At the Chateau de Severac the hot, fevered days were passing but slowly.
Aimee and the Baroness were still there, and now they had been joined by
the Baron, who had in Brussels been assured that the enemy would respect
the houses of the rich, and that at his splendid home, perched high on
that rock above the Meuse, they would have nothing to fear. Rigaux,
indeed, had declared to his friend that at the chateau they would be far
safer than in any of the towns, which might be invested or bombarded--
safer even than in Brussels itself.
Hence they had remained there, full of hourly anxiety as to what really
would be the outcome of it all.
The Baron de Neuville had suggested that his wife and Aimee should flee
to England. But while Aimee felt that so long as she remained in
Belgium she might at least have a chance of seeing Edmond very soon, the
Baroness, on her part, refused to leave her husband's side, while he, in
his responsible position as financial adviser to the Government, could
not leave Belgium.
From time to time they received scraps of terrifying news over the
telephone from Brussels. Aimee, indeed, each hour rang up her father's
secretary in Brussels, and listened to the latest news from the scene of
the fighting.
But, alas! it was a tale of repeated disaster, until she became sick at
heart. Of the whereabouts of the Eighth Chasseurs she could glean
nothing. She had heard nothing whatsoever of them since they passed
through Liege on their way to the front. For aught she knew, they might
have shared the same fate as that of other regiments, or been swept out
of existence by the terrible fire of the enemy's machine-guns.
Often she would step out upon the balcony which led from her own room
and gave such a wonderful panorama of river and woods, and there she
would listen attentively.
Sometimes she fancied she could hear the far-distant booming of the
guns. And yet the world about her, warm and sunlit, without a cloud in
the brilliant summer sky, seemed so very peaceful. The birds sang
merrily, and the peasants, undisturbed after the first days of war, were
now garnering in the yellow corn.
The first panic of war had passed, and the dull-eyed Walloons, who
composed the major part of the population in that district, clattered
along in their wooden sabots and declared that the enemy were going
straight on towards Brussels. They would never come near them.
They were unaware as yet of the frightful deeds being done beyond Liege
in those warm summer days, acts of merciless savagery and every
refinement of cruelty which degenerate minds, filled with the blood-lust
of war, could conceive. They knew not of the dastardly practice, made
by the Kaiser's "cultured" troops, of placing before them innocent women
and children to act as a living screen, in the hope that the Allies
would not, from motives of humanity, fire upon them.
The whole world was being thrilled and shocked by the unspeakable acts
of these blonde beasts who, at the behest of their arrogant Kaiser, had
simply become hordes of savages, and whose atrocious acts could only be
compared with those of the troops of African wilds. But in Belgium
little was known of it all, save in the devastated villages themselves,
and by Monsieur Carton de Wiart, the Minister of Justice in Brussels,
who was preparing an official report to present to the Powers.
The hideous atrocities perpetrated during that bloody fortnight, from
August 6th to the 20th, during which the country north of Liege was
being swept by fire and sword, were being hidden from the gallant little
nation.
In the great high-up Chateau de Severac they only knew of them by
rumour, and whenever Aimee told what she had heard over the telephone to
her father sitting there so grave and morose, he always shook his head
and declared that they were only wild rumours.
"The German soldiers are civilised. They do not shoot women, my dear
girl," he would always declare. The true stories of the Kaiser's
"frightful examples"--which his bloody Majesty himself admitted--had not
yet been told. The Baron and his family did not know how, at Aerschot,
the male inhabitants who crossed their thresholds were seized and shot
under the eyes of their wives and children; how poor Monsieur
Thielemans, the Burgomaster, and his fifteen-year-old son, with a dozen
prominent citizens, were set up against a wall and shot, and their
bodies cast unceremoniously into a hole. They knew not how young girls,
and even little children, had been raped at Orsmael; how wounded Belgian
soldiers were tied to telegraph poles and shot; how, constantly, Red
Cross waggons bearing doctors and wounded were deliberately fired upon;
or how these Teuton apostles of "kultur" had actually mounted
machine-guns in their own Red Cross vans and fired at the unsuspecting!
Of the awful scenes in St Trond, Velm, and Haelen, rumour only gave the
faintest outline, which was dismissed as imaginary and without
foundation.
Alas! however, it was the bitter and terrible truth. Abominable deeds
were committed not only in those places, but at Sempst men had their
arms and hands cut off; at Corbeek Loo women and girls were bayoneted;
at Seraing the blood-guilty ruffians massacred several hundred people,
and in more than one village terrified women were made to pass in front
of machine-guns amid the laughter of the drunken German soldiers and
their threats to blow them out of existence at any moment.
