_VIA_ GHENT AND BRUGES TO OSTEND
During the time I stayed at Antwerp news kept reaching us almost daily
of the rapidity with which the Germans were approaching the sea. “Ghent
is taken,” “Bruges is taken,” and finally, “To-day our troops have
entered Ostend.” On my return to Brussels it looked as if the Allies
were going to do their utmost to drive the Germans out of Ostend, and a
rumour was in circulation that the British had bombarded the town.
Accompanied by the ever-charming and delightful Consul Petri and his
Belgian friend, who took charge of the steering wheel, I proceeded
on October 20th to Ostend, equipped with a special pass from the
Governor-General. The weather was dull and rainy and dark curtains of
heavy clouds hung over the bleak landscape. We drove through avenues of
elms along a road paved with Swedish granite, so it might be said that
we were travelling on Swedish, Belgian and German ground. Every inch of
the country is cultivated or built upon, nothing but houses and farms,
hop-fields, corn-fields and kitchen gardens. The draught dogs are very
busy, since the war has taken all the horses. One sees remarkably few
German uniforms, but a good many natives walking along under their
umbrellas. As in Malines, the people wear wooden shoes, and we still
come across great numbers of returning fugitives.
At Alost we cross the Dendre by a bridge. Here we find numerous marks
of shell fire. At Quaterecht many houses have been destroyed. From
Melle the road is lined with an uninterrupted string of nurseries
and flower gardens. Horticulture has here reached a high pitch of
perfection and potted plants are exported to the United States to the
tune of millions.
In Ghent nothing has been destroyed. The town retains its customary
appearance. The tramcars are running, all shops are open and there are
crowds of people about in spite of the weather. Yet the many German
uniforms tell their tale. We stopped to have a look at the magnificent
cathedral. We found here an image of the Virgin Mary surrounded by
burning candles and by it was a notice that anyone offering up prayers
before the image would receive fifty days’ absolution. What the many
people kneeling on the praying stools were praying for, we could
readily guess.
In the palace of the Counts of Flanders we wandered through
subterranean crypts and along crenelated walls. From a commanding crest
we had a remarkable view over the red-brick roofs and grey church
towers of the town, all dripping with rain.
I had been invited for supper by the charming and friendly war
historian, Major-General Friederich, where I met several officers
belonging to his staff. The General was now in mourning. His only son
had fallen on the field of honour for his country. But the General had
other sons, to wit: his Landwehr soldiers, sturdy, strong, willing
and lusty fellows. The rank and file was composed of workmen, privy
councillors, cobblers’ apprentices, barristers, brewers’ draymen,
high court judges, blacksmiths and mayors. Differences in rank, party
contentions and class distinctions all disappear in the field without
leaving a trace behind them. War levels everything. There is but one
rank: that of the warrior who fights for the honour of his country and
the freedom of his people.
At nine in the morning of the 21st October we continued our journey.
The rain clouds still hung heavy over the narrow streets and the
weather did not brighten until we had left the town behind us. At Eclo
a company of German cyclists were resting. Bridges span the canals
here and there and the latter in turn intersect the country in all
directions to carry the many lighters to and fro. There is not much
traffic now. Now and again we see large wagons which serve as homes for
itinerant families moving from place to place to buy up the tresses of
peasant girls, to sharpen knives, to do tinkering and so forth.
Bruges is one of the most celebrated cities of Europe on account of
its old-world air, its picturesque houses, its trees and bridges over
the canals and its mighty city gates with rounded turrets. I felt I
should like to remain to enjoy the repose which seemed to dwell over
the many waterways. But now there is no time. We go on through a beech
forest and over open fields and reach the village of Ghistelles; a
few kilometres further on towards the south-west and we come to a
crossing, where we are stopped by an infantry picket. As we halt we
hear a violent cannonade within a short distance. Our papers are
examined, and we are told that an artillery duel is going on at
Middelkerke and that the German positions are on the near side of the
long canal connecting Ostend with Nieuport and Dunkerque. A squadron
of British warships is said to be lying off the coast and bombarding
the German positions, which are also attacked from the land side by
Belgian and French troops. But the road to Ostend, which runs first to
the north-west and later to the north-north-east, was said to be free.
The soldiers thought that we were practically, if not entirely, safe
from shells on that road. The most dangerous point was the bend on the
other side of the canal, where the road changes its direction. We met
coming from Ostend several ammunition columns on the way to the troops
at Middelkerke, where numbers of wounded soldiers were returning to the
rear.
[Illustration: The Belgian Coast between Blankenberghe and Nieuport.]
