let him which is on the housetop come not down
to take anything out of his house: neither let him which is in the
field return back to take his clothes. And woe unto them that are with
child, and to them that give suck in those days! But pray ye that your
flight be not in winter, neither on the sabbath day: for then shall be
great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to
this time, no, nor ever shall be....
“Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.
But know this, that if the good man of the house had known in what
watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have
suffered his house to be broken up. Therefore be ye also ready: for in
such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.... Heaven and earth
shall pass away, but My words shall not pass away.”