Was it any wonder that many poor wretches went stark mad with terror?
Over this stricken country, between Liege and Louvain, towards Brussels,
the "Flying Column" were fighting--struggling along bravely from day to
day against the most fearful odds.
While Aimee sat, hour after hour in silence, watching and wondering,
Edmond with his Maxim was doing terrible execution. Yet of what use was
it all? They were being gradually driven back towards Brussels,
compelled to leave the villagers to their fate.
The roads were crowded by homeless men, women, and children, poor
wretched people who had watched their homes sacked and burnt. For years
they had been thrifty, and saved until they could live in quiet comfort,
still working hard. Yet in one short fortnight all had gone from them;
all they now possessed was piled into a wheelbarrow, perambulator, or
cart, or else carried in a sack upon their backs.
The scenes on that wide, open main road leading through Louvain and
Tirlemont to Brussels, a well-kept highway, lined in places by tall
poplars, were enough to cause one's heart to bleed.
Edmond looked upon them with a sigh. Beneath the pitiless sun the
never-ceasing crowd moved westward, driven on by the advancing German
army. All sorts of ramshackle vehicles were mixed up in the slowly
moving mass of humanity who were tramping their way, day and night, on
and on to some place of safety--where, they knew not--Brussels, Antwerp,
or to Ghent, Ostend, or perhaps the sea. The iron of despair was in
their souls.
Such a human tide as this, naturally, hampered the Belgian army
severely. Weary, footsore, and sad-eyed, many old persons fainted by
the wayside, and those who were friendless were left there to die.
Everybody was thinking of his or her own family. They had no time for
sympathy with others. Most of them were dressed in their best clothes--
in order to save them--and all had fearful tales to tell of the
behaviour of the Uhlans. Many of those poor, red-eyed, hatless women in
black had seen their husbands, brothers, sons, or lovers shot down
before their eyes. Some had been falsely accused of firing at the
troops; some had simply been seized by drunken, laughing soldiers; some
had been questioned by swaggering German officers, others had not. With
all, trial or no trial, the end was the same--death.
And their corpses had been left to rot where they fell, and the village
fired by those little black cubes of a highly inflammable chemical
substance, which the brutes carried with them for that one purpose.
The fog of war was over everything.
"It is not warfare, father," declared Aimee one evening, as she sat with
her parents in a big, handsome salon, wherein the last blood-red light
of the fiery afterglow was fast fading. "It is massacre. They have
just told me, over the telephone, of fearful things that have happened
in Aerschot. The Germans have wrecked the beautiful church, smashed the
holy statues, desecrated the crucifix, and stabled their horses there.
And these are the troops upon whom the Kaiser is beseeching God's
blessing. It is all too awful for words!"
"Yes, child," replied the grey-haired Baroness, looking up from her
embroidery--for in these days of excitement she tried to occupy her mind
with her needlework. "The Kaiser respects neither the laws of nations,
nor the laws of Almighty God, Whose aid he asks. His evil deeds cry
aloud to Heaven, and to us who, horror-struck, are watching."
"The Emperor is carrying out the policy, which I read yesterday in the
_Independance_, advocated by Bismarck," said the Baron. "The Iron
Chancellor laid it down, as a maxim, that true strategy consisted in
hitting the enemy hard, and in inflicting on the inhabitants of invaded
towns the maximum of suffering, so that they might bring pressure upon
their Government to discontinue it. He is declared to have said: `You
must leave the people through whom you march only their eyes to weep
with.'"
"The inhuman brute!" ejaculated the Baroness. "But our dear Belgium
will never sue for peace."
"Never," declared the Baron fiercely, rising and passing to the window,
an erect, refined figure. "We have the British on our side. They will
quickly wipe the Germans from the seas, and then come here to our
assistance. The speech of Asquith in the House of Commons shows their
intentions. Besides, have we not Russia--a colossal power in Europe
when she commences to move? So we may rest assured that for every evil
and unwarrantable act committed upon our soil, ample vengeance will be
exacted when the Cossacks are let loose upon our friends of Berlin."
"They say that at Liege and in other places, German spies have been
discovered," Aimee remarked. "I hear that at the entrance to Liege, the
German soldiers were actually met by spies--hitherto respectable
inhabitants of the place--who acted as their guides through the city,
and pointed out the principal buildings and the residences of the rich."
"Exaggerated stories," declared the Baron. "I do not believe in the
existence of German spies in Belgium."
"But they have arrested many both in Brussels and Antwerp."
"Spy-mania seems to arise in every war," was his reply.
