Nineteen hundred and eighteen dawned with little suggestion of the
brilliant and victorious events it had in store for us. Belgium was at
the end of her strength, almost at the end of her courage. Everyone,
even the wealthy, was cold for lack of fuel in the midst of an
unusually severe winter; many were starving, and no one had _enough_
to eat. There was, also, scarcely any gas to relieve the darkness
of early dusk; in some quarters of Brussels no gas at all, and no
candles to be had. The weather was abnormally bitter, and winter
dragged on relentlessly into the month of March—the BLACK MONTH, when
even the bravest hearts were ready to break under the harrowing news
of that second German offensive, rushing forward again over all the
hard-gained territory across which we had with such eagerness and
confidence followed the Allies on the map!
Nothing can depict the moral anguish of those days in Brussels, when
the German _affiches_ were announcing victory after victory—when an
increase of force, gathered from the Russian front, made their success
appear inevitable. Trainloads of cannon, ammunition, and men rolled
by during whole days and nights, troops reinforced by the desperate
determination to win, by foul means or fair, which obsessed the Kaiser
and his chiefs. It was a time of utter despair for the Belgians—for
everyone, indeed, whose sympathies were with the Allies. And, to add
to the pervading misery, every German victory was not only blazoned on
the walls, but troops were marched through the city playing joyous and
triumphant music from early morning until evening!
When, at last, the news reached us that their onrush was stemmed for
the second time, the occupying powers concealed it from us as far as
possible. We had looked for great things from America, but were told
that their men could not get over, while our souls were sickened by
eulogistic accounts of all that the under-sea boats were doing. Each
edition of our miserable papers presented a long list of ships sent to
the bottom by treacherous Germany.
But the Zeppelin was dead! That was some comfort; and, with a feeling
that it was perhaps the sign of better times, we saw demolished the
enormous iron-clad garage where one of these monsters used to be
housed.
But few gleams of real promise reached us, and it was dread of a
fifth winter, then appearing inevitable, that broke the spirit of
those who went (only then) to work in Germany as a desperate act of
self-preservation.
Even in days that were so much brighter for outsiders, in August and
September, we were denied the satisfaction of knowing that our cause
was progressing. The information allowed us did little to ease the
pressure of mingled hope and anxiety. We longed to learn something
definitely encouraging of what was going on where the cannon, ever
louder, was continuously roaring. Day by day our papers were searched
for some hopeful news, through long columns concocted only to destroy
hope and breed despair. Every event suggesting menace to the Allied
countries, culled from obscure journals in every part of the world
(especially from the _National Zeitung_ of Bâle), was set forth and
embroidered. Often they bore no more reliable heading than “_Le
Bruit court_,” but their effect on a people now morbidly prone to
look on the dark side of things was none the less depressing. Irish
troubles; strikes and discontent in India; political confusion in
France and Italy; friction between the United States and Japan or
Mexico; disastrous failure of the Allied venture in Russia—such items
contrasted with the triumphant German communiqués, which, even when
acknowledging retreat, depicted it as a victory, or a mere tactical
movement to attain a stronger position for a decisive counter
offensive.
Only later were we allowed to know when a position of importance was
won by the Allies. Our first knowledge that Péronne had been retaken
was the naïve announcement in the German report, “Péronne now finds
itself immediately in front of our lines”!—as though the town had
grown weary of being behind them, and had of its own will altered its
position!