We got safely past the dangerous corner and arrived safe and sound in
the handsome and aristocratic town by the sea, to which Baedeker has
given the following testimonial: “Ostend is perhaps at present Europe’s
most elegant watering-place.” We drove on to the avenue along the front
with its rows of big hotels facing the sea. Most of them are only
open during the season, which ends on the 15th September, and during
which some 45,000 visitors reside in the town. But Ostend is also
the terminus of one of the passenger routes between England and the
Continent and this traffic goes on all the year round. Travellers held
up by gales or by fatigue can find hotels of a less pretentious kind,
but they are situated in the interior of the town.
[Illustration: A PETTY OFFICER WITH A FEW MARINES AT A STREET-CORNER IN
OSTEND]
It was two o’clock when we arrived. I had never been to Ostend and
knew none of the German officers, but I had my pass and felt I ought
to report myself to the commandant, who was said to be stopping at the
_Hôtel Littoral_ facing the sea, so we proceeded there and lunched
immediately in the restaurant, for Consul Petri’s time was nearly
up and he had to be back in Antwerp before nightfall. I accompanied
him and his Belgian friend to the door, thanked them for their
companionship and saw them drive off with a little Swedish flag in
front cracking in the breeze.
It looked strange, this grey and dreary sea, as one cast one’s glance
westward. One seemed to feel the hot breath of war blowing in over the
land. The rain had ceased, the weather was clearing, but the sky was
still overcast. In the west, at a distance of nine or ten kilometres,
we saw plainly and clearly the outlines of thirteen British warships,
of which a couple were cruisers and the others large destroyers of
the older type. They were firing against the German positions on the
Belgian coast and were themselves under fire. One could see them
constantly on the move so as to render the German aim and fire more
difficult. Yet on the whole they retained their positions and their
black hulls were sharply silhouetted against the light horizon. Huge
black clouds of smoke rose from their funnels and were blown across the
horizon, giving the sky a peculiar streaky appearance.
The swell rolled in, dull and sleepy, over the fine smooth sands of the
_plage_. The road facing the sea was open to traffic, but the spacious
promenade outside, separated from the sea and _plage_ by an iron rail,
was reserved for the German troops. At high tide the sea ascends to the
foot of the stone wall of the promenade, whilst at low water it recedes
some distance, leaving a wide belt of sand high and dry. This was now
occupied by German horsemen who rode out into the water to refresh and
harden their tired mounts.
I called upon the commandant at Ostend, _Kapitän zur See_ (naval
captain) Tägert. He was staying on the first floor of the _Hôtel
Littoral_, and from his balcony we once again observed the British
warships. He told me that he and his brother naval officers had arrived
at Ostend early the same day, the 21st October. They had gone first to
the _Majestic Hotel_, which was supposed to be the best in the town.
The proprietor declared that he had no rooms available, which was not
true, as the season was long since over. Possibly the name of the
hotel explained why there was no room--for German officers. Instead
of availing themselves of their right to insist on accommodation, the
Germans, anxious to avoid a fuss, went to the _Hôtel Littoral_, which
was placed at their disposal from top to bottom. They subsequently
found that they had no cause to repent the change. The army officers
and doctors, on the other hand, were less amenable and settled down
without further ado at the _Majestic Hotel_, where kitchen service and
attendance were quickly working at full pressure.
[Illustration: MILITARY POLICEMEN INSPECTING THE DAMAGE OUTSIDE THE
“MAJESTIC” HOTEL]
Captain Tägert, a refined and conscientious man, immediately ordered
that a room (by the way, the last available at the _Littoral_)
be placed at my disposal forthwith. I took possession at once.
The corridor on the second floor led straight into the apartments
overlooking the sea, the inner doors being already furnished with the
name-plates of the German naval officers occupying them. The outer
glass doors led to balconies with comfortable basket chairs. From these
balconies we had an uninterrupted view of the sea and could watch the
British squadron and its movements.
From my splendid point of vantage I could enjoy at leisure the varying
phases of a wonderful sunset. In the west the great ball was shining
with a curious pink glow now and then running into yellow. The fleecy
clouds near by were fringed with gold reflected in the glittering sea.
The rest of the sky was overcast and a thin drizzle fell fitfully,
whilst the windows on the front gleamed as if the houses were on fire.
