When the spring of 1916 was in full leaf an unexpected pleasure was
accorded us: permission from the Governor to ride bicycles within
certain stated limits! The privilege was welcomed almost joyously
by all; for, since there were no horses and no means of transit for
those living in the suburbs, or those out of touch with such trams
as were running, many workers were obliged to walk miles each day to
and from their places of occupation. Besides, the pleasure-hungry
inhabitants—doomed to remain summer and winter within the gloomy
city—were glad of a chance to make excursions into woods and open
country without expense or too great fatigue. Every man, woman, and
child able to pedal immediately planned how to purchase a wheel,
although many were only able to do so after a long period of
saving—by cutting down their food supply, and other sacrifices. There
were, of course, not enough bicycles in the country to meet even
one-tenth of this suddenly-created demand, since most of the Belgian
stock had been requisitioned for army purposes. But no sooner was the
cheering permission given than the market was flooded, as though by
magic, with wheels of all styles and all prices—_made in Germany_!
Every shop was stocked to overflowing, sold out, and restocked with
incredible rapidity.
In a short time the Bois, so long deserted and melancholy, presented
a scene of life that did the heart good to see. Hundreds of bicycles,
all bearing the Teuton trade-mark cleverly disguised, rolled
gaily over the smooth asphalt of wide avenues, where the splendid
automobiles of former days no longer deterred the timid; where, at
that time, not even a German car or vehicle of any sort impeded their
way.
So great was the pleasure and benefit afforded, especially to wan,
under-nourished shop-girls and lads, in sad need of fresh air and
some diversion in their joyless existence, that one was tempted to
feel more kindly toward the occupying Government, until, later on,
the subtle and selfish aim became known of this sole act of seeming
consideration. Nevertheless, during those summer months a surprising
spirit of comparative gaiety developed. The conflict raging without
seemed temporarily forgotten. Young and old indulged to the full the
delight of wheeling along smooth cycle tracks (laid before the war)
through leafy woodlands out to Groenendael and other picturesque spots
in the environs, where restaurants, that had done no business for two
years, gladly welcomed them.
Whole families were to be seen awheel; fathers and mothers,
accompanied by children of all ages. Loving couples, even elderly
women and white-haired men, experienced the first semblance of
pleasure and liberty since the 20th of August 1914. On Sundays,
especially, this manifestation of reawakened life was delightful to
see. From morn till eve the city avenues and those of the Bois were
moving streams of radiant cyclists, eager to leave the town behind and
taste the sweetness of summer under fragrant boughs, or in flowered
fields where they would settle in parties for luncheon. Jeanne from
the _laiterie_, Jacques from the butcher’s shop—hundreds of poor,
tired young creatures, who slaved on weekdays to provide themselves
and war-widowed mothers with the necessities of life, were all there,
smiling and forgetting the sacrifices made to procure a cheap German
wheel—sacrifices often betrayed in their hunger-pinched faces! But the
privilege was not indulged in only by these; the aristocrats welcomed
it as gladly, and innumerable smart men and women, deprived of their
horses and cars, pedalled along by the side of Jeanne and Jacques as
contentedly as they.
I have no exact knowledge of how many bicycles were sold in Belgium
during that summer; but judging by the fact that one was procured
by every individual in the capital able to ride and scrape together
the price, many thousands must have been sold in Brussels alone—all
provided by Germany! A large number of the poorer classes could not
save the necessary sum until the summer was over, and cold, bad
weather prevented them enjoying their hard-earned acquisitions. But
they had something to look forward to for the coming summer, should
the war continue—and there was then little prospect of it coming to an
end!
These last, unfortunately, made their sacrifices in vain; for no
sooner was everyone provided with a wheel, and the enormous demand,
so cunningly created and provided for, had been satisfied, than the
moment arrived for the sequel of Germany’s clever commercial _coup_!
Immediately an order was published that everyone possessing a bicycle
should not only declare but _deliver_ his tyres, as the rubber was
needed by the army! Riding was forbidden, even to those who, after
yielding their tyres, asked permission still to enjoy their wheels by
using tyres of rope!
Thus was solved the mystery of that one instance of kindness towards
a wronged people! The German army secured the rubber without robbing
its own nation; and, moreover, enriched certain home manufacturers
with the pathetic savings of many a Belgian girl and lad, since fallen
a victim to tuberculosis—an epidemic then already beginning to ravage
their country’s youth!