"But Germany has been long preparing. Her spies are said to be
everywhere," declared the girl with emphasis. "No game is too low or
despicable for the enemy to play, it seems."
At that moment the liveried footman entered and, bowing, announced to
the Baron:
"Monsieur Rigaux has arrived."
"Ah! show him in. He may have news," cried his master, eagerly.
Next moment the thin-faced, dark-haired man, wearing a smart grey suit
and yellow gloves, came forward all smiles and graces, as he bowed low
over the Baroness's hand and then over Aimee's.
"Well, my dear Arnaud?" the Baron commenced anxiously. "What is the
latest from the front? Have you motored from Brussels?"
"Yes. And the news is disquieting--distinctly disquieting. Max, the
Burgomaster, is already taking precautions in anticipation of the
occupation of the capital by the enemy. Our troops are evacuating the
city."
Mother and daughter exchanged glances, both pale-faced and startled at
such a turn of events.
"Then we have again been defeated," exclaimed the Baron in a hard voice.
"It seems so. The news is out that Liege has fallen at last. The forts
are silent--reduced to rubbish-heaps."
"Liege fallen!" gasped both mother and daughter. "Yes. It seems that
several days ago the Germans brought up some big Krupp howitzers, the
secret of which has been so admirably kept, and--"
"Why do you say so admirably, M'sieur Rigaux?" interrupted Aimee
quickly. "Such words would make it appear that you admire the Germans."
The man started. His eyes narrowed, and his face assumed a sinister
look. But only for a second. He saw the slip he had made, and hastily
corrected it.
"My dear Mademoiselle," he laughed. "Surely you cannot suspect me of
pro-German sympathies? I hate the Kaiser, and all his abominable works.
I used the words `admirably kept' because in Germany they really know
how to keep a secret. They are not like the English, for example, who
will show any foreigner of distinction over their latest Dreadnoughts,
or their strongest defences."
"Well, the tone in which you spoke was certainly as though you
entertained pro-German tendencies," said the girl frankly, adding "but
what about these wonderful guns?"
"Ah! Mademoiselle. They are wonderful, alas! As soon as they got
these fearful engines of destruction into position they simply
pulverised the forts. Poor General Leman was taken out of the ruins,
unconscious, and is now a prisoner in Germany."
"Leman a prisoner?" gasped the Baron. "Why, it was only a month ago
that he dined here with us."
"Poor fellow!" exclaimed the Baroness. "But why was he unconscious?"
"Owing to the deadly fumes from the explosion. One of the big shells
from the German howitzer penetrated to the magazine, and it blew up."
"Ah! But Leman did not surrender."
"Certainly not," said Rigaux, who was, in secret, very well informed of
all that was in progress along the front. His wireless--worked by a
German naval wireless operator who lived in seclusion in his house at
Brussels--had, for days been picking up all the official messages, the
operator having in his pocket the key to the war-cipher.
Not a move on land or on sea on the part of the Germans but was known at
once to Arnaud Rigaux, who daily handed to the fair-haired young
operator a brief report of what was in progress in Brussels. This the
young man reduced to code and transmitted it, after having called up the
German station at Nauen. Other stations heard it, but the message being
in a code specially supplied for the purpose, it conveyed to them no
meaning.
Arnaud Rigaux, the most clever and most dangerous spy which Germany
possessed on Belgian soil, was, because of his high position as a
financier, still unsuspected.
From his manner the Baron could see that his friend had come out from
Brussels hastily, in order to tell him something which he hesitated to
do in the presence of the ladies.
"So an advance is really being made towards Brussels and the Government
has moved to Antwerp?" Aimee asked anxiously. "The papers are so vague
about it all."
"I fear that is so," was Rigaux's reply. "It seems, too, that the
British are moving uncommonly slowly. They have not yet, it is said,
embarked their expeditionary force, as we fully expected they would have
done days ago."
"The British, if they move slowly, always move very surely," was the
girl's reply. "I was at school in England, you know, and I am quite
aware of their slowness."
"It is fatal in war, Mademoiselle. Why are they not here to help us--
eh? We have relied upon them."
"They will be here soon, and when they come they will give a good
account of themselves, never fear. They are tried soldiers. The
Germans have never seen a modern war. They are only swaggerers."
"True. But they are at least scientific in their campaign. The English
are not."
"Well, Arnaud, if you continue to talk like that I shall begin to agree
with Aimee, and accuse you of taking the German side," laughed her
father.
"_Diable_! I hate them too much. Look what I have lost--what I stand
to further lose--eh?" protested the thin-faced man, with a quick gesture
of the hands. "All I hope is that the English army will be in Belgium
before the enemy enters Brussels."
