ARREST AND SILENCE.
Early in the evening of the 5th of August, a loud knock came to
the door of Nurse Cavell’s hospital in the Rue de la Culture. Five
heavily-footed German soldiers and a corporal stood outside with
a police officer. At that very moment the nurse was changing the
bandages of a wounded German. The soldiers broke open the door with the
butt-ends of their rifles, and rushed into the ward.
At a sign from the police officer--one of the creatures Von Bissing had
set to watch the nurse’s movements--the corporal seized Miss Cavell
roughly. He tore out of her hand the lint with which she was about to
bind the wounded man, and began to drag her away.
The Englishwoman, astonished but calm and dignified, asked for
an explanation. The answer was a cuff. Von Bissing had not given
instructions for any explanation. Nurse Cavell left her hospital for
the last time, and was marched through the dark streets to the military
prison of St. Gilles.
Three weeks of silence followed. Miss Cavell’s friends in England knew
nothing of her arrest. It was only by the good offices of a chance
traveller from Belgium that the news reached the family near the end
of August. At the request of the British Foreign Office, Dr. Page,
American Ambassador in London, telegraphed for information to the
American Minister in Brussels, Mr. Brand Whitlock.
The gaolers of Edith Cavell had used the interval well. It was decided,
even before her arrest, that she was to be executed. But, first of all,
seeing that the Louvain methods were grown obsolete, it was necessary
to concoct a “case” against her. The spies had not done their work well
enough. The greatcoat and the glass of water and the silver coins to
hunted men were not sufficient for a conviction. There was only one
method by which Edith Cavell could be convicted. That was from her own
mouth.
In England when the meanest felon is arrested he is warned by the
officer who reads the charge to him, that he need not make any
statement unless he wishes, and that anything he says may be used in
evidence against him. In Brussels, under German rule, Edith Cavell’s
judges deliberately set themselves to extort admissions by which to
condemn her.
They refused her an advocate. They prevented communication with any
soul who could give her counsel. They surrounded her arrest and
imprisonment with secrecy lest any warning of her danger should reach
her from outside. They contrived that she should be utterly alone.
To their astonishment they found their business easy. Miss Cavell gave
them every help in her power. She had nothing to conceal, she said.
She told them every incident which had a bearing on the charge. She
supplied dates and details. Instead of the clumsy hearsay of the spies,
her accusers had facts given them to build up a lengthy dossier. And
when all was admitted it was nothing more than a series of acts of pity.
Those who think of this confession as a woman’s weakness are in error.
Edith Cavell was no ignorant girl. She well knew what she did. She
would have been a better lawyer if she had refused to incriminate
herself. She would have been a less noble woman. What she said she said
to draw all the blame upon herself. Knowing well that death was the
punishment, she did not shrink.