Of course the usual excuse was given for checking the use of bicycles:
someone—who and how was not revealed!—had abused the privilege,
therefore all should be denied it! But if, indeed, that abuse ever was
committed, it must have been during the first weeks after permission
to ride was given. No one, anxious to serve his country, or to escape,
would have waited until the last importation of wheels had been
disposed of! This, moreover, did not explain why permission was never
again given, although during the two following summers there was no
conceivable reason why those who asked to ride with rope tyres within
a certain limited locality should be refused.
The whole affair was an abominable trick, subtly clever, with that sly
and treacherous cleverness which won a vast advantage for the German
army in the beginning, and has ever since characterized its policy.
The dark months of winter crept upon us; another joyless Christmas
approached—a day suggesting not peace and good-will, but rather
blasphemous mockery of all that Christ taught. One black day was like
another, always throbbing with the more or less loud roar of distant
cannon, stirred only when good news fanned to brief flame our almost
extinguished hope. Only this, and the ever-new laws imposed by the
enemy, made us realize we were yet alive, and roused us sufficiently
to note what the day of the month might be.
Occasionally, however, we were awakened at dawn by a thunder of
near-by cannon, and, until taught by experience, sprang from our
beds thinking the Allies had come. But it was only to see puffs of
exploding shell surrounding a bird-like form far up in the sky—which
we recognized as a friendly aviator winging through the explosives
toward a Zeppelin shed rather uncomfortably close to our house. Once,
at dawn, several biplanes appeared bent upon destroying this monster
civilian slayer. Brussels, still asleep, resounded to the thunder of
cannon from the many points where high-angle guns were set, one of
these points being a water-tower two hundred yards or so from us. The
shooting was continuous; and puffs of smoke, as the shells burst,
surrounded the air-craft so closely it seemed impossible that they
could escape destruction. Fragments of shell rained upon our roof,
and crashed through the garden trees, while we, in our night-clothes,
leaned from windows watching the brave flyers through our glasses. Our
hearts almost ceased to beat, fearing lest one should fall; for it
appeared almost beyond hope that they could all escape that determined
and well-directed fire. Presently one descended into full view, and,
after circling about the Zeppelin shed, slackened speed just above it.
Shells burst round him on every side, but the intrepid aviator paid no
heed. As we watched, scarcely breathing, he plunged downward close to
the shed—hesitated—then, apparently in no great hurry, soared up like
a fearless eagle to safer heights, through a very cloud of bursting
shells. Almost immediately there was a tremendous explosion, which
we scarcely heeded, so intent were we on his escape. For what seemed
hours, though it was probably not more than a few moments, we followed
his flight amid a storm of attack that seemed to miss him at times
only by a hair’s breadth.
In a villa facing ours dwelt a young American widow, who, with her two
sons, as little clothed as we, was also watching the combat. One of
the boys, as reckless of risk as he was indifferent to his attire, had
crawled from a window, and stood, bare-footed, in pyjamas, on the roof
cornice in great danger of being struck by falling bits of shell. The
widow, wrought to uncontrollable excitement, called out as though the
daring flyer could hear her: “For Heaven’s sake hurry!—_Fly!_—Oh, they
will bring you down!—God have mercy on him! Spare him! Spare him!”
Her cries came thinly to us, through the thunderous din, and, though
she and we all laughed over it later, at that moment of tension
nothing impressed us as extraordinary or comic. Every sense was
centred on that rising form, until it finally disappeared in the mist
of higher ether. Had he been brought down we should have all felt it
as a personal tragedy; for, although at that time America was still
comfortably neutral, we who had witnessed Belgium’s martyrdom were
little in sympathy with our country’s attitude.
But this took place earlier; before the spring of 1917 the
Machiavellian intelligence ruling us is supposed to have devised a
means whereby it hoped to check aerial assaults upon these cherished
perils-to-unprotected-towns. Although the trick was beyond all things
diabolical, many in Brussels, taught by experience the inhumanity of
Prussian war-methods, believed it was done with deliberate intention
to terrify the inhabitants into opposing Allied aerial attack.