The British ships lay in the centre of the patch of sea turned golden
by the rays of the setting sun. They had been bombarding the German
positions all day and I could see the flashes from the guns, followed a
long while after by the roar of the report. Now, at 5.20 p.m., German
time, the thunder from the guns was so loud and insistent that the
windows of the Kursaal shook and rattled. Half an hour later the firing
ceased. We assumed that the squadron had gone north to replenish its
ammunition. By this time the beam of light had shrunk and the golden
tint had faded from the water. Twilight descended upon the sea and the
blinking of a couple of gas-buoys began to assert itself. They are
there to guide the shipping, but now the fairway was empty and deserted.
During the day I had seen many civilians about, but towards evening
they gradually disappeared. Nobody was allowed out after 9 p.m. or
before 5 a.m. The streets themselves were not lighted, but several
shops were kept with their lights burning until the former hour. On
the promenade at the front there was not a single lamp alight--here
one wandered in darkness among the German soldiers. Light issued,
however, from many windows facing the sea. This was not thought risky,
as the enemy vessels well knew their bearings in any case. It was not
thought that the British ships would bombard Ostend, as the killing of
a hundred or two of Germans and the evacuation of the place would not
make up for the loss of the considerable British capital supposed to
be invested in the town.
I had been invited to regard myself as a member of the German naval
officers’ mess for dinner and supper at the _Hôtel Littoral_. When
therefore we assembled at eight o’clock in the restaurant for the first
time, I made the acquaintance of them all. Among my special friends,
apart from the chief, were Captain-Lieutenant Bess, Lieutenant Haak,
Staff-Surgeon Schönfelder and Doctor Kübler. We kept together during
the next few days and went through many experiences which we shall
never forget.
Whilst we were sitting at table a report was handed in that light
signals had been made from a church tower, clearly addressed to the
British warships. The instructions issued to deal with this matter
ordered a very thorough investigation of the circumstances. The day’s
bombardment from the British ships had done no damage beyond killing a
few horses. Apart from this the shells had found an “empty billet.”
We sat up late talking, and Captain Bess told us about the sinking of
the old “tin box” _Ariadne_, a cruiser of 3000 tons, by the British on
August 28th. Bess was navigating officer on board and he assured me
that it takes some time before one’s nerves recover their equilibrium
after the shock of such an experience. The _Ariadne_ had been doing
patrol duty in Jade Bight when in the morning of August 28th she was
ordered to scour the sea north-west of Heligoland. The weather was
misty and it was impossible to see far ahead. Suddenly a huge grey hulk
loomed up through the fog. It was a British “Dreadnought,” and her
heavy guns at once began to play. The first “coal box” flew right over
the _Ariadne_, so close that several of the crew were flung against the
deck by the air pressure. After that the shells kept raining over the
doomed little cruiser, which immediately headed for the Jade Bight, her
guns returning the fire as best she could. One shot after the other
struck the _Ariadne_. After a while her stern was on fire and there
was no possibility of bringing the powder magazine under water so as
to avert a catastrophe. The fore-part of the ship also caught fire,
but not in the bows, where the wounded had been taken and where it was
still possible to make one’s way. Next the steering apparatus was hit
and the ship seemed to want to make for the British vessel, but somehow
or other it was put right again. Words cannot describe the appalling
noise which denoted each hit. A deafening crash resounded through the
entire hull when the projectile struck its sides. The fire soon spread.
Presently it became impossible to serve the guns. In the end the flames
reached the parts of the ship where the ammunition was stored. Now
began a terrible crackling and hissing as one projectile after the
other exploded and shells and splinters poured out in every direction.
Another “Dreadnought” dived through the fog, but did not take part in
the fight, uneven enough already. The _Ariadne’s_ commander and Bess
were on the bridge, the plating of which was perforated from beneath
by the exploding ammunition. The heat was unbearable, everything was
wreathed in smoke, the deafening detonations followed closer and closer
and the final catastrophe was clearly approaching. When the crew saw
that the end might come at any moment they broke into a rousing cheer
for the Emperor and another for the _Ariadne’s_ commander. Then they
sang the
“Stolz weht die Flagge schwarz-weiss-rot
An unsres Schiffes Mast
Dem Feinde weh, der sie bedroht,
Der diese Farben hasst!
Sie flattert an dem Heimatstrand
Im winde hin und her,
Und fern vom teuren Vaterland
Auf sturmbewegtem Meer.
Ihr wolln wir treu ergeben sein,
Getreu bis in den Tod,
Ihr wolln wir unser Leben weihn,
Der Flagge schwarz-weiss-rot. Hurra!”[26]
[26] Black, white and red our noble flag
Up at our masthead flies--
Woe to the foe who scorns that flag,
This ensign who defies!
It gaily flutters in the breeze
Upon our native strand
And out on many storm-tossed seas
Far from our fatherland.