"But the French," suggested the Baron. "What are they doing? One hears
so very little of General Joffre and his army!"
"Ah! he, too, is moving slowly. At Verdun, and along the line of
Alsace-Lorraine, there has been some fierce fighting, I hear."
"How do you know?" asked the girl.
"By the papers."
"But the papers have published no reports," she said in surprise. "What
journal has given the news? We have them all, and I read them very
carefully."
Again Rigaux was, for a second, nonplussed.
"Oh! I think it was in the Antwerp _Matin_--the day before yesterday--
if I recollect aright."
The truth was that he had heard it over his secret wireless only that
morning.
"Who won?"
"Unfortunately, the Germans."
"Ah!" sighed the girl. "It is always so. When shall we ever have a
victory?"
"Who knows, Mademoiselle? Let us hope it will be very soon. Belgium
will never be crushed."
"Not so long as a single man remains alive who can carry a gun,"
declared the Baron fiercely. "I wish I were younger. I'd go to the
front at once and do my share."
"As Edmond Valentin has gone," Aimee remarked, more in order to spite
Arnaud Rigaux than anything else.
In a second the spy's face was wreathed in smiles.
"Ah, how is M'sieur Valentin? where is he, Mademoiselle?" he inquired.
"He is with the Eighth Chasseurs-a-pied, somewhere near Liege."
"He is not near Liege now," their visitor said. "The whole country, up
to Louvain, is now held by the enemy. His brigade has, I expect, been
thrown back to somewhere near Brussels--unless, of course, it has come
south, towards Namur."
In an instant the girl was eager and anxious. Namur, with its great
forts, believed to be impregnable, was only a few miles away.
"Would they come across in this direction, do you think?" she asked
eagerly.
"Certainly. If they were in the Meuse Valley they might follow it up
towards Huy, and onward."
"But there has been no sign of the enemy along there."
"There will be soon, I fear, Mademoiselle. We are not sufficiently
strong to keep them back."
As a matter of fact, he knew that Uhlan patrols were in the woods within
fifteen miles of them, and that very soon the whole Meuse Valley would
probably run with blood. The Potsdam plan of campaign was to sweep
every part of Belgium, from the frontier to the sea, with the fire of
war.
"What shall we do if they come?" asked the pale-faced girl, dismayed.
"Is it best to stay here?"
"I believe so. You are far safer here in your chateau than in
Brussels."
"But what will happen to us?"
"Oh, you may have a visit, perhaps, from a polite German officer who may
billet some of his men here for the night. He will simply apologise for
the inconvenience he causes. That is all."
"But they have been massacring people north of Liege," Aimee remarked.
"Bah! those are simply exaggerated tales of the country-people. Do not
credit them, Mademoiselle. Nobody in Brussels believes them. In war,
such tales are always told," he said assuringly.
"Who is commanding the Eighth Chasseurs? Do you know?" asked the girl
anxiously.
"Well, yes, I happen to know because Jacques, my second chauffeur, is in
the regiment of Monsieur Valentin. They belong to the Sixth Brigade
under General Paul Thalmann."
"Thalmann!" echoed the Baroness. "Ah, we know him quite well. He was
commandant at Bruges a year ago. Then he was moved to Ghent. Aimee and
I stayed with him for three days during the Exhibition. A fine old
soldier. One of the best men in all Belgium."
Arnaud Rigaux smiled curiously. The Hebrew came out in him at that
moment.
"Yes," he said, with slight hesitation. "But a gambler, my dear
Baroness. He is in my debt to a considerable extent. Besides, I--well,
I suspect him."
"Of what?" asked the great financier.
"Of dealings with the enemy."
Aimee started.
"What do you mean, m'sieur?" she asked quickly.
"I simply mean what I say, Mademoiselle. General Thalmann has, to my
knowledge, been on the verge of bankruptcy for the past three years. He
is a bosom friend of a certain Karl Schnerb, whom I have long suspected
of being a secret agent of Germany. After his acquaintance with
Schnerb, the General began to repay me some of what I had lent him.
_Voila tout_!"
"You say, then, that General Thalmann is in the pay of our enemies?"
asked Aimee quickly.
"You surely don't mean that, Arnaud?" asked her father at the same
moment.
"I only tell you facts that I know, my dear Baron," was their visitor's
reply. "And for that reason, and that alone, I say: `May God help our
poor little Belgium.'"
Aimee was silent.
Was it possible that a traitor was in command of Edmond's brigade?
The girl held her breath. If what Arnaud Rigaux had alleged was the
actual truth--and he always knew the truth--if such things were, then
poor little Belgium was, alas! doomed.