On Monday, 30th September, our principal source of news, _La Belgique_
(entirely under German control), contained the following: “Between the
Ailette and the Aisne there have been no more battles, but the Germans
have withdrawn their line to the east of section Allemont-Jany,
leaving Pirnon, Chavegnor, and the fort of La Malmaison in the hands
of the French.” In regard to the retreat at Cambrai it was stated
in the same paper, 30th September, that the withdrawal “_plus en
arrière_” of German troops was executed at night unperceived by the
enemy, who “for a long time the following morning still held the
evacuated territory under fire”; and, in reference to the situation
between the Ailette and the Aisne, “Without the least intervention
of the enemy, we have drawn back our line behind the Canal de
l’Oise,” etc. “_Ce mouvement, préparé depuis de jours, s’est effectué
méthodiquement et sans être entravé par l’ennemi._” This “official
report,” in a tone of curt indifference, proceeds to show all British
advances as negligible. Then came such an announcement as this:
“Conflict between Suippes and the Aisne and also between Argonne and
the Meuse; our forces have attained a complete success.”
The redemption of Cambrai, St. Quentin, etc., we only discovered after
tracing on the map insignificant places appearing in the war-news
allowed us as reached or passed by the Allied forces; usually farms
or other trifling localities formerly unknown to fame. Delightful
as these discoveries were, they could awake no thrill of confident
enthusiasm because overshadowed by the contemptuous tone in which
each slight advance and the appalling cost to French and English was
presented. Moreover, every Allied success was attributed solely to the
clever military strategy of the Germans. Above all was belittled any
progress made by the British, whose abridged and doctored communiqués
were always presented in weak and childlike terms that made them
appear ridiculous. The English never knew, until several days after
evacuation, that the Germans had withdrawn from any locality for which
they were fighting. It was stated in an official announcement from
Berlin, dated 8th September: “_Le détachement du contact avec l’ennemi
s’operait presque toujours à l’insu de l’ennemi._” Another official
statement (13th August) was as follows: “The British offensive
between the Ancre and the Avre has been checked, after the strong and
vain attacks which have cost them such great losses, at the limit of
the old battlefield of the Somme.... On the other hand, the French
have once more placed in line many fresh divisions in order to attempt
to pierce, in spite of all, our positions between the Avre and the
Oise to which the Germans have retired in so able a manner (_d’une
manière si habile_) after having inflicted such heavy losses on their
adversaries.”
Niggardly as this information was, we were of course able to derive
from it a certain amount of encouragement. But this was damped by
the boastful German confidence, the constantly reiterated threat of
another vast offensive which would bring the war to an end glorious
for Germany; the awful descriptions of French towns reduced to heaps
of ashes, and the incalculable losses of the Allies.
In September, when matters were much harder than we suspected for the
Central Powers, a new voice came from the monster’s mouth—or rather a
still more pitiful, soft-hearted cry for poor suffering humanity!—from
these people who, after two thousand years of civilization that had
gained for them so high a place in the world, had revived, without
cause, the treachery and barbarity that had made them odious to and
distrusted by Cæsar; who committed crimes in 1914-15 and 1916 that
will haunt the world’s memory for ever! What a mockery must those
German pleas for humanity have appeared to the people of Tamines,
Aerschot, Louvain, and other districts of Belgium still grieving for
those ruthlessly murdered, still morally suffering from the horrors to
which they were unjustly subjected!
Heart-rending pictures were given of fair towns destroyed in the
valley of the Somme; of their homeless and perishing inhabitants;
of beautiful historic edifices wrecked by the “folly of the French
bombarding their own cities”—those centres of a hostile Power
that had not hesitated to commit any outrage in its vainglorious
and frantic rush for Paris! No murmur of regret had escaped the
success-intoxicated legions who advanced, with comparative ease, from
the ruins of innocent Belgian towns, leaving devastation and despair
behind them! No pang of remorse then made them hesitate to slaughter
guiltless citizens, and bury them in heaps, sometimes before life was
extinct, or to crucify their first British prisoners—a fact I was
later assured was true, by an English soldier who had seen the bodies!