Beneath it firm and true we’ll stand,
Our blood we’ll gladly shed,
And to our last breath will defend
The black and white and red!
Hurrah!
But salvation was near at hand. The two cruisers _Danzig_ and
_Stralsund_ showed up through the mist. The crew jumped overboard from
the red-hot, burning ship. The British disappeared. The commander and
Bess would have been roasted had they remained longer at their post,
and they too dived into the sea. As regards the latter, he did not
recover consciousness until he found himself in a comfortable berth on
board one of the rescue ships. The _Ariadne_ had lost close on seventy
men out of her full complement of three hundred.
Thus ended the first day which I spent with the German naval officers
at Ostend, that glorious watering-place, at other times the rendezvous
of _la haute volée_ and “the upper ten,” that pleasure-ground of
innumerable good-for-nothings, where dissipated diplomats bathe their
jaded bodies in the pure salt sea, where namby-pamby dandies flirt
with idle, fascinating women. Now German imperial power stood like
an impenetrable iron wall on the brink of the sea, with its spear
pointed at the heart of England. The first goal had been reached,
England--fearful of her world supremacy on the sea and jealous of the
rapid commercial and economic rise of Germany--had made up her mind to
join in the fight and had declared war on Germany. Now, if ever, was
the opportunity to get at a hated rival--without too great a sacrifice
of her own resources. But already German forces had reached the ocean
shore. Antwerp had fallen, the city which Mr. Winston Churchill, like
the Duke of Wellington of old, had wished to convert into a British
base for operations on the Continent, a point from which the Belgians
could be put to rights should they perchance become less patient and
show less interest in the sacred cause. Yes, Antwerp--the city which
was to be saved for Great Britain even if the rest of Belgium went
under--had fallen, in spite of Britain’s protest and in spite of
the showers of abuse which the proud British had poured over their
honourable enemy. The greatest drama of the world’s history was in
full swing. Were the Teutons to go under and the culture of the German
“barbarians” to be wiped out? No, never! Such a purpose would require
other means for its fulfilment than those hitherto tried by the Allies.
The military position of Germany is too strong, and all attempts to
crush her people are and must be hopeless. But woe to those who bear
the blame for the agony of the vanquished!
It was with a queer feeling that I went to bed in a room where I could
look upon a sea from which British warships had only a moment ago been
bombarding the coast a few miles away. The fire might easily have been
directed on Ostend itself. But this did not come to pass. At least I
heard nothing, for I slept like a log. When I awoke war had resumed its
thunders in the west.
22nd October. The British bombardment of the coastal zone south of
Ostend continued throughout the morning and was still more severe than
on the previous day. The window-panes in the hotel restaurant shook in
their frames. We wondered whether the deeper sounds emanated from newly
arrived German heavy artillery or from British naval guns.
Two German infantry detachments were occupying a line running from
north-west to south-east of the north-eastern side of the Yser Canal.
On the south-west side of the canal the Belgians and British had
entrenched themselves firmly; they also held Nieuport. The immediate
German object was to command the crossings of the canal, which in
itself formed a very valuable defensive work in the hands of the
Allies. The villages of Leffinghe and Slype and the road between
them, running south-east of Middelkerke, had been bombarded by the
enemy. Leffinghe was only six, Slype nine kilometres from Ostend. The
positions of the Germans were enormously strong. They clearly did not
intend to let go the advantage they had gained, although encircled
by fire from the north, north-west, west, south-west and south, both
from the sea and from the land side. The Allies on the other hand
realised that every German advance west-south-westward, that is to say
towards Nieuport, Dunkerque and Calais, was, to say the least, fatal
to themselves. Hence the remnants of the Anglo-Belgian Army, which
had thought fit to leave Antwerp before it was too late, had halted
in its retreat after receiving considerable reinforcements both from
France and England, and had offered a desperate resistance in fortified
positions in the western sector of Belgian Flanders, intersected by
canals and waterways. It will readily be understood what important
British interests were at stake. As soon as England herself was in
danger, the famous phlegm was transformed into unbridled hysteria.
Captain Tägert now suggested an excursion to Middelkerke, situated
on the coast, eight kilometres from Ostend. Captain-Lieutenant Bess
and his adjutant were to accompany me. We drove in the covered car of
the former, following the inner sea-road parallel with the shore, but
separated from it by intermittent rows of houses. Towards Middelkerke
the life and traffic increased. Long food and ammunition columns were
being brought up to the rear of the troops. In a street in the little
town the men were busy hiding the light canvas awnings of the provision
wagons with twigs and branches, and the vehicles looked like so many
leafy bowers. Yet I was unpleasantly impressed by the sight of this
kind of leafy bower, for in my mind it was too closely associated with
impending danger. As I have said before, this sort of disguise is
necessitated by the enemy’s air scouting.
