A Fine Capture
By Staff Deputy Captain Courboin
_September 9, 1914._ Aerschot, devastated and pillaged by the Germans,
was retaken by Belgian troops composed of the Cavalry Division and
the 7th Brigade. Surprised by the rapid action of our men, the enemy
occupants made off, like a band of sparrows, in the direction of
Louvain. To the south of the town, though, some detachments, probably
unaware of the direction of the retreat, were still holding out. Our
troops had gathered together on the heights towards Nieuw-Rhode and
were awaiting orders. I had left my unit and was walking along at the
border of the St. Hertoger Heyde Bosch, when a soldier of the 27th Line
Regiment told me that, according to a patrol, a horseman of the 2nd
Guides was lying wounded on the road running through the forest.
I asked for a gun and some cartridges and proposed to an army chaplain
that he should accompany me. Twenty soldiers at once volunteered their
services and I had the greatest difficulty in limiting my escort to a
Corporal and six men.
Ten minutes later, the horseman, who was unfortunately dead, was
brought into our lines. My men had to encounter a violent firing,
which came from the border of the wood to the south, proving that
there was at least one enemy company there. The horrors they had
seen at Aerschot had roused the anger of our men, and they beseeched
me to return to the forest with a force and avenge our unfortunate
compatriots. I could not possibly have yielded to their entreaties,
if an unforeseen circumstance had not more or less justified our
escapade. An auto-machine-gun of the 1st Division of Cavalry, which
was to reconnoitre in the direction of Nieuw-Rhode asked for an escort
of scouts. I offered the help of our little troop and, a few minutes
later, we were once more exploring the St. Hertoger Heyde. The woods
appeared to be deserted, but, on arriving near the southern border,
an intense firing, from the Nieuw-Rhode summit, greeted us. Our
machine-guns replied with interest, whilst my men searched the houses
skirting the road, one after another, and, hiding behind the hedges,
were ready to take aim at any German heads which, in a moment of
imprudence, should be outlined against the deep blue of the horizon.
We bounded on until we were within a hundred yards from the summit.
The enemy firing had ceased and we now saw about fifteen wounded men
sheltering in a ditch and imploring our aid. We wondered whether this
could be a trap for us? It was too late, though, for prudence. We had
risked coming two miles into the enemy's lines and my men were there,
quivering with impatience. It was no use hesitating. Four houses
stood in the corners of the cross-roads here, and these were probably
sheltering the wounded and those who were trying to escape. There was
no window looking out on to the place where we stood; the gardens
appeared to be empty; one more rush and we should be able to see what
was going on beyond the summit. When once we were at the top, I had no
time to deliberate. A horseman, who, I must own, appeared to have lost
control of his mount, galloped towards me at full speed. I shouldered
my gun and ... the Boche bit the dust. The terrified horse leaped about
in the fields; my men took aim and the machine-gun seemed to start
firing on its own accord. That moment of over-excitement saved us.
The enemy thought we were there in strong force. A gun, covered
with a white handkerchief, appeared at a skylight window. They were
surrendering. I placed myself against the wall of the house, so that I
might escape any treacherous firing from the window in the roof.
"Throw the guns out!" I shouted. A gun fell on the ground at our feet,
then another and another. My men were wild with delight.
"Twenty ... fifty ... a hundred," they counted. When the hundred and
sixth gun fell to the ground, there was a lull and a German sub-officer
then, came out to make terms with us. In very good French, he asked
that the lives of the Lieutenant, five sub-officers, and one hundred
and six men, concealed in the house, might be spared.
Two minutes later, a little troop of men arrayed in iron-grey and blue,
were standing in line on the road. A very Prussian little Lieutenant
handed me his pistol, which joined the guns piled up in the ditch.
My men did not seem to be at all aware of the strangeness, which was
really somewhat alarming, of our situation. If only our prisoners had
had a little energy, the rôles might have been reversed. I would not
allow myself an instant even to think of this and I gave the order to
my Boche colleague to take the command of his men.
With incontestable authority, tapping his high boots with a little
stick, the Lieutenant commanded in a very arrogant tone: "Attention!" I
wondered again whether, in reply to one of his injunctions, given in a
guttural tone in the German language, the whole band would not suddenly
fall upon us and, instinctively, I tightened my hold on the butt end of
my Mauser....
No, it was very evident that these soldiers had a special mentality.
The little dandy, tightly buttoned up in his grey coat, marching
at the head of his men, seemed to me absolutely repugnant. I knew
that our soldiers, commanded by one of our brave comrades, would not
have remained long in the situation of this band of cowards. There
they were, out-numbering us ridiculously, escorted by seven Belgian
soldiers, marching to our Headquarters at Aerschot. Prisoners! They
were prisoners and ... happy!
I was just about to fall in and close the march of this column, after
promising to send help to the wounded, who were groaning in the ditch
and calling out all the time: "A doctor. A doctor!" when a big, rough
hand seized mine and shook it unceremoniously. It was Corporal Dethier,
of the 27th, a brave miner of Liége.
"Captain," he whispered, "we all thank you. As for me, I am very glad,
for I feel that I have been a good soldier to-day."[5]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: The names of these six brave men are: Massin, Cyclist
Company; De Sutter, 3/2; Menu, 3/2; Le Kouttre, 3/2 of the 7th Line
Regiment; Barthels and Sty, Cyclist Carabineers of the 1st Cavalry
Division, who were both proposed later on for honorary distinction;
Corporal J.J. Dethier, who was wounded at the Yser and had his leg
amputated. He has been made a Knight of the Order of Leopold.]