As the Zeppelin, unfortunately, was absent from its shed when a
well-directed bomb was dropped on it during this attack, another
attempt to destroy it was made later. During the latter raid several
shrapnel shells tore with direful effect through the city’s crowded
streets. Many ghastly details reached us, but one account, given by an
eye-witness, will serve to illustrate the vileness of a scheme which,
if indeed intentional, can only be equalled by the sinking of the
_Lusitania_ and that shooting of the French wounded, openly recorded
in the German papers, under the heading: “A day of honour for our
troops”!
One of the shells, in its mad career through the city, struck a
brewer’s wagon, killing the driver, and the oxen which drew it, and
severely wounded a second man. A physician in the vicinity hastened to
the spot; and with those who gathered about the scene of butchery came
two German officers who appeared already prepared for the event.
“_Ach!_” exclaimed one of these, in a tone of compassionate regret;
“you Belgians can thank the British and French for this! What is it
to them how many innocent beings are sacrificed to their senseless
attacks in a vain effort to cripple us!”
But, all unknown to the speaker, several tell-tale bits of the
murderous missile, proving it to be of German origin, had already been
gathered up and secreted by the Belgians present. The physician had
one of these, and, unable to control his fury on hearing this _malin_
interpretation of the tragedy, he turned on the officer, his face
white and quivering with reckless passion: “_Pas du tout!_” he cried;
“no French or English hand committed this crime! Here is the proof!”
He revealed the damning fragment. “Avions do not drop shrapnel, and
neither you nor anyone can deny where that was made!”
The officers scorned the suggestion, but withdrew, for they were
unsupported by others in the midst of a silent but enraged crowd.
One feature in the affair, which encouraged the belief that it had
been arranged purposely, was that German soldiers immediately took
possession of each locality where damage was done, ridding it of every
condemning particle of shell. But fragments enough have been preserved
by the Belgians as proof of a deed worthy only of those who committed
it.
In constant view of such trickery how could a neutral attitude of mind
or heart be retained?
The men of the American Alimentation Commission came to Belgium as
friendly towards Germany as towards any other nation. Several of them,
indeed, were somewhat biased in favour of the Prussian army, and
all as prone as were we ourselves, in the beginning, to doubt the
accounts of their atrocities. But before they left I believe there
was not one whose last trace of respect for the occupying Powers was
not destroyed by what he had witnessed with his own eyes during his
sojourn in the country. Very many, as the world knows, lost no time,
after leaving Belgium, to reveal their outraged sentiments by joining
the Allied forces. Even before America came in, several of these gave
their lives in fighting a wrong they were forced to recognize, despite
their original determination to view all from a fair war-basis, and
not be influenced by mere hearsay.
And yet these men were more closely associated with the German
officials than with Belgians. Their duties necessitated constant
intercourse with the Government, and with those whose influence might
easily have counterbalanced Belgian accusations. Those stationed in
the _étape_ regions were constantly accompanied by a sub-officer. Day
and night each had his “nurse,” as the boys called these military
supervisors, at his side; ate with him, travelled with him, and slept
near him! What more natural than that so intimate an association
should strengthen their original admiration for the German army? But
facts were too flagrantly against it. Little by little incidents,
at first regarded as awful but possibly legitimate features of war,
led to others, illegitimate and of enraging significance, gradually
destroying, in these fair-minded men, all sympathy with the Central
Powers.
As year followed year they saw these _soi-disant_ defenders of their
“_Vaterland_” bleeding a helpless country, and clinging, at all cost
and by any means, to territory won through the use of poisonous gas
and burning oil—brutalities never before known, and all fore-prepared,
while the world was dreaming of peace!—saw them draining broken
Belgium by outrageous taxation, and requisition of every kind, while
doing their utmost to create internal strife between the Flemings and
Walloons.
Very few neutrals at first could gauge the situation correctly in
Brussels, where German argument and German lies were predominant. It
was only their _actions_ that opened our eyes, and the extraordinary
advantages they so quickly attained, which gave evidence of an
inexorable and vandalistic plan that could not have been brought to
such perfection in a few months, nor even in a few years.
Only a fool or an all-forgiving angel could have lived under that
domination and retained sympathy or respect for the nation it
represented. Although noble individuals in Germany were probably as
adverse as we to its pitiless barbarity and craft, the fact that no
united voice in that great and prosperous country was raised against
it, suggested that their number was too small to be of any avail. The
first easy victories, the violation and crushing of a neutral land,
seemed to have eclipsed the soul and intelligence of a people formerly
so proud of their culture.