We asked a picket where the General-in-Command von Werder had his
quarters, and were directed to a modest little house. The General was
busy at the moment receiving details of the situation in this part of
the theatre of war. A report on the subject had to be sent to Main
Headquarters. As soon as this matter was disposed of, we were shown in.
The General received us with the greatest kindness. He was in brilliant
spirits and possesses in a high degree that immovable equanimity
required in difficult situations. Lieutenant-Colonel Wittisch was told
to lend us an officer familiar with the field of battle, who would
take us to a point of vantage from which we could obtain a view of the
situation without too much exposing ourselves to the enemy’s fire. The
Colonel asked whether he might not undertake this job himself, and so
we promptly seated ourselves in his open car and continued on our way
along the sea-front under cover of the only row of houses separating us
from the sea. These houses are, however, intersected by several narrow
streets like the openings in a gallery, through which we caught sight
of the sea and two destroyers which had detached themselves from the
British squadron and were now two kilometres away. They were clearly
out to observe what was passing on shore, but did not fire, at least
not at the moment.
On reaching the last of the stone houses at the western end of
Middelkerke we alighted from the car and proceeded on foot some
distance south to the crest of the highest dune in the neighbourhood.
At this point we were only a little over seven kilometres from
Nieuport, which was in the hands of the Allies. We had with us a map
of the neighbourhood and commanded a wide radius of the blood-drenched
country. Below the crest of the dune, to the south-west, stood the
nearest German batteries. They were just on the point of hurling
their messengers of death into the allied positions. At every shot we
heard that peculiar whining, whistling sound of the projectile, and
presently a puff of smoke indicated the point of impact at the other
end. All life in the vicinity of this target is destroyed. A hit can
kill twenty men and wound as many or more. Yesterday British shells had
been raining down from Nieuport and they had reached the spot where
we now stood. It is difficult to avoid a feeling of excitement, and
one’s attention is strained to the utmost when witnessing an artillery
duel over a large area and hearing the incessant heavy dull booming of
cannon.
With the map in his hand and with really impressive calm Colonel
Wittisch explained everything that was passing in front of us; now and
again we stole a glance at the destroyers outside, wondering whether
they would soon begin to shoot. In the south-west we noticed the little
white puffs of smoke which denote the bursting of shrapnel shells.
When everything had been fully explained to me, the Colonel thought
that it was not advisable to remain any longer. There were four of us,
and we were within range of all commanding points in the vicinity. If
we were noticed from the south side, it would be assumed that we were
directing the German artillery and the enemy’s guns would be trained
on us. It is a peculiar sensation to know that one may at any moment
become a target.
So we walked down from the dunes and back to the car. From the mouth
of one of the little streets running down to the sea we observed
the two incredibly impudent destroyers, which we were told had been
stealing along the coast for the last three days. They had gradually
come nearer and nearer, since they noticed no evil intentions from the
coast at Middelkerke. Through our glasses we could see the officers
on the bridge and the crew moving about on deck. They on their part
could see us with equal clearness, but I suppose they did not think
us worth powder and shot from a revolving gun. After a while they
seemed to make a large sweep, one to the south-west, west, north-west
and north-north-west, and the other to the north-east, north and
north-north-west, gradually approaching the remainder of the squadron,
no doubt to report what they had seen. Of the squadron itself only five
ships were discernible through the mist.
Now we could proceed without any risk on our return journey along _La
Digue_, the broad, hard road skirting the shore, with its excellent
view of the sea. Here all civilian traffic was forbidden and no lights
were allowed in the windows. In the evenings and at night the darkness
was complete.
After supper, at ten o’clock, I was sitting once more on my balcony,
the two gas-buoys were burning and the swell was breaking drowsily
upon the shore, drowning the steps of the sentries in the street. But
I could see the soldiers by the light from the windows. They moved
mostly in pairs, whilst other soldiers stood chatting in little groups,
leaning against the iron railing of the promenade and watching the
sheaves of fire from the British guns. In the course of ten minutes
I counted 141 shots; probably there were more, as several might have
coincided. In ten hours this meant 8500 shots, an expensive business.
So I went to bed at Ostend for the second time. I left the balcony
doors open--it was too tempting to lie awake awhile to watch the clear
sky and listen to the harmonies of the ocean swell and the booming
guns. Gradually I drifted into a deep and refreshing sleep.