But now that the avenging armies, overcoming obstacles such as the
Germans never had to face, were uprooting them from the strongholds
prepared during four years, the despotic song of victory through
frightfulness suddenly became a whine of compassion, a childish and
stupid wail for peace! No outsider could have been more infuriated
at this than those in Brussels who had suffered under the despot’s
hand and witnessed the vileness of his deeds. Again and again long
articles appeared in our papers, trying to induce the cold and
famished Belgians to add their impotent appeal for a cessation of
hostilities, and to impress them with the suddenly developed Christian
spirit of Germany! This failing, an attempt was made at terrorization.
Photographs of ruined towns in France were exhibited, showing the
homeless inhabitants flying for their lives. The papers gave highly
coloured accounts of the general destruction, misery, and horror on
the scene of each battle, as the price of every step in advance made
by the Allies. The same fate was predicted for Belgium, should the
unlikely happen, and the invincible German forces find it expedient to
retire to one of their many well-prepared strongholds in that country.
(The prospect of a German defeat was represented as too improbable to
deserve contemplation.) At one time an account appeared describing the
inevitable destruction of Brussels, should the Germans ever be driven
back on it. In such a case, it was stated officially, Brussels was
to be “the bouquet of the whole war.” Added to all this, quotations
equally disheartening were printed from English papers. One,
purporting to be from _The New Statesman_, was given on 2nd October as
follows: “The Germans will certainly draw back their front to rectify
it. But at a very short distance behind, they possess lines that
form a solid base and, if able to hold it, they will not have lost
more territory than they occupied at the beginning of 1918. And even
supposing Douai and Cambrai should be lost to them, the experience of
years must guard us against exaggerated optimism.” “Above all,” it
finishes, “one can reasonably affirm that Hindenburg and Ludendorf
have not absolutely renounced the idea of a counter offensive. For
the moment, they relinquish territory, but their retreat is methodic,
and we should greatly deceive ourselves to imagine it excludes the
possibility of their launching a vigorous counter attack, when the
Anglo-French assault will have come to an end through exhaustion.”
With such discouraging signs came the German movement for peace and
plea for humanity!
“This war-fury, this rage for destruction, must be nailed to the
pillory” was quoted, about the same time, from a German socialistic
paper of 1st August 1918. Would it have been quoted four years
earlier, when blood and destruction were the means by which Germany
thought to crush civilized states and become master of Europe? Now
that her war-chariot lay wrecked amid the corpses of her legions,
death, slaughter, and devastation suddenly began to appal her, and
roused a cry of fear which found no echo in Belgium. When the British
announced they were fighting east of Roussoy and had occupied Lempire,
the official information from Berlin, dated the 20th September, told
us “the British attempted an advance in the sector Epehy-Lempire with
a great number of tanks. An enormous number of these were destroyed,
the remainder being obliged to retire; and as to the British infantry,
they fled in haste toward their positions of departure.” Every effort
of the Allies was depicted as having failed, “_grâce au feu des
mitrailleuses et de l’infanterie allemandes_.” Then, at the tail-end,
a brief announcement would appear that the German line had retired,
for strategical reasons, without being molested by the enemy.
In addition to these confusing and contradictory reports long
editorials appeared sneering at the Allies’ futile efforts. The
Americans’ advance at St. Mihiel was presented as having been attained
“without combat,” the Germans having drawn back in accordance with
long-prepared plans, and so secretly that the enemy was not aware of
it and “only pursued us very hesitatingly.” When the British made
their great rush on Cambrai and broke through the line that Hindenburg
considered impregnable, it was attributed to a fog. When they advanced
on Hummel it was over ground that had been deliberately evacuated,
with such “masterly ability” that the British for _two days_ were
unaware of the German’s retirement!
Despite the irritation such accounts caused in Brussels, enough was
unintentionally betrayed to revive our hope. Most childish of all was
the continued boasting of what Germany had accomplished in her first
onrush, which, considering all the overwhelming advantages she had,
should have carried her to rapid victory. With her check at the Marne
she was beaten, and that was the moment when the people and troops of
Germany should have waked to their blunder, and rid their great nation
of a malady that has ruined its prosperity and